438 



JOURNAL OF HOETICXJLTUKE AND COTTAGE GAEDENER. 



[ June 6, 18C5. 



earth, as tenderly as Old Izaak impaled a frog on his hoot. 

 They seldom break the worm, and if they do we don't believe 

 it feels it. It is a rare sign of health when they take to 

 these diversions, and seek all this kind of food, and our 

 man passes along in front whistling merrily. He has a 

 knack of addressing an imaginary person: sometimes he 

 calls him "Jim," sometimes he speaks through the hedge; 

 but it is curious that his conversation is always where wo 

 can hear it, and we never heai- an answer. In the fine 

 weather we heard, " I say, Jim, they chickens do grow, I 

 never see things do so well in my life, and they eats next to 

 nothing, and yet see how they tlu-ive." But for the last ten 

 days he is perpetually in conversation with the poultry Mrs. 

 Hai'ris. He was looking a day or two hard at a hedge within 

 a few yai'ds of our window, and thus he discoursed, " Ah ! 

 you may say that, and you ain't the only person as wonders, 

 I wonders myself that I have patience with them. Three 

 hens off yesterday, all clear eggs, not a chicken. Chickens 

 don't grow a bit, and what they eat is marvellous — in fact, 

 I'll tell you what it is, they terrify me." While peering 

 cantiously at him from the chamber window we can tell the 

 quarter of the wind and the condition of the chickens, as well 

 from his countenance as we could tell the progress of the exe- 

 cution from watching the faces of the girls. When we come 

 down we have a repetition of what Master So-and-so or 

 Dame Tliis-and-that said as they were going to work. We 

 are afraid we are like " Old Joe Bagstock," getting sly. We 

 have learned to parry all those attacks by mildly saying, 

 " We have heard you are not so well oil' as your ueighboui's." 

 " Then them as says so knows nothing about it. I have ten 

 chickens to their one. Look here, sir, come this w.ay, sir, 

 there's a brood you have not seen, but this weather is very 

 bad." So it is. We have found great benefit from put- 

 ting camphor in all their water. We have resumed our 

 winter feeding, and although they will pull through if we 

 have no more snow, we fear most of them will show they 

 have had a bad fortnight in their lives. 



We had written thus far when we ourselves sufi'ered as 

 much as the chicks. Bad cold, pain at the chest, nasty 

 little cough — camphor for ever ! We make a " cigarette 

 camphr6e a la KaspaO." Take a sound goose quill, cut it off 

 at the feather, stop the end with some paper, break up some 

 camphor in small pieces, fill two-thu-ds of the quill, and stop 

 up again with paper. If you are plagued with a " nasty 

 little hacketting cough " keep this cigar in your mouth, 

 inhale air only through it, you will find your tii'esome 

 symptoms disappear — Kaspail loquitui', " comme par enchanic- 

 Tnent." 



It is said that a friend about to visit England, asked 

 Voltaii'e, " if he had any commissions for that countrj'." 

 "No," said the poor old infidel; "Yet, stay; should your 

 friend see the sun, ask him to present my compliments to 

 him, I was there forty days, and did not see him once." We 

 shut ourselves up according to medical du-ections, and in 

 twenty-four hours the sun was shining, and people were 

 complaining of the heat. "Jim," shouted our man, "this 

 ere'a a morning. There, I do think, them chickens is growed 

 since last night. Lor' a' massy, it does one good. How 

 that grass is growed surely. li' the chickens did not grow 

 as fast they'd be lost in it. Morning, missis, morning, 

 yon be right, 'tis a pleasure to see things, they grows while 

 you looks at 'em. Torroble hot yesterday to be sure, but 

 chickens thrives, and it's a pleasure to look after them." 



Ho waits no more for us to come down, we are obliged to 

 seek him. We know him fii-at by his whistle (he is musical). 

 During the bad weather he has a weakness for the " Dead 

 March in SauL" When he arrives at a bad case, or when 

 he is overcome by the appearance of things in general, he 

 lets loose hi? druras, big and little; cymbals, wind instru- 

 ments, all go at a crash. The fit lasts a minute or two, he 

 then captiously pushes his hat on one side, and scratches 

 hiB head. The last operation restores him. The " Maestro " 

 vanishes into thin air, and the poultry man returns. But 

 when the weather is favourable and chickens do well, nothing 

 less cheerful than " Cheer, Boys, Cheer," will answer his turn, 

 and we believe when wo are in search of liim, ho dodges ; for 

 the sounds meet us everywhere, but tlie man seems as though 

 ho had found fern seed, or the four-leaved clover. 



" What are wo to do with those two young cocks, they 'vo 

 growed out of strength and shape, they sits on their knees 



all day, and they 'U never sit up ? " " Kill them, and take 

 them in-doors." "They be skeletons." "Do as you ai'e 

 told." 



" Sarah," says cook to the parlour-maid, " I wish you'd 

 tell mistress I wish to speak to her." "Well, cook," says 

 mistress, "what do you want?" "Why, look here, Fred 

 has brought these two things in, he says they 're to go into 

 the larder, they shan't go into mine. Nasty, long-legged, 

 ill-looking things, I don't believe as master told him." 

 " Well, well, well," says the mistress, " don't make troubles." 

 (We think in these days the mistress has it hot and strong 

 sometimes). "I will see your master and ask him." The 

 " first blow mny be half the battle," but some people think 

 much of the last word, and cook said, " She only know'd one 

 thing, she wasn't going to dress such fowls, no, not if she 

 gev warning as she stood there, and she didn't care." 



^Vhat on eai'th had Fred said? 



Cook may give warning and leave, but master cannot, so 

 he was brought into the kitchen to say what was to be done 

 with these unfortunate fowls. Poor man, he was in great 

 trouble, he is not a bad husband as things go ; but it is said, 

 that now-a-days it is easier to got four wives than one cook. 

 He knew not what to do. When you must bathe, and don't 

 know the depth of the water, take a header. He did so, 

 " They are for made dishes." " There, cook," said mistress. 

 Indeed, sir," said cook. "Well, mem," said cook, "praps 

 you will say what made dishes you wish." Mistress looked 

 to master, and he said, " Galantines." Cook knew nothing 

 of such outlandish things, but she didn't mind learning, if 

 mistress would teach her. She did so as follows : — Now, 

 cook, take that fowl's neck just below the crop, squeeze 

 the skin between the thumb and finger till it is tight; now 

 draw your sliarj) Icnife down the back of tho neck. There, 

 it gapes open. Now, cut oil' the neck, between the shoulders, 

 do not cut through, but withdi'aw the severed part of the 

 neck 3 inches below the shoulder. Now, cut through every- 

 thing so as to divide the head and neck from the body. 

 Eemove the crop. I think, now, for the first one or two 

 operations, mistress or master must superintend. The head 

 and neck are cut off, the crop is i-emoved. Place the fowl 

 on its scant on the table. Take the outer skin and fold it 

 over backwards all round; the prominent objects will then 

 be the merrythought and the two wings. Scrape the merry- 

 thought clean and remove it. Then with a sharp knife dis- 

 articulate the wings. Let us digress, boning requires a 

 very sharp knife, and clumsy tyros mangle themselves in the 

 beginning, but only clumsy fellows. If you keep the edge 

 of the knife against the bone, and that is where it should 

 be there is no danger. Cut through the wing bones ; having 

 done 80 and removed the merrythought, you will again turn 

 all the skin backwards, and then tho leg-joints \vill n.ppcar 

 in view on either side. Strip the skin back over them and 

 divide where the drumstick joins the good succulent thigh, 

 you may pass your knife through below the joint and cut 

 upwards. Now, turn over, scrape out the oyster-pieces, and 

 all the meat of the back. Keep the edge of your knife in- 

 wards, and all will go smoothly till the drumsticks are in 

 the way, denude them of all flesh, and having done so, 

 strike the bone a sharp blow with the back of your knife 

 just below the knee-joint, it will easily breal:. Keraove all 

 the splinters of bone. Yovi can then take the bone out of 

 the pinion of the wing, and take all the me.-.t tliat belongs 

 to tho carcase or thighs, or any other part. Continue to 

 turn the flesh and skin backwards, and to keep the edge of 

 your knife towards tho bone. When nothing remains to 

 cut, you have boned a fowl. Tru'n tho skin back and look 

 at the carcase, you will find that which has seemed almost 

 a miracle, is tho common-place feat you have just performed. 



If it stopped hero, we should arguo with ooolc, tliero was 

 nothing to brag about. But we bought two sheep's tongues 

 and boiled them, and we chopped up 4 or 5 lbs. of refuse 

 ))ork, and we carefully saved tho gizzards and livers of the 

 fowls, and we looked for all the scraps we could find till wo 

 had a basinful. Then wo took tlic carcase of this long lean 

 chicken and subjected it to a Falstalferian i^roccss. Wo 

 once know of a country porlbrmauce whore the lean apothe-. 

 cavy of Romeo was the l<'alBtalf of Henry IV. Pillows and 

 stuffing my merrio masters. AVhen we laid the Cochin 

 carcasses guiltless of bones, they did look flat. A flounder 

 was rotund eompoi-ed with them. " I wo' n't march through 



