CHAPTER XIV.

Robert did not make his appearance next morning, and his absence seemed to give fresh ground for the expectation that Lady Darcy would drive over with him in the afternoon and pay a call at the vicarage.

Mrs. Asplin gathered what branches of russet leaves still remained in the garden and placed them in bowls in the drawing-room, with a few precious chrysanthemums peeping out here and there; laid out her very best tea cloth and d’Oyleys, and sent the girls upstairs to change their well-worn school dresses for something fresher and smarter.

“And you, Peggy dear—you will put on your pretty red, of course!” she said, standing still, with a bundle of branches in her arms, and looking with a kindly glance at the pale face which had somehow lost its sunny expression during the last two days.

Peggy hesitated and pursed up her lips.

“Why ‘of course,’ Mrs. Asplin? I never change my dress until evening. Why need I do it to-day just because some strangers may call whom I have never seen before?”

It was the first time that the girl had objected to do what she was told, and Mrs. Asplin was both surprised and hurt by her tone in which she spoke—a good deal puzzled too, for Peggy was by no means indifferent to pretty frocks, and as a rule fond of inventing excuses to wear her best clothes. Why, then, should she choose this afternoon of all others to refuse so simple a request? Just for a moment she felt tempted to make a sharp reply, and then tenderness for the girl whose mother was so far away took the place of the passing irritation, and she determined to try a gentler method.

“There is not the slightest necessity, dear,” she said quietly. “I asked only because the red dress suits you so well, and it would have been a pleasure to me to see you looking your best. But you are very nice and neat as you are. You need not change unless you like.”

She turned to leave the room as she finished speaking; but before she had reached the door, Peggy was by her side, holding out her hands to take possession of twigs and branches.

“Let me take them to the kitchen, please! Do let me help you!” she said quickly, and just for a moment a little hand rested on her arm with a spasmodic pressure. That was all, but it was enough. There was no need of a formal apology. Mrs. Asplin understood all the unspoken love and penitence which was expressed in that simple action, and beamed with her brightest smile.

“Thank you, my lassie, please do! I’m glad to avoid going near the kitchen again, for when cook once gets hold of me, I can never get away. She tells me the family history of all her relations, and indeed it’s very depressing, it is” (with a relapse into her merry Irish accent), “for they are subject to the most terrible afflictions! I’ve had one dose of it to-day, and I don’t want another!”

Peggy laughed and carried off her bundle, lingered in the kitchen just long enough to remind the cook that “Apple Charlotte served with cream” was a seasonable pudding at the fall of the year, and then went upstairs to put on the red dress, and relieve her feelings by making grimaces at herself in the glass as she fastened the buttons.

At four o’clock the patter of horses’ feet came from below, doors opened and shut, and there was a sound of voices in the hall. The visitors had arrived!

Peggy pressed her lips together and bent doggedly over her writing. She had not progressed with her work as well as she had hoped during Rob’s absence, for her thoughts had been running on other subjects, and she had made mistake after mistake. She must try to finish one batch at least to show him on his return. Unless she was especially sent for she would not go downstairs; but before ten minutes had passed, Mellicent was tapping at the door and whispering eager sentences through the keyhole.

“Peggy, quick! They’ve come! Rosalind’s here! You’re to come down! Quick! Hurry up!”

“All right, my dear, keep calm! You will have a fit if you excite yourself like this!” said Peggy coolly.

The summons had come and could not be disregarded, and on the whole she was not sorry. The meeting was bound to take place sooner or later, and, in spite of her affectation of indifference, she was really consumed with curiosity to know what Rosalind was like. She had no intention of hurrying, however, but lingered over the arrangement of her papers until Mellicent had trotted downstairs again and the coast was clear. Then she sauntered after her with leisurely dignity, opened the drawing-room door, and gave a swift glance round.

Lady Darcy sat talking to Mrs. Asplin a few yards away in such a position that she faced the doorway. She looked up as Peggy entered and swept her eyes curiously over the girl’s figure. She looked older than she had done from across the church the day before, and her face had a bored expression, but, if possible, she was even more elegant in her attire. It seemed quite extraordinary to see such a fine lady sitting on that well-worn sofa, instead of the sober figure of the Vicar’s wife.

Peggy flashed a look from one to the other—from the silk dress to the serge, from the beautiful weary face to the cheery loving smile—and came to the conclusion that, for some mysterious reason, Mrs. Asplin was a happier woman than the wife of the great Lord Darcy.

The two ladies stopped talking and looked expectantly towards her.

“Come in, dear! This is our new pupil, Lady Darcy, for whom you were asking. You have heard of her——”

“From Robert. Oh, yes, frequently! I was especially anxious to see Robert’s little friend. How do you do, dear? Let me see! What is your funny little name? Molly—Dolly—something like that I think—I forget for the moment!”

“Mariquita Saville!” quoth Peggy blandly. She was consumed with regret that she had no second name to add to the number of syllables, but she did her best with those she possessed, rolling them out in her very best manner and with a stately condescension which made Lady Darcy smile for the first time since she entered the room.

“Oh—h!” The lips parted to show a gleam of regular white teeth. “That’s it, is it? Well, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mariquita. I hope we shall see a great deal of you while we are here. You must go and make friends with Rosalind—my daughter. She is longing to know you.”

“Yes, go and make friends with Rosalind, Peggy dear! She was asking for you,” said Mrs. Asplin kindly, and as the girl walked away the two ladies exchanged smiling glances.

“Amusing! Such grand little manners! Evidently a character.”

“Oh, quite! Peggy is nothing if not original. She is a dear, good girl, but quite too funny in her ways. She is really the incarnation of mischief, and keeps me on tenter-hooks from morning until night, but from her manner you would think she was a model of propriety. Nothing delights her so much as to get hold of a new word or a high-sounding phrase.”

“But what a relief to have someone out of the ordinary run! There are so many bores in the world, it is quite refreshing to meet with a little originality. Dear Mrs. Asplin, you really must tell me how you manage to look so happy and cheerful in this dead-alive place? I am desolate at the idea of staying here all winter. What in the world do you find to do?”

Mrs. Asplin laughed.

“Indeed, that’s not the trouble at all; the question is how to find time to get through the day’s duties! It’s a rush from morning till night, and when evening comes I am delighted to settle down in an easy-chair with a nice book to read. One has no chance of feeling dull in a house full of young people.”

“Ah, you are so good and clever, you get through so much. I want to ask your help in half-a-dozen ways. If we are to settle down here for some months there are so many arrangements to make. Now tell me, what would you do in this case?” The two ladies settled down to a discussion on domestic matters, while Peggy crossed the room to the corner where Rosalind Darcy sat in state, holding her court with Esther and Mellicent as attendant slaves. She wore the same grey dress in which she had appeared in church the day before, but the jacket was thrown open and displayed a distractingly dainty blouse, all pink chiffon, and frills, and ruffles of lace. Her gloves lay in her lap, and the celebrated diamond ring flashed in the firelight as she held out her hand to meet Peggy’s.

“How do you do? So glad to see you! I’ve heard of you often. You are the little girl who is my bwothar’s fwiend.” She pronounced the letter “r” as if it had been “w,” and the “er” in brother as if it had been “ah,” and spoke with a languid society drawl, more befitting a woman of thirty than a schoolgirl of fifteen.

Peggy stood motionless and looked her over, from the crown of her hat to the tip of the little trim shoe, with an expression of icy displeasure.

“Oh dear me, no,” she said quietly, “you mistake the situation. You put it the wrong way about. Your brother is the big boy whom I have allowed to become a friend of mine!”

Esther and Mellicent gasped with amazement, while Rosalind gave a trill of laughter, and threw up her pretty white hands.

“She’s wexed!” she cried. “She’s wexed, because I called her little! I’m wewwy sowwy, but I weally can’t help it, don’t you know. It’s the twuth! You are a whole head smaller than I am.” She threw back her chin, and looked over Peggy’s head with a smile of triumph. “There, look at that, and I’m not a year older. I call you wewwy small indeed for your age.”

“I’m thankful to hear it! I admire small women,” said Peggy promptly, seating herself on a corner of the window seat, and staring critically at the tall figure of the visitor. She would have been delighted if she could have persuaded herself that her height was awkward and ungainly, but such an effort was beyond imagination. Rosalind was startlingly and wonderfully pretty; she had never seen anyone in real life who was in the least like her. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, with curling dark lashes, her face was a delicate oval, and the pink and white colouring, and flowing golden locks gave her the appearance of a princess in a fairy tale, rather than an ordinary flesh and blood maiden. Peggy looked from her to Mellicent who was considered quite a beauty among her companions, and oh dear me! how plain, and fat, and prosaic she appeared when viewed side by side with this radiant vision! Esther stood the comparison better, for though her long face had no pretensions to beauty, it was thoughtful and interesting in expression. There was no question which was most charming to look at; but if it had come to a choice of a companion, an intelligent observer would certainly have decided in favour of the Vicar’s daughter. Esther’s face was particularly grave at this moment, and her eyes met Peggy’s with a reproachful glance. What was the matter with the girl this afternoon? Why did she take up everything that Rosalind said in that hasty, cantankerous manner? Here was an annoying thing—to have just given an enthusiastic account of the brightness and amicability of a new companion, and then to have that companion come into the room only to make snappish remarks, and look as cross and ill-natured as a bear! She turned in an apologetic fashion to Rosalind, and tried to resume the conversation at the point where it had been interrupted by Peggy’s entrance.

“And I was saying, we have ever so many new things to show you—presents, you know, and things of that kind. The last is the nicest of all; a really good, big camera with which we can take proper photographs. Mrs. Saville—Peggy’s mother—gave it to us before she left. It was a present to the schoolroom, so it belongs equally to us all, and we have such fun with it. We are beginning to do some good things now, but at first they were too funny for anything. There is one of father where his boots are twice as large as his head, and another of mother where her face has run, and is about a yard long, and yet it is so like her! We laughed till we cried over it, and father has locked it away in his desk. He says he will keep it to look at when he is low-spirited.”

Rosalind gave a shrug to her shapely shoulders.

“It would not cheer me up to see a cawicature of myself! I don’t think I shall sit to you for my portrait, if that is the sort of thing you do, but you shall show me all your failures. It will amuse me. You will have to come up and see me vewwy often this winter, for I shall be so dull. We have been abroad for the last four years, and England seems so dark and dweawy. Last winter we were at Cairo. We lived in a big hotel, and there was something going on almost every night. I was not out, of course, but I was allowed to go into the room for an hour after dinner, and to dance with the gentlemen in mother’s set. And we went up the Nile in a steamer, and dwove about every afternoon, paying calls, and shopping in the bazaars. It never rains in Cairo and the sun is always shining. It seems so wonderful! Just like a place in a fairy tale.” She looked at Peggy as she spoke, and that young person smiled with an air of elegant condescension.

“It would do so to you. Naturally it would. When one has been born in the East, and lived there the greater part of one’s life, it seems natural enough, but the trippers from England who just come out for a few months’ visit are always astonished. It used to amuse us so much to hear their remarks!”

Rosalind stared and flushed with displeasure. She was accustomed to have her remarks treated with respect, and the tone of superiority was a new and unpleasing experience.

“You were born in the East?”

“Certainly I was!”

“Where, may I ask?”

“In India—in Calcutta, where my father’s regiment was stationed.”

“You lived there till you were quite big? You can remember all about it?”

“All I want to remember. There was a great deal that I choose to forget. I don’t care for India. England is more congenial to my feelings.”

“And can you speak the language? Did you learn Hindostanee while you were there?”

“Naturally. Of course I did.”

A gasp of amazement came from the two girls in the window, for a knowledge of Hindostanee had never been included in the list of Peggy’s accomplishments, and she was not accustomed to hide her light under a bushel. They gazed at her with widened eyes, and Rosalind scented scepticism in the air, and cried quickly—

“Say something then. If you can speak, say something now, and let us hear you.”

“Pardon me!” said Peggy simpering. “As a matter of fact I was sent home because I was learning to speak too well. The language of the natives is not considered suitable for English children of tender age. I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me. I should be sorry to shock your sensibilities.”

Rosalind drew her brows together and stared steadily in the speaker’s face. Like many beautiful people she was not over gifted with a sense of humour, and therefore Peggy’s grandiose manner and high-sounding words failed to amuse her as they did most strangers. She felt only annoyed and puzzled, dimly conscious that she was being laughed at, and that this girl with the small face and the peaked eyebrows was trying to patronise her—Rosalind Darcy—instead of following the Vicar’s daughters in adoring her from a respectful distance, as of course it was her duty to do. She had been anxious to meet the Peggy Saville of whom her brother had spoken so enthusiastically, for it was a new thing to hear Rob praise a girl, but it was evident that Peggy on her side was by no means eager to make her acquaintance. It was an extraordinary discovery, and most disconcerting to the feelings of one who was accustomed to be treated as a person of supreme importance. Rosalind could hardly speak for mortification, and it was an immense relief when the door opened and Max and Oswald hurried forward to greet her. Then indeed she was in her element, beaming with smiles, and indulging a dozen pretty little tricks of manner for the benefit of their admiring eyes. Max took possession of the chair by her side, his face lighted up with pleasure and admiration. He was too thoroughly natural and healthy a lad to be much troubled with sentiment, but ever since one winter morning five years before, when Rosalind had first appeared in the little country church, she had been his ideal of all that was womanly and beautiful. At every meeting he discovered fresh charms, and to-day was no exception to the rule. She was taller, fairer, more elegant. In some mysterious manner she seemed to have grown older than he, so that though he was in reality three years her senior, he was still a boy, while she was almost a young lady.

Mrs. Asplin looked across the room, and a little anxious furrow showed in her forehead. Maxwell’s admiration for Rosalind was already an old story, and as she saw his eager face and sparkling eyes, a pang of fear came into his mother’s heart. If the Darcys were constantly coming down to the Larches, it was only natural to suppose that this admiration would increase, and it would never do for Max to fall in love with Rosalind! The Vicar’s son would be no match for Lord Darcy’s daughter; it would only mean a heart-ache for the poor lad, a clouded horizon just when life should be the brightest. For a moment a prevision of trouble filled her heart, then she waved it away in her cheery, hopeful fashion—

“Why, what a goose I am! They are only children. Time enough to worry my head about love affairs in half-a-dozen years to come. The lad would be a Stoic if he didn’t admire her. I don’t see how he could help it!”

“Rosalind is lovelier than ever, Lady Darcy, if that is possible!” she said aloud, and her companion’s face brightened with pleasure.

“Oh, do you think so?” she cried eagerly. “I am so glad to hear it, for this growing stage is so trying. I was afraid she might outgrow her strength and lose her complexion, but so far I don’t think it has suffered. I am very careful of her diet, and my maid understands all the new skin treatments. So much depends on a girl’s complexion. I notice your youngest daughter has a very good colour. May I ask what you use?”

“Soap and water, fresh air, good plain food—those are the only cosmetics we use in this house,” said Mrs. Asplin, laughing outright at the idea of Mellicent’s healthy bloom being the result of “skin treatment.” “I am afraid I have too much to do looking after the necessities of life for my girls, Lady Darcy, to worry myself about their complexions.”

“Oh, yes. Well, I’m sure they both look charming; but Rosalind will go much into society, and of course——” She checked herself before the sentence was finished, but Mrs. Asplin was quick enough to understand the imputation that the complexions of a Vicar’s daughters were but of small account, but that it was a very different matter when the Honourable Rosalind Darcy was concerned. She understood, but she was neither hurt nor annoyed by the inferences, only a little sad and very, very pitiful. She knew the story of the speaker’s life, and the reason why she looked forward to Rosalind’s entrance into society with such ambition. Lady Darcy had been the daughter of poor but well-born parents, and had married the widower, Lord Darcy, not because she loved him or had any motherly feeling for his two orphan boys, but simply and solely for a title and establishment, and a purse full of money. Given these, she had fondly imagined that she was going to be perfectly happy. No more screwing and scraping to keep up appearances; no more living in dulness and obscurity; she would be Lady Darcy, the beautiful young wife of a famous man. So, with no thought in her heart but for her own worldly advancement, Beatrice Fairfax stood before God’s altar and vowed to love, honour, and obey a man for whom she had no scrap of affection, and whom she would have laughed to scorn if he had been poor and friendless. She married him, but the life which followed was not by any means all that she had expected. Lord Darcy had heavy money losses, which obliged him to curtail expenses almost immediately after his wedding; her own health broke down, and it was a knife in her heart to know that her boy was only the third son, and that the two big, handsome lads at Eton would inherit the lion’s share of their father’s property. Hector, the lifeguardsman, and Oscar, the dragoon, were for ever running into debt and making fresh demands on her husband’s purse. She and her children had to suffer for their extravagances, while Robert, her only son, was growing up a shy, awkward lad, who hated society, and asked nothing better than to be left in the country alone with his frogs and his beetles. Ambition after ambition had failed her, until now all her hopes were centred in Rosalind, the beautiful daughter, in whom she saw a reproduction of herself in the days of her girlhood. She had had a dull and obscure youth; Rosalind should be the belle of society. Her own marriage had been a disappointment; Rosalind should make a brilliant alliance. She had failed to gain the prize for which she had worked; she would live again in Rosalind’s triumphs, and in them find fullest satisfaction.

So Lady Darcy gloated over every detail of her daughter’s beauty, and thought day and night of her hair, her complexion, her figure, striving still to satisfy her poor, tired soul with promises of future success, and never dreaming for a moment that the prize which seemed to elude her grasp had been gained long ago by the Vicar’s wife, with her old-fashioned dress and work-worn hands. But Mrs. Asplin knew, and thanked God in her heart for, the sweetness and peace of her dear, shabby home; for the husband who loved her, and the children whom they were training to be good servants for Him in the world. Yes, and for that other child too, who had been taken away at the very dawn of his manhood, and who, they believed, was doing still better work in the unseen world.

Until Lady Darcy discovered that the only true happiness rose from something deeper than worldly success, there was nothing in store for her but fresh disappointments and heart-hunger, while as for Rosalind, the unfortunate child of such a mother—— Mrs. Asplin looked at the girl as she sat leaning back in her chair, craning her throat, and showing off all her little airs and graces for the benefit of the two admiring schoolboys, gratified vanity and self love showing on every line of her face.

“It seems almost cruel to say so,” she sighed to herself, “but it would be the best thing that could happen to the child if she were to lose some of her beauty before she grew up. Such a face as that is a terrible temptation to vanity.” But Mrs. Asplin did not guess how soon these unspoken words would come back to her memory, or what bitter cause she would have to regret their fulfilment.

(_To be continued._)

ALL ABOUT OATMEAL.

BY DORA DE BLAQUIÈRE.

The native land of the common oat seems to be absolutely unknown, but as in many other cases, the best authorities have given it an origin in Central Asia. The wild oat from which it descends is found in Europe, in North Africa, Siberia, Japan, and the North-West Provinces of India; and it was well known to the Greeks and Romans, though it is not one of the cereals that are mentioned in the Bible. But the common oat, as we know it, is an improved form (says Professor Buckman) derived by a continued and selective cultivation from the aboriginal wild oat, of which I have been speaking. The word oat or oats is from an old English word _ata_, from the verb _etau_, to eat; and it means anything in the way of food which can be eaten. The botanical name of the genus is _avena_, and there are upwards of forty species in it, which are generally natives of cold or temperate climes. It can be grown in a wider range of climatical differences than wheat, but in a less range than barley, while in every temperate region it has become recognised as a food for horses. In the more northerly parts, where less wheat is grown, it has formed the staple food for man, under the two well-known forms, _i.e._, of porridge and oatcake.

A drug has been distilled from it under the name of _Avena Sattisa_, which is supposed to give the qualities of cheerfulness and spirit; the same qualities, in short, which the oat is considered to give to horses.

In the returns of 1894, for the United Kingdom, we find that oats are more cultivated than wheat, but it is much to be regretted that the use of oatmeal as food is becoming unfashionable amongst the poorer classes in England, who consider that wheat is a more refined food, and who leave off oatmeal when possible. The Highlanders of Scotland are an example of muscular vigour, and also of the clear intellects which are fostered under its regimen; one of the old Edinburgh reviewers says, “We cultivate literature on a little oatmeal,” and, at some time of the day, in Scotland, the native consumes oatmeal under some form or other. Porridge for breakfast is known in other lands as well as in Scotland, and is quite as well liked, particularly when a generous larder affords cream in thickness and plenty. But to be a true son of Scotland you must be above such frivolous additions. The kernels or grain of the oat, deprived of the husks, are called groats, or grits; and in old days they were used entire in broths and soups, like hot barley. When bruised you will recognise them very well, as forming part of a sick folk dietary. _Sowans_, known also as seeds or _flummery_, is made from the thin pellicles or inner scales which adhere to the groats in the process of shelling. These are steeped in water for a few days, till they ferment and become sourish. They are then skimmed and the liquid boiled down so much, that when cold it will become of the thickness of gruel. In Wales this is known as _Sucan Budrum_, and is prepared in the same manner; but it is boiled down even more, to become, when cold, a firm jelly, like blanc-mange. It has a high reputation as a nutritious, light food, for weak stomachs. Chemically speaking, in this change, the starch has been converted into dextrin and sugar, the latter passing at once into acetic fermentation.

Sowans is used as a light supper dish, with milk, cream, or butter, and sweetened with sugar to taste.

Bread is made of oatmeal mixed with pea-flour in parts of Lancashire, as well as in Scotland. A peck of oatmeal and another of peameal may be mixed thoroughly together, and sifted through a sieve to which add three or four ounces of salt, and make into dough with warm water. Then roll into thin cakes or flat rolls, and bake on a hot plate or in the oven. This, of course, is unfermented bread. In Scotland the thick cakes of oatmeal are called bannock, and the thin ones cakes, and in the farm-houses a great number are made at once and stored on a rack close to the ceiling, where they will keep for a long time if quite dry. When needed, they are crisped before the fire and slightly browned.

Bread is also made of oatmeal and wheat flour; also oatmeal and rice. Take a peck each of flour and oatmeal and half a peck of potatoes, peeled and washed and boiled. Knead into a dough with yeast, salt, and warm milk. Make into loaves and bake as usual. Rice is made in the same manner.

In the early centuries oatmeal was eaten almost altogether raw by the Scot, as indeed was the flour of wheat, and I daresay every other kind. In Mrs. Stone’s delightful book, _Teneriffe and its Seven Satellites_, she gives an account of the food of the population of the islands, and says that it was undoubtedly a primeval usage derived from the mysterious Guanches, the first inhabitants of the Isles, a civilised people who embalmed their dead, but have long since ceased to exist as a separate people. This flour is prepared by first roasting the wheat itself, then grinding it, and afterwards storing it in bags for carriage. It is eaten simply mixed with cold water, and is not only palatable, but delicious, with a sweet and nutty flavour, caused by the previous wasting of the grain. Even now, in many parts of Scotland, oatmeal is eaten uncooked and stirred simply into hot or cold water, with salt, mixed together in a basin. This is called brose, a word derived from the Anglo-Saxon, and the same as breuis and broth, the word meaning the liquor in which meat or anything else is boiled and macerated. Kail brose is made of green vegetable, mixed with the oatmeal, and it may have meal or broth as well. Plain brose is called often “sojer’s brose,” as it was made in haste, and “crowdy” is also a Scotch word, used to describe any food of the porridge kind, or a mixture of oatmeal and any liquid at hand, which might be milk, or even something far stronger.

The cooking of oatmeal marks an advance in civilisation, I suppose. Even the very word porridge is more recent, and marks an epoch when the Scotch received some instructions from one of the Latin nations; the original word being either from the Latin _porrus_, a leek, or the old French _porree_, or a pottage, made of beets with other pot herbs, a kind of food made by boiling vegetables in water with or without meat.

The person who taught me to make the best of porridge was an Irishwoman, and her method was to stir the oatmeal into the pot containing the boiling water, which must be bubbling fiercely, and must also have been salted. The oatmeal she sprinkled in with her left hand (having the oatmeal close to her) and stirring all the time busily with her right hand. Long experience will tell you how thick to make it, and it wants at least half an hour’s boiling to cook it properly.

But the most delightful form of gruel is that made by a Scotchwoman with milk and not water; and this needs well boiling too. Many people, however, prefer the gruel made by steeping the oatmeal in water for some hours, and pouring off the water and boiling that. The best gruel, I consider, is to be obtained on an Atlantic steamer; especially if it should happen to be of Scotch extraction, and to have a Scotch stewardess. There is some consolation in your sorrows at sea, if you can get some of the chicken broth they make on the Cunard steamers, which is quite too good to be forgotten. They put barley into it, I think, or perhaps rice; but whatever the flavour is, I have never succeeded in obtaining the same on shore, and I am inclined to think it is the long boiling that is the secret. When cold it forms a solid and nearly clear jelly.

There is plenty of oatmeal, too, in haggis, that essentially Scottish dish, which Robert Burns called “The great chieftain of the pudding race.” The component parts of a haggis are a sheep’s head and liver, boiled, minced, mixed with suet, onions, oatmeal and seasoning, moistened with beef gravy, and put into a haggis bag and boiled. A haggis will keep for some time, as it is quite firm, and may be packed for a journey. But in that last event the onions must be omitted in the making of it. Both black and white puddings are indebted to oatmeal for some of their filling, but few people, unless educated up to it, appreciate either of these delicacies.

Cock-a-leekie is a Scotch name for a very ancient English dish, that was known as long ago as the 14th century by the name of Malachi. “Ma” is the old name for a fowl, and Malachi means sliced fowl. So, though the modern rendering seems to promise that the leeks in it would be too prominent for most people, it is a mistake. The fowl is first half roasted, then boiled in broth, then cut up, and served with a quantity of vegetables, mostly onions. Spices were added, and the broth was thickened with fine oatmeal.

There are some English recipes in which oatmeal plays a part, and the first that I remember is what is called tharfe cake, in Yorkshire, which is baked for the fifth of November. I give a very old family recipe for it. Take four pounds of fresh oatmeal and rub into it one pound of butter, one pound of brown sugar, a quarter of a pound of candied lemon peel, and two ounces of caraway seeds well bruised. Mix the whole with three pounds and a half of treacle. When the cake is baked, which should be in a slow oven, pour over it a little flavouring while hot.

Parkin is also a Yorkshire cake, which resembles tharfe cake, but is not so good. The following is also an old recipe for it, and both of these cakes will be found very good for children’s use. Rub half a pound of butter into three pounds of fine oatmeal, add one ounce of ginger, and as much stiff treacle as will make it into a stiff paste. Roll it out in cakes of about half an inch thick, lay these on buttered tins and bake in a slow oven. The tops may be washed over with milk, if you prefer it, as it has a more appetising effect perhaps. All the modern recipes for parkin contain baking powder and sugar, but for the first there is no need at all, as all these Yorkshire cakes are not at all of the light order, and are both heavy and stiff, nor are they intended to be very sweet.

One of the dishes in which oatmeal plays a part, is in the savoury or sweet porridge seen in Derbyshire and the north of England. It is made as follows: Oatmeal two or three tablespoons, onions two or three ounces, milk one pint, butter a quarter of a pound, pepper and salt one teaspoonful. Boil the onions in two waters; when tender shred them finely, and add them to the boiling milk, sprinkle in the oatmeal, add the butter, pepper and salt, boil during from ten to fifteen minutes, pour into soup plates and serve with sippets. Instead of onions, grated cheese may be stirred in with the oatmeal.

To make sweet porridge proceed in the same manner. Take the same quantity of oatmeal, but instead of onions and pepper put in two or three ounces each of sugar, sultanas and currants, and candied peel if you like it, and serve in the same manner. This is a very excellent porridge for children’s suppers.

In America, the coarse oatmeal is used for frying oysters. They are rolled in it—instead of either in flour or crackers—before frying, and a very good addition it makes. The oatmeal may also be used for chops or cutlets, if you have no crumbs.

I had nearly omitted a Persian dish, of oatmeal and honey, which is a kind of porridge made by beating up a tablespoonful of oatmeal and the same quantity of honey with the yolk of an egg, and then pouring on it a pint of boiling water and boiling the mixture for a few minutes.

The following is an oatmeal pudding. Take of oatmeal one pint, of boiling milk two pints, of eggs two and of salt a little. Pour the boiling milk over the oatmeal and let it soak all night. Add the eggs, well beaten; butter a basin that will just hold it, cover it tightly with a floured cloth and boil it an hour and a half. Eat it with cold butter and salt. When cool it may be sliced and toasted and eaten as oat-cake buttered.

A porridge of rice and oatmeal was once very popular amongst vegetarians. It was made by boiling eight ounces of rice in a pint of water, and as the water was absorbed, gradually adding two quarts more, also add half a tablespoon of sugar and some salt, and lastly stir in eight ounces of oatmeal, and let the whole boil for twenty minutes. If it be liked sweet, add two ounces of sugar, but if savoury add pepper, salt and some onions boiled and chopped.

Our forefathers were very fond of oatmeal flummery, but it has quite gone out of fashion, though an excellent dish. Put a pound and a half of fine white oatmeal to steep for a day and a night in cold water, and pour it off clear, adding as much more water, and let it stand for the same time; then strain it through a fine hair sieve, and boil it till as thick as hasty pudding, stirring it slowly all the time, and being most careful to prevent its burning. When you first strain the water off, put to it one large tablespoonful of white sugar and two tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water; then pour it into a bowl and serve. It is eaten cold, and with new milk, or cream, and sugar. I am sure my readers will have heard very often of “flummery,” and perhaps may like to try it for themselves.

An oatmeal hasty pudding also comes from Yorkshire. Beat the yolks of two eggs with half a pint of new milk, cold, and a little salt. Thicken this with fine oatmeal, and beat to a very smooth batter. Set a pint and a half of new milk on the fire, and when it is scalding hot pour in the batter, stirring it well that it may be smooth and not burn. Let it be over the fire till it thickens, but do not permit it to boil, and the moment you take it from the fire pour it into a dish. It is eaten with cold butter and sugar, and either a little lemon juice or vinegar.

In that delightful book, _The Chemistry of Cookery_, by Mr. W. Mathieu Williams, the well-known scientist and lecturer, a book that ought to be studied by every housekeeper, I find that he advocates the idea of porridge being made for some days before it is required, then stored in a closed jar, and brought out and warmed for use. The change effected in it is just that which may theoretically be expected, _i.e._, a softening of the fibrous material, and a sweetening, due to the formation of sugar. This may be called an application of the principle of ensilage to human food; for ensilage is a process of slow vegetable cookery, a digesting or maceration of fibrous vegetables in their own juices, which loosens the fibre, renders it softer and more digestible; and not only does this, but, to some extent, converts it into dextrine and sugar.

“Although in many respects,” says a recent writer, “oatmeal and flour are very similar, the effect produced by them upon the system is very different. Oatmeal is richer in oily, fatty matter than any other cultivated grain, and its proportion of proteine compounds exceeds that of the finest wheaten flour. Although so nutritious, it cannot be used as a substitute for flour; the peculiar character of its gluten preventing the meal being made into fermented bread. But in other forms it may be made into very pleasant food, such as biscuits, gruel, oatcake and porridge. Oats are a natural grain in England, and are cultivated at less expense than wheat. This last is better adapted for making good fermented bread, and so is more in request. But perhaps the time may come when we shall return to the use of unfermented bread, and shall think that bread made from other grains, and unfermented, is quite as good, or even better, than the fermented bread of flour. At the present time, however, wheat is more consumed than any other grain,” and with this long quotation I will conclude.

STUDY AND STUDIO.

H. M. I.—1. Your hymn tune shows the need of instruction in harmony. There are several consecutive fifths in it, and other faults which study would enable you to avoid. We should advise you to take lessons.—2. Dr. Lemmi’s Italian Grammar is published at 5s. by Messrs. Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh, and by Messrs. Simpkin, Marshall & Co., London.

WHEELBARROW.—If you write to the office of _The Boy’s Own Paper_, 56, Paternoster Row, we believe you will find that a chart of the colours peculiar to the different colleges of each University has been published. At all events, we refer you to the Editor.

TOPSY.—We should prefer the Senior Cambridge and the Cambridge Higher Local out of the four examinations you mention.

IN our September part we informed RUBY that the couplet

“Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together.”

was from “The Passionate Pilgrim,” by Shakespeare. In so saying we handed on the information of three recognised authorities on “quotations,” and observed that “The Passionate Pilgrim” appears without note or comment in numerous editions of Shakespeare’s works. “The Passionate Pilgrim,” a miscellany of twenty “Songs and Sonnets,” was first published in 1599, and the words “By W. Shakespeare” are on the title pages of the 1599 and 1612 editions; but of the twenty poems only five are certainly by Shakespeare, and the poem in question (No. xii. of the series) is not one of these. Its author, in fact, is unknown, although it appears now, and appeared three centuries ago, under Shakespeare’s name.

WILD ROSE.—1. In bar seven of your composition you have the second inversion of a chord, which should not be followed by the first inversion of another chord. It is, however, an interesting attempt, and we should urge you to persevere.—2. Your writing is rather too small and crabbed, and seems to us as though in childhood you had not learned to “turn” your letters well. Copy any model you admire, and you will soon improve.

DONOVAN and TILLY WHIM.—We can direct you to three amateur reading societies, mentioned in this column during the past year or so, but can take no responsibility whatever with regard to them. Address—The Half Hour Reading Society, 2, Headingley Terrace, Headingley, Leeds; The Queen Reading Society, secretary, Miss Isabel G. Kent, Lay Rectory, Little Abington, Cambridge; Miss E. L. Tangye, The Elms, Redruth, Cornwall. The National Home Reading Union, Surrey House, Victoria Embankment, is being continually recommended by us.

SISTER HARRIET.—Your most satisfactory plan is to write to the publisher of the books you name, asking your questions, and enclosing a stamped envelope for reply. Unless the authoress objects to the particulars being known, you are sure to receive an answer.

ANONYMOUS.—You give no name nor pseudonym in your inquiry about the Civil Service.

OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.

A. MARTIN wishes to find a poem called “Voices at the Throne,” beginning

“A little child— A little meek-eyed child, Sitting at a cottage door.”

“SWEET MARIE” is informed that her quotation,

“Laugh and the world laughs with you, Weep and you weep alone,”

is from one of Ella Wheeler’s poems of Passion—“Solitude.” We thank our masculine correspondent for his help and his very kind letter.

ETHEL RIMMER has more replies from SOLDIER’S DAUGHTER, ALICE NIMON, and C. PERKINS, whom we thank. KLONDYKE, in answering Ethel Rimmer, requests a recipe for “the American Harlequin Cake,” and inquires the name of the English agent, Gold Coast. These queries are scarcely literary; but as they occur in a letter concerning a literary subject, we print them here.

CAN anyone direct “DOUBTFUL” to the verses beginning

“The woman was old, and ragged, and gray, And bent with the chill of a winter’s day”?

MABEL ENTWISTLE sends a reply to La Marguerite’s question concerning painting on panel, which we copy verbatim:—

“Surely she refers to chrystoleum painting. Chrystoleums are photographs taken from Academy pictures and then painted on. It is possible to affix these (whether painted on convex or flat glass) on to a panel. If this is what La Marguerite means, if she will write to me, I shall be pleased to send full particulars and give her any help I can, as I have had considerable experience in chrystoleum painting. But if she refers to the painting on the surface of photographs in water-colours, that is something I have wanted to learn for some time, and shall be equally glad to obtain information upon. This art requires a special medium and treatment of photo, I know, but I cannot get to know exactly. Trusting this may be of some use,

“I remain, “Sincerely yours, “MABEL ENTWISTLE.”

1, William Street, Darwen.

MEDICAL.

A. Z.—Mussels form a food of considerable value, but they are by no means free from danger. As a food they are fairly nutritious and digestible, though far inferior in both these points to oysters. The dangers of eating mussels are very real, although they have been grossly exaggerated. They depend in part upon whether the mussels have been feeding upon sewage. Mussels taken from the mouths of rivers or elsewhere where they can come into contact with sewage matter should never be eaten. The danger is much greater when the mussels are eaten raw. If they are boiled first the likelihood of harm resulting is considerably less. Practically all germs are destroyed by boiling, so that there is little fear of contracting typhoid from eating boiled mussels. Indeed the danger of catching typhoid is far less from eating mussels than it is from eating oysters, because the latter are nearly always eaten raw, whereas the former are usually cooked. But besides the dangers of contamination with sewage, there is another danger in eating mussels, that is, that mussels are very liable to quickly decompose, and in their decomposition to set free animal poisons of the most virulent description. This is the chief cause of the numerous deaths which occur from partaking of mussels. But when we consider the vast number of mussels eaten in England, especially in the North, it is no wonder deaths should now and then occur.

ARIEL.—If you wish your daughter to become a physician you must send her to a hospital where lady students are taken. She cannot by any possibility learn medicine without clinical instruction. The medicine which can be learnt from books is of no value without practical instruction. There is not such a thing as an amateur medical man or woman. A person is either a qualified and registered medical man, or else he is a quack, or a “medicine man” if you like. The law has lately shown its objection to such persons in very strong terms.

ANXIOUS ONE.—There are two causes of double chins, age and obesity, and they usually operate together. We cannot, alas! mitigate the effects of advancing years. We cannot prevent Father Time from meddling with us. The treatment of obesity we have over and over again described. The chief points to attend to are to reduce the amounts of starchy or sugary food taken; to take liquids only in great moderation; to forego alcohol in any form, and to take plenty of exercise daily. Tight lacing and wearing tight collars are also said to produce double chins.

VIOLET.—In an article called “Diet in Health and Sickness,” published in this magazine the year before last, you will find information about the treatment of obesity. The chief points to attend to are:—reduce the quantity of farinaceous and sweet food; avoid alcohol in all forms, and only take liquids of any kind in moderation; take plenty of exercise and avoid all drugs and nostrums.

LADICE.—1. One attack of eczema does predispose to others; but it is quite possible, indeed it is probable, that you will completely overcome the disease in time. The application that you are using is good, but the following is better, viz.:—lime water, olive oil and oxide of zinc, equal parts of each, shaken up into a cream. This forms a very soothing application. Is your hair free from scurf? Eczema of the face often follows from seborrhœa.—2. April 8, 1868, was a Sunday.

“AN OLD READER.”—We are sorry to say that we can give you but little help. The description of your illness is not sufficiently lucid for us to come to any conclusion as to what is wrong with you. And your account of the present trouble with your legs is also so incomplete that we can make nothing out of it. It may be due to flat-foot or sciatica, or one of a vast host of conditions. You had far better see the doctor who attended you during your last illness, as what you have now may be only a sequel to that disease.

CAT TONY.—Eustachian obstruction sometimes ends in complete deafness. More often partial deafness ensues. It is a very difficult complaint to treat. Complete cure is the exception rather than the rule; but some improvement is usually gained by medicinal measures. Sometimes it gets better of its own accord; but it is foolish to rely upon its doing so. Though certainly dangerous to hearing, it is not of itself of any vital danger.

SYBIL.—You tell us that you weigh 9 st. 12 lb., but you neglect to state your height. How is it possible for us to know whether you are stout or not? 9 st. 12 lb. is certainly rather heavy for a girl of seventeen; but then everything depends upon your height. The weight is nothing extraordinary; and as you say that your health is perfect you had far better take no notice of your condition. Unless really necessary, it is better for stout persons to remain as they are than to attempt to reduce their weight by means which must of themselves injure the health.

A SUBSCRIBER TO THE “G. O. P.”—Obviously you must be careful not to overtire yourself or get wet, since these bring on the attacks of neuralgia. During the attacks cover the course of the nerve with cotton wool, and take ten grains of citrate of caffeine. A small blister or other form of counter-irritation may give you relief; but it must not be used when the attack is acute.

GIRLS’ EMPLOYMENTS.

WOOD VIOLET (_Civil Service_).—A well-educated girl, such as the one you describe, is wise to try to enter the Civil Service at the age of sixteen. Under the new rule she is eligible from sixteen to eighteen for one of the posts of girl clerks. These girl clerks receive a salary of £35 the first year, £37 10s. the second and £40 the third. They can afterwards be promoted to the rank of Female Clerks, if they have shown themselves to be possessed of superior intelligence, otherwise they become sorters. The advantage of entering the Service young is, that a girl understands the routine of office work by the time she is old enough to hold a clerkship, whereas women entering for a clerkship as outsiders have their duties to learn. A Female Clerk begins at a salary of £55, and may eventually obtain a maximum of £100, and further may be promoted. A Female Sorter, in London, receives 12s. to £1 a week, and in the provinces 10s. to 21s. 6d. a week. There are also prospects of promotion for sorters. The examination is held in the ordinary English subjects, together with French and German. Edinburgh would be the nearest examination centre for you. The examinations are advertised in the principal papers on a Thursday some weeks before the date fixed. You would doubtless see the announcement by watching the pages of _The Scotsman_. Having seen the advertisement, write at once to the Secretary, Civil Service Commission, London, S.W., asking for a form of application. This you return, with the necessary details respecting yourself filled up, and you will then be informed the precise address of the place of examination and the other particulars you require to know. We think we have now told you all that is necessary. We have only to add that a girl who intends entering this examination should now occupy herself more particularly in acquiring a neat clerical handwriting, in studying English composition, and in perfecting herself in arithmetic and geography.

LA COMTESSE (_Dairy Work_).—You would expend £5 very wisely, it seems to us, in taking a month’s course of training at the Reading Dairy Institute. You had better wait till the spring, as you suggest, and then devote your attention as closely as possible to the practical dairy work and cheese-making. From renewed inquiry which we have made on the subject we still learn that women licensed at such schools as this obtain excellent posts as dairy-maids and managers of dairies, and receive salaries of about £25 with board and lodging. You should try on the completion of the course to get an appointment in the dairy of some large landed proprietor, and you might be willing to forego something in wages at first in order to work under a competent superintendent. The Principal of the Dairy Institute, we imagine, must constantly be asked to recommend trained pupils. In any case you should consult him as to the whole question of your suitability and prospects before engaging to take the course of tuition.

ANXIOUS (_Suggestions_).—If the sight of your one eye is thoroughly strong and satisfactory, you had better learn dressmaking. But if the eye is at all weak, it would be unwise to try it, and in this event cookery or laundry-work would be better. In the end we believe you will not be sorry that you have been considered ineligible as a shop-assistant. It is only in youth that a shop-assistant can be sure of obtaining employment; whereas the skilled worker at any trade can always earn her living.

LAUNDRESS (_Superintendentship or Opening for Laundry_).—If you have received a thorough training in laundry work, by which we mean not less than a year spent in learning the business, then by all means advertise for a post as superintendent or manageress. The National Laundry Association has lately fully corroborated all that has been said on the subject in the “G. O. P.” by drawing the special attention of educated women to the prospects that this business now offers under the steam laundry system. We hear continually of places where a laundry is required. Harringay, in the north of London, is one of those most recently mentioned to us. Requests have reached us also from Lichfield, Elstree and Richmond-on-Thames to recommend laundresses to establish themselves in those localities.

H. A. T. (_Training in a Children’s Hospital_).—At nineteen you are too young to be admitted as a probationer to any London children’s hospital. But when you are twenty you would be eligible, so far as age is concerned, for the East London Hospital for Children, Glamis Road, Shadwell, E. The vacancies there, however, are extremely few in proportion to the number of applications. No premium is required, and a salary of £10 is given the first year, £12 the second, and £20 the third, with laundry and uniform.

TEACHER.—We infer from your letter that the school in which you taught two years ago was a National School. It ought not then to be difficult for you to obtain employment of the same kind again. _The Guardian_, _The Church Times_ and _The Schoolmistress_, are the most likely papers in which to find advertisements of vacancies.

A “G. O. P.” READER (_Hospital Nursing_).—You can certainly apply to the matron of any of the chief London hospitals for admission as a probationer. You should enclose a stamp in order that the matron may reply to you.

MISCELLANEOUS.

E. SAUNDERS.—The receipt you name is legal, and we think you need feel no uneasiness. If properly stamped, dated, and signed, no names of witnesses are required.

PETITE.—Your letter does you much credit. The secret of preserving the colour of the flowers is to change the sheets of blotting-paper frequently; between which you lay them for the pressing. Your writing is very legible, but you reverse the rule for making light and heavy strokes. The copperplate copies employed for teaching to write would show you what we mean.

ORTHODOX.—The mistake of the so-called “Peculiar People” consists in their overlooking the divine injunction to “obey them that have the rule over you.” They are guilty of a breach of the law in not sending for a medical man to give an opinion of the case, and offer his advice and assistance, whether they avail themselves of his skill or not. We are speaking of adults. In the case of infants and children, of course, parents are bound to give them the benefit of medical aid; and in both cases a true and undoubting faith in the promises—in connexion with prayer—may be exercised _with_ the use of means nowhere forbidden in the Bible. The danger of the spread of any disease has to be provided against by the law—an act of mercy, not of cruel persecution, as these well-meaning but misguided people imagine it to be.

DELTA.—To preserve peas, fill some wide-necked, dry bottles with good corks, place them in a pan of cold water, with a little hay at the bottom, and set it on the fire, raising the temperature very gradually to 160°. Keep it at this point for twenty or thirty minutes. As the peas will shrink, fill each bottle, as far as the commencement of the neck, with peas from another bottle, taking care not to bruise them. When all the bottles are filled, remove the pan from the fire, take out each bottle separately, fill it to within an inch of the cork with boiling water; cork immediately, avoid shaking, and tie down the cork. Cover well with wax, and replace the bottles in the pan, where they should be left to cool gradually till cold. Then place the bottles in a dry, cool place, lying on their sides, turn them partially round twice a week during the first couple of months, and once or twice a month afterwards.

MOTHER.—Your question is one often raised. Should you desire to add a name to those already registered for your child (born in England), you must make application to the registrar who entered its name within seven days of its baptism. We mean to say—supposing that, six months after its registration, you wished to add a name at its baptism, go to the same registrar and state your wish within a week after the baptism. Procure the certificate of the latter from the clergyman (for a fee of one shilling), take it to the registrar, and pay a second fee of a shilling for the insertion of the name in the original registration.

MARGOT.—The honour of having been the first navigator who sailed round the world was earned by a Portuguese—_i.e._, Sebastien del Cano, who accomplished the voyage in the ship _Vittoria_. The unfortunate leader of the expedition was Ferdinand Magellan, who passed through the Straits November 28th, 1520, and was killed on one of the Philippine Islands the next year. The first attempt to discover the North-west passage was made by Corte Real in about 1500; also a Portuguese. But the first expedition correctly so-called was made by Sir Hugh Willoughby in 1553, who wished to discover a North-west passage to China. But he was blocked up by ice and frozen to death on the coast of Lapland.

A. CROSS.—There are “Y.W.C.A.” Homes in London. Amongst them, Cloudesley Home, 34, Barnsbury Street, Islington, 17, Aubert Park, Highbury, Seymour House, Portland Place, Lower Clapton, Ealing House, Uxbridge Road, Ealing, Kent House, 89, Great Portland Street, Princess House, Brompton Road, besides restaurants. Probably a communication of your arrangements in regard to letting rooms to young women at a reduced rate during the summer months, board as well as lodging supplied, at from 14s. a week, would bring your visitors from town. We are not acquainted with Corrymore, near Warminster, Wiltshire; but from what we have seen of Wiltshire, we can imagine the country to be pretty and the downs attractive.

E. DE M.—All girls who take our paper, and look to us for advice and instruction, we consider to be “our” girls. You are quite right in saying that you have more blessings than crosses. Sometimes the eyes of people are blind to this great truth. The great love of our heavenly Father towards us and His unerring wisdom in the trial of our faith and patience is but little realised. We hope your marriage will be for your happiness.

ETHELINDA.—Your hand is formed, and well formed. The French phrase, “_Au revoir_,” is an abbreviated one. In full it should be, “_Au plaisir de vous revoir_”—“to the pleasure of seeing you again.” As we have so often told our readers, French pronunciation cannot be given by English letters—at least, not often. The first word “_au_” (“to”) is an exception, for the sound is that of the letter “_o_.”

* * * * *

[Transcriber’s note: the following corrections have been made to this text.

Page 238: Yorkskire changed to Yorkshire—these Yorkshire cakes.

Page 239: crakers changed to crackers—flour or crackers.]