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shell crabs. The brook trout are to be served whole, on a napkin, but they should be cut through in convenient pieces before they are passed; a bed of watercress is best to use with these small fish; the mayonnaise is to be passed in a small bowl set in one that is larger, the space between filled with scraped ice. For the substantial course have two or more chickens boned, stuffed, and roasted, or if this seems too difficult, simply roast them and cut from the bones. The salad is new and pretty; break up two square cream cheeses and mix with two dozen olives and six pimentos, both chopped rather fine, or, instead, with two dozen pimolas, which are olives stuffed with pimentos; press this into a pan and put on ice, and when you wish to use it cut in strips and serve on lettuce with French dressing. The contrasting colors of the green olives, the scarlet pimentos, and the white cheese give a most attractive effect. For the sweet, take small spicy nutmeg melons, cut in halves, and remove the seeds; fill each half with a rich vanilla ice-cream, and serve on individual plates with small cakes. The coffee at a cold dinner should be the one hot article on the menu, if the weather at all permits; if only that which is iced will do, then have it really cold, with a little finely powdered ice in each glass and a
A COOL-LOOKING DECORATION.
spoonful of whipped cream on top; have this
passed on the veranda or lawn or in the
drawing-room—not at the table.
COLD TONGUE IN ASPIC JELLY. Clams on the half-shell; brown bread and butter.
Cold boiled salmon, sauce tartare; cucumbers.
Bar-le-Duc.; coffee. Small steaks of salmon are the best to get for this fish course, unless, indeed, you can have a whole fish; the small cutlets are easy to manage on the platter, as they keep their shape well. The chicken chartreuse is made by boiling a cup of rice, seasoning it well, and pressing it into a mould until it is an inch thick all over the bottom and sides. Then take cold chicken cut in small pieces— the canned will do nicely—and make a very rich sauce with a cup of cream, the yolk of an egg, the usual thickening of flour and butter, and a spoonful of sherry, with salt and a little red pepper; cook this till it is very thick, stir in the chicken, and let it absorb all the sauce it will, until the whole mass is so stiff it is difficult to stir; pack this into the mould, cover with another inch of rice, and put away to harden; pass on a round platter with a broad-bladed knife and spoon. The tongue is to be boiled, peeled, and wiped dry; then make a strong stock, either with meat and bones or else with beef extract, seasoned with lemon juice and a little onion, and set this with gelatine. Strain over the tongue in a deep pan and put on ice overnight; garnish with sliced lemon, and slice with a very sharp knife as it is passed, unless you have sliced it before it is packed in the pan, which is really the better way, though it is difficult to keep it in place while the jelly
proper consistency with whipped cream. Prepare the frozen melon by cutting large rounded spoonfuls from a ripe, sweet watermelon; remove the seeds, put in the freezer, cover with powdered sugar and sherry, and let it remain packed for at least five hours. The coffee at this dinner is to be hot, served with Bar-leDuc preserves and thin crackers. Omit these if you decide on iced coffee. One more menu may be easily arranged, for there are delicious cold dishes in plenty to choose from; indeed, a cold dinner is easier to plan than a hot one. In this meal a sherbet and ice are both used, but on a hot night probably the two will be welcome: Iced cantaloupe or clams. Jellied bouillon; brown bread and butter. Soft-shell crabs, sauce tartare. Cold duck; currant jelly; cauliflower with French dressing. Raspberry sherbet. Tomato and lettuce salad. Fancy ices; small cakes. Coffee; Brie cheese and wafers. To make the bouillon proceed as for aspic jelly; that is, either make a strong stock which will jelly of itself when cold and carefully clarify and strain it, or else take beef extract, add plenty of seasoning, lemon juice, and a little wine, and after straining set this with gelatine; in either case do not have it too stiff; just to set is all that is desirable. To serve it, break into small bits and put in bouillon-cups and have it very cold. Tiny sandwiches of thin Boston brown bread should accompany it. If crabs are not to be had, use the salmon suggested before. Duck and cauliflower are
always an excellent combination, but do not have the vegetable seem like a salad; use only enough French dressing to flavor it and pass it with the same plates as for the duck. Another meat course which is delicious and rather a novelty may be substituted for this one with a little trouble: Take slices of lamb, dip in mint sauce, and drain well; make an aspic as before and pour an inch into a mould; then put in a layer of pease, then the slices of lamb, then more pease, and fill up the mould with the jelly. The cauliflower will be nice.with this also. If the duck is omitted, alter the salad course and have slices of chicken breast on lettuce with stiff mayonnaise, in place of the tomatoes. Other cold dishes which may be used according to taste are salad of cold duck, watercress, and mayonnaise; pond-lily salad, which is made by cutting the whites of hard-boiled eggs lengthwise and laying these slices in radiating petals from a centre of the egg-yolk mixed with mayonnaise dressing; nasturtium salad; and salad of cherries with lettuce and French dressing. A pretty novelty is to serve the sauce tartare in half-lemons scooped out to make cups. These are passed on the same dish with the fish and make a very good garnish for the platter. A delightful cold relish to begin a summer dinner is a canapé of caviare, tomato, and mayonnaise. The foundation is a slice of not too fresh bread cut out with a round cutter. On this is spread a generous layer of caviare, and this in turn is surmounted by a thin slice of tomato spread with stiff mayonnaise. The
PIMOLA AND CHEESE SALAD.
tomato, which can stand almost any amount of salt, deliciously balances the salty flavor of the caviare. For cold desserts there are numberless sherbets, ices, crushed fruit, and iced puddings.
BY MARGARET HAMILTON WELCH
some other kind instead of being eaten by themselves. Raspberries, for instance, are much improved by having currants added to them.
The proportion should be two parts of raspberries and one of currants. The acid of the currant seems to bring out the full flavor of the more delicate raspberry. Blackberries are also excellent with raspberries, and the fine Logan berry is much superior to either.
It would seem as if the subject of the dangers lurking in drinking-water had been written upon until every one in the world must not only be aware of them, but continually on guard against them. Such is, however, not the case, as is proved most sadly each fall by the typhoid-fever epidemics which very often have their origin in some apparently pure and sparkling stream. The housewife who has taken a rented house for the summer or who is boarding is very fortunate if she can be absolutely sure of the purity of the water-supply. If there be even a suspicion that all is not as it should be, do not grudge the labor involved in boiling the drinking-water each day. That is the only way to be sure. It seems a bother now, but what is it when compared with a siege of treacherous typhoid in the autumn !
The mother of little girls between five and ten years of age is beginning to include among their summer clothes a pair of “overalls” such as a few years ago were considered suitable only for their small brothers. In one family the morning finds three little boys playing in the garden, climbing trees, or tearing over the fields. In the afternoon “Peter’’ and “Nicolas’ have been transformed into Annie and Bessie, Harry alone being entitled to trousers at all times' The mother of this especial group of children is quite enthusiastic over the dress. She says that not only do the overalls save the little girls’ dresses and thereby much laundry work, but that they are a much safer garment for hard play than skirts, however short. She adds also that the little girls do all their romping and climbing now in the morning, so that they are very demure, neat little maidens when the afternoon visitor arrives.
A Fourth-of-July dinner, like the Thanksgiving feast, should be as distinctively American as possible. In New England forty years ago the orthodox dishes for the Fourth were salmon, green pease, lobster salad, and strawberry shortcake. Other dishes might be added, but these were imperative. Here is a menu which keeps in the main to old traditions: clam soup; boiled salmon and green pease; roast chicken with corn-meal dumplings; lobster salad; strawberry shortcake. The only unfamiliar item in this to the modern housewife are the dumplings. These are made by stirring white corn-meal into boiling water until you have a stiff mush. Mould into balls,
a | "HE flavor of many berries is much enhanced if they are mixed with cover with butter, and brown in the oven. Where salmon cannot be procured the lobster may be made into the fish course, and a plain lettuce salad take its place at the end of the dinner. Strawberry shortcake has degenerated so in these later days that a good old-fashioned recipe may not be unwelcome. The shortcake is always better if served in individual portions rather than in one large cake. Take one quart of flour, sift into it two teaspoonfuls of baking-powder, add half a cupful of lard and half a cupful of butter mixed together, and cut through the flour; add two tablespoonfuls of sugar, ice-water enough to make a smooth paste. Roll out thin and spread with butter. Fold over and cut out with a biscuit-cutter. Take three quarts of strawberries, hull and pick over, keeping out a quart of the smaller berries. Cut these into small pieces and cover with a pint of granulated sugar. Let them stand for an hour. Pour this sauce of crushed berries over the hot shortcake, and ornament each plate with a generous supply of the whole, large berries. This rule makes enough for fourteen people.
This month holds a day dear to the heart of the small boy and replete with anxiety for the careful mother—-the “Great and Glorious Fourth.” Were this the proper place, it would afford the writer great satisfaction to offer an earnest protest against our barbarous method of celebrating the national birthday. As it is not and as small children will each year be sacrificed to their love of powder, all one can do is to make a few suggestions which may tend to minimize the danger. If toy cannon and toy pistols are prohibited, two great elements of risk may be eliminated. A careful mother of six children always saved out of the winter clothes well-worn garments for “Fourth of July,” realizing that the wool did not run the same chance of being ignited by a stray spark as would ordinary summer clothing. For the burnt fingers which can hardly be escaped there is no better remedy than the old household one of lime-water and sweet oil in equal parts, the bottle to be well shaken before being used. If even that simple remedy is not at hand, a white of egg is a good substitute.
In one of the many cottage settlements which now dot our mountains and sea-shores, a fancy for what is known as the sunken hearth has spread through many buildings. It originated as such things often do, in an accident. One cottager found, to her dismay, that the chimney piece was settling; it was only when nothing could be done but to make the best of it that she found it to be literally the best. Several of her neighbors, in building homes, were glad to achieve the same result. The floor in front of the fire and running around the three sides which make a fireplace forms a shelf, or step. The chimney is built up to the level of the floor, and on this stone slab the fire is laid, like the family altar which that fire once represented. Another device popular in other settlements where the open fire still plays an important part is a sort of platform to take the place of the step. This is perhaps equally effective, but its chief objection is that it does not so easily lend itself to the family circle's use. The sunken hearth may be turned to account as a seat. The raised hearth cannot be closely approached, and the great desideratum of an open fire is not its beauty as the “live thing in a dead room,” which Sydney Smith called it, but the closer intimacy and freedom from formality implied and almost invariably attained in the drawing into a semicircle of a company about its genial glow, its changing glories of flame and flicker.
Some one tried recently to make flour paste with pastry flour—which sounds rather like a conundrum. At any rate, she was obliged to give it up. It could not be made to thicken. Many nervous women affirm that they find themselves greatly benefited when they follow the plan of, every hour or two, taking a drink of water, cool and fresh. Medical men declare that we should be helped in various ways if we were more thoughtful and persistent in this respect. It is certainly a simple rule for health, and one quite within the reach of the busiest of us. Certain paragraphs of an interesting article on “Guest Rooms ” in a household magazine provoke reply. The author contends that “too large a responsibility for the guest is often felt . . . and thereby the real pleasure of his visit is lost.” May one ask, lost to whom? To the visitor? She adds in the person of “a charming hostess’”; “If my house were changed for each guest there would be confusion all the time ’’—again, for the charming hostess. Of course neither she nor the guest should be sacrificed, but, if one must be, surely it should be the former, since the one need not invite, while the other may be powerless to refuse the invitation. “Too large a responsibility’—too large anything—is not desirable, but here one's sympathies are with David Harum’s conclusion, “A little too big is about the right size.” While no one desires what used to be called “broiled hostess' for the first course, the pendulum swings of late rather far in the opposite direction. Certain folk apparently suppose they offer the highest proof of their regard in dispensing with ceremony. They do not consider that possibly ceremony may be preferred. As a popular woman once remarked: “I detest those tables where they “don’t put themselves out for me.' I want them to put themselves out for me. I want something good to eat.” Every one appreciates the offhand hospitality that gives us freely a share of the already prepared meal. But, if one is formally requested to so far “put oneself out ’’ as to come for the purpose, it is at least fair to expect the hostess to put herself out somewhat, as well. No flattery is so delicate as that implied in respectful treatment. It has been proved again and again, in cases of illness, that the patient, when inclined to listen to reading aloud, likes best a short story, and that Miss Mary Wilkins's New England tales are always heartily enjoyed. Of these only the cheerful ones are selected, but their gentle humor, clear expression, and direct point are peculiarly appreciated. One family finds its copies of A Humble Romance and A New England Nun not only in demand in illness in the house, but as well to lend to invalid neighbors. Some one suffering from chapped hands and purchasing a remedy therefor at a druggist's, was told by him that the basis of all washes used for that purpose was quince seed. “Then I'll make my own,” she said, promptly. “As long as I don’t want to keep it long I shall not have any trouble about preserving it.” Accordingly she purchased five cents’ worth of the seed, boiled it, strained the resultant jelly, thinned it with witch-hazel extract and—cured her hands. Naphtha soap may be very successfully used in cleaning spots from one's clothing, but one essential must be remembered: The soap is useless if tried with warm or hot water. Only cold water can be employed with it.