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Title: The Lady's Country Companion; Or, How to Enjoy a Country Life Rationally

Author: Mrs. Loudon

Release date: January 31, 2018 [eBook #56477]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at Free
        Literature (Images generously made available by the Internet
        Archive.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY'S COUNTRY COMPANION; OR, HOW TO ENJOY A COUNTRY LIFE RATIONALLY ***




Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at Free
Literature (Images generously made available by the Internet
Archive.)





THE LADY'S COUNTRY COMPANION;

OR,

HOW TO ENJOY A COUNTRY LIFE RATIONALLY.


BY

MRS. LOUDON,

AUTHOR OF "GARDENING FOR LADIES," ETC.


WITH

An Engraving on Steel, and Illustrations on Wood.


FOURTH EDITION.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.
1852.

[Illustration]




PREFACE.


In the present edition of the "Lady's Country Companion," a reduction
has been made in the price, to render the work still more generally
useful than it has hitherto been; but in all other respects it is
essentially the same.

The principal object of this work is to save young housekeepers the
pain and trouble of buying their own experience; and though it is
particularly addressed to those residing in the country, I have had the
satisfaction of finding that it has been in many cases almost equally
useful to those living in towns. It may, however, be interesting to
my readers to know that it was originally written for the benefit of
a young friend, who was precisely in the position I have represented
Annie to be in, and who, knowing I had resided in the country in
my youth, asked my advice. Of course, in preparing the work for
publication, many things were added or enlarged on, particularly in
the parts relating to cooking and gardening, and in the suggestions
for altering and furnishing the house; but nearly all the housekeeping
and farm-yard details were the result of my personal experience. It
happened in my youth, that my father, who was in the law, was obliged,
from ill health, to give up his profession, and to reside in the
country; and as my mother was dead I kept his house. I had thus to
practise what I have here attempted to teach; and I shall be only too
happy if I am the means of sparing others the annoyances I suffered
myself.

I have stated these facts now, as it is possible, from the gradually
declining state of my health, I may not have another opportunity of
mentioning them in their proper place, and as I think my readers will
be likely to place more confidence in my counsels when they know they
are founded on realities. I have always been anxious to make my books
useful, but I am now still more so than ever I was before.

J. W. LOUDON.

_Bayswater, Dec._ 10, 1851.




CONTENTS.


Preface

List of Engravings


LETTER I.
INTRODUCTION.                                                 1


BOOK I. THE HOUSE.

LETTER II.
First Impressions of the Country.--Making Fires.

LETTER III.
Hall.--Morning Room.--Book-Cases.--Plants in
Pots.--Squirrels, Canary Birds, Parrots and Macaws, Monkeys,
Gold Fish, and Cut Flowers.--Drawing-room.--Dining-room.

LETTER IV.
Flies.--Servants' Offices, including the Housekeeper's
Room and Store Closet, the Kitchen, and the
Scullery.--Brewing; making Home-made Wines, Cider, and
Perry; and making Bread, Rolls, Cakes, Rusks, Muffins
and Crumpets, and Biscuits.

LETTER V.
Impromptu Cookery.--Soups.--Poultry.--Pigeons.--Game.--Salads
of Cold Meat and Potatoes.--Modes of
dressing Potatoes and Carrots.--Sauces.--Omelettes,
Creams, and Side Dishes.--Miscellaneous Cookery.--National
Cookery.--The French Pot-au-Feu.--Italian
Macaroni.--German Sauer Kraut--Polish Barsch.--Spanish
Olla Podrida and Puchero.--Scotch Haggis, Barley
Broth and Hotch-potch.--English Plum-pudding.
Puddings.--Potato Flour.--Pickles.--Pork Pies.

LETTER VI.
The Larder.--Salting Meat, Bacon, and Hams.--The
Dairy.--Management of Milk.--Making and keeping
Butter.--Making Cheese of various Kinds.--Ice-House,
Ice-Cellar, and Ice-Cooler.--Ice-Creams.


BOOK II. THE GARDEN.

LETTER VII.
Planting a regular Geometrical Flower-Garden.--List of
Plants.--Mode of laying out regular Figures on the
Ground.--Rules for arranging Colours.--Planting Side
Beds.--Plants with fragrant Flowers.--Culture of
Bulbs.--Reserve Ground.--Culture of Annuals, Perennials,
and Biennials.--Hotbeds and Frames for raising and
keeping Half-hardy Flowers.

LETTER VIII.
Use of Plant-Houses.--Nature of Climates.--Different
Kinds of Hothouses.--The Dry Stove, the Bark Stove,
and the Orchideous House.--Culture of Plants in the
Bark Stove.--Aquarium and Water Plants.--Red
Spider.--Culture of Succulent Stove Plants.--Culture
of Orchideous Plants.--The Greenhouse.--The Australian
House, and Culture of its Plants.--The common
Greenhouse, the Heath House, the Conservatory, the
Orangery, and the Camellia House.--The Culture of
Plants in the common Greenhouse.--Potting
Plants.--Heaths.--Culture of Plants in the
Conservatory.--Culture of Orange Trees.--Aphides.

LETTER IX.
The Park and Pleasure-Grounds.--Situation of old
Houses.--Water.--Forest Scenery.--Effect of a Shrubbery in
harmonising a Flower-Garden with a Park.--Opening
Vistas.--Scenes in a Park.--Fences against Cattle.--Styles
in Gardening.--Use of a Terrace.--Patte d'Oie.--Planting
an Architectural Garden.--Planting an
Arboretum.--Renovating Turf.

LETTER X.
Laying out a Kitchen-Garden.--Making Gravel Walks.--Box
Edgings.--Crops of Culinary Vegetables.--Cucumbers,
Melons, and Mushrooms.

LETTER XI.
The Management of Fruit Trees.--Planting.--Protecting
the Blossoms.--Stone Fruits.--Fig Trees.--Grapes.--Management
of a Vinery.--Growing Pine-apples.--Forcing
Peaches and Nectarines.--Standard Fruit Trees.--Kernel
Fruits.--Fruit Shrubs.--Strawberries.--Tart-Rhubarb.

LETTER XII.
Operations of Gardening.--Digging, Forking, and
Hoeing.--Sowing Seeds.--Taking off Suckers.--Making Layers
and Cuttings.--Budding, Grafting, and Inarching.--Pruning
and Training.--Disbudding.--Manuring.--Keeping Fruit in a
Fruit-Room.


BOOK III. DOMESTIC ANIMALS.

LETTER XIII.
Quadrupeds kept for Amusement.--Horses for riding and
driving in Pony Carriages.--Mules, Zebras, Quaggas,
and Donkeys.--Dogs and Cats.

LETTER XIV.
Quadrupeds kept for supplying Food.--Cows, Calves,
Goats, Pigs, Rabbits, and Deer.

LETTER XV.
Inhabitants of the Poultry-Yard: Fowls, Turkeys, Guinea
Fowls, Geese, Ducks, and Pigeons.--Peacocks and
Hens.--Diseases of Poultry, and their Cure.

LETTER XVI.
The Inhabitants of the Ponds: Fish and Aquatic Fowls,
including Swans, exotic Geese and Ducks.--Inhabitants
of the Woods: including Pheasants and Partridges,
Herons and Bitterns.--Aviary.--Apiary, and the
Management of Bees.--Silk-worms.


BOOK IV. RURAL WALKS.

LETTER XVII.
Shoes and Apparatus for Walking.--Rural Seats.--Natural
Objects noted in a Country Walk; the Mole; the Shrike;
the Black Snail; the Siller Cups; the Woundwort.--Pleasures
of studying Botany.--Granite.--Appearance
of the Clouds.


BOOK V. COUNTRY AMUSEMENTS.

LETTER XVIII.
Archery: Targets; Self Bows and Backed Bows; Bowstrings;
Arrows; Arm Bracer and Shooting-Glove; Belt and Tassel; and
Quiver.--Sketching in the open Air: Block-Book and Pencils;
Artist's Colours; Touch of the different
Trees.--Swinging.--Pleasure-Boats.--Skating.--Sporting Terms.


BOOK VI. COUNTRY DUTIES.

LETTER XIX.
Relation between a Landed Proprietor and the Cottagers
on his Estate.--How to relieve the Poor.--Establishing
Schools.--Teaching the Daughters of the Poor to
make Clothes, and teaching them Cooking.--Employing
the Poor.--Assisting the Poor in Illness.--Making
Clothes for the Poor.

INDEX.




LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.


      Frontispiece. The Manor-House in its original State.
1.    Ground Plan of the Manor-House.
2.    Spigot and Faucet.
3.    Mash-stirrer.
4.    Mash-tub.
5.    Fruit-crusher.
6.    Cabbage-cutting Machine for preparing Sauer Kraut.
      Garden Front of the Manor-House in its improved State.
7.    Radiated Geometrical Flower-garden.
8.    Square Geometrical Flower-garden
9.    Diagram for forming the Beds of Flower-gardens.
10.   Diagram for forming the Beds of Flower-gardens.
11.   Diagram for forming the Beds of Flower-gardens.
12.   Compound Geometrical Flower-garden.
13.   Park Fence.
14.   Poultry-yard.
15.   Sitting-box for Hens.
16.   Hen-roost
17.   Hen-coop.
18.   Nidulària campanulàta.




LETTER I.

INTRODUCTION.


Your letter, my dear Annie, informing me that you are about to be
married and to settle in the country, has interested me exceedingly,
as it reminds me of my own youth, when my first essays in housekeeping
were made under circumstances very similar to those in which you will
be placed. It is true I was not then married, but, as my mother was
dead, the care of the house devolved on me; and I knew even less about
household affairs than most girls of my age and rank in life, as my
mother had an old and favourite housekeeper, who managed every thing,
and who would not suffer the slightest interference in her department.
When my mother died, this person left us; and my father, with a
shattered constitution and a greatly diminished fortune, retired to a
small estate he had in the country. I was then young and thoughtless;
I had no sisters; and having, like you, been brought up in a town, I
had no ideas of the country but as a place where eggs, cream, and fruit
were in abundance; where I might keep as much poultry as I liked; and
where there were shady lanes, and green fields abounding with pretty
flowers.

The place we went to live at had a good house, commanding a splendid
view; an excellent garden; three fish-ponds, and about thirty acres of
grass land, which enabled us to keep cows and horses, without troubling
us with any of the laborious duties of cultivating arable land.

At first I was enchanted with the change. I was never tired of feeding
my poultry, watching the dairy-maid, and managing the fruit and
flowers; but, alas! I soon found that there are few roses without
thorns. My first trouble was three gentlemen calling on us one day
unexpectedly, and my father asking them to stay dinner. We were seven
miles from the town where we had formerly lived; and, though there was
a small town within two miles of us, the road was bad, and the miles
very long ones; while the town itself, when we reached it, was one
of those provoking places the shopkeepers of which never have what
is wanted, though they always say they had abundance of the required
article the week before, and believe they shall have it again the week
after. I need not enter into the details of my troubles in preparing
for this well-remembered dinner. Meat was out of the question; and
though I was enabled, with infinite difficulty, to give my father's
friends enough to eat, no one but a young housekeeper in a similar
situation can have any idea of what I suffered. The lesson, however,
was not lost upon me; and you may easily imagine that ever afterwards I
took care to have a cooked piece of hung beef, or ham, or some similar
substantial article of food in the house, that I might be provided for
a similar occurrence.

The recollection of what I underwent while buying my experience makes
me anxious to spare you, my dear Annie, the pain of a similar ordeal;
particularly as it is more disagreeable for a young newly married woman
to feel in housekeeping difficulties than a single one; as it makes you
fear your husband had a higher opinion of you than you deserve. In your
situation the difficulty is increased by your husband not having lived
at the Manor-House since the death of his parents, when he was only ten
years old; so that he can have no idea of the petty troubles you will
be exposed to. Under these circumstances I will do my best to clear the
path that lies before you, and to teach you how to enjoy rationally a
country life.

[Illustration: _The Manor-House in its original State._]




BOOK I. THE HOUSE.


LETTER II.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE COUNTRY--MAKING FIRES.


You complain, my dear Annie, that when I wrote to congratulate you on
your marriage, I did not send you any of the advice I promised. The
neglect was intentional. I was unwilling to disturb the happiness of
the honeymoon by any allusion to the troubles of life; but now that
you are actually arrived at the mansion which is to be your future
dwelling, I will not delay any longer beginning the fulfilment of my
task. I am sorry to hear that you felt chilled and depressed at the
first appearance of the Manor-House; though I am not surprised that
you found the room you were ushered into dark and cold, since you tell
me that the windows are shaded by some lofty Scotch pines, which are
certainly the most gloomy of all the vegetable race, and which must
necessarily impede both the light and the warmth of the sun. You add
that you are ten miles from a market-town, and at least seven from
any visitable neighbours; that the kitchen-garden is a mile from
the house, and under the care of a cross old gardener, who cannot be
displaced; that there is no separate flower-garden; and, in short,
that if it were not for your affection for your husband, you would be
miserable.

Your letter would make me very uneasy on your account if I had not
had a good deal of experience of the world; but I am comforted when I
reflect that in early youth the vehemence of our feelings always makes
us exaggerate both our pains and our pleasures. Have you ever looked at
a landscape through a window of coloured glass, and remarked the cold
and miserable appearance presented through the purple pane, contrasted
with the rich glow thrown upon every object by the orange glass? Both
give a false idea of the reality; but the impressions thus received are
not more erroneous than those we often experience of what passes around
us, when viewed through the medium of our feelings. I thus consider
your letter as produced by a view taken through the purple glass; and I
am far from believing that you will dislike the country when you know
it better; and still less do I give credence to your vehement assertion
that you never can be happy in your present residence.

Happiness, I suspect, in most cases, depends more upon ourselves than
we are generally willing to allow; and I am quite sure that young
married people who are attached to each other, and have a competency,
may be happy if they will, particularly in the country, where their
principal amusements must all centre in home. You will, perhaps, be
surprised to find that I think this a cause of happiness, but you will
find in time that I am right; and that our chances of being happy
decrease in proportion as we depend upon others for our enjoyments. I
cannot conceive a more miserable life than that of a beauty who has no
pleasure but in being admired; and who, consequently, must pass her
time in fits of alternate depression and excitement. It would give
me the greatest pain to see you plunge into this species of mental
intoxication, and I rejoice that you are placed in a situation where
you will not be exposed to the temptations arising from bad example.
In this respect your present abode seems to be everything I could
wish; as, from the description you have given me of the difficulties
attending visiting your neighbours they seem to be enough to cure the
most ardent lover of dissipation; and, unless the neighbours be more
than commonly agreeable, I think you will not feel inclined--

    ----"Frequent visits to make
    Through ten miles of mud for formality's sake,
    With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog,
    And no thought in your head but a ditch or a bog."

Do not suppose from this that I think you should be unsociable; on
the contrary, I think it a duty to mix occasionally with the world,
as, unless we do so, we should soon learn to set a false value upon
ourselves and upon every thing around us. The society of persons in our
own rank in life is, therefore, essential to teach us our true level;
and I have no doubt you will find some agreeable persons among your
neighbours when you know them better, whose friendship you will think
worth cultivating.

I will now take your objections to your residence in detail; and we
will try if some remedy cannot be devised for them. I am glad your
house is large. In town, we are often content to put up with the
inconveniences occasioned by want of room, as we know that space is
valuable, and cannot always be had; but, in the country, where we
feel the free air, and see no houses before us, it seems hard to be
confined. You may also find it convenient, in the winter, to have room
to take exercise within doors; and I hope you have a good-sized hall or
gallery to play at battledore and shuttlecock in; for that is a game
not to be despised in the list of country amusements. The trees are
certainly an objection. Our ancestors seem to have had strange ideas
about planting trees in front of a dwelling. It is true, that the
modern conveniences of blinds and verandas were then probably unknown;
and, therefore, a few trees were judged agreeable to shade the windows
from the glaring light and heat of the sun. At least, this appears
to me the only way of accounting for the strange manner in which we
often see trees placed close to the windows of an ancient manor-house,
as though purposely to intercept the prospect, and to impede the
entrance of two of the greatest blessings of nature, light and free
air. I should hope that your husband will consent to have these trees
cut down, or at least thinned out; and I am sure he will find the
sacrifice amply repaid by the air of cheerfulness which will be given
to his rooms. I have also no doubt that when these rooms are better
ventilated, and the sun is permitted to reach them, you will find them
warmer; though I confess that a country-house is generally colder than
one of the same size in town. I do not mean from the size of the rooms,
for large rooms, having fewer draughts, are less difficult to warm
than small ones; but because houses in the country are more exposed to
the wind, and the air round them is colder than in towns. In some old
country-houses the rooms are small, and there are numerous long, narrow
passages, which are sure to produce draughts: but to cure this evil,
thick curtains may be suspended over the doors, care being taken not
to prevent the doors from opening freely; or there may be double doors
and double windows.

In warming a room, if an open fireplace be used, a good deal depends
upon the mode of managing the fire. Servants are very apt to throw on a
quantity of coals at once, in such a manner as to smother up the flame;
and, when this is the case, the heated air produced by the imperfect
combustion of the coals passes up the chimney with the smoke, and very
little warmth enters the room. If, on the contrary, the coals are
carefully arranged on the fire so as to allow a free current of air
to pass through them, perfect combustion takes place, and the coals
become a glowing mass, from which rays of light and heat spread in
every direction; while the cheerful appearance of a bright glowing fire
must be felt by every one. Where an opportunity occurs of altering a
fireplace, its capability for diffusing radiant heat will be greatly
increased by making the back and sides of fire-brick or fire-stone; as
these substances retain heat much longer than any kind of metal, and
are consequently more likely to prevent the fire from being chilled by
the addition of fresh coal. Drying the coal before burning it is an
excellent plan to prevent smoking, as it makes the fire exceedingly
bright and fierce. It is true that the coal appears to vanish with
extraordinary rapidity, but the combustion is so complete, that a much
greater quantity of radiant heat is evolved from the same quantity of
fuel.

In many country places it is convenient to burn wood, especially where
the fireplaces are large, as wood burns best on the hearth, or with the
logs supported by what are called andirons or dogs; and fires of this
kind harmonise admirably with large rooms and the general appearance of
the fittings up of an old country-house. A wood fire, however, requires
a good deal of attention to manage it well, as, without care, it will
often go out before the logs are half burnt; especially when wood is
burnt in a grate, unless it is mixed with a little coal, and there is
a plate at the bottom of the grate to keep in the ashes. It must also
be remembered, that, though large logs are very useful to make a large
fire, yet, when a quick supply of heat is required, it is best to use
wood cut into short thick pieces; and that wood burns much better when
dry than when green. Green wood, indeed, contains about one-third of
its weight of water, which of course evaporates in the shape of vapour,
and this vapour aids in carrying the heat up the chimney; dry wood, on
the contrary, produces a clear bright fire, which gives out radiant
heat. Opinions differ as to what kind of wood is best for fuel. Pine
wood burns freely, from the quantity of turpentine it contains, but
it does not give out much heat. Beech is preferred on the continent
of Europe, and maple in America; but Count Rumford says that the
greatest mass of radiant heat is produced by the fuel of the lime tree.
Generally speaking, close-grained smooth woods make better fuel than
those the grain of which is open and rough. Pine cones are admirable
for lighting a fire; and you will find the gloomy Scotch pines, which
have so annoyed you with their shade, may be useful in this respect, as
producing an article of domestic economy.

If any of your chimneys should smoke, the usual remedy is contracting
the mouth of the chimney, or raising it higher by the addition of a
chimney-pot. The last is a most unsightly remedy, and I hope you will
not have occasion to try it. Indeed, old houses seldom smoke, unless
their chimneys are damp for want of use, or that birds have built in
them; though nothing can be more common than to have smoky chimneys in
modern houses. One reason, I believe, is, that newly built chimneys
very often smoke because they have not been properly cored; that is,
the projecting pieces of mortar, &c., which are formed inside the
chimney while it is building, have not been removed, and prevent the
proper ascent of the smoke. Another common fault in modern fireplaces
is, that they are too shallow to allow sufficient space for the grate;
and, when the grate is set too far forward into the room, it is evident
that a very strong draught will be required to draw the smoke up the
chimney. Neither of these faults is common in old houses; in them the
chimneys are generally as smooth inside as the walls of the room,
and the fireplaces are usually two feet deep, or even more, instead
of being only nine inches, as I am told is the case with some modern
villas. I say nothing about stoves, as I confess myself prejudiced
against them, from the numerous fires they have occasioned; and I
think open fireplaces not only safer and more agreeable, but much
more conducive to health, as they aid in ventilating the apartments,
and without a constant change of air there can be neither health nor
happiness.

In speaking of the different kinds of fuel, I forgot to mention peat
and charcoal, but you will find these more useful in the kitchen than
in the parlour; and coke I would not advise you to employ, on account
of its close unpleasant smell.




LETTER III.

HALL.--MORNING ROOM.--BOOK-CASES; PLANTS IN POTS; SQUIRRELS;
CANARY BIRDS, PARROTS AND MACAWS; MONKEYS; GOLD FISH; AND CUT
FLOWERS.--DRAWING-ROOM.--DINING-ROOM.


I have just received your letter, enclosing a plan of your house and
a sketch of its present appearance; and, I confess, it appears to me
that you have not complained of its gloominess without having abundant
reason for doing so. Pray tell your husband, however, that I fully
sympathise with his reluctance to cut down trees that he has been
familiar with from his boyhood; and that, so far from liking to see
wood felled myself, I feel positive pain when even the large limb of
a noble tree falls to the ground. But I think it a weakness to give
way too much to this feeling; and, if I had a favourite tree that I
was convinced was injurious to the health, or even to the comfort, of
human beings, I would instantly have it cut down, in the same manner
as I would submit, without hesitation, to the amputation of an arm or
a leg, if I had sustained an injury that I was quite sure could not
be cured in any other way. You say you felt excessively pained when
your husband said, that, though he did not think any circumstances
could ever have induced him to order those trees to be cut down, he
was quite delighted to have such an opportunity of pleasing you; and
that, when you heard the workmen employed in cutting the trees down the
following morning, you felt every blow they struck, and you thought he
must hate you for wishing him to make such a sacrifice. These feelings
are quite natural; but, in my opinion, the readiness with which your
husband complied with your wishes will strengthen the bond of affection
between you instead of weakening it, as there cannot possibly be a
stronger proof of love than is shown in sacrificing our prejudices in
favour of the beloved object; and I am sure, with your grateful and
amiable disposition, you will be delighted to prove that you can make
sacrifices in your turn, whenever a proper opportunity for doing so may
occur.

I am sure the removal of these trees will make the house appear more
cheerful; and I can now only recommend you strongly to take care that
your rooms are well ventilated, by the windows being always opened in
fine weather, whenever the rooms are unoccupied, for, I repeat, though
you laughed at my former assertion, that a free circulation of air is
essential both to health and happiness. You ask, how is it possible
that fresh air can contribute towards happiness? and I, in return,
ask you if you have never felt the influence of a fine clear bracing
morning in making you feel gay and happy, quite independently of moral
causes. On such occasions,

    "The bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne,"

and we feel equal to any exertion that may be required of us. Look
at the contrast between country children, as they run shouting and
laughing only from the irrepressible glee of their own hearts, and the
children of a close and over-populated town, who creep from school
shivering and sad, with countenances as dull as the appearance of the
atmosphere they are compelled to breathe. You enjoy in the country the
inestimable advantage of being able to procure as much fresh air as you
like, only by opening your windows; but the inhabitants of towns, when
they throw open their sashes, often admit air more impure than that
already in their rooms.

I will now give you my opinion as to the best method of furnishing your
rooms, so as to make them look as cheerful as possible.

[Illustration: Fig. 1. _Ground Plan_--1, Hall. 2, Morning room and
library. 3, Drawing-room. 4, Dining-room. 5, Gentlemen's business
room. 6, Staircase. 7, Passages to offices. 8, Housekeeper's room and
store closet. 9, Dressing-room for men-servants. 10, Butler's pantry.
11, Kitchen. 12, Scullery. 13, Servants' hall. 14, Room for female
servants. 15, Dry larder, or pantry. 16. Wet larder and salting room.
17, Laundry. 18, Cheese room. 19, Butter room. 90, Churning-room.
21, Dairy. 22. Kitchen court. 23, Road to stable. 24, Terrace. 25,
Conservatory.]

I see by the plan (fig. 1.) that you have a good-sized _hall_, so that
you will have room for playing at battledore and shuttlecock after all;
and I repeat that it is a game not to be despised, though you do speak
so contemptuously of the

    "Transports that shuttlecock yields."

I think you do wrong to treat with so much scorn these trifling
amusements. It is the part of true wisdom to enjoy every harmless
pleasure which falls within our reach, provided we do not occupy,
by so doing, those hours which ought to be devoted to more serious
employments. Thus, if you do not like battledore and shuttlecock,
perhaps you may billiards, and your hall would do admirably for a
billiard-table. The small room on the right hand is your husband's
business-room, and it is very conveniently situated, as people who
want to see him on justice-business, or to show him dogs, or any thing
relating to sporting, &c., can go in by the side glass door, without
entering the house.

On the other side of the hall is the room you thought so gloomy the
night you first arrived; and this I would advise you to fit up partly
as a _library_, and partly as a _morning sitting-room_. I see that one
of the windows faces the east; and this you will find is in itself
sufficient to make the room pleasant for a morning room, as you will
have the rising sun upon it, and that always diffuses an agreeable
warmth in a room, at a period of the day when warmth is particularly
agreeable. I wish the other window looked on a flower-garden, as it
faces the south; and, now that the gloomy Scotch pines have been cut
down, it would be just a little sheltered place, where flowers would
delight to grow, particularly if your husband would consent to remove
a small cedar that I see still casts a shade upon it. However, we must
not ask for too much at once; and, till your flower-garden is made,
I would advise you to have a few plants in pots in the east window.
Remember though, you must have only a few plants, as more than five
or six would give the window the appearance of being a substitute for
a greenhouse, a most unpleasant idea at any time, and particularly so
in the country. Two rather tall and spreading geraniums, with showy
trusses of flowers, a large well-trained Sóllya heterophýlla, a fine
Polýgala oppositifòlia, and two showy well-grown Fuchsias, will be
quite enough. They should be in large handsome pots, standing in
saucers for the sake of cleanliness; and care should be taken not to
fill the pots with earth higher than to within about an inch from
the brim, so as to leave plenty of room for watering. The space left
should be filled with water every morning, and the water suffered to
run through the pots into the saucers; which, after waiting about ten
minutes, or more if necessary, so to allow as much water as possible
to drain through the earth in the pots, should be emptied, as nothing
can be more injurious to most kinds of plants in pots than to let
water stand in their saucers. If a constant fire be kept in the room
so that the air is always hot and dry, the pots in which the plants
are kept should be set within other pots, and the space between the two
filled with moss. This is also a good plan with plants in balconies,
to prevent the roots of the plants becoming dry and withered. Plants
in rooms always require a great deal more water than plants in a
greenhouse, to counteract the dry atmosphere of a living-room; and
when practicable they should be set out in the rain, or syringed over
head, to wash off the dust which, from sweeping the room and other
causes, will inevitably rest on the leaves and choke up their pores,
thus impeding the action of these very important organs. Air also is as
essential to the health of plants as it is to that of human beings, as
both live by decomposing it; and thus when plants are kept in a room,
that room requires to be more carefully ventilated than would otherwise
be necessary.

You say that all your rooms must be completely new furnished, and ask
my advice as to the colours of the curtains, &c., in the different
rooms. It is extremely difficult to give this, as taste differs
exceedingly as to colours. As general rules, however, it may be
observed that cold colours, such as pale blues and greens, never look
well in rooms lighted from the north; and that warm colours, such
as rich yellows and reds, should be avoided in rooms lighted from
the south. As, however, it is desirable, if possible, to shake off
the dislike you have taken to what I hope you will make your morning
sitting-room, and as that dislike has arisen partly from the gloomy
dark green curtains and dingy tapestry on the walls, I would advise
you to adopt only light colours in the furniture; particularly as the
room will be generally used by daylight. First, the tapestry must be
entirely removed: indeed you say it is already half-decayed from age
and damp; and I would then advise you to have the walls, if they are
in a proper state, painted or papered according to your fancy; taking
care that the colour of the curtains and other furniture harmonizes
with that of the walls. If your curtains are of moreen or damask you
should have inner curtains of white muslin, which may be trimmed with
lace, or have a coloured border: and these white curtains alone you
will probably find sufficient during summer. There should be two sofas,
an easy chair or two, comfortable footstools, and several small tables
of different kinds, in addition to the ordinary chairs and tables; and
I should add a chiffonier and a cabinet piano. You can, if you wish
to be economical, have brown holland covers to the sofa and chairs;
and you can pin plain white muslin over the silk of the piano and the
chiffonier, to save them from the flies. The carpet may be Brussels,
or Kidderminster, or a printed drugget, the first of the three being
far the most expensive; the Kidderminster carpet and the drugget are
nearly alike in price, but the drugget looks best, though it does not
wear well. Whatever the material of the carpet may be, the colours
should correspond with those of the furniture and the walls. As your
books will be in daily use, they will be best in open cases with a
little curtain of leather nailed along the shelves to keep out the
dust. They should always, if possible, fill up entirely the space left
for them; and on this account it is best to have movable shelves where
it is practicable. Should the books not stand high enough to fill the
space for them, the housemaid may remove the dust with a goose's wing,
or with one of those brushes with long hairs now sold for similar
purposes; but do not let her take the books down oftener than twice a
year, as frequent removals will not only injure the binding of your
books, but will occasion you great annoyance, from the confused manner
in which they are sure to be replaced on the shelves.

I know you were always fond of pets, though you never kept any, as your
aunt did not like them; but now you are your own mistress, I think it
very likely you will have a canary bird, and perhaps a parrot; and I am
sure you will have some gold fish, which you will keep in your morning
room. I would not advise you to keep a squirrel, on account of its
unpleasant smell in a cage, and its hiding propensities out of one;
though in other respects squirrels are pretty little creatures from
their gracefulness and agility, and the intelligence that sparkles in
their bright little eyes. If you do keep a squirrel, feed it with bread
scalded in hot water, and plenty of nuts; and take care that its cage
is cleaned, its hay changed, and its tin for food washed out with hot
water, every day.

Your canary bird, if you have one, should be kept scrupulously clean,
and the bottom of its cage should be strewed with clean sand every
morning. It should also have fresh water every day, both for drinking
and bathing, the latter being in a shallow vessel; in the moulting
season a small bit of iron may be put in the water for drinking, but
no other medicine should be given. Its food should be as simple as
possible, and should consist principally of summer rape seed, that
is, those small brown rape seeds which are produced by plants sown
in spring, and are ripe in summer; and not those sown in autumn and
reaped in spring, which are large and black. A little duck-weed in
spring, lettuce leaves in summer, endive in autumn, and slices of
sweet apple in winter, may be added; and occasionally a few poppy or
canary seeds, and a very small quantity of bruised hemp seed: but
this last should be given as a great treat, and only sparingly: all
sugar, bread, and other delicacies, are very injurious. It must never
be forgotten that birds kept in cages are in a most unnatural state,
and that they require the greatest care to keep them in health. Three
things should be especially attended to: viz. cleanliness, simple food,
and abundance of fresh air. This last particular may appear strange to
those who know that the canary bird, being a native of a warm climate,
is easily injured by cold; so much so indeed, that in winter its cage
should never be hung in a room without a fire. But, notwithstanding
this, it should have the windows of the room open frequently when the
sun shines, even in winter; and in summer it should be kept as much
as possible in the open air. The poor little creature shows its own
feeling on the subject indeed very distinctly; for, as soon as it is
placed near an open window in the sunshine, it begins to bathe, and
to preen its feathers, and then it sings gaily its loudest songs of
joy, frequently fluttering its wings at the same time, as though from
a sensation of intense enjoyment. The cage for a single canary bird
should never be less than eight inches in diameter and a foot high, and
should have sticks placed across it at different heights for the bird
to perch on.

Parrots, macaws, and cockatoos thrive best on a pole with a stand at
the bottom for sand, as their tail and wing feathers generally become
ragged when they are kept in a cage. Some grey parrots and blue macaws
are very apt to pull out their breast feathers; but this is the result
of a disease brought on by eating too much meat. The same cause also
brings on gout in the feet, and other complaints. All the parrot tribe
are hard-beaked birds, and consequently not carnivorous: their food
in their native country is grain and fruit, and their habits in this
respect should always be kept in view in feeding them; for though birds
in confinement are in an unnatural state, and require more indulgences
than they would need if wild in the woods, yet they should never have
food given to them which their organs are quite unfitted to digest.
Parrots and other similar birds should therefore be fed as much as
possible on ripe fruit, boiled wheat or Indian corn, and milk; or, if
these articles be not attainable, bread or captain's biscuit soaked
in boiling water, with enough milk added to enable the bird to drink,
will be found the best substitute. Bird-fanciers use generally bread
made without salt, and very well baked, crumbled into water and then
slightly squeezed; but the birds get very thin if kept for a long
time only on this diet, and require a little milk, though that is a
food they certainly never can have in their natural state. Bechstein
says that they will get fat on the seed of the safflower (_Cárthamus
tinctòrius_), and indeed these seeds are called by the French _graines
de perroquets_. Though the parrot tribe are not carnivorous, they
are all very fond of a bone to pick; and I believe that they may be
indulged with one occasionally, provided there is no fat and very
little meat on it. Parrots should be supplied every day with clean
water to wash, and their feet should be frequently examined and cleaned
from any dirt that may be adhering to them.

Should you take a fancy to a pet monkey, most of the common kinds are
kept chained to a pole on a stand, and fed like parrots; but marmozets,
which are pretty little creatures, are very tender, and are generally
kept in a cage like squirrels. They will eat animal food, and one that
was at liberty is said to have snatched a gold fish out of the water,
and devoured it. The most interesting circumstance relating to them is,
however, their fondness for their young, which is nursed by both the
male and female like a baby.

Gold and silver fish are very ornamental and suitable objects to keep
in a lady's morning room. It is generally supposed that they are quite
incapable of affection; but some that we have certainly knew me again
when I came back after having been out of town; and one, which I call
Goldy, and which we have had four or five years, will come and nibble
my finger when I put it near him, or swim after a feather when I draw
it gently along the surface of the water.

It is, however, very difficult to keep gold fish long in a room,
particularly in a glass globe. When it is wished to do so, only two or
three should be in one globe, and the water should be changed every day
in winter, and twice a day in summer; the fish having no food but the
animalcula which they find in the water, which should always be from a
pond or river, as spring water is not only too cold, but often contains
some mineral substance which is likely to prove injurious. When several
fish are kept in a small space, the water should either be kept
continually changing by a fountain, or in some other mode; or the fish
should be fed with some farinaceous substance, but never with baker's
bread, as it is decidedly injurious to them. I am told that the dealers
in gold fish, who always keep a great number together in darkness, in
a large tub or tank, feed them twice a day with boiled grits; other
persons recommend crushed barley or oats: in France they use a kind of
paste made of maize or Indian corn; and in America, I am told, they
prefer brewer's grains, or a paste made of bran and flour. Whenever
farinaceous food of any kind is used, it should be given in small
quantities, and be quite fresh; the vessel in which the fish are kept
being always cleaned thoroughly every day, to prevent the possibility
of any of the food in a sour state remaining in it.

Though gold and silver fish certainly look best in a glass globe, I
doubt whether they live so long in one as they will do in an opaque
vessel. When I kept my fish in a large oblong china vase, I lost only
one in five years; but in a glass globe I lost seven in about six
months. I tried various modes of treatment, such as putting gravel
in the water, and giving the fish duck-weed and pond-weed to shelter
them from the sun; but I had still the mortification to see my fish
die, and generally without any apparent cause. The first symptom was
the fish appearing languid and unwilling to move; but in a few hours,
it began to swim on one side, and when turned on the other side it
instantly resumed its former position; shortly after, the tail drooped
down, so as to throw the body into an angular position, and in the
course of a few hours the poor fish was dead. It is true that the year
in which these experiments were tried appears to have been decidedly
unfavourable for gold fish, as a great many died, even in ponds, where
they are generally much more healthy than when kept in rooms. In one
instance, especially, nearly twenty died in the marble basin of a
fountain, where fish had been kept for years with an average of not
more than two or three deaths in a year. In many cases, the cause of
death in gold fish is evidently a plant nearly allied to the green
scum formed on stagnant water. This plant, which is called Achyla
prolífera, consists principally of threads so exceedingly fine as to
be imperceptible to the naked eye, but which take root in the body
of the fish, as the mistletoe grows on the apple tree, and in time
produce a soft downy substance like mould, that first appears on the
gills and tail, but gradually covers the whole body of the fish. When
this extraordinary disease, if it may be so called, is discovered in
its first stages, it may be stopped by sprinkling salt on the back and
sides of the fish; but the application appears to cause intense pain,
as the fish, as soon as it feels the salt, darts from one side to
the other of the vessel that contains it, and appears to be writhing
with agony. This, however, soon goes off, and the fish appears quite
restored, seldom requiring a second application.

The best way of keeping gold and silver fish is certainly in a pond
in the garden; particularly if the situation be warm and exposed to
the sun. It is necessary, however, if the pond be shallow, and the
water clear, to have two or three bundles of faggots thrown into it,
that the fish may find shade, when they wish it. Faggots are also
very useful when it is wished to breed gold fish; as they afford both
warmth and shelter, without which gold fish never produce young. When
first hatched the gold fish is nearly black, but it gradually becomes
streaked with gold or silver; the metallic hue increasing every year,
till the black finally disappears.

As you are fond of having flowers in your room, and as your present
garden is so far from your house, you will perhaps be glad to know how
to preserve cut flowers as long as possible. The most simple rules
are, not to put too many flowers in a glass, to change the water every
morning, and to remove every decayed leaf as soon as it appears,
cutting off the end of the stems occasionally, as soon as they show any
symptoms of decay. A more efficacious way, however, is to put nitrate
of soda or nitrate of potash (saltpetre) in powder into the water; as
about as much as can be easily taken up between the forefinger and
the thumb, put into the glass every time the water is changed, will
preserve cut flowers in all their beauty for above a fortnight. Camphor
in powder has nearly the same effect.

The _drawingroom_ should be fitted up with more elegance than any other
room in the house. The walls may be panelled, and the panels filled in
with fluted silk, with a gilt moulding round them; or the walls may
be covered with flock or satin paper, with a gilt moulding under the
cornice. In either case the cornice should be rich; and there should be
bosses on the ceiling to indicate the place for the chandeliers, if
you have any. A slight degree of conformity between the style of the
furniture and that of the house is, I think, advisable; but, as your
house appears to have had additions made to it in different reigns,
almost any style of furniture that suits your own taste may be adopted
without incongruity. There should be several large looking-glasses,
two or more chandeliers; and against the walls there should be a few
choice cabinet pictures, which should be characterised by delicacy and
beauty rather than force. A Claude or two, some of Guido's exquisite
female heads, and one of Raphael's Madonnas, would be very suitable, or
modern paintings of first-rate artists; but I think no picture should
be admitted unless its subject is elegant as well as pleasing. There
should be large mirrors in panels, or in richly gilt frames, and a
very handsome white marble chimney-piece, as I see there is but one
indicated in the plan, with a very rich-looking steel grate, made low
to show an ornamented back. I suppose the windows near the fireplace
are false ones, as otherwise there would be a cross light; the three
windows opening on the terrace are, however, quite sufficient to give
light to the room; and that at the south end I should like to see
opening into a conservatory. I scarcely know what colour to recommend
for the hangings of the walls. Full-toned colours lessen the size of a
room, and light colours enlarge it. Crimson is very becoming to female
beauty, and it has besides the advantage of being in perfect keeping
with the character of a drawingroom in an old mansion. The curtains
should be silk or silk damask, and made with either a piped valance
or very deep gold fringe; and the inner muslin curtains should have a
rich border, and be trimmed with either lace, or with silk fringe of
the same colour as the outer curtains. The chairs should correspond,
and should have a great deal of gilding about them. The carpet should
be Wilton, and made in one piece, of a pattern to fit the room; and
this pattern should consist chiefly of flowers. There should be several
sofas and ottomans and ornamental footstools, an excellent piano, and a
harp, ornamental screens to correspond with the style of the curtains;
consoles with richly gilt frames, and looking-glass slabs and brackets
for ornamental china; candelabra for lights; an elegant ormolu clock;
and in short, a variety of articles that will suggest themselves; only
take care not to crowd the room too much, lest you should give it the
air of an upholsterer's warehouse rather than a drawingroom.

The _dining-room_ should be characterised by the massive appearance
of its furniture, and the richness of its hangings. The curtains
may be of maroon-coloured cloth, or moreen, trimmed with gold. The
carpet should be Turkey or Axminster, and need not quite cover the
room, but may leave a part to be rubbed bright or painted. You should
have a large handsome chimney-piece, and a large grate, so contrived
with a plate at the bottom, as to contain wood as well as coal. Some
persons advise having no light in a dining-room except from one large
chandelier hung just over the dinner-table, but sufficiently high above
it to cast no shade; while others recommend side lights to show the
pictures, if there should be any, on the walls. If there are, they may
be of quite a different character from those in the drawingroom, and of
more solemn and serious subjects, though still not painful ones; and
they may include pictures by the Dutch masters, and those by English
artists in the domestic style. Your dining-room is very conveniently
placed in being so near the kitchen; and it is also convenient to have
folding-doors opening into both the dining-room and the drawingroom,
placed exactly opposite each other. The passage or vestibule between
them is useful in keeping out sounds from the drawingroom, and also
the smell of dinner; and it may easily be made ornamental by filling
the end next the window with greenhouse plants in flower. These will
also have a good effect from the hall; and in addition to them, the
vestibule may contain a bust or some choice piece of sculpture, before
which may be placed a lamp. The sideboard in the dining-room may be
placed in the recess left for it.

I have now given you all the advice that I think you will find
requisite; for, after all, you must remember that, notwithstanding any
thing I may have said, the furniture and decorations of the rooms must
depend principally on your own taste; I can do no more than point out
what kind of style is suitable to the different rooms, and you must do
the rest.




LETTER IV.

FLIES.--SERVANTS' OFFICES, INCLUDING THE HOUSEKEEPER'S ROOM AND
STORE-CLOSET, THE KITCHEN, AND THE SCULLERY.--BREWING; MAKING HOME-MADE
WINES, CIDER, AND PERRY; AND MAKING BREAD, ROLLS, CAKES, RUSKS, MUFFINS
AND CRUMPETS, AND BISCUITS.


It gave me the greatest pleasure, my dear Annie, to hear that your
husband is so well pleased with the improvement produced by the removal
of the Scotch pines, that he wishes you to follow my advice in other
things, and that you have actually ordered furniture for your morning
room in accordance with my suggestions. You ask, however, why I have
said nothing of your husband's business-room, and add that you suppose
I forgot it; but this was far from being the case. The reason I omitted
it was, that I wished, if he asked your opinion respecting it, you
might be able to speak entirely from your own feelings, and not from
the advice of another. No female friend should ever, on any account,
interfere between a man and his wife. In any matter that falls within
your own province, I shall always be delighted to give you the best
advice I can, but that is all. Should any quarrels arise between you
and your husband, (and it would be very strange, indeed, if there
should not,) your best plan is to keep them entirely to yourself, and
never to ask advice respecting them from any friend whatever.

But to return to your house. I was very much surprised to find that you
were annoyed with flies, till I read "notwithstanding all the pains our
careful housemaid takes to catch them with saucers of sugar and water."
This explained the mystery. It is the saucers of sugar and water that
attract the flies, and, indeed, one half of what are called remedies
for these little pests only increase the nuisance. Besides, without
pretending to any morbid sensibility, I must confess that I always
think the sight of the poor flies struggling to get out of the liquid
grave into which they have been entrapped extremely painful to the
feelings. I know it is a law of nature that all creatures should prey
upon each other; but I do not like killing creatures by wholesale, when
there appears no absolute necessity for so doing. I think if you remove
your sugar and water, your flies will disappear of themselves; and, if
they do not, you must, in such rooms as are lighted from one side only,
adopt our kind friend Mr. Spence's admirable plan of putting network
over the window-frame, so that whenever the window is opened, either
at the top or the bottom, the space is still covered with the net. You
will be astonished to see how efficacious this simple plan is; as,
though the flies could easily get through the meshes, they are afraid
of trying, lest they should be entrapped.

I will now proceed to say a few words on your servants' offices, and
of these the _housekeeper's room_ generally ranks first. As I see
no store-closet marked in your plan, I suppose you will make the
housekeeper's room serve for that purpose; particularly as you say you
mean to be your own housekeeper; and you will find the store-closet
a most important place in the country, as it is necessary to lay in
larger stores of all the common articles of daily consumption than are
ever required in a town, where shops can be sent to on any emergency.
Your housekeeper's room should therefore have ranges of cupboards and
drawers all round it, to contain the household linen, china, glass,
pickles, preserves, cakes, tea, coffee, sugar, and in short every
article wanted by the family, a store of which is kept. There should
be a bureau, or desk with drawers beneath, to keep the account-books,
receipts for bills, and other papers relating to housekeeping; and
on one side of the fireplace you may have a cupboard with iron doors
enclosing a small oven, and a range of charcoal stoves, for making any
dishes in French cookery, or any cakes or preserves that you may take a
fancy to do yourself, with the assistance of your maid, apart from the
observation of the other servants. On the other side of the fireplace
may be a similar cupboard, containing a small sink with a wash-hand
basin furnished with a plug and waste-pipe to let off the water, and
two pipes, one to supply cold water from a cistern, and the other hot
water from a boiler behind the fireplace.

Before fixing up the cupboards the walls should be made perfectly dry,
and, if they are not so, they should be battened, that is, covered
with canvass strained over slips of wood nailed to the walls, strong
brown paper being afterwards pasted over the canvass. This preserves a
stratum of air between the walls and the backs of the cupboards, which
effectually excludes damp. You may easily know when a room is damp by
its appearance, before you have kept any thing in it. If the walls have
been whitewashed, they will show various-coloured stains; and, if they
have been papered, the paper will hang loose. No expense should be
spared to make a room dry, that is to be used for keeping stores in,
as the mischief done by damp is incalculable. Lump sugar crumbles into
powder; moist sugar hardens into lumps; saltpetre and bay salt turn
to water; preserves become mouldy or candied, cakes soft, and linen
mildewed. Nor is the mischief done by damp confined to any one part of
the house. In the butler's pantry the silver will become spotted; in
the cellar the wine will lose its strength and flavour; and, in the
living-rooms, the oil paintings will become blistered, and the books
and engravings stained.

But to return to the housekeeper's room. In one part you can have a
cupboard to open with folding-doors like a wardrobe, for keeping tea
and sugar and similar articles. There should be shelves in this, on
which should stand numerous tin canisters marked with the names of
the different articles they contain. In the upper part should be a
shelf suspended by cords passing through holes bored in the corners,
for loaves of sugar, or any similar articles likely to be attacked by
mice. The common tea should be kept in a chest lined with lead, which
may stand in the lower part of the closet, and the finer kinds should
be kept in canisters. A bag of raw coffee may also stand on the lower
shelf of the closet; but, after the coffee is ground, it should be kept
in a canister, and as far apart from the tea as possible, as, if it is
near it, it will give the tea an unpleasant taste. Moist sugar should
be kept in a large tin canister, the lid of which opens with a hinge.
The coffee-mill, if in this apartment, must be fixed to some part of
the room where it will be quite firm, and yet be so placed that the
person grinding may have room to use the arm freely; but many persons
have the coffee-mill in the kitchen, and also a mill for pepper. When
any thing is to be ground in a mill, of a different nature from what
it is generally used for, the mill should be first cleaned by grinding
in it a hard crust of bread.

A second cupboard should be set aside for the soap and candles. In
this there should be some strong hooked nails driven into the wall,
for the kitchen candles; and a kind of bench or wooden stand for the
boxes containing mould candles, if you use any, though most persons now
prefer the composition or stearine candles with plaited wicks, as they
do not require snuffing. These candles, and those of wax or spermaceti,
may be kept a long time without injury, if they are covered with paper
within the box, to prevent them from becoming discoloured, which they
will soon be, if much exposed to the air; but tallow candles of all
kinds should never be kept more than six months, as, when old, they
are very apt to gutter. Soap, also, should never be kept too long, or
be suffered to become too dry. It is true that, when used too new, it
wastes away very rapidly; yet, if it is kept more than six months, and
particularly if it becomes too dry, it cracks and shrinks so much, as
to render it very troublesome to use, and nearly double the quantity is
required.

Dried currants and raisins, for cakes and puddings, should be kept in
canisters in another closet; and almonds and raisins for dessert in
boxes. Sage and other herbs I have found keep best in powder, after
they have been dried in an oven. Every leaf should be pulled off
separately into a kind of tray made of tin, and put into an oven when
about the right heat for baking bread: as soon as the leaves are dry
enough to rub into powder, they should be crushed with a rolling pin,
and after being sifted, put into wide-mouthed bottles, which should be
carefully corked. Herbs thus prepared will keep good without losing
their flavour for years; and they have the advantage of being always
ready for use when wanted, without the smallest particle of dust.

As I think you have told me you are several miles from a town, it will
be necessary to recollect every thing that may be wanted when you send
there, to avoid the inconvenience of sending frequently. For this
purpose, I think you will find it useful to have a slate hanging up
beside your desk in the housekeeper's room, on which you can write down
the name of any article that you find is nearly exhausted when you are
giving it out.

Your _kitchen_ appears, by the plan you have sent me, to be of a
very good size, and well lighted, which is essential to both comfort
and cleanliness, as it is impossible for the cooking to be performed
properly, or the culinary vessels to be kept clean, without abundance
of light. It is also well placed, as it faces the north, which a
kitchen should do whenever it is practicable, to keep it free from
too much sun. In old country houses the ceiling of the kitchen is
frequently furnished with racks for bacon; and there are hooks driven
into the beams for hung beef, tongues, and hams, but in other places
these are kept in the larder. In either case I would advise you always
to have a plentiful supply of salted meat in the house, to be ready for
emergencies; and I would always have a ham, a tongue, or a piece of
hung beef, ready cooked; which will not only be useful for breakfast,
and luncheon, but will be found a most potent auxiliary in the case
of unexpected guests arriving when the larder may be at a low ebb. In
the course of my experience I have always found that there are few
things more agreeable to a husband than to be able to take a friend
home unexpectedly, and yet to be sure that he will find a good and even
elegant dinner, without any bustle or ill-temper being caused by his
appearance. In large establishments the sudden arrival of a stranger
is of very little consequence; but as your husband has an ancient name
to keep up on limited means, and, above all, as you have undertaken
to be your own housekeeper, you must remember that, in places where
the butcher lives several miles off, and calls for orders only once
or twice a week, it is essential you should make such provision as to
be never taken off your guard. To aid in this I will, if you like,
at some future time, give you a few hints on cookery, particularly on
_impromptu_ dishes, which I trust you will find useful; but I must now
return to the fitting up of the kitchen.

You tell me you shall want a new kitchen-range, and ask what kind
I would recommend. I would advise you to shun all those that are
said to burn remarkably little fuel, as they are generally very
complicated, and of course extremely liable to go out of order; a
serious inconvenience any where, but particularly in the country. I
should recommend you to have an open grate from four feet to eight
feet wide, having of course a contrivance to make the part intended
to contain the fire larger or smaller at pleasure; and the fireplace
should be at least two feet deep, to allow of a boiler behind the fire,
communicating with another on the side of the grate, care being taken
either to have the boilers fed constantly by a pipe from a cistern, or
to have them filled every night when the fire is low, as it is very
dangerous to pour cold water into a boiler when it is nearly empty and
quite hot. The sudden change from heat to cold sometimes indeed makes
the iron contract so rapidly as to burst the boiler. It is useful to
have an oven on one side of the grate, not, indeed, for baking any
thing, for food seldom has its proper flavour when cooked in such
ovens, but to keep plates and dishes warm. The floor of a kitchen is
generally laid with stone, but it is a great comfort to the cook to
have a part boarded near a table under one of the windows, for the
convenience of standing upon the boards when in the act of cooking. The
kitchen doors should have their hinges on the side next the fireplace,
to avoid disturbing the current of air near the fire when they are
opened.

As your kitchen is large, you may perhaps be able to have a small
range of charcoal pans for French cooking, in addition to the
ordinary kitchen-range, if you have not something of the kind in the
housekeeper's room; and among your kitchen utensils you should have two
or three that will be useful in French cooking. One of these should
be a braising pan, with a deep concave rimmed lid, in which fire can
be put whenever you have any dish cooked that requires fire above and
below; another should be two saucepans, one going within the other,
like a gluepot, forming a _bain marie_. German saucepans, and other
enamelled articles for the kitchen, are very convenient in all dishes
where milk or cream is used; but it is a long time before any liquid
boils in them; and when it does boil, it continues to do so for a
minute or more after the saucepan is taken from the fire, on account
of the enamel retaining the heat. You ought also to have a cupboard
in the kitchen, for the cook to keep her spices and other articles
in, fitted up with shelves and canisters: and there should be another
closet for the flour tub and bread jar, which should stand on a board
raised at least six inches above the floor, to keep them from the
attacks of mice and black beetles. The egg-basket and the salt-box may
also find a place in this closet, so as to keep the general appearance
of the kitchen neat and clean. Of course you will have one or two
dressers for plates and dishes, made with drawers and cupboards below.
Every kitchen should also contain a clock, that the cook may see
exactly how the time goes, and have no excuse for not being punctual.

The _scullery_ should be as close to the kitchen as possible. It
should be paved with Yorkshire stone or brickwork, and it should have
a cistern of water closely adjoining it. In every scullery there
should be a stone sink, with a plate-rack at one end, and under the
plate-rack should be a slanting dripboard with a kind of gutter at the
base, to convey the water that drains from the plates and dishes to the
waste-pipe of the sink; and it will be found a great convenience to
have a pipe carried to it from the boiler behind the kitchen fireplace,
in order to afford a constant supply of hot water. The scullery should
also contain two coppers, one small, for boiling hams or large pieces
of beef, and another of a much larger size for brewing.

For _brewing_ twelve gallons of _table ale_ at a time, the copper
should hold eighteen gallons, as about six gallons of water will be
absorbed by the malt. The usual proportion of malt and hops required
for this quantity is, one bushel of malt and three quarters of a pound
of hops. Pale malt is the best, and it should be plump and crisp,
breaking readily, and full of flour; it should also taste sweet.
The hops should have no bad smell, and they should be in condition,
that is, they should abound in the yellow powder called by chemists
lupuline, which makes them feel sticky when rubbed between the fingers.
The malt must be crushed or ground before it is used. River water is
preferred for brewing, and it should be heated in the copper to about
175°, or rather more.

[Illustration: Fig. 2. _Spigot and faucet_.]

A large deep tub is then provided, called a mash-tub, in one side of
which, at the distance of an inch or two from the bottom, is fixed a
cock, or what is called a spigot and faucet (fig. 2.), with the end
which projects within the tub covered with basket-work to prevent the
escape of the grains when the wort is drawn off. About six gallons of
hot water are then poured into the mash-tub, and some of the malt is
shaken in, a little at a time, and mixed with the water by the help
of a wooden instrument called a mash-stirrer (fig. 3.); more water
is then added, and then more malt, till nearly all the water has been
poured in, and only a peck of malt is left dry. The dry malt is then
strewed over the mass of malt which has been mixed with the water, and
the mash-tub, having some sticks laid across it, is covered with an old
blanket, a piece of sacking, or a coarse cloth, and the malt is left
for an hour and a half or two hours to steep. This is called mashing
the malt; and the goodness of the ale depends upon the care with which
this operation is performed. The water should never be suffered to
become cooler during the operation than 160°, or it will not dissolve
the starchy matter contained in the malt; and, if it is hotter than
180°, the malt will be set, as the maltsters call it, that is, it will
become changed into a glutinous paste, from which no strength can
be extracted. When the malt has been sufficiently mashed, the wort
is drawn off by the spigot, and it will be found that the eighteen
gallons of water have only yielded about thirteen gallons of wort, and
sometimes not so much.

[Illustration: Fig. 3. _Mash-stirrer_.]

A new kind of mashing-tub (fig. 4.) has been invented, which has a
false bottom pierced with holes, through which the wort filters,
instead of being drawn off by the spigot; and, by an improvement on
this, the hot water is poured through a tube into the part of the
mashing-tub which is below the false bottom, and suffered to rise up
through the malt. When ale and beer are to be made, the ale wort is
drawn off first, and then more water is heated to 175° and put to the
malt, to make the beer; but when all the liquor drawn from the malt is
mixed together, it is called in some places "table ale," and in others
"one-way beer."

[Illustration: Fig. 4. _Mash-tub_.]

While the malt is being mashed, the proper quantity of hops should be
steeped in water, having been first well rubbed and separated; and
when the wort is drawn off they should be added to it, and the whole
put into the copper to be boiled. During the boiling the mass should
be frequently stirred, to prevent the hops from either floating at the
top or settling to the bottom, which they would otherwise be very apt
to do. The boiling should continue briskly till the liquor begins to
break, the time for which varies from half an hour to two hours and a
half, according to the strength of the wort. The "breaking" is known by
large fleecy flakes which appear to float in the liquor; and, when it
appears, a bowlful of the liquor is taken out and set aside, when, if
the flakes part and subside, leaving the wort clear, it is considered
enough. Some large shallow vessels called coolers are then provided,
and some sticks being laid across one of them, a sieve or wicker
basket is set upon them, and the liquor is ladled out of the furnace
into the sieve, to strain it from the hops. The other coolers are
afterwards filled in the same manner, and then the whole are exposed to
a cool current of air, in order that the liquor may cool as rapidly as
possible.

When the liquor is about 70°, it is generally tunned off into a large
vat or cask for it to ferment. About three quarters of a pint of yeast
is mixed with a little of the wort, and as soon as it begins to work it
is added to the rest. Another mode is, as soon as the wort has cooled
to 70°, to convey it in the coolers to a cellar, where the temperature
is about 55°, and then to mix two gallons of it with a pint of good
thick yeast, and put it into an upright eighteen-gallon cask, the head
of which has been knocked out, but which is covered with a piece of
flannel, on which the head is laid loosely. As soon as the fermentation
has begun, about three gallons more of the wort are added, provided
it has not cooled below 65°; but, if it has, a pailful must be taken
out and heated, so that when mixed with the rest of the three gallons,
the whole shall be about 70°. When this has been added to the wort
fermenting in the cask and well stirred, the cask should be covered and
left to work for the night. Early the following morning the working
wort should be tried with a thermometer, and, if it is between 70° and
75°, five gallons more of the wort should be added, heated as before
to about 68°. The liquor should then be stirred, and left for six
hours, after which three gallons more wort at 65° are added. It is
then covered and left for four hours more, after which nearly all the
remaining wort is added, reserving only about two quarts.

This process is very tedious, but it is said to make the ale
exceedingly fine and clear; and, if the proportions be one bushel and
a half of malt to a pound and three quarters of hops to make twelve
gallons, it is said exactly to resemble the celebrated Indian ale. If
the heat of the working wort be ever found above 75°, the remaining
wort should be added cool, and the whole should be tunned out as soon
as possible.

In the usual mode of brewing, when the fermentation has gone on till
the yeast begins to look brown, the beer should be tunned; that is,
the yeast is removed, and the beer is put into the casks in which it is
to remain; and, in general, the beer is not taken down into the cellar
till at this period. The casks are placed slantingly, with the bung
out; and they are always kept quite full, being filled up with beer
reserved for that purpose, as the beer they contain works out. In about
a fortnight all the fermentation will be over, and the casks may be
bunged up.

According to the _Indian ale_ process, two quarts of wort were kept
back from that fermented; and when the beer is to be tunned, which it
is into two six-gallon casks, a quart of this unfermented wort is put
into each cask, with two table-spoonfuls of flour and one of salt.
The frothy yeast is then taken off the beer, which is poured into the
barrels till it reaches the bunghole, and the froth begins to flow
over: as the froth subsides, the barrels may be filled up with fresh
beer, and the yeast which flows down should be caught in a vessel
placed for the purpose. In a few days the yeast will become thick,
and will cease to flow over: the barrels should then be filled up and
the bungholes covered with brown paper, coated with thick yeast: the
fermentation will afterwards proceed more slowly, and in a fortnight
the barrels may be bunged down, and the bungs covered with a mass of
moistened clay and sand. The Indian ale should be kept six months
before it is tapped; but the other kind may be drunk in a month.

_Home-made wines_ may be manufactured from almost any kind of fruit;
and they are divided into two kinds, viz. those made with cold water,
and those made with hot water.

[Illustration: Fig. 5. _Fruit-crusher._]

_Green Gooseberry wine_ is made in the first manner, by crushing the
fruit in a deep tub with a fruit-crusher (fig. 5.), and pouring cold
water on it, in the proportion of one gallon of water to ten pounds of
fruit. It is then left to stand about six hours, when the mass, or marc,
as it is called, is put into a coarse bag and pressed; more water is
afterwards poured over the marc, which is again pressed, till as much
water has been added as will make the proportion in all four gallons
of water to ten pounds of fruit. The marc is then thrown away, and to
every gallon of the liquor, or must, as it is called, three pounds
of lump sugar are added, and the whole is well stirred together; the
tub is afterwards covered with a blanket, and the wine is left to
ferment in a temperature of from 55° to 60°. In twelve hours, if the
fermentation has begun rapidly, or in twenty-four hours, if it is slow,
the liquor is put into a cask and left to ferment, the bung being
put in loosely, and the cask being kept filled up with fresh must as
it works off. When the hissing noise subsides, the bung is driven in
firmly, and a little hole is made in the head of the cask, near the
bung, which is stopped with a wooden peg. In two or three days this peg
is loosened to let any air out that may have been generated; and this
is repeated, at intervals, several times, till no more air escapes,
when the peg is driven in tight. An excellent wine may be made in a
similar manner of the stalks of the giant tart rhubarb, which, if old,
should be peeled and cut in pieces before they are crushed.

_Ripe Gooseberry wine_ is made with hot water; first crushing the
fruit, and, after letting it stand twenty-four hours, pressing the
juice through a linen cloth. Hot water is then poured over the marc,
in the proportion of two quarts of water to every gallon of the fruit
before it was crushed; and, after remaining in the tub twelve hours,
the marc is again pressed, and the liquor from it mixed with that
produced by the fruit. Two and a half or three pounds of lump sugar
should now be added to every gallon of the liquor, and the whole left
to ferment. If moist sugar be used, the quantity should be four pounds
to every gallon of the liquor. The rest of the process is the same as
before; but when the fermentation has ceased it is usual to add British
brandy, in the proportion of one quart to two gallons and a half of
the wine.

When _Currant wine_ is made, it is said to be best to boil the liquor
after the sugar is added, before fermenting it in the cask.

_Elderberry wine_ is generally made with moist sugar, and ginger and
other spices are added to it.

_Cowslip wine_ is made by boiling sugar and water together, and
pouring the liquor over the rind of lemons and Seville oranges, in the
proportion of four of these fruits to a gallon of sugar and water: the
juice of the oranges and lemons is added, and the whole is fermented
with yeast. The cowslip flowers are then put into the wine, in the
proportion of one quart to every gallon of liquor, and stirred up well
till they sink. When the wine is tunned, a few sprigs of sweet briar
are often put into the cask, and one ounce of isinglass for every
gallon of liquor; in a few days it is bunged up close. In six months it
will be fit to bottle; but it will be better for remaining longer in
the cask.

Any other kind of wine may be made when the wine is to be made of
English fruit, either as was directed for the green or the ripe
gooseberry wines; and when not made of English fruit, by boiling sugar
and water, and fermenting it, before adding the substance that is to
give the flavour as directed for the Cowslip wine.

_Cider_ is made by grinding apples, and then expressing the juice,
which is fermented with yeast, but without sugar. _Perry_ is made in
the same way; and both may be made on a small scale by bruising apples
or pears in a deep tub, as was recommended for bruising fruit in made
wines.

_A brick oven for baking Bread_ is often placed in the scullery. The
ordinary size of an oven of this kind is about six feet long by four
feet deep; and it is about eighteen inches high in the centre of the
arch: the floor (which generally inclines a little from the head of
the oven to the mouth) is laid with tiles, and the arch is formed of
fire-brick, set in fire-clay or in loam mixed with powdered brick; the
whole being surrounded by a large mass of common brickwork, to keep in
the heat.

When the oven is heated, the faggots, or other kind of wood which is
used for that purpose, are lighted near the mouth, and then pushed on
till they are as nearly as possible in the centre of the oven, so that
the heat may spread as equally as possible through every part. When the
heat is between 250° and 300°, it is judged sufficient, and the fire
is drawn out to prepare the oven for the reception of the bread. As,
however, few cooks can be expected to have a proper kind of thermometer
at hand for ascertaining the heat exactly, it is necessary to have
some easier rules for judging; and the following, the correctness of
which I have experienced, are taken from the first volume of that
excellent and useful work, the _Magazine of Domestic Economy_.

"A judgment must be formed by the clear red heat of the bricks of the
arch and sides of the oven, and the lively sparkling of the embers on
its floor. The former criterion proves that the bricks have received
enough of body heat to consume that black carbonaceous coating which
the smoke communicates to them at the early stage of fire; the second
shows that the principle of combustion is in full activity, and not
rendered inert by a cold surface, either at the top, bottom, or sides.
Finally, if the brickwork be hot enough, and the point of a long stake
be rubbed forcibly over any part of it, so as for the moment to make a
black trace of charcoal, this trace will be burnt off, and the bricks
left clear in a second of time."

When the oven is sufficiently hot, the remaining embers are drawn out
with an iron hook fixed at the end of a long pole, and the bottom of
the oven is cleaned with a wet mop, made of long shreds of woollen
cloth or coarse sacking. The oven is then quite ready to receive the
bread, and it should be put in immediately. It generally takes about an
hour to heat a moderate-sized oven properly; and it takes an hour and
a half, or two hours, to bake loaves of the ordinary size.

Little iron grates are sometimes sold for heating ovens, but they are
more suitable for coal than wood; and, though an oven may be heated
with great rapidity with coal, it does not retain its heat so long,
and is more fitted for baking French bread, or cakes, than large-sized
household loaves. When, on the contrary, a brick oven is heated with
wood, and the hot embers are pushed by the scraper to every part of
the oven, the whole mass of brick becomes what is technically called
soaked, and is in a fit state for a family baking of bread. When the
bread is in, the oven door should be stopped quite close; but over the
door is a small opening called the stopper, which should be opened when
the bread has been in a little time, in order that the vapour from the
bread may escape. It is from not attending to this that home-baked
bread is so frequently heavy.

_Home-baked bread_ is generally best when made of what is called grist
flour; that is, wheat ground at a mill, and only the coarse bran
removed from the flour. Twenty-four pounds of this flour will make
about thirty-two pounds of bread; but if the best white flour is used,
two or three more pounds of it will be required to produce the same
quantity of bread. Bread is made either with leaven or yeast.

_Leaven_ is made by mixing flour with warm water into a thin paste and
then leaving it to ferment. When it begins to rise in bubbles, more
water and flour is added, and it is again left to ferment, and then
more flour with a little salt is added to make the dough. The dough
must be kept warm during the whole operation, as fermentation will not
take place unless the heat be from sixty to seventy, or seventy-five
degrees. Bread of this kind is very light, but it soon becomes acid.
Nearly all the household bread in France is made in this way.

When _yeast_ is used, the usual proportion is half a pint of brewer's
yeast mixed with a pint of warm water to twenty-four pounds of flour.

If no fresh yeast can be procured, it may be made by putting a
teacupful of split peas into a basin and pouring about a pint of
boiling water over them. A cloth is then put over the basin, and it is
set near the fire to keep warm. In about twelve hours it will begin
to ferment, and a kind of scum will rise, which may be used as yeast.
This is called Turkish yeast; but a better method is practised by the
Americans, which is as follows:--Take as much hops as may be held
between the thumb and finger, put them with a few slices of apples
into a quart of water, and boil the whole for about fifteen or twenty
minutes. Then strain the liquid, and when it is lukewarm stir in a
little flour with three or four table-spoonfuls of treacle so as to
make a thin paste; then set the whole in a warm place, and in a few
hours the fermentation will be sufficiently strong to allow enough
flour and water to be added to make a proper sponge for bread.

If you have a small quantity of yeast it may be increased in the
following manner:--Take one pound of fine flour, and mix it to the
thickness of gruel with boiling water; add half a pound of brown sugar,
mixing the whole well together. Then put three table-spoonfuls of yeast
into a large vessel, and pour the mixture upon it. It will ferment
violently, and the scum which rises to the top will be good yeast,
which may be used immediately, or may be preserved for some time in an
earthenware vessel covered closely from the air, and kept in a warm dry
place.

In the _Magazine of Domestic Economy_ it is said that when yeast has
become sour, and even slightly putrid, it may be recovered by adding a
tea-spoonful of flour, the same of moist sugar, a pinch of salt, and a
little warm water: this is to be stirred together and left to ferment
for half an hour. I have never tried this, but it is very nearly the
same as the receipt I have given above. The yeast from home-brewed beer
is very apt to be bitter; but it is said that this may be cured by
pouring it through a sieve containing about a pint of bran. To keep
home-brewed yeast it should be put into a large pan and have three
times the quantity of water poured upon it, being well stirred up, and
then left to settle. The next day the water is to be poured off, and
fresh put on, and in this manner it is said that yeast may be kept for
six weeks. All yeast is best purified before it is used; that is, the
yeast should be put into a vessel, and cold spring water being poured
upon it, they should be stirred together and then left to settle. The
water is afterwards poured off, and the yeast taken out carefully,
leaving a brown sediment at the bottom.

_The best way of keeping yeast_ is to hang it up in a cabbage net, so
as to let it dry with the air about it on all sides. This is the way
the Germans prepare their solid yeast, which is now so much used in
London.

_When bread is to be made_, the necessary quantity of flour is put into
a kneading trough, or into a deep-glazed earthenware pan, and a round
hole is made in the centre for the yeast and water, which is slightly
mixed with the surrounding flour, so as to form a light batter, and
over this is strewed enough dry flour to cover it. I remember, when I
was a child in my father's house, I have often watched the cook perform
this operation (which I now find is called setting the sponge); and I
always used to see her, when she had done, make a cross in the flour
sprinkled over the batter, without which she declared the bread would
never rise. As soon as the sponge is set, the earthenware pan is placed
before the fire, and a linen cloth laid over it. In a short time the
sponge begins to rise, and forms cracks in the covering of flour. More
water is then added, heated to about the warmth of new milk, and salt
is scattered over the flour, which gradually mixes with the water,
kneading it well with the hands so as to form a fine compact dough.
Some dry flour is then laid under it, and sprinkled over it; and the
dough, being again covered with a cloth, is left to ferment, which, if
the yeast were good, it does in about an hour, sufficiently to allow
the dough to be made into loaves of bread.

A kind of bread, which is very good for toast and butter, is made
by boiling and mashing some mealy potatoes, and then rubbing them
into flour which has been previously warmed before the fire, in the
proportion of half a pound of potatoes to two pounds of flour. When
well mixed, add a proper quantity of salt, with enough yeast, warm
milk, and water to make it into dough. It should be left to rise for
two hours before it is made into a loaf, and it should be baked in a
tin.

For _Rolls_. Warm an ounce of butter in a pint of skimmed milk, and
add a spoonful and a half of yeast and a little salt. This will be
sufficient for two pounds of flour, and will make seven rolls. The
dough should rise before the fire half an hour, and the rolls should
stand another half hour before the fire after they are made. They
should be baked in a quick oven, and will take about half an hour. The
butter may be omitted.

To make _French rolls_. Add half an ounce of soda to the above
quantity; make them long in shape, and rasp them when they are baked.

For _Sally Luns_. Take two pounds of flour, and add half a pint of milk
and half a pint of cream, with a bit of butter the size of a walnut;
when a little warm, put to it three well-beaten yolks of eggs, three or
four spoonfuls of well-purified yeast, and a little salt. Mix the whole
together, and let it rise for an hour; then make it into cakes, and lay
them on tins lightly rubbed over with a little butter. Let them stand
on the hearth to rise for about twenty minutes, covered with a thin
cloth, then bake them in rather a quick oven.

For _Yorkshire_ or _milk cakes_. Dry a pound and a half of flour before
the fire; beat up the yolk of an egg with a spoonful of yeast; add
three quarters of a pint of new milk lukewarm; strain the whole through
a hair sieve into the flour; mix it lightly into dough, and let it rise
by the fire an hour; then make it up into cakes. Rub the tins with a
very little butter, and let them be warm when you lay the cakes on
them; cover with a thin cloth, and let them rise on the hearth about
twenty or thirty minutes; bake them in a brisk oven. This dough makes
very good buns, with the addition of a little good moist sugar, and a
few caraway seeds or dried currants.

Both the Sally Luns and the milk cakes may be washed over with the
white of an egg before they are put in the oven.

For _Rusks_, or _Tops and Bottoms_. Beat up four eggs with half a pint
of new milk, in which a quarter of a pound of butter has been melted;
add two table-spoonfuls of yeast, and three ounces of sugar. Mix with
this as much flour as will make a very light batter, and set it before
the fire for half an hour; then add a little more flour, to make it
stiff enough to work. Knead it well, and, if wanted for _rusks_, roll
it into cakes about six inches long and two broad; when baked and
cold, cut them into slices, and dry them in a slow oven. For _tops and
bottoms_, make the dough into little square cakes, and flatten them.
When baked, just cut them slightly round, and then tear them in two,
and put them again into the oven.

To make _Banbury Cakes_. Set a sponge with two table-spoonfuls of thick
purified yeast, half a pint of warm milk, and a pound of flour. When
risen, mix with it half a pound of currants, well cleaned and dried,
half a tea-spoonful of salt, half a pound of candied orange and lemon
shred small, one ounce of spice, such as powdered cinnamon, allspice,
ginger, and nutmeg, or mace. Mix the whole well together with half a
pound of honey. Roll out puff paste a quarter of an inch thick; cut it
into rounds with a tin cutter about four inches across; lay on each
with a spoon a small quantity of the mixture; close it round with the
fingers in an oval form; place the joining underneath; press it gently
with the hand, and sift sugar over. Bake them on a baking-plate a
quarter of an hour in a moderate oven, and of a light colour.

For _Bath buns_. Rub half a pound of butter in a pound and half of
flour, quarter of a pound of powdered sugar, a little salt, and half
an ounce of caraway seeds. Beat the yolks of four eggs and three
whites; put half a pint of warm milk to four spoonfuls of good yeast;
when settled, pour it off on the eggs, and mix all into the middle of
the flour till about a third of the flour is mixed in. Cover it with
flannel, and set it before the fire to rise, about half an hour, then
mix all up, and cover it till well risen. Make up the buns, and set
them before the fire on a baking-tin about a quarter of an hour; bake
them in a quick oven; when done, brush them over with sugar and beaten
egg.

For _Oat cakes_. Merely mix oatmeal and water together till about as
thick as ordinary dough, then roll out as thin as possible, and bake on
a hot flat iron called a girdle, hung over the fire. A few eggs are
sometimes added to make what is called in Scotland Car cake.

For _Muffins_ and _Crumpets_. Take a pint and a half of warm milk
and dissolve in it a tea-spoonful of salt of tartar (subcarbonate of
potash), then mix with it five table-spoonfuls of yeast. When it has
stood to settle, pour it off by degrees, if for crumpets, into two
pounds of flour with a little salt, stir it well, and then beat it till
it looks like a thick batter, and may be drawn out to a great length
when you lift up the spoon. Set it before the fire to rise, and when it
bubbles up bake the crumpets on a hot stove, or a girdle. For muffins,
take three pounds of flour, and roll the dough into balls, and let them
rise before putting them on the iron plate. When the muffins begin to
bake they will spread into the proper shape; and when one side is done
they should be turned on the other side. The crumpets do not require
turning; but if they are wished to be thick, they may be baked in an
iron hoop. Potato crumpets are made by adding to three pounds of mealy
potatoes boiled and rubbed through a coarse sieve, half a pound of
flour, an egg, a little salt, and a spoonful of yeast.

For a _Brioche_. Take a pound of fine flour, divide it into three
parts, to one of which put a table-spoonful of yeast, mixed with warm
water into a light batter, then set it before a fire if the weather is
cold, and let it rise half an hour. In warm weather it need not be put
to the fire, as it will rise immediately. Mix the rest of the flour
with a quarter of an ounce of salt, three eggs, a quarter of a pound
of butter, and enough warm water to make it into a stiff dough. Work
it well, and then add the portion that was previously prepared. Knead
the whole well together, and then wrap the dough in a white napkin, and
leave it for seven or eight hours. Then divide the dough into pieces,
as if for buns, and make them into the usual half-twisted form of a
brioche, using a little warm milk to moisten them if necessary. Lastly,
wash them over with eggs well beaten, and put them in the oven.

I shall now give you two or three receipts for biscuits, and sweet
cakes.

For _Butter biscuits_. Warm two ounces of butter in as much skimmed
milk as will make a pound of flour into a stiff paste, knead it well,
and beat it with a paste roller; roll it out thin, cut the paste into
round cakes with a glass, and prick them with a fork. Bake in a quick
oven.

_Stamped biscuits_ are made by rubbing a quarter of a pound of
butter into a pound of flour, then mixing it with cold water and
a tea-spoonful of yeast into a paste. Knead it till it is quite
smooth; then cover it on the board with a basin for half an hour, and
afterwards make it into balls, stamping each with the print.

_Abernethy biscuits_ may be made by adding caraway seeds and a very
little sugar to the above.

For a _Sponge-cake_. Take half a pound of flour, three quarters of a
pound of lump sugar powdered, and seven eggs, leaving out three of the
whites; beat all well together, and add the rind of a lemon grated on
some of the sugar before it is pounded. Bake in a mould, and in a quick
oven.

For _Naples biscuits_. Put a quarter of a pint of water, two spoonfuls
of orange-flower water, and half a pound of fine sugar into a saucepan,
and let it boil till the sugar be melted; then pour it upon four eggs
well beaten, stirring the whole as fast as possible while the syrup
is poured in. Continue beating it well till cold; then stir in half a
pound of flour. Make clean white paper into moulds of the proper size
for the biscuits, pour the batter into them, and put them on tins to
bake; sift fine sugar on, and set them in a brisk oven, taking great
care that they are not scorched.

For _Wine cakes_. Mix two pounds of flour, one pound of sugar, and one
ounce of caraway seeds, with four eggs, and a few spoonfuls of water to
make a stiff paste; roll it thin, cut the cakes in any shape, and bake
them on floured tins. While baking, boil half a pound of sugar in half
a pint of water to a thin syrup; and, while both are hot, dip each cake
into it. Put them into the oven on tins, to dry for a short time; and
when the oven is cool put them in again, and let them remain in four or
five hours.

For a _Pound cake_. Take two pounds of flour, one pound of butter, one
pound of sugar, one pound of currants, a little cream, lemon-peel,
mace, and cinnamon; first rub the butter in the flour, then put in the
cream, a little yeast, and five eggs, and set it to rise; when risen
enough add the other ingredients. Bake in a tin lined with paper well
buttered.

For _Ratafia drops_. Blanch and beat four ounces of bitter and two
ounces of sweet almonds with a little rose-water, a pound of sifted
sugar, the whites of two eggs well beaten, and a table-spoonful of
flour. Drop this mixture so as to form balls about the size of a
nutmeg, and bake them on wafer paper.

For _Macaroons_. Blanch four ounces of sweet almonds, and pound them
with four spoonfuls of orange-flower water; whisk the whites of four
eggs to a froth, then mix them, and a pound of sugar sifted, with the
almonds, to a paste; and, laying a sheet of wafer-paper on a tin, put
the paste on in different moulds, or cut into little cakes, the shape
of macaroons.

_Gâteau d'Avranches_. Grate one pound of loaf sugar to a fine powder,
and add it to the yolks of fourteen eggs. Beat them well together for
half an hour, and then add the juice of two lemons, some orange-flower
water, and half a pound of potato flour. In the mean time another
person must beat the whites of the fourteen eggs for half an hour or
more till they look like snow, as, should any liquid remain, it will
spoil the cake completely. Put this snow to the yolks, and beat the
whole together for ten minutes; then pour the whole quickly into a
mould that has been well buttered before the fire, and put it directly
into an oven, which must be hot, but not quite so much so as for bread;
three quarters of an hour will bake it.

For _Gingerbread_. Put into a Maslin kettle half a pound of fresh
butter and three quarters of a pound of treacle, and keep them on the
fire, stirring them together, till they are melted and thoroughly
incorporated. In the mean time mix half a pound of moist sugar with
two pounds of flour and three quarters of an ounce of ginger, and pour
the treacle and butter quite hot on the flour, sugar, and ginger; work
the whole well together, and when almost cold roll the paste out, and
cut it into cakes. Bake them in rather a slow oven. If it is wished to
have the gingerbread very rich, only half the quantity of flour must be
used; and the paste, which is rolled very thin, is cut into squares.
This kind of gingerbread is called Parliament.




LETTER V.

IMPROMPTU COOKERY.--SOUPS.--POULTRY.--PIGEONS.--GAME.--SALADS
OF COLD MEAT AND POTATOES.--MODES OF DRESSING POTATOES AND
CARROTS.--SAUCES.--OMELETTES, CREAMS, AND SIDE DISHES.--MISCELLANEOUS
COOKERY.--NATIONAL COOKERY.--THE FRENCH POT-AU-FEU.--ITALIAN
MACARONI.--GERMAN SAUER KRAUT.--POLISH BARSCH.--SPANISH OLLA PODRIDA
AND PUCHERO.--SCOTCH HAGGIS, BARLEY BROTH, AND HOTCH-POTCH.--ENGLISH
PLUM-PUDDING.


The anxiety you express to see my promised hints on cookery has
induced me to send them to you without waiting till I had finished all
that I have to say of the servants' offices of your house; and you
will observe that I shall first confine myself to what may be styled
_Impromptu Cookery_, or cookery for the country, in contradistinction
to cookery in towns; my principal aim being to enable you to have a
nice little dinner ready in a short time on any emergency, without
keeping an expensive table in ordinary. I have already advised you
always to have a supply of salted meat in the house; but this is not
enough, as a single dish of meat with vegetables and pudding, though
quite sufficient as far as regards mere eating, does not form such a
dinner as your husband would like to see on his table, if he were to
bring a friend home unexpectedly. If, however, you are able to give
them a well-flavoured soup, and two or three nicely cooked made-dishes
to support the joint, (or _pièce de résistance_, as the French call
it,) you have at once a dinner that is not expensive, and yet gives an
air of elegance and refinement to the table.

I suspect indeed it would be a good plan to have several dishes on
your table every day, whether you have company or not. It is not
more expensive; for made dishes, by employing more vegetable matter,
actually save the consumption of solid meat: and it is certainly more
wholesome, as the stomach will more easily digest food of several
kinds than a dinner taken from a single dish. The French know this
perfectly well; and hence, however heartily a Frenchman may eat, he
is scarcely ever troubled with indigestion, while many English people
find indigestion the misery of their lives. "The Frenchman," says a
writer on Domestic Economy, "begins his dinner with light soup, and
successively disposes of his four dishes and his dessert. The whole
quantity that he has eaten is, however, much less than the Englishman's
meal from his single joint, and he experiences no inconvenience. In
eating of a number of dishes, a little of each, the imagination is
acted upon, and exaggerates the quantity really taken; the appetite is,
therefore, satisfied with much less. The different matters received
into the Frenchman's stomach, independently of their greater or less
approximation to chyme by the process of cookery they have undergone,
form a light heterogeneous mass or tissue, through which the gastric
juice readily passes, whilst many of the different varieties he has
swallowed act upon each other as solvents, and help the work of
digestion." Besides, it is well that the servants should be accustomed
to the same style of living when you are alone as when you have
company, to prevent the awkwardness inevitable when persons do any
thing that they are not in the habit of doing frequently. One of the
greatest dangers of a country life is, indeed, that of getting into
habits of slovenliness, both of the person and the table. If you once
allow yourself to say, "It is of no consequence how I dress, or what we
have for dinner to-day, for we are not likely to see any one," all my
exhortations will have been thrown away.

In the first place, in order always to keep up a good table at a small
expense, take care never to be without plenty of _Stock for soup_. The
best way of preparing this is to have two or three pounds of lean beef
cut into pieces, and put into a stewpan with five quarts of water,
a bunch of sweet herbs, two onions sliced, and a little pepper and
salt. Let it stew very gradually for two or three hours, without being
suffered to boil. When all the goodness is drawn from the meat, the
gravy should be strained off clear and kept in an earthen jar for use.
When a stock like this has been provided, it is easy to make any kind
of soup from it that may be required. For instance, if hare soup be
wanted, it is only necessary to cut a hare in pieces, and to let it
stew gradually in this gravy till it becomes tender. If a vegetable
soup be desired, it is simply adding onions, carrots, and turnips cut
into dice, with perhaps a little celery and a few cabbage lettuces
cut small: or these vegetables may be cut in slices and fried in
butter, and then stewed till tender in the soup, which should have
been previously thickened with a little butter worked up with flour.
On other occasions, the soup may be varied by adding macaroni, rice,
or vermicelli, or, in fact, any thing else usually put into soups; or
partridges or giblets may be stewed in it, according to circumstances.
The receipt for this excellent stock is taken from Dr. Hunter's
_Receipts in Modern Cookery_; and the following is another from the
same work, of much richer quality, but which I have also tried and
found excellent:--Take beef, mutton, and veal, of each equal parts.
Cut the meat into small pieces, and put it into a deep saucepan with
a close cover; the beef at the bottom, then the mutton, with a piece
of lean bacon, some whole pepper, black and white, a large onion in
slices, and a bundle of sweet herbs. Over this put the veal. Cover up
close, and put the pan over a slow fire for ten minutes, shaking it now
and then. After this pour on as much boiling water as will a little
more than cover the meat. Stew gently for the space of eight hours,
then put in two anchovies chopped, and season with salt to the taste.
Strain off and preserve for use. If properly made, this gravy will
become a rich jelly, which will keep good a long time, and a piece of
which may be cut out occasionally, when a made dish or a rich soup is
wanted in haste.

The two following receipts for _impromptu_ soups are from a French
cookery book. The first is called _Soup made in an hour_. Cut into
small pieces a pound of beef and a pound of veal; put them into a
casserole, or wide shallow saucepan, with a carrot and an onion cut in
slices, a few slices of bacon, and half a glass of water. Hold it over
the fire for a short time till the meat and vegetables begin to brown,
taking care, however, that they are not burnt; then pour over the whole
a pint of boiling water, and let the soup stew gently for about three
quarters of an hour; after which the soup only requires to be strained
through a sieve to be fit for use. The other is for _Soup made in a
minute_, and it consists in taking the congealed gravy from roast meat,
either from the dish or from under the dripping, after the dripping has
become cold and has been removed, in the proportion of a quarter of a
pint of jelly to a quart of boiling water, and adding pepper and salt
to the taste.

An excellent _white soup_ may be made by boiling a knuckle of veal
down to a strong jelly, with a bundle of sweet herbs, and another
of parsley. The liquor should then be strained from the meat and
herbs, and flavoured with mace and nutmeg, adding milk or cream,
and thickening with arrow-root. A few Jerusalem artichokes or young
turnips (particularly the Teltow turnips), boiled quite soft and rubbed
through a sieve, and a little celery, are a great improvement to this
soup. Partridges stuffed with forcemeat and stewed in the stock of
this soup till they are perfectly tender, but not so much so as to
fall to pieces, make a delicious dish; but in this case the soup will
not require either to be flavoured with mace and nutmeg, or to be
thickened, unless it is wished to be very rich. Vegetable marrow or
pumpkin, boiled and rubbed through a sieve, will form a variety to
thicken this soup; or chestnuts boiled, peeled, and mashed, may be used
for that purpose; celery may also be employed occasionally to flavour
it.

_For Hare Soup_, cut a large hare into pieces, and put it into a
stewpan with five quarts of water, one onion, a few corns of white
pepper, a little salt, and some mace. Stew over a slow fire for two
hours, or till it become a good gravy. Then cut the meat from the back
and legs, and keep it to put into the soup when nearly ready. Put the
bones into the gravy, and stew till the remainder of the meat is nearly
dissolved. Then strain off the gravy, and put to it two spoonfuls of
soy, or three of mushroom or walnut catsup. Cayenne pepper to the taste
may be added, and wine in the proportion of half a pint to two quarts
of gravy, if it is wished to make the soup very rich. Lastly, put in
the meat that was cut from the back and legs, and when it is quite hot
send the soup to table.

_A Green Peas Soup_ may be made by taking six or eight cucumbers pared
and sliced, the blanched part of as many lettuces, a sprig of mint, two
or three onions, a little parsley, some white pepper and salt, a full
pint of young peas, and half a pound of butter. Let these ingredients
stew gently in their own liquor for an hour. Then have in readiness a
quart of old peas, boiled tender. Rub them through a cullender, and
put to them two quarts of strong beef gravy. When the vegetables are
sufficiently tender, mix all together, and serve up the soup very
hot. This receipt is very suitable for the country, where vegetables
are abundant. In this respect you have a great advantage over the
dwellers in towns; and you will find it easy to make a great variety of
soups, by boiling any kind of vegetable till it is tender, afterwards
rubbing it through a coarse sieve, so as to make what the French call
a _purée_, and then mixing it with beef gravy or stock, as before
directed. A _purée_ of old peas or carrots makes an excellent soup.

I have only to add to my chapter on soups, that it is an excellent
plan to have the bones of a sirloin of beef or roast leg of mutton,
the remains of a hare, or, in fact, any thing of that kind, put into
a large deep earthen pan, with rather more than enough water to cover
them, a couple of carrots sliced, and perhaps a leek or an onion. The
pan should then be carefully tied down, or have a cover fitted on it,
and it should be put into an oven after the bread has been drawn, and
suffered to remain all night. This makes an excellent _consommé_ or
stock for any kind of brown soup: and it is a good plan to have a stock
of this kind prepared every time there has been a baking of bread,
so as to leave the oven in a proper state; as it not only saves the
purchase of fresh meat for soup, but makes an excellent use of food
that, under other circumstances, would very probably be wasted or
given to the dogs. The liquor in which veal or fowls have been boiled
should always be saved, and when cold, after the fat has been removed,
it should be poured off clear from the sediment and used as a stock
for white soups; and the scrag end of a neck of mutton, the root of a
tongue, and various other portions of beef and mutton, which would be
unsightly if sent to table, should, also, always be stewed down for
brown soups. In the latter case, if the stock made in this manner looks
pale or dingy, it may have a rich colour given to it by the following
composition or _Roux_, which is also useful for made dishes and sauces.
Put a quarter of a pound of lump sugar into a pan, and add a quarter
of a pint of water, with half an ounce of butter. Set it over a gentle
fire, stirring it with a wooden spoon till it appears burnt to a bright
brown colour; then add some more water. When it boils, skim, and
afterwards strain it; and then put it into a bottle, which should be
kept closely corked till the composition is wanted for use.

I shall say nothing about roast meat, or any of the routine of ordinary
cooking; but I shall confine myself to a few extemporaneous dishes for
the table; and on these occasions the poultry-yard and the dove-cot
will be found of the utmost importance.

Any kind of _poultry_ will be tender if cooked as soon as it is killed,
though it will be tough if kept till the following day; and the
feathers may be removed almost instantaneously by dipping the dead bird
for a moment into boiling water. The only objection to fowls is, that
many persons, particularly gentlemen, are very apt to become tired of
them if they are served too frequently, and it is therefore advisable
to vary the modes of dressing them as much as possible.

Sometimes a forcemeat may be made for roast fowl, by boiling about a
dozen and a half of sweet chestnuts, and pounding part of them with
the boiled liver of the fowl, and about a quarter of a pound of bacon,
adding parsley and sweet herbs chopped very fine, with pepper, salt,
and other spices, to the taste. Fill both the body and the crop with
this mixture, and then roast the fowl; when it is done, make a sauce
by pounding the remaining chestnuts very smooth, and putting them with
a few spoonfuls of gravy and a glass of white wine into some melted
butter. The sauce is generally poured over the fowl when it is served
up.

_A broiled fowl_ should be split open at the back, and made as flat as
possible, and sometimes the breast-bone is removed. The thick parts are
generally scored, and seasoned with salt and pepper, after which it is
laid on the gridiron with the inside of the fowl next the fire. The
fowl is, however, very much improved by putting it, after it has been
split down and seasoned with pepper and salt, into a stewpan, with a
little butter, and only enough water to prevent it from burning. When
the fowl has stewed in this manner for about twenty minutes, it should
be laid for about five minutes over the fire on a gridiron previously
made quite hot, and served with a sauce made of the liquor in the
stewpan, flavoured with mushroom catsup, or in any other way that may
be preferred. Fresh mushrooms stewed and added to the liquor are a
great improvement to this dish.

_For a Dunelm of chickens._ Take a few mushrooms, peeled as if for
stewing; mince them very small, and put to them some butter, salt,
and cream. When put into a saucepan, stir over a gentle fire till the
mushrooms are nearly done; then add the white part of a roasted fowl,
after being minced very small. When sufficiently heated, it may be
served up. If fresh mushrooms cannot be had, a very small quantity of
mushroom powder or a little catsup may supply their place.

The French frequently put some rice tied quite loosely in a cloth into
the pot with a fowl, when it is to be boiled; and, when the fowl is
sufficiently done, they cut it up and _fricassee_ it, by putting the
pieces into a casserole, with a lump of butter worked into a paste with
a dessert-spoonful of flour and a wine-glassful of water, and the same
quantity of new milk, with salt, white pepper, mace, &c., to the taste.
Sometimes they add mushrooms, and sometimes small Welsh onions, and
artichoke bottoms which have been previously boiled, to the fricassée;
and sometimes they make the sauce much richer by adding to it the yolks
of four eggs well beaten, in which case they generally put in a little
lemon-juice or a very small quantity of vinegar, just before serving
up. In the mean time, a little salt is thrown into the water in which
the fowl was boiled, and the rice is kept simmering in it till the fowl
is ready. The rice is then drained, and, being taken out of the cloth,
is heaped round a dish in the centre of which the fricassée is put.
When the dish is wished to be of a superior description, only the best
parts of the fowl are used, and the back and side bones are kept back.

_Pigeons_ are still more useful in extemporaneous cooking than fowls,
as, being smaller, they are sooner cooked; besides, they are said to
lose their flavour when kept. They are very good roasted, either plain
or larded (that is, covered with slices of fat bacon, over which are
put vine leaves tied on with string): and when the pigeons are nearly
done, the string and the remains of the larding are taken off, and
the birds browned before the fire. Sometimes they are stuffed with
forcemeat before roasting. Another way of dressing pigeons is to cut
each in two, and put them into a casserole with a little butter and
a few slices of bacon. The casserole should then be held over the
fire for a few minutes, shaking it frequently to prevent the pigeons
from burning; and, as soon as they have acquired a light brown, a few
green peas should be added, and a sufficient quantity of the simple
kind of stock I first mentioned poured over them to cover the whole.
The pigeons should now stew gradually till they are done, and then a
lump of butter worked into a paste with flour should be put into the
casserole, to thicken the gravy before dishing up. This is a French
dish called _Pigeons aux petits pots_; and the following is another,
which is called _Pigeons à la crapaudine_. It is made by splitting
pigeons down the back, and flattening them as much as can be done
without breaking the bones too much. The pieces are then rubbed over
with oil, salt, and pepper; and, some crumbs of bread having been
prepared and mixed with parsley and Welsh onions chopped very fine,
they are rolled in the mixture so as to be covered with it as much as
possible, and then broiled. Sometimes the pieces of pigeon are dipped
in yolk of egg instead of oil. They are served with a sauce made of
shallots chopped fine, and mixed with pepper, salt, and vinegar, with a
little melted butter or oil.

_Ducks_ and _geese_ are generally best plain roasted with green peas,
or with apple or onion sauce. Dr. Hunter, however, gives the following
receipt for a savoury sauce for a roasted goose:--"A table-spoonful
of made mustard, half a tea-spoonful of Cayenne pepper, and three
spoonfuls of port wine. This mixture is to be made quite hot, and
poured into the body of the goose through a slit in the apron, just
before serving up."

_Game_ is generally very abundant in a country house. _Hares_ may be
either roasted, jugged, or made into soup. _Pheasants_ are generally
roasted, either larded or plain. Dr. Hunter recommends the inside to
be stuffed with the lean part of a sirloin of beef, minced small and
seasoned with pepper and salt.

_Partridges_ are cooked in various ways in France; but in England
they are generally either roasted, or dressed in the French way with
cabbages. The following is the French receipt for dressing _Perdrix
aux choux_. Take two partridges, and put them into a casserole with
butter, a very little flour, three cupfuls of gravy, a quarter of a
pound of fat bacon cut into dice, a little bunch of sweet herbs and
a laurel leaf, and let them stew gradually. In the mean time boil a
savoy cabbage with three quarters of a pound of pickled pork, or two
spoonfuls of dripping, filling the pot with water. When the savoy is
tender, take it out and drain it, and then put it into the casserole
with the partridges; let the whole stew for about half an hour, and
then serve it quite hot. Sometimes a carrot is cut in round slices and
stewed with the partridges, and this is a great improvement. Care must
be taken to remove the bundle of sweet herbs and the laurel leaf before
adding the cabbage, as otherwise it might be difficult to find them,
and they would not look well if sent to table. Brussels' sprouts may
be used instead of a savoy, and they render the dish more delicate. A
half-roasted duck may be stewed in this way instead of the partridges,
and is excellent.

Any kind of cold game makes an excellent _salad_, the meat being cut
from the bones and mixed with lettuces cut small, and dressed in the
usual manner. The French add capers, anchovies, or any other seasoning,
to salads, and garnish them with the flowers of the nasturtium and the
borage, which may be eaten without danger.

A _Magnonnaise_ is a salad with alternate rows of cold fowl or roast
veal, and lettuce, hard eggs cut in quarter slices, or carrot, or
beet, gherkins, anchovy, &c. Cold potatoes cut in slices, and dressed
with oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper, make an excellent salad, which
may be varied by the addition of fine herbs, slices of beet-root,
or anchovies taken from the bones and chopped fine. _Boulettes_ of
cold meat, chopped small, and mixed with crumbs of bread or mashed
potatoes, are also very useful _impromptu_ dishes. The mixed meat and
bread or potatoes is seasoned with pepper, salt, a little parsley,
and other herbs, and a shallot or two cut very small; the yolk of an
egg or two is then added, and the mixture is made into balls, which
are just glazed over with white of egg, and then fried; after which
they are served with a little gravy or sauce of any kind, or covered
with parsley put before the fire till it is quite crisp. Cold potatoes
may also be cut in slices and warmed in a casserole, with some butter
mixed first in a plate with a little flour, some parsley cut very fine,
pepper and salt, and a very little lemon-juice or vinegar: this is
called _à la maître d'hôtel_. They may also be cut in slices and fried,
and then served with _sauce blanche_.

_Sauce blanche_ is made by mixing butter with some flour on a plate,
and then putting it into a casserole with a little water. It should be
held over the fire, and frequently shaken, till it boils; it is then
taken off the fire, and a little salt and vinegar thrown in; after
which it is again shaken, and held over the fire till it is quite hot,
but not boiling, when it is served. Some cooks add a little of the yolk
of eggs, well beaten up with the salt and vinegar. _Carrots_ are very
good boiled, and then cut in slices, and dressed _à la maître d'hôtel_,
or fried and served with _sauce blanche_ like potatoes. Carrots are
also very good cut into small pieces and stewed till they are tender,
with a little butter, and only just enough water or gravy to prevent
them from burning. A sauce is made of the yolk of an egg beaten up with
some cream, a little salt being added, and it is poured on the carrots;
the saucepan is then again put on the fire, and when the whole is quite
hot it is served.

It may be useful here to mention two or three kinds of sauce which may
be used either for cold meat or fish; and also some of the ways the
French have of dressing cold fowl or veal, which are very nice.

_Dutch sour sauce._ Take the yolks of two eggs, a lump of butter, a
little bit of mace, and a table-spoonful of good white-wine vinegar.
Put all together into a saucepan over a gentle fire, and keep stirring
all one way till the sauce is thick enough for use.

_Onion sauce._ Melt some butter in a little thick cream, but add
neither water nor flour. Boil the onions, and take two coats from their
outsides. Chop the inside smooth, and put them into the melted butter,
with salt to the taste. Stir one way over the fire for a quarter of
an hour, and send up the sauce quite hot. Another way is to boil the
onions soft, and to rub their pulp through a cullender or coarse sieve
before adding it to the butter.

_Sauce à la Bechamel_ is made by putting sliced onions and carrots into
a saucepan with a little butter and flour and a pint of cream; pepper,
salt, and nutmeg are added, with mushrooms and finely chopped parsley,
if desired. The whole is suffered to stew gently three quarters of an
hour, and then it is strained and thickened with a liaison of yolks of
eggs. Another kind is made by adding an equal quantity of veal stock to
the cream; and dressing any dish _à la bechamel_ means serving it up
with a white sauce; either made as above or in any other way, provided
it consists principally of cream or thickened milk.

_Sauce velouté_ is a white sauce, the base of which is veal stock
instead of cream.

_A Liaison of eggs_ is made by taking some fresh eggs (it is essential
that they should be quite fresh), and separating the white carefully
from the yolk. The yolks are then beaten up, and two or three spoonfuls
of the liquor they are wanted to thicken is added to them, stirring
them carefully. The saucepan is then taken off the fire while the eggs
are gradually mixed with its contents, and only put on the fire again
for a minute, carefully stirring the contents so as to make them quite
hot, but not boiling, before they are served up.

_Sauce à la Tartare_ is mixed by putting shallots and other herbs cut
very fine, with mustard, salt, pepper, oil, and a little vinegar. The
ingredients are all mixed well together and served cold, or they may
be made hot for fish.

_A Blanquette_ is made by cutting cold meat into thin slices, and then
putting it into a saucepan with a lump of butter, a little flour,
pepper, salt, a bunch of sweet herbs, and a little gravy. Simmer it
gently five minutes, and then put the meat into a dish; and after
thickening the sauce with the yolks of eggs beaten up with a very small
quantity of vinegar, and putting it over the fire for a minute, pour it
quite hot over the meat.

_A Marinade_ is made by stewing the remains of a fowl or slices of
cold meat with butter or oil, vinegar, pepper, salt, onions, and sweet
herbs; and then draining the pieces, dipping them in white of egg, and
flouring them or covering them with bread crumbs, and frying them.

_A Capilotade_ is a brown fricassée or hash, and a _Terrine_ is a pie
baked in a dish, but without crust.

_Croustades_ are pieces of stale, firm bread, cut like sippets, but
much thicker, and hollowed out into the centre, keeping the piece cut
out to serve as a lid. The croustades are then fried a fine brown, and
while hot they are filled with minced fowl or veal; or if a sweet dish
is required, with some kind of marmalade or jam made hot.

_Omelettes_ are always a great addition to a dinner table, and they are
easily made. The following is the French receipt for the _Omelettes
aux fines herbes_. Take any quantity of eggs and beat them well, adding
pepper, salt, parsley, and any other herbs, with a few shallots or
small onions chopped very fine. Melt enough butter in a frying-pan to
cover the bottom of the frying-pan with liquid, and when it is boiling
pour in the omelette, and fry it till it becomes a fine brown. When
served, fold it so that only the brown side may be seen, and pour over
it a kind of sauce made by putting a little butter, flour, and catsup
in the pan, and shaking it for a few minutes over the fire; or a little
gravy may be heated and poured over it. The frying-pan should not be
too large, as an omelette should always be rather thick. About six or
eight eggs will make an omelette of the ordinary size, and about two
ounces of butter will be required for frying it. Other omelettes may
be made by omitting the herbs, and adding mushrooms cut very small,
or mushroom-powder, grated ham, grated cheese, or, in fact, any other
substance that may be thought desirable.

Dr. Hunter gives the following receipt for a _Potato omelette_. Take
three ounces of potatoes mashed, and add to them the yolks of five
eggs, and the whites of three. Add white pepper, salt, and nutmeg to
the taste. Fry in butter, and serve up with clear gravy, to which
some add a little lemon-juice. Sweet omelettes may be made by adding
to the eggs orange-flower water, and sugar, or grated lemon-peel and
sugar, or marmalade of apples or apricots, or raspberry or currant jam.
The omelette is then fried in the usual way; but it is usually served
without doubling it up, sugar being grated over the upper side after it
is put in the dish, which is then set in front of the fire for a few
minutes, or the omelette is browned by holding over it a flat red-hot
iron called a salamander.

The following is a receipt for making an _Omelette soufflée_, taken
from a French cookery book. Break six eggs; separate the whites
from the yolks, and beat up the latter with four ounces of grated
lump-sugar, and a little orange-flower water, or the rind of a lemon
cut very fine, or grated. Then beat the whites of the eggs into a
froth, and mix them quickly with the yolks, and pour them into a dish
in which two ounces of butter have been melted, and which is quite hot;
hold a salamander over the eggs for about five minutes, when they will
rise in blisters; then, sprinkling a little powdered sugar over the
dish, serve it quite hot, without losing a moment, as, if it be allowed
to cool, the puffed up part will fall, and the appearance of the dish
will be spoiled. When this dish is made in England, the butter is
generally melted in a frying-pan, into which the eggs are poured, and
suffered to fry for a minute or two, after which the omelette is put
into a hot dish, and set in the oven to rise. A little grated sugar is
then sprinkled over it, and it is served immediately.

Apples and apricots cut in slices and dipped in a light batter make a
very agreeable addition to a small dinner; and the flowers of the Judas
tree, and vine leaves, sugared and steeped in brandy, and the young
shoots of the vegetable marrow, all make nice dishes when dipped in
batter and fried.

_Frangipane_ is made by beating up two or three eggs, and then adding
to them two spoonfuls of flour, mixed quite smooth with a little milk.
Put the whole into a casserole, and set it on the fire for a quarter
of an hour, shaking it continually that the frangipane may not burn.
The dish may be flavoured with sugar, orange-flower water, or crushed
macaroons; and it is eaten with tarts or preserved fruit.

_Fromage à la crème_ is a very elegant addition to the dessert. It
is made by taking a pint of new milk, and adding to it a spoonful of
rennet, and keeping it warm till the curd rises; the curd is then
carefully taken up without breaking it, and laid in a wicker basket,
or on a sieve, to drain. When nearly all the whey has run off, it is
served with cream poured round it, and sugar grated on the top.

For _Syllabubs_, to one quart of cream put the rinds and juice of two
lemons, a teacupful of white wine, two table-spoonfuls of brandy, a
little nutmeg, and sugar to the taste; and then whip them to a froth
with a whisk.

A _Devonshire syllabub_, or _junket_, is made by putting a pint of
cider, with two table-spoonfuls of brandy, and sugar to the taste,
into a large bowl, and milking upon it till the bowl is nearly full.
In twenty minutes some clotted cream is heaped up in the middle of
the dish, and powdered cinnamon, grated nutmeg, and Harlequin comfits
strewed over the top. When cider cannot be procured, half a pint of
port is used instead, omitting the brandy; and when a cow is not
accessible, lukewarm milk poured from a coffee-pot spout, held up as
high as possible, will do almost as well.

For _impromptu Cheesecakes_. Take a quarter of a pound of butter, and
the same quantity of pounded lump-sugar, two eggs well beaten, and the
juice of a lemon, with the grated rind. Beat the butter into a cream,
and mix the whole well together. Then put some light puff paste in
pattypans, and drop a little of the mixture into each. Another way of
making impromptu cheesecakes is with butter, sugar, and sweet almonds,
taking of each a quarter of a pound, and adding the yolks of four eggs,
with the white of two, and the grated rind of a lemon.

_Common Cheesecakes_ made with curd take more time to prepare, but
are, I think, better; they are made by turning some milk with rennet
into curd, as if for making cheese, and then beating three quarters of
a pound of the curd, which should be quite dry so as to crumble, with
five ounces of butter till the mixture is quite smooth. Two ounces of
sweet almonds and five or six bitter ones, pounded in a mortar, and
mixed with four ounces of lump-sugar, crushed and sifted, should be
added; and the whole should be moistened with the yolks of four, and
the whites of two eggs beaten up with three spoonfuls of cream, two of
brandy, and a little nutmeg. The pattypans should be rather large, and
rubbed with butter before the paste is put into them, and the space
left for the curd should be filled quite full. These cheesecakes should
be baked about twenty minutes, and they are excellent. As I have said
you are to line your pattypans with puff paste, you will probably now
ask how it is to be made. There are numerous receipts given in the
cookery books, and I really don't know which is the best; but I will
tell you how I have seen most excellent paste made when I was a girl,
by one of the best plain cooks I ever met with.

For _Puff Paste_, the flour was put in a wide earthen pan set before
the fire, till it was quite warm, turning it frequently with the hands.
A little butter was then rubbed into the flour, and enough warm water
was added to make the whole into a very smooth and even paste, every
lump in the flour having been carefully crumbled in the process of
mixing. The paste was rolled out rather thick, and little bits of
butter stuck all over it; flour was then dusted over the butter, and
the paste was folded up so as to cover the flour. This was repeated as
often as required, and half a pound of butter to a pound of flour was
considered to make a very rich crust, a quarter of a pound of butter to
a pound of flour being the usual proportion.

_Short_ or _Sugar Paste_ was made by rubbing two ounces of lump-sugar,
crushed by a rolling-pin so as to be very fine, into a pound of dry
flour, and adding three ounces of butter, both the butter and the sugar
being so mixed as to leave no lumps. The yolks of two eggs were then
beaten up well, with some cream, and added to the flour, so as to make
it into a paste, and if more moisture was required, milk or cream was
used, but no water. This paste only required rolling out once, and it
was delicious.

In some of the modern cookery books equal quantities of butter and
flour, in addition to the yolks of two eggs, are recommended for rich
puff paste; and it is directed that the greater part of the butter
should be made into a ball, and the buttermilk having been squeezed
out of it, it should be put into the crust and covered with it, like
an apple in making an apple-dumpling. The crust is then to be floured
and rolled out five or six times. I have never tried this paste, and
I should think it would be difficult to make. Regular pastrycooks, I
am told, use oil, which they mix with the flour without any water; and
lard or dripping is often used in large families to save butter. Eggs
give a great richness to paste; but when used the whites should be
omitted, as they are apt to make the paste hard.

Having thus broken through my determination to give you only receipts
for impromptu cookery, I think I must give you a few hints on what may
be called National Cookery, or, in other words, that I may teach you
how to make the favourite dishes of most of the nations of Europe. I
do this principally to amuse you, and to enable you to produce variety
in your entertainments, as the greatest enemy you have to dread is
monotony; but you may occasionally find it useful to know how to
produce the favourite dishes of foreigners, when you have to entertain
them.

_The Pot au Feu_ is the popular soup of France, which is found in
every house, from the prince to the peasant: it is made by putting a
solid piece of beef into cold water, in the proportion of one pound of
meat to a quart of water, and letting it simmer in an earthen pot on
a hot hearth for six hours, taking off the scum as it rises. A little
salt is thrown in after the liquor has begun to simmer, and carrots,
cabbage, an onion or two, and any other vegetable that may be in
season are put in, after the scum, caused by the addition of the salt,
has been taken off. This pottage can never be made properly unless
wood is burned in the kitchen, as it requires to be kept constantly
simmering, but never boiling rapidly during the whole of the six hours;
and this can scarcely be accomplished with a tin kettle or saucepan
placed at the side of a coal fire. In France they generally use a
piece of the rump for the _pot au feu_, as they have their meat (which
they call _bouilli_) sent to table, with the best of the vegetables,
taken carefully out of the liquor, laid round it. The soup is then
strained off and poured quite hot on a slice of bread, either toasted
or untoasted, according to taste, which is laid at the bottom of the
tureen. Sometimes, instead of using bread, the pottage is served plain;
or vermicelli is added in the proportion of from one to two ounces to
each quart of soup. The vermicelli is put into a saucepan, and enough
of the bouillon to cover it is strained over it, and it is stewed very
gently for about half an hour, so as to be ready to add to the soup
when it is put into the tureen. In winter, instead of vegetables, rice
is frequently put into the _pot au feu_ about two hours before it is
served up; or it is stewed for about an hour in a separate saucepan,
and added when the pottage is served up.

_Macaroni_ is the national dish of Italy, and it is prepared by
covering it with ten times its volume of boiling water, and letting it
remain till it becomes soft. When this is the case, some salt is thrown
into the water, and the saucepan is held over the fire for a minute,
till the liquid begins to bubble, when cold water is thrown in to stop
the ebullition: the macaroni is then drained, and placed in a dish
alternately with small bits of butter, pepper, and grated cheese; or,
instead of butter, gravy of any kind may be used, or tomato sauce. The
Italians use the same kind of soup as the French, but they always serve
a dish of grated cheese to eat with it; and sometimes they add parsley
chopped very small to the potage before serving it. The cheese used
in Italy is either Parmesan or Gruyere, but any strong flavoured, dry
cheese will do.

_Sauer kraut_ is the national dish of Germany, and it is made from
very large close cabbages, which are deprived of their outer leaves
so as to leave only the hard white part, or head. The first process
of preparing them is to scoop out the interior part of the stalk with
an iron instrument or scoop; they are then cut into small shreds by a
wooden machine, composed of a flat board or tray, which has a ledge on
two sides, to steady a box or frame, into which the cabbages are put.
In the middle of the board are four flat pieces of steel, similar to
the steel part of a spokeshave, placed in an oblique direction, and the
near edge of each being a little raised up, with small spaces between
each, to let the shreds fall down into a tub placed underneath to
receive them. The cabbages are then put into the box before described,
which is pushed backwards and forwards, when the cabbages, being cut
by the steel, fall in small shreds into the tub placed below. A barrel
stands ready to receive them when cut, the sides of which are first
washed with vinegar. A man stands on a chair by the barrel, with clean
wooden shoes on, whose business it is to salt and prepare them, which
is done in the following manner:--The man first takes as much of the
cut cabbage as covers about four inches above the bottom; he next
strews upon it two handfuls of salt, one handful of unground pepper,
and a small quantity of salad oil; he then gets into the barrel, and
treads it down with his wooden shoes till it is well mixed and compact.
He next takes another layer of cabbage, and puts salt and pepper on
it as before, and treads it again, and so goes on till the barrel is
filled. A board is then placed on it, and upon the board some very
heavy weights are put, and it remains so ten or fifteen days, when it
partially ferments, and a great deal of water swims on the surface: it
is then put into the cellar for use. The men who prepare sauer kraut
are Tyrolese, and carry their machine on their backs from house to
house.

In the annexed sketch (fig. 6.), _a_ is the cutting-tray, _b_ the box
into which the cabbages are put, _c_ the scoop, and _d_ the tub into
which the shreds fall.

[Illustration: Fig. 6. _Cabbage-cutter for Sauer kraut._]

_The Beet-root soup called Barszcz or Barch_ is the national dish
of Poland. It is made by putting the siftings of rye into a barrel,
and filling it with warm water in the proportion of three quarts of
siftings to four or five gallons of water. The barrel is set in a warm
closet heated to about 70°, and soon begins to ferment. In twelve
hours it is ready for use. The liquor is then strained off, and set
near the fire, with any meat or poultry that may be required. When
the meat is sufficiently stewed it is taken out of the soup, which,
after it has been well skimmed and strained, is mixed with a pint of
cream in which four table-spoonfuls of flour have been beaten up, and
into which a red beet-root has been grated. The soup is then set on
the fire for a minute, and when quite hot it is served up. The meat is
served on a separate dish, and it is garnished with another beet-root
cut in slices, and dried mushrooms which have been previously boiled in
a separate saucepan. Another much superior kind of barch, (which may
be called a _beet purée_,) is made by boiling several roots of beet,
taking care not to break the skin, so that they may preserve their
bright red. When quite soft they are taken out of the water, peeled,
and rubbed through a sieve. Half a pound of flour is mixed with a
quart of thick sour cream, and added to five or six pounds' weight of
pulp, and this is thinned with stock from any kind of meat previously
boiled and strained. The whole is then suffered to simmer till the raw
taste of the flour is gone off, and it is then served quite hot. It
should be of the colour and consistency of raspberry cream, and, when
properly made, it is delicious. Both these receipts were given to me by
an English lady now residing in Poland, so that you may rely upon them
as being genuine; and the following receipts for Spanish dishes were
procured for me by a friend from a gentleman who is a native of Spain.

_The Olla Podrida_ is decidedly the national dish of Spain, and,
prepared according to the receipt I am going to give you, it is really
excellent. It is composed of the following ingredients:--a fowl, pieces
of beef, mutton, veal, and bacon; half a Spanish sausage, and some
garvanzos (Spanish peas). The garvanzos should be soaked all night in,
warm water and a little salt. Next morning the whole of the above are
to be slowly boiled together for three hours or more; add some onion,
one or two cloves, salt, carrot, garlic, and open cabbages. Pour the
soup upon _very thin pieces_ of bread, not toasted. After the soup, the
vegetables, bacon, and sausage are served on one dish, and the fowl
and meat on another. Sometimes vermicelli or rice is put into the soup
instead of the thin pieces of bread; but the bread appears to be most
generally used.

_To make a Puchero_, put from two to six pounds of beef into a
stew-pan, adding a quart of water for every pound of meat. Place the
saucepan on a moderate fire, which should be gradually increased in
force so that the scum may be carefully removed, which should be done
as it rises to the surface until no more of it appears. The saucepan
is then to be left on a fire, kept uniformly moderate, for the space
of four hours. When it has boiled two hours, put into it three carrots
of moderate size, two turnips, four leeks, and a parsnep, each cut in
half, a handful of parsley, more or less, a roasted onion pierced with
two or three cloves, and a good proportion of salt. Warm water must
be occasionally added, according as the soup evaporates. The above,
with the addition of a whole fowl, or even the half of a chicken only,
the giblets of a turkey, or a bone of roast lamb, makes an excellent
dish in the class of plain cooking. There should be put in this dish
some garvanzos soaked in warm water the previous night, and put into
the saucepan as soon as the soup begins to get warm. A piece of ham or
bacon, or a piece of the Spanish sausage, should be put in at the same
time as the vegetables.

_A Scotch haggis._ Take the large stomach of a sheep. After being
nicely cleaned, put it to soak in cold water for a night. Boil the
pluck of a sheep till it becomes very tender; mince it small, together
with a large portion of suet, and season with white pepper, salt, and a
little onion shred small; add a quart of the liquor in which the pluck
was boiled, and as much oatmeal, previously browned before the fire, as
will make the mixture as thick as batter. The ingredients are then put
into the stomach, which must be firmly sewed, to keep out the water;
and, after boiling for three hours, it is served up in a deep dish.
Though the pluck is here mentioned generally, we must observe that
neither the liver, nor what is called the cat's-piece or spleen, is to
be used. When the haggis comes to table a portion of the skin where it
is sewed is taken up with a fork, and a hole is made by cutting the
skin all round it. If the haggis has been properly made the gravy will
spurt out to a great height the moment the skin is pierced.

_Scotch barley broth_ is considered best when made with a sheep's head,
the wool from which has been singed off with a red-hot iron. This
operation requires great care, as every particle of the wool should be
removed, and yet no impression should be made on the skin. When singed
the head should be soaked in water all night. In the morning it is
scraped and washed, and then it is split open, and the brains taken
out. Some persons rub the brains over the skin of the head to remove
the blackness; but others do not like either the broth or the head
unless both are black. When properly prepared it is put into a kettle
with some turnips and carrots cut small, some onions, and some salt;
and a gallon of water should be added, in which a teacupful of Scotch
or pearl barley has been boiled slowly for half an hour. The whole
should then be boiled very gently for two or three hours, or longer,
in a close kettle. When served the soup should not be strained, but
only the head should be taken out and served on a separate dish, and
the broth should be sent to table with the barley and vegetables in it.
The meat on the head should be quite tender and thoroughly done. If the
taste of the head be disliked, the soup may be made by adding to the
stewed barley, the vegetables, and three pounds of the lean end of a
neck of mutton, instead of the head. A pint of green peas may also be
added, if in season.

_A Scotch hotch-potch._ Take equal quantities of fresh beef and mutton,
a pound and a half of each to three pints of water; chop them finely,
and let them simmer gently in a stew-pan. When the meat is tender,
season with salt and pepper, and add a peck of green peas, three or
four or more carrots, two cauliflowers, a few onions, and any other
vegetable that may be in season, cutting them small, and dredging them
with flour. The whole should stew gradually till the vegetables are
tender, when it should be served without straining. In the winter, when
other vegetables are scarce, potatoes may be substituted for some of
them; but carrots should always be most abundant.

_For an Irish stew._ Take four pounds of potatoes, and a pound and a
half of meat, with a few onions, and one carrot, which will make a good
stew for six or seven persons. The meat must be cut into small pieces;
if it is half mutton it will be all the better; add about three pints
of water. When the greater portion of the potatoes are in pulp, it will
be done. Season it with salt and pepper.

_The English national dishes_ are, I suppose, roast beef and plum
pudding. I need not tell you how to roast your beef, but I may give you
a receipt for a pudding under it, as I think puddings of that kind are
peculiar to England.

_For an excellent Yorkshire pudding,_ take six eggs, six heaped
table-spoonfuls of flour, and one tea-spoonful of salt. Beat the eggs
well, strain them, and mix them with the flour, and then add gradually
about a pint of milk, so as to make the whole into a rather thin
batter. Warm the pan, and rub it with dripping or butter before the
batter is poured into it, and let the batter be about an inch thick.
When the pudding is browned on one side cut it into quarters, or eight
pieces, and turn them to brown the other. In some places the pudding
is made very thin, and not turned; and sometimes currants are added. A
plainer pudding may be made with half a pound of flour, a tea-spoonful
of salt, three eggs, and a pint of milk.

_For a Plum pudding,_ take suet, flour, currants, and stoned raisins,
one pound each, the grated rind of a lemon, four eggs, a wine-glassful
of brandy, and as much milk as is required to make it of a proper
consistence. It should be boiled eight or nine hours in either a cloth
or a mould, and served with wine sauce.

_Sir Joseph Brookes's Plum pudding._ "Take the crumb of a twopenny
loaf, six ounces of suet, two apples grated, three ounces of sugar,
the rind of a lemon grated, a little candied orange, half a pound of
currants, two table-spoonfuls of flour, the yolks of four eggs, half a
nutmeg, a little ginger, and three table-spoonfuls of brandy. Mix all
well together, and boil two hours. Eight ounces of apple or gooseberry
pulp, with five ounces of sugar, may be substituted for the suet."

_Mr. Sopwith's Victoria pudding._ "Take half a pound of flour, half
a pound of currants, a quarter of a pound of suet shred very fine, a
quarter of a pound of moist sugar, half a pound of mashed potatoes, a
quarter of a pound of carrots boiled and beaten smooth, and one ounce
of lemon-peel. Mix all well together the night before the pudding is
wanted, and boil it four hours." Another similar pudding is made as
follows:--"Take of flour, suet chopped fine, currants, raisins, and
grated carrot, half a pound of each; mix the ingredients well together,
without any liquid, and boil five hours. A little grated lemon-peel may
be added, and the pudding should be served with sweet sauce poured over
it."

I shall now give you a few miscellaneous receipts of various kinds,
which I know to be good.

_A Charlotte de pommes_ is a French apple pudding, made by lining a
mould or dish with thin slices of stale bread that have been dipped in
clarified butter. The middle is then filled with apples, stewed as if
for sauce; and a piece of bread being laid on the top, the charlotte is
baked with fire above and below.

_A French Apple pudding_ is made by baking or stewing some apples with
sugar till they become a sort of marmalade. A custard is then made of
half a pound of sweet almonds, blanched and pounded smooth, with an
ounce of bitter ones, half a pint of cream, the yolks of two eggs, and
the white of one, and poured over the apples, which should then be
baked in a slow oven. As this is what is called a French apple pudding
in England, it may amuse you to give you now what is called an English
apple pudding in France; it is as follows:--Take twelve moderate-sized
apples, pare and core them, and then put them into a saucepan with four
or five table-spoonfuls of water. Stew them till they are soft, and
then mix them with half a pound of powdered lump sugar, the juice of
three lemons, and the grated rind of two, and the yolks of eight eggs
well beaten. Mix all well together; cover a dish with a light puff
paste, and pour the mixture into it. Put it into the oven, and bake it
half an hour.

_A Parsnep pudding_ is made by boiling two parsneps, draining the water
from them, mashing them, and adding grated bread, the yolks of two
eggs, sugar and spice to the taste, and a little cream; the whole, when
mixed, is poured into a light puff paste, and baked.

_Mr. Sopwith's Almond pudding._ Take five or six bitter almonds,
blanched, and pound them in a mortar, with seven or eight pieces of
lump sugar. Then beat up the yolks of two, and the whites of three
eggs, and add them to the almonds and sugar, with two spoonfuls
of cream made lukewarm. Pour the whole into a mould or basin well
buttered, and steam it for twenty minutes.

To make a _Cabinet pudding_. Butter a pudding basin, and line the
inside with a layer of raisins that have been previously stoned. Then
cut some thin bread and butter, taking off the crust, and fill the
basin with it. In another basin beat up three eggs, and add to them
a pint of milk, with sugar and spice; mix all well together, and
pour the whole into the first basin upon the bread and butter. Let
it stand half an hour, and then tie a floured cloth over it in the
usual manner, taking care that the basin is quite full. This is a most
delicious pudding; and when turned out of the basin it has a singular
appearance, the outside being quite covered with raisins.

For _Lemon cream_. Take a quart of lemonade made very sweet, strain
it, and put it in a saucepan on the fire. Add the yolks of eight eggs
beaten, and stir it always one way till it is of a proper thickness.
Serve it in custard-glasses, or in a cream-dish. To make the lemonade,
dissolve five ounces of sugar in two pints of boiling water, having
previously, with part of the sugar, rubbed the yellow rind off a lemon;
then add the juice of three lemons. Some persons put the lemon and
sugar into a jug, and pour the boiling water upon them.

_Rice flummery_, which is a very nice side dish, is made by mixing
a quarter of a pound of ground rice with a little cold milk, and
then adding a pint of hot milk which has been boiled with a stick of
cinnamon and a bit of lemon-peel; add sugar to the taste, and, if
required, a few drops of essence of almonds. Boil it up, stirring it
carefully, and then pour it into a mould.

_Dutch flummery_ is made by boiling two ounces of isinglass in three
half-pints of water very gently for half an hour. Strain the liquor,
and add a few lumps of sugar which have been rubbed on the rind of two
lemons, and the juice of three lemons strained; then beat the yolks
of seven eggs, and add them gradually. Put the whole over the fire,
and stir it carefully, all one way, till it boils, and then pour it
into a mould, or put it first into a basin to settle before putting it
into the mould. The whites of the eggs beaten up to a froth will look
very pretty over preserves; or they may be coloured with some kind of
preserve, to form a dish.

The following is a receipt to make _Rice cream_, which was sent to me
by a friend, and is said to be most excellent. Take a quarter of a
pound of ground rice, one quart of cream, the peel of a lemon, and a
small piece of butter. Put all into a stewpan, and place it over the
fire, stirring it carefully till it boils, when it should be of about
the same thickness as bread sauce. After boiling two minutes, add a
spoonful of prepared isinglass, and turn it out, as you would any other
cream. Send it to table with a little raspberry or currant syrup.

_Blancmange_ may be made quickly by boiling, or rather simmering, two
ounces of isinglass in three pints of milk till it is dissolved, which
will be in about half an hour. Then strain it into a pint and a half of
cream; sweeten it, and add a little peach-water, to give the flavour of
almonds. Let it boil up once, and then stand a few minutes to settle
before it is put into the moulds. Use tin moulds, and set them in cold
pump-water changing the water when it becomes warm, and the blancmange
will very soon be quite firm.

I will now give you a few miscellaneous receipts, and then I think you
will have had enough; for I know, as far as my own experience goes, I
have always felt perplexed, when I have taken up a cookery book, by the
great number of receipts which I found in it, and all of which appeared
to me so excellent that I knew not which to choose. I have, naturally
enough, supposed you to have the same feeling; and thus, in what I have
written, I have endeavoured as much as possible to save you the trouble
of selection, by giving you only such dishes as I either know to be
good myself, or which have been given to me by friends I can fully rely
upon. But I am forgetting your receipts; they are as follow:--

To make _Potato flour_ or _starch_, to serve also instead of
arrow-root. Peel and wash the potatoes, cutting out all the specks;
then grate or rasp them into a pan of water; stir it up well, and let
it remain for about ten hours, or till all the flour is settled down.
Then pour off the water with the fibrous parts of the potatoes, and put
some fresh water to the flour, which, as it settles very hard, must be
well stirred and strained into another pan, where let it remain till it
is again settled down, and so do till the water is quite clear, which
will be in four or five times mixing in fresh water; once straining
is sufficient. When clear enough, break the flour up into a dish, and
dry it gently before the fire; it takes a good while, as it must be
thoroughly dried and broken into a fine powder. It may then be put away
for use, and keeps a long time. Very small potatoes answer the purpose
as well as large; and, when persons grow them, it uses up those that
are too small for boiling. Ten ounces and a half of starch have been
produced from very small potatoes, which weighed only seven pounds and
a half before peeling them. When this flour is made on a large scale,
the potatoes may be washed, and then ground in a cider-mill without
paring.

_To pickle Lemons._ Grate off the rind, then lay them in salt for
six days; boil vinegar with a little turmeric, and pour over them
boiling; let them stand till next day; then boil in best vinegar, mace,
shallots, anchovy, Cayenne pods, and cloves; boil the lemons and liquor
together two minutes, and cover them close up. In a few days they will
be fit for use, and are much admired with fish, cutlets, or cold meat.

_Mixture for India Pickle._ One gallon of vinegar, a quarter of a
pound of garlic, half a pound of salt, a quarter of a pound of ginger,
two ounces of white mustard seed, and two teaspoonfuls of Cayenne
pepper; mix all well together. Any vegetables, such as small onions,
cauliflowers, French beans, radish pods, and gherkins, may be laid in
salt three days, dried, and put into the above mixture, and it is an
excellent pickle for general use.

_Cucumber Vinegar._ Pare and slice fifteen large cucumbers, and three
or four onions, a few shallots, and a clove or two of garlic. Then put
a layer of slices of cucumber in a deep jar, and strew over it some
pepper and salt, and a little Cayenne pepper; then a layer of onions
and shallots, with pepper and salt as before; repeating alternate
layers of cucumbers and onions till the jar is about half full, when
three pints of vinegar is to be poured on the whole. After standing
four days the vinegar is strained off, and is ready for use. It is a
great improvement to cold meat.

_Excellent Walnut catsup._ Take walnuts of the size fit for pickling;
cut and pound them in a marble mortar to obtain the juice. To a pint
of this juice put a pound of anchovies. Boil till the anchovies are
dissolved, and then strain through a piece of muslin. Then boil again,
and add a quarter of an ounce of mace, half a quarter of an ounce of
cloves, some whole white pepper, and seven or eight shallots, a few
cloves of garlic, and a pint of white wine vinegar. Boil all together
till the shallots become tender; then strain, and, when cold, bottle
for use.

_Tomato sauce_ may be made by putting ripe tomatoes into an earthen
jar, and setting it in an oven from which the bread has been just
drawn. When the tomatoes have become soft, the skins should be taken
out, and the pulp should be mixed with vinegar, a few cloves of garlic
pounded, Cayenne pepper, powdered ginger, and salt, to the taste.
Another way is to stew a gallon of ripe tomatoes with a pound of salt
till they are reduced to a pulp; then rub them through a sieve, and add
half a drachm of cochineal, and Cayenne pepper, mace, allspice, and
ginger to the taste. Let the whole boil gently for twenty minutes, and
when cold put into wide-mouthed bottles for use. By adding a little
brandy to each bottle, this sauce will keep several years. Tomatoes are
also very good, boiled gently in salt and water.

_For Tomato sauce_ (_the Spanish way_). Cut six tomatoes in half, and,
having pressed out their juice, put to them a sufficient quantity of
gravy, a quarter of a head of garlic, a little parsley, and a few drops
of vinegar. All this must be boiled together for a short time and
passed through a sieve. This sauce is a great improvement to mutton
chops, ham, boiled beef, or beef steaks.

_The Spanish mode of keeping Tomatoes._ Boil some sugar, in the
proportion of an ounce to each tomato, until it becomes candied. Add
a tenth part of onions; and when they begin to colour put in the
tomatoes, with salt, pepper, cloves, and nutmeg in suitable quantities.
Boil the whole on a very quick fire, and, when of sufficient thickness,
strain it through a hair-sieve. Place it on the fire again immediately,
and, when it becomes solid, put it into jelly-pots. These must be
covered with two plies of paper, and kept apart from the light. The
onions may be omitted from the above; in which case it can be used as a
sauce for a variety of dishes.

_Sirop de Cerises._ Prepare some ripe cherries by pulling out their
stalks, crush them, and leave them to ferment for twenty-four hours.
Press the cherries, and strain their juice through a sieve. The liquid
should be quite clear, and to every seventeen ounces of juice add two
pounds of lump sugar. Put the liquid into a stewpan on the fire, and
let it boil once, then take off the scum, and when the liquor is nearly
cold bottle it. All other syrups of fruit are made in the same manner.

I think you will now be as much tired of reading receipts for cookery
as I am of writing them, and therefore I will only add two receipts
for making _Pork pies_, the first of which is the mode practised in my
native county, Warwickshire.

Half a pound of lard is put into a saucepan containing a quart of
water. The saucepan is set on the fire, and stirred till the water
boils. The boiling lard and water is then poured slowly into as much
flour as will suffice to make it into a smooth and very stiff paste,
and mixed with a wooden spoon, after which it must be beaten with a
rolling-pin. When the ingredients are thoroughly incorporated, the
paste is put into an earthen pan, covered with a linen cloth, and
placed near the fire, where it is left for about half an hour. The
meat is now prepared by being separated from every particle of bone,
skin, and gristle, and cut into pieces about the size of dice. Care is
taken to keep the fat and lean separate; but both are well seasoned
with pepper and salt. A piece of the paste large enough to form one pie
is then broken off the mass, and the rest is again covered up, as it
cannot be worked if it is too cold, though it will not stand if it is
too warm. If it breaks and crumbles, instead of being plastic, it is
too cold; and if it is too soft, and falls when raised, it is either
too warm or too rich. When it is of just the right heat to bear being
moulded, and yet to retain whatever shape may be given to it, the piece
of paste is worked with the hands on a pasteboard, into the form of a
high-peaked hat, with a broad brim; and then the peak of the hat being
turned downwards on the board, one of the hands is put inside the hat,
and the other used to raise and smooth the sides, till the pie is
gradually worked into a proper shape. The meat is then put into the
crust in layers, two of lean to one of fat, and pressed as closely as
possible, in order that the pie may cut firm when cold. When the pie is
quite full, the lid is put on, and wet round the edge to make it adhere
to the top of the walls, on which it is laid, the two being pinched
together, in order to unite them more thoroughly.

In Leicestershire, and some parts of Staffordshire, a layer of raisins
is often put below the meat, and, in Northamptonshire, pork pies or
pasties are made with the same kind of crust as I have described, but,
instead of being raised, it is rolled out, and then cut into pieces
of a proper size for the top and bottom, with a long piece of the
necessary width for the sides. The bottom is cemented to the walls with
egg, the two parts which are to adhere being pinched together; and
the crust is filled with well-seasoned meat, put in layers of fat and
lean as before; the lid is then put on, and, after it has been made to
adhere to the walls, it is washed over with a feather dipped in white
of egg.

These pies are frequently baked in a tin, which is made so as only to
support the walls, and is fastened on one side with a kind of skewer,
which may be drawn out, so as to allow the tin to be removed without
breaking the crust. As, however, the sides sometimes look too pale,
when the pie is baked in a tin, the pie may be put into the oven again
for a few minutes after the tin is removed, in order that the walls may
be properly browned.

All pork pies should be baked slowly, on account of the solid nature
of the meat; and a hole is generally made in the middle of the lid
to let out the steam. No water should be put into the pie when it is
made; but, when it is baked, a little gravy made from the bones of the
pork may be poured in through the hole in the lid. Pork pies are never
cut till they are cold. Those persons who dislike lard may use butter
instead of it for the crust; but it is not quite so good.




LETTER VI.

THE LARDER.--SALTING MEAT, BACON, AND HAMS.--THE DAIRY.--MANAGEMENT
OF MILK.--MAKING AND KEEPING BUTTER.--MAKING CHEESE OF VARIOUS
KINDS.--ICE-HOUSE, ICE-CELLAR, AND ICE-COOLER.


I will now proceed to say a few words on the other servants' offices.
The _Larder_ in a country house is generally a square or oblong room
near the kitchen, and sometimes sunk a step below it. It should be
kept as cool as possible, and should be contrived to be on the north
side of the house. Where practicable, there should be two windows, or
rather openings in the walls, opposite each other, filled in with wire
network instead of glass, to allow a free current of air through the
room, and yet to exclude flies and other insects. The floor should be
of brick, and furnished with a drain, so that it may be frequently
washed with plenty of water, without much trouble. The walls should be
whitewashed, and there should be fixed in them at intervals strong iron
hooks or holdfasts, for the purpose of suspending uncooked meat. Other
hooks should be fixed in the ceiling, for hung beef, tongues, hams, &c.
When the larder is dry, there may be also bacon racks fixed to the
ceiling; but, if the situation should be damp, these will be better
in the kitchen. In some places a circular rack is hung in the centre
with hooks round it for game; but in very large establishments there
is a separate larder for game, as the smell, when it is high, gives an
unpleasant flavour to the fresh meat kept near it. In the centre of
the larder there should be a strong wooden table or chopping-block for
cutting the meat upon; and close under the walls there is frequently
a raised settlice or dais of brick, about two feet high, which serves
to support earthen, slate, or wooden troughs for salting meat. In one
of the deepest of these should be a kind of pickle or brine, in which
anything that is to be salted for keeping may be put; and the other
more shallow troughs may be employed for slightly salting meat that is
soon to be used.

The pickle for the large brine trough is made by mixing four gallons of
water with a pound or a pound and a half of coarse sugar, four ounces
of saltpetre, and six pounds of common or bay salt. This mixture should
be boiled in a large kettle, and the scum taken off as it rises. When
no more scum appears, the vessel should be taken from the fire, and the
liquid suffered to stand till it is cold. Another pickle is made by
adding to four gallons of water, fourteen pounds of common salt, eight
pounds of bay salt, half a pound of saltpetre, and two ounces of sal
prunella. Boil the whole together for half an hour, and take off the
scum; when cold it is fit for use. The first kind is best for hung beef
and tongues; and the latter for salt beef and pickled pork.

When the pickle is ready, the meat to be salted should be examined, and
carefully wiped dry with a coarse cloth, any flyblows or bruised parts
being removed. If tongues are to be salted, the roots should be cut
off, and laid aside for soups; and then the tongues should be scraped
and rubbed dry before putting them into the pickling-trough. The skin
of the pork should be scraped and cleaned, and the fleshy part should
be carefully examined, and wiped dry, any mass that there may be of
congealed blood being removed. All the meat that is to be cured being
properly prepared, it should be laid in the pickling-trough and the
brine poured over it; and, if there are several pieces of meat, care
should be taken to lay them so that the brine may touch every part, and
completely cover the whole. Meat which has been preserved in the first
pickle for ten weeks or more, if cooked without being hung up to dry,
will be perfectly tender, and will eat as well as meat that has been
only freshly and slightly salted.

It is said that meat may be kept in this pickle for twelve months,
provided the pickle be boiled and skimmed about once in two months,
and that during the boiling, two ounces of sugar, and half a pound of
salt be added. In general, the articles which have been salted, after
remaining about a fortnight or three weeks in the pickle, are taken
out and hung up to dry. Some persons lay them to drain, and then hang
them up without any other preparation; but others advise them to be
wiped quite dry and put in paper bags before they are hung up. Whenever
fresh articles are put into the pickle, every thing should be taken
out of the trough, and the brine boiled up, the scum being taken off
and fresh salt and sugar added, as before directed. Sometimes meat is
merely salted when it is to be used in a few days; in which case the
meat is put into a smaller trough or pan, and only salt is used in the
proportion of a quarter of a pound of salt to every two pounds of meat.
The salt should be well rubbed in, and the meat turned every day.

The following general observations as to curing meat will probably
be of more use than multiplying receipts. What is called bay salt
(that is, salt made by evaporating sea-water) gives a finer flavour
than common salt, but rather more should be used, to produce the same
degree of saltness. Sugar makes meat tender, and gives mellowness and
richness, but the quantity used should never be more than one quarter
of the quantity of salt, or it will make the meat taste insipid.
Saltpetre gives a fine red colour, but it is apt to make the meat
hard; and, whenever it is used, there should be at least an equal
quantity of sugar to counteract its hardening tendency. The usual
proportion is, a quarter of an ounce of saltpetre to a pound of salt;
or, if used with sugar, one ounce of saltpetre to three pounds of
sugar. Meat should never be salted in very hot weather, unless it is
wanted for use in a few days; and it should never be put in pickle at
that season. If any meat in the slightest degree tainted be put into
the pickling-trough, the brine will be spoiled, and should be thrown
away. When it is absolutely necessary, in very hot weather, to salt
meat to keep, it is said that a tea-spoonful of muriatic acid and of
nitric acid (spirits of salt and aquafortis), in equal parts, should be
added to every pound of salt. It is also said that a dessert-spoonful
of pyroligneous acid added to every pound of salt will give a fine
smoky flavour, without any of the trouble attendant on smoking dried
meat; but this last must be used with great care, as too much would
spoil the meat.

As _Hams_ require to be salted with more care than any other kind of
meat, I have given below two or three particular receipts for curing
them, all of which I know to be excellent. The first is very useful in
the country, as the hams cured by it may be cooked without steeping.

For a ham twenty-four pounds in weight, take two ounces of saltpetre,
half a pound of common salt, one pound of bay salt, and one ounce of
black pepper. Mix these together, and rub them well into the ham: then
let it stand three days, and at the expiration of that time pour one
pound of treacle over it, and let it remain twenty-four hours; after
that time, let it be turned every day for a month, and each time rub
the liquor well into it. After this, steep the ham in cold water for
twelve hours, then dry it well and hang it up. It will not require
any further steeping when it is to be boiled; and it should be boiled
slowly, say at the rate of about three hours for a ham of the weight
of ten pounds. This receipt was given me by Mr. Beaton, and it is
impossible for any hams to be better than those cured in this way.

The following is the way of curing hams to give them the Westphalian
flavour. For two large hams, take one pound and a quarter of common
salt, two ounces and a half of saltpetre, three pounds of bay salt,
one pound and a half of brown sugar, and one quart of old beer; boil
them all together, and pour the mixture over the hams boiling hot. Turn
them and rub them well every day for sixteen days; then smoke them with
short horse-litter, and hang them up to dry.

The following is another mode of giving hams the Westphalian flavour,
and it is said to be excellent. For two hams weighing thirty pounds,
take one pound of common salt, half a pound of bay salt, three ounces
of saltpetre, and one ounce and a half of black pepper, the latter
ground, and finely sifted. Mix all these well together, and rub the
hams with the mixture for four days, turning them every day, and
having first washed them well with vinegar. On the fifth day, pour
over the hams two pounds of treacle, and rub them well with two ounces
of juniper berries bruised. Let them remain in this pickle six weeks,
turning and rubbing them daily; then take them out of the pickle, and
lay them in spring water for four-and-twenty hours; then wipe them dry
and send them to a chimney where wood is burnt. When thoroughly smoked,
take them down and put them in a chest with wood ashes. I may here
observe that, when hams are cured in any ordinary way, it is said that
the Westphalian flavour may be given to them by rubbing over them three
table-spoonfuls of a mixture of tar and spirits of wine, when they are
just taken out of the pickle.

The following is a mode of making _Mutton hams_, which some persons
are very fond of, though they are too strong for delicate stomachs.
Cut a hind quarter of mutton like a ham, and rub it with one ounce of
saltpetre, one pound of sugar, and one pound of salt. Lay it in a pan,
with the skin downwards for a fortnight, then roll it in bran, and hang
it up to dry.

In some places there is no regular larder, but the uncooked meat is
kept in a hanging _Safe_ in the open air, which is drawn up and down
by a pulley. Cooked meat is either kept in a similar safe, in a fixed
safe, in a separate room called a dry larder, or on a table in the
centre of the common or wet larder; but, in the latter case, every dish
should be covered with a wire-cloth cover to keep off the flies. In
many places the salting-room is apart from the larder, and this is a
great improvement.

The _Dairy_ should have thick walls, and a brick or stone floor, so
contrived that it may be washed with abundance of water every day, and
yet have all the water run off by means of a waste-pipe or drain. There
should be a kind of shelf of stone or slate round it, about four feet
from the ground, and a table of similar materials in the centre, for
the convenience of holding the vessels containing the milk and cream;
and the window, if there is but one, should look towards the north, and
be filled in with wire-cloth, so as to admit the air and yet exclude
the flies and other insects. Besides this wirework, the window should
also have either a sash frame with ground glass to open inside, or
outside shutters, to exclude the sun in very hot weather, and the
cold in winter. A thermometer should be kept in every dairy, and the
heat should never be allowed to rise above 55°, or to fall below 50°.
There should always be a scullery attached to the dairy containing a
fireplace and boiler, as the vessels in which milk is kept require to
be frequently washed with scalding-hot water to keep the milk sweet,
and to prevent the butter and cream from acquiring an unpleasant taste.

Though I do not imagine your knowledge of a dairy to be very great, I
suppose you are aware that the milk is drawn from the cow into a can or
wooden pail, and brought into the dairy, where it is strained, and then
put into shallow vessels or milk-pans, in which it is left for several
hours in order that the cream may rise. Cows are generally milked
twice a day; the morning's milk being skimmed in the afternoon, when
the afternoon's milk is put into pans, or set up as the dairy-maids
call it, and the afternoon's milk being skimmed in the morning. The
cream, after what is wanted for the table has been taken out, is put
into a large wide-mouthed jar or stein, and saved for butter. Cheese is
generally made of new milk, which is put at once into the cheese-tub
without setting it up in pans. The cheese-tub and cheese-press, the
churn and all the apparatus for making butter, generally stand in the
dairy scullery, where the operations of cheese and butter making are
carried on.

Various kinds of vessels have been recommended for milk, and they have
been made of lead, zinc, slate, and other materials. China are the
best; but the old-fashioned wooden or earthenware pans appear to be the
most general favourites; the only objections being, that wooden pans
require a great deal of care to keep them clean, and that the leaden
glaze of the earthenware pans is apt to be affected by the acid of the
milk, if it should be kept till it becomes sour. No good dairy-maid,
however, would ever keep milk in her pans till it became acid: and, if
by any chance wooden vessels became tainted by having had in them sour
or otherwise spoiled milk, they should be soaked in water in which a
large piece of soda has been dissolved; and, if this does not sweeten
them, they must be boiled in soda and water, and then immersed in pure
cold water for a day or two.

Milk when drawn from the cow is warm, and it should be set up in the
dairy before it is quite cold, or the _Cream_ will not rise properly.
Cream for butter may stand twelve hours on the milk, but the cream
that rises in two or three hours after the milk is set is considered
the richest. In many places the milk is skimmed twice, the second time
twelve hours after the first; but the second skimming is considered
very inferior to the first. In Devonshire, the dairy-maids set the
milk-pans on a hot hearth, in order to raise the rich cream peculiar to
that county.

In Scotland, _Butter_ is made by churning the whole of the milk, which
is put into the churn as it comes from the cow, and kept there till it
is slightly sour before it is churned; but this makes the operation of
churning very laborious, and the butter has always a sour taste. In
England, butter is made only from the cream, which is not put into the
churn till wanted for churning, but is kept previously from three days
to a week in a deep earthen vessel, and is stirred every day when fresh
cream is put in.

Churns are of two kinds, viz. the plunge-churn, the motion of which is
up and down; and the barrel-churn, which turns round, and is considered
much the best. Churning is generally performed in the open air in
summer, and in the dairy scullery near the fire in winter. If kept too
cold, the butter will not "come;" and, if too hot, the butter will be
soft, and will soon become rancid.

When the butter has come, as the dairy-maids call it, it is gathered
together with the hand or a net, and put into a kind of shallow tub;
the buttermilk is then emptied out of the churn, which should be left
to drain for half an hour or thereabouts, and be afterwards well washed
with scalding water and a little salt. The butter in the mean time is
kneaded and worked with the hand, or with two small and very smooth
pieces of wood, to get all the buttermilk out of it; and in England
water is generally poured over it to assist in this operation, though
in Scotland it is said that water spoils the butter. When all the
buttermilk is worked out, the butter is slightly salted, and then made
up into rolls or lumps with the two pieces of wood. In the South of
England, as soon as the butter is made, it is put into water; but in
the North it is laid in a dry cool place, and covered over.

When butter is intended for salting, it is not made into rolls, but the
salt is worked into it as soon as the buttermilk has been removed. The
following composition is recommended as a very good one for salting
butter for home use. Take two parts of salt, one part of lump sugar,
and one part of saltpetre. Beat them well together, and add one ounce
of this composition to every sixteen ounces of butter.

When cows are fed on turnips, an unpleasant taste is given both to
the milk and butter; but it may generally be removed in the following
manner. Pour a quart of boiling water on two ounces of saltpetre, and,
when it is thoroughly dissolved and cold, bottle it for use. If two
table-spoonfuls of this mixture be put to every four gallons of milk,
as soon as it is brought into the dairy and strained, it is said to
take off the unpleasant taste; or a lump of saltpetre about the size
of a walnut may be put into the cream-pot and well stirred twice a
day, when the fresh cream is added. In winter, butter is sometimes so
pale as to look almost like lard, but it may be coloured by a little
arnatto, which is sold for that purpose in the grocers' shops; or the
juice of carrot scraped and strained through muslin, or that of the
flowers of the marigold, may be used. In either case the colouring
matter is mixed with the cream before churning.

_Cheese_ is made by coagulating milk with rennet, and then separating
the whey or watery part from the curd, which, when salted, pressed, and
dried, becomes cheese. Rennet is the stomach of a calf washed, cleaned,
and salted thoroughly inside and out, being left in an earthen jar,
with a thick coating of salt on it, for three or four days. It is then
taken out of the pickle and hung up to dry, and in many places it is
kept in this state till wanted; but in others, after it has become dry,
it is resalted and placed again in the jar, which has a bladder or a
piece of thick paper pierced with pinholes tied over it, the rennet
being kept twelve months in this state before it is used. In London,
calves' stomachs and those of lambs, prepared for rennet, are kept in
large casks and sold in the oilmen's shops. In whatever way the rennet
has been pickled and preserved, it is always soaked in brine made of
salt and water or salt and whey, before it is used, and a bunch of
sweet herbs is generally put into the brine in which the rennet is
soaked, in order to give an agreeable flavour to the cheese. The whole,
however, must be strained off clear before it is put to the milk.

Whenever cheese is to be made, the milk must be warmed to about 90°
of Fahrenheit, or the rennet will not act. As soon as the curd has
set, it is separated from the whey in several different ways, and on
the manner in which this is done the kind of cheese produced will
principally depend. When a _Stilton_, or any other kind of rich buttery
cheese, is to be made, a very strong brine is prepared of salt and
cold water, in which is steeped a bundle of sweet herbs, consisting of
thyme, hyssop, marjoram, and savory, with a branch of sweet-briar, and
a few peppercorns. This is suffered to remain three or four days, after
which it is strained off, and the rennet having been put into it and
soaked four or five days, is then ready for use. When all is prepared,
the morning's new milk, together with the cream from the last night's
milking, is put into a narrow, but deep, circular pan, and the liquid
rennet put to it.

As soon as the curd is formed, it is very carefully removed from the
pan, without breaking it, if possible, and laid on a deep circular
sieve, where it is slightly pressed, in order that the whey may drain
from it. It is then put into the cheese-vat, which should be ten inches
and a half deep, and eight inches and a quarter over, with a moveable
hoop of wood on the top, over which a piece of flat board is generally
laid. As soon as the cheese has acquired a sufficient consistency, it
is removed from the vat and firmly bound round with a clean cloth,
which is changed every day, and the cheese bound tighter and tighter,
till at last it becomes sufficiently firm to stand alone. Every time
the cloth is changed, the cheese is wiped at the top and bottom and
turned, so that each end may be equally level. When it has become
sufficiently firm to support itself without the cloth, the cheese is
removed to the cheese-room; but it still requires to be turned twice a
day, and brushed, for about three months.

_Single and double Gloucester cheeses_ are made very differently from
Stilton, though the rennet is prepared for both in nearly the same
manner, except that some allspice and a little saltpetre are generally
added to the brine. In some places the brine is made of whey, in which
enough salt is put to make it float an egg; but it is said that cheeses
made in this manner are very apt to heave.

The best _single Gloucester_ cheese for toasting is what is called a
one-meal cheese; that is to say, it is made entirely of new milk taken
fresh from the cow. An inferior kind is called a two-meal cheese, and
it is made with the evening's milk after it has been skimmed in the
morning, mixed with the morning's new milk. The milk is then warmed,
and coloured with a little arnatto, care being taken, however, that
none of the solid part of the drug goes into the milk; the usual
practice, indeed, is to dip the arnatto in a little milk, and then to
rub it on a flat stone or plate. The colouring matter thus produced
is washed off into a basinful of milk, which is then allowed to stand
and settle, so as to deposit its sediment before it is poured into the
cheese-tub. The rennet is then added, and the whole is kept moderately
warm (the milk should never sink below 80°) till the curd is come,
which is generally in about an hour. The curd is then broken up with
a flat piece of wood called a cheese-knife, and the whey is strained
from it; the fragments of curd being frequently moved about, to allow
the whey to escape from them. Some boiling water is then mixed with a
little of the cold whey, and poured quite hot upon the curd, so as to
cover it, the curd being stirred briskly about, and afterwards left
for half an hour to sink. The liquor is then drained off, and the curd
taken up by the hands and carefully squeezed as it is put into the
cheese-vat, which is not only filled, but has as much piled on the
top as it will hold. When this is done, the curd in and on the vat
is turned into a cheese-cloth, and the vat is washed with whey. The
cloth, with the curd in it, is next placed in the vat, and the ends of
the cloth are turned over the top of the curd, and tucked into the vat
round the edges. It is then put into the cheese-press, where it remains
about three hours, after which it is taken out and the cloth changed,
before it is again put into the vat and into the press. In this state
it remains three or four hours longer. It is then taken out of the
vat and out of the cloth, and rubbed well with salt all over, taking
care that the salt touches every part, after which it is put into the
vat without a cloth, and replaced in the press. The next morning it
is taken out of the press and again salted and turned, and the same
operation is repeated in the evening. After this it is suffered to
remain five or six days in the press, being taken out every morning and
turned, but not salted. It is then removed to the cheese-room, where it
is turned every day for ten or twelve days, and frequently scraped and
rubbed. In some places, when the cheese is thoroughly dry, the outer
rind is painted with a mixture of Spanish brown and Indian pink, rubbed
in with the hand. The whey from this cheese produces a great deal of
butter; and, indeed, it is generally set up for cream as soon as it
comes from the curd.

The _double Gloucester cheese_ is always made with one meal's milk
warm from the cow, and the dairy-maids generally put a lemon, stuck
with cloves, into the brine in which they steep their rennet. The
cheese-making then proceeds in the same manner as for the single
Gloucester, except that, when about half the curd has been put into the
vat, an ounce of salt is sprinkled over it before the rest of the curd
is put in. The remainder of the operation is the same as for the single
Gloucester; the principal difference being in the thickness of the
cheese, which, of course, is occasioned by the greater depth of the vat
in which the curd is put.

In many parts of Gloucestershire, what is called _Sage cheese_ is made.
For this a couple of handfuls of sage leaves and a handful of parsley
are generally put into a portion of the evening's milk, and suffered to
remain all night. In the morning the milk is warmed, and, after being
strained from the leaves, it is turned to curd with the rennet in the
usual way. In the mean time a portion of the morning's milk, into which
no colouring matter is put, is turned to curd by rennet; and the curds
of both kinds are kept separate through the processes of draining and
scalding, till they are ready to be put into the vat, when they are
mixed according to the fancy of the dairy-maid. Sometimes the green
curd is pressed into a tin or wooden mould, so as to form a dolphin
or some other fanciful figure; in which case it is taken carefully out
of the mould, and put into the vat without breaking it, and the white
curd is crumbled between the fingers and pressed carefully and firmly
round it. In other cases the sage and parsley leaves are only bruised,
and the juice which is pressed from them is mingled with a portion of
the morning's milk; or one portion of the milk is coloured red with the
juice of boiled beet-root, another green with the juice from spinach
leaves flavoured with sage, and another yellow with the bruised petals
of the marigold. Portions of milk are coloured with these different
substances and coagulated separately, the curd being varied when
putting into the vat, according to the fancy of the dairy-maid. In
other cases the whole of the milk is coloured and flavoured with sage.

_Cheshire cheeses_ are generally very large, most of those made in
spring being one hundredweight each. The rennet for a Cheshire cheese
is not considered fit for use till it is three years old. It is soaked
in warm water the night before it is wanted, and in the morning the
liquor is considered ready without any further preparation. The
evening's milk is set up for cream in the usual way, and in the morning
the cream is taken off and put into a brass bowl made hot by rinsing
it with boiling water. A third part of the skimmed milk is then put
into another brass bowl, warmed in the same manner; and the two are
put into the cheese-tub, and mixed with the morning's milk warm from
the cow. The whole is coloured with the juice of scraped carrots, or
of the bruised flowers of the marigold. The liquor from the rennet is
then added, and, being well stirred in, the tub is closely covered and
kept in a warm temperature till the coagulation is complete, which is
generally in little more than half an hour.

As soon as the curd is well set, it is divided and turned over with a
bowl to separate it from the whey; after which it is broken into small
pieces by the hand, and suffered to settle down, while the whey, which
swims at the top, is poured off. The curd is pressed on one side of the
tub with a loose board, and the whey that runs from it is again poured
off. The curd is then drawn into the centre of the tub, and formed into
a heap, and the board is laid on the top and heavy weights placed on
it, generally amounting to a hundred pounds. This presses the curd into
a solid mass, and squeezes out an additional quantity of whey.

The mass of curd is then cut into slices, and boards and weights put
upon each slice. This is repeated several times, till not a drop more
whey will run from the curd; after which it is removed to a dry tub,
and crumbled with the fingers as small as possible. It is then well
salted, and put into a cheese-vat made warm by being scalded with
boiling water, and heaped up as high as it will go, the additional curd
being kept in its place by a movable tin hoop. A flat board is then
laid across the top to press down the curd, which generally rises to a
point in the centre of the vat, and the heavy weights are again put on
it. At the same time wooden skewers are run into the cheese, in order
that every particle of whey may be drawn out of it.

After standing some time, the cheese is taken out of the vat, and laid
on a large cheese-cloth, and the curd again broken from the top down
the centre, and more salt mixed with it; after which it is pressed into
the vat by the hand as before, and weights are again put upon it, while
skewers are run through holes purposely left in the vat, into the sides
of the cheese, as before. Another vat having been scalded by being
rinsed with boiling water, the cheese is wrapped in a cloth and put
into it; the ends of the cloth being folded over the cheese as tightly
as possible, and tucked inside the vat, where they are kept down by a
tin hoop called a binder, which is forced in between the cheese and the
upper part of the vat. The cheese is then put into the press under a
pressure of about a ton weight, and a number of thin iron skewers are
passed through the holes in the vat into the sides of the cheese. After
four hours it is turned, and the skewers removed to fresh places, when
the cheese is put into the press for another four hours; after which,
the process is repeated. It is then put into the press, and left there
all night; the following morning it is again turned, and put into the
press without the skewers. It remains in the press for four or five
days, being regularly turned every morning and evening; and it is taken
from the press into the cheese-room, where it is salted on the outside,
and tightly bound with a linen cloth. It is kept in this state and
turned twice a day for a week; after which it is put on the shelves
to dry for a fortnight or three weeks, during which period it must be
turned and wiped every day. Lastly, it is then laid on straw, and kept
rather warm, lest the rind should crack; and, when the rind begins to
feel hard, its surface is rubbed over with butter, and the cheese is
ready for the market. It is rather singular that, notwithstanding the
pains taken to drain every drop of whey from the Cheshire cheese, its
whey yields no butter, and is seldom made any use of except for feeding
pigs.

_Cheddar cheese_ is made like Cheshire, except that when the cheese is
broken down to be resalted, before it is put in the cheese-press, the
curd is crumbled, and four or five pounds of fresh butter are mixed
with it. The cheese is then put in a cloth into the vat, and placed
under the great press, where it remains only about a quarter of an
hour, before it is turned and put into a clean cloth: this process is
repeated three or four times; after which the cheese is wrapped in a
very fine cloth, and has three or four other cloths wrapped round it.
It is then put into the press, and remains there for forty-eight hours;
after which it is taken from the press, washed in whey, and then laid
on a shelf upon a clean cloth to dry. It is afterwards laid on a shelf
without any cloth, and turned every day till it begins to ripen.

The _Wiltshire cheeses_ are of four kinds: the thin, the thick,
the loaf cheese, and the pine-apple, or net, cheese. The first two
kinds are made nearly the same as the Gloucester cheeses; for which,
indeed, they are frequently sold in the London markets. The principal
difference in the manufacture consists in the curd, before it is
scalded, being cut into dice of about an inch square each, and a
thick layer of salt being thrown over them, which is said to harden
the surface of the curd, and to prevent its buttery particles being
washed away by the hot water. The curd is also put into the vat while
it is as hot as the dairy-maid can handle it; and salt is strewed in
between every layer. In all other respects, the manufacture of the
cheese is exactly the same as in Gloucestershire till it is ready
to be carried to the cheese-room, where it is either laid upon elder
leaves or the shelves are washed over with their juice, in order to
prevent the devastations of mites. The loaf cheeses are made the
same as the others; but their vats are from ten inches to a foot in
diameter, and six inches deep; and, when the curd is put into the
vat, it is in four layers, with alternate thin layers of salt. These
are what are generally sold in London as Wiltshire cheeses. The curd
for the pine-apple cheese is prepared in the same way as the others;
but, instead of being put into a vat and then into the cheese-press,
it is put into a net with no other pressure than from the hand of
the dairy-maid; who, however, prides herself on getting as much into
the net as it can possibly hold. The net is then hung up in the
cheese-room, and requires no further care.

I shall now give you only one more receipt for making keeping-cheeses,
and that shall be for the far-famed _Parmesan_. This celebrated cheese
is made with skim-milk. The night's milking is skimmed in the morning,
and the morning's milk is skimmed about two o'clock in the afternoon:
the two are then mixed together and put into a large copper kettle,
suspended over a fire by a crane. The milk is stirred till it has
reached 125° of Fahrenheit. The kettle is now turned from the fire,
between which and it a wooden screen is placed; and, when the bubbling
of the milk has subsided, a piece of rennet, tied in a linen rag, is
put into the milk, and squeezed several times in different places. The
rennet is then taken out, and the milk well stirred; after which it
is left till the curd has formed, which is generally in about three
quarters of an hour. As soon as this is the case the kettle is again
turned on the fire, and the mass of curd is heated to 150°, being well
stirred and divided while it is heating. A fourth part of the whey is
now taken out of the kettle, and the curd is heated to 180°, stirring
it rapidly all the time; and a few pinches of powdered saffron are
thrown in, which not only colour it, but give that peculiar flavour
always perceptible in Parmesan cheese. The cheese-maker (for as
Parmesan cheese is always made by a man, I must not say the dairy-maid)
then takes a small quantity of the curd in his hand, and squeezes it;
when, if he finds it adhere together, the kettle is instantly turned
off the fire, the wooden screen is again interposed, and the curd
is left to settle. The whey which rises is immediately poured off,
and two or three pailfuls of cold water are thrown over the curd.
The cheese-maker immediately plunges his arms into the kettle, and,
gathering the curd to one side, contrives to slip the whole mass into a
large cloth, which is raised as rapidly as possible, and transferred
to a mould without a bottom. This is an operation which requires both
strength and skill; for the cheese hardens so rapidly, that it requires
the greatest exertions to get it into the mould without spoiling its
shape. By its own power of contraction it presses out every drop of
whey. An iron plate, with a slight weight on it, is laid on the top to
keep it flat; but, by the time it is cold, it is become so hard as to
require no further pressure. It is then taken out of the mould, and a
thick layer of salt put on its upper surface. The next day the cheese
is turned, and the under surface salted in the same manner. In this way
the cheese is turned and salted every day for thirty or forty days,
till the salt will no longer dissolve. The rind of the cheese is then
scraped, and, after a little colouring matter has been rubbed over it,
it is covered with linseed oil.

I will now say a few words on _Cream cheeses_, and then, I think, you
will have had quite enough of this subject.

A _York cream cheese_ is made by taking a quart of new milk warm from
the cow, into which is sometimes put half a pint of cream, and adding
to it two spoonfuls of the water in which a piece of rennet has been
steeped all night. The milk is then set before the fire till the curd
is formed, when it should be taken up without breaking, if possible,
and put into a frame made of oak wood, seven inches long within, four
inches wide, and three inches and a half deep. This frame being open at
the top and bottom, it must be placed upon rushes to permit the whey
to run out; to encourage which, a board must be put within the frame
to support a weight to press down the curd, between which and the curd
some rushes must be put. After standing two days, the rushes must be
renewed, when the cheese should be taken from the vat and turned as
often as necessary. This will make an excellent cream cheese without
the cream; and, indeed, the York cheeses sold in the shops are always
made of milk only, without any cream. The rushes should be sewed
together with thread.

A kind of cream cheese is, however, made in Yorkshire of cream only,
without any rennet. "Take any quantity of cream and put it into a wet
cloth. Tie it up, and hang it in a cool place for seven or eight days.
Then take it from the cloth and put it into a mould (in another cloth)
with a weight upon it, for two or three days longer. Turn it twice a
day, when it will be fit for use."

The following is a receipt for making a _Bath cream cheese_. Add half a
pint of cream to a quart of new milk, and warm the mixture till it is
about 80° of Fahrenheit; then stir in as much rennet as will coagulate
it. As soon as the curd has formed, put a cloth over the bottom of a
large shallow vat, and, taking the curd up with a skimming-dish, place
it in the vat and wrap the cloth over it. As the curd shrinks, the
vat must be filled up with fresh curd, till the cheese is of a proper
thickness. When the cheese has become a little firm, it is turned out
of the vat and laid in a dry cloth. A board is then put over it, on
which is placed a weight of two pounds. At night it is put into another
clean cloth, and the next morning it is slightly salted with a little
fine dry salt, and placed on a bed of fresh nettles or strawberry
leaves, being covered with leaves of the same kind. These leaves are
changed every morning, and the cheese is turned twice a day for a
fortnight, after which it is fit for use.

I think I have now told you almost all I know relative to those points
of domestic economy in which a country life differs from a life in
town. I have, however, omitted to mention an _Ice-house_, which you
will find an important addition to your comfort in summer. A common
ice-house is a kind of well, built in Roman cement, and sunk in the
ground. It is arched over, and the ice is put in through a hole in the
top. A door is on one side for taking the ice out, and there is a drain
at the bottom for carrying away the water that runs off as the ice
melts.

A more modern invention is a small _cellar_ built adjoining the house,
with double walls, the space between the walls being filled with
charcoal. The cellar has double doors with a space between, so that
one may be shut before the other is opened, to prevent the entrance of
the atmospheric air. The ice is kept in a sunk part made like a bath,
at the farther end of the cellar, furnished with a drain to carry off
the superfluous water; and in the other part of the cellar are shelves,
on which wine or food can be placed to be kept cool. The old-fashioned
ice-house was always made in the park at some distance from the house,
and consequently was of very little use; but the modern ice-cellar is
very useful for keeping cool, water, butter, and other articles of
daily consumption; which can be fetched out of it when they are wanted,
as easily and expeditiously as they could be out of a common dairy or
pantry.

When ice is supplied from a distance, it will soon melt, if exposed
to the atmospheric air during summer. To prevent this it may be kept
in an _ice chest_, that is, a large deep coffer lined with cork, and
with a double lid; or in a box called a _refrigerator_, which may
even be brought into the dining-room. The refrigerator consists of a
double frame of wood, with the space between filled in with charcoal.
The bottles of wine are placed in little tin cases left for them, and
ice is put between the cases. Below the ice is a tin grating, through
which the melted water runs, and is let off when requisite by a cock.
The box is made to hold two bottles of wine on one side, and a bottle
of water and a glass for butter on the other.

The _American refrigerator_ is another contrivance of the same nature,
which will keep the ice unmelted for a fortnight even during the
hottest weather in summer. This box, like the other, is double, the
inner part being of lead, and the space between the two being filled
with sawdust. There are two lids so as completely to exclude the air
when both are closed.

_The usual mode of cooling wine and other liquids by ice_, is to
surround the bottle, or other vessel in which the liquor is contained,
entirely with ice, observing that the hottest part of the wine is
always at the top of the bottle, but that if the top is chilled faster
than the bottom, the cold wine descends, and that which is still warm
rises and takes its place. As, therefore, the wine is liable to be set
in motion by the process of cooling, it is best to decant it before
it is put into the refrigerator, as otherwise there will be danger
of disturbing the sediment of white wine and the crust of port. When
ice is perfectly clean and clear, like that of the Wenham Lake, it is
sometimes broken into small pieces, and put into the liquid which is
to be cooled; but this could not be done with the ice collected from
the dirty ponds near London.

When it is wished to cool wine rapidly, it is only necessary to put
it into a thin glass bottle, and to wet the outside with ether; as
cold is produced by rapid evaporation sooner than in any other manner,
wine-coolers are formed on this principle.

_A freezing mixture_ for cooling wine, and for freezing ice-creams,
may be formed by mixing five parts of sal ammoniac with five parts of
nitre and sixteen of water. A mixture of snow or pounded ice and salt
produces a most intense cold, but it is only while the salt is melting
the ice or snow that the cold is felt. Muriate of lime, mixed with
snow, produces a still greater degree of cold. Several other mixtures
may be used for freezing; but those producing the most intense cold
are mixtures of nearly equal parts of sulphate of soda with nitrous or
sulphuric acid, the sulphate predominating. Eight parts of sulphate
of soda, mixed with five parts of muriatic acid, will produce a cold
equal to zero. When any liquid is to be frozen by these mixtures, the
bottle containing the liquid is put into a wooden vessel containing the
mixture; and if the cold is to be very intense, the outer vessel may
be placed on a flat piece of cork in a much larger empty vessel, the
whole being covered with a woollen cloth. Water freezes soonest when it
has been boiled, and forms the most compact and beautiful ice.

_The principal utensils required_ for making ice-creams are a tub large
enough to contain about a bushel of ice, which must be pounded small,
and mixed with salt, nitre, or soda, and a freezing-pot made of pewter,
like those sent out with ice-creams. Copper spoons or spaddles are
also required for stirring the ingredients of which the ice-creams are
composed, while the process of freezing is going on. When all is ready,
the ingredients for the ice-creams are poured into the freezing-pot,
which is put up to its cover into the tub full of ice and salt, and
kept turning round continually by its handle till the freezing is
completed. The turning the pot is the most difficult part of the
operation, and it requires great attention, as, unless the ingredients
are kept in constant motion, the sugar, which is the heaviest, will
sink to the bottom, and the other articles will be unequally frozen, so
as to form unsightly lumps. The cover must be taken off occasionally,
to see how the process is going on, and the cream that has adhered to
the sides of the freezing-pot should be scraped off, and mixed with
the rest by the spaddle, in order to prevent waste. The whole of the
ingredients should also be mixed together with the spaddle if they
appear to be settling irregularly.

_Ice-creams_ and water-ices should be perfectly smooth, and soft enough
to break easily with a spoon. The ice-creams are made by mashing the
fruit with which they are to be flavoured, and adding to a pint of the
juice, after it has been strained, a pint of thick cream, the juice of
half a lemon, and sugar to the taste. The lemon-juice should be put in
last. Sometimes whipped cream is used, the cream being first mixed with
sugar, and laid on a fine sieve, turned the bottom upwards in a bowl,
as it is whipped, so that the cream which drains from it may not be
wasted. Water-ices are generally only the juice of the fruit strained
and sweetened, as, if water is added, the ice is apt to freeze too
hard. Lemon-ice is composed of the juice of four lemons, and the rind
of one, to a pint of clarified sugar-syrup, the whole being strained
before putting it into the freezing-pot.

[Illustration: _Garden Front of the Manor-House in its improved
state._]




BOOK II. THE GARDEN.


LETTER VII.

PLANTING A REGULAR GEOMETRICAL FLOWER-GARDEN.--LIST OF PLANTS.--MODE
OF LAYING OUT REGULAR FIGURES ON THE GROUND.--RULES FOR ARRANGING
COLOURS.--PLANTING SIDE BEDS.--PLANTS WITH FRAGRANT FLOWERS.--CULTURE
OF BULBS.--RESERVE GROUND.--CULTURE OF ANNUALS, PERENNIALS, AND
BIENNIALS.--HOTBEDS AND FRAMES FOR RAISING AND KEEPING HALF-HARDY
FLOWERS.


It gives me great pain, my dear Annie, to find that you still think
that you shall never like the country so well as town. I do not,
however, despair; for I am convinced that you do not at present know
whether you shall like it or not. The pleasures of the town and the
country are, indeed, so different, that it requires some time to
become accustomed to the change; but, when you are sufficiently well
acquainted with country pursuits to take an interest in them, I am
sure you will never feel any want of the pleasures of the town. The
great secret of being happy is, to be able to occupy ourselves with the
objects around us, so as to feel an interest in watching their changes;
and, when you can once do this in your present situation, you will
no longer complain of dulness or want of excitement. To be convinced
of the truth of what I say, you need only remember the pleasure your
friend Mrs. P. C. takes in the cultivation of her garden; the interest
with which she watches the opening of her flowers, the coming up of the
seeds she has sown, and the growth of the trees she has planted. It is
not the positive beauty of these things that occasions the pleasure
she experiences in them, but the interest they have created in her
mind; for the entomologist will find pleasure in the most hideous
caterpillars, and the geologist will pass whole days delightfully among
barren rocks. All that is wanted to give an interest in any subject
is, a sufficient degree of knowledge respecting it to be aware of its
changes, and our own natural love of variety will do the rest.

It is a great advantage in a country life, that its principal objects
of interest must be found at home; and hence, as home is woman's
peculiar dominion, the noblest and the best feelings of the female
heart are more likely to be called into action in the country than in
the town. In youth, especially, the ameliorating effects of country
pursuits will soon be perceptible, both morally and physically; and
your health, which has always been delicate in a town, will, I have
no doubt, in the country become positively robust. As the first step
towards the attainment of this desirable object, let me recommend to
you to have a flower-garden laid out as near the house as possible. I
should like to have those cedars, and the remainder of those gloomy
firs, cleared away, which I see close to your house in your sketches,
and your flower-garden so placed that you could step into it at once
from the windows of your usual sitting-room. I hope that this may soon
be the case, and, as I must have a _locale_ to make my descriptions
understood, I will proceed to give you some hints as to the laying out
and planting of such a garden as I should like you to have in the warm
and sheltered corner under the southern window of your morning room.

In the first place, it will be absolutely necessary that the remainder
of the trees should be not only cut down, but grubbed up; as it will be
quite impossible for any flowers to grow under the shade of tall thick
trees, and leaving the roots would prevent the possibility of digging
the ground. In other respects the situation is admirably adapted for
the purpose, as it is open to the south and south-east, and protected
from the north and north-west. Supposing the Scotch pines and cedars to
have been cut down, their roots to have been grubbed up, and the ground
to have been dug over and levelled, the next thing is to determine
upon the plan for the garden. I think it should certainly be a regular
geometric figure, and planted in masses, each bed containing flowers of
one kind, so as to produce something of the effect of a Turkey carpet
when looked down upon from the windows of the house. I enclose you a
design which I think will suit the situation, and I will adapt what I
have to say to it, though my observations may easily be made suitable
to another plan, if another should be found more desirable.

We will suppose the plan (fig. 7.) to consist of twelve flower-beds on
grass, with a gravel walk round, which may be bordered on the side next
your room by beds for flowers, with little gravel openings opposite
each of your windows; or be plain gravel, as you like. There may be a
conservatory into which the drawingroom windows facing the south may
open, and on the other side a shrubbery to unite the garden with the
lawn. In the centre of the flower-garden there may be a fountain; and,
as the flower-garden is to be seen principally from your windows, the
beds nearest you should be planted with dwarf flowers, so that those
in the back beds may be seen. I should also advise the shrubbery behind
to consist of laurustinus and arbutus, so as to furnish a handsome
green back-ground to the flowers in summer, and yet to afford a few
flowers themselves in winter and spring, when flowers are scarce in the
beds.

[Illustration: Fig. 7. _Plan for a Flower-Garden._]

I will now tell you how I would plant the beds. As this is the
beginning of May, and as I wish your garden to look well immediately,
I would advise you to get a few pots of Californian and other annuals,
usually raised in pots, from the nurseryman at the neighbouring town,
and to plant them, putting three potfuls in each bed, but no more.
In No. 1. put Phlóx Drummóndi, the flowers of which are crimson of
various shades, and let the stems be pegged down, so as to spread over
the bed. No. 2. may be Lasthènia califórnica, the flowers of which
are yellow, and the stems generally procumbent; but they may be pegged
down to keep them in their proper places, that is, to spread completely
and regularly over the bed. No. 3. should be Nemóphila insígnis, the
flowers of which are of a beautiful blue, and which will not require
pegging down. No. 4. may be Erýsimum Perofskiànum, the flowers of which
are of a bright orange, but the stems must be pegged down, or they
will grow tall and straggling. No. 5. may be Nolàna atriplicifòlia,
the flowers of which are blue, and resemble those of a convolvulus;
this is a procumbent plant, and will not require pegging. No. 6. may
be Nemóphila atomària, which has white flowers, and is a dwarf plant.
No. 7. may be Leptosìphon densiflòrus, a dwarf plant, with pale purple
flowers. No. 8. may be Gília bícolor, a dwarf plant, with nearly white
flowers. No. 9. may be Clintònia pulchélla, a beautiful little plant
with blue flowers. No. 10. may be Gília trícolor, a dwarf plant,
the flowers of which are white and very dark purple. No. 11. may be
Leptosìphon androsàceus, a dwarf plant, with pale lilac flowers: and
No. 12. Schizopétalon Wálkeri, the flowers of which are white, and the
stems must be pegged down. These are all annuals, which if properly
treated by pegging down, and not planted too close, will produce a mass
of flowers in each bed only just above the surface, and will have a
very pretty effect from the windows. Most of them like a poor clayey
soil best, and they will only require turning out of the pots without
breaking the ball, into the places prepared for them.

If you think there are too many white beds, you can substitute
Sanvitàlia procúmbens, the flowers of which are yellow, for No. 8.,
but the seeds must have been sown the previous autumn to bring it
forward, as otherwise it will not flower till late in the summer;
and Bartònia aúrea, the flowers of which are of a golden yellow, may
be planted instead of No. 12. Cladánthus arábicus, formerly called
Ànthemis arábica, which has yellow flowers, may be planted in No. 8.,
if Sanvitàlia cannot be obtained.

I do not think you have ever told me what soil yours is, and perhaps
you hardly know. You will, however, easily recognise gravel or chalk;
if the soil be red, it is probably, if loose, a sand, and if close, a
marl; a peaty soil is black and loose; and a clay may be known by water
standing in little pools after rain, without running off. This is one
of the worst soils for gardening purposes; but it may be improved by
mixing it with sand.

I shall now give you a list of half-hardy plants for autumn, as most
of the annuals will begin to look shabby in July or the beginning of
August. No. 1. Verbèna Melíndres, bright scarlet; No. 2. Œnothèra
Drummóndi, yellow; No. 3. Lobèlia bícolor, blue; No. 4. Calceolària
rugòsa, pegged down; No. 5. Verbèna Tweediàna, crimson; No. 6. common
White Petunia; No. 7. Verbèna Arraniàna, or Henderson's purple; No.
8. Calceolària integrifòlia, yellow; No. 9. Purple Petunia; No. 10.
Verbèna teucrioìdes, white; No. 11. Frogmore Pelargonium, bright
scarlet; No. 12. Musk plant, yellow.

In October the following bulbs and other plants may be put in for
flowering in early spring. No. 1. Von Thol Tulips; No. 2. Cloth of
Gold, or common Yellow Crocuses; No. 3. Blue Hepatica; No. 4. Yellow
Crocuses, or White Anemone; No. 5. Scílla vérna and sibírica, blue; No.
6. Àrabis álbida, white; No. 7. Double Pink Hepatica; No. 8. Winter
Aconite; No. 9. Purple Crocuses; No. 10. Snowdrops; No. 11. Primroses;
No. 12. White Hepatica, or Àrabis alpìna.

If you do not like the plan for a garden which I have sent you, you can
draw one according to your own fancy, of any figure you like; but, as
I believe you have not yet a regular gardener, it will be necessary to
teach you how to transfer the plan you have decided upon from the paper
to the ground. In the first place, the ground must be dug over, raked,
and made perfectly smooth. The pattern, if a complicated one, must then
be drawn on Berlin paper, which is covered with regular squares, and
the ground to be laid out must be covered with similar squares, but
larger; the usual proportion being that a square inch on the paper
represents a square foot on the ground. The squares on the ground are
usually formed by sticking in wooden pegs at regular distances, and
fastening strings, from peg to peg, till the whole ground is covered
with a kind of latticework of string. Each string is then chalked, and
made to thrill by pulling it up sharply and letting it go again, which
transfers the chalk from the string to the ground. When the ground is
thus covered with white squares, it is easy to trace upon it, with
a sharp-pointed stick, any pattern which may have been drawn on the
paper; the portion in each square on the ground being copied on a
larger scale from that of the corresponding square on the paper.

[Illustration: Fig. 8. _Plan for a Flower-Garden._]

Simple patterns (fig. 8.), consisting of straight lines, need only
to be measured, and pieces of string stretched from pegs put in at
the proper distances, so as to form straight lines, oblongs, squares,
triangles, or diamonds. If a circle is to be traced, it is done by
getting a piece of string half the length of the diameter of the
circle, with a piece of stick tied to each end. One stick is then
driven into the ground in the centre of the circle, and a line is
traced with a stick at the other extremity of the string which is
drawn out quite tight. An oval is made by tracing two circles, the
circumscribing line of one of which just touches the centre of the
other; short lines are afterwards made at the top and bottom, and the
central lines are obliterated. A square only requires a peg at each
corner, with a chalked string drawn from peg to peg; and an oblong, or
parallelogram, is made by joining two common squares, and taking off
the corners if required.

[Illustration: Fig. 9.]

A heart-shaped pattern (fig. 9.) is made by drawing a straight line
from _a_ to _b_, and then fixing a peg with a string tied to it, half
the length of the straight line, and another peg at the end, exactly in
the middle of the line, and drawing a half-circle with it; then taking
a peg with a string half the length of the other, and another peg tied
to the end, and tracing with it the smaller half-circles, _c_ and _d_.
With the same strings and pegs you may easily trace, or rather have
traced, figs. 10 and 11. Even the latter, which appears at first sight
a very difficult figure to form on the ground, will be just as easily
traced as the others. You will observe, that in all these figures the
straight line is only to serve as a guide to show the proper places for
fixing the pegs; and that it is only to be formed by a piece of string
stretched by pegs from one end of the figure to the other, which is to
be removed as soon as the figure is sketched, and which is not to be
traced on the ground at all.

[Illustration: Fig. 10.]

[Illustration: Fig. 11.]

With the aid of these figures, and the pegs and strings, several very
complicated gardens may be formed; for instance, that shown in fig. 12.
This garden is composed of a bed in the centre for a tree rose with a
circle of dwarf roses; a gravel walk surrounds these; and there are
five heart-shaped beds, which may be planted with Scarlet Pelargoniums,
yellow Calceolarias, Petunias white and purple, and tall yellow
Mimulus; and the crescent-shaped beds, which are on grass, may all
be planted with different kinds of Verbenas. This plan is also a good
design for a rosery, the roses to be planted in the beds, and in the
half crescents which must be on grass, with gravel walks between the
grass plots.

[Illustration: Fig. 12. _Plan for a Flower-Garden._]

All the beds intended for bulbs and half-hardy plants should be
particularly well drained; and the best way of doing this is, to dig
out the soil to the depth of two feet or more, and then to put in a
layer of brick-bats and other rubbish, to the depth of nine inches
or a foot. On this should be placed a layer of rich marly soil, in
which the bulbs should be planted. Dahlias, hollyhocks, and other
tall-growing, showy-flowered plants, may have similar beds prepared
for them, but the soil should be made very rich by the addition of the
remains of an old hotbed, or some other kind of half-rotten animal
manure.

You will observe, that when I give directions for planting the beds in
any of the plans I send you, I merely say what may be done, and not
what is absolutely necessary. Indeed, it will be better for you to vary
the flowers as much as possible, according to your own taste, provided
you take care that the plants are, as nearly as you can contrive it, of
the same height, or that they rise gradually, and that you contrast the
colours well. The rule in the latter case is, always to put one of the
primitive colours (red, blue, or yellow) next another of these colours,
or some colour compounded of the other two; using white wherever you
cannot find any handsome plants of a colour that will suit the bed you
want them for. Thus, for example, if you plant one bed with red, you
may plant the next with blue, yellow, green, hair-brown, or white, but
never with any shade of purple, as red enters into the composition
of that colour; nor with any shade of reddish brown: purple, indeed,
must always be next yellow, hair-brown, or white, but never next blue,
red-brown, or red. Orange will not look well near yellow or red; and
lilac must not approach blue or pink. A little practice will do more
than any lengthened details; generally speaking, you may take the same
taste to guide you in arranging the colours of the flowers in your
parterre, that you use in choosing the colours of your dresses; and if
you are in any doubt, you have only to colour the beds in the plan, and
see how they look; or to stick coloured wafers on a piece of paper for
the same purpose.

When you have settled what to plant in the beds of your garden,
supposing you to choose the plan fig. 7., you must next think of the
beds round it. I should advise these to remain unplanted, unless they
are sown with mignonette, or something of that kind. The shrubberies,
I have already stated, should, I think, consist chiefly of the finer
kinds of hardy evergreens; at least that should which is opposite the
windows of your sitting-room. The other shrubbery, which is intended
to unite the garden scenery with that of the park, may be planted with
rhododendrons, acacias, and kalmias; the rhododendrons being farthest
from the walk, and carried a little out into the park, so as to make a
broken line, projecting in some places and receding in others, and here
and there mixed with bushes of phillyrea, alaternus, holly of various
kinds, and cratægus, so as gradually to mingle with the clumps of
trees in the park. On the side next your room, if there are to be beds
under the windows, there should be spaces left in them which should
be gravelled so that you may throw the window open, and not only walk
out on gravel, but walk round the garden on gravel also. This you will
find a great convenience if the weather should be wet, though you must
not mind going upon the grass, if you are to be a real gardener, and
to attend to the flowers in the regular beds. With regard to the beds
near the house, I would have a Lonícera flexuòsa trained over each
window, on account of its delightful fragrance in summer; for a similar
reason I would have Chimonánthus fràgrans against the walls between the
windows, and mignonette and violets in the beds.

I think nothing can be more delightful than to throw open your window,
and to inhale a refreshing odour from growing flowers when they are
swept over by a balmy breeze, particularly after a slight shower; and,
for this purpose, I would strongly recommend you to plant flowers near
your windows which have a refreshing, but not a heavy, scent. The
flowers of the evergreen magnolia, and those of the orange, have an
oppressive fragrance, as have those of the heliotrope and the tuberose;
but those of the mignonette, the lemon-scented verbena, the rose, the
violet, and Lonícera flexuòsa are refreshing, at the same time that
they yield a delicious perfume.

I must now give you some hints on cultivating your flowers. To begin
with the _bulbs_, as they flower first in spring. The crocuses and
snowdrops should be planted, five or six together, as close as
possible, so as to form little tufts; and these, when once planted,
should never be removed, unless they should grow out of bounds, so as
to spoil the shape of the bed. The tulips, on the contrary, should be
taken up as soon as their leaves begin to decay, and kept in a dry
place till the proper time for planting them next year.

You must observe that there are three kinds of plants which are said
to have bulbous roots: those which are solid, and which should be
properly called corms, such as the crocus, the corn-flag, and many of
the half-hardy plants with similar half-tubular flowers; the tunicated
bulbs, which consist of a number of distinct layers, called tunics,
that may be peeled off, such as the onion, the hyacinth, and the tulip;
and the scaly bulbs such as the lily. Now the real roots of all these
plants are the long fibres sent down by the lower part of the bulb,
which may be seen plainly in hyacinths grown in glasses, and in any
of the kinds if taken up while in a growing state; and what is called
the bulb is, in all the corms, only a contracted stem; but, in the
tunicated and scaly bulbs, the bulbous part is formed of a contracted
stem and metamorphosed leaves. If you will take the trouble to examine
a hyacinth, you will find at the base of the bulb a flat fleshy
substance, called the root-plate, and this is, in fact, the contracted
stem of the plant; while the tunics are metamorphosed leaves. In the
scaly bulbs the stem is plainly perceptible in the centre, and the
scales are evidently metamorphosed leaves. You will easily remember
these distinctions, and you will find it useful to attend to them in
cultivating your garden, as all plants having corms never flower well
till they have been allowed to form a mass, which they will not do till
they have been in the ground three or four years.

Many persons fancy that the Cape bulbs require to be taken up every
year, but this is altogether a mistake: all the kinds of gladiolus,
ixia, tritonia, and other similar plants, will live in the open ground,
and flower well, if suffered to grow in masses, which would be killed
by a single English winter if planted separately. The finest bed of the
scarlet gladiolus I ever saw was at Blair-Adam, near Stirling, where
it was suffered to remain year after year without alteration; and the
Honourable and Reverend William Herbert, now Dean of Manchester, in
his celebrated work on the Amaryllidàceæ, states that he has had beds
of gladiolus, ixia, tritonia, and other Cape bulbs, at Spofforth in
Yorkshire, which have remained for several years, without protection,
in the open ground. Some persons say that, by manuring the beds every
year, tulips and hyacinths may also be grown in the same beds without
taking up, for several years in succession; but this I have never seen
tried.

You must observe that you have no chance of keeping your flower-garden
in a proper state, unless you have in some retired place what is
called a _reserve-garden_, in which the plants may be brought forward
till they are in a proper state for transplanting into the proper
flower-garden. This reserve-garden is generally placed near the stable,
both to have it out of sight, and for the convenience of manure; as it
must contain hotbeds and frames, for rearing tender annuals, striking
cuttings, and, in short, for performing all those gardening operations
which require to be carried on behind the scenes.

In this reserve-garden you must bring forward your _Californian
annuals_; and for this purpose choose a piece of hard ground, a walk
will do, or any place that has been much trodden on, and cover it
about an inch thick with light rich soil. In this the seeds of the
annuals should be sown the first week in September, and suffered to
remain till the bulbs have faded, and the annuals are wanted to cover
the beds, which will probably be about April. The annuals must then
be taken up with the spade, in patches, and being removed to the
flower-garden, they must be laid carefully on the beds, so as to cover
them exactly; the spaces between the patches being filled with soil,
and pressed gently down, so that the surface of the beds may be as
even as possible. These annuals will come into blossom in May, but
they are killed by the dry heat of summer; and, though they would sow
themselves if permitted to seed, it is better to remove them as soon
as they have done flowering. It is always a bad plan to permit annuals
to sow themselves; as early in autumn, when the plants have done
flowering, the ground not only becomes rough, but it is covered with
dead stalks and leaves, which have always a most miserable and desolate
appearance; and these cannot be removed till the seed has fallen, while
the beds must not be forked over and raked for fear of destroying the
seedlings. It is therefore much better, as soon as the annuals have
done flowering, to take them up, and throw them away; a supply of seed
being preserved by having left some plants in the reserve-ground for
that purpose. A second or spring sowing of the Californian annuals may
be made in the reserve-ground, to be ready for use in case any should
be wanted to flower in the autumn.

Though I have only advised you to have Californian annuals in your
beds, I may here say a few words on the culture of _annuals_ generally.
You are, of course, aware that what are called annuals are plants
that live only one year, or, rather, only a few months; for they are
generally sown early in spring, and die as soon as they have ripened
their seeds, at the latter end of summer, or the beginning of autumn.
These plants are of three kinds; viz., hardy, half-hardy, and tender.

The _hardy annuals_ are sown in March, April, or May; but the first
month is to be preferred, if the weather is tolerably open. The ground
in which they are to be sown is first forked over and raked, and a
little round firm place having been made by pressing the bottom of the
saucer of a flower-pot on the ground, a few seeds are scattered over
it, taking great care that the seeds do not lie one upon another. The
seeds are then firmed, as the gardeners call it, by pressing the saucer
again upon them, and some earth is strewed lightly over to finish the
operation. You will observe, that, though I have recommended you to
take the saucer of a flower-pot to firm the ground, both before and
after sowing your seeds, regular gardeners perform this part of the
operation with their spades, and farmers roll their land before they
sow their seeds. The principle, however, is the same in all; and it is
that every seed requires to be securely fixed in the ground before it
begins to germinate, in order to produce a strong and healthy plant.
After the seeds are sown, it is customary to put a piece of stick into
the ground, with the name of the seeds written upon it, to mark the
place; or, if you like it better, you can write the name on a card, or
a bit of pasteboard, and stick it in a notch or cleft cut in the stick.

When the seeds have come up, which, in the spring, is generally from
a fortnight to six weeks after sowing, according to their nature, the
seedlings may be thinned out, and the supernumerary plants either
transplanted or thrown away. If the seedlings are to be transplanted,
care should be taken not to break or injure the roots, and a little
hole should be made with a stick for each seedling in the place to
which it is to be removed; the earth being pressed close to the root at
the bottom of the hole before the rest is filled in; as, if any hollow
place is left round the root, it is sure to decay instead of growing.
Seedling hardy annuals are, however, very seldom worth the trouble
of transplanting. Many persons turn a flower-pot over every patch of
seeds, from the idea that it will make them come up sooner, and protect
them from the birds. It is, however, a very bad plan, as air and light
are particularly necessary to seedling plants; and when they are even
partially deprived of these important agents, they become drawn up
with weak slender stems, and thin discoloured leaves.

Some annuals, such as the mignonette and the larkspur, are much longer
before they vegetate than others; and these are better sown in autumn.
Others, such as the escholtzia, the coreopsis, and the Erýsimum
Perowskiànum, will often last two or three years, especially if they
happen to be late in flowering the first season. They also do best
sown in autumn, but they must be protected, if the winter should be
very severe, by laying a mat over the bed. You must observe, however,
that the mat must only be resorted to in frosty weather, as, in case
the weather should be at all damp, the plants will be much better
exposed to it, however cold it may feel, than they would be under any
protection whatever.

The _half-hardy annuals_, such as the French and African marigolds, the
German and China asters, the zinnias, the purple jacobæa, the sweet
sultan, the purple and yellow everlastings, and other similar plants,
should be sown in pots, and plunged into a slight hotbed in February
or March. As soon as they come up, and have got their second pair of
leaves, the earth should be turned out of the pot, and the seedlings
being carefully picked out should be transplanted into other pots,
three or five in each, according to the size they are expected to
attain when full grown, and the pots again plunged into the hotbed.
Sometimes they are transplanted a second time, but they are generally
left till the beginning of May, when they are removed to the open
border, to the places where they are intended to flower. When they are
planted in the border, they may either be transplanted in the ordinary
way, or the ball of earth may be turned entire from the pot into a hole
made to receive it. This last plan is generally considered the best,
as it prevents the plants from receiving any check by their removal.
Brompton ten-week, and German stocks, though quite hardy, make better
plants when treated like half-hardy annuals, as they flower earlier and
much more vigorously.

_Tender annuals_, such as balsams, cock's-combs, globe amaranths,
&c., must be sown in February or March in pots of light rich earth,
and plunged in a hotbed. As soon as the plants come up they should be
transplanted into pots of the very smallest size, one in each pot; and
these small pots should be set in the hotbed again, as near the glass
as possible, and slightly shaded during sunshine. In a week or two,
as soon as the roots have made their appearance on the outside of the
ball of earth within the pot, which is known by turning the ball of
earth with the plant in it carefully out of the pot without breaking
it, the plants are shifted into pots a size larger than what they were
in before, and the space filled up with light rich soil. In another
week or two the plants must be shifted again into pots a little larger,
always using light rich mould to fill up the pots, and taking care
that the pots are well drained, by putting potsherds, that is, pieces
of broken pot at the bottom. As soon as the plants are shifted, the
pots must be replunged in the hotbed, and shaded for the remainder of
the day. The shifting and replunging must be continued till the plants
begin to show flower-buds; after which they must neither be shifted nor
plunged in the hotbed any more, but gradually hardened, by the frame
in which they are placed being left open all day, and, at last, only
partially closed, even at night, till the plants will bear setting out
entirely in the open air; unless they should be intended to flower in a
greenhouse, in which case they may be removed to the greenhouse as soon
as they have formed flower-buds.

As I shall treat of the management of the greenhouse plants, which are
to succeed the annuals, in my next, I may as well fill up my present
letter by saying a few words on the management of hardy perennials, in
case you should prefer planting biennials and perennials in your beds
at once, to going through the routine that I have marked out for you in
the former part of this letter.

_Perennials_ are those permanent plants which are not woody, and yet
remain in the ground as long as most kinds of shrubs, producing flowers
and seeds every year. Perennials are of two kinds: those that die down
to the ground every autumn, and send up fresh stems from the root the
following spring; and those which remain green all the year, as, for
example, the pinks and carnations. Besides these kinds, there are other
sorts of perennials, as, for example, those that have tuberous roots,
such as the dahlia. Bulbs are also perennials; but of these I have
already spoken.

Most kinds of perennials are propagated by dividing the roots; but,
in the case of the dahlia, ranunculus, and anemone, care must be
taken to choose only those portions of the tubers that have buds or
eyes, as they are called, as otherwise the tuber, though it will
send out fibrous roots, will never produce a stem; and, in dividing
fibrous-rooted plants, care must be taken that the divided part is
furnished with buds. Almost all kinds of perennials may also be
propagated by cuttings; and those of pinks and carnations are called
pipings, because, instead of being cut, they are pulled asunder at a
joint, and this gives the separated parts a hollow appearance like
small pipes. Tubers are frequently taken up every autumn; and those of
the ranunculus and anemone are replanted in November or January, the
former season being much to be preferred. The tubers of the dahlia are
generally taken up in November, and replanted in May or June.

Most perennials are improved by taking them up occasionally and
replanting them in another place. This used to be accounted for by
supposing that plants threw out excrementitious matter, which, after a
few years, poisoned the soil in which they grew; but it is now supposed
that, as every plant requires peculiar earths for its nourishment,
they must be removed when they have exhausted all the particular
kind of earth they want which lies within their reach. It is rather
difficult to explain this without entering into long details; but it
will be sufficient for our present purpose merely to state the fact,
that plants do require their roots to have a constant supply of fresh
earth; and, to meet this want, nature has provided that the roots of
trees, and of all plants that are intended to remain for several years
in the soil, elongate themselves every year, so as to be continually
able to obtain a fresh supply of nourishment. In gardens, however, the
constant digging that is going on for the culture of annual plants
is unfavourable to the elongation of the roots of the perennials,
and consequently it is absolutely necessary that those plants should
occasionally be taken up and replanted. The season for taking up and
replanting perennial plants is either in autumn, after they have done
growing, or in spring, before they begin to shoot; and, if the soil
about the roots looks black and wet, or, as the gardeners express it,
sour, the roots should be washed quite clean before replanting. When
the roots of plants are divided, it is either done with a sharp spade
or a knife, care being taken in both cases to make what is called a
clean cut, and not to leave any part bruised or jagged.

_Biennials_ are plants raised from seeds, which do not flower till the
second year, but which generally die as soon as they have ripened their
seeds. Biennials are usually sown in a bed of light rich earth in the
open air in the reserve-ground, and then transplanted in September to
the place where they are to flower the ensuing year. The finer kinds,
such as the Brompton stocks and hollyhocks, should have a bed or pit
prepared for them, of rich loamy soil, in which they are planted, with
a small quantity of manure. Wallflowers, snapdragons, and Canterbury
bells do not require any further care than transplanting to the border;
and, though they are called biennials, they will frequently live and
flower three or four successive years.

A _hotbed_ may be made of any material that will ferment, so as to
produce heat. Stable manure and dead leaves are, however, generally
preferred to all other materials; and stable manure is unquestionably
the best. A cart-load of this manure will make a hotbed sufficiently
large for rearing tender annuals; but as, when it is taken out of the
stable, it consists partly of the dung of the horse, and partly of what
is called long litter, that is, straw moistened and discoloured, but
not decayed, it must first be thrown together, so as to form a heap
till the straw is decomposed. A most violent heat is produced by the
fermentation of the straw while decomposing; and, as this heat would
be too much for any plant exposed to it, it is absolutely necessary to
let the heap remain for about a fortnight, turning it over two or three
times during that period with a fork, till the straw is sufficiently
decomposed to be easily torn to pieces with the dung fork. When the
manure is in this state it is fit for use. The hotbed should be formed
in an open situation, on a surface raised about six inches from the
surrounding ground, with a gutter or shallow ditch cut round it, to
allow the water to drain off. The bed is then made; and, if only
intended for raising annuals and striking cuttings, it may be five feet
long by four feet wide. The manure should be first regularly spread
over the lower part of the bed, and then continued, in successive
layers, made as smooth and level as possible, till the whole of the
cart-load of manure has been used.

As soon as the bed is finished the frame should be set on it. The
frame consists of a box without a bottom, and with a movable top,
formed of a glazed sash or sashes. A frame for a bed of the size I have
mentioned will only require one sash, or light as the gardeners call
it; and it should be three feet wide and four feet long, so that the
bed may be half a foot larger than the frame on every side. The back of
the box may be two feet high, and the front one foot, so that the glass
may slope from the back to the front. About two days after the bed is
made, the fermentation will recommence, and a steam will be observable
on the glass. The surface of the bed should now be covered two or three
inches thick with light garden mould, and any common seeds may be sown
in this. It is more general, however, to sow the seeds in pots, and
then either to set them on the surface of the bed, or to plunge them
into it up to the rim. No bed for raising annuals should ever be hotter
than 60°, and when it exceeds this heat the glasses should be left open
so as to cool it. The thermometer for ascertaining the heat should be
put on the surface of the bed, with the glass shut above it; and it
should be examined in this situation, as it will fall a degree or two
immediately on being taken into the open air, if the weather should be
very cold.

You will, of course, have your hotbed made in the reserve-ground;
and, as the one I have given directions for will be a very small
one, you will probably find it necessary to have one much larger
for your cuttings, or to have three or four small ones. I should
advise the latter course, as small hotbeds are much more easily
managed by inexperienced gardeners than large ones. A hotbed of two
or three lights will require two or three cart-loads of manure, and
will, of course, produce a great deal of heat from the immense mass
of fermenting materials it contains; and, as you would find this
additional quantity of heat very difficult to regulate, you might
chance, some fine morning, when you visited your plants, to see them
turned black, with their leaves shrivelled up, or, as the gardeners
term it, burnt, from the too great heat of the bed. There is also
danger of a hotbed getting too cold instead of being too hot, and, when
this is the case, the heat should be renewed by the application of dung
linings, that is, a quantity of fresh stable manure, round the outside
of the bed; or by having linings of dead leaves piled up round the
outside of the bed. If, however, you use your hotbeds only for raising
seeds, they will not want any linings; as it will be advantageous for
the young seedlings to let the beds gradually become cool as the plants
increase in size, so that they may acquire strength and hardiness
before they are turned into the open ground.

I will now say a few words on the _greenhouse plants_ that you will
want for planting in the open ground in your flower-garden. Petunias
may be all raised from seeds with the other half-hardy annuals; as
seedling plants both grow and flower much more vigorously when planted
out into the open ground, than plants that have been raised from layers
or cuttings. Célsia or Alonsòa urticifòlia may also be raised from
seeds; as may Thunbérgia alàta, and its white variety. Phlóx Drummóndi
is almost always raised in this manner; as are the beautiful climbing
plants, Lophospérmum scándens and its varieties, Maurándya Barclayàna,
Cobœa scándens, Eccremocárpus or Calámpelis scàbra, Rhodochìton
volùbile, the beautiful canary-bird flower (_Tropœ'olum peregrìnum_),
the most splendid of the ipomœas, and several other well-known plants.

Geraniums, or pelargoniums, as they are now more properly called,
being half-shrubby plants, require to be raised by cuttings. These are
generally taken off the points of the shoots in autumn; and, a good
many being put into one pot, they are plunged into the hotbed till
they have struck root, and then gradually hardened and placed on the
back shelf of a greenhouse, or in a cold frame, till the spring, when
they are removed to separate pots till they are wanted for planting
out. Some gardeners do not put themselves to the trouble of potting
them, but keep them in the same pots in which the cuttings were struck
till they are wanted for planting out; but this is a slovenly mode of
culture, as, when the plants are kept so long in one pot, they become
drawn up, and never have the compact bushy appearance that they have
when they are properly transplanted early in spring. Verbenas may be
either preserved by cuttings or layers, or raised afresh from seed.
The usual way of propagating them, however, is by layers, as they
strike root readily at the joints, if the joints are covered with a
little earth. All the other greenhouse plants which you may want to
grow for planting out may be treated in the same manner as those I have
mentioned.

A _cold frame_ is a bottomless box of the kind described for a hotbed,
but formed of brick or stone instead of wood. These frames have a glass
sash at the top, but contain no manure; and they are generally sunk in
the soil, that the warmth of the earth around may aid in protecting the
plants they contain from the frost. These frames, if they have only one
light, are generally five feet in width; that is, from the back to the
front; but, if they have two or three lights, the width is generally
seven feet, as these are the dimensions of the frames used for hotbeds
in kitchen-gardens. The greenhouse plants that are to be preserved in
the cold frame are merely set in their pots close together, and, the
glass sashes being then closed, mats and other coverings are laid on to
keep out the frost.

Sometimes greenhouse plants which are left in the open ground are
preserved from the frost by coverings of wicker-work like beehives
being put over them, or tin hoops over which mats have been stretched;
or, where the plants are small, a flower-pot may be turned over them,
or a hand-glass used for the same purpose. It is seldom, however,
worth while to take much pains to preserve greenhouse plants that
have flowered in the open air. The ordinary way is to make abundance
of cuttings in autumn; to strike them in a hotbed, and then, after
hardening them by degrees, to preserve them in a small greenhouse, or
in a cold pit, till the time for planting out next year.




LETTER VIII.

USE OF PLANT-HOUSES.--NATURE OF CLIMATES--DIFFERENT KINDS OF
HOTHOUSES.--THE DRY STOVE, THE BARK STOVE, AND THE ORCHIDEOUS
HOUSE.--CULTURE OF PLANTS IN THE BARK STOVE.--AQUARIUM AND WATER
PLANTS.--RED SPIDER.--CULTURE OF SUCCULENT STOVE PLANTS.--CULTURE
OF ORCHIDEOUS PLANTS.--THE GREENHOUSE.--THE AUSTRALIAN HOUSE, AND
CULTURE OF ITS PLANTS.--THE COMMON GREENHOUSE, THE HEATH HOUSE, THE
CONSERVATORY, THE ORANGERY, AND THE CAMELLIA HOUSE.--THE CULTURE OF
PLANTS IN THE COMMON GREEN HOUSE.--POTTING PLANTS.--HEATHS.--CULTURE
OF PLANTS IN THE CONSERVATORY.--CULTURE OF ORANGE TREES.--APHIDES.


Before I say any thing of the management of the plants in your
greenhouse, I must remind you that, in order to grow plants well, it
is not enough merely to preserve them from the frost, but we must
imitate as well as we can their native climate: that is, the degree
of heat, light, and moisture they have been accustomed to in their
native country, together with the air and the soil. The latter is the
easiest condition to fulfil; as, by combining different kinds of earth,
we can, without much difficulty, produce a very tolerable imitation
of any soil we please: but it is not so easy to give plants abundance
of light and air in combination with heat; and, though we can readily
give plants plenty of water, it requires some management to surround
them with a moist warm atmosphere, like that they have been used to
in their native woods. To meet these difficulties, buildings have
been constructed, suited for the reception of plants, with various
contrivances for producing heat and distributing air and moisture, and
with a glass roof, front, and sides, to admit abundance of light.

These structures are what we call plant-houses; and they are not
only divided into hothouses for tender plants, and greenhouses for
half-hardy plants, but subdivided into various kinds to suit the
various climates in which plants are found. These climates, however,
are not so numerous as might at first be supposed; as it is a curious
fact in the history of plants, that many of the most ornamental grow in
patches in some parts of the world without being found anywhere else,
as, for example, the pelargoniums or shrubby geraniums at the Cape of
Good Hope. Even when the same plant is found in different parts of
the world, it is generally in the same climate, though in different
countries; and thus pines and firs, oaks and birches, spread like belts
or zones round the globe, from Asia, through Europe, to America,
almost in the same degree of latitude, making an allowance for islands
being warmer than continents, and mountains colder than valleys; as you
must always remember that knowing the degree of latitude from which a
plant comes is not sufficient to teach its culture, unless we know also
whether it grows on the mountains or in the valleys, and whether the
climate of the locality is moist or dry. A plant will be soon killed
by a dry atmosphere, if it requires a moist one; and it will be as
much injured by being kept too hot as too cold. Furze and heath will
not grow within the tropics; and the first camellias introduced into
England were killed by being kept in a hothouse.

From what I have said, you will perceive that as plants will only
thrive in climates suitable to them, it is not enough to have a
hothouse for tropical plants, and a greenhouse for those of moderately
warm countries, but that you must have three or four houses imitating
different climates, if you wish to grow different kinds of plants to
perfection. Philosophers who have written on the subject describe
sixteen distinct kinds of climate, including our own; but, as these
would be too many to imitate, gardeners are obliged to content
themselves with the following kinds of plant-houses and pits.

The _dry stove_ is generally kept at a heat of from 70° to 84° in the
day, and never allowed to fall below 65° at night, even in winter. It
should be placed in a situation sheltered from cold winds, but quite
open to the sun; as the plants grown in it require a strong light,
most of them being natives of dry sandy plains, on which there is no
tree high enough to cast a shade. The plants are grown in pots, which
are generally placed on a frame or stage of wooden or stone shelves,
so as to have abundance of air around them; and the stove is best
heated by flues. The plants suitable for a stove of this kind are some
of the kinds of Cactàceæ, such as the genera Melocáctus, Epiphýllum,
and Cèreus, with the tender kinds of Euphórbium, Mesembryánthemum,
Stapèlia, Crássula, Sèdum, Sempervìvum, and Agàve, and some kinds of
bulbs.

The _bark stove_ has a brick pit filled with tan or dead leaves in the
centre; and it is generally heated with pipes of hot water or steam,
from 60° at night to 80° in the day; the pots in which the plants are
grown being either plunged in the tan, or placed on the walls of the
pit, or on a stone shelf near the glass in front. Sometimes the trees
of hot climates are grown in the bark bed in the centre without pots;
and sometimes there is no bark pit, but the space in the centre of
the house is filled with boxes containing tropical trees. This last
kind is frequently called the botanic stove, as it is most common in
botanic gardens; and it is best adapted for growing palms, and other
monocotyledonous plants with large leaves, such as bananas, which
require abundance of air and light.

The _damp stove_, or orchideous house, is only suited for orchideous
plants and exotic ferns. The heat should be from 70° at night to 90°
in the day, or even more; and the house should be heated with hot
flues, on which water should be thrown twice or three times a day,
and hot-water pipes with open tanks; as all the plants to be grown in
this kind of house require excessive heat and constant moisture. As
they are also plants that love the shade, the house should have only a
subdued light; and though I cannot say that I approve of the coloured
glass adopted by some cultivators, as it decomposes the rays of light,
and deprives the plants of a portion of the heat they would otherwise
derive from the sun, yet I would certainly advise that some of those
climbing plants which will grow in a moist warm climate should be
trained close under the glass, to produce shade.

_Forcing-houses_ for grapes and early stone fruits are of the nature of
the bark stove; and in them the pit in the centre is frequently filled
with pine-apple plants, in pots plunged up to the rim in the tan; but
these houses belong to the kitchen-garden, as do pits for growing
pines, cucumbers, and melons.

You will thus observe that there are only three distinct kinds of
hothouses in use in British gardens, viz. the damp stove, or orchideous
house, which is the hottest; the dry stove, or house for succulent
plants, which is the rarest; and the bark stove, which is the most
common, and which may be said to have two varieties, viz. the botanic
stove and the forcing-house.

_The culture of hothouse plants_ in the _bark stove_ requires more care
than can be expected from any one not a regular gardener; and, as most
tropical plants are valuable in this country, I would not advise you
to try to manage them yourself, as you would be very much vexed if you
should chance to kill them. I will, however, give you a few general
hints on the subject, if you should like to have a house of this kind.

All bark-stove plants require a great deal of water when they are in a
growing state, and, as it is necessary that the water should be of the
same temperature as the house, there should be either an open cistern
in the house, or a cistern in the shed behind, near the furnace, and
communicating with the house by a pipe. The best plan is to have a
cistern in the house, as it can be used as an aquarium; and there are
many beautiful tropical aquatics, such as the different species of
Nymphæ'a and Nelúmbium, which deserve growing for their beauty, while
others are interesting for their curiosity, such as the Papyrus. In
summer, bark-stove plants require very little care, except to prevent
them from receiving any sudden check, as, if the heat be not kept
up regularly, the plants are very liable to stop growing, and, when
the heat is renewed, to shoot a second time, and thus to waste their
strength in sickly and imperfect growth. Great care is also required
in autumn to increase the fire heat in proportion as the weather grows
cold, so as to prevent the plants from receiving any check from the
decrease of temperature in the atmospheric air, as tropical plants may
be said to have only two seasons, viz. summer and winter; and thus they
should be kept as nearly as possible at the same heat as long as they
are in a growing state; and then have a complete change to a season
of rest, by never letting the heat rise higher than from 60° to 65°
during the dark days of winter. During the winter months very little
air can be admitted, on account of the great difference between the
air of the atmosphere and that within the house; but in the spring,
advantage should be taken of every warm day, even in March and April,
to open the sashes a few inches wide for half an hour or an hour in the
middle of the day, when the sun shines; but the house should be shut
up immediately if the sun should go in and the air become chilled.
As the summer advances, air should be admitted freely, and continued
till the beginning of September, when it should be gradually reduced
till the cold of winter prevents any being given at all. Most gardeners
repot, or shift, as they call it, all their bark-stove plants about the
middle or end of April; but this is too indiscriminate a practice, and,
therefore, only those should be repotted that appear to want such an
operation.

One of the greatest difficulties attending the culture of plants in
a bark stove is, guarding against the ravages of the immense number
of insects that are engendered by the heat; and one of the most
troublesome of these is the active little mite called by gardeners the
red spider (_Àcarus telùrius_). This little pest breeds in the bark,
and when first hatched it is so small as to be scarcely perceptible;
particularly as it is of a pale green, nearly the colour of the under
side of the leaf, to which it fixes itself, and there spins a web. As
it gets older it becomes of a brownish red, and having eight legs, it
runs with the greatest rapidity. It is also furnished with a proboscis,
with which it sucks the juices of the leaves, making them wither and
shrivel up; and thus the flowers and the fruit of the trees are both
spoiled, as neither can attain perfection unless the sap that is to
nourish them be first properly matured in the leaves. Tobacco smoke,
and most of the other usual remedies against insects, have no effect
on the red spider; and, though sprinkling it with very cold water will
kill it, it is difficult to apply without injuring the plants. The best
remedy is allowing plenty of air to pass through the house, whenever
the weather is hot enough to allow the atmospheric air to be admitted
with safety.

The culture of the plants contained in the _dry stove_ requires
considerable care. The Cáctus family may be arranged in three groups;
first, the Tree Cacti, which are included in the genus Cèreus, and have
long slender stems without a single leaf, sometimes thirty or forty
feet high, and not thicker than a man's arm. These plants grow on the
summits of the mountains in Brazil, and only require greenhouse heat
in England. Secondly, the Mammillàriæ and Echinocácti, which grow in
the valleys of the temperate parts of South America, and should be kept
in a warm greenhouse in this country; and thirdly, the Melocácti, the
Epiphýllum, the Opúntiæ, and the Rhípsalis, which grow in the tropics,
and require a dry stove in England. These plants should be grown in
pots well drained with cinders, and they should be kept almost without
water from October till March, and then watered profusely till they are
about flowering, when the quantity of water given to them should be
gradually diminished. Some cultivators keep a few of their plants in a
bark stove, and plunge the pots in the tan, and they are said to thrive
on this treatment, if carefully managed; but as it requires a great
deal of care to prevent them from damping off, the ordinary way is the
safest for an inexperienced gardener. Mesembryanthemums, which are also
kept in a dry stove, require the same treatment as the Cácti.

The orchidaceous plants grown in a _damp stove_ are all epiphytes,
which, in their natural state, grow either on the branches of trees,
or on exposed rocks. The former of these are found in their wild state
with their roots hanging down in the air, and growing in dense forests,
where shade, moisture, and excessive heat are essential to their
existence. Most of these plants, in a state of culture, are grown in
the husks of cocoa-nuts, half filled with moss, from which the roots
hang down, or they are tied with wire to pieces of wood hung from the
rafters. The wood generally preferred for this purpose in England
is the robinia, or false acacia, on account of the roughness of its
bark, and the softness of its wood: and moss is generally put between
the epiphyte and log so as to make it quite compact. Some genera of
orchideous plants, such as Dendròbium, Epidéndrum, and Cattlèya, are
always grown in pots, which are filled with turfy peat, chopped moss,
and lime rubbish. Others, such as Stanhòpea and Catasètum, should be
grown in baskets half filled with moss, or in a curious kind of frame,
made of pieces of turf fastened between four upright pegs of wood; as
the flowers of these plants come from their roots, and they must be
allowed abundance of room to enable them to protrude properly. The
baskets or frames for the Stanhòpea and other root-flowering plants
should be from three to six inches deep, and from six to ten inches
wide; and the frames should be filled with strips of turf, two or three
inches wide, piled up on one another so as to fill the frame, and yet
leave a sufficient space between to admit the passage of the flower
stems which protrude downwards from the root. When orchideous plants
are grown in pots, the pots are drained with cinders, and then filled
with chopped turf mixed with lime rubbish to keep it open. The exotic
ferns grown in the same house require no particular care, except that
of potting them so as to insure perfect drainage, and keeping them
frequently syringed overhead.

There may be said to be five kinds of greenhouse; viz., the Australian
house, the common greenhouse, the heath house, the conservatory, and
the orangery, to which is sometimes added, the camellia house, though
these plants are generally kept in the conservatory.

The _Australian house_ contains all the curious New Holland plants,
such as Bánksia, Dryándra, Grevíllea, Melaleùca, Callistèmon,
Metrosidèros, and various genera belonging to the Leguminòsæ, together
with the Cape plants belonging to the Proteàceæ and Compósitæ. These
plants require a considerable degree of heat, and also as much air and
light as can be given to any plants which require shelter from the open
air. On this account they are generally grown in curvilinear houses,
that is, houses that have glass on all sides, like that in the garden
of the London Horticultural Society at Turnham Green. All the plants
contained in this house are extremely difficult to grow, and they
require the greatest care in watering, so that they may never have too
much, and yet never be suffered to become too dry. Houses of this kind
are generally heated by pipes of hot water, and kept at a temperature
of from 40° to 50° or 60°. There is no pit in the centre, and the
plants are either planted in the ground as in a conservatory, or kept
on a stage formed of wooden shelves.

The _common greenhouse_ has a brick wall at the back, with a glass roof
at an angle of about 45°, and upright glass at the front and sides. The
plants are grown in pots placed on a stage or range of wooden shelves
rising one above another, with a path all round, and a shelf for the
plants under the glass in front. All the sashes are made to open, as
it is essential that there should be a free circulation of air; and
so little fire is necessary, that one fireplace will be sufficient to
heat a greenhouse from thirty to forty feet long, and from twelve to
fifteen feet wide. The house may be heated either by hot-water pipes or
by flues; in the latter case the flue should go round at the front and
return at the back, being about twenty inches high and twelve inches
wide. The heat of a greenhouse of this nature need never be more than
50° in the day, and it may be allowed to sink even as low as 35° at
night, the object being merely to keep out the frost.

The _heath house_, like the Australian house, requires to be as
transparent, and as thoroughly ventilated, as possible. A heathery,
however, is generally a span-roofed house with a walk down the centre,
and shelves for the plants on each side. It is usually heated by hot
water, the pipes for conveying which are placed in the centre of the
house. The width of the house should be about ten feet, and the height
in the centre of the span should never exceed nine, as it is of great
importance to have the plants as near the glass as possible. The floor
of the house should stand one foot above the level of the ground: and,
where expense is not an object, the house is sometimes built on arches
to insure perfect dryness. All the windows are made to move in every
possible direction so as to admit of a current of air through the
house, whenever the state of the atmosphere will permit it.

The _conservatory_ has all the plants growing in the soil, instead
of being in pots and placed on shelves. It is generally more lofty
and architectural than a greenhouse, and of much greater extent;
and it is frequently attached to the house, being so contrived that
it can be entered from one of the living-rooms. The temperature of
the conservatory is generally rather warmer than that of the common
greenhouse, as it is kept at 60° during the day, and seldom allowed to
fall lower than 40° at night.

The _orangery_ is a still more architectural-looking building than the
conservatory, and it has an opaque roof. It is used only for preserving
orange trees and other plants that remain in a dormant state during the
winter, and it requires no more heat than is absolutely essential to
keep out the frost.

The _camellia house_ is generally formed like a common greenhouse, but
so contrived as to allow the whole of the sashes to be taken off during
the summer. The plants are kept on stone shelves, raised one above
another; and there is generally no walk at the back.

Of the culture of the plants in the Australian house I have already
spoken; and of those in the greenhouse I need only detail the
management during the winter months, as your greenhouse will, I
suppose, be in the reserve-ground, and will be only used to preserve
those plants during winter which you have kept in other more
conspicuous situations during the summer.

Many persons injure greenhouse plants by keeping them too warm, and
giving them too little air during winter, and then are surprised
that their plants become sickly and remain without flowering,
notwithstanding all the care and expense that have been bestowed upon
them. No greenhouse ought to be kept at a greater heat at night than
from 35° to 40°; and in the daytime it should not be allowed to rise
above 50°, or at most 52°. When there happens to be sunshine, the fire
ought to be lessened, and whenever the air is not frosty the windows
ought to be opened from twelve till two every day. If a greenhouse is
kept too warm, it will induce premature vegetation, and the plants will
waste their strength in an attempt to produce flowers and fruit, at
a season when nature requires them to be kept in a state of complete
repose. Greenhouse plants should be watered generally every morning;
but in frosty weather water need not be given every day, and some
plants will not require watering oftener than once a week. This,
however, must depend in a great measure on circumstances, and, as a
general rule, it may be observed, that water may always be given in
small quantities when the surface of the earth contained in the pot
looks dry. The pots should never be allowed to stand in saucers, as
stagnant water is peculiarly injurious in winter. Whenever the earth
looks black and sodden, the plant should be turned out of the pot,
and, after the black earth has been carefully shaken from the root, it
should be repotted in fresh soil, an inch or more in the bottom of the
pot being filled in with small pieces of broken crocks.

In February or March greenhouse plants should be looked over, and
repotted where necessary; those that are too tall should be cut in, and
cuttings made of their shoots. The young plants raised from cuttings
made in autumn should be repotted in larger pots for flowering; and
where the plants do not require fresh potting, but have the surface of
their mould become green and mossy, the moss should be taken off, and
the ground slightly stirred with a flat stick, taking care, however,
not to go so deep as to injure the roots. When trouble is not an
object, all greenhouse plants are the better for repotting once a year,
either in spring or autumn; and when the ball is taken out of the pot
for this purpose, it should be carefully examined, and all the decayed
parts of the roots should be cut off. Sometimes, when the ball of earth
is turned out, nearly half of it will fall off almost without touching
it; and when this is the case, it will generally be found that there
is a worm in the pot. Worms do a great deal of mischief to greenhouse
plants in cutting through the roots, as their instinct teaches them
to make their way through the earth straight across the pot and back
again, and they cannot do this without tearing the roots asunder every
time they pass.

Another point to be attended to in the management of a greenhouse is,
keeping the plants as near as possible to the glass, as, unless this be
done, the plants will become what gardeners call "drawn up," that is,
they will be unnaturally tall and slender, from the efforts they make
to reach the light.

As I have frequently mentioned _repotting_, I may as well tell you here
the best mode of performing the operation. The pot to which the plant
is to be removed should always have been previously washed quite clean,
and be perfectly dry. Some bits of broken pots, called potsherds,
should then be put at the bottom of the pot, the quantity varying from
three or four pieces (so as just to cover the hole) to a mass an inch
in depth, depending upon the nature of the plant. If the plant has
not been in a pot before, the roots are then placed just above the
potsherds, and the earth is filled in, the plant being occasionally
shaken so as to allow the earth to get amongst its roots. The soil
is next consolidated by shaking the pot, and then lifting it up and
setting it down again with a jerk; and is rendered firm and neat round
the rim by means of a broad smooth piece of stick shaped somewhat like
a table-knife, and called a potting-stick. When a plant has been in a
pot before, and is repotted or shifted, as it is called, into a pot
a size larger, the plant is turned out of its old pot by putting the
hand upon the earth and turning the pot upside down; or, if the ball of
earth does not come out readily, striking the rim of the pot against
the edge of the potting-table or shelf. The ball containing the plant
will thus drop out into the left hand; and the potsherds that adhere to
the bottom of the ball having been picked off, and any part of the root
that appears decayed having been removed, a little mould is put on the
drainage in the new pot; and the ball of earth, containing the plant
having been placed in the centre, the space between it and the pot is
filled in with light rich mould, and made firm with the potting-stick.
The operation is concluded by shaking the pot, and then taking hold
of the rim with both hands, and striking the bottom of the pot two or
three times with a jerk against the potting-bench. The plant is then
watered, and set in the shade for the remainder of the day.

_Heaths_ are very difficult plants to manage; but a great improvement
has taken place in their culture within the last few years. They
are grown in what is called heath mould, that is, a mixture of peat
and sand; and when this earth is put into the pot, it is mixed with
good-sized entire pebbles, some of which are suffered to protrude
through the surface of the soil. The roots of heaths are extremely fine
and hair-like, and the shelter afforded by the pebbles is so congenial
to them, that, if one of the stones be taken out, a cluster of fine,
white, vigorous roots will be found below it. The plants are always
potted high, so as to let the base of the stem be above the level of
the rim of the pot, as the plants are very apt to damp off if the
collar of the plant be buried in the ground. Heaths should never be
suffered to become too dry, and never kept too wet. They require very
little heat; and many experienced cultivators never apply fire-heat
to their heatheries at all, but merely keep out the frost by having
wooden shutters to the sashes, and covering them with mats. Heaths,
when growing rapidly, should be repotted whenever the roots have filled
the pot; but they should not be shifted too often; and, when they have
attained their full growth, they may be suffered to remain in the same
pots three or four years without injury.

As plants in the _conservatory_ are grown in the free soil, they
are in a much more natural state than any plants can be in pots, and
consequently they require much less care in their culture. There is
usually a walk all round the conservatory, next the glass, and one
down the middle, on each side of which are the beds containing the
plants, and under which are placed the hot-water pipes that warm
the house. The consequence of this arrangement is, that the beds on
each side the middle walk are so planted as to have their highest
shrubs in the centre, shelving down to those of lower growth on each
side; and hence the centre is generally planted with tall camellias,
acacias, metrosideros, eucalyptus, &c.; while near the walk are
placed oleanders, myrtles, fuchsias of different kinds, together with
chorozemas, and many of the other most ornamental New Holland plants;
and up the pillars that support the roof are trained kennedyas,
bignonias, ipomœas, and passion-flowers in great variety. Cliánthus
puníceus and Polýgala oppositifòlia ought to find a place in every
conservatory; and a plant of Wistària sinénsis may be trained under the
rafters so as to afford shade to the camellias; as, under shelter, the
wistaria will flower twice in the year, and its flowers will yield a
delightful, though very delicate, fragrance.

As it is of the greatest importance to the health of the plants to have
the soil in a conservatory well drained, many persons form the beds by
excavating pits of the proper size, about two feet and a half deep, and
put at the bottom a layer of brick-bats, stones, and other materials
for drainage, about six inches thick. On this is deposited a thin layer
of coarse rough gravel; and on the gravel a layer of rich mould, which
should be about two feet thick in the centre of the bed, where the
largest shrubs are to be planted, and shelving off to about sixteen or
eighteen inches at the sides next the walks. All the sashes should be
made to open, and there ought to be large glass doors in front, which
should generally stand open during the day in summer, in order to admit
as much air as possible.

In some places a movable frame is contrived for a conservatory, into
which sashes fit in winter, and which, in severe weather, is covered
with tarpauling, made to pull down, like a blind, from a roller along
the ridge of the roof; the whole frame being so contrived as to be
entirely removed in summer. The upright posts of this frame are let
into holes in the ground, like the posts in a drying-ground, so that
when the posts are taken out, the holes may be stopped up with wooden
plugs with rings attached; and the roof and horizontal pieces fit into
each other, and into the uprights, the whole being kept firm by bolts.
When a conservatory of this kind is to be removed for the summer, the
side sashes and doors are taken away first, generally about the middle
or end of April. A week or ten days after, the sashes of the roof are
taken off, but the frame and tarpauling are left in case of spring
frosts; and, when all danger from these is over, the whole of the
framework is removed, and the orange trees, camellias, and other exotic
trees that have been planted in the conservatory, appear to be growing
in the open air.

The _orangery_ is often contrived so as to be used as a kind of
living-room during summer, as it is only intended for the reception
of the orange trees, and other plants belonging to the genus Citrus,
during winter. The trees are generally grown in large tubs and boxes,
in a rich loamy soil, and are set out in the open air during summer,
when they require but little care, provided they are frequently
watered over the leaves, though they do not like much water to their
roots. When young plants are raised from seed, they seldom flower till
they have been budded or grafted from an old tree. Orange trees are
generally put in the open air in May, and kept there till September or
October; and they are very seldom shifted. They require scarcely any
light or water during winter, and no heat beyond what is necessary to
protect them from the frost.

Some of the varieties of Caméllia japónica are sufficiently hardy to
grow in the open air in the neighbourhood of London, provided their
roots and the lower part of their stems are mulched; that is, covered
with straw or litter, and the main trunk wrapped round with a hay-band
a few inches from the ground. The hardiest kind is the variegated red.
Camellias seldom do well in pots, except when they are very small,
as, when they attain a tolerable size, the flower-buds are very apt
to fall off without expanding. The best mode of growing camellias is,
therefore, to plant them in the free soil of a conservatory, taking
care that some creeping plant is trained along the rafters over their
heads, as they do not like to be exposed to too much sun, unless
they have also a great deal of air, and are frequently and regularly
watered. The soil for camellias should be peat mixed with a little
sandy loam. The temperature of the camellia house should be from 50° to
60° during the whole of the growing season; but, when the flower-buds
have formed, the glasses are generally taken off during the rest of
the summer. Early in autumn, however, when the flower-buds begin to
swell, the glasses should be put on and the house kept warm, the plants
being regularly watered morning and evening, as, if the watering be
neglected a single day, or if stagnant water be suffered to remain
about the roots, the flower-buds will be sure to drop off without
expanding. Camellias do not require frequent repotting. Small camellias
are generally shifted only once in two years, and large ones, that is,
those above five feet high, not oftener than once in three or four
years. The time for shifting camellias is just when they have done
flowering, before they are beginning to send out their young shoots.
Great care must be taken when they are repotted not to bruise the
roots, as they are very easily injured.

Both camellias and orange trees are very subject to the attacks of the
_black fly_, a kind of aphis. The best way of destroying these insects
is to syringe the plants well, laying them down on their sides when
they are in pots, or, if they are planted in the free soil, syringing
them with a garden engine so as to throw the water in a powerful stream
upwards, in order to get at the under surface of the leaves, where the
insects are generally found. Some persons recommend fumigating with
tobacco smoke; but I have never found it so efficacious as syringing,
and washing the under surface of the leaves with a sponge, in case the
insects should be very numerous.




LETTER IX.

THE PARK AND PLEASURE-GROUNDS.--SITUATION OF OLD
HOUSES.--WATER.--FOREST SCENERY.--EFFECT OF A SHRUBBERY IN
HARMONISING A FLOWER-GARDEN WITH A PARK.--OPENING VISTAS.--SCENES
IN A PARK.--FENCES AGAINST CATTLE.--STYLES IN GARDENING.--USE OF A
TERRACE.--PATTE D'OIE.--PLANTING AN ARCHITECTURAL GARDEN.--PLANTING AN
ARBORETUM.--RENOVATING TURF.


I am very glad to find that you have procured some plants, and that
you begin to feel an interest in the cultivation of your flowers. I do
not at all agree with you, however, in thinking, that this is merely
because gardening has with you, as yet, the charm of novelty; on the
contrary, I am quite sure that as you become better acquainted with
the subject, you will find your interest in your garden increase; as
gardening is one of those happy arts in which there is always some
not quite certain change to look forward to, and to be anxious about.
Landscape-gardening is, however, the highest branch of the art, and it
is the more necessary that you should study it, as, from the view you
have sent me of your house, it appears to me that the general aspect of
your park is at present very monotonous.

An ancient mansion embosomed in tall trees, with a fine broad terrace
at the back, having a piece of still water lying like a liquid mirror
below it, and a large park beyond, overgrown with majestic trees whose
lower branches repose upon the turf beneath them, form a scene which
sounds exceedingly well in description, but is very wearying to the
eye which is destined continually to rest upon it. It is also not very
healthy; as chilly vapours are sure to rise from the water, while the
mass of trees beyond will obstruct the free current of air.

You must not, however, suppose from these remarks that I admire a
house in an open exposed situation, as I think nothing can have a more
bleak and naked appearance. Besides, a house entirely unsheltered by
trees is sure to be a very uncomfortable residence, from its exposure
to the heat in summer, and the cold in winter. It is, therefore, most
desirable to have a sufficient quantity of trees near the house to
shelter it, and yet to have numerous openings through those trees to
admit distant prospects, and a free current of air. If a few openings
could, therefore, be made in the plantations near your dwelling, I do
not think there would be any danger in leaving the water in its present
position; as, from your description, the house is elevated very much
above it, and as, notwithstanding its appearance of stillness, there
is a current through it. The elevation at which the house is above the
water will also prevent the unpleasant consequences which sometimes
ensue, when water overflows its banks, and makes its way into the
basement story of a house. As to your house being on the ridge of a
hill, I do not think that is any objection, as the rise is not very
great on either side, and it is a proof that the prospect would be good
if you would only cut down a sufficient number of trees to show it.
Houses quite in a valley are frequently damp, and if on the summit of a
high hill they are apt to be bleak; so that the side of a hill or the
ridge of a knoll is, in fact, the best situation that can be imagined.
Our ancestors, indeed, rarely went wrong on this subject; and it is
quite an extraordinary case to find an old house badly placed. In the
old times the country gentry lived in their mansions all the year,
and only visited London occasionally, so that they were more anxious
to make their homes comfortable than persons of the same rank at the
present day, who live in London, and only visit the seats of their
ancestors as they would a watering-place.

You complain bitterly of your house not having an extensive view from
it. You see nothing but trees, you say, in whichever direction you
look; and you detest trees, because their foliage is monotonous, and so
thick that you cannot see two hundred yards before you. This last is
the real point of complaint.

Forest scenery is extremely beautiful in itself, and principally from
the great variety it presents in the same objects. A fine tree, even
when bare of leaves in winter, is beautiful, from the delicate tracery
presented by its branches, which look like the masts and rigging of a
large ship, intricate, yet without confusion. In snow, trees assume a
new character; the weight sustained by the branches makes them droop,
and a thousand graceful and elegant forms take the place of what was
before a stern and rigid outline. In hoarfrost trees glisten with
a thousand gems, reflecting the rays of light in so many different
colours, that they remind one of the description of Aladdin's magic
garden. In spring they present vivid ideas of youth and fertility,
and all nature appears awakening into new and vigorous life; the buds
swell, their coverings burst, and the young leaves display their tender
and delicate green; at first only half-unfolding their beautiful
forms, and reminding one of a young and timid girl half-wishing and
half-fearing to make her first appearance in the busy world. Trees now
begin to assume each a new and decided character of its own. The leaves
of no two trees are alike: those of the beech are of clear dark green,
and so thin that they are almost transparent, and yet they are deeply
marked with a strongly indented feather-like set of veins. The bark of
the beech is clear and smooth, as though nature had intended it for the
use to which it has so often been applied by lovers--to carve on it a
fair one's name. The leaves of the elm are of a thick coarse texture,
rugged and distorted, wrinkled, and of a dingy green; and the bark of
the tree is cut into a thousand furrows. The leaves of the ash are
light and pendulous, and cut into numerous leaflets; those of the oak
are deeply indented, and generally grow in tufts. The palmate, drooping
leaves of the horsechestnut contrast with the long, slender, and nearly
erect leaves of the white willow; and those of the black poplar, which
present a smooth outline, with those of the sweet chestnut, which are
remarkable for their finely indented edges. In short, the leaves of
every tree have beauties peculiar to themselves, in form as well as in
colour. In autumn these colours become more decided; the lime trees
take a yellowish tint, and the oak a reddish brown; the liquidambar
becomes of a rich purplish crimson, and the maples and American oaks
show a thousand varied dyes.

Yes, my dear Annie, I repeat, the fault is not in the trees, for they
are beautiful; you dislike them only because they are so crowded
that you cannot see their beauties. I allow it is a very difficult
task to know how to proceed in a case like yours. Cutting down
indiscriminately will never do; the trees must be thinned, not only
with a view to make openings through the wood, but with care as to
themselves. I think the first point will be, to find out the handsomest
trees among those in the plantations near the house, in order to see
which you would have left. Some will have been drawn up so much, and
will have been forced into such awkward forms by their present crowded
state, that they would be hideous if the trees that now surround them
were removed. Others want room, but have grown so that they may easily
be trained into a better form when space is given to them. One great
point to be attended to is, to break the present formal outline; but,
in doing so, it is scarcely possible to avoid destroying some trees
that your husband might wish to spare, from local associations. I hope,
however, he will allow a sufficient space to be cleared, not only to
make your flower-garden, but to allow the plants in it to grow without
being overshadowed by trees.

When the flower-garden is formed it will be necessary to have a
_shrubbery_, so that the transition may not be too abrupt from the
high state of culture in a flower-garden, to the wild nature of the
forest trees. This shrubbery, indeed, will afford the only means of
harmonising a newly laid out garden with the general scenery of the
park, as it will contain, first, dwarf flowering shrubs next the
garden; then shrubs of a larger growth, such as the laurustinus and
arbutus; and, lastly, flowering trees, from the different kinds of
Cratæ'gus to those of loftier growth, such as Pyrus spectábilis,
Sophòra japónica, and the tulip tree, which last equals in height some
of the loftiest forest trees in the park.

When a sufficient space for the flower-garden and the adjoining
shrubbery has been cleared, and the most interesting trees marked, the
next point is to ascertain what distant prospects will be admitted by
cutting an opening through the wood, before it is finally decided in
what direction the intended openings shall be made; as, for instance,
if the view of a church or castle would be admitted by cutting an
opening in a particular direction, that direction should be chosen in
preference to any other, and a vista made in that line, even though an
opening in another line would be preferable on other accounts. Should
such an object be discovered, you must take care not to obscure it
when planting your shrubbery; and should the object you wish to catch
a view of be very distant, and not distinctly marked, the eye may be
guided to it by planting some whitish-leaved low tree, such as Elæágnus
angustifòlia, in the shrubbery, backed by dark-leaved shrubs, such as
alaternus and phillyrea; and again, at a greater distance, planting an
abele tree or white poplar in the same direction, where it will be
backed by dark masses of Scotch pines or other similar trees. Before
you make an opening, you must also ascertain whether any disagreeable
objects will be exposed by your so doing; and, before cutting down even
a single tree, you must consider what effect its removal will produce
upon the trees around it. You have often told me of the exquisite taste
your husband possesses, and his fondness for fine paintings: he must,
therefore, be admirably qualified for improving the scenery round his
house himself. Landscape-gardening is, in fact, but landscape-painting
on the largest scale, and with the noblest materials; the same taste is
required in both.

As the plantations near the house have been suffered to become so
completely overgrown, I have no doubt those in the _park_ are in a
similar state, and that the park itself will require considerable
improvement. The same general observations with regard to thinning out
plantations will apply in every case; but in the park I think you will
find it advisable, whenever an opportunity occurs, to take advantage of
any natural feature to introduce what landscape-gardeners call a scene;
as, for instance, should your park contain a rocky glen, advantage
may be taken of it by planting it with different kinds of pines and
firs, to form an imitation of alpine scenery, as was done, in a very
striking manner, by the late Mr. Beckford at Fonthill. Another part of
the grounds might be planted in imitation of American scenery, with
magnolias, American oaks, and maples, and tulip trees, as was done by
the late Duke of Marlborough at White Knights. A pond, in a secluded
part of the grounds might have a degree of interest given to it by
planting its banks with alders and willows. A variety of similar scenes
will no doubt suggest themselves to you, which do not occur to me, from
my ignorance of the peculiar features of the place.

I suppose neither deer nor cattle are allowed to graze in your park,
as you speak of several of the trees sweeping the grass with their
foliage. Cows are particularly destructive to the beauty of park
scenery, as they are very fond of tearing off the lower branches of
the trees, and thus producing the hard line which looks as though the
branches had been shaved off about five feet from the ground, and which
is called by landscape-gardeners and painters the browsing line.

It is disagreeable to have even deer come close to the windows, and
they are not only fond of the young shoots of trees, but they would be
decidedly injurious to your flower-garden and the clumps of ornamental
shrubs in the pleasure-ground. Should your husband have any deer, it
will be necessary to have some fence or line of demarcation between
the park and the pleasure-ground; and it is always considered a
proof of skill in the landscape-gardener to conceal such a fence as
skilfully as possible. When an iron fence is used it is generally
extremely slight, and painted green, so as to be almost invisible; and
when this fence is used, it is sometimes concealed by a plantation of
trees thrown together indiscriminately, as in fig. 13., or planted
artistically in groups. In other cases a sunk wall, forming a kind of
ditch, is used, which is concealed by plantations; or iron hurdles
are stuck in, and the line is varied occasionally. Any of these plans
may be adopted in the front of your house, to protect your garden if
necessary.

[Illustration: Fig. 13. _Park Fence._]

As I have already alluded to the improvement that will be effected by
introducing a shrubbery to harmonise the intended flower-garden with
the trees in the park, you will probably wish to know if any thing
of the kind will be required on the back-front of the house; but in
that case there will be less difficulty, as the terrace affords an
admirable medium for uniting the architectural stiffness of a mansion
with the beautiful wildness and grace of nature. There is always a
degree of incongruity in passing abruptly from the stiff symmetrical
forms of a building, to the unsymmetric, though graceful, forms of
a tree left in a state of nature; and it was no doubt a feeling of
this kind which induced our ancestors to surround their houses with
formal architectural gardens and trees clipped into stiff and regular
forms. In more modern times something of the same kind was done, by
always adding to the house verandas, porticos, and terraces, which
formed a connecting link between the building and its grounds. After a
time these also were laid aside; and about the beginning of the last
century, when Brown and his followers would admit nothing but what they
called nature in garden scenery, the park was allowed to come close
up to the windows of the house, and, as a writer in the _Gardener's
Magazine_ observes, the inhabitants of the mansion might "leap from
their windows into jungles, and steppes, and wildernesses, where the
lion and the panther would be more at home than the lady in her silken
sheen."

You will see from these observations that there are styles marking
different periods in gardening, as well as in architecture; and, in
some cases, it is advisable to preserve a certain degree of similitude
between the style of the garden and that of the house. Of course,
however, this can only be done as far as is consistent with modern
comforts; and the fact of your house being partly Elizabethan does
not entail upon you the necessity of having a formal garden with high
clipped hedges, and trees cut into a thousand fantastic forms, any
more than it obliges you to sit in rooms darkened by stone mullions
and small-paned casements, because the courtiers of Queen Elizabeth
were obliged to submit to such inconveniences. With regard then to
the back-front of your mansion, I would leave the terrace in its
present form, with its stone alcoves at each end, as it corresponds so
well with the style of that part of the house which appears to have
been added in the reign of Anne or George I.; and I would preserve
and repair the stone balustrade with urns at regular intervals, and
the stone steps leading from the terrace, which are all in the same
style as the house; I would also have them lead into an architectural
garden below. The form of this garden should be quite regular, or, if
you prefer the term, quite formal; and it should be ornamented with
fountains, urns, and statues. The natural boundary of this garden is
the piece of water before alluded to, the borders of which should be
planted with a few tufts of shrubs to break, but not disguise, the
regularity of the outline. On the other side of the water these tufts
must be continued, but in a much wilder and more natural manner; and
here and there the plantation must take the character of a clump, and
consist of low trees, mingled with shrubs of the largest size. This
will unite the house and garden with the park scenery as regards the
view from the drawingroom windows, and on the side of the garden,
gravel walks may be carried on through the various scenery of the park,
a stone bridge being thrown over the water on the side nearest the
entrance-front; and, farther on, a rustic bridge may be thrown over the
stream in a situation where it is not seen from the house.

I think it very desirable that openings should be made in several
places through the mass of wood, to admit views of the distant scenery
from the drawingroom; as, for instance, if there is a church or a
tower, or any other object that would form a suitable termination to
a vista. In the reign of William and Mary, when the Dutch style of
gardening was fashionable, nothing was more common than long vistas of
the kind called _patte d'oie_, all springing in rays from one point,
and each terminating in some ornamental object, such as a temple,
an obelisk, or a statue. Some slight approximation to this style,
by cutting long vistas through your woods, might therefore be very
consistently introduced wherever a suitable occasion for it may occur.

In planting your _architectural garden_, you must observe that it
should have rather a different character from the small garden
in front of your sitting-room window. The architectural garden
should contain standard rose trees, almond trees, double-blossomed
peaches and cherries, the Chinese magnolia, or yulan tree, and other
showy-flowering trees, planted in company with arbutus, phillyrea,
Minorca box, and other evergreens of a similar character. In the
shrubbery, at each end of the garden, but not forming part of it, these
trees should be continued, and mixed with variegated hollies, the
different kinds of Cratæ'gus, and other trees that are ornamental, and
that never attain a large size.

I have already suggested that in various parts of the pleasure-grounds
advantage should be taken of any natural inequalities that may exist,
to form different scenes; and I have now only to add that advantage may
be taken of singular peculiarities, should you wish to form in your
grounds one of those arboretums which are now so fashionable.

An _arboretum_ is a collection of trees and shrubs, in which all
the different species of natural order are planted together; and it
does not necessarily imply that these orders should be arranged in
any particular manner; as indeed botanists are not agreed as to how
they should be placed, Jussieu having adopted one plan, De Candolle
another, and Dr. Lindley another. The only essential point is, that all
the plants which agree sufficiently to form an order should be placed
together; as, for example, all the Coníferæ or cone-bearing trees, such
as the pines and firs, the cedars, the cypresses, and the junipers;
and all the Cupulíferæ or nut-bearing trees, such as the oak, the
chestnut, the beech, and the hazel. Thus in your grounds, where there
is a valley, it may be formed into what is called an American ground,
consisting of the shrubs allied to the heath family, and planted with
rhododendrons, azaleas, kalmias, and other similar plants. A glen
may be planted with pines and firs, so as to form it into a kind of
pinetum; and an open space among trees may be turned into a rose-garden
or rosery. In this way most of the exotic trees and shrubs that will
stand the air in English gardens may be planted in groups, without
going to much expense, and with less formal appearance than that of a
regular arboretum. Besides, the beautiful colours which some of the
exotic trees will take in autumn give them a splendid appearance, when
they are backed by other trees with verdant foliage.

The _rose-garden_ will be a very beautiful object if skilfully
arranged; and, by thus forming your park into a succession of scenes,
you will not only increase its beauty in the eyes of strangers, but add
very materially to your own enjoyments by increasing the objects of
interest within your reach.

I do not suppose you will have any occasion to renovate the _turf_ in
any part of your park; but, if you should, the best way is to get a
mixture of the seeds of several sorts of grasses, such as the fox-tail
meadow grass (_Alopecùrus praténsis_), the sweet-scented vernal grass
(_Anthoxánthum odoràtum_), the crested dog's-tail grass (_Cynosùrus
cristàtus_), and other valuable kinds. If ever you find a patch of
grass has become bare, have an iron rake drawn over the ground two
or three times, so as to loosen it, and then sow a few seeds of the
grasses I have mentioned, when the ground is in a tolerably moist state
from rain. This will generally be sufficient; but if it should not, as
the seed of the fox-tail meadow grass is very often bad, you have only
to add a little seed of the common white clover, and the ground will
appear green in a few days.




LETTER X.

LAYING OUT A KITCHEN-GARDEN.--MAKING GRAVEL WALKS.--BOX EDGINGS.--CROPS
OF CULINARY VEGETABLES.--CUCUMBERS, MELONS, AND MUSHROOMS.


I had not intended saying any thing about the kitchen-garden, as it
hardly comes within a lady's province; but as you tell me you are so
much annoyed by your old gardener never having the things you want
when you want them, that you think of forming a small kitchen-garden
near the house, I shall be very happy to give you my advice as to what
appears to me to be the best method of doing so.

Every kitchen-garden ought, if possible, to be either square or oblong,
for the convenience of planting the beds, and you will find a garden
of one acre in extent quite as much as you will be able to manage. I
would advise you to have it surrounded by a wall about ten feet high
for fruit trees; and in front of this wall there should be a border
ten or twelve feet wide; beyond which should be a gravel walk four
feet wide, leaving a square or oblong plot of ground in the centre for
culinary vegetables. This central plot may either have a main walk up
the centre, and two or three side walks, or be left all in one bed,
which may be divided into compartments, with paths between, to suit the
convenience of the gardener. The best situation for your kitchen-garden
will be as near the stable as possible for the convenience of manure;
and, of course, it will join the reserve-ground. The surface of the
ground should be level, or gently sloping to the south, and there
should be no high trees near it. The whole of the garden should be
well drained, and you should contrive it so as to have easy access to
either pond or river water. A valley or a hill is a bad situation for
a kitchen-garden; as the valley is very liable to injury from frost on
account of the damps that hang over it; and the hill is not only cold,
but exposed to injury from high winds.

I have already mentioned that the form of a kitchen-garden should be
either square or oblong; and I may add, that the walks should always be
straight, as, if they were serpentine, it would be difficult to wheel a
barrow of manure along them without overturning it. The square form of
the garden, however, is not only on account of the walks, but in order
that the compartment in the centre may be divided into oblong beds, as
it is most convenient to sow vegetables in straight lines to allow of
weeding and hoeing between them, earthing them up, &c. The best soil
for a kitchen-garden is a sandy loam, and the surface soil should be
from two to three feet deep. You will find it very convenient to have a
vinery or forcing-house close to the kitchen-garden; and you can either
have a small separate garden for melon and cucumber-beds, called a
melon-ground, or this may form a part of your reserve-ground.

The first thing to be done when you have fixed upon your ground is
to form the _walks_, marking them out by two garden lines, and then
digging out the space between in the shape of an inverted arch, which
should be from one to two feet deep in the centre. The arch is then
partly filled in with brick-bats, stones, or any other hard rubbish
which can be procured, leaving a little hollow space exactly in the
centre to serve as a drain. Care must be taken, when filling in the
rubbish, to put the largest pieces in first, then pieces somewhat
smaller, and then pieces broken very small, which are rammed down as
hard as possible, so as to make a smooth surface immediately under the
gravel. The gravel before laying it down should be sifted, and all
pieces larger than a moderate-sized gooseberry should be thrown on
one side. As soon as the small gravel is laid down and evenly spread
it should be rolled, and this rolling should be repeated occasionally
till the walk becomes quite hard and firm. If the gravel does not bind
well, it may be improved by mixing with it powdered burnt clay, in the
proportion of one wheelbarrow full of clay to a two-horse cart load
of gravel. The clay may be burnt by making it into a heap, intermixed
with, and surrounded by, faggot wood. Gravel walks should always be
slightly raised in the middle, in order that the water may run off on
each side. If you should have an old gravel walk that wants renovating,
the gravel should be loosened with a pick, turned over, raked, and
firmly rolled, adding a coating of fresh gravel if necessary. If weeds
should appear on a gravel walk, they are best killed by watering them
with salt and water, and this liquid will prevent any other weeds from
appearing.

_Box edgings_ are the best for gravel walks, and March or April is a
good season for planting them. The following is the mode of performing
this operation, which requires some attention, as the beauty of the
edging depends on its regularity. The margin of the bed for about a
foot in breadth should be watered, and afterwards beaten firm and level
with the back of a spade; a garden line should then be stretched along
close to the walk, and a shallow trench opened, sloping towards it at
an angle of rather less than 45°. Some dwarf box having been procured
from the nurseryman, it should be divided into separate plants, and the
branches and roots trimmed, so that the plants may be nearly of a size.
These are laid along the sloping face as regularly as possible, with
their tops rising about an inch above the soil, and the earth is drawn
upon them, so as to fill up the trench and make them quite firm. The
plants are then watered, and nothing further is required but to supply
the place of any that may chance to die, and to keep the tips neatly
trimmed.

The crops of culinary vegetables are of two kinds, those that are
permanent, and those that are temporary. Of the _permanent crops_, the
most important are the _asparagus_ beds, on account of the great length
of time they take in preparing. The ground must be first trenched three
or four feet deep, and plenty of stable dung buried at the bottom of
the trench. The beds are then marked out four feet wide, and paths left
between them; and the plants, which must be procured from a nurseryman
(as they should be two years old when they are first put into the bed),
must be planted in rows nine inches apart, and deep enough to have the
crown of the root two inches below the surface of the ground. The beds
are covered with rotten manure during winter, which is forked into
the ground in the spring. The asparagus stalks are not cut till the
second or third year after planting; but after that the beds continue
to produce for twelve or fourteen years, or even more. All the shoots
that push up from April to Midsummer may be cut off and used for the
table; but those that spring after Midsummer should be suffered to
expand their leaves, in order that they may elaborate their sap, and
thus strengthen the roots.

_Sea-kale_ is planted in beds in the same manner as asparagus, when the
plants are a year old. The first year the plants will require little
care, except cutting down their flower stems whenever they appear; but
the second year, each plant must be covered with river-sand, and then
have a sea-kale pot turned over it, on which must be heaped stable dung
fifteen or twenty inches high, in order that the heat may make the
young shoots grow rapidly, and thus make them tender and succulent.

_Artichokes, tart-rhubarb_, and _horseradish_, are other permanent
crops found in kitchen-gardens, but they do not require any particular
care in their culture.

The _temporary crops_ in kitchen-gardens require a constant change,
as it is found from experience that the same crop cannot be grown
on the same ground for two years in succession, without becoming of
an inferior quality; and thus it is found necessary to fix what is
called the rotation of crops, and to arrange that in each compartment
a fresh crop shall be grown every year, as different as possible
from the one that grew in it the year before. Thus, onions may be
succeeded by lettuces, carrots by peas, potatoes by cabbages, and
turnips by spinach. These plants may of course be varied according to
circumstances; but the principle is never to have two fleshy-rooted
plants like the carrot and the potato succeed each other; but always to
let a plant cultivated for its leaves or seeds follow one cultivated
for its root, and so on.

The _cabbage tribe_ is very much improved by cultivation, but the
plants contained in it require a great deal of manure and frequent
watering to make them succulent and good. It seems strange that such
different plants as broccoli, cauliflowers, cabbages, Scotch greens,
and savoys should all spring not only from one genus, but from one
species (_Brássica oleràcea_), which is, in fact, a British plant, and
which I have no doubt you have seen growing on the cliffs at Dover,
though you would have no idea that a tall straggling plant, with
alternate leaves and very pretty yellow flowers, could be the wild
cabbage.

The first change from this loose-leaved plant appears to be to what are
called Scotch Greens, Borecole, or Kale; and these plants accordingly
require the least care in their cultivation. They are generally sown
in April, and transplanted in rows into the kitchen-garden, where
they only need to be occasionally hoed and earthed up. There are a
great many sub-varieties of these greens, all of which generally
come true from seed.--Cabbages properly so called have a fine head
or ball formed of leaves folded closely over each other; and when
eaten young, before the heads have formed, they are called coleworts.
Cabbages are sown three times, for the spring, summer, and autumn
crops. The spring cabbages are sown in the first week of the August of
the previous year, and in October or November they will be ready for
transplanting into rows twelve inches apart, where they will remain
till they are wanted for use the following spring. The summer crop is
sown in February, and transplanted in April, the plants being eighteen
inches apart every way; and the autumn crop is sown in May, and planted
out in July. All kinds of cabbage require a soil well enriched with
animal manure, frequent hoeing-up, and abundance of water, or they
will become dry and tasteless instead of being succulent. The stalks
of the summer and autumn crops are generally left standing to produce
what are called sprouts; and some gardeners only grow one crop of
regular cabbages, leaving the stalks standing during the rest of the
season for sprouts.--Savoys are large cabbages with wrinkled leaves,
which are sown in March, and transplanted in May or June to a bed where
they stand two feet apart every way. The crop is generally ready in
November, but savoys are never considered good till they have had
some frost.--Brussels Sprouts are a variety of the Savoy cabbage, and,
as they are said to be very inferior in quality if raised from seed
ripened in Britain, you must inquire if the seed you purchase has
been procured from abroad.--Broccoli should be treated like cabbage,
the soil should be deeply trenched and manured before the plants are
transplanted.--Cauliflowers require too much care in their culture for
me to advise you to have any thing to do with them.

_Peas_ and _beans_ should be grown in an open sunny situation, and in a
light soil that is tolerably rich, but not freshly manured; and hence
they are well adapted to succeed the cabbage tribe, the soil for which
is always well manured.

Some sow their early peas in November and December, but very little
is gained by this; and, if the winter should be severe, the crop is
sometimes lost. The best time, therefore, for sowing early peas is in
February, and the late ones in two or three sowings from April to July.
Before sowing, the ground should be marked for drills, by stretching
a garden line along the length of the bed, and then making a drill or
furrow along it with a dibber, pressing the earth firm at the bottom of
each drill. As soon as the drill is prepared, the peas are regularly
dropped along it, two or three to an inch, if they are small, and an
inch apart if large, and then they are covered with the soil, which
is firmly pressed down over them with a spade or roller. The drills
should be an inch and a half deep, and from two to three feet asunder,
according to the size of the peas, the marrowfats and blue Prussians
requiring more room than the early kinds. A pint of peas will sow from
twenty to thirty yards of drills, according to the size of the peas.
Dried furze is sometimes put over peas when they are sown, and before
they are covered with earth, to save them from mice. If the weather
should be dry, the drills may be occasionally watered; and when the
young plants are two or three inches high they should be hoed up, the
earth being carefully drawn up to their roots. When about six inches
high, they should be stacked with two rows of sticks to each row of
peas, care being taken to have the sticks higher than the expected
height of the peas, and not to let them cross at top. Many persons
do not grow any early peas (which are always inferior to the larger
kinds), but sow a crop of dwarf marrowfats and green Prussians in March
and April for the principal crop, sowing the tall marrowfats and blue
Prussians in June and July for a late crop. In this manner a supply of
fine-flavoured peas may be obtained all the summer, and in open seasons
till the end of September or October.

Beans are sown at the same time as peas, but they should be grown in
stronger soil; they do not require sticks, and they are generally
topped, that is, the upper part of the leading shoot of each plant is
cut off; an operation that would be fatal to peas.

_Kidneybeans_ are of two quite distinct kinds. The dwarf kidneybeans
are annuals, which should be sown in drills about two feet apart, the
first or second week in May; but the scarlet runners are perennials,
the seed of which should be sown two or three inches asunder, and very
lightly covered; and the rows should at least be three feet apart. The
plants will require sticks like peas. Kidneybeans are generally eaten
in England only in an unripe state, the pods being eaten as well as the
seeds; the ripe seeds are, however, commonly eaten in France under the
name of _haricots blancs_.

_Potatoes_ are propagated by what are called sets, that is, pieces into
which the tuber is cut, each of which contains a bud or eye. Before
they are planted, the ground should be trenched and rotten dung dug
into it. The early potatoes are planted in March, and the late ones
in May or June. When the potatoes are to be planted, a garden line is
stretched across the beds, and holes are made along it with a dibber,
about six inches deep, and nine inches or a foot apart. The sets are
then put into the ground, one in each hole, with the eye upwards, and
the earth firmly pressed down on them. When the plants come up, they
are frequently hoed and earthed up; and as soon as they come into
blossom some cultivators cut off the tops, to prevent the formation of
the seed.

The _Jerusalem artichoke_ is propagated by sets, like the potato; and
the _turnip_, the _carrot_, and the _parsnep_ are propagated by seed
sown in drills about March.

_Red beet_ is cultivated in the same manner, and plants that are sown
in March will have roots ready for the table in September or October.
Great care, however, must be used while taking them out of the ground,
not to wound the outer skin; and in the kitchen they must be only
washed and not scraped, as, if the outer skin should be removed, all
the colouring matter will escape when the root is boiled, and the
root, instead of its being of its usual bright red, will be of a dingy
whitish pink.

_Radishes_ are sown at different seasons; generally every fortnight,
from January to July or August.

_Spinach_ is of two kinds: the round-leaved variety, which is generally
sown for the summer crop in January or February, and the roots of which
may be pulled up and thrown away as soon as the leaves are gathered;
and the Flanders spinach, which has triangular leaves, and which is
sown for the winter crop in August. This last kind should have only the
outer leaves pinched or cut off; and, thus treated, it will continue
producing fresh leaves all the winter, as it is quite hardy, and not
injured by frost. The seeds of this plant will keep good four years.

I do not suppose you will attempt to grow _onions_, as they will
require a great deal of care; but you can sow a few in March for
salads. If you wish to grow onions of an enormous size, you should
raise the seed on a hotbed in February, and transplant them into the
open ground in April or May. The soil into which they are transplanted
should be very rich, and mixed with charcoal roughly powdered. The
onions should be planted a foot apart every way, only the fibrous
roots being buried in the soil, and they should be watered regularly
every day. All the onion tribe require a very rich soil, which is very
much improved for them by mixing charcoal with it. When it is wished
to grow onions to a very large size, a hollow space or cup is made
in the ground, in the middle of which the onion is placed when it is
transplanted, the fibrous roots being buried in the ground at the
bottom of the cup. The bulb of the onion, when thus treated, and well
watered, swells to an enormous size, and becomes extremely delicate.

_Lettuces_ are of two kinds: the cabbage lettuces, which may be sown
broad-cast at any time from February to August, and require no after
care, except thinning out and watering; and Cos lettuces, which are
generally blanched by bending the tips of the leaves over the heart,
and tying them in that position with a bit of bast mat. Endive and
succory are blanched in the same manner, and mustard and cress only
require sowing, as they are cut for salads while in their seed leaves.
In France, lettuces are often cut for salads in their seed leaves like
mustard and cress.

_Celery_ requires a good deal of care in its culture. The seed must be
sown in March or April, in a bed the soil of which is formed of equal
parts of loam and rotten dung. When the young plants come up, they are
transplanted into another bed of very rich soil, and when they are
about a foot high they are removed into trenches for blanching. These
trenches are made four feet apart, eighteen inches wide, and twelve
inches deep, and they are filled nine inches high with a rich compost
of strong fresh soil and rotten dung. The plants are taken up with as
much earth as will adhere to their roots; and, their side shoots having
been removed, they are set in the centre of the trench nine or ten
inches apart. As they grow, the earth is drawn up to them, a little at
a time, taking care never to let the earth rise above the heart of the
plant; and this earthing up is repeated five or six times, at intervals
of about ten days or a fortnight, till the plants are ready for use.

The _potherbs_, as they are continually wanted in cookery, are much
better in a garden near the kitchen. One of the most important is
parsley, which is generally sown in a drill in February or March,
and the plants of which do not seed till the second year. Fennel
is a perennial, which, when once introduced, requires no further
care, except to prevent it from spreading too rapidly. Thyme, sage,
pot-marjoram, and winter savory, are all dwarf shrubs, which require
no care after they have been once planted. Mint, winter marjoram, and
the common marjoram, are perennials; but the sweet or knotted marjoram,
summer savory, and basil require sowing every year like parsley.

I would not advise you to grow _cucumbers_ or _melons_; but, should
you feel inclined to try your skill, you have only to have a hotbed
made like that for raising flower seeds; but with a two- or three-light
frame, remembering that it will take a cart-load of stable dung for
every light. The plants are raised in pots, and, when they are about
five weeks old, they are planted three together in little ridges of
earth made under each light. When the plants have produced two rough
leaves, the ends of the shoots are generally pinched off, and this is
called stopping the runners. When the plants come into flower, the
pollen of the male flowers should be conveyed to the female ones, as
otherwise the fruit very often drops off as soon as it is set. Seeds
for the first crop of cucumbers are sown in December or January; but
the principal crop is sown in March. The great difficulty is to grow
the cucumbers long and straight, and to keep them green, and with a
beautiful bloom. For the first purpose a brick may be placed under the
fruit, and for the second, abundance of leaves should be left on the
plant; and the ground in which it grows should be kept quite moist,
as it is found that the plant succeeds best when it has abundance of
heat and moisture, and has grown in the shade. Melons require the same
treatment as cucumbers, with the exception of their beds being about
10° hotter; as, for example, the seed-bed should not be less than 65°,
and the fruiting-bed should not be less than 75°.

_Gourds_ and _tomatoes_ should be sown in a hotbed in March, and
planted out in May, the latter against a south wall.

_Mushrooms_ are generally grown in the back shed of a vinery or
forcing-house, in beds made of fresh horse-dung, which has lain in
a heap under cover, and been turned over several times for about a
fortnight or three weeks, till every part has thoroughly fermented. A
bed is then marked out about twelve or fourteen feet long, and five
feet broad; and, if it is on the earth, a pit is made of that size by
taking out the soil about six inches deep. The bottom of the bed should
be formed by a layer of long fresh stable manure about four inches
thick. On this several other layers must be placed of the prepared
dung, each being beaten flat with the fork, so as to make the bed as
close and compact as possible, till it is about five feet high, when
the top should be finished off like the ridge of a house. In this
state the bed should remain about a fortnight, and then some bricks
of mushroom spawn having been procured from a nurseryman, they should
be broken into pieces about an inch or an inch and a half square, and
strewed regularly over the bed, each piece of the spawn being buried
by raising up a little of the dung and inserting it. After this, the
surface of the bed must be beaten flat with the spade, and the whole
covered with a loamy soil, and beaten quite smooth. The bed is then
covered about a foot thick with oat straw, and again with mats, and it
will require no further care for a month or six weeks, by which time
the mushrooms will be ready for the table. Care should be taken in
gathering them to twist them up by the roots, as, if they are cut off,
the root, which is left in the ground, will decay, and be injurious to
the young plants. Mushrooms may be made to grow in lawns, by procuring
some bricks of mushroom spawn, and, after breaking them into pieces
about an inch or two inches square, burying these pieces by raising
a little of the turf wherever the mushrooms are wished to grow, and
placing the spawn under it. This is sometimes done in April or May; but
if the season should be dry, the spawn will not germinate. Others put
the spawn into the ground in August, or in the first week in September;
the lawn is afterwards rolled, and no other care will be requisite
until the mushrooms are ready for gathering, which will be in a month
or six weeks after the spawn is buried.




LETTER XI.

THE MANAGEMENT OF FRUIT TREES.--PLANTING.--PROTECTING THE
BLOSSOMS.--STONE FRUITS.--FIG TREES.--GRAPES.--MANAGEMENT
OF A VINERY.--GROWING PINE-APPLES.--FORCING PEACHES AND
NECTARINES.--STANDARD FRUIT TREES.--KERNEL FRUITS.--FRUIT
SHRUBS.--STRAWBERRIES.--TART-RHUBARB.


The fruit trees in a kitchen-garden should be all trained against the
walls, and those trees which are grown as standards should be in a
separate garden or orchard. The walls are best when about eight feet
high, and they should have strong hooks or holdfasts built into them
at the top, for the convenience of supporting a wooden coping, or
of suspending mats or nets. Some persons recommend the walls to be
built on arches; but this is a bad plan, as it is of importance to
the gardener to confine the roots as much as possible to the border
within the garden. The roots of fruit trees should never go deeply
into the ground, as, if the roots are suffered to get so deep as to be
out of the reach of the air, the trees will produce more leaves and
branches than fruit. On this account care should be taken that the
soil should not be more than eighteen inches deep; and the easiest
and most effectual mode of doing this is, to dig out the border to the
depth of two feet, and put a layer of brick-bats and other rubbish
covered with gravel well rammed down to the depth of six inches, and
to fill up the remaining eighteen inches with a fine rich mould. When
a fruit tree border is in its proper state, the gardener should always
be able to show the fibrous roots of his trees by removing a little of
the earth with his hand. When the trees are planted the roots should
be carefully spread out to their full extent, and care should be taken
always to keep the collar of the plant above the earth, as when it is
buried the tree is very liable to become cankered. As the blossoms of
peaches, apricots, and nectarines appear early, they are very liable
to be injured by spring frosts, and many plans have been devised for
protecting them. All, however, are liable, more or less, to objection,
as it is extremely difficult to put up mats without knocking off the
blossoms. The best way is to have a deep wooden coping placed on the
holdfasts that were let into the wall, with hooks in front, from which
a curtain of bunting may be suspended, which should be kept up night
and day during frosty weather; as there is quite as much danger from
the sun during frosty weather, as from the frost. In fact, in most
cases where plants are injured by frost, it is in consequence of a
warm sunny day having succeeded a severely cold night.

_Peaches_ and _nectarines_ are the most valuable of our wall fruit
trees. They should be grown in tolerably rich soil, but which has been
enriched with decayed leaves rather than animal manure; as, when they
are manured with dung, they are very apt to produce what are called
water shoots or gourmands, that is, strong vigorous shoots without
any blossom buds. Peach trees are generally kept in the nursery till
they are three or four years old, and they should be removed about
the latter end of October, or the beginning of November. They are
best trained in the fan manner, that is, with the branches spread out
regularly against the wall in the shape of a fan; and, as they always
bear their fruit on shoots of a year old, those shoots must be left on
in pruning, and the old wood cut out. The pruning should be performed
either in November or February; but the trees should never be cut
during a severe frost. When the fruit has stoned it is thinned out, and
never more than two should be left growing together.

Peaches and nectarines are generally grafted close to the ground, so as
to make dwarf trees, and they are considered best planted about twenty
feet apart, with some kind of plum or cherry, grafted standard high,
placed between them.

_Apricots_ are trained somewhat horizontally, and they bear not only
on the shoots of the last year, but on close spurs formed by the two
years' old wood. Apricot trees are very apt to have large limbs die off
without any apparent cause; but this may be prevented by covering all
the principal limbs in October with hay-bands, and letting them remain
on till all danger is over from frost. Apricot trees should be five and
twenty feet apart on the wall, as they spread rapidly, and do not bear
cutting in. The fruit should be thinned in May, or the beginning of
June.

_Plum trees_ will bear a little manure being laid on the surface
in autumn, and slightly forked in in spring. They are trained
horizontally, and they bear on what are called spurs; that is, short
rugged-looking little branches, jutting out from shoots two or three
years old, and which will continue fruitful for several years. Plum
trees, in consequence, require very little pruning; and, in fact, as
they are apt to gum when they are wounded, they should be very seldom
touched with a knife.

_Cherry trees_ resemble plum trees in their culture, and, when grown
against a wall, most of the kinds are trained horizontally, and
their branches kept six or eight inches apart. The morello cherry
is, however, an exception to this rule, as it requires pruning and
training, like the peach.

_Fig trees_ should never be pruned, except to remove shoots that cannot
be trained, as the fruit is produced on the young wood at the extremity
of the branches. Fig trees should be planted thirty feet apart, and
trained horizontally, their long branches being bent backwards and
forwards, in order to make them throw out side shoots for bearing
fruit, which they will generally do where the bend is made. Fig trees
require to be well supplied with water, though they will not grow if
any stagnant water be suffered to remain about the roots.

The _pomegranate_ resembles the fig tree in producing its flowers only
on the points of its shoots, and on short twigs projecting from its
trained branches. Pomegranates require a rich soil; and when it is
wished to throw them into fruit, the blossoms should be shaded during
the time of expansion, as otherwise the pollen will dry up without
fertilising the stigma.

_Grapes_ are frequently grown against a wall in the open air; and in
some cases, as, for example, by Mr. Clement Hoare, near Southampton,
with very great success. Grapes have been also produced of excellent
quality against a flued wall; that is, a hollow wall heated by means
of flues in it, as at Erskine, near Greenock; but as, in both cases,
extraordinary care is required, I would advise you only to have a
common sweet-water vine or two in your garden on the open wall, for
the purpose of using its leaves in garnishing, and to grow vines in a
vinery to produce the grapes you require for the table.

A vinery is a common hothouse or bark stove, heated with hot-water
pipes or flues, and with a pit in the centre, which is generally
filled with tan for pines. This appears a very simple and economical
arrangement, but it has one great disadvantage; namely, that the pines
require heat at a season when the vines should be in perfect repose,
unless very early crops of grapes are desired. In other cases the
centre of the vinery is planted with peach and nectarine trees for
early forcing, the branches of the trees being trained over a curved
trellis, and other peach and nectarine trees or vines, planted in
the house, being trained against a trellis at the back. The vines
for the main crop are, however, planted on the outside of the house,
in a border prepared like that for the fruit trees, but richer; and
their stems are brought into the vinery, through holes left for that
purpose in the front wall. Several compositions have been recommended
for making a compost for a vine border; but that most approved is, two
parts of turfy loam mixed with one part of very rotten dung or decayed
leaves, one part of lime rubbish, and one part of road drift. On the
Continent they frequently bury the parts cut off the vine in pruning,
in the border, and this is said to make excellent manure.

Vines are generally not planted in the border till about a year old,
and they are best struck from cuttings of one bud or eye each, with
about half an inch of stem left above and below the eye; the cutting is
then planted in a small pot (60), and covered with soil half an inch
thick, after which the pot is plunged to the rim in a common hotbed,
or into the tan-pit in the centre of the vinery, covering it in the
latter case with a hand-glass; the object being to keep the young plant
growing in a moist heat of 60°. The young plants should be afterwards
shifted into larger and larger pots, as they require it; and their
stems, which will grow rapidly, should be trained either to a single
stick or to a framework of sticks tied together, according as the plant
is wanted to be spreading or trained to a single stem. If the eye has
been a large and healthy one, and the wood of the stem from which it
was taken firm and well ripened, the cuttings will grow rapidly. Care
must be taken to give the young plant a gentle sprinkling of water
every four or five days, and to let it have plenty of air, and not too
much heat from the bed. The water should be given at night, and the
glasses of the frame should be shut close immediately, as the steam
thus generated is found very beneficial to the young plant. As when
the plant is shifted the first time the stem, or cane as it is called,
is generally six or eight inches long, great care must be taken not
to injure either it or the spongioles of the roots in shifting; and,
as the stem or cane is of course always longer every time the plants
are shifted, additional care is required every time of performing the
operation. While the plant is in the hotbed, the wires or tendrils, and
also the weak lateral shoots, must be pinched off as fast as they are
produced.

If the cutting was made in the first week of March, and has been
properly treated, it will have a strong stem of ten or twelve feet
long, and perhaps more, by the middle of June or the beginning of July.
Many gardeners advise planting the vines out at this season, as they
say they grow more vigorously, and form better wood, with only their
stems in the hothouse, than when they are confined to the moist close
heat of the bed. Other gardeners, however, keep their young vines in
the pots till the following February, when the canes are generally five
feet long, and as thick as the little finger.

When the plants are put into the ground there should be one vine to
each hole; and, as every hole is made opposite a rafter, there is thus
one vine allotted to every sash or light. A shallow pit is made in the
ground for each vine, and, the pot being either broken with the spade
or the plant carefully turned out of it, the ball of earth containing
the roots is placed in the pit, in such a manner as to leave the cane
as nearly as possible in the same position as it occupied when the
plant was in the pot. The ball of earth is then covered with light
rich mould about two inches thick, and the stem of the vine is brought
through the hole in the wall into the house. This is an operation of
some difficulty, particularly if the cane be long, and it is carefully
wrapped up in matting or in hay-bands, to prevent it from receiving any
injury. While the vines are in pots they are pruned, so as to leave
only the main shoot, or at most two shoots, in case one should be
broken off; and in the latter case, as soon as the main shoot has been
safely introduced and attached to the rafter, the other is removed. The
side shoots are also taken off as they appear till the main shoot has
reached nearly to the end of the rafter, when its point is pinched off,
and the strongest of the side shoots are allowed to develop themselves.

If the vine was planted in May or June the same year the cutting was
struck, and nothing else is in the vinery, it should be allowed to
remain all summer with the glasses off, and without fire heat; in
September, however, the glasses should be put on, and enough heat
applied to keep the temperature of the house at 55° or 60°, but always
giving air in the middle of the day, in order to ripen the wood. In
December, when the leaves begin to fall, the vines should be pruned,
and they should then have a season of rest, till the leaf-buds begin to
swell in spring. When only vines, or vines and peaches, are grown in a
vinery, it is easy to give this season of rest by leaving off all fire
heat, except what is necessary to keep out the frost, till the middle
of February; but, when pines are grown in the same house, the stems of
the vines are generally drawn out of the house during part of December,
January, and February, and kept on the outside carefully wrapped up
in mats and hay-bands, or laid along the ground and covered thickly
with dead leaves and straw. The vine border should always be covered
in the same manner during frosty weather, as neither stems nor roots
should ever be exposed to a greater degree of cold than 40°. When the
vines are planted out in June, they should not be suffered to bear any
fruit that year; but, when they are not planted out till the February
following, they may be allowed to bear one or two bunches each the
following summer.

In pruning the vine great care should be taken never to cut close to a
bud or eye, but generally to cut through the stem just in the middle of
the internode or space between the buds, or at least half an inch from
the bud left. The sap of the vine rises with great force; and if the
pruning be delayed till spring, or if the cut be made too near the bud,
the sap will flow profusely, and will very seriously weaken the plant.
English gardeners call this overflowing of the sap bleeding; but on the
Continent they call it the tears of the vine. There are three modes of
pruning and training the vine; but the best for vineries is what is
called the spurring-in system. This consists in training the plant with
one long main shoot, which is always suffered to remain, and shortening
the strongest of the side shoots to one or two eyes every winter, and
removing those that are weakly, or that grow too closely together, as
the shoots left, which are called the spurs, should always be about
twelve inches apart.

The time of beginning to force grape vines depends upon the season
at which the grapes are wanted, but the usual season is February.
The cane of the vine is then taken into the house, if it has been
wintered outside, and carefully trained to the rafter, the part next
the ground being still kept wrapped round with hay-bands, and the hole
stopped close round the stem, so as to prevent the vine receiving
any check from the cold of the external air. Want of attention to
this particular is very apt to produce a disease in the vines, which
ends in what is called shanking, that is, a shriveling of the short
stems of the grapes after they have set. The vine border has then its
winter covering removed; and, after being forked over, a coating is
laid on of rotten dung, two or three inches thick; or, what is better,
a coating is laid on of turfy loam chopped up, and old lime mortar,
about two inches deep, and on that a coating of rotten dung, two inches
thick; over these may be replaced the coating of decayed leaves a foot
thick, and straw or reed mat, which was laid on the bed during the
severe frosts of winter. The grand point is, to keep the roots and
part outside the house in the same temperature as that within, or even
warmer.

When fire heat is first applied, the thermometer should be 55° at
night, and 60° or 65° in the day; but the heat should be gradually
increased as the buds begin to swell, keeping the heat at night about
10° lower than that of the day till the flower-buds appear, when the
spurs are generally stopped about one bud beyond the flower-bud, and
the leaf-shoots, which are opposite the flower-buds, are each stopped
at a single leaf. The bunches must also be thinned, and not more than
nine or ten allowed to each vine, if trained in the spur manner. The
heat of the house should now be about 80° by day and 70° by night, and
a little air should be given for half an hour every day, whenever it
can be done without lowering the temperature below 74°. The hot-water
pipes or flues should be frequently sprinkled with water when the vines
are going out of flower, and the grapes beginning to swell; and the
grapes in each bunch should be thinned out with a pair of scissors,
and the shoulders of the bunches tied up to allow the grapes to swell.
The house should now be at its greatest heat, viz. 85° by day, and
74° or 75° at night; air should be given freely, whenever it can be
done without lowering the temperature below 77°; and the hot-water
pipes should be sprinkled with water six or eight times during the
twenty-four hours. When the fruit begins to change colour for ripening,
this sprinkling should be left off, and air admitted freely, even at
night, whenever it can be done without lowering the temperature too
much. During the whole of the forcing, the border should be watered
with dung water; and, as soon as all danger from frost is over, the
leaves and straw should be thrown off, and the bed slightly forked
over, to admit the warmth of the sun to penetrate the earth, and the
air to reach the roots of the vines, as unless the air is allowed to
reach the roots the grapes will not set well.

If the forcing was commenced in February, the grapes will be ripe in
July and August; the Sweetwaters ripening first, the Hamburgs next, and
the West's St. Peter's and Muscat of Alexandria last. When grapes are
wished to be ripe in May or June, the forcing must begin the first of
December, and pines may be grown with the same heat as will be required
for the vines; but, when this is the case, the vines must have an
artificial winter given to them, by ceasing all fire heat as soon as
the fruit is cut, and taking off the sashes; the stems are afterwards
kept in the shade, and as cool as possible through September and
October, and they are pruned in November. When, on the contrary, grapes
are not required before September, very little forcing is requisite;
but the bunches of grapes must be carefully thinned, and not more than
ten or twelve bunches should be allowed on each vine. When the vines
are in flower and the fruit setting, the house should be kept close,
and the pipes or flues frequently sprinkled with water; as a hot dry
air makes the calyx shrivel up before the pollen has reached the ovary,
and, when this is the case, the grapes will be small and frequently
without stones.

It would take too much space to explain to you the other methods of
training and pruning, and I need only say that the long method, which
is the only one except the spur system in general use, consists in
cutting out the old wood every second year, and supplying its place
with wood of the previous season's growth.

You will thus see that the principal points to be attended to in the
culture of the vine are:--1. To prune the plants so as to prevent them
from forming too much wood, but not to cut too near the buds; 2. To
keep the roots and collar of the plants, when forcing begins, at the
same temperature, or nearly so, as the upper part of the stems; 3. To
admit air to the roots as soon as all danger is over from frost; 4. To
thin both the branches and grapes properly and in due time; 5. To keep
the air of the house moist when the fruit is setting and swelling; and
6. To give the plants a proper season of rest.

_Pines_ are propagated by crowns, that is, the bunch of leaves on the
upper part of the fruit; or suckers which form by the side of the old
plant. These are potted in small pots in proportion to their size, in a
soil composed of seven eighths of pure loam and one of silver sand; and
plunged about two thirds of their depth into a bed of tan, at the heat
of about 95° in the bed, and the usual heat of a forcing-house in the
atmosphere, if grown in the vinery. Young plants are sometimes grown
without pots in propagating-pits; from which they are transferred,
after being repotted, to what are called succession pits; and, after
remaining there a long time, they are either removed to the tan-pit
in the vinery to fruit, or to fruiting-pits. I shall not attempt to
give you directions for their culture during all these changes, which
take up a great deal of time; Jamaica pines being two years before
they are ready to cut, Providence pines about twenty or two and twenty
months, and Queen pines sixteen or eighteen months. Your only chance of
growing pines is, therefore, not to have them till they are put into
fruiting-pots; these are plunged into the tan-pit in the vinery in
February or March, when the forcing of the vines begins; and afterwards
they will require no other care than watering them frequently, and
keeping the atmosphere moist, to make the fruit swell. Pine-apples are
sometimes grown without pots, in peat soil, through which pipes of hot
water are carried so as to heat the earth to 95°, while the atmosphere
is kept moist, and decayed leaves are laid on the surface and drawn up
round the plants. In this way, Queen pines have been grown to the size
of five or six pounds, and New Providence pines from twelve pounds to
fifteen pounds.

When _peaches_ are forced in a vinery, the trees should be three or
four years old before they are put into the house. The best kinds
are, the Grosse Mignonne, the Royal George, the Bellegarde, and the
Late Admirable; and, where only one kind is wanted, the Bellegarde
is preferred, as it is not so liable to the mildew as the others.
The best kinds of _nectarine_ for forcing are the Elruge and the
Violette hâtive. If the forcing begins in December, the fruit will be
ready in May. The leaves should be frequently syringed with water at
the temperature of the house; and, in other respects, the culture is
the same as for peaches in the open air, and the forcing the same as
for vines. The greatest objection to growing peaches in a vinery is,
that the shade thrown by the leaves of the vines prevents the proper
colouring and flavouring of the fruit.

_Standard fruit trees_ should never be planted in a kitchen-garden,
as from their drip and shade it is impossible to grow good culinary
vegetables under them; while, on the other hand, the constant digging
and movement of the soil required for culinary vegetables, make the
roots of the trees descend so far that they get beyond the reach of the
air, and can never produce good fruit. Dwarf standards are fruit trees
grafted near the collar of the plants, and trained in various ways to
form bushes rather than trees. Sometimes a hoop is placed inside, and
the branches are trained into a cup-shape; at others, the branches
are formed into a kind of umbrella; and, at others, they are trained
into the shape of a distaff (_en quenouille_), or like a pyramid. All
these and many other modes of training dwarf standards may be seen at
the London Horticultural Society's Garden at Chiswick: but only pears,
apples, and dwarf cherries are treated in this manner; and, though
they are convenient to gather the fruit from, they are in so unnatural
a state as to be subject to canker and other diseases, and seldom live
long. Espalier trees are subject to the same objections, as they are in
a still more unnatural state than dwarf standards. The hardy kernel and
stone fruits are therefore best grown in an orchard, and I shall now
say a few words on their treatment.

_Apples_ are the most useful of all fruits, and there are three
distinct kinds, the dessert or eating apples, the kitchen or baking
apples which fall or become soft in cooking, and the cider apples which
are good for nothing but cider. Apple trees are generally grafted on
crab stocks; and, when they are planted, the collar should be raised a
little above the soil, as if it is buried the tree will very probably
become cankered, or affected with the American blight. Canker is
sometimes cured by cutting out the cankered part, and admitting air to
the roots; and the insect called the American blight may be removed
by washing the tree with a brush and soft soap and warm water, or by
plastering it over with a mixture of stiff clay and water.

_Pear trees_ are very apt to send their roots down to a great depth,
and then cease bearing; so that it is desirable to keep the roots
near the surface by mulching with manure or dead leaves. The fruit is
produced on spurs, and when pear trees are grown against a wall they
are trained horizontally, with short projecting branches or spurs. Pear
trees against a wall are very apt to bear their fruit in clusters, and
to leave a great part of the tree barren; and this arises from their
flowers having naturally very little pollen, and, where the flowers are
exposed to great heat, the pollen drying up without fertilising the
stigma. The best remedy is to syringe the branches occasionally, and to
shade them when in blossom.

The _quince_ thrives best near water; as does the _medlar. Mulberry
trees_ are best planted on a lawn, for the convenience of picking
up the fruit clean from the grass; as it falls as soon as it is
ripe. _Plums_ and _cherries_ require no particular care when grown
as standards, except to be sparing in the use of the knife, as both
trees, when wounded, are very apt to produce gum; and this, which is an
unnatural exudation of the sap, similar to the bleeding of the vines,
is very injurious to the trees.

The _almond_ is a kind of peach tree, with a leathery fruit instead
of a juicy one, the almond being the kernel of the stone. The bitter
almond abounds in Prussic acid; but this powerful poison scarcely
exists in the kernel of the sweet variety. Almond trees are generally
grafted on plum stocks; and they should be grown in a dry soil and a
sheltered situation, as the branches are brittle and apt to be broken
off by high winds. When almond seeds are sown, the sharp end should
be pressed downwards; and the young plants should not be transplanted
except when absolutely necessary, as they have very long tap-roots.
When the almond is planted for ornament it should have a back-ground of
evergreens, as its flowers appear before its leaves.

The _walnut_, being a spreading tree with large leaves, should only be
planted where no injury will be sustained by a deep shade being cast
upon the ground; but it must be observed that its leaves are disliked
by all cattle, and are injurious to cows. In pruning it the tips of
the branches should be taken off, to make them throw out fruit-bearing
shoots.

_Sweet chestnuts_ are always propagated by seeds, and never grow well
unless the soil contains a portion of sand. The wood is worthless when
old. Both walnuts and chestnuts are generally planted in the park.

The fruit shrubs grown in gardens may be considered to include the
_elder_, the _berberry_, and the _filbert_, though these are frequently
called trees. The elder and the berberry will grow anywhere, and
require no particular care in their culture; the filbert is only a
variety of the common hazel, and both are generally grown on the
borders of walks, where they are planted from five to ten feet apart,
according as they are to be trained upright or spreading. As the fruit
is produced on the young shoots, the bush should be kept open and
trained in the cup fashion, in order that the main branches may throw
out short young wood. Filberts are propagated by sowing the seeds; and
hazel trees by suckers, which they throw up in abundance.

_Gooseberries_ are generally propagated by cuttings, which strike
easily; and they should be grown in soil which is well drained, and
well manured by a coating of rotten dung being laid upon it every
third year. The bushes should be planted in rows eight or ten feet
apart, the plants being about six feet from each other. They should be
pruned twice a year; in the winter to remove the branches not likely to
produce fruit, and early in summer to remove those shoots that are not
likely to ripen. The fruit is produced partly on the old and partly on
the young wood, and it should be thinned when gathered green for pies
and puddings, by taking only a few from each bush, instead of gathering
all that may be wanted from one.

_Currants_ are raised from cuttings generally about a foot long, all
the buds from which are taken off, except five or six at the top; and
the cutting is then firmly fixed in the soil about six inches deep. The
currant bears chiefly on spurs of the old wood, so that these only are
generally left in the winter pruning. The currant is very hardy, and
will grow in any soil or situation, even under the drip of trees.

_Raspberries_ always bear on the young shoots, so that the art of
pruning them consists in cutting out the old wood. They are propagated
by suckers, and thrive best in a light rich soil, and an open situation.

The _cranberry_ is generally grown in moist soil or peat earth; but
it may be grown in beds in the common garden like the strawberry.
When cranberries are once planted they require no after care, except
removing the runners when they extend too far.

Having now, I believe, told you a little, though I confess not much,
of all the kinds of trees and shrubs usually grown in this country
for their fruit, I have only to say a few words of strawberries
and tart-rhubarb, and then I think I shall have given you all the
information you will require for so small a garden as yours.

_Strawberries_ are rather difficult plants to give directions for, as
they succeed apparently equally well with different kinds of treatment.
It is certain, however, that they like a deep rich soil, well manured;
and that, when a new strawberry bed is planted, the ground should be
trenched at least two feet deep, and a good deal of rotten dung (the
dung from an old hotbed is best) should be mixed with the soil. Some
persons make fresh strawberry beds every year, and some every third
year; but strawberry beds will continue to produce for ten or twelve
years, if a thick coating of decayed leaves be put on the bed every
winter, and their remains forked into the bed in spring. When a new bed
is to be formed, the strongest runners should be selected from the old
plants; and they may be planted in beds containing three rows each,
eighteen inches apart, the plants being about twelve inches apart in
the line. Alpine strawberries may be raised from seed, and will fruit
the first year. The Pine is an excellent strawberry for flavour, but
Keen's seedling is the best for general use. The Hautbois requires
a great deal of manure, and, as the male and female flowers are on
different plants, nearly one half the plants in a bed are unproductive.
Strawberries grow very well on banks facing the south or south-east,
or on little terraces supported by walls, but in these situations they
must be regularly watered twice a day. Strawberry plants never produce
good fruit unless they have abundance of leaves, as shade is essential
to the fruit being juicy and of a good flavour. Most gardeners take off
the runners in August or September, and plant them in nursing beds for
the winter, transplanting them to their proper beds in March.

_Tart-rhubarb_ is propagated by seed or by division of the root,
but the former method is generally considered the better. When beds
of rhubarb are to be formed, the soil should be deeply trenched and
richly manured, and the seed then sown in drills two feet apart for the
scarlet rhubarb, and three feet apart for the larger kinds. When the
plants come up they should be thinned out so as to leave the plants
about the same distance apart as the rows are asunder. A few leaves
may be gathered from each plant the second year, but it is generally
considered to strengthen the plants if no leaves are gathered from
them till the third year. Rhubarb may be forced in the open garden by
putting pots over it, in the same manner as is done for sea-kale; or
the plants may be taken up and potted, after which they may be placed
in the kitchen near the fire and covered with matting or old carpet,
being watered every day with warm water.




LETTER XII.

OPERATIONS OF GARDENING.--DIGGING, FORKING, AND
HOEING.--SOWING SEEDS.--TAKING OFF SUCKERS.--MAKING LAYERS
AND CUTTINGS.--BUDDING, GRAFTING, AND INARCHING.--PRUNING AND
TRAINING.--DISBUDDING.--MANURING.--KEEPING FRUIT IN A FRUIT-ROOM.


Digging is the first operation necessary in gardening, as nothing can
be done in the way of cultivating the soil till it has been first
pulverised, so as to allow the fine delicate roots of the plants to
penetrate among its particles. It is also necessary that the air
should have access to the roots of plants, as they depend for their
nourishment almost as much on the carbon and other elements which they
absorb from the air, as on those which they obtain from the soil. On
this account it is necessary, not only to dig the soil well before any
thing is planted in it, but also to fork it over occasionally whenever
its surface becomes hardened and impervious to the air and rain. When
manure is applied also, it is customary to dig it into the soil; and
ground is occasionally trenched in order to bring up fresh soil to the
surface, whenever the surface soil appears to be exhausted and to want
renewing. The operation of digging requires considerable strength,
as it requires first to be able to force the spade into the ground,
and then to raise as much earth as will lie upon the blade and turn
it over. It is, however, a fine healthy occupation, not only from its
calling the muscles into vigorous action, but from the smell of the
new earth being particularly invigorating; and you might have a lady's
spade, with a smooth willow handle, that will enable you to dig a small
bed without much difficulty. You will be surprised, however, to find,
if you try the experiment, that there is an art in digging as well as
in every thing else; and that it is extremely difficult, both to dig
in a straight line, and to make the ground look even tolerably level
after it has been dug over. _Raking_, though it appears so simple,
also requires considerable skill to make the ground look smooth and
perfectly level. _Forking_ is not so difficult, as it merely requires
to have the fork pressed into the ground, and then pulled backwards and
forwards, so as to loosen a portion of the soil without turning it over.

There are two sorts of _hoes_: the _draw-hoe_, which is used for
drawing up the earth to any plant that is to be earthed up; and the
_thrust-hoe_, which is principally used for destroying weeds. There are
many varieties of both these forms, but the common kinds, I think,
you will find the best. The most useful instrument, however, for you
will be a _trowel_, and this you will find indispensable, as, without
it, you will not be able either to transplant or pot a single plant.
Some persons use what is called a _transplanter_, to enable them when
they take up a plant, to remove it without disturbing the roots; but,
as far as my own experience goes, I think these instruments are more
troublesome than advantageous, and I prefer using a trowel. You will
also want a _budding-knife_, and a sharp knife for making cuttings; and
you will find a pair of _pruning-shears_ with a sliding-joint extremely
useful for cutting off dead wood, or removing any badly-placed branches.

Plants are propagated either by seed, or by division. When they are
to be propagated by _seeds_, the ground must be either dug or forked
over and made level. It is then firmed by beating it with the flat
part of the spade, rolling it, or in any other manner; and the seeds
are scattered over it, if they are to be sown broad-cast, and covered
with earth the same thickness as themselves. When seeds are to be sown
in drills, a narrow furrow must be made, by drawing a stick along
the ground in a straight line, or in any other way so as to make the
bottom of the furrow firm, and the seeds must be dropped into it at
regular distances. The furrow is then filled in, so that the seeds
may be covered to the same depth as their own thickness; and the earth
is slightly pressed down, and afterwards raked over. Larger seeds are
sown in separate holes made by a dibber, as are the sets of potatoes;
but the after processes are the same in all. Bulbs and tubers are also
planted in the same manner; taking care that the eyes of the tubers
are uppermost, and the flat part of the bulbs downwards. In planting
Ranunculus tubers the claws should be downwards, and if any are broken
they should be cut off smooth with a sharp knife.

There are several ways of propagating plants by division, viz. taking
off suckers, making layers and cuttings, and budding, grafting, and
inarching.

Propagation by _suckers_ is very simple. Many plants have a portion of
their stems under ground, from the buds in which new upright stems rise
into the air and fibrous roots descend into the ground. It is thus only
necessary to divide the horizontal underground stem by the spade, or by
opening the ground till the stem is found, and then cutting it through
with a knife, and to take up the young plant which has sprung from
it carefully and without injuring its roots, cutting off the remains
of the old plant before the new one is replanted. Suckers sometimes
spring from the collar of the old plant, and when this is the case they
require more care in removing them, to avoid injuring the plant from
which they spring.

_Runners_ are suckers proceeding from horizontal stems above ground,
and _offsets_ are the suckers of bulbs, as they proceed either from the
root-plate, which is the compressed stem of the hyacinth, or from the
main body of the corm, which is, in fact, the stem, as in the crocus.

_Layers_ are produced by imitating the process of nature in making
suckers; as, in making layers, a joint of the upper stem is buried in
the ground, and kept moist to induce it to throw out roots; the buried
stem being generally slit or twisted at the joint, so as to prevent the
return of the sap, and to occasion it to expend itself in roots instead
of circulating in its ordinary way through the branch. As soon as a
layer has produced roots it becomes the same as a sucker, and may be
treated in exactly the same manner.

_Cuttings_ are portions of a plant cut off just below a bud, and
buried in the earth to induce them to throw out roots; which is done
most effectually by exposing them to warmth and moisture, and shading
them from the light, as that has a tendency to draw the sap towards
the leaves, whilst warmth and bottom heat dispose the cuttings to
throw out roots. On this account cuttings always strike most readily
when the pots, in which they are planted, are plunged into a hotbed,
and covered closely with a hand-glass. It must be observed in making
cuttings, that they ought in most cases to consist of two buds; from
the lower one of which the new roots are to spring, while the upper
one is to produce the stem of the new plant. Cuttings must always be
made quite firm at the base; and they generally strike most readily
when the bottom of the cutting, which is cut through a joint and quite
flat, rests against a piece of the drainage, or even the bottom of the
pot, being in both cases pressed so closely against its earthenware
support as to exclude the air. When a cutting is made, most of the
leaves are removed, as the evaporation from them is greater than the
plant can support while it is without roots. Cuttings of succulent
plants are generally laid upon a shelf to dry before they are put into
the ground, as if this is not done the wounded part is apt to become
rotten, and to decay. Cuttings are generally struck either in sand or
very light earth, in order that the young roots may meet with as little
obstruction as possible.

_Pipings_ are portions of pinks and carnations pulled asunder at a
joint instead of being divided with a knife, and afterwards planted,
and treated exactly like cuttings.

_Budding_ is taking off a single bud or eye, called a scion, from
one plant, and inserting it in another plant called the stock. This
operation is generally performed in July or August. In the first
place, a slit is made on each side and above and below a leaf which
has a healthy bud in its axil, that is, just between the foot-stalk
of the leaf and the branch on which it grows. The bark of the branch
containing the bud and the leaf is then detached from the branch, by
passing under it the bone handle of the budding-knife, which is made
flat and thin on purpose, and raising it gradually up. If the bark has
been raised carefully and properly, there will generally be a little
bit of wood just under the bud, which must be carefully taken out, so
that not the smallest particle of wood is left on the under side of
the bark. A long slit is then made in the bark of the stock, with a
cross slit at the top, and, the bark being gently raised at each of the
corners made by the intersection of the long slit and the horizontal
slit, the piece of bark with the bud attached is carefully introduced
under the bark of the stock, which is closed over it, and bound tightly
with a bit of bast mat, in order that the bark containing the new bud
may be pressed as closely to the wood of the stock as possible. If the
operation has been properly performed and the bud was a healthy one, it
will soon begin to swell; and, when it does so, it will push off the
foot-stalk of the old leaf that was taken off with it, so that when
this foot-stalk falls it is a sign the bud has taken. When the bud has
developed itself into leaves, the ligature should be loosened to allow
the branch of the stalk to expand. The operation of budding requires
a good deal of nicety: first, to avoid wounding the wood of the stock
in slitting the bark; and, secondly, to make the bark of the scion fit
quite closely to the wood of the stock, as, if the least vacuity is
left between them, the bud will wither instead of beginning to grow.

_Grafting_ differs from budding, in the scion consisting of several
buds instead of one. It is also performed at a different time of the
year; as March and April are the proper seasons for grafting, whereas
budding is never performed till after Midsummer. In grafting, sometimes
the head of the stock is cut off, and sometimes only the branch, and
the scion is selected according to the size of the part to which it is
to be attached. When the scion and the stock have been both chosen,
they are cut slantingly, so that one may fit into the other; and care
being taken that the bark and soft wood of the two unite, at least
on one side, the two pieces are bound together, and the ligature is
covered with what is called grafting clay, that is, a mixture of stiff
clay, with a fourth part of fresh horse-dung, and a small quantity of
cut hay. Another kind of grafting clay is composed of equal parts of
stiff clay and cow-dung. It is of very little consequence whether the
scion and the stock are of the same diameter, provided they are so
cut and fitted, as to leave no vacuity between them, in those parts
where the union is to be effected; and, to keep them quite closely
attached to each other, it is customary to form a tongue, or little
projecting part, by making a slanting cut in the scion, and to make a
corresponding slit in the stock to receive it. There are several kinds
of grafting; but that which I have described, and which is called whip
or tongue grafting, is the most common, and it is always performed
with the firm or ripened wood. There is, however, another kind of
grafting, now becoming common in the nurseries, which is performed
with the young, or unripened wood, and this is called _herbaceous
grafting_, because the parts of the stem with which it is performed
are as succulent as the stems of herbaceous plants. In this kind of
grafting, the shoot of the stock is broken off about two inches below
the point, and all the leaves are taken off except two, one on each
side, which are left to draw up the sap. The stock is then split with
a very sharp knife between the leaves left on it; and, the base of the
scion having been cut into a wedge-shape, it is fixed into the cleft
made in the stock, which is bound tightly up with strips of cerecloth,
or coarse cotton cloth covered with grafting wax, made of equal parts
of turpentine, bees' wax and rosin, with a little tallow, melted
together. Sometimes plants, especially camellias in pots, are grafted
in this manner, and placed in a hothouse under hand-glasses, and the
pot surrounded with moss, to keep the cutting as close as possible.
This mode of grafting is of French origin, and it is called _la greffe
etouffée_.

_Inarching_ bears considerable resemblance to layering, as it is
performed without separating the part which is to form the new plant.
A branch is bent from a living plant, and partly cut through, and,
the tongue thus formed being introduced into a slit made in another
plant, the two are bound closely together. It is obvious that this mode
of grafting, which is called inarching, can only be practised with
plants in pots, as it requires the two plants that are to be united to
be brought close together, and to remain so till the graft has taken
effect.

You must observe that, in all kinds of grafting and budding, there
must be a considerable degree of resemblance between the scion and the
stock, for the graft to take effect. Thus, though one stoned fruit
may be grafted on another, such as the almond or peach on the plum,
a stoned fruit cannot be grafted on a kerneled fruit, such as a plum
on an apple or a pear. In the like manner, an apple cannot be grafted
on an orange, which was formerly supposed to be done, to produce a
pomegranate; nor a rose on a black currant, which it was formerly
believed would produce a black rose. It is true that plants are
sometimes sold in Italy which appear to have been unnaturally grafted,
such as a rose upon an orange; but it will be found, when closely
examined, that the pith of the orange has been artfully scooped out,
and the stem of the rose tree introduced into the hollow space thus
formed, through a hole made in the stem close to the root. In this way
the two plants may appear to be one for some time; as the stem of the
orange tree will live and produce leaves two or three years after the
pith is removed, provided the operation has been performed carefully.

The other operations of gardening are _pruning_ and _training_, and, as
I have already spoken of these when treating of the different trees,
I have only to add here that the great art in pruning is to give a
clean sloping cut without bruising the bark, as nature will make an
effort to cover the wound if the edges of the bark are left in a
healthy state. The use of a sloping cut is, to prevent the water from
lodging on a wounded part. Trees should never be cut in a hard frost;
and as little as possible in summer, as every branch taken off while
the plant is in a growing state excites it to make fresh efforts to
throw out new shoots. Many persons look over their trees in summer,
and rub off all the buds which they think likely to produce useless
shoots; and this practice, which is called disbudding, is a very good
one, as it prevents the tree from wasting its strength unnecessarily.
The principal object to be attained in training a fruit tree is, to
make the plant produce as much fruit as possible; and for this purpose
the branches are bent backwards and forwards to cause obstructions in
the sap, as it is only from places where there is an accumulation of
sap that flowers and fruit are produced. Another object in training
standard trees is to let the air into the centre of the tree, so that
it may ripen the wood; and a secondary object in training trees against
a wall is, that every part of the wall may be covered.

I cannot quit the subject of gardening without saying a few words
on _manures_. The object of manuring ground is, to supply the soil
with certain properties which are necessary for the nutrition of the
plants, and this is done partly by mixing with it some kind of animal
or of vegetable manure, and partly by adding some earth, in which
the soil of the garden may be deficient. The new manures which have
lately been so fashionable are of both kinds: guano is the dung of sea
birds, which has been accumulating for ages on islands off the western
coasts of Africa and South America; and nitrate of soda and Humphrey's
compound are mineral substances which are very efficacious in promoting
vegetation. The best vegetable manure is formed from decayed leaves,
and this is a manure which may always be used with perfect safety;
whereas the others are very injurious if used in too huge a quantity.

No kind of animal manure should be used in a garden (except for making
hotbeds) till it is thoroughly decayed and all fermentation is gone
off; as while it is in process of decay the gases it evolves are
decidedly hurtful to plants. Those manures which abound in nitrogen,
such as stable manure and the dung of birds, are the strongest and
most dangerous; as if used incautiously they will blacken and shrivel
up the leaves of the plants to which they are applied. Guano and
pigeon's dung are very much alike in their properties, and both are of
an extremely caustic nature; so that they should only be used in very
small quantities, or be very much diluted. One ounce of guano to a
gallon of water is a common proportion; or the guano may be mixed with
six or seven times its own bulk of loam, peat, or charcoal, and dug
into the ground before the crops are sown: if applied afterwards as a
top dressing, it should be either in wet weather, or the soil should
be well watered. Charcoal is very efficacious in some cases, but it
appears variable in its action; as sometimes it produces scarcely any
effect. Nitrate of soda and saltpetre act principally by supplying
a particular kind of earth to plants that are in want of it, and
of course will not suit all plants; but they are also of service in
keeping the earth moist, and this, when not carried to an excess, is
always useful.

When it is wished to keep plants constantly in a growing state, the
soil should be rendered rich, and the plants should also be watered
frequently, so as never to suffer the soil to become quite dry; equal
care being taken to keep it free from stagnant water, which would rot
the roots. When, however, the plant is to be hardened, to stay out the
winter, it should be kept as dry as possible, and no manure should
be applied for some time previously to the cold weather setting in.
Nothing is less generally understood than the use of manures. They
are in fact food; and should not be given to plants in excess, any
more than children should be crammed with food. Starving and repletion
should both be carefully avoided; and the great art of the cultivator
is shown in supplying plants with food only when they need it. Too much
water will sometimes produce leaves and stems instead of fruit and
flowers; and shoots of great luxuriance very frequently do not ripen,
and are killed by the first frost.

After telling you how to grow fruit, I must next tell you how to keep
it. A proper _fruit-room_ should be fitted up with broad shelves, or
wooden trays with rims in front to prevent the fruit from falling
off, and divided into compartments for the different kinds. There is
generally a large table in the centre for sorting the fruits, and a
thermometer should be hung on one side to regulate the temperature.
According to Dr. Lindley, the essential points for a fruit-room are, "a
low and steady temperature; dryness to a certain point, for apples are
found to keep best in a rather damp atmosphere; and exclusion of the
external air:" to this he adds, that it is necessary to keep the fruit
in comparative darkness, to prevent it from becoming shriveled and ripe
prematurely; that the temperature of the room should not be much above
40°; and that the shelves should be of white deal, as that wood does
not give an unpleasant taste to the fruit.

Fruits keep best when laid separately, so as not to touch each other;
and sometimes pears may be kept by packing them in fern, and grapes by
packing them in jars in sawdust. Walnuts and chestnuts should be kept
in rather a moist place, and covered with fern to exclude the air as
much as possible, as they are much injured if they are kept too dry.

I may here mention that when sweet chestnuts are sent to the table,
they ought always to be boiled first, and roasted afterwards; as, if
roasted without previously boiling, it is scarcely possible to cook
them sufficiently to make them wholesome, without burning them. After
they have been boiled, before they are put down to roast, care must be
taken to prick the skins; as, if this is neglected, the chestnuts will
fly about in all directions as soon as the outer skin becomes parched.




BOOK III. DOMESTIC ANIMALS.


LETTER XIII.

QUADRUPEDS KEPT FOR AMUSEMENT.--HORSES FOR RIDING AND DRIVING IN PONY
CARRIAGES.--MULES, ZEBRAS, QUAGGAS, AND DONKEYS.--DOGS AND CATS.


I am delighted, my dear Annie, to find that you are fond of riding.
There is something noble and invigorating in the exercise. If your
horse is tractable and docile, you will soon begin to consider him as
your friend; and if he is refractory, you will feel a pride in being
able, by skill, to conquer a powerful being possessing strength so
superior to your own. I like to see a lady ride well and fearlessly;
and, in short, the only drawback I can find to the pleasure your letter
gave me is, the somewhat mysterious malady of your horse, on which you
consult me. You say that, though a fine spirited creature when you are
on its back, it appears dull and stupid when first brought out, and
that it shuffles against things as if it were half-blind. You say you
have consulted a veterinary surgeon, who says that there is no disease
in the eyes, so that I suspect the evil lies where you have probably
never thought of looking for it, viz. in the stable. If your stable is
dark, the mystery is explained at once; and I think it is very probable
that this may be the case, as you tell me that your horse is kept in a
stable apart from the rest, that it may be taken more care of.

I believe, indeed, that more of the diseases of horses depend on the
_stable_ than is generally imagined. If the stable be dark the eyes
are affected; and if it be damp the horse is liable to catch cold; and
coughs, inflammation of the lungs, and finally broken wind, are the
results. Another evil in many cases arises from the stable that you
would not readily think of, and that is, if the doorway is too small
and the posts on each side of it sharp-edged, the hair of the horses
is frequently injured in going in and out. Horses are, in fact, much
more delicate than is generally imagined, and many of the diseases
with which they are afflicted arise from a want of proper attention to
their comforts. On this account, the first thing in the management of
a horse is, to see that its stable is spacious, light, well aired, and
dry. In attending to the latter point, however, care should be taken
that it is kept dry by a drain in the centre and at the back of the
stall, and that the paving is as nearly level as possible. It has for
some years past been the fashion to make the pavement of stables slope
so considerably towards the door that the horse's fore-feet stand much
higher than his hind feet; and this is not only a most uncomfortable
position for a tired horse, but it is very apt to bring on diseases in
the fore-feet and legs. It is also of great importance that the stalls
should be large enough to allow each horse room to turn himself, and to
lie down comfortably in any position he may fancy. We all know what a
comfort it is when we are tired, to stretch ourselves out how we like;
and a hunter turned into a loose box, after a hard day's work, will
often be found lying with his legs stretched out like a dog, instead
of having them doubled under him as horses are obliged to sleep when
confined in narrow stalls.

It is a great advantage when there is a wide space between the stalls
and the door, as it prevents the wind from blowing directly upon the
horses every time the door is opened. It is also best not to have the
stable in an exposed situation, but to have it so placed that it may
be sheltered by some other building from the north and east winds. The
loftiness of the stable is another very important point. It is the
custom in many places to have the hay-loft over it; but this is bad in
every point of view, as it not only makes the ceiling of the stable
low, and by confining the air renders the horses liable to take cold
every time the door is opened, but the dust and seeds from the hay are
apt to fall from the loft whenever the horse is supplied with hay, and
to injure him by getting into his eyes. I am fully aware when I am
saying this, that you can neither alter the position of your stables
nor make them larger, without more expense being incurred than your
husband would perhaps approve of. I do not, however, think that he
would object to having an additional window made, or to adding to the
height of the stable by removing the floor of the loft, particularly
if there be any small room adjoining the stable in which the hay can
conveniently be kept.

A great deal, also, may be done by cleanliness. Whenever the horse is
out, the stable should be thoroughly cleaned and the windows opened,
and whenever there is an opportunity the rack and manger should be
well cleaned and scoured with a brush. It is, however, important that
the stable should be dry when the horse returns to it. In some places
stables are warmed by flues or hot-water pipes, or by a fire being
kept in the harness-room adjoining; and, when there are no means of
this kind, the stable may be kept dry by having a lamp constantly
burning in a lantern suspended from the roof. It is, indeed, said
that any stable, however damp, may be dried with this expedient in
twenty-four hours; and that a similar lamp hung in the harness-room
will be sufficient, without fires, to keep the harness uninjured for
years. A great deal of the comfort and health of your horses must,
however, depend on the care and attention of your grooms. Nothing is
more injurious to a horse than to be kept standing on his litter all
day. To use the words of an exceedingly clever writer on the subject
(Sir George Stephens), "it makes the hoof brittle; dries up the sole,
and destroys its elasticity; cankers the frog, and is a common cause of
grease and swelled legs. If, on the other hand, the dung is regularly
removed, and the dry and clean straw carefully separated every morning,
and placed under the manger till wanted, the stable is free from
unpleasant smells, and about half the quantity of clean straw will be
consumed."

Horses should always be _cleaned_ in the open air, if the weather will
permit; as they frequently hurt themselves against their stalls when
cleaned in the stable, and sometimes acquire a habit of crib-biting.
Many horses have skins so fine as to be unable to bear the use of the
common curry-comb, and these horses should be cleaned with brushes
the bristles of which are of uneven length. Good cleaning is a most
essential point in the management of a horse; and the horse ought to
be so clean as not to soil your hand, or your pocket-handkerchief, if
drawn over his back. Another point to be attended to, after a horse
has had unusual work, is, to let the groom rub his legs down well,
particularly his back sinews: each leg should be rubbed for at least
ten minutes. When horses come in warm, with their legs very dirty, they
should not be washed immediately, but they should be rubbed dry with
straw, and only some of the dirt taken off with a dry brush. The feet
should, however, be examined, and any stones that may be in should
be picked out, and the soles of the feet washed. A horse, when very
hot, should also not be covered with a cloth, till he has been rubbed
dry with straw. Washing the legs of a horse with cold water, when the
horse comes in hot and dirty, is sure to give a sudden chill; and
putting on a cloth, while the hair of a horse is wet from the effects
of violent exercise, sends the perspiration in, and is sure to lay the
foundation for disease. When a horse is very hot, he should be rubbed
for half an hour before any cloth is put on at all; and then, if the
heat of the horse break out into moisture again, the horse should have
a second rubbing, after which he should be covered with another quite
dry cloth. The coat of a horse generally becomes thick and shaggy
in winter, and when it does so the horse may with perfect safety be
clipped, and indeed it will be an advantage, as the hair, if short, is
much easier dried when wet, and can be more thoroughly cleaned. Great
care, however, must be taken to protect a horse when newly clipped
from cold; and, should the weather be severe, the horse not only ought
to have an additional cloth on in the stable, but his legs may be
bandaged with flannel rollers. The feet of a horse should be stopped
every other night with a mixture of clay and cow-dung, and this, and
anointing the hoof with tar in hot weather, will keep the horny part
of the foot moist and elastic. A great improvement has taken place in
shoeing horses within the last few years, by interposing a thick piece
of leather, and, in some cases, of India rubber, between the iron shoe
and the hoof of the horse.

Horses should always be fed and exercised regularly. If the hay be cut,
less will be wasted; and if the oats be bruised and mixed with cut
straw, three feeds a day will generally be sufficient instead of four.
If the servants complain of the additional labour of bruising the oats,
a mill may be procured for that purpose, which will cost a mere trifle,
and the turning of which will afford employment for the poor. It is
seldom advisable to give a horse that is only moderately worked beans,
but it should never be stinted in its water, except when going out.
If horses are kept short of water, they will drink too much when they
have an opportunity; and thus often injure their wind. When a horse is
over-tired, and refuses his corn, he will frequently take a mash of
oatmeal and water, particularly if slightly warm, and nothing can be
better for him.

When a horse is slightly indisposed, I would not advise you to put him
immediately into the hands of a farrier. Most country farriers are
ignorant people, who have a certain set of recipes which have been
handed down from father to son, and who are as far behind the present
age as Culpeper, when he recommends ointments of certain herbs gathered
under Mercury to be kept in every house, as a sovereign remedy for all
complaints, even broken bones. It is said that horses thrive most if
they have always a lump of salt and another of chalk in the manger.
Many persons turn a horse out to grass to cure a cough, but this
generally only makes matters worse, if the horse has been previously
kept in the stable. When a horse has taken cold, he may frequently be
cured by stopping his corn and giving him mashes of thin gruel and bran
for a few days. Slight feverish symptoms, which often attend a cold,
and are known by the nose feeling hot, the eyes looking dull, and the
coat rough, with loss of appetite, may generally be cured by similar
means, with a dose of two drachms of aloes for a horse, and somewhat
less for a pony. If these means are not sufficient, the horse may be
bled; but, if it still continues ill, a veterinary surgeon must be sent
for. For a bruised leg or a light strain a common bread poultice may be
applied; a large coarse stocking being drawn over the leg first, and
then the poultice put into it so as to lie on the diseased part. Should
a horse break his knees, the part ought to be washed with warm water
and a sponge, to remove any dirt or gravel; and then a little unsalted
lard or butter should be applied, with a little powdered alum in it if
the wound be large; and, taking care to make the hair lie as smooth as
possible, a bit of linen should be laid on the place, and kept on with
a knee-cap, not tied too tight. If the knee be bruised as well as cut,
a poultice should be applied, and changed two or three times a day; but
on no account use gunpowder, which is a favourite remedy for broken
knees with ignorant people, as it only irritates the wound.

On no account keep a vicious horse. Do not believe what horse-jockeys
or grooms may tell you of it being only play, or being easily cured. It
is true that horses often become vicious through the teasing of grooms;
but vice, when once shown, is never thoroughly eradicated. Sir George
Stephens has some excellent observations on this subject. "A horse
does not understand a jest: tickling him or pinching him; worrying him
in the stall; sometimes coaxing and then scolding him; dressing him
when feeding; pushing him with the fork; all play of this sort leads
to retort, which, when it becomes habitual, is incurable vice." Other
faults in horses arise from the follies of riders. "A horse should be
mounted steadily, but promptly; and when mounted, should be allowed
to walk away quietly for the first hundred yards: instead of this,
nothing is more common than to see a man, as soon as his foot is in the
stirrup, apply the spur and check the curb, to show off his horse's
spirit. Thus he becomes irritable and impatient the instant he is
led out of the stable, and sometimes acquires a habit of rearing and
plunging before the rider is well settled in his seat. Some thoughtless
blockheads can never pass a carriage (particularly if there are ladies
in it) without the same ambition of display; and hence the animal views
the approaching carriage as a forerunner of punishment, and resists
every attempt to pass it." In harness horses frequently acquire a habit
of gibbing or swerving to one ride from inattention to the collar; as
if it galls the shoulder, or presses on the windpipe, which it often
does when not made expressly for the horse that wears it, "he resists
the draught; and, when punished for resistance, he rears or kicks;
and, if he thus vanquishes a timid driver, he will repeat the trick
till it becomes habitual." Many young men take pride in urging a horse
forward, and applying the curb at the same time to make the horse
collect himself, and _pioff_ or make the _coubrette_; or, in other
words, prance and rear. If, when the horse is in this state, the right
rein be pressed, the horse will _passage_, that is, cross his legs,
and go sideways to the right, with his head bending towards the right;
but if the left rein be pressed also, though not quite so strongly as
the right, the horse will perform the manœuvre called the _épaule en
dedans_, and will go sideways to the left, bending and looking towards
the right. But without going through all the terms of the _manège_, I
may observe that most riding-masters advise their pupils to make the
horse feel the rein; and this, which is called the bearing or _appui_,
is of the utmost consequence in good horsemanship. There should indeed
be a proper understanding, if I may use the term, between the horse's
mouth and the rider's hand, so as to make the horse obey the slightest
indication from the rein. All the movements of guidance in a good rider
should indeed be so slight and gentle as to be almost imperceptible,
there should be nothing approaching to jerking or pulling; but the
horse should seem instinctively to obey the rider's will. It is a very
good plan to accustom your horse to your voice, and to pat or caress
him and give him occasionally an apple, a piece of bread or a carrot,
speaking kindly to him at the same time. Horses may indeed be taught as
many tricks as dogs, and sometimes more. I have known several instances
of shooting ponies learning to open gates; and I have heard of others
who have been taught to pick up a handkerchief, a glove, or even a
whip, in their mouths, and to turn their heads round with it, so as to
give it to their rider.

Whenever you ride out, take care that your hair is combed smoothly
off your face, and firmly twisted up behind; your hat should also
fit properly, and be tied firmly under your chin, not merely for the
comfort it will give you, but because, if either your hair or your hat
should feel loose, and you should put up your hand to arrange them, you
might touch the horse with your whip, or slacken your hold of the reins
in such a manner as to expose yourself to the greatest danger.

It is hardly possible to give directions for holding the reins properly
by words; as you would learn better in five minutes by being shown,
than from a volume of descriptions. I may, however, advise you to take
care to sit in the centre of your saddle, and not to hang by the left
crutel of your pommel. You should also take care to keep your body
erect, or slightly leaning backwards; as, if you allow yourself to
lean forwards, you will not only have an awkward air, but be in danger
of making your horse stumble, by your weight being thrown too much upon
its shoulders. The reins look best when held only in the left hand,
while the whip is held in the right, care being taken to carry it in
such a manner as not to irritate the flank of the horse.

In modern side-saddles, the right-hand crutel of the pommel is made
very small; but there is a third crutel added behind, nominally for
assistance in leaping, but which is very useful in enabling a lady to
keep her proper position in the saddle. The stirrup is now considered
of little use, except to support the left foot, and many of the best
riding-masters make their pupils ride without one, and to put their
arms behind them, while the master holds the longe and urges the horse
to his speed. When a lady can do this she has learned the art of
riding, and will be able to rise and fall with her horse without any
apparent exertion, and as if the fable of the Centaur were realised,
and the horse and his rider had become one body.

The preserving of a proper balance is the most difficult part of
horsemanship, and it must be attended to in every movement that is
given to the horse, in accordance with the laws of motion in mechanics.
Thus, when the horse is urged forward, the body should lean forwards
likewise; and when the horse is checked, the body should be bent
backwards. A lady is said to have a good seat when she can see the
right shoe of her horse in all his paces, by only bending slightly
forwards; and when she has a good seat, particularly if she be
courageous and have presence of mind, she will not easily be thrown. It
is, however, proper to know what to do in cases of emergency. When a
horse rears, the rider should loosen the rein, and press the weight of
her body forward; and when a horse kicks, she should hold her body back
and keep a tight rein. When a horse will keep turning round several
times, he may generally be checked by pulling his head in the opposite
direction to that in which he wants to turn; and, when a horse runs
away, the best way is not to attempt to pull him in, but for the rider
to direct all her energies to keeping her horse in the right course,
and retaining her seat. When a horse shies it is from fear, and he
should be patted and encouraged; and, when a horse stumbles, his rider
should raise and support him by pulling in his head, and at the same
time throwing her body back.

I do not know whether you have a _pony-carriage_; but, if you have not,
I would advise you to get one, as you would find it very useful in
summer to drive round your park, and to pay visits to your neighbours.
In a close carriage you see very little of the scenery, and enjoy but
little benefit from the air; whereas, in an open carriage, you have
more enjoyment of the beauty of the country than even in walking; and
you have every advantage from the air without running so much risk
of taking cold, as you would do if you were to open the windows of
a close carriage. _Àpropos_ to this, I have often wondered that no
better means have yet been contrived of ventilating a close carriage
than opening the windows, the draught from which is sure to give cold
to some one. Surely a ventilator might be fixed in the roof, and a
little shutter contrived to slide below it, when it was not wanted,
which might be moved by a string inside the carriage. I have lately
seen, in the _coupé_ of a French diligence in the South of France, a
little opening just above the windows, which was filled in with double
_toile métallique_, or wire cloth, so very fine as to admit but little
light, and no perceptible air, and which was yet sufficient to prevent
the glass from becoming covered with steam when all the windows were
closed; and something of the kind might, I think, be generally adopted.

But to return to your pony-carriage. If you buy one, take especial care
that it "runs light;" as it is not only a relief to the feelings to
know that your horses have as light a weight to draw as possible, but
you will find the motion of such a carriage infinitely more agreeable
than that of one which is dragged along with difficulty. Besides, a
pony-carriage that is intended only to carry a light weight, and to run
over smooth turf or a good road, need not be built so strongly as a
travelling carriage, which is to convey luggage as well as passengers,
and which will be exposed to all the rough treatment it is likely to
meet with at inns, as well as the shaking it will probably undergo
from the different kinds of roads to be driven over. It is curious
enough, however, that a carriage is rarely so much hurt by passing over
pavement, however much it appears to shake, as it is by passing over
bad roads, the surface of which is uneven, and by which the springs
and braces are strained unequally. The French postilions are so well
aware of this, that they always prefer rattling their carriages over
the _pavé_, to driving on the side roads, however smooth and inviting
they may look. In ancient times we are told the ladies had rods, called
_pomelles_, fixed in the roofs of their carriages, with a knob at the
end to hold by, in order to steady themselves when the carriage was
jerked about by the deep ruts in the roads. This was, I believe, about
the time of Chaucer; and though we retain remnants of the custom in the
lace-holders of carriages in modern days, our carriages are now too
well hung to render anything of the kind really necessary.

You are perhaps not aware that a carriage is hung exactly on the
same principle as a hammock is suspended in a ship at sea, viz. to
substitute a gentle and regular swinging motion for an irregular
jerking one. The principle of suspending carriages is as old as the
time of the Saxons; but it has been reserved for modern days to break
the force of inevitable jolts, by such a variety of pieces of elastic
steel or springs, as to render travelling in a carriage as easy as
gliding in a boat down a smooth river. Carriages, such as those we
have now in use, are, as no doubt you know, quite a recent invention.
You remember the celebrated letter of Henry IV., in which he says,
"I cannot come to you to-day, because my wife is using my coach;"
and even in the time of Charles II. there were but fifty coaches in
London and Westminster. Now it would be rather difficult to count
them, and it would even be a more tedious task than I should like to
undertake, to enumerate their kinds. I shall, therefore, content myself
with mentioning the points that are of most importance in selecting a
carriage.

The first thing to be examined is, whether it possesses proper
elasticity; and this is generally tried by having the carriage shaken
on its springs, and observing whether it appears rigid or yielding to
the vibrations of the motion. All carriages ought to be built of ash,
which is at once the most elastic and the toughest of our English
woods; but, as it is rather expensive, cheaper woods are sometimes
substituted. It is also known that the narrower the tread of a carriage
is, that is, the shorter the axle-trees are, the easier will be the
draught. The springs should then be examined, as the carriage runs
lighter and is easier when the plates of the springs are of equal
thickness, though the largest plate is frequently made much thicker
than the rest. The stuffing of the carriage ought also to be examined,
as, if the material with which it is stuffed be not left sufficiently
loose to be elastic, a stuffed carriage will be nearly as hard and as
uncomfortable to ride in as a carriage which was formed only of bare
boards; and care should be taken that the seats are made sufficiently
wide and low, and far enough apart not to cramp the legs.

It is a great point, as regards the appearance of a carriage, that
the horses should be suited to it. The most elegant little carriage
in the world would look ridiculous if drawn by a pair of heavy
cart-horses; and when a very heavy-looking carriage is drawn by ponies,
or very light blood-horses, the unpleasant impression produced by the
incongruity is increased by a feeling of pain at seeing such noble
creatures as horses subjected to labour unsuited for them.

Some persons use _mules_ for drawing carriages, and they have the
advantage of being sure-footed, besides which they are, I believe, much
stronger, in proportion to their size, than horses. They, however,
partake largely of the bad qualities derived from their asinine
parentage, and are sometimes extremely obstinate and difficult to
manage.

The _quagga_ and the _zebra_ are other animals of the ass kind, which
are sometimes kept in parks for their beauty, and occasionally driven
in carriages. However, as those who know them best say that they
are generally wicked, treacherous, obstinate, and fickle in their
disposition, I think the less a lady has to do with them the better.

After saying so much with regard to animals used for riding and
drawing, I must not omit to mention _asses_. Most persons residing in
the country keep one or two of these useful animals, in order that
they may be ready to do any kind of work that their proud rival, the
horse, is unfit for. It is scarcely possible to imagine two animals
bearing considerable resemblance to each other in form, more unlike in
character and constitution. The horse, as an able writer on the subject
says, "is proud, fiery, and impetuous; nice in his taste; and delicate
in his constitution. The ass, on the contrary, is humble, patient, and
contented with scanty and coarse food, which other cattle reject. He
bears, with patience and fortitude, the most cruel treatment: yet he is
more susceptible of strong attachment than the horse; has, apparently,
more prudence and reflection; and is capable of a degree of education
which would not be anticipated from the forlorn and dejected appearance
which coarse food and harsh treatment have rendered habitual to him."

I think you told me in your first letter that you were very much struck
with the kindness of your husband, who, having recollected that you had
been accustomed to take asses' milk, had provided a she-ass for you.
Now, if that she-ass has a foal, let me recommend you to try what can
be done to improve it by good food and kind treatment. I do not mean
that it should have three or four regular feeds of corn every day, like
a horse; but if it is fed twice or thrice a day on cut hay and straw,
mixed with a very few bruised oats, it will soon grow large and strong,
and will display a degree of liveliness and spirit that those who only
know asses in their degraded state would scarcely believe possible.

Though asses are proverbially hardy, warmth seems congenial to them,
and it is a well-known fact, that in Persia and Arabia asses are noble
and high-spirited creatures, fetching a higher price than horses, and
generally preferred to them for the saddle. Even in Spain, they are
frequently fifteen hands high, that is, as large as a good-sized horse;
while in the north they are small, and by no means common. Till lately
they were very seldom seen in either Scotland or Sweden, and they are
unknown in Norway.

If you bring up your little donkey as I have advised, I think you will
find it advantageous to have it regularly cleaned like a horse, and you
need not be afraid of your groom hurting it with the curry-comb, as the
skin of the ass is remarkably thick. It must, however, be broken in and
regularly trained before you venture to ride it, as you will find it
full of spirit. The usual age for breaking donkeys in is about three
years, but, as yours will be rather precocious, I think you may begin
when it is about two years old. Asses and mules are admirably adapted
for mountainous countries, as their hoofs are long, and furnished with
very sharp rims, leaving a hollow in the centre like the ring of a
patten. The hoof of the horse, on the contrary, is round and nearly
flat underneath.

It is the peculiar formation of the foot that renders mules so valuable
in Spain, where there are so many mountain ridges to be climbed over;
and I have been told that in Spain sixty guineas English is by no means
an uncommon price to be given for a good mule. You must not form any
idea of what your donkey will be from the specimens you have seen at
watering places; for no doubt you remember what the Irishman said of
a Ramsgate donkey--"that it was the hardest-worked creature in the
universe; for it was carrying angels all the day, and spirits all the
night." Your donkey, on the contrary, will spurn the ground beneath
him; and I expect, when I come to see you, to find you cantering over
the downs upon it with your little dog Fair Star running by your side.

Haying mentioned your pretty little spaniel reminds me that I promised
to give you some hints on _dog management_, and I think I cannot make a
more useful conclusion to my letter.

In the first place, it is generally allowed by the learned in such
matters, that whenever a dog becomes very fat, which lap-dogs are very
apt to do, it is sure to have that distressing disease called the
_canine asthma_. How many poor dogs have I heard wheezing and panting
with this complaint, and how earnestly have I longed to become their
doctor! When the disease is of moderate standing, very frequently a
little abstinence, and feeding regularly, but only at stated times,
will give relief; but, if this is not enough, one grain of tartar
emetic with two, three, or four grains of calomel, according to the
size of the dog, will effect a cure.

_Sore eyes_ are for the most part produced by some derangement of the
stomach; and, for their cure, putting a stick of sulphur in some water
within reach of the dog will generally be sufficient. The water should
be changed every day, but the same piece of sulphur will do for months.

Almost all young dogs are liable to the _distemper_, and it kills many.
When seized with it before they are eighteen months old they generally
die, but after that age it is much less likely to prove fatal. Most
dog-doctors give a dose of tartar emetic and calomel, like that I have
mentioned above, if they are called in while the disease is in its
first stage; but, when it is attended with a kind of dysentery, they
give balls made of prepared chalk, gum arabic, and conserve of roses,
and the dog is fed on rice-milk. The best cure however is, I believe,
a powder sold in the chemists' shops compounded especially for this
disease; and you must observe, whatever means of cure may be adopted,
it is essential during the whole progress of the complaint that the dog
should be kept warm and well fed.

When dogs have _fits_ they may generally be cured by throwing cold
water over them, and _inflammation of the lungs_ requires bleeding.

_Inflammation of the bowels_ is generally incurable, as is likewise
_canine madness_; and in the latter case, of course, the dog should be
killed as soon as possible. Should, however, any human being or any
animal be bitten, the following remedy has been recommended to me by a
highly valued friend, who had it from an eminent French surgeon. It is
simply to mix two table-spoonfuls of fresh chloride of lime, in powder,
with half a pint of water, and with this keep continually washing the
wound. The chlorine evolved by this process is said to possess the
power of decomposing the virus; but I hope and trust you may never
have occasion to try its efficacy. Chloride of lime is, you know,
wonderfully efficacious in preventing infection, and in dispelling
noxious gases.

As I am partial to _cats_, I cannot resist saying a few words
respecting them. Though originally the natives of warm climates, they
are generally much more hardy than dogs. They like warmth, however,
and are very powerfully affected by changes in the weather. You are,
perhaps, not aware that there are four distinct races of cats; viz.,
the tabby, which includes the black cats, and which is nearest allied
to the wild kinds; the tortoise-shell cat, which came originally from
Spain, and the males of which are buff, with stripes of a darker hue;
the white and light-coloured cats, which have reddish eyes and a
greyish tint in their fur, and are descended from the Chartreuse breed;
and the Angora cats, which are quite distinct from all the others, and
are known by their long fur. The tailless cats of Cornwall and the
Isle of Man belong to the Chartreuse breed, and they are the ugliest
of their kind, as the Angora cats are the handsomest. Cats are seldom
ill, except from cold, which generally gets well without any particular
care being taken of it; but when they have any serious disease it
generally proves fatal.




LETTER XIV.

QUADRUPEDS KEPT FOR SUPPLYING FOOD.--COWS, CALVES, GOATS, PIGS,
RABBITS, AND DEER.


I am very glad, my dear Annie, to hear such favourable accounts of
your garden, and to find, by the inquiries you are beginning to make,
that you really are taking a lively interest in country affairs. You
say you are getting quite fond of your dairy; but that you cannot
understand how it is that your cows produce so much less milk in the
morning than they do at night, when there are exactly twelve hours
between the milkings in both cases; as they are milked first at five
in the morning, and again at five in the afternoon. I have no doubt
from what you say, that your cows are kept in the cow-house during the
night, and only turned out during the day, as this would account for
the difference in the quantity of milk. But such a mode of management,
though it saves trouble to the dairy-maid, who finds it much easier
to milk the cows in the cow-house than in the open field, is bad for
both the cows and the dairy; as the cows, after feeding on grass all
day, cannot of course relish dry food at night, and whenever they fast
unnaturally very little milk is secreted.

Your dairy-maid will probably tell you that cows are very delicate, and
that they will catch cold if they sleep in the open air; but from May
till September, unless the weather be particularly cold and rainy, they
are less liable to take cold if they sleep in the open air than if they
are kept in a warm cow-house all night, and turned out about sunrise.
Cows are peculiarly sensible of all sudden changes of temperature,
especially from heat to cold; and, after they have been kept in a
cow-house all the winter, great care should be taken to accustom them
gradually to the change when they are first turned out to grass, by
letting them out only for a few hours in the middle of the day; but
when they are become accustomed to the open air, and the nights are
warm, they are much better kept in the open air altogether, especially
if there is a shed in the field, under which they can find a dry place
to lie upon if it should rain.

The following observations on this subject are from an excellent work,
entitled _The Book of the Farm_, published in 1844:--"This mode of
allowing them to lie out always in a sheltered field, no doubt, imposes
a good deal of labour on the dairy-maid and her assistant, in carrying
the milk to the dairy after the calves have been weaned, but I am
persuaded it is an excellent system for the health of the cows. Under
it, cows rise from their lair at daybreak, and feed while the dew is
on the grass; and by the time when the hour of milking arrives, say
six o'clock, they are already partially filled with food, and stand
contented, chewing the cud, while the milking proceeds. They then
rove about, and fill themselves, and by nine o'clock they lie down
in a shady part of the field, and chew their cud until milking-time
arrives at mid-day; after which they again roam about for food, and,
when the afternoon is hot, will stand in the coolest part of the
field, whisking away the flies with their tails and ears. The evening
milking takes place about seven, after which they feed industriously,
and take up their lair about sunset, from which they rouse themselves
in the morning before being milked. Some people are apprehensive that
cows must injure themselves by eating grass which is wet with dew in
the morning; but it is a fact, which I believe is not so sufficiently
known as it should be, that bedewed grass before sunrise, and grass
after it is dried by the sun, are alike wholesome for animals; and it
is only when the dew is in the act of being evaporated, immediately
after sunrise, that grass proves injurious to them. Why it should be
injurious at that particular state I do not precisely know, but I
imagine it to be so, because the grass then becomes suddenly cold by
the evaporation of the dew. When cows lie out, they have nearly filled
themselves by the time the dew is evaporated, and therefore feel less
inclined to eat the grass while in the dangerous state; whereas cows
that are housed all night are usually milked about sunrise, and put out
to grass just at the very time the dew on it is being evaporated, and
is, of course, in the most dangerous state, just when the cows feel the
greatest hunger, and eat most grass."

When cows eat a quantity of grass in this state, they very often have
the disease which is called _hoven_ or _blown_. To make you understand
this fearful complaint, I must remind you that cows, in common with all
ruminating animals, have four stomachs; and that, when a cow is turned
into a field, she twists her tongue round mouthful after mouthful of
the long grass, and after biting each off, conveys it without chewing
to her first stomach or paunch, till this is about half full, when
the animal seems stimulated by nature to seek rest and quiet, for she
leaves off eating, and either stands perfectly still in some shady
place, or lies down. The paunch now begins to exert its extraordinary
power of separating a small portion of the food it contains, and
returning it to the mouth, when the animal begins slowly to masticate
it, moistening it as she does so with small quantities of water which
she draws up from time to time from her second stomach, or honeycomb,
in which water is retained for that purpose; and this operation is
called chewing the cud. The food, when thoroughly masticated, is
conveyed by another channel to the third stomach or many-plies, where
it is subjected to muscular action; and, finally, it is conveyed into
the fourth stomach, or red bag, which contains the gastric juice, and
which in calves is the part used for rennet; and here the process
of digestion is completed. Sheep, goats, deer, and camels are all
ruminating animals, and are, of course, all furnished with the same
apparatus for digestion; but in sheep the paunch is smaller, as they
bite close to the ground, and take smaller mouthfuls than cattle; and
in camels the second stomach, or receptacle for water, is much larger.

Whenever ruminating animals are particularly hungry, or are excited
by any other cause to eat too much food, they fill the paunch so full
that it is unable to exert its power of separating the food it contains
into small portions for mastication, and, the whole mass beginning to
ferment in the paunch, gases are generated, which distend the paunch
till it bursts, and the unfortunate animal is suffocated, unless it
is relieved by puncturing the paunch through the hide, or by forcing
an instrument called a probang down the throat into the paunch, and
thus opening a passage for the gases to escape. A probang is a piece
of whalebone with a bit of sponge firmly fixed to one end; but, if one
is not at hand, a cane with a knot at the end, or even a riding-whip,
with a thick end, would probably suffice. The best instrument is a kind
of stomach pump; but that, of course, can only be had from a cattle
doctor. When the paunch is to be punctured, the animal must be stabbed
with a knife (a penknife will do) midway between the haunch-bone and
the last rib of the left side; and the opening should be prevented
from closing, by the introduction of a tin tube or something of
that kind, till the gases are dispelled. In the South of France a
proper instrument is kept for this purpose, made something like an
oyster-knife, with a guard to prevent it from going too deeply into the
animal. As soon as the animal is relieved a strong stimulant should be
administered, such as half a pint of gin, or an ounce of hartshorn in
a pint of ale; but the animal for some days should be fed sparingly,
and a tonic composed of gentian, aloes, ginger, and blue vitriol, in
powder, each one drachm, and oak bark in powder six drachms, made into
a ball with honey, may be given every morning.

As I have begun to speak of the diseases of cows, I may add that in
cases of _cold_ and slight feverish symptoms, they are generally
relieved by giving them half an ounce of nitre in a mash every night.
Where there are any symptoms of inflammation, as, for example, if the
nose is very red and hot and dry, and the cow appears very thirsty, and
has her body so hard that she seems to suffer pain when it is touched,
she may be bled, and a saline draught, composed of eight ounces of
Epsom salts and four ounces of castor oil may be administered; or, if a
stronger dose seems requisite, to these may be added half an ounce of
powdered aloes, beaten up with the yolk of an egg, and mixed gradually
with eight ounces of water.

In _diarrhœa_, or _dysentery_, give four ounces of suet boiled in eight
ounces of skim-milk, with six ounces of starch dissolved in boiling
water, and one drachm of powdered alum; and keep the animal in a warm
dry place, giving it mashes of barley meal or buck-wheat, but not of
malt, and only a little water, which should be warm.

If the cow be affected with the _yellows_, which is known by the
nostrils and eyelids looking yellow, ten grains of calomel should be
given every other night, and a saline dose once a week, the animal
being kept warm, and only turned out in the middle of the day, in a
fresh pasture, if practicable.

Loss of appetite may be relieved by tonics.

All other diseases of cattle (and they are numerous) are too serious to
be tampered with, and should be referred to a good cattle doctor at
once.

Many persons say a great deal of the _kinds_ of cows that are to be
preferred; but this I think of very little consequence, as there are
good and bad milkers of every breed. Generally speakings small, neat,
compact-looking cows, are best suited for a gentleman's demesne, as
they look better in the landscape, and do not tread up the ground so
much as large heavy cattle. Alderney cows are much admired for the
elegance of their forms and the richness of their milk; but they are
delicate, and are subject to colds and loss of appetite. The Ayrshire
cows are quite as handsome, and both better milkers and much hardier;
but they are not often to be met with in England.

Whatever kind you select, a great deal depends upon their management.
They are delicate in their appetites, and do not like grass that they
have trodden down and breathed upon for many days; and they require
rather long grass, because they always wrap the grass round with the
tongue before they bite it, instead of nibbling the grass with their
lips, and biting close to the ground, as is done by sheep and horses.
For these reasons cows require to have their pasture changed every
fortnight if practicable; and, when they are removed from a field, a
man should be employed to toss their manure about so as to prevent it
from lying in patches, as, unless this is done, coarse strong grass,
which no cow will eat, will spring up from every place where a patch of
cow-dung has lain. If, however, the field be properly treated, the cow
may be brought back to it in about a fortnight, or at most in three or
four weeks.

Cows are very particular in having clean water, though they do not
drink often, as the second stomach serves as a reservoir; and where
there is a pond they generally go into it till they come to deep water
before they drink; and this habit is good for their feet. There should
also be either an open shed, or at least one large tree, in the field,
to afford shade for the cows while they are chewing the cud; and they
should never be changed suddenly from a very poor pasture to a very
rich one, or the reverse.

When cows are first taken up from grass in autumn, they should be fed
on cut grass, mixed occasionally with a few carrots; and they should
be turned out in the daytime, but not till after nine or ten o'clock
in the morning, and taken up before the dew falls at night. By degrees
hay should be mingled with their food, and the quantity of this should
be gradually increased while that of the grass is diminished; some
carrots cut in tolerably thick slices and a few grains being given
occasionally, till the cows have become accustomed to their dry food.
There are few points in the management of cows of greater difficulty
than that of enabling them to bear the transition from grass to dry
food without losing their flesh, or the quantity of their milk being
diminished. The one is, indeed, generally dependent on the other, as
no cow will yield a proper quantity of milk unless she is in good
condition; and many cows refuse their food altogether when they are
first taken up for the winter, as they none of them like dry food so
well as grass. It is on this account that many farmers give their cows
turnips when they are first taken up from grass; but all succulent
roots and vegetables, except carrots and boiled potatoes, give an
unpleasant flavour to the milk; so that they ought never to be used in
private families, where, of course, it is of more importance to have
the butter good than to have a large quantity of it.

Many persons milk their cows in summer three times a day, and I believe
this to be a very good plan, where it is an object to get as much milk
as possible, as there is no doubt that frequent milking increases the
quantity of milk secreted by the animal. As, however, I have frequently
heard that the milk is poorer under this management, in most cases I
should think it hardly worth the trouble. It is, however, a very good
plan to make the dairy-maid take a little can of warm water with her
when she goes to the field, and to make her wash the udders and teats
of the cows well with a sponge before she begins to milk. This is not
only a cleanly practice, but it is agreeable to the cow, and makes
her part with her milk more readily. After the dairy-maid has milked
all the cows, she should begin with the first, and milk them all over
again, as the milk produced by this second milking, which is called the
drippings, is always richer than the rest; and besides, if it is left
in the udder, the cow will gradually become dry.

There are many opinions about the length of time that a cow should be
suffered to be dry before calving; some farmers advising the cows to
be let dry two months, and others milking them till within a fortnight
of the time of calving. As far as my own experience goes, the latter
plan is the best, as I have observed that, when cows have been dry a
long time, they are very subject to inflammation in the udder when
they are again milked, instead of the contrary being the case, as is
commonly supposed. When a cow is to be let dry, a little milk is left
in the udder every time of milking, and in about a week or ten days the
secretion of milk will cease.

The first milk after calving is called biestings, and is so very
different in quality from the other milk, that it should not be mixed
with it. It is of a yellow colour and a glutinous nature, and, though
it is used in some places for making puddings and custards without
eggs, it ought always to be reserved for the calf, to whose use nature
has especially assigned it. When calves are allowed to suck their
mothers' milk for the first four or five days after they are calved,
they have seldom any thing the matter with them; but, when they are
fed with the milk of other cows, they generally require castor oil and
other medicines.

Calves, when they are to be reared, are generally fed principally on
milk for the first thirteen weeks, after which they are fed partly with
hay tea, which the dairy-maids make them suck through their fingers,
till they are old enough to eat grass; but the rearing of calves is
rather too difficult a task for you to undertake from any directions
that I could give you; and, as for the management of those poor calves
which are to be fattened and then sold to the butcher, I am sure you
would not wish to know any thing about it.

Some people are very partial to goat's milk, as it is remarkably
rich and sweet; but _goats_ are rather troublesome creatures. In the
first place, the female goats are very capricious, and will not only
seldom permit a stranger to milk them, but will often refuse to give
down their milk even to those to whom they are accustomed. They are
also very troublesome from their being much more partial to branches
of trees than grass; and if they can ever contrive to get into a
shrubbery, which they will do if possible, they will destroy nearly
all the shrubs in an incredibly short space of time. Besides this,
some goats are very fond of butting at children or any persons who may
appear weak and delicate; and, even though they may not be able to do
any serious mischief, they may cause considerable alarm. Many persons
are very fond of the flesh of kids, but it is more eaten abroad than in
England. When goats are kept, they do best in flocks, and they should
have access to shelter, both in winter and summer, extremes of heat and
cold being alike prejudicial to them; and the house in which they are
kept should have a paved floor, and no litter.

Wherever there are cows and a garden, _pigs_ should be kept; as
skim-milk and buttermilk, with the refuse of a garden, are almost
sufficient to maintain a pig. Pigs are unlike most other animals, as
they fatten soonest on sour food; they should, however, be kept clean,
and in many places, I am told, the cottagers rub them with a broom.
Sows are very apt to destroy their young when they are littered with
long straw, as the pigs sometimes hide themselves in it for warmth,
and are trodden upon accidentally or smothered by their mother. A sow
ought, therefore, to be littered with short straw when she is expected
to produce young. Pigs are greedy creatures, and, when there are
several together, the master pig generally puts his foot in the trough
while feeding, so as to prevent any other pig coming near him till he
has done.

Young pigs are generally weaned when they are six or seven weeks old;
and, when they are killed at this age or sooner, they are termed
sucking-pigs, and are generally roasted whole. After they are taken
from their mother they are generally fed three times a day on a food
composed of the washing of dishes, skim-milk, buttermilk, whey,
potatoes, grains, cabbage leaves, pea-shells, and any refuse from the
garden. While pigs are growing they should be allowed as much liberty
as they can have without doing injury; but pigs are very troublesome
creatures to turn into a field, as they will dig up the roots of the
grass wherever they can with their noses, and on this account young
pigs are frequently ringed; that is, a slender iron ring is passed
through the cartilage of the nose, or the cartilage itself is slit open
with a knife. When they are about five or six months old they will have
attained their full growth; and, if they are intended to be killed and
eaten for pork, they are put up in a sty, and fed with boiled potatoes,
milk, and a little barley meal.

When a pig is intended for bacon, he is called a store-pig till he is
about eight months old, when he is put up to be fed, and is fattened
on peas, meal, potatoes, and milk, always adding a sack or two of
ground oats, or crushed barley, a short time before he is killed, to
make the fat firm. Opinions differ very much as to what kind of pig
should be preferred, but those are generally considered the best which
have large deep bodies, short legs, and small heads.

_Rabbits_ are kept either in hutches or in warrens, where they make
burrows in the ground, and live almost in a state of nature. Rabbit
warrens are of very great extent, varying from a hundred to three
thousand acres, and they can only be formed in dry sandy soils. When
rabbits are kept in hutches, the rabbit-house should be particularly
dry and well ventilated, as rabbits are very subject to a disease
called the rot, which is a species of liver complaint, brought on by
impure air and improper food. Each hutch is generally eighteen inches
high, and about three feet wide. It is divided into two chambers, in
one of which the rabbit feeds, sleeping in the other. These chambers
have a sliding-door between them, so that when the rabbit is in one
chamber, the door can be let down, and the other chamber cleared out.

Rabbits should be fed in a great measure on corn, peas, and bran; and
their food may be diversified by carrots, cooked potatoes, tares, and
a few cabbage leaves; but these last should be fresh, and never in the
slightest degree decayed. Lettuces and other green food may also be
occasionally given, provided they are quite fresh, and that what the
rabbit does not eat is removed as soon as it has done feeding. Rabbits
should be fed twice or three times a day, and, if to be fattened for
the table, they are considered best when about three or four months
old. They are liable to many diseases, most of which are incurable.
Some, however, may be stopped in time, if, whenever the rabbits appear
too large in the body, their food is changed, and instead of being fed
on green meat, they are given nothing but cut hay and corn, and ground
peas, or some similar food.

I shall say nothing of the management of _sheep_, as they certainly do
not come within a lady's province. Their constitutions are very much
like those of rabbits, and they are subject to nearly the same diseases.

The kind of deer most common in parks is the _fallow deer_. These
creatures are generally beautifully spotted, and the horns of the
buck are broad and flat. They are changed every year, being at first
shaped like a finger, and not much larger, but they afterwards become
branched, and continue increasing rapidly in size, and in the number
of their branches, till the buck is five years old; they afterwards
increase more slowly, but they continue changing in form for several
years. The does are exceedingly tame, and may be easily taught to come
and feed out of the hand, while the fawns are the prettiest little
creatures imaginable.

The word fallow is said to be derived from an ancient Saxon word
signifying to become pale, in allusion to the manner in which the
colour of the fallow deer is shaded down from the deep streak of dark
brown on the back, to the pale fawn of the sides and the white under
the body. There are several varieties, but the differences consist
chiefly in the shades of colour. The buck of the fallow deer may be
killed from the middle of June to the middle of September; and its
venison, which is considered much finer than that of the doe, is in
perfection when the buck is from six to eight years old. Does may
be killed younger; and if they have had no fawns, or have been soon
deprived of them, they are in season from the middle of November to the
middle of February.

Deers are ruminating animals, and, after they have filled the first
stomach, they go under the shade of trees to chew the cud. When snow
is on the ground fallow deer are generally fed; as, if they are not,
they are apt to do a great deal of mischief to the trees in the park,
by tearing down the branches. When they are fed it is with cut hay and
straw, mixed with young shoots of underwood.

When fallow deer are to be shot, the keeper generally gets into a kind
of hut, so contrived as to have a loophole in the back for the rifle,
and to watch through, so that, when the herd passes by, the keeper may
remain unseen by the deer, and close enough to the herd to select and
shoot the one most suited to his purpose. These huts have seats inside,
and are convenient spots for observing the habits of birds and other
creatures in a wild state, which would not, under other circumstances,
suffer human beings to approach them. It is, however, only in parks
that have been long used for keeping deer, that these huts are to be
found, as modern gamekeepers generally consider themselves sufficiently
expert to select and shoot their deer without any protection. In old
parks, likewise, strips of boards are frequently found nailed to the
trunks of trees to enable the keepers to ascend them for the purpose
of shooting the deer; and advantage is taken of rocky scenery to
make caves for the same purpose. The keepers were also attended by a
bloodhound to chase any unfortunate deer that might be wounded without
being killed; but this is now also found unnecessary, as the herd drive
a wounded deer from them the moment it has been struck, and the only
use of the keeper's dog is to follow the deer in case it should take
to thick underwood and lie down there to die.

There are two other distinct species of deer, viz. the red deer and the
roe; but they are now seldom kept in parks in England. The _red deer_
is abundant in Scotland, and hunting it and shooting it with a rifle,
which last is called deer-stalking, are two favourite sports with the
Scotch landed proprietors. The male of the red deer is called a stag,
the female a hind, and the young a calf. The stag, when young, is
sometimes called a brocket, and when it is more than six years old it
is called a hart, and, if it belongs to a royal chase, a hart-royal. It
stands about four feet high from the shoulder, and one has been known
to weigh upwards of thirty stone when killed. The _roe_ is the smallest
of the deer kind, seldom standing more than two feet high, measuring
from the shoulder. It is very common in a wild state in Scotland,
particularly on the banks of Loch Lomond, but it is very seldom met
with in parks. The male of the roe is called a roebuck; the female, a
roe; and the young, a fawn; and these creatures do not live in herds
like the other deer, but in families of from ten to twenty each.

The natural process by which the horns of deer are renewed every year
is extremely curious, The time when the change takes place varies in
the different kinds of deer: those of the stag, and of the buck of the
fallow deer, fall off in spring, and are renewed in summer; but those
of the roebuck fall off in autumn, and are renewed in winter. Very soon
after the old horns fall off, a soft tumour appears which is covered
with a velvet-like down, and this downy skin remains on the horns as
they shoot upwards, and divide into antlers. The horns have at this
time a very singular appearance, as the soft downy skin with which they
are covered is completely intersected with blood-vessels which are
designed by nature to supply nourishment to the horns, and the furrows
formed by the largest of which may always be afterwards traced in the
horn itself. When the horns have attained their full growth, the velvet
skin with its blood-vessels begins to dry up; and the stags at this
season become very injurious to trees, as they are continually rubbing
their horns against the bark, in order to get rid of the skin, which
has become troublesome to them. It is a singular thing, that, though
stags shed their horns every year, the old horns are scarcely ever
found; and it is generally supposed that the animals bury them as soon
as they fall off. The horns grow with very great rapidity, and a pair
weighing twenty-five pounds have been known to be formed in ten weeks.

Deer are included in the beasts subject to the forest laws of England,
the others being the fox and the marten, and according to some the
wild boar; and there are certain laws still extant respecting these
beasts which are very curious, and which make it penal to kill them at
any but the proper seasons. Formerly, indeed, killing a deer unlawfully
was considered a more heinous offence than killing a man.




LETTER XV.

INHABITANTS OF THE POULTRY-YARD.--FOWLS, TURKEYS, GUINEA FOWLS, GEESE,
DUCKS, AND PIGEONS.--PEACOCKS AND HENS.--DISEASES OF POULTRY, AND THEIR
CURE.


My hints for teaching you how to enjoy a country life would be sadly
deficient if I were to omit poultry, as the duties of attending on them
are so completely feminine, that even in farm-houses they are entirely
under the care of females; and, indeed, few artists or authors would
think a picture of rural life complete, if they did not introduce into
it the image of a fair young girl feeding poultry. I have just been
reading a description of this kind in Miss Bremer's beautiful story
of _Strife and Peace_, and it has pleased me so much, and seems so
appropriate, that I cannot resist the temptation of quoting it.

"The morning was fresh and clear. The September sun shone brightly into
the valley; smoke rose from the cottages. The lady-mantles in whose
channelled cups clear pearls trembled, the silver weed with its yellow
flowers and silver-bright leaves, grew along a little footpath which
wound round the base of a moss-grown hill. It conducted to a spring of
the clearest water, which, after forming a little pond, led its silver
stream, dancing and murmuring, to the river. On this beautiful morning
Susanna approached the spring; and in her train came 'cock and hen, and
chicken small.' Before her waddled a troop of geese, gabbling noisily,
and all white but one--a grey one. The grey goose walked with a timid,
hesitating air, a little behind the others, compelled to retain this
position by a tyrant in the white flock, who drove him back with
outstretched neck and loud cry whenever he attempted to approach the
rest. None of the other geese concerned themselves about their ill-used
companion, but Susanna took it under her especial protection, and did
all in her power to console it for the injustice of its kind. After the
geese came the demure but clumsy ducks; the petulant turkey-cock, with
his awkward dames, one white and one black; and last, the turbulent
race of chickens, with their stately pugnacious cocks. The prettiest
of all the party were a flock of pigeons, who timidly, but confidently
at the same time, now alighted on Susanna's shoulder and outstretched
hand, and now rose in the air and flew in shining circles round her
head; then dropping to the earth, tripped on their little fringed feet,
to drink at the spring; while the geese, with loud noise, plunged
splashing into the river, and threw the water over the grass in a
pearly shower."

I must now, however, return from the region of poetry to plain matter
of fact.

Fowls should always be kept in a _poultry-yard_, or enclosed place
set apart for them, as, if allowed to be at liberty in gardens or
pleasure-grounds, they do a great deal of mischief by half-burying
themselves in newly-raked soil, to clean their feathers and get rid of
vermin; and by scratching up seeds, and even the roots of plants, in
their search after worms and insects. When circumstances allow, the
poultry-yard should be at least half an acre in extent, as fowls are
never well unless they are allowed abundance of room for exercise.
The usual form for a poultry-yard is a parallelogram, of which the
hen-houses form one end and a pond the other. The whole should be
surrounded by a strong fence of paling, and there should be a large
tree, or post with branches fixed in it, in the centre, with a heap of
calcareous earth near it.

The surface of the poultry-yard (fig. 14.) should be level; and about
one half of it should be laid down with gravel, but the lower part,
near the pond, should be grass, as, unless there is some kind of
herbage, there will be neither insects nor snails, and poultry require
some animal food to keep them in health. The tree in the centre should
have its branches deprived of their smaller spray, so that they may
afford good roosting-places for the pea fowl and guinea fowls, both of
which prefer roosting in the open air. The upper part of the yard which
is near the hen-house, and which is covered with gravel, ought to be
thoroughly well drained, so as to be as dry as possible; and the drains
ought to be so contrived as to carry off all the water used in washing
the hen-house, without suffering it to approach the pond. Where aquatic
fowls are kept, it is, indeed, a good plan for the other fowls to have
drinking-troughs near the hen-house, which should be filled with pure
water every day, and frequently and carefully cleaned out.

[Illustration: Fig. 14. _Poultry-yard._

_a_, Feeding-house, fitted up with boilers for cooking the food,
from which pipes extend on each side for heating the laying and
roosting-places.

_b_, Sitting-place for turkeys.

_c_, Roosting-place for turkeys.

_d_, Sitting-place for hens.

_e_, Roosting-place for hens.

_f_, Feeding-shed, laid with stone.

_g_, Open shed, laid with sand.

_h_, Open shed with roosts, for pea-fowls.

_i_, Pheasantry, or place for choice land fowls.

_k k_, Places for choice aquatic fowls.

_l_ and _m_, Sleeping and laying places for ducks.

_n_ and _o_, Sleeping and laying places for geese.

A pigeon-house may be erected at the lower part of the yard beyond
the pond, or one of the compartments marked _k_ may be fitted up for
pigeons.]

Besides the hen-house, there should be an open shed on each side of
the poultry-yard, extending as far as the part laid with gravel.
The ground under one of these sheds should be laid with the large
flag-stones called landing-stones, in order to have as few joints as
possible; and under the other shed the earth should be dug out to the
depth of a foot or more, and filled up with dry sand, to enable the
fowls to take what may be called a sand bath, which is the principal
means they have of getting rid of the body vermin with which they are
generally infested, and which are very troublesome to them. The shed
which has sand at the bottom may have bars under the roof, to serve
as an occasional roosting-place for pea-fowl and guinea-fowl; but the
one which has the flag-stones should have no bars across it, as the
stone floor is intended to serve as a place for feeding the fowls on,
and it should be kept as clean as possible. It is a good plan to lay
a few handfuls of unthreshed straw on this stone floor, in order that
the fowls may amuse themselves with scratching out the grains; and they
should always have a small heap of mortar, rubbish, or lime in one
corner for them to peck, as unless fowls can have access to lime, or to
some kind of calcareous earth, they will produce eggs without shells.

It is necessary to observe that land fowls are, generally speaking,
much more tender in constitution than aquatic ones. The common hens,
in particular, will never lay well unless they are kept warm; and, as
a proof of this, it is well known by every housekeeper that eggs are
much scarcer and dearer in winter than in summer. As the different
kinds of fowls require different treatment, it is necessary to keep
them separate, and it is also necessary to keep those hens that are
sitting separate from the rest. On this account the hen-house should be
divided into five compartments, the centre one of which (_a_) may be
much larger than the others, and furnished with a fireplace and boiler,
for boiling potatoes and other food, from which should run hot-water
pipes or flues, so contrived as to heat the whole of the compartments.

On one side of the central room may be a place for hen turkeys (_b_),
as it is necessary always to keep them by themselves when they are
inclined to sit; as, if the male turkeys see the eggs, they generally
contrive to break them. Beyond this should be the roosting-house for
the turkeys (_c_), provided with strong beams across, at a sufficient
distance from each other, to suit large and heavy birds.

[Illustration: Fig. 15. _Sitting-box._]

On the other side of the central room should be the compartment devoted
to laying and sitting hens (_d_) and this should be fitted up with
boxes (fig. 15.) which are made moveable, and placed not quite close
to each other, as it disturbs sitting hens to hear other hens close to
them. The front part of each box should be made to slide up and down,
so that it may be taken out, and the box thoroughly cleansed with a
brush and soap and water, when not in use. This sliding front, when
closed, has an arched opening in front for the hens to go in and out;
and this opening is made so as not to reach quite to the ground, in
order not only to keep the nest warm and in its proper place, but to
prevent any danger of the eggs being sucked by rats, or other similar
depredators. The hen-room should be frequently whitewashed, say twice a
year, care being taken to do it with as little disturbance to the fowls
as practicable; and the floor, which should be either of stone, or laid
with bricks, should be swept out every day, and washed occasionally
when the weather is warm and dry. It is a very good plan to have the
boxes raised with two pieces of wood below each, so as to leave a
hollow space in the middle below the box, as this plan allows the house
to be cleaned with greater facility.

[Illustration: Fig. 16. _Hen-roost._]

The other room (_e_ in fig. 14.) should be supplied with rails and
perches to serve as roosting-places (fig. 16.), and these rails are
best of rough wood, as they afford a more secure resting-place for
the fowls than if they were round and smooth. Fowls are very apt
to crowd together in their roosting-places; and, when the rails are
smooth so that the claws of the fowls cannot take a firm hold of them,
the youngest and weakest of the fowls are very often pushed off. The
roosting-places should be furnished with a sloping board with sticks
nailed across, to enable the fowls to ascend to them. All the rooms
of the hen-house should have windows filled in with wire lattice; and
they should have shutters to close in cold weather. In some cases they
have ceilings like those of a house, and in others they are left open
to the beams of the roof. The principal thing to attend to is to keep
them scrupulously clean, and the walls frequently whitewashed. The
roosting-place should have the dung removed every morning, and in warm
weather it should be washed out every day; even in winter, unless the
weather is frosty, the floor should be washed once a week. Sometimes,
instead of fixed rails for the fowls to rest upon, hanging bars are
suspended from the roof; and sometimes the nests for laying in and for
sitting are fixed, and in two rows one above the other. Where danger
is apprehended from thieves, the door of the roosting-house is kept
locked, it being provided with an opening for the fowls to pass through.

Poultry should never be fed where they roost, if it can possibly be
avoided, and their food should generally be given to them in the open
shed act apart for that purpose. In wet weather, however, they may
be fed in the feeding-house (_a_ in fig. 14.), which has that name
because it is the place where those fowls which are to be fattened
are kept under coops (fig. 17.). For my own part I am no friend to
fattening fowls artificially, as I think they are never half so good
to eat as when they are indulged with moderate exercise, and kept in
good condition by feeding them with barley, oats, or other grain, two
or three times a day. When the poultry-yard adjoins a farm-yard, so
that the fowls can be let out occasionally to pick up the grains that
are scattered by the thresher, they become so plump and so well fitted
for the table, that it is considered the highest praise that can be
bestowed on poultry, to say that it eats as well as a barn-door fowl.
When it is not practicable to admit poultry to the farm-yard, the fowls
that are to be fattened should be kept in the feeding-house, and plenty
of unthreshed straw should be given to them to peck at, so as to let
them have constantly quite as much as they can eat, and yet be obliged
to take exercise to get it; or, if more rapid feeding be required, they
may be put under coops and fed with various kinds of food, either raw
or cooked.

[Illustration: Fig. 17. _Coop._]

A fowl, when supplied with abundance of food, eats rapidly till it has
filled its crop, in which the food is merely stored as grass or hay is
in the paunch of a cow, and from which it passes through the second
stomach into the gizzard, which digests it, by grinding it into a mass,
partly by its own muscular action, and partly by the help of numerous
little bits of gravel and small stones which the fowl swallows. This is
necessarily a slow process, when the food consists of hard dry barley;
but of course it is performed much quicker when the food is softened by
boiling, and equally, of course, the time in which the fowl gets fat is
shortened by the facility with which it can digest its food. This is
the reason why cooked grain is now preferred for feeding poultry, and
boiled rice, barley, oats, and wheat are given in preference to the old
mixture of barley meal and milk and water. Boiled or steamed potatoes
are also recommended, and they should always be given warm. All the
fowls may be fed with advantage on this prepared food, as it makes the
hens lay better and the chickens grow faster, care being taken that the
earthen pans or wooden troughs in which it is contained are always kept
perfectly clean, and that they are daily scoured with boiling water to
prevent them from acquiring a sour taste. The boiled food is always
given in the feeding-house, but after eating it the fowls are turned
into the yard to cater for themselves if they feel inclined, and many
persons advise a piece of bullock's liver or something of the kind to
be thrown in the yard, as far from the hen-house as possible, to breed
maggots, as they are particularly nourishing to young chickens, who
will devour them greedily. You will observe that I have not given any
directions for cramming fowls, as I am quite sure you would not suffer
any creatures under your control to be subjected to such treatment.

Poultry are particularly liable to be attacked by body vermin, and,
while they are annoyed by these torments, they will never feed
properly. It is, therefore, of the greatest importance that the places
in which they are kept should be perfectly clean, and that they should
have abundance of sand, in which they can wallow whenever they feel
inclined.

Domestic fowls are very pugnacious, and if there are too many cocks
they will be fighting incessantly. The usual proportion is one cock
to seven hens; and those hens should be kept for laying which are
dark-coloured, as they are not only better layers, but are said to
produce richer eggs. When a hen is about to begin laying she makes a
cackling noise for several days, when a nest of hay should be prepared
for her, and a nest egg put into it, to induce her to lay there. Some
hens lay every day, and others only once in two days, or once in three
days. The eggs should be removed as soon as laid, as the hen is apt to
spoil or break them, by sitting in the nest to lay others. Eggs may be
kept for several months sufficiently fresh either for setting or for
the table, by dipping them either in oil, or in a mixture of beef suet
and mutton fat melted together and used warm. Hens are considered in
their prime at three years old, but they will produce eggs for several
years; and some hens will continue laying all the year, except during
the season for moulting, which happens with young fowls in spring, and
with older ones generally in autumn. At this season all birds are ill,
particularly at the time when the new feathers have just forced out the
old ones, and have their quills full of blood to furnish nutriment for
their growth.

When a hen is set, care should be taken that she has only as many eggs
as she can cover easily. The usual number is from nine to thirteen;
and, when they have been put into the nest, the hen should be placed
gently upon them, and covered with a cloth till she seems quiet. When a
hen is sitting, she should be plentifully supplied with water near at
hand, as she is generally thirsty, but it is reckoned best not to put
her food too close to her, as a little exercise does her good. A hen
sits twenty-one days, but some of the chickens are generally hatched
a day sooner or later. Each is taken from the hen as soon as it has
left the egg, and is put in a basket on some wool or flannel, and
set by the fire; but no food is given till all the brood is hatched,
and returned to the hen. The chickens are then fed with eggs boiled
hard and chopped small, and boiled rice and grits; and, when they are
a little bigger, they may be given barley meal mixed with milk and
water, or, what is better, boiled barley and rice, with a few boiled
potatoes crumbled small. They will soon, however, be strong enough to
feed with the hen in shallow vessels; as otherwise they are apt to get
into the water to drink, and wetting their feet and feathers brings on
many diseases. As soon as the chickens are hatched, a little bit of
wood, with a strip nailed across it, to serve as a step, should be put
from the opening of the box where the nest is to the ground, to enable
the chickens to get in and out of the nest as easily as possible; and
when they are permitted to go out of doors, which is generally in three
or four days, the hen should be put under a coop, to prevent her from
wandering, till the chickens are strong enough to accompany her, which
will probably be in about ten or fifteen days.

There are many opinions as to what _kinds of fowls_ are the best; but
it is very difficult to decide this question, as almost all the kinds
have advantages and disadvantages peculiar to themselves; though those
are usually preferred which have rather short and slender legs, and
round, compact, fleshy bodies. White or very light-coloured fowls
are considered best for the table; but they are said to be tender
in constitution and not good layers. The common barn-door fowl is
the original stock from which most of the varieties are derived. The
Game fowl are perhaps the best for the table; but the eggs are small,
and the chickens are difficult to rear, unless they can be supplied
with maggots or some other kind of animal food. The Dorking fowls
are preferred for the table by the caterers for the London market,
on account of their large size. They have generally two hind toes
instead of one. The Jago, or Cochin-China, fowls are so very large
that it is said they can pick crumbs from a table as they stand on
the ground, and they often weigh from eight to ten pounds. They have
double combs and tufts of feathers on the head: the feathers on the
body are mottled, but those of the tail are a dark glossy green. The
eggs are very large and good. The Crested, or Polish, fowl is black,
with a white tuft on the head. The hens are excellent layers, and the
chickens are good for the table; but the hens are not good sitters, and
are apt to lay away. The Spanish fowls are also black, and very large
and handsome. The Malay fowls are very large, and the colour of the
feathers is black, streaked with brown and yellow. They are excellent
layers; and their eggs, which are very large, have so much yolk, that
two of their eggs will go as far as three of those of ordinary fowls.
The flesh is exceedingly juicy and fine-flavoured; but the legs of the
fowls are rather too large and strong to look well on the table. I
speak confidently of these fowls being good, both for the table and as
layers, because our very kind friend Charles Waterton, Esq., keeps no
others at Walton Hall.

Bantam fowls are very small, with short legs, which are generally
feathered down to the toes. They are much admired as ornamental fowls,
but are of little use, either for the table or as layers, from their
very small size.

There are several kinds of what may be called fancy fowls; but I shall
only mention one of them, and this is the Frizzled fowl, or, as it
is sometimes called, the Friesland fowl, though the name appears to
have no meaning, and to have been only adopted from its resemblance to
frizzled. This fowl is a native of Japan, and it certainly has a very
singular appearance, from its feathers being curled up and apparently
all turned the wrong way. It is, however, not worth keeping, except as
an object of curiosity; as the fowls are small and bad layers, and the
chickens are difficult to rear, being extremely sensitive to cold and
wet.

_Turkeys_ are very wild in their habits, and apt to stray, and their
young are considered difficult to rear. Turkey-hens begin to lay
in March, laying either every day or every other day; and, during
their laying season, many persons will not let them out of their
roosting-place in a morning till they have laid, on account of their
propensity to lay away. One turkey-cock is sufficient for several hens;
and if there are two they generally fight till the strongest has killed
the weakest.

When a turkey-hen is about to sit, her nest is made by twisting a pad
of straw like those worn by basket-women on their heads, and soft
hay is laid in the middle; this is done on account of the projecting
breast-bone of the turkey, which makes it difficult for her to cover
her eggs, unless she has some support. Hen turkeys begin to sit in
April; the number of eggs is generally eleven or thirteen, and they
sit from twenty-five to thirty days. It was formerly customary, as the
young were hatched, to take them away from the hen, and, opening the
beak with the fingers, to force one or two peppercorns down the poor
little creatures' throats; but now this mode of proceeding is thought
unnecessary, and the young are left with their mother till they are all
hatched. They may be then fed with crumbled curds mixed with chives or
nettles chopped small. Eggs boiled hard and cut into little bits; and
mutton or beef without salt, boiled so much as to tear easily into
shreds, are also given. The old bird should then be put with her young
ones under a coop in the hatching-house, and water should be placed
within her reach and that of her young. In a few days the young ones,
with their mother still under the coop, may be taken into the open air;
but they should not be allowed to remain there longer than two or three
hours at a time till they are about ten days old; and the mother should
be kept in her coop under the open shed till they are about six weeks
old, so that till they have attained that age they may always have a
warm dry place to fly to. Great numbers of turkey chickens die young
for want of these precautions being attended to.

When turkey chickens are about two months old, they are called turkey
poults, and about this time the fleshy membranes on the head and neck
begin to appear. This is called shooting the red; and a great many
young turkeys die at this time, unless they are well fed and kept warm.
Those turkey poults which survive this period are generally reared, and
when about six months old some of them may be fattened for the table.
At twelve months old they lose the name of poults, and are considered
full-grown turkeys.

_Guinea fowls_ can very seldom be persuaded to enter a hen-house; they
like to roost in the open air, and to lay in a bush or some similar
situation; and, where they are kept, a few bushes should be planted in
the poultry-yard for their accommodation. The hen seldom sits on more
than seven eggs; and when her young are hatched they should be treated
like young turkeys, and the hen should be put under a coop in the
turkey-house. When the young fowls get old enough to be taken into the
open air, the hen should be kept under a coop in the open shed till the
young are about two months old, as she is a most restless creature, and
would soon kill the young ones with fatigue, if her activity were not
checked.

_Peacocks_ should never be kept in a poultry-yard, as they have a
propensity for killing all the young fowls they can reach, by giving
them a violent blow with the beak on the crown of the head. They will
even kill their own young in a similar way, if they see them before
the tuft of feathers on the head has grown. Pea-hens are very fond of
laying in bushes or hedges, like guinea fowl, and when they are kept in
pleasure-grounds with peacocks they should be narrowly watched. If they
are observed to steal secretly into a bush or hedge, the place should
be marked and examined when the pea-hen has left it; and, if a nest is
found, all the eggs should be carefully removed but one. In doing this
the eggs should be handled as little as possible, as pea-hens are very
particular, and will not sit upon their eggs if they have been touched
by persons with moist hands. When I lived in the country, I never could
rear pea-fowls till the idea struck me of making the little country
girl whom I used to employ to hunt for the eggs wear gloves, and after
that time I never found any difficulty in getting the pea-hens to sit.

When the pea-hen has laid from five to seven eggs she generally shows
a disposition to sit, or rather she begins to sit on the nest she has
made for herself. When this is the case she should be left on her
nest till night, and when it is dark a cloth should be put over her,
and she should be conveyed, nest and all, if practicable, to either
the turkey's hatching-house or the feeding-house, where she should be
placed on a nest prepared for her, containing all her own eggs, and
then covered with a coop, and a cloth thrown over that. When she has
settled comfortably the cloth may be removed; but she should be kept
under the coop the whole time she is sitting. When the young ones are
hatched they are treated in the same manner as young turkeys, and, when
their head-feathers begin to grow, they suffer nearly as much as the
turkey poults do when shooting the red.

_The houses for the aquatic fowls_ should be at the bottom of the
poultry-yard, near the pool, and they should consist of separate
divisions for the sleeping and laying places of both geese and ducks.
A feeding-house is often added, and this is especially necessary when
either ducks or geese are to be put up to feed. Though aquatic fowls,
and particularly ducks, are proverbially fond of dirt, the house in
which they are kept should be as clean as possible; and it should not
only be frequently washed out, but thoroughly ventilated by the door
being left open all day. The smell of goose dung is very offensive;
and if the house in which the geese sleep be not kept very clean, it
will materially deteriorate the pleasure you will have in visiting your
poultry-yard.

Many people object to _geese_ in a poultry-yard on account of the
pugnacious habits of the gander; but when a gander is brought up with
other fowls he becomes familiar with them, and is not likely to do
them any injury. One gander is sufficient for several geese; and four
or five geese will bring up a brood of forty or fifty goslings. Geese
generally lay every other day; or, if they lay two days together, they
miss the third day. They generally begin to lay in March, and lay from
eight to twelve eggs before they show any signs of wishing to sit.
Sometimes, if they are well fed, and the eggs taken away, they will
continue laying as many as twenty or even more.

When a goose is inclined to sit, she begins to carry straws about in
her mouth as if to prepare for making a nest; and, when this is the
case, a nest should be prepared for her containing eleven or thirteen
eggs. The nest should be made in a box in one of the houses for aquatic
fowls, and food should be placed near her, as geese sit very closely,
and sometimes suffer themselves to be half-starved rather than leave
the nest. A goose should, however, be frequently examined while
sitting, as from her nest being close to the ground it is very liable
to be attacked by rats, who will frequently contrive to get the eggs
from under the goose without her being able to prevent it.

Geese are voracious feeders, and eat a great deal of grass as well
as of more substantial food. When they are to be fattened for the
table they are put under coops, and fed principally on oats moistened
with water; but at other times they may be fed on any kind of refuse
vegetable mixed with any sort of corn, and with boiled potatoes,
carrots, and turnips. When geese are fattened before they are six
weeks or two months old they are termed green geese; and those which
are kept a little longer, so as to be ready for Michaelmas, are called
stubble-geese, because, if turned into the corn-fields after the crop
has been carried, they will generally find amongst the stubble enough
grain, which has been dropped from the sheaves, to fatten them.

_Ducks_ require more water than geese, and they eat less grass, though
they are always better when grass is within their reach, on account of
the great number of slugs and other similar creatures that they find
among it. Ducks are celebrated for the voracity and coarseness of their
appetites. They begin to lay in February, and will sometimes lay as
many as fifty eggs before they show any inclination to sit. They are,
indeed, generally bad sitters, and will forsake their eggs if they have
not plenty of food and water placed within their reach. From nine to
eleven eggs are as much as a duck can cover, and, if she has more than
that number, or any she does not like, she will turn them out of the
nest without the least ceremony.

A duck generally sits thirty days; but a short time before the
expiration of that period a coop should be put over her, or else, very
probably, as soon as two or three ducklings are hatched she will take
them to the water, and desert the remaining eggs. Young ducklings are
very hardy under ordinary circumstances; but this treatment frequently
kills them, as if the water be at all cold they are generally seized
with cramp, and die a few hours after they are hatched. It is on
account of ducks being so careless of their young that ducks' eggs are
frequently set under hens.

Ducklings, when first hatched, are generally fed upon oatmeal mixed
with chopped nettles; and, when they are a little stronger, they are
given bran soaked in water, and boiled potatoes. It is also a good
plan to throw a handful of oats or barley into the water given to them
to drink, for them to dabble for, that they may get accustomed to the
water by degrees. The mother should, however, be kept under a coop till
the young ducklings are ten days old, to prevent her from taking them
into the water till they are strong enough to bear it.

When ducks are to be fattened they must be kept under a coop, and
fed with boiled potatoes mixed with oatmeal and bruised oats. Acorns
ground or bruised are a favourite food with them, and very fattening.
Malt-dust is likewise recommended; but barley is said to give them a
bad flavour. The Muscovy ducks should not be kept in the poultry-yard,
as they are so much larger and stronger than the common kind that they
are apt to fight with them and deprive them of their food; and they are
more suitable to the park and pleasure-ground.

There may be a dove-cot for _pigeons_ in the poultry-yard with
the other fowls. When the pigeon-house is large, it is generally
built round like a tower from the ground upwards; but where this is
inconvenient, a small wooden dove-cot may be fixed against the walk.
In your case I would decidedly advise you to have a pigeon-house in
your poultry-yard; and, if it is built like a tower, there should be
holes in the upper part for the birds to enter by, with a shelf under
each row of holes, and a little penthouse projecting from the roof to
keep out the wet. The interior of the pigeon-house must have cells for
nests, which are made by putting up shelves twenty inches wide and one
foot apart, and dividing the spaces between them by upright partitions,
three feet from each other. Across the back of each nest there should
be a board three inches wide, sliding up and down in a groove, to
prevent the young ones from falling out, and yet to allow of the nest
being cleaned. When the house has been stocked with pigeons, a little
hay or soft straw is put into each cell for the pigeon to form its
nest. Some persons divide each cell into two nests, as, when the young
are about a fortnight old, the female, without waiting till they are
fledged, often begins to lay again; and, when there is only one nest,
it is not an uncommon thing to see a female pigeon sitting on a fresh
set of eggs, while the young of the former hatching are still under her
care. When a pigeon-house is to be stocked, a number of young birds are
obtained either in May or August, when they are in the state called
squeakers, that is to say, not fully grown, but able to feed themselves.

When the female pigeon begins to lay, she produces only one egg, and
then waits a day or two, after which she lays another, and immediately
proceeds to sit. She continues sitting from fifteen to twenty days, or
rather the male and female sit alternately during that time; but, as
soon as the young pigeons are hatched, the mother never leaves them,
for the space of three days, though after that time she commits them,
very frequently, almost entirely to the care of a male, who feeds them
in the same manner as she does herself, by swallowing peas or other
large seeds, and, after keeping them in the crop till they are partly
macerated, forcing them up again, and ejecting them into the open
mouths of the young ones. While the young are thus fed, they are called
squabs, and in that state they are reckoned best for pies; but, when
they get old enough to feed themselves, they are called squeakers. They
breed very often, but only continue prolific for a few years, and are,
in general, short-lived.

A pigeon-house soon becomes very dirty, and has a most intolerable
smell; it should, therefore, be cleaned out as often as practicable,
taking care that the cleaning is always done in the morning before
mid-day, as pigeons go to roost very early, and, if disturbed in the
afternoon, they will very often take a sulky fit, and sit outside of
the pigeon-house all night.

Pigeons should always be fed in the open air, with peas, small
horse-beans, buck-wheat, and old tares, as new tares are said to be
unwholesome. They should be supplied with abundance of water, some in
a shallow vessel for them to wash in, and some in a wooden trough for
them to drink; as they are very cleanly, and will not drink the same
water that they have washed in, though they require more water to drink
than any of the other inhabitants of the poultry-yard. They require to
have access to gravel or sand, and it is customary to supply them with
a heap of lime rubbish, over which salt and water has been poured; and
in some cases this is put into an earthenware vessel with holes in it,
called a salt cat; in other cases a little salt is thrown over a heap
of sifted gravel. When pigeons are put in a new house, it is customary
to give them cummin seed or asafœtida, as they are so fond of these
strong-smelling substances, that they soon take a liking to any place
where they are to be found.

Pigeons are very hardy, and are subject to very few diseases. The two
eggs laid by the female pigeon generally produce a male and female
bird; and, when this is the case, if by any chance one of them is
killed, it is very difficult to provide the other with a mate. Pigeons
are proverbial for their constancy, and the same pair will produce
broods for several years in succession.

The _diseases of poultry_ are very numerous and often fatal. The _pip_
comes in the shape of a little blister on the tip of the tongue, which
afterwards becomes a thickened membrane. If seen in its first state it
should be pricked, and the fowl kept a day or two without food, but
plenty of water should be given to it. If the membrane has formed, the
fowl is thrown on its back, and, the beak being opened, the membrane
is removed by passing the finger nail or a fine needle under it. The
tongue is then moistened with a little oil, and the fowl for a few
days is given very little to eat, but plenty of water to drink: some
persons give fowls affected with this disease rue chopped fine and
mixed with butter. It is a very common disease with young fowls, and
generally attacks them, if the weather should be hot, in August and
September. When fowls appear to suffer from immoderate thirst, it is a
sign of _fever_, and they should be supplied with abundance of clear
water, and only fed with a little soaked bread; and a similar mode of
treatment is generally efficacious when the fowl appears to suffer
from constipation. When a fowl is _crop-sick_, that is, suffers from
indigestion, it is usual to put a piece of iron in some of the water
given to it, but it should also have plenty of pure water. Pepper
is often given, and no other food is allowed than mashed potatoes
or boiled cabbage cut small, and both given warm. When fowls have a
voracious appetite, and yet look out of condition, it probably arises
from the fowl having too much acid on its stomach, and it should be fed
with mashed potatoes mixed with chalk and given warm. In _diarrhœa_
boiled rice is given, occasionally mixed with milk, taking care,
however, that the milk is perfectly sweet; or chalk may be given, and
the fowl fed on wheat, oats, or buck-wheat. The _roup_, or influenza,
is, however, the most fatal of all the diseases which attack poultry.
It begins with what is called the gapes; that is, the fowl, being
unable to breathe through its nostrils, keeps its beak open, with a
kind of convulsive yawn; the eyelids then become swelled and close,
and there is an offensive discharge from the nostrils. As soon as
any fowl is observed to be affected with this disease, it should be
separated from the rest, as the disease is very infectious. The mouth
and nostrils should be first washed with warm water and soap (which
will make the creature sneeze and discharge a great quantity of the
offensive matter), and then gently rubbed with a dry cloth. A grain of
calomel made into a pill with bread may be given, and the fowl put into
a rabbit-hutch near the fire, on a bed of soft warm hay. Some hours
afterwards the head should be again washed in warm water and rubbed
dry, and the fowl should be crammed with a few balls made of barley
meal, flour, mustard, and grated ginger; and warm water with treacle
in it should be given to drink. The hay should be changed twice a
day, and warmed before it is given. The washing and feeding should be
repeated several times a day, and in about a week a little more calomel
should be given, and afterwards flowers of sulphur. This treatment will
soon effect a cure.




LETTER XVI.

THE INHABITANTS OF THE PONDS: FISH; AND AQUATIC FOWLS, INCLUDING
SWANS, EXOTIC GEESE AND DUCKS.--INHABITANTS OF THE WOODS: INCLUDING
PHEASANTS AND PARTRIDGES, HERONS AND BITTERNS.--AVIARY.--APIARY, AND
THE MANAGEMENT OF BEES.--SILK-WORMS.


When a fish-pond is to be made, a situation should be chosen where
there is a natural hollow, so that the ground which is to form the
bottom of the pond may be as little disturbed as possible. If this
situation be near a river so that a feeder may be led into it, nothing
else is wanted to form a fish-pond but an embankment and a sluice, and
these you must have made by persons used to such employments. It is
necessary, however, to take care that the pond is fed from a river, as
spring water is not only too cold for the fish, but is seldom quite
free from mineral substances. The pond should be made at least six feet
deep, and if twelve feet or more it will be better for the fish: as in
frosty weather they will remain near the bottom, and will find enough
air in the great body of water above them to enable them to live a long
time after the surface is frozen over; while, on the contrary, if the
pond be shallow, the fish will soon exhaust all the air it contains,
and will perish unless the ice be frequently broken, to admit air from
the atmosphere. In shallow ponds, also, the rushes and other weeds grow
so fast as to occasion considerable expense and trouble in having them
cleared away.

The extent of a pond must depend upon circumstances, but it should
never be less than five or six acres, and as much more as is
convenient; in shape it should be rather long, as regards the front of
the mansion, than broad, and its outline should either be varied, or
broken by planting trees and shrubs in small groups on its banks. Where
ponds are intended solely for fish, without regard to their appearance
in the landscape, their banks should be quite straight, and their shape
square or oblong. The pond, whether ornamental or not, may be divided
into two parts by an embankment in the centre, which is kept about two
feet below the general surface of the water when the pond is full.
The use of this is, that, when the pond is to be run dry, either for
clearing it of its mud or catching the larger fish, only one half need
be emptied at a time; and the other half may serve as a place to put
the store fish in while the first division is being cleared out; and,
when that is quite clean and the water let into it again, the fish may
be transferred to it while the second half is being cleared. Of course,
according to this arrangement, there must be a wooden sluice for
letting off the water in each division. The beauty of a pond depends
principally upon its being well supplied with water, and this constant
supply can only be insured during the summer months, by having a brook
or rivulet running through the pond. Where the pond is of sufficient
size, there should be an island or two for the swans and other aquatic
birds to make their nests on.

Where several kinds of fish are desired, different soils may be laid at
the bottom of the pond, to suit the fish which breed in it. Thus, trout
will never thrive unless the pond in which they are kept has a gravelly
bottom. Carp (of which there are two kinds, the common, and the
Prussian which is much smaller than the other,) and tench require loam,
with abundance of aquatic weeds; and eels will only thrive in mud. It
is very seldom practicable to keep all kinds of fish in the same pond,
as some kinds destroy other kinds; but providing them with different
bottoms is the most effectual way of keeping them, as they will remain
in separate communities in the part of the pond that suits them best.

Of the kinds of fishes with which a pond should be stocked, carp
are, perhaps, generally speaking, the best. They breed rapidly, are
very hardy, and grow very fast. Tench resemble carp in all these
qualities, and both are quiet fish, which would live together without
fighting or destroying each other. Perch, on the contrary, are said
to be so ravenous that they will devour their own spawn, and that of
other fishes. They breed freely and are quite hardy, but do not grow
rapidly. Trout, when kept in ponds, are rather ravenous; but pike far
exceed all other fish in this respect. A large pike will destroy nearly
all the small weak fishes in a pond; and, indeed, he has been known
to seize young ducks, and devour them. These and similar acts have
obtained for the pike the name of the fresh-water shark. Amongst the
other enemies to young fish are counted the little creatures called
sticklebacks, which are so small, and apparently so insignificant, that
no one would suppose it possible that they could prevent the stocking
of a pond. They do so, however, by devouring the spawn, and thus
preventing the number of fishes from increasing. When a pond is once
stocked very little care is necessary; the principal thing which needs
to be attended to being to break the ice in severe frosts to supply the
fish with air, if the pond should not be deep enough to render this
unnecessary. When fish appear to want feeding, earthworms, steeped
grain, and ground malt, should be thrown into the water.

Besides the regular fish-ponds, it is very convenient in the country
to have small ponds or stews adjoining the kitchen-garden, or somewhere
contiguous to the house, where fish can be kept and fed, and yet caught
at any moment when they may be required. Carp and tench are the best
fish for keeping in stews, as they are the quietest; but, as stews
are so contrived that the different kinds of fish may be kept in them
separate from each other, perch may be kept in one of the divisions,
and fed with garbage or any refuse animal food from the kitchen, till
they have attained a large size. Pike might be kept in another stew in
the same manner, but a pike should never be put into a stew with any
other fish.

Every pond in a pleasure-ground should have some ornamental aquatic
fowls upon it to make it look complete; as without some kind of living
creature, the finest piece of water in the world would have a look of
coldness and desolation.

Of all the ornamental aquatic fowls known in England, the _swan_,
though perhaps the commonest, is the noblest; and it has the advantage
of being useful in clearing ponds of weeds as well as being ornamental.
A swan should generally have a pond at least three acres in extent, and
they seldom thrive unless there is an island in the centre overgrown
with long grass or underwood, in which they can make their nests.
Swans are tolerably hardy, and only require to be taken up in time
of frost. They are very fond of rambling over grass when they feel
themselves in perfect security; and they eat a great quantity of slugs
and snails when thus employed.

In the month of May the female swan generally prepares to make her
nest, which she does secretly, as, if the cobb or male bird perceives
her, he will prevent her if possible. The cygnets, or young swans, are
generally hatched about July, and when they first appear their feathers
are of a dingy brown instead of being white. When they first go into
the water the female, or pen bird, as she is called, only lets them
swim a little way, and then, if they appear tired, she takes them on
her back. When the cygnets grow bigger, the mother swims round the pond
with them following after her like a company of soldiers. As soon as
they get about three parts grown, the cobb drives them away from their
mother, and forces them to provide for themselves. At this period, if
they happen to have been hatched late, they may be fed with boiled
barley and bread. They do not become perfectly white till the second
year.

When two full-grown cobb swans quarrel they fight tremendously; and,
though the common species is called the mute swan, they make a loud
hissing noise something like that of the goose, but louder and hoarser.
A cobb swan will also, when enraged, attack a dog, or even a man,
striking tremendous blows with its wings. It is said that a full-grown
swan could break a man's arm with a blow of its wing. Swans were
formerly considered royal birds; and those upon the river Thames are
still the property of the crown, and the young ones are marked every
year under the superintendence of the Lord Mayor, the ceremony being
called swan-hopping, which is said to be derived from swan-upping, a
part of the ceremony being to decide how far up the river the swans
have a right to go.

In hard frosts the swans, and all the other ornamental aquatic fowls,
must be sheltered, and fed in the same way as the common ducks
and geese in the poultry-yard; and there is generally some place
contrived near the water for this purpose; as, for example, under
the fishing-house, or adjoining the boat-house. It is also necessary
to take some means of preventing aquatic fowls from flying away, and
the barbarous operation of cutting off one joint of the wing with
a penknife, or a very fine saw made from the spring of a watch, is
frequently resorted to; it being the second joint of the wing that
is taken off. For my own part, I should prefer losing my birds to
resorting to such measures for their preservation; and I think I have
understood, that, by depriving them of the alternate feathers of
their wings, they may be rendered incapable of flying while they are
strangers to the place, and I would trust to kind treatment to make
them wish to stay with me when we became better acquainted.

The _black swan_ is a native of Australia, and it is so common in that
country, that it gives its name to the Swan River. In a wild state, it
is generally seen floating on lakes or rivers, in long lines formed by
eight or ten or more swans swimming in a single file; and when alarmed
they rise all together and fly off, uttering wild but not unmusical
screams, retaining in the air the same position as that they occupied
in the water. You must, however, take care, if you put a black swan on
the some water with the white ones, that they do not injure it. Some
years ago, two white swans on the water in the Regent's Park pursued a
black one with the greatest ferocity; and, according to Mr. Yarrell,
from whom I have taken this account, one of them having succeeded in
grasping the black swan's neck between the mandibles of its beak, shook
it violently. The black swan with difficulty extricated itself from
this murderous grasp, hurried on shore, tottered from the water's edge
a few paces, and then fell to die. The white swans did not attempt
to pursue it, but continued sailing up and down the water with every
feather on end, and seeming proud of their conquest.

Of _geese_ there are many ornamental kinds.

The _Chinese goose_ is a beautiful creature, which breeds readily in
this country.

The _bean goose_ is frequently kept on ornamental pieces of water; and
a pair belonging to the Ornithological Society of London have produced
young in St. James's Park, and are remarkably tame. This goose has
received its name from its fondness for beans and other pulse; and it
is one of the three species of wild geese which pay passing visits
to the ponds and lakes in the North of England and Scotland. It is
found in great abundance in the Hebrides and other western islands of
Scotland; and large flocks fly together, either in a diagonal line or
in two such lines forming an acute angle, making a loud cackling noise
as they fly, and going, as has been supposed, at the rate of more than
twenty miles an hour.

The _Canada geese_ are very remarkable in their appearance, from
their glossy black necks and white cheeks, and their very remarkable
trumpet-like notes. These birds appear in such quantities in Canada,
that it is calculated that two or three thousand are killed every year
by the English at Hudson's Bay. This bird is sometimes called the
cravat goose; its beautiful black and glossy neck and white breast
bearing considerable resemblance to a black silk cravat upon a white
shirt.

The _bernicle_, or brent goose, is interesting from the curious
superstition which formerly prevailed respecting it, as it was supposed
to have sprung from the shell called the barnacle or lepas, which
adheres to the bottoms of ships, and which has a fringe of cirri
projecting from between its valves bearing some faint resemblance to
the feathers of a bird. These geese are very small, and not above half
the size of the Canada geese; and yet Mr. Waterton found a large old
Canada goose on his noble sheet of water at Walton Hall pair with a
bernicle gander.

The _Egyptian goose_ is interesting from the strong resemblance it
bears to the figures of a goose found in Egyptian hieroglyphics, in
which it was the emblem of caution.

Amongst the other ornamental kinds of geese found on ponds in
pleasure-grounds, I may mention the _snow_, or _red, goose_ from
North America, which is of large size, and has its bill armed with
twenty-three strong indentations like teeth; and the _laughing goose_,
which has a white front, and makes a strange laughing-like noise. There
is also an African goose called the _gambo_, which is furnished with a
curious spur on the upper part of the wing.

Of the ornamental _ducks_ the best known species is that with red
wattles on its head and neck, which is generally called the _Muscovy
duck_, but which is not, as its name imports, a native of Muscovy; for
the name is a corruption of moschata or musk duck, in allusion to the
peculiar smell of the creature. These ducks are found wild in Guiana,
where they nestle on the trunks of trees close to the water's edge.
They are easily managed in this country, but require protection in cold
weather. They breed freely, and are not difficult to rear, except about
the time when the red wattles appear round the head, when many of them
die. In other respects they considerably resemble the common duck.

The _shieldrake_, or burrow duck, is remarkable for its constancy, as
a male and female when they once pair continue to breed together every
year as long as they live. This duck is also one of the most beautiful
of the ornamental water-fowl. In its native state it is generally found
on the sea-coast, or within a few miles of the sea, where it breeds in
rabbit burrows and other holes in sandy soils. It will, however, live
in an inland situation, provided it is fed with periwinkles and other
shell-fish, and hence it was originally called the shelldrake. In some
parts of Scotland it is called the skeeling goose.

There is another species of shieldrake which is sometimes called the
_ruddy goose_, and which has a glossy black ring round its neck and a
reddish breast. This bird has the same burrowing habits as the common
species, but it prefers the neighbourhood of a river to that of the
sea. The voice of this bird when flying is said to resemble the tone of
a clarinet; but in a state of confinement it bears more resemblance to
the cry of a peacock.

The _shoveller_, or broad-bill, is a fowl occasionally kept on ponds
in pleasure-grounds. In a wild state it inhabits marshes and the muddy
shores of lakes and rivers, and is generally considered only a winter
visitor to this country, though some remain every year to breed. They
feed principally on insects, and are so fond of flies, that one of the
common names of this species in France is _canard gobe-mouche_. The
English name of shoveller alludes to the broad beak, each mandible
of which is bordered with close set rows of teeth resembling those
of a weaver's reed, and which fitting into each other form a kind of
sieve. With this beak the shoveller digs up the soft mud, and letting
its watery particles escape, retains the very small worms and other
insects which constitute the principal food of the bird. These ducks
being very ornamental and curious, many attempts have been made to keep
them on the ornamental pieces of water in the London parks and gardens,
but hitherto without success; for I am told, on the authority of our
excellent friend Captain Mangles, that, though they may appear healthy
for a time, they are very apt to die off suddenly without any apparent
cause.

The _gadwall_, or grey duck, is an ornamental bird; but it is of little
use to have it in pleasure-grounds, as it is so shy, and so fond of
hiding itself among thick weeds and long grass, that the pair in the
Zoological Society's gardens are scarcely ever seen.

The _pintail duck_, or sea pheasant, though also shy in its native
habitats, is more easily tamed, and is well deserving of being kept on
ornamental pieces of water, not only from the beauty of its plumage,
but from the singular appearance produced by its long tail when it is
swimming on the water. This bird has a singular patch of green on its
wings, and yellow feet. It is very difficult to get it to breed.

The _teal_ is the smallest of the British ducks, and one of the
prettiest. Its breast is spotted with black tinged with purple, and
it has a rich dark-brown mark on its head, encircling the eye and
spreading down the back of the neck. The teal bears confinement well,
and it breeds regularly every year in the gardens of the Zoological
Society. The eggs are white tinged with buff, and generally about an
inch and a half in length. The nest is formed of decayed vegetable
matter, lined with down and feathers, and it contains eight or ten
eggs. The teal feeds on grass and water plants, and also on various
kinds of insects; but, when kept in this country all the year, during
the winter it requires grain.

The _widgeon_, Mr. Waterton tells us, "is a much more familiar bird
than either the pochard or the teal. While these congregate on the
water, beyond the reach of man, the widgeon appears to have divested
itself of the timidity observable in all other species of wild-fowl,
and approaches very near to our habitations." The widgeon has such a
shrill cry, that it is sometimes called the whistling duck.

The American widgeon is the constant attendant on the _canvass-back
duck_, so celebrated in the United States for its excellence as an
article of food. These ducks have been introduced into England, but
they do not thrive in this country probably for want of a species of
Vallisnèria on which they feed in their native land. The best way of
managing them would be, to give them plenty of grain, particularly
wheat, of which they are remarkably fond; though, probably, buck-wheat
would answer the purpose, and would be much more economical. The
Vallisnèria, also, on which they feed, might be introduced into
England, though it would require to be grown in running water.

The _eider duck_ is very scarce on ornamental pieces of water, though
it is abundant in the North, particularly on the Fern Islands off the
coast of Northumberland, and especially on St. Cuthbert's rock; and
hence it is sometimes called St Cuthbert's duck. It was long supposed
that the eider duck would not live in confinement; but the Earl of
Derby has several in his splendid collection at Knowsley, which were
reared by feeding them on slugs and other mollusca.

The king duck, the beautiful little western duck, the magnificent surf
scoter, and the red-crested duck (a beautiful stuffed specimen of which
is in the possession of Mr. Waterton), are all highly ornamental, and
well deserve to be kept in pleasure-grounds for their beauty.

The _pochard_, or dun bird, is remarkable for the excellence of its
flesh, which closely resembles that of the celebrated canvass-back
duck of America. Like that duck it feeds greedily on a species of
Vallisnèria and on grass-wrack and sea grass (_Rúpia marítima_); which
last, Mr. Yarrell tells us, is "called also in America eel-grass, from
the form and length of the stem. The ducks dive and pull up these
aquatic plants to obtain the tender roots, the only part they seem to
eat. The two plants last named are common near the coast in England."

I think you will now be pretty well tired of aquatic fowls; and
therefore I will only mention one more, viz. the _coot_, respecting
which there is a great diversity of opinions. "If a gentleman wishes
to have plenty of wild-fowl on his pool," says Col. Hawker, in his
_Instructions to Young Sportsmen_, "let him preserve the coots and
keep no tame swans. The reason that all wild-fowls seek the company of
the coots is, because these birds are such good sentries to give the
alarm by day when the fowl generally sleep." "If you wish to have your
water-fowl breed," says Captain Mangles, "have no coots, for if you
have they will destroy all the eggs." Where there are coots, and it is
wished to destroy them, it is extremely difficult to do so by shooting
at them, as the moment they see the gun, they dive into the water,
and when they come up again, are frequently a hundred yards from the
place where they sank. They also make a great commotion in the water by
flapping their wings along its surface, and making a tremendous rushing
noise, so that it is not very easy to approach them even with a boat.

Almost every park where there are trees contains _pheasants_; and in
many places especial contrivances have been resorted to for feeding
and keeping these birds. The places which they like to frequent are
woods and plantations where there is plenty of undergrowth, and they
are particularly fond of places where fern and brake grow abundantly.
When it is wished to stock a park with pheasants, it is usual to set
the eggs under a common hen, and when they are hatched, which will
be in from twenty-three to twenty-seven days, the young ones should
be put into a basket with a bit of flannel till the whole are hatched
and the shells have been removed from the nest. They are then put back
to the hen, and fed with eggs boiled hard and then cut small, and
curd made by mixing new milk with the water in which a lump of alum
has been dissolved. They should also have a few ants' eggs if they
can be procured, and, if they cannot, a raw egg should be beaten up
and mixed with as much flour as will make it into a paste, and then
rubbed through a coarse sieve so as to leave it in little grains. Young
pheasants should be fed often, and have but a very little at a time.
When they are able to run about, they are first put out with the hen
under a coop like chickens; but, when they get older and stronger,
the hen is put on one of the lower branches of the tree in the
poultry-yard, and tied to it by the leg, so that she can move about on
the branch, but not descend to the ground; the young pheasants seeing
her on the tree will fly up to her, and thus learn to perch. In a few
days the hen is put upon one of the higher branches of the tree, and
the young pheasants soon learn to follow her. In a week or ten days
after this, they are generally old enough to leave the hen, and they
may be turned into the woods; though they will require feeding every
morning and evening for some weeks. Pheasants are naturally very shy,
and even when reared in this manner they become so timid in the course
of a few weeks that they will not suffer any one to come near them.
Many persons suppose that, as they are natives of Asia Minor, they are
tender, and easily affected by the cold; but this is not the case, as
they will bear cold better than most others of the feathered race.

Some persons try to fatten pheasants by putting them in a small
enclosure covered with a net; but pheasants treated in this manner are
never so good as those shot wild in the woods.

Many plans have been devised for feeding pheasants in the woods, but
none are better than those of Mr. Waterton at Walton Hall. At that
most interesting place, which may be called the paradise of birds,
Mr. Waterton has formed clumps of hollies, by planting twenty or
more in a circle, and then making an inner circle, containing ten or
fifteen trees, and scattering the food for the birds between the two
circles, or in the centre of the inner one. In other places a yew tree
surrounded by a holly hedge forms a place of shelter for the birds;
but the first kind is preferred for a feeding-place. The pheasant
requires a great deal of food; and Mr. Waterton, whose knowledge of
the subject is proverbial, tells us that "it is fond of acorns, beech
mast, the berries of the hawthorn, the seeds of the wild rose, and the
tubers of the Jerusalem artichoke. Boiled potatoes (which the pheasant
prefers much to those in the raw state) are," he adds, "perhaps the
most nourishing things that can be offered in the depth of winter."
The plantations of hollies afford the pheasant a retreat to feed in
admirably suited to its timid nature, and they serve at the same time
to keep the smaller birds at a distance.

Pheasants are generally considered worth encouraging in a park, for
their ornamental effect when sitting on the trees, or rising with a
loud whirr from their covers. It is also agreeable to hear their call
in the woods at roosting-time and early in the morning. A wood without
any living creatures in it presents only a dreary scene, or at best
only gloomy pictures to the imagination; but, as soon as it is instinct
with life, its whole aspect seems changed, and cheerful feelings are
excited. I like, therefore, to encourage birds and other half wild
animals in extensive parks, and I would only banish those whose natural
propensities make their presence more likely to give pain than pleasure.

_Partridges_ require very little aid from man, provided only the common
kind is desired. All that is necessary is, to prevent the hen from
being disturbed while sitting, or while brooding over her young. May
is the month in which the partridge generally lays her eggs, and, from
that time till the end of June, care should be taken not to disturb
her. "Partridges pair early in spring, and once united it is rare that
any thing but death separates them." The female lays from fourteen to
twenty eggs, and makes her nest upon the ground. The young one runs
as soon as it is hatched, and frequently while it has still part of
the shell upon its head. The hen partridge rears her young as a hen
does her chickens, scratching the ground to get insects for them, and
sheltering them under her wings while they are at rest. Partridges
succeed best in temperate climates; for extremes of heat and cold are
alike unfavourable to them. Partridges make a peculiar noise called
jucking when they settle down for the night; when this noise is heard,
it is a certain indication that there is a covey or brood of young
birds close at hand.

The _red-legged_, or _Guernsey, partridge_ is very abundant in France,
and in many parts of the Continent; but it is rare in England, except
in Suffolk, where it is not liked for the table. Its habits differ
materially from those of the common partridge. It will only thrive in
mountainous situations covered with wood; and, instead of roosting on
the ground, it passes the night on trees. It is also generally found
perched on trees in the daytime; and it lives in large flocks, and
not in coveys consisting only of a single family. If you wish to try
the experiment of rearing some of these birds, you have only to get
fifteen or twenty of the eggs through some poulterer from France or
Guernsey, or from Suffolk, and to set them under a common hen. They
will be hatched in about the same time as pheasants, and the young
birds require exactly the same treatment.

I do not think I need say any thing of the other kinds of game birds
common in England, as you are not very likely to go out shooting; and
they are too wild to suffer themselves to be approached.

_Hares_ may be occasionally seen lying in their forms, or scudding
across a field; but they are too fond of pinks and carnations for me to
be very partial to them; and, indeed, it is hardly possible to have a
good flower-garden where there are a great many hares and rabbits.

_Herons_ are very interesting birds, but, as they only frequent marshy
land, it is not every situation that is suitable for them. They have
certainly a striking appearance in a landscape, when they are seen
standing for hours together on the banks of a piece of water watching
the fish; and, when they fly, the flapping of their long wings, and the
cries they utter, have something in them extremely wild and romantic.

The booming of the _bittern_, too, which is often heard on the borders
of marshy land, has a very striking effect, and harmonises well with
the cry of the heron.

If you have any gold and silver pheasants, or other curious birds that
you do not like to trust wild in the park, you will perhaps find it
advantageous to have an _aviary_; of which there are two kinds. Small
aviaries are, in fact, but birdcages on a large scale, divided into
compartments to suit the nature of the birds that are to be confined
in them; while a large aviary is only a superior kind of poultry-yard
covered in with wire network to prevent the birds from escaping. The
aviary of the Earl of Derby at Knowsley Park, which is generally
considered the best in England, is of this latter description.

The _apiary_, or stand of beehives, should be placed in a sheltered
situation with a southerly aspect, and care should be taken that there
are no bad smells near it; such, for instance, as those proceeding
from a pigsty or a dog-kennel. There should, on the contrary, be a
garden full of pleasant flowers as near as possible to the bees, as,
though they will occasionally go even miles in quest of food, it
is much better for them on every account to have it close at hand.
Bees are particularly fond of the flowers of buck-wheat, and, though
other plants may be more abundant in honey, none are more useful in
affording what is called bee-bread, or the substance on which the bees
live while they are laying up their winter store. The working bees,
indeed, manufacture three distinct substances from the juices they
obtain from the flowers. These substances are, the wax of which they
make their combs; the honey which they store in them, for consumption
during winter; and the bee-bread on which they feed, and a portion of
which they lay up in the cells in which eggs are deposited, in order
that the young bee may feed upon it while in its larva state.

When you want to form an apiary, it is necessary at first to decide
upon what design you will prefer, and then to adapt your bee-house to
it; the bee-house itself being a wooden closet with shelves in it, each
large enough to hold two or more hives. The holes for the entrance
of the bees must be in front of the apiary; and they are generally
made three inches long, and a quarter of an inch high, with a little
shelf before each for the bees to alight upon before they enter the
hive. Many kinds of hives have been recommended, and Nutt's hive is a
very good one, where the bees are kept merely for an amusement, and
it is wished to see them at work; but, where honey is an object, I
believe the common straw hives are found to answer best. I may observe,
however, that where Nutt's hives are used, no ornamental front is
required to the apiary, as the hives are quite sufficiently ornamental
in themselves.

When a hive of bees is to be bought, the person who selects it
generally taps it to see if it is full of bees, and, if he is satisfied
in this respect, a thin board is slipped under it, and it is left quiet
till night. When it is dark, the board is gently raised by having a
person on each side of it, so as to keep it as level as possible. A
cloth is then slipped under the board, and drawn up and tied closely
over the hive. When thus secured the hive may be easily carried to any
distance that may be necessary; and, when it is placed on the board
where it is finally to stand, the cloth must be taken away from the
lower part of the hive before it is placed; as, when it is once fixed,
it should not be moved again if it can possibly be avoided.

In May or June bees generally swarm, that is, the bees having become
too numerous for the hive, a portion of them go forth to seek a new
abode. A short time before swarming the bees come out of their hive,
and hang together so as to form a chain. After hanging in this manner
for some time, and frequently for several hours, they leave the old
hive and settle on a tree in the neighbourhood; and, as soon as this
is the case, a table is set under the tree covered with a white cloth,
and a man experienced in such matters ascends the tree with an empty
hive in his hand, and sweeps the bees into it. He then brings the hive
down, and places it on the table which was previously covered with a
cloth. A very great bustle immediately takes place among the bees, and
the cloth is completely covered with them. Gradually, however, they
become settled in the hive, and at night the cloth may be drawn round
them, and the hive removed to wherever it may be wished to place it.
There must be one queen bee in every swarm, and, if by any accident the
queen bee is killed, the remaining bees are in the greatest trouble
and confusion, as if seeking for her, and if they do not find her
they separate, and disperse themselves among the other hives. If, on
the contrary, the queen is only held in confinement, they fly to her
as soon as they find out where she is, and forming themselves into a
chain, wait till she comes forth to lead them away.

There are many curious facts relating to the domestic economy of bees
well worthy of your notice, but this is not exactly the place to relate
them. I shall, therefore, only say a few words on the mode of taking
the honey, and on the management of the bees during winter. Many plans
have been devised for taking the honey without killing the bees; but
this appears to be a mistaken kind of humanity, as it is more merciful
to kill the bees at once than to condemn them to die of starvation by
depriving them of their winter food. The ordinary mode is, to put linen
rags dipped in melted sulphur into a hole in the ground, and, after
having lighted them, to set a hive full of bees over the hole. Another
plan is to set the full hive on an empty one inverted, and then to
introduce a sulphureous smoke into the full hive by means of a pair of
fumigating bellows. The bees will all fall from the full hive into the
empty one, and the combs in the full hive, when cleared of the bees,
may be cut out. When the lives of the bees are to be preserved, the
full hive is inverted, and the empty hive being put over it, and both
of them enclosed in a cloth, the lower hive is tapped several times on
the outside with a stick, and gently shaken, so as to drive the bees
from it into the upper hive. A board is then slipped between the two,
and, the hive containing the honeycombs being removed, the other hive
is left with the bees in it. This operation should be performed in
August, as, if it is later in the season, the bees will not have time
to provide themselves with a fresh stock of honey before winter. If the
bees are to be destroyed when the honey is taken, it is generally done
in October.

When winter sets in many cover their hives with a thatching of straw;
and, if a few warm days occur which tempt the bees out, they are fed
with sugar and water boiled into a syrup, and not with merely sugar
dissolved in water, as is frequently the case. Some persons recommend
the syrup given to bees to be put on a plate and crossed with straws,
to enable the bees to take it without drowning themselves; while others
recommend paper pierced with holes, or perforated zinc, for the same
purpose. It may be useful to mention that the sting of a bee, being a
powerful acid, may be cured by the application of an alkali; and thus
chalk, or any similar substance, will very soon allay the pain.

I shall now add a few words on keeping _silk-worms_, and then I think
I shall have said quite enough on the animals usually kept in the
country. Silk-worms succeed best when fed on the leaves of the white
mulberry, but those of the black mulberry are unwholesome for them.
When the leaves of the white mulberry cannot be procured, lettuce
leaves or those of the maclura are the best substitute. Where the
mulberry is grown purposely for silk-worms, the trees are cut down to
the ground every year to make them send up strong vigorous shoots. The
leaves of these shoots are gathered in the morning after the dew has
gone off, so that they may be perfectly dry, and, when stripped off,
they are deposited in a bag kept open with a hoop round the top, in
order that they may be preserved in as fresh a state as possible; and
every leaf is taken off one tree before another is begun upon, as it
is found that this plan of stripping the trees entirely injures them
less than taking a few leaves from each at a time; as, after the tree
has been for some time entirely denuded, it forms a fresh set of leaf
buds, and produces a second crop of leaves. None of the leaves of this
second crop, however, must be taken off. Where labour is sufficiently
cheap, the leaves are best cut off with a pair of scissors.

If you should feel inclined to try your skill in feeding silk-worms,
you can purchase the eggs in Covent Garden market for ten shillings
an ounce, and, if kept in a cool place, they will remain good for
nearly a year. When they are to be hatched, they must be exposed to a
temperature of 86° Fahr., and they are best kept in a room appropriated
for the purpose, and heated by a stove. If you have any small room
adjoining your laundry, or any other place where there is a constant
fire, you will have no difficulty in managing your silk-worms.
Supposing you to have a room of this nature, it will be well to have
tables and shelves provided for keeping the insects on; the shelves
should not be let into the wall, but should be so contrived, by being
suspended on holdfasts or in some other way, as to have the air on
every side; and they should be furnished with ledges round them to
prevent the insects from falling off.

As soon as the mulberry begins to unfold its leaves, the eggs of the
silk-worms should be laid on the shelves, and when they begin to turn
white, which will be in about ten days if the room has been kept at
a proper temperature, they should be covered over with little trays
made of writing-paper turned upside down, and pierced full of holes
with a large knitting-needle. On each tray should be laid some young
twigs of the mulberry, which the insects will smell as soon as they
are hatched, and, crawling through the holes in the paper, will begin
to eat. As soon as a twig is covered all over with silk-worms, it
should be carefully removed to another shelf, and the insects placed on
blotting-paper. Each insect should be allowed about a square inch of
paper. It should then be fed with chopped leaves, and it will appear
to pass the greater part of its time in sleep till it changes its
skin. In its second state it will also appear to pass a great portion
of its time in sleep; but it may be fed with young leaves without
chopping, till it changes its skin a second time. In its third state
the silk-worm becomes more lively and vigorous, and it will devour
full-grown leaves without chopping. Up to this period of its life it
will be sufficient to feed it three times a day. After changing its
skin a third time, the silk-worm becomes of a flesh colour, and eats so
greedily that it should be kept supplied with a succession of leaves
all day long. After the next change the silk-worm eats abundantly night
and day, and should be kept warm. It now begins to get restless, and
instead of eating is continually stretching out its head as though it
were in search of something; its body will have become transparent,
of a clear pearly hue, with bands of gold colour. Little bits of wood
should now be fixed on the shelves in such a way as to give the insects
a feeling of security; and they will immediately begin to make their
cocoons, which they will complete in from four to seven days.

When the insects have done working, the cocoons are taken from the
sticks, and a few being selected to breed from, the rest are prepared
for unwinding. The insects enclosed are first killed, either by
putting them in bags and enclosing them for half an hour in an oven
heated to 88°; or by putting them in sieves, and, after covering
them closely with a woollen cloth, placing the sieves over boiling
water or boiling spirits of any kind. The insects being killed, the
loose or floss silk is removed from the cocoons, and they are put by
handfuls into basins of hot water, which has been heated almost to
the boiling point; and the cocoons are stirred round in it for a few
minutes with a whisk of broom. In a very short time the gum with which
the insect had covered the cocoon is dissolved, and the loose threads
beginning to float on the water, five or six of them are collected,
and the reeling of the silk begins. If well fed and kept in a proper
temperature, the caterpillars will finish their labours twenty-four
days after they are hatched. An ounce of eggs will produce about forty
thousand caterpillars, which will consume nearly eleven hundred pounds
of leaves, and will produce about eighty pounds of cocoons, or eight
pounds of raw silk.




BOOK IV. RURAL WALKS.


LETTER XVII.

SHOES AND APPARATUS FOR WALKING.--RURAL SEATS.--NATURAL OBJECTS
NOTED IN A COUNTRY WALK: THE MOLE; THE SHRIKE; THE BLACK
SNAIL; THE SILLER CUPS; THE WOUNDWORT.--PLEASURES OF STUDYING
BOTANY.--GRANITE.--APPEARANCE OF THE CLOUDS.


It gives me the greatest pleasure, my dear Annie, to find that you
are entering so warmly into country pursuits, and I have read over
repeatedly the passage in which you thank me for having taught you
to love the country, and in which you say that when you look at your
beautiful garden (now so brilliant with bright scarlet verbenas and
golden-yellow calceolarias, that you can scarcely gaze at it in the
sunshine), and that when you sit in your light cheerful room, or wander
near the house, and see in one direction the village church peeping
through the trees, and in another a river winding like a silver riband
through the valley, you can scarcely believe it is the same place
as that which struck you as the very palace of gloominess only a few
months ago. "The very rooms themselves seem changed," you add, "and
even the situation of the house; for, instead of being buried in a deep
valley, and surrounded by a thick forest which rose on every side as if
to entomb it, and which appeared to forbid the possibility of walking
out, it is now every thing I could desire, and I would not alter it
even if I had Aladdin's lamp."

I am not, however, quite so well pleased to find that it is several
weeks since you have been beyond the precincts of what you call your
own domain; that is, the garden, poultry-yard, &c., immediately
adjoining the house. It is well to love home, and to take a deep
interest in all relating to it; but it is not well to live entirely in
so confined a sphere. The mind indeed becomes contracted by dwelling
only on a limited number of objects, and those all in what may be
called an artificial state; while, on the contrary, it is expanded, and
noble feelings are elicited, by communion with nature. "I have been
talking to the vines," said the great Goethe after paying a visit to
the country, "and you cannot think what beautiful things they have said
to me." Seek nature then, my dear Annie; leave your trim flower-garden,
and your tame poultry, and wander in the woods, admiring the poetry of
forest scenery, and watching the habits of the various creatures which
people what seems to the careless observer only one vast solitude.

You must not suppose, however, that I want you to set forth like a
female knight-errant in quest of adventures; but I do think that
attended by your maid, who I was glad to hear is a highly respectable
and well-educated young woman, you may wander through the woods of your
own park without incurring any very serious dangers.

In the first place, however, I would advise you to provide yourself
with a pair of strong and yet comfortable boots. I prefer German boots
made to tie round the ankles, so that they can be easily taken off when
you come home with them dirty; as it is not very agreeable, when you
are tired, to wait till your boots are unlaced before you can enjoy
the comfort of clean dry shoes after a fatiguing walk. If you can walk
in clogs comfortably they will keep you very dry, as two pairs of even
thin soles admit less damp to the feet than one pair of thick ones. I
do not, however, think you will find clogs advisable, unless you walk
to church, or to make calls, as they fatigue the feet exceedingly by
their irregular pressure; and, while Indian rubber clogs make the feet
cold by preventing the evaporation of the insensible perspiration, the
jointed clogs may very probably break at a considerable distance from
the house, and reduce you to the disagreeable necessity of walking home
in thin shoes through the mud. When you lived in town I remember you
were not capable of bearing much fatigue, and though I have no doubt
but the country air has greatly invigorated you, yet I think you will
find it advisable to let your maid carry a camp stool with you in your
excursions, as nothing can be more injurious to a person of delicate
constitution than over-fatigue.

In the course of your walks, you will doubtless find many situations
where a rustic seat might be introduced advantageously. I do not mean
one of those distorted chairs or garden-seats made of crooked pieces
of wood nailed together in the strangest possible shapes and then
painted and varnished, but a real rustic seat formed by the stump
of an old tree or the trunk of a fallen one, only made sufficiently
smooth to prevent it from tearing your clothes; or, at most, only a
few plain pieces of wood nailed together by some village workman, and
placed under the spreading branches of a tree, so as to be not at all
obtrusive.

When you first begin to walk out you will probably find the beauty of
the scenery quite sufficient to interest you; but after a time, as your
walks must all necessarily partake of the same character, you will want
a little variety, and you must make sources of interest to yourself by
observing the various natural objects you meet with, and when you come
home endeavouring to make yourself acquainted with some particulars
respecting them. To illustrate what I mean by an example, I will just
enumerate the objects you may very probably meet with in a morning's
walk, and show you how much entertainment you may derive from them.

I will suppose first, that you see a mole-hill with a mole caught and
hanging in a trap near it. Struck with the curious form of the mole,
its long snout, its hands, and its velvet fur, and your curiosity being
excited to know something of its habits, you write the word "mole" in
your notebook. A little farther on, you see a rather small bird, with
a dead mouse in its beak almost as large as itself, dash the mouse
violently against the branch of a tree, and leave it there sticking in
the fork of the branch. This appears so strange that you approach the
branch to examine it, and find on another branch an insect completely
impaled on a twig, which apparently some boy has forced through its
body. Shuddering at the cruelty of human nature you walk on; but
shortly afterwards perceiving a curious excrescence on the trunk of a
tree, which is almost above your reach, you stand to look at it, and
see to your astonishment some other insects impaled in the same manner
as the first, at a height no boy could reach; and, quite puzzled, you
enter a note in your journal. A little farther on, you meet with a
black snail that crawls across your path, and leaves a long line of
shining slime behind; and you then find some curious little fungi (fig.
18.) which look like fairy birds' nests full of eggs. Your attention is
next attracted by a plant with a square stem, and soft hairy leaves,
heart-shaped at the base, and tapering to the point; and very pretty
spotted pink flowers, something like those of the snapdragon, but much
smaller. You afterwards pick up a bit of stone that appears composed
of various particles; and, lastly, as you go home you observe the
singular appearance of the clouds, which look like long plumes of
feathers streaming in the wind. You make notes of all that you have
seen, and when you get home amuse yourself by searching in books for an
explanation of those subjects which have excited your curiosity.

[Illustration: Fig. 18. _Nidulària campanulàta._]

First, if you will look for the article Mole in Bell's _British
Quadrupeds_, you will find an engraving of the curious little hands,
or rather paws, by which the mole makes its passages through the
earth, with a plan of its castle under ground; and you will read a
description of the little animal itself, and of its fur which is set
horizontally from its skin, so as not to offer any obstruction in the
narrow passages through which it moves, sometimes forward and sometimes
backward. You will also read an account of the ingenious experiment of
M. Henri Le Court, who, to discover how fast a mole could go, fixed
straws in the track of the mole's burrow; and then, blowing a horn at
the entrance, counted with what rapidity the different straws were
thrown down, and calculated that a mole can run as fast as a horse can
trot. The whole account is extremely curious; and I am quite sure, when
you have read it, you will feel an interest in moles that you have
never had before; and that you will look with quite different feelings
at every mole-hill that you may see.

The next thing you saw was a bird hanging a field-mouse upon the fork
of a branch, and near it you saw several insects impaled upon twigs,
too high for it to have been the work of a mischievous boy. The bird
you saw was the Greater Shrike, or butcher bird, whose habit it is to
hang up the insects or small animals it kills as a butcher does the
meat in his stall, and afterwards to return to feed upon them. You
will find accounts of this curious bird in Yarrell's _British Birds_;
Montagu's _Ornithological Dictionary_; and the _Penny Cyclopædia_,
under the article Shrike.

You will next find entered in your journal the creature called a black
snail, but which is in fact a slug, as it has no visible shell. On
looking for the word Slug in the _Penny Cyclopædia_ you will find
yourself referred to Limax, and under that head you will find a figure
very nearly resembling the creature you are seeking for, though it
differs in colour; as it is called Arìon rùfa, or the red slug, while
the creature you saw was the black slug, called Arìon àter; and if you
have the courage to examine the living animal you will find it very
curiously formed. Its back is covered with a black ribbed skin, and on
the upper part it bears a shield, which consists of a piece of bone,
the only one in the slug's body, covered with skin; the shield being
designed to protect the air-hole through which the creature breathes.
What we are accustomed to call its horns are, in fact, tentacula or
feelers, which the creature has the power of drawing into its body or
pushing out at pleasure, and which are gifted with an exquisitely fine
sense of touch. The long shining line with which the creature marked
its path is the slime which proceeds from its body, and with which it
is enabled to glide smoothly over sand or gravel that would otherwise
injure it. I have said more on this subject than I should otherwise
have done, because I wish to point out to you that even a creature so
humble and so despicable as a slug, is as curiously and wonderfully
made, and displays the power and wisdom of its Creator, as decidedly,
as the noblest and most beautiful animal. The study of natural history
is, indeed, I think, more fitted than any other to open our minds to
a proper knowledge of the wisdom and goodness of God; and the more we
study it the more firmly we shall be convinced that nothing has been
made in vain, and that everything has been most admirably suited to the
station which it is destined to fill.

The curious fungus you will find, by comparing it with the
_Encyclopædia of Plants_, is Nidulària campanulàta, which the Scotch
call "Siller Cups." There is a popular superstition in Scotland
respecting these pretty little cups, which says that if you find them
alone you will have as much money as they contain little balls. These
balls are, however, cases containing the sporules, or seeds, of the
fungus.

I now come to the flower which I have supposed to have attracted your
attention, and you will find, upon a minute examination, that it has
a corolla divided into two distinct parts, the upper one standing up
like a hood or helmet, and the lower one hanging down like a pouting
under lip. It is this last which gives you a clue to find out what the
plant is, as you perceive immediately that it belongs to the Labiàtæ,
or lipped plants. You may then turn to any work you may possess on
the British wild flowers, when, if the text is arranged according
to the natural system, you will find your plant under the head of
Labiàtæ, and, if the work has coloured plates, you will recognise it
without any further trouble; but, if the work has no plates, you must
endeavour to identify it by the description, and finding your plant
has a square solid stem, soft, hairy, heart-shaped leaves, which taper
gradually to a point, and that the lower lip of the flower, which is
much larger than the helmet, is spotted, you discover that the plant
agrees in description with the common woundwort (_Stàchys sylvática_.)
If you want to find it in Sowerby's _English Botany_, you had better
take the second edition of that work, where you will find the plant in
question in the Linnæan class and order Didynàmia Gymnospérmia, from
two of the stamens being longer than the others, and the seeds being
what is called naked, that is, not enclosed in any visible pod or other
seed-vessel. This will appear difficult to you at first; but, as I
think you have told me that your husband understands botany, it will be
an amusement to him to explain to you at his convenience the principles
both of the Linnæan and the natural systems, and to leave you to make a
practical application of them in your morning walks.

Nothing can be more delightful than to study a science in this manner.
It is pleasing to be schooled by the lips of those we love, and the
wish to prove yourself deserving of the pains your master takes with
you, will make you exert yourself to conquer any little difficulty you
may meet with; while, on the other hand, your husband will be proud
of the proficiency of his pupil, and a new occupation will be given
to you, which will prevent your conversations becoming so monotonous
as those of two persons who live together, and who see few strangers,
would otherwise inevitably become. One of the great secrets for
enabling a woman to render her husband happy, and, of course, to be
happy herself, is partaking with him as much as possible in both his
amusements and his studies. A woman should have as many subjects of
interest as possible in common with her husband; and, in fact, she
should have no objects of interest in the cares for which he cannot
participate. It is true that in her domestic occupations she must
be employed differently from him, as a man cannot interfere in the
details of household arrangements; but a good wife will always have her
husband's comfort in view, even when she is attending to her store-room
or her kitchen; and she will be proud to show him the result of her
labours in their due season. Men also have duties to attend to in
which a woman cannot participate, such as those of a justice of the
peace; and some manly sports, such as shooting and hunting. But these
will often supply subjects for conversation, and afford that variety
which gives life its greatest charm. It is, indeed, better that married
people should have separate occupations during a part of the day; but
they should never have separate interests, and they should always study
to have as many subjects in common as possible.

But I am forgetting that you have still two objects of natural history
to be explained, which excited your attention during your walk. The
first is the piece of stone that was picked up, and which, from the
numerous particles it contains, was probably a piece of Granite,
that is to say, if shining particles were mixed with others of a
different nature; and it will be an amusement to you if you have
any mineralogical specimens, to endeavour to find out what it is by
comparing it with them; or, if you have not, to take it with you the
first time you go to a town where there is a museum. The curious
appearance you noticed in the clouds you will find, by consulting a
book on meteorology, was of the kind called Cirrus, or, popularly,
mare's tail, and that it is said to indicate the approach of windy
weather.

It would be useless to multiply instances of the mode in which an
interest may be created in country walks; but what I have said will be
sufficient to show that, though we may complain of the monotony of a
country life, there are a thousand sources of interest in it within our
reach, if we will only give ourselves the trouble to observe them.




BOOK V. COUNTRY AMUSEMENTS.


LETTER XVIII.

ARCHERY: TARGETS; SELF BOWS AND BACKED BOWS; BOWSTRINGS; ARROWS; ARM
BRACER AND SHOOTING-GLOVE; BELT AND TASSEL; AND QUIVER.--SKETCHING IN
THE OPEN AIR: BLOCK-BOOK AND PENCILS; ARTIST'S COLOURS; TOUCH OF THE
DIFFERENT TREES.--SWINGING.--PLEASURE-BOATS.--SKATING.--THROWING OFF OF
THE HOUNDS.--SPORTING TERMS.


Now that the autumn is rapidly advancing, you should begin to think of
those amusements which more properly belong to the season; especially
as you are expecting soon to receive a visit from your sisters, and as
you will, of course, be anxious to afford them as many amusements while
they stay with you as possible.

_Archery_ is a favourite amusement with ladies in the country, as
few exercises display an elegant form to more advantage. The first
thing that is to be done is to choose a suitable piece of ground;
and, as most old houses have a piece of ground which was used as
a bowling-green, I have no doubt yours has one which will be quite
suitable for the purpose. The ground having been chosen, the next thing
is to set up a target, and the next to provide proper bows and arrows,
bracers, and shooting-gloves.

The _target_ is generally made of wisps of straw tied together at
intervals, and then wound round and round, like an old-fashioned
door-mat, only round instead of oval, till of the proper size. This
straw framework is covered with canvass or leather, painted with rings
of different colours, first green, then white, then black, then white,
and then a very broad ring of dark red, in the centre of which is a
gilt spot called the bull's eye. Other targets are made of a hoop or
circular frame of wood, with a piece of leather stretched over it,
painted in rings and with a bull's eye in the centre, like the common
kinds; and others are square, and made of iron for firing against with
bullets. In all cases the target stands on three legs, in a slanting
direction, and the merit of the shooter is estimated by the nearness
with which the arrow, or ball, approaches the centre.

Modern _bows_ are of two kinds, viz. self bows and backed bows. The
self bow is composed of only one kind of wood; but the backed bow
is composed of two kinds of wood, both the full length of the bow,
carefully joined together. Bows used formerly to be made of the yew,
and foreign yew was preferred to British, as being more elastic. Now
the yew is seldom used, and bows are made, either wholly or in part,
of ornamental woods, such as fustick, lance-wood, or partridge-wood,
backed by ash or elm. Bows are of different lengths, but those for
ladies are generally about five feet long; while men, on the contrary,
generally choose a bow of their own height. The strength of a bow
is calculated by the weight that it requires to be suspended to the
bowstring, when the bow is strung, to draw the string to the length
of an arrow from the bow, and this is called the bow's weight. Fifty
pounds is the standard weight of a man's bow, and it requires a very
strong man to draw a bow of sixty pounds' weight; but bows for ladies
and children are from two to thirty pounds' weight. The bow handle,
that is, the part which is nearly in the centre of the bow, is usually
covered with velvet, in order to give a firm hold without hurting the
hands; and this handle is placed, not exactly in the centre, but below
it, so as to shorten the lower branch, as the strain upon that part is
generally considered greater than on the other, and on this account,
also, the lower part of the bow is generally the thickest and the
strongest. The two ends of the bow are tipped with horn, and notches
are made in these tippings to receive the bowstring.

The best _bowstrings_ are made of Italian hemp, dressed with gum or
Indian glue to preserve them from the wet; and the distance of the
string from the centre of the bow, when strung, should not be more than
five inches for a bow five feet long, and in the largest bows not more
than six.

An _arrow_, in the language of the bow-maker, consists of three parts;
the shaft or stele, the head or pile, and the feather. The best wood
for the shaft of an arrow is the ash, and the next best the birch or
hornbeam. The aspen and the lime are also used; but deal or willow-wood
is too light, and the arrows made of these woods have an uncertain
wavering flight. The length of the arrow should be regulated by that
of the bow, and for bows of five feet in length arrows of two feet are
generally used, their length increasing in proportion to that of the
bow. When arrows are intended for a long flight, they are generally
thickest directly under the feathers, and taper gradually to the pile.
The nock of the arrow was formerly made of solid horn; but it is now
merely inlaid. It should be as nearly as possible the size of the
string, so that it may fit closely, and yet not require force to fix
it. The feather is a most important part of the arrow, as without that
the arrow will not fly steadily. Every arrow has three feathers, and
the colour of one of them, which is sometimes termed the cock-feather,
is generally different from that of the other two; and this feather
must always be uppermost, when the arrow is placed on the string.
Should, however, the feathers be all of the same colour, that one is
considered the cock-feather which is on the horn of the nock. After the
feathers are fixed on the arrow they are generally covered with gum
water, not made too strong, to give them firmness and to make their
flight more steady.

The _bracer_ is a piece of stout polished leather, which is buckled
round the arm which holds the bow, to prevent the string from hurting
it when it is let go. Even with that precaution, the string very often
bruises the arm, and ladies sometimes have the bracer wadded, or lined
with India rubber to make it more elastic, and thus to diminish the
force of the rebound.

The _shooting-glove_ consists of three finger-stalls made of very
strong, but yet pliable leather. It is worn over an ordinary glove, and
is fastened round the wrist by a button or string.

The _belt_ and _tassel_ complete the equipments. The first buckles
round the waist, and has a pouch for holding the arrows fixed to it
on the right side, while on the left is the tassel, which is used for
wiping the heads of the arrows when they have entered the ground.
Ladies very often omit the belt, as they have generally some person
in attendance on them to supply them with arrows, and to pick up and
wipe those they have the misfortune to let enter the ground. I say
misfortune, for all arrows that do not reach the target are considered
of no avail.

The distance at which the archer stands from his mark depends upon
circumstances; but the ordinary distance for ladies is a hundred yards.
A flat stone is often let into the ground to show where the archer
is to stand, and then the target is moved to the distance that may
be agreed upon. The bow is held in the left hand, and the string is
pulled by the right. Arrows were formerly reckoned by the sheaf, which
consisted of twenty-four arrows, which were carried in a quiver or
arrow-case on the back; but arrows for immediate use were always worn
in the girdle. When a portion of the English soldiers were archers,
every full-grown man was forbidden by statute to shoot at a butt which
was nearer to him than two hundred and twenty yards; and the archers
drew their bowstrings to the ear instead of to the breast, as is the
custom at the present time. Newington Butts, and several other places
round London, bear witness by their names to their having been formerly
places for the citizens to exercise their skill in archery; but even
as late as the reign of Elizabeth no person was allowed to shoot with
a yew bow, under the age of seventeen, unless he was the son of a
gentleman.

_Sketching_ in the open air is a very delightful country amusement,
particularly when it can be so managed as to be done with very little
apparatus. To go out with a table and chair and every thing prepared
is, however, enough to damp the courage of an amateur artist; and
nearly all the pleasure of sketching from nature depends upon being
able to gratify the inspiration of the moment, at the very moment when
the desire to make a sketch is felt. There are happy moments in which
the talents appear to have more brilliancy than at other times, and, as
these do not depend upon the will of the poet or the artist, they must
be taken advantage of when they arise, or they are lost.

As I know you have an admirable talent for sketching from nature, and
as I have no doubt there are some noble specimens of trees in a park so
old as yours is, I would advise you by all means to provide yourself
with what is called a block-book, that is, a drawing-book in which
the sheets of paper are fixed together by a little gum, or some other
glutinous substance, being washed over the edges, so that they are
as perfectly firm and solid as though the whole book were a block of
wood with a piece of paper pasted on it. It is obvious that a book of
this kind may be held in one hand, and a drawing made upon it with the
other, without requiring any table; and, when the drawing is finished,
it may be detached by putting the thumb-nail in the little hollow
left on one side for that purpose, and separating that one sheet of
paper from the rest. After which, the drawing may be put into a flap or
pocket provided for that purpose in the cover of the book; while the
next sheet is left ready for another drawing to be made upon it. A book
of this kind is not larger than a thin octavo, and it may be easily
carried by your maid in her reticule without any parade, as, if it
should not be wanted, it will be of very little incumbrance; whereas,
if you have a table and the apparatus for drawing carried out, and
should not happen to be visited by the pictorial muse, you will find
it very disagreeable to be joked on so formidable a preparation having
produced no result. Even under the most favourable circumstances, it
is much more agreeable to draw from nature in a block-book than in any
other way, as ordinary sheets of paper are always being curled up and
moved about by the wind. You will also find it advantageous to supply
yourself with one of those pencils with a broad lead which are sold for
sketching foliage, and you will find it save both time and trouble to
take a case of pencils out with you, with pencils of different degrees
of fineness cut for use.

Should you wish to give the effect of colour to your landscapes, you
will do well to provide yourself with an artist's colour-box made
of tin, with a place for the colours to be rubbed on inside of the
lid; and provided with a small bottle for containing water. When you
sketch, be particular in marking strongly the effects of light and
shade, and the distances; also pay particular attention to giving
the proper touch to the different trees. The foliage of the pine and
fir tribe is characterised by a few small upright strokes introduced
occasionally; the oak requires angular touches, and has a certain
degree of squareness in the outline of its twigs; the elm has a
roundness in the touch; the touch of the willow is thin and wiry; and
that of alder somewhat heart-shaped. It is difficult to explain what I
mean without the aid of drawings; but your best way will be to get some
good sketches of trees, and then to take them out with you, and compare
them with the effects you observe in nature.

A _swing_ is a very useful adjunct to the amusements of the country,
as many grown-up people are as fond of swinging as children. The most
simple kind of swing is formed by tying the two ends of a strong rope
to the branches of two trees which may chance to be conveniently placed
for the purpose, the rope having been previously passed through two
holes in a piece of flat board, which serves for the seat. A swing of
this kind requires no attention but turning the seat the wrong way
upwards in wet weather, and taking the rope down in autumn, as it will
become rotten from exposure to the wet during winter. The seat should
also have two strips of wood nailed on its under side, across the grain
of the wood, in order to prevent it from splitting open, which it would
otherwise be very likely to do, from being exposed to the alternations
of wet and dry weather. Where there are no trees conveniently situated
for a swing, two upright pieces of wood may be driven into the ground,
with hooks or rings affixed to the upper part, to which other hooks are
attached that have been previously fastened to the ends of a strong
piece of rope. A swing of this kind is generally furnished with a chair
or boat, and it is more fitted for a court or some piece of enclosed
ground than for the open pleasure-ground. At the Duke of Devonshire's,
at Chiswick, a hammock is hung between two trees for the purpose of a
swing.

If you have a _boat_ on your water, take care, when it is chained
up in the boat-house, that it floats in water, and does not lie in
mud. Pleasure-boats should be painted every year, and always be kept
perfectly clean and dry in the inside. They should never be exposed for
any length of time to the heat of the sun, and if the smallest opening
is perceived it should be mended immediately. Great care should be
taken, in a small pleasure-boat, to stand up as seldom as possible;
and never to be tempted by the wish of seeing any particular object, to
rush suddenly from one side of the boat to the other.

_Skating_ is a winter amusement, but it is a very healthy one, and one
in which a lady can, without any impropriety, indulge. The principal
thing to be attended to, after having provided yourself with a pair
of good skates, is to learn to balance yourself properly first on one
foot, and then on the other. When you first begin to move, you will
find it very difficult to avoid falling the moment you attempt to move
one foot without the other; and it will probably be all you can do
to keep yourself erect, even if you slide awkwardly along with both
heels close together. When you do venture to separate your feet, you
must contrive to balance your body so as to keep your ankles directly
over your skates, and not to suffer the skates to bend under them in
a slanting direction. When you see experienced skaters with the steel
part of their skates cutting the ice in a slanting direction, you will
observe that their skates only follow the same inclination as their
bodies, and that the steel of the skate is still exactly under the
ankle of the foot. When you begin to skate properly, the leg that is
upon the ice should be kept quite straight and the weight of the body
thrown upon it, while the other leg should be kept straight also, but
in a slanting direction, and with the toe pointing downwards. It is
well not to look at either the ice or the feet, but to keep the face
erect and looking forwards. When persons first begin to skate they
balance themselves with their arms almost involuntarily, and, when
one foot is off the ice, they raise up the arm on the opposite side
to prevent themselves from falling. This is excusable in a beginner;
but, as it has an inelegant appearance, the habit of doing so should
be shaken off as soon as possible. The best way is to fold the arms
across the breast, or to carry the hands in a muff. The greatest care
ought to be paid to carrying the body gracefully and elegantly, and
avoiding all sudden jerks. Skilful skaters make the figure of eight
or the cross-roll, as it is called, with the greatest facility; but
figure-skating is rather the accomplishment of a gentleman than a lady,
who should be contented to glide gracefully and easily along.

I believe I have now mentioned most of the ordinary kinds of country
amusements in which a lady can properly indulge; as I must confess I
should not like to see you hunting or coursing, though I have heard of
some ladies doing so. It is quite natural that a lady should like to
see the hounds throw off, as nothing can be more animating than such
a scene; but that is, I think, all that can be allowed. As, however,
your husband is most probably fond of sporting, it may be as well
to mention a few of the terms used by sportsmen when speaking of the
chase, that you may understand what is meant, if your husband should
give you any account of the day's sport, without troubling him by
asking continual explanations. When sportsmen are speaking of dogs,
they say a brace of greyhounds if they mean two, or a leash if they
mean three; but they say a couple of hounds, or a couple and a half
if they mean three. In speaking of a fox-chase, they say they have
unkenneled a fox when they have merely found a wild one. A sharp burst
is when the hounds go off very fast at first; but a check is when they
lose the scent. If the fox is by any accident turned back, he is said
to be headed. The place where the fox is likely to be found is called
the cover, and when the hounds are taken into it to try if they can
find the fox, they are said to be drawing the cover. The scent left
by the fox is called the drag. When the hounds find the scent they
generally utter a cry, which is called giving tongue; and when the
whole pack go off after the fox, uttering this sound, they are said to
be in full cry. The foot of the fox is called the pad, and his tail
the brush. Some sportsmen, instead of saying a pack of fox-hounds, say
a kennel, and only say a pack of harriers, or a pack of beagles; the
latter being a very small kind of harrier. In hare-hunting, sportsmen
say they have started the hare from her form, when they have found one.
When a hare returns to the place from which she started, it is said
she doubles. The tail of the hare is called the scut, and that of the
dog is sometimes called the stern; but this last term, I believe, only
relates to dogs used in hunting.

You will observe, my dear Annie, that though I have mentioned a few
sporting terms, with the meanings that are, I believe, generally
assigned to them, I would advise you never to make use of them in
conversation; as nothing can be more unfeminine than for a woman to
use terms only adapted to manly amusements. I am sure your husband
would dislike to hear you ape the sportsman; as men, with very few
exceptions, always feel disgust at a masculine woman.




BOOK VI. COUNTRY DUTIES.


LETTER XIX.

RELATION BETWEEN A LANDED PROPRIETOR AND THE COTTAGERS ON HIS
ESTATE.--HOW TO RELIEVE THE POOR.--ESTABLISHING SCHOOLS.--TEACHING
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE POOR TO MAKE CLOTHES, AND TEACHING THEM
COOKING.--EMPLOYING THE POOR.--ASSISTING THE POOR IN ILLNESS.--MAKING
CLOTHES FOR THE POOR.


I have now, my dear Annie, a few words to say on a more important
subject than those I have yet touched upon; I mean the duties which are
imposed upon you by your residence in the country. As your husband is
the last descendant of an ancient family, it is particularly incumbent
upon him, and, of course, also upon you, to keep up as much as possible
the kindly feeling which existed in the olden time between the lords of
the soil and its cultivators, but which has, of late years, been too
much neglected. The proprietor of a large estate ought to be regarded
by the labouring cottagers in the light of a protector, to whom they
can look up for advice and assistance in their troubles; and as a
friend upon whose kindness they may confidently rely, and who they
know will be interested in their welfare. When this is the case, the
tenantry of a country gentleman will form his best body-guard; and,
instead of ever attempting to injure his property, they will do all in
their power to protect it.

I think it highly desirable that you should be personally acquainted
with the poor people in the vicinity of your husband's mansion, that
you may know how to afford them the most acceptable assistance, and
who are most deserving of it. For this reason, I think you should
occasionally walk through the village, instead of confining your
rambles exclusively to the park, and call frequently on your poorer
neighbours; not with the apparent wish of dictating to them how they
should live, and how they should manage their families, but with the
ostensible purpose of employing them in some little work, and in
reality to see how you can best be serviceable to them, and how you can
do them the most positive good. It is the blessed privilege of wealth
and rank that they give us the power of making our fellow-creatures
happy, with very trifling inconvenience to ourselves. A word or a kind
look from the rich to the poor speaks volumes, and carries with it
encouragement and pleasure, which no efforts of persons in their own
rank in life can give. It is, however, difficult for the rich to know
how to be of real service to the poor, as giving alms seldom does good
except in cases of sudden and unforeseen distress. The best charity is
first to teach the poor how to maintain themselves, and next to give
them employment; and when they have this, they have a better chance of
happiness than any riches could bestow combined with idleness. Perhaps,
indeed, there is no state of existence more happy than that of a person
who is usefully and profitably employed, and whose employment is of
such a nature as to exercise moderately the faculties both of the body
and the mind.

Establishing schools is an important duty which the rich owe to the
poor. Every girl ought to be able to sew neatly and well, and to read,
write, and keep accounts. I think also it would be a great advantage if
all the girls who have attained the age of fourteen were to receive a
few lessons in dress-making, and making waistcoats and boys' clothes,
from the regular mantua-maker and tailor of the village; or you might
pay for this out of your own pocket, and make it a reward for good
conduct. It is particularly useful to the wife of a labouring man to
know how to cut out and make or alter clothes, as work of this kind can
be taken up and laid down while the mother is nursing her children, or
watching the boiling of a pot, or some similar kind of simple cookery.

Many poor women waste a great deal of food by not knowing how to use
it to the best advantage; for instance, they often throw away the
water in which meat has been boiled, and of which an excellent soup
might be made by the addition of a few vegetables, and thickening it
with oatmeal, flour, or pearl barley; and they sometimes spoil meat,
when they have it, by letting it boil so fast as to become hard and
indigestible. I do not mean, by making these observations, that I
think you should make inquiries into what your poor neighbours have
for dinner, or how they cook their food, as there are no points on
which the poor generally dislike to be interfered in more than these;
but I only mean that you should, if possible, get the daughters taught
the best way of cooking food suitable to their rank in life, by some
experienced person, and that then it should be left for the mothers to
adopt these new plans or not, as they liked.

Generally speaking, I would not have you too fond of offering to have
the daughters of the cottagers taught any thing by your own servants.
The modes of living of the rich and the poor are necessarily so
different, that a cottager's daughter would reap very little advantage
from seeing how the dishes were prepared for your table, while she
might be rendered discontented by observing the very great difference
between the mode of living in your kitchen and in her own cottage.
There are, however, exceptions to this rule, in the case of girls who
wish to become servants; and, whenever that happens, I would advise you
always to have the girls sent to the mansion-house, to be placed under
the direction of the servant in whose department she might wish to be
employed.

Before commencing your visits to the poor, I would advise you to
inquire in what way you can best afford them employment; for instance,
in your neighbourhood, I believe, the country people employ themselves
generally in making lace; knowing this, you could not do better, when
calling upon some of the cottagers, than to give an order for lace, and
in doing so you might enter into conversation with them about their
patterns, the length of time they have been employed in the business,
and a variety of other topics which will suggest themselves naturally.
This will deprive your visit of the painful feeling which would have
attended it if you had called without any direct object in view, and it
will give you an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the different
members of the family, and seeing whether there are any too young or
too old to work in the same manner as the others, and for whom you may
possibly be able to find fitting employment.

Plaiting coarse straw or bulrushes is an employment that can be
followed both by old people and young children; and you will find
covers made of straw plaited into bands, and then sown together, of
great service in protecting your half-hardy plants during frosty
weather. Garden mats, baskets for flowers, and various other things,
may be made in the same manner, and you will easily find out what will
be most suitable to your _protégées_, and what they can do with least
difficulty to themselves.

In cases of illness, I am sure you will be happy to assist your poor
neighbours in every way in your power. When poor people are ill their
means of support are stopped, and they have not only to labour through
the pains of illness, but they are also exposed to the greatest
privations for the want of food, at the very moment when food of a more
nourishing nature than usual is required for them. Then it is that the
helping hand of the rich is of the greatest value to the poor, and that
charity takes its most graceful form.

Many ladies in the country employ a portion of their time in making
clothes for the poor; but with the exception of permitting young people
to make baby-linen, I question whether it is advisable that much should
be done in this way. The feelings of the poor are often hurt by having
it dictated to them what they are to wear, and they are apt to look
upon the clothes thus given to them, and which are probably quite
different from what they would have purchased for themselves, almost
as a badge of slavery which they are compelled to wear to please their
patrons, but of which they hate the very sight.

And now, my dear Annie, I shall bid you adieu with my pen, as next week
I hope to be able to accept your often repeated invitation to come and
see myself the result of my admonitions. I shall certainly be delighted
to visit your gardens, your poultry-yard, your dairy, and all your
favourite haunts; but what will give me most pleasure will be to see
you happy, and to be assured from your experience that it is possible
for a young and beautiful woman, though brought up amidst all the
gaieties of a town life, to abandon them without a sigh, and to enjoy
rationally a Country Life.




INDEX.

[Not retained in this text version]





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