NOTE:
The Table of Contents and Embellishments, &c. tables have been harvested from the January edition.
The cover page and music files have been created by the transcriber from this book and placed in the public domain.
GODEY'S
LADY'S BOOK.
PHILADELPHIA, JUNE, 1854.
THE PYRAMID TALMA.
[From the establishment of G. BRODIE, No. 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. VOIGT, from actual articles of costume.]
THE Talma we select for illustration is peculiarly becoming, especially for the richest toilet. Its material is white poult de soie. It is constructed of nine pieces cut in gores or pyramidal form, joined together, the seams being hidden by a fancy braid trimming. Nine tabs, widening at the bottom, and placed at distances equal to their width, descending about one-third of the depth of the garment, constitute the form of this novel garment. It is exquisitely adorned in needlework, and beautified by an elegant netted fringe. By an oversight in the drawing, fringe, which should also border the tabs that form the upper portion of the dress, was omitted.
THE SCARF VOLANT.
[From the establishment of G. BRODIE, No. 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. VOIGT, from actual articles of costume.]
THIS is a novel and peculiarly dressy-looking garment, the distinctive features being a closed square front (which is confined by a bow of a rare fancy ribbon), and in the character of the flounce: this is gathered or fulled in divisions, giving it the appearance somewhat of a series of festoons. The separate compartments are strongly pronounced by transverse bands of black velvet and narrow black lace; a similar trimming of which outlines the whole scarf, and, with the piquant air of the garment, renders it an exceedingly beautiful production. The color may be made to taste. Those of lavender glacé silks, the drabs, and of black taffeta, especially are very beautiful.
THE PALACE WALTZ.
BY A YOUNG AMERICAN COMPOSER.
Published by T. C. ANDREWS, 66 Spring Garden St., Phila.
[[Midi]] [[audio/mpeg]] [[XML]]
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1853, by T. C. ANDREWS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
THE EMPRESS. THE NOVADA.
A pattern of either of these will be sent on receipt of 62½ cents. Post-office stamps received in payment. These patterns are exact counterparts of the original, with trimmings, etc.
THE EMPRESS.—A silk mantelet, cut low in the neck. Two hollow plaits forming a fichu are trimmed with a bow in the middle of the back. The bottom is bordered by a wide ribbon plaited with bows at each side of the arm. Two rows of lace complete it.
THE NOVADA.—Pelisse, cut low and square. A wide revers forms the sleeve. All the edges are trimmed with ribbon, silk with gold fillets. Two rows of lace fall on the back, one narrow between two plaited ribbons; the other wider, which begins square in front and widens in the back: a deep lace runs along the bottom. The back is plain, and falls in flutes from the second row of ribbons.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
EMBELLISHMENTS, &c.
June.
- [a]Eastport and Passamaquoddy Bay.]
- [a]Colored Fashions.]
- [Embroidered Dress Collar.]
- [The Truant Detected.]
- [Fashionable Bonnets and Caps.]
- [The Pyramid Talma.]
- [The Scarf Volant.]
- [MUSIC.—The Palace Waltz.]
- [The Empress and the Novada.]
- [Preservation of Food.]
- [Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.]
- [The Wild Flowers of the Month.]
- [Artificial Pearls in the Mussel.]
- [Illuminated, or Vellum-Painting.]
- [a]Caps and Headdress.]
- [Juvenile Fashions.]
- [a]Braid for Child's Dress.]
- [Lace Basque.]
- [Lady's Riding Boots.]
- [Cottage Furniture.]
- [Lady's Slipper on Cloth.—Smyrna Embroidery.]
- [Design for a Bread-Cloth.]
- [a]Patterns for Embroidery.]
EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.—NO. XX.
ILLUSTRATED WITH PEN AND GRAVER.
BY C. T. HINCKLEY.
PRESERVATION OF FOOD.
THE various organic substances furnished by the animal and vegetable kingdoms, which constitute the food of man, are, from the nature of their chemical structure, liable to change and decay; they are also irregular in their supply; hence arises the necessity of storing up the abundance of one season to meet the deficiencies of another. The art of preserving food as much as possible in its original state is therefore of great importance; it has been improved by gradual steps, depending, in great measure, as in so many other cases, on chemical discovery and the diffusion of chemical knowledge among persons engaged in the useful arts; so that, at the present time, the deprivations suffered by our forefathers may be prevented; the commonest articles of food may be enjoyed at all seasons; and even the delicious fruits of our gardens may be made to contribute to our health and refreshment at a season when the trees which produced them are covered with snow. The mariner, too, is not now necessarily confined to salt meats; he may, on the longest voyage, and in the severest clime, as easily enjoy fresh meat and vegetables as when he is in port.
The necessity for adopting means for the preservation of articles of food arises from the complicated structure of organic compounds, and their tendency to resolve themselves into simpler or inorganic compounds. Although the comprehensive history of the animal and vegetable kingdoms is written with a very brief alphabet; although the elements which enter into the composition of organic bodies are only carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen—often, but not always, nitrogen—and occasionally minute portions of sulphur and phosphorus; yet their extraordinary powers of combination are such that there appears to be no limit to the number of definite substances which they are capable of producing, each substance having a character peculiar to itself, and often a crystalline form. It is very different with the fifty-eight other members of the list of elements; the compounds which they assist in forming are inorganic, and they are formed by the union of pairs of elements, or pairs of binary compounds.
It is a consequence of this complicated structure that organic compounds are unstable in their character, and liable to decomposition, or, in other words, to resolve themselves into simpler compounds. An inorganic substance, on the contrary, however complex its formula may appear, is actually built up of binary compounds, the simplest that can be formed. But in the organic substance the carbon and hydrogen have a strong tendency to form carbonic acid; the hydrogen and oxygen to form water; the hydrogen and nitrogen to form ammonia; or, the hydrogen and the sulphur to form sulphuretted hydrogen, &c. In popular language, these changes are expressed by such terms as decay and putrefaction. Liebig, however, has given precision to them by limiting the term decay to the decomposition of moist organic matter freely exposed to the air, the oxygen of which gradually burns and destroys it without sensible elevation of temperature.[1] The term putrefaction is limited to changes which occur in and beneath the surface of water, the effect being a mere transposition of elements or metamorphosis of the organic body.[2] The conversion of sugar into alcohol and carbonic acid is a simple illustration of the term. The contact of oxygen is, however, first necessary to the change, which, when once begun, is continued without the aid of any other external substance, except perhaps water, or its elements. Every instance of putrefaction begins with decay; and if the decay, or its cause, viz., the absorption of oxygen, be prevented, no putrefaction occurs. In short, if the access of oxygen be prevented, there is no decay; if the access of water be prevented, there is no putrefaction. The exclusion of air and moisture forms the basis of some of the best methods of preserving food.
There are certain substances named Antiseptics (from ἀντὶ, against, and σήπομαι, to putrefy), from their property (exerted, however, very unequally) of preventing the putrefaction of organic substances. Thus, alcohol, and common salt in certain proportions, check all putrefaction and all the processes of fermentation by depriving the putrefying body of water. Nitre, vinegar, spices, and sugar are also antiseptics. The antiseptic effect of a very low temperature is caused by the solidification of the water and other juices, which, in their usual fluid state, allow the molecules to move freely on one another.
We will first notice the various methods of preserving animal food. These are: 1, by drying; 2, by cold; 3, by salting and by sugar; 4, by smoking; 5, by vinegar; 6, by parboiling and excluding air; 7, by potting; 8, by alcohol.
1. A familiar example of the first method is afforded in common glue, which in its hard and dry state may be kept for any length of time. So also may white of egg, if prepared by pouring the white of a number of eggs into a large flat dish, and exposing this for twelve or fourteen hours to heat in front of the fire. As the water evaporates, the albumen forms into a yellow, transparent, hard, shining, brittle mass, which scales off at the least touch—a test that it is properly done. These two substances, gelatine and albumen, are two of the constituents of flesh; fibrin or fleshy fibre, which is the third, dries equally well, and is not liable to putrefaction in that state. Gelatine, after being dried, may be softened by the action of hot water. Albumen coagulated by heat cannot be softened again by water; but if dried at about 140° without being coagulated, it may be dissolved in cold water, retaining all its valuable properties. Hence, in preserving meat by drying, too high a temperature must be carefully avoided, or the albumen will become coagulated, and the meat be made insoluble.
The dried flesh of the bison, of the buffalo, and of the deer, forms pemmican, the preparation of which is thus described in Captain Back's Journal:—
"While meat remains in a thick piece, it is impossible to get the middle dried before putrefaction commences; but if the meat be cut into slices, its desiccation may be easily effected. The fleshy parts of the hind quarters are cut into very thin slices, dried in the sun, or before the fire, and pounded. Two parts of the pounded meat are then mixed with one of melted fat, and packed into a bag formed of the hide of the animal. A bag weighing ninety pounds is called a taureau by the Canadian voyageurs; and, in fact, only one bag of pemmican is generally made from each bison cow. Two pounds of this kind of food are sufficient for the daily support of a laboring man; though, when the voyageurs first commence upon pemmican, they each consume three pounds or more. In the spring, they generally boil the young shoots of Epilobium angustifolium with it, and some Scotchmen in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company add flour or oatmeal, thus rendering it more palatable. The best pemmican is made of finely-pounded meat mixed with marrow, and further improved by the addition of dried berries or currants. If kept from the air, it may be preserved sound for several years, and being very portable, it might be used with great advantage in provisioning troops that have to make forced marches. It may be eaten raw, or mixed with a little water and boiled; and although not much relished by those who taste it for the first time, the voyageur, with the single addition of the luxury of tea, requires nothing else for breakfast, dinner, and supper."
In the West Indies, and in South America, jerked beef is prepared by cutting the meat into slices, dipping them into sea-water or brine, and then drying them in the sun. The flesh of wild cattle is thus preserved at Buenos Ayres. Sometimes this dried meat is pounded in a mortar, into a uniform paste, which is pressed into jars, and if intended to supply the wants of the traveller, it is beaten up with maize meal and packed closely in leather bags. It is eaten in this state without further cooking. Drying meat in the air is said, however, to injure its flavor, and to dissipate a great portion of the nutritious juices.
Some kinds of fish are preserved by slitting them down the middle, and drying them in the air to evaporate the moisture. Small cod, haddock, and stock fish, prepared in this way, will, if kept dry, remain good for a great length of time.
Portable soup is prepared by processes similar to those used in the manufacture of glue. The gelatine of meat is dissolved by boiling water, and the water being evaporated, the gelatine is left in a solid state. Any fresh lean meat, with the fat cut away, will answer the purpose. Bones are also used for the purpose, the gelatine being extracted by means of a digester. In the French manufacture of gelatine brut fin, one hundred pounds of bones yield about twenty-five of gelatine, which is dried, cut up into dice, and used for making soup.
2. The effect of cold in the preservation of animal substances received a remarkable illustration in the discovery made by Pallas, in the year 1779, on the shores of the Frozen Ocean, near the mouth of the river Lena, of an animal of immense size, imbedded in ice, which, as it melted gradually, exposed it to the air and furnished food for the hungry wolves and other animals of those regions. It was the opinion of Cuvier that this animal differed from every known species of elephant, and was antediluvian, preserved from the remote period of the deluge in the mass of ice which enveloped it. Some of the hair of this animal may be seen in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, England.
In Russia, Canada, Hudson's Bay, and other countries where the frost is sufficiently steady, meat preserved in this way is a common article of commerce. Travellers speak with admiration of the frozen markets of Russia, supplied as they are from distant places with provisions solidified by the cold. Thus, in the market at Petersburg, Mr. Kohl noticed partridges from Saratoff, swans from Finland, heathcocks and grouse from Livonia and Esthuria, while the wide Steppes furnished the trapp-geese which flutter over their endless plains, where the Cossack hunts them on horseback, and kills them with his formidable whip. All these birds, as soon as the life-blood has flown, are apparently converted into stone by the frost, and, packed in huge chests, are sent for sale to the capital. So rapid are the effects of frost in that country, that the snow-white hares, which are brought in sledge-loads to the market, are usually frozen in the attitude of flight, with their ears pointed and their legs stretched out, just as they were at the moment of death. Another curious sight in these markets is a frozen reindeer, its knees doubled under its body, its hairy snout stretched forth upon the ground, and its antlers rising majestically in the air; or a mighty elk, disappearing piece by piece, as the action of the saw and the axe separates it for distribution among the several customers.
When provisions have been frozen, great care is required in thawing them; for, if this be done suddenly, putrefaction soon sets in, and although cooked immediately, they are hard and deficient in flavor. They must be thawed by immersion in cold water.
The London markets are supplied with salmon packed in ice from many of the northern rivers that flow to the eastern coasts of Britain. Every salmon fishery is now provided with an ice-house, and a stock of ice collected during the winter. The salmon is packed in large oblong wooden boxes, with pounded ice between, and the fish is received in London as fresh as when it was taken out of the water. It is not, however, frozen. Most fishmongers are furnished with ice-houses or cellars for the preservation of their fish in tubs of ice; and we do not see why English butchers should not be provided with larders cooled by the same means. In many parts of the United States every housekeeper has a small ice-safe, in which, through the warm season, all kinds of perishable provisions are kept. Public ice-houses are also maintained by the butchers, so that, under the burning climate of South Carolina, there is less loss in the way of butcher's meat, fish, game, &c., than in the comparatively temperate summer of London. The meat is sent to the ice-house, near the market, every evening, and is cooled down to near the freezing-point during the night; when exposed on the stalls next day, it retains its low temperature for a long time. Such a plan, adopted in London, would prevent the immense waste of meat during every summer, which is said to amount to at least two thousand tons in London alone. It is true that, when meat has been once frozen, its flavor is injured, but the reduction of meat to 32° or thereabouts, and the solidification of its juices, are very different things; and it would be easy to regulate the temperature within a range of several degrees.
3. Various kinds of salt are used in the preservation of food. Saltpetre and sal prunella (which is saltpetre deprived of its water of crystallization by heat) are also used for the purpose. The action of these alkaline salts upon animal substances is, as already noticed, to abstract the water in the juices of the meat, and, being dissolved therein, the salts enter the pores of the animal substance; the albumen of the meat, which is more liable to putrefaction than the gelatine and fibrine, is thus rendered less so. There are two methods of salting, dry salting and pickling. In dry salting, the meat is packed in dry salt, or in some cases the surface is rubbed all over with salt. In pickling, the meat is kept immersed in a solution (sometimes saturated) of common salt dissolved in water. This method does not render the meat so salt as dry rubbing, and is probably less injurious to its nutritious qualities, but it will not keep the meat so well. Bacon is cured by salting and drying, for which latter purpose it is often hung up in the wide chimneys of farm-house kitchens; cod is also salted and dried for the large demand of the Peninsula; in England, it is used in a green state; that is, instead of being split quite open, it is only opened down to the navel, then salted, and laid in brine or strong pickle, and put into casks without drying. Haddock, cod, or ling, are cured by splitting the fish and removing the backbone; they are then salted for two or three days, with equal parts of salt and sugar, or with salt alone; they are next stretched on sticks, and laid on the beach to dry in the sun, or they are arranged on stages, or hung up in an inclosed space warmed by a stove. Herrings are salted, or pickled, and smoked.
Sugar, like salt, takes away the water from animal substances, and thus prevents putrefaction. By immersing meat in molasses, it has been preserved fresh for months. Fish is sometimes preserved by cutting it open, rubbing in sugar, and leaving it for a few days; it is then dried in the air, taking care to turn it frequently. For a salmon of six pounds weight, a table-spoonful of brown sugar is sufficient; but, if hardness be required, a teaspoonful of saltpetre is to be added.
4. The efficacy of smoking, or smoke-drying, arises not only from the heat of the smoke, but from certain chemical products disengaged during the combustion of the wood fuel used for the purpose. Pyroligneous acid vapor and creasote are both produced, and the latter substance possesses the remarkable property of coagulating albumen. Hence, those chimneys only are fit for the purpose where the fire below is wood or peat, not coal. The kind of wood burnt is also of importance, the smoke from beech and oak being preferable to that from fir or larch. Smoke from the twigs of juniper, rosemary, peppermint, &c., impart to the meat a portion of their aromatic flavor. Westphalia hams owe some of their excellence to being smoked by juniper. Slow smoking is preferable to rapid, as it penetrates completely into the interior of the meat. In some parts of the country, the drying and smoking of hams are a separate trade. In such cases, a smoking-house or hut is erected, about twelve feet square, and the walls seven feet high, with a hole in the roof; joists are laid across inside, to hang the flitches on, and the floor is covered five or six inches deep with sawdust, which, being kindled, produces much smoke and little flame.
5. Vinegar and some other acids preserve both animal and vegetable substances by coagulating their albumen, which, as already stated, is peculiarly liable to putrefactive fermentation.
6. In the year 1810, M. Appert received a reward of 12,000 francs from the French Government for his method of parboiling provisions, and inclosing them in earthenware vessels in such a manner as to exclude the air. Many vegetables, fruits, &c., can be kept fresh for a great length of time, by shutting them up closely in a vessel, having previously filled up the interstices with sand or other loose substance that will exclude nearly all the air. Fresh walnuts may be preserved in this way in a jar, packed with sand and closely covered over; grapes packed in sawdust are imported into this country. Meat cannot be preserved in this way, but by exposing it to the heat of boiling water, the albumen, in which putrefaction first commences, coagulates; and as coagulated albumen is somewhat slow in decomposing, we thus have a reason for the common observation that cooked meat will keep longer than raw. It will not, however, keep many days, unless the air be perfectly excluded, not only from the external, but from the internal parts. The air in the interior may be expelled by boiling, and the exterior air may be kept away by inclosing the substance in an air-tight vessel. If these conditions be carefully observed, food may be preserved for any length of time. Appert's method consists in applying heat to the substances to be preserved, so as to coagulate their fermentable juices, and then to place them in such a situation as to deprive them of contact with air. The vessel in which the meat is prepared is plunged for some time into boiling water before it is finally sealed, in order to drive out the last portions of the air; for, if a small portion of oxygen gas were present, this would be sufficient to commence the process of fermentation, and when once begun it would be continued.
M. Appert's process may be described as follows:—
The meat to be preserved is first parboiled, or somewhat more, and freed from the bones. It is then put, together with vegetables, if required, into tin cases or canisters, which are filled quite up with a rich gravy; a tin cover, with a small aperture in it, is then carefully fixed on to each canister by solder, and while the vessel is perfectly full, it is placed in boiling water, or in a saline bath, heated above the boiling point of water, and kept therein until the air has been expelled as completely as possible by the steam generated within the canister. The small hole in the cover is completely closed up with a little solder while the contents are yet hot, the issue of the steam being stopped for a moment by means of a damp sponge. The canister, with its ingredients, is now allowed to cool, in consequence of which these contract, and the sides of the vessel are forced slightly inwards by the pressure of the atmosphere, and become a little concave. As a precautionary measure, however, the tins are placed in the testing-room, which is heated to above 100° Fahr. Should putrefaction take place in consequence of a minute portion of oxygen left in the case, and not combined with the animal or vegetable matter, the generated gases will burst the canisters; those, however, which withstand this test will preserve the provisions for many years; for as each vessel is hermetically sealed, and all access of air prevented, it may be sent into any climate without fear of putrefaction, and the most delicate food of one country be thus eaten in its original perfection in a distant region, many months, or even years after its preparation. In this manner may all kinds of alimentary substances be preserved; beef, mutton, veal, and poultry; fish and game; soups, broths, and vegetables; creams and custards. Of a quantity taken by Captain Nash to India, not one canister was spoiled; and one which he brought back contained, after two years, beef in the highest state of perfection and preservation, and after having been carried upwards of 35,000 miles, in the warmest climates. This method has been adopted by the commissioners for victualling the English Navy, who, having examined some meat so preserved for four years, during voyages in the Mediterranean, found it as sound, sweet, and fresh, as if it had been boiled only the day before. Captain Basil Hall bears similar testimony. It was stated, however, by the officers in the Antarctic voyage, that they gradually got very tired of preserved meats, but not of preserved vegetables, and that there was an insipidity in them which they did not find in fresh food. There is, however, no doubt that, if the articles be selected with care, and the process be properly conducted, M. Appert's method of preserving food is a valuable invention. If the contractor be careless or dishonest, the most fearful consequences might ensue to the crews of ships victualled with preserved meats. It appears, from a recent examination of several thousand canisters of the preserved meat of the Navy at Portsmouth, England, that their contents were masses of putrefaction, consisting of meat, &c., which, even in a fresh state, ought never to be used as food. It is stated that this preserved meat was supplied from Galatz, in Moldavia.
In 1842, M. Appert's method was made the subject of a further patent, granted to Mr. Bevan, whose process consisted in expelling air from the cases containing the food, by placing such cases in connection with a vacuum chamber, or other exhausting apparatus, and also with a vessel containing gelatine or other suitable fluid material, in such a manner that, by opening the communications, the air escapes into the exhausting apparatus and the gelatine takes its place. By this method the high temperature previously used in preserving food was not required; it could, on the contrary, be cooked at very low temperatures, and in a space almost void of air. The apparatus used is shown in section, in the following figure: A is a vessel open at the top, and filled to the line i with fluid gelatine, having a pipe j, and a stopcock e firmly attached to it. B is a sphere of metal in which a vacuum is produced by blowing steam through it by the pipe l out through k; l and k are then closed, and a jet of water at m, applied to the outside of the sphere, condenses the steam and leaves a vacuum within it. The substance to be preserved is inclosed within a cylindrical tin vessel C, the top of which is then soldered on, and two small metal pipes d and c passed into it air-tight, as far as a b; the other ends being secure to the pipes j j at h h. The case is next immersed in a water-bath N, at a temperature of about 120°, and by turning the cock f, the greater portion of the air in the case C rushes into B; the article of food, animal or vegetable, in the case, being thus relieved of atmospheric pressure, the heat of 120° is sufficient to cook it, and to expel the air from it. A fowl is cooked in this way in about fifteen minutes. The cock e is then opened, and the gelatine, kept fluid by the warm bath P, enters by the pipes j and c, into the case C, and drives the small portion of air left therein into the vacuum chamber B. The case C is then hermetically sealed by nipping the tubes d and c at the points g g. The case is then submitted for a few minutes to the action of boiling water (thirty minutes for a fowl), and when cool, the process is complete.
A concentrated form of food, called meat biscuit, excited a considerable degree of attention in the Great Exhibition. It is formed by boiling down the fresh beef of Texas, and mixing into the strong beef-tea thus formed a certain proportion of the finest flour. The biscuit formed from these materials is so nutritive, that less than four ounces a day (mixed with warm water or not, according to circumstances) is sufficient food for a man in active service. It is very light and portable, and keeps perfectly well without change; hence it is admirably adapted to the provisioning of troops, ships, and overland expeditions. The manufacture is also of great importance to those countries in which cattle are superabundant, and are killed merely for the sake of their skins for the tanner, or their bones for the farmer, the flesh being actually thrown away. In some places, animals which we are accustomed to regard as valuable are so numerous that they are drowned by hundreds, merely to get rid of them, neither their skin, bones, nor flesh serving as a pretext for the wholesale slaughter.
Milk has been preserved in the following manner: Fresh milk is reduced by boiling to one-half, and beaten up with yolk of eggs, in the proportion of eight eggs to every ten and a half quarts of milk. The whole is then placed on the fire for half an hour, and skimmed frequently; it is next strained and heated in a water-bath for two hours. It is stated that this milk will keep good for two years, and, if churned, would afford good butter. Cream may be preserved by boiling five measures down to four; then, after cooling and skimming, it is put into a bottle, corked down, luted, and kept in the boiling heat of a water-bath for half an hour. This, it is said, will keep two years.
A much better method of preserving milk is that first pointed out by M. Dirchoff, the Russian chemist; namely, to solidify it by driving off the aqueous portion by a gentle heat. Specimens of consolidated milk were shown in the Great Exhibition; and it was stated that, after being dissolved in boiling water, and reproduced in the form of milk, the solution will keep pure for four or five days. As milk contains 873 parts of water in every 1000, it follows that 1000 parts of milk will yield by evaporation only 127 parts.
7. Potting is only another contrivance for excluding animal substances from contact with air. Lean meat should be selected, cooked, and then reduced to a pulp by being beaten in a mortar, salt and spices being incorporated. The pulp is then rammed into jars, and preserved from the air by a thick coating of melted butter or lard poured over it.
In the preservation of fruits and vegetables, some are dried, as in the case of nuts, raisins, sweet herbs, &c.; others are preserved by sugar, such as many of the fruits, whose delicate juices would be dissipated in the process of drying. Some are preserved in vinegar, as in the case of pickles; a few by salting, as French beans; and others are preserved in spirits.
Appert's method applies to vegetables and fruits of all kinds; they need not, however, be parboiled. The dry and fresh-gathered fruits are put into strong, wide-mouthed glass bottles, carefully corked, and luted with a cement of lime and soft cheese, and bound down with wire. The bottles are then inclosed separately in canvas bags, and put into a kettle of water, which is gradually heated until it boils; the bottles are kept in this condition until the fruits are boiled in their own juice. The whole is then left to cool; after which the bottles are examined separately, and put away for store.
Many kinds of vegetables may be preserved by being spread out on the floor of a kiln, and dried by a gentle heat: the thicker kinds of roots, such as carrots, turnips, potatoes, &c., are to be sliced, and thoroughly well dried; after which they must be packed up in paper or very dry boxes, and put into casks.[3]
A method of preserving vegetables by drying and pressure, recently invented by M. Masson, was brought into prominent notice at the Great Exhibition. Cabbage, sliced turnips, apples, or whatever vegetable be selected, are dried in an oven at a certain temperature, so as to drive off from seven to eight per cent. of water: the drying must not be conducted too slowly nor too rapidly, but at a medium rate. After the drying, the vegetables are packed into a very small compass by the intense pressure of an hydraulic press; then squared and trimmed with a knife, packed up in tinfoil, and lastly, stored in boxes. A short time ago, we examined some red cabbage preserved in this way, which had been exposed in the Great Exhibition all the time it was open, and had been slowly absorbing moisture, and yet it appeared to be perfectly good. By this method, from 15,000 to 18,000 rations, of a quarter pound each, can be stowed into a cubic yard. We also saw some dried plantains from Mexico (a vegetable of very considerable nutritious value), which had been lying in a warehouse at Woolwich ever since the year 1835, and had undergone no change. It was stated that the method of preparing them is cheap and easy, and that the dried plant can be sent in any quantities to Europe, at six cents per pound, with a considerable profit to the importer.
Some kinds of vegetables, such as French beans, artichokes, olives, samphire, and barberries, are preserved by salt, a strong brine being made by the addition of four pounds of salt to a gallon of water; the vegetables are put into this, and quite covered with it. In Holland and Germany, kidney beans are sliced by a machine something like a turnip-cutter, and put into a cask in layers with salt between; a weight is then put on, and pressure is kept up until a slight fermentation takes place; the salt liquor is then poured off; the cask is covered up, and put into the cellar as store. Before being cooked, the beans are steeped in fresh water.
Sauer Kraut is prepared somewhat in the same manner. The following recipe for making it is given by Parmentier:—
The heads of white winter-cabbages, after removing the outer leaves, are to be cut into fine shreds, and spread out upon a cloth in the shade. A cask which has had vinegar in it is to be selected, or, if that cannot be had, the inside should be rubbed over with vinegar or sauerkraut liquor. A layer of salt is to be put in the bottom of the cask, caraway-seeds are to be mixed with shreds of cabbage, and they are to be packed in the cask to the depth of four or six inches; and layers of this kind, with salt between each layer, are added till the cask is full, stamping them down with a wooden stamper as they are put in, to half their original bulk; some mix a little pepper and salad oil with the salt. Some salt is to be put on the top, and some of the outside leaves of the cabbages. About two pounds of salt suffice for twenty middle-sized cabbages. The head of the barrel is to be placed upon the cabbage-leaves, and must be loaded with heavy stones. A common method is for a man, with clean wooden shoes on, to tread the cabbage down in the cask. Fermentation will take place, and some juice will be given out, which is green, muddy, and fetid; this rises to the surface, and is to be replaced with fresh brine. When the fermentation is over, the casks are closed up. Cabbages are preferred, but any other vegetables may be treated in the same manner.
When vegetables are preserved in vinegar, they form pickles. When sugar is the preserving medium, they are variously named according to the mode of preparation. Fruits, flowers, herbs, roots, and juices, boiled with sugar or syrup, and employed in pharmacy, as well as for sweetmeats, are called confections (Latin, conficere, to make up). Liquid confects consist of fruits, either whole or in pieces, preserved by immersion in fluid transparent syrup: apricots, green citrons, and some foreign fruits, are treated in this way. Dry confects are prepared by boiling in syrup those parts of vegetables adapted to this method, such as citron and orange-peel, &c.; they are then taken out and dried in an oven. Marmalades, jams, and pastes are soft compounds made of the pulp of fruits, or other vegetable substances, beaten up with sugar or honey; oranges, apricots, pears, &c., are treated in this way. Jellies are the juices of fruits—currants, gooseberries, apples, &c.—boiled with sugar to such a consistence as, on cooling, to form a trembling jelly. Conserves are dry confects, made by beating up flowers, fruits, &c. with sugar not dissolved. Candies are fruits candied over with sugar, after having been boiled in the syrup.
The best syrup for preserving fruits is made by dissolving two parts of double-refined sugar in one part of water, boiling a little, skimming, and filtering through a cloth. This gives a good smooth syrup, which does not readily ferment nor crystallize.
The specimens of preserved food in the Great Exhibition were exceedingly numerous; they included animal and vegetable productions, fruits, &c. One interesting specimen was a canister containing boiled mutton, prepared by the exhibitor, Mr. Gamble, for the Arctic Expedition in 1824. A large number of these canisters were landed from the ship Fury, on the beach where the ship was wrecked in Prince Regent's Inlet, and were found by Captain Sir John Ross in August, 1833, in a state of perfect preservation, although annually exposed to a temperature of 92° below, and 80° above zero. Had it not been for the large store of provisions left by Parry near the spot where the Fury was wrecked, Ross's expedition must have perished.
THE PEDESTRIAN TOUR.
BY PAULINE FORSYTH.
BETWEEN the projecting a scheme in the mind and its actual accomplishing, the difference is as great as that between the appearance of some Eastern city seen from a distance in the moonlight, with its picturesque domes and minarets silvered by the rays that throw over the darkest spots an unreal glamour of purity and brightness, and the same place viewed in the broad daylight, while standing in the midst of its narrow and dirty streets. It is as if we had devised some airy palace, beautiful and complete in its smallest details, and found ourselves, when going about to build it, with no materials ready but a little clay and a few stones and sticks, and those of the most crooked and unpliable materials. Few persons realize, before they are twenty-five, the resolutely prosaic actualities of the world as it is. Almost every one in his early youth is fully persuaded that he is about to perform an important part in some deeply interesting drama, and it is a hard lesson that disenchants him, and shows that he has been acting the part of Don Quixote with the world for Sancho Panzo.
Frederic Lanier was a young man of nineteen. His early life had been passed in the country; but when he was fifteen he had been sent to New York to complete his education, and to reside in the mean time with his uncle, Mr. Lawrence. The very day after his arrival in the city had been marked by an important event. He had seen Adelaide Marshall, and had fallen in love with her. This love had accompanied him during the one year he had spent at the High School, and his three succeeding ones at the college. The lady was six years older than himself, but that was an additional attraction. Her stately and graceful movements, her majestic presence, and the calm and regular beauty of her face, never lost their charm to him. He was too much in love to observe that in the light of her blue eyes there was no warmth, but a cold and critical scrutiny, and that her mouth closed with a severe and slightly satirical expression. She was to him a perfect Helen.
About soon to be elevated to the rank of a Senior, he had begun to think himself in a position to show his passion more openly than he had hitherto ventured to do. He little suspected that the lofty Adelaide had divined his feelings from the first, and had received his timid attentions with sensations of gratified pride and amusement that, unmingled with any softer feeling, promised little for the success of his suit. The lady, accustomed to admiration, considered all homage as her due; and, looking on Frederick Lanier as a mere boy, she talked to him familiarly when she so inclined, and made use of him in a gracious and royal manner without the slightest tender consideration for his feelings, or fear of the consequences. She had known many men and boys to fall in love with her, and, when they had found out that she did not and would not reciprocate their affection, the worst that had ever happened was that they had married somebody else; and this she calmly contemplated as the probable termination of Frederick Lanier's passion, while he was internally vowing a lifelong devotion to the lady of his heart.
He had discovered that she was to pass two or three weeks at the White Mountains during the month of July. He decided to arrange his summer wanderings so as to be there at the same time. Meantime, a vague desire to be alone, to feed on his own thoughts free from the importunate interruptions of even the members of his own family, induced him to follow the example of several of his college companions, and undertake a pedestrian tour.
This proposal was not received with any approbation by his uncle's family.
"Now, Fred," said his cousin Emily, "this is too bad. We were going to have such a pleasant time at Lake George this summer, and had relied upon you to go with us. Father will have to be away a great deal, and I am sure I don't know what we shall do without you to go about with us. I have asked Bessie Graham to accompany us, too, and I particularly wanted you to become better acquainted with her."
"Bessie Graham! Why, she is a little girl."
"She is nearly seventeen," replied Emily.
"Well, she is a very small specimen of womankind, and I have no particular admiration for little women; besides, she is somewhat of a chatter-box, is she not?"
"She talks a little, but not too much," was the reply.
"And laughs a great deal. I like dignified manners better."
"For instance, Miss Adelaide Marshall's," said Emily, with a little irritation in her tone. "You are going to the White Mountains, you say?"
"Yes."
"And I heard Miss Marshall say, the other day, that she intended to pass two or three weeks there; so that accounts for your plan. It is a most absurd fancy of yours to fall in love with that iceberg. I have as much expectation of seeing you return with Mount Washington in your pocket, as with Miss Marshall on your arm."
Frederick Lanier grew red even to the tips of his ears with embarrassed indignation at thus having the most cherished secret of his heart rudely laid bare to the light of common day. He became only the more determined to escape, where he could dwell in peace on the one idea that engrossed all his thoughts.
"When do you think of leaving?" asked Emily.
"To-morrow," he replied.
"And Bessie comes the day after. And when will you return?"
"Perhaps by the last week in August."
"And Bessie will be gone by that time. It is too bad!"
"I do not understand what Bessie Graham has to do with my movements. I might change my plans to suit you, Emily, but not a little chattering thing like your friend."
Emily said nothing; she had had schemes of her own, and Frederick had completely destroyed them, but she deigned no explanation.
"I think of going along the Hudson River until I reach the northern extremity of the State, when I shall cross over to the Green Mountains in Vermont, and go through that State into New Hampshire. I hope to find myself at the foot of the White Mountains by the middle of July."
"The very time Miss Marshall expects to arrive there. She is going on horseback with her brother. Her mother and sister are to accompany them in the carriage."
"Ah!" said Frederick, endeavoring, in a most transparently artful manner, to appear ignorant and indifferent.
"If you are going so soon," said his aunt, "we had better see if your wardrobe is in a fit state for so long an absence."
"I shall need very little," replied Frederick; "the less the better, as I intend to carry it myself."
"I have a little light valise I can lend you," said a cousin of his, John Williams, who happened to be passing the evening there.
The offer was accepted, and the rest of the time was passed in discussing the many delightful and romantic adventures that pedestrian tourists have met with both in Europe and America.
With a heart full of hope and joyous expectation, Frederick took his valise and a stout stick, with which all prudent pedestrians provide themselves, and saw with delight the dusty pavements merging into the dustier road, and the houses becoming more and more widely separated.
He had intended to choose the byways rather than the main road, and to make it convenient to stop at farm-houses instead of the country taverns along his route, thinking by this means to be able to see more of the people, and to gain a little insight into habits and customs with which he felt as though he ought to be somewhat more familiar. He had anticipated a great deal of pleasure from the variety of character and mode of life which would thus be brought under his notice; but his first attempt proved so unsatisfactory, that he gave up all farther idea of intruding on the privacy of those who were unprepared for receiving strangers.
He had stopped at a farm-house, and asked if he could be lodged for the night just at eight o'clock. He found the occupants preparing to retire, and, though they made him welcome, and entertained him hospitably, yet he could not help perceiving that he gave them additional trouble; and, when he found that they would not receive payment for it, he decided that it was a false position in which he had placed himself, and that nothing but necessity should induce him to adopt the same course again. He lacked the cheerful assurance with which some men can make themselves at home anywhere, without a suspicion that others are not equally pleased with their society.
The next morning, feeling rather footsore and unrefreshed, after his unusual exertions of the day before, Frederick took advantage of a stage that was going in the same direction with himself, and rode to the village in which he had decided to pass the night. Here he amused himself by wandering about the beautiful and romantic country around, and returning when he was weary to the country inn. This he found so much easier and pleasanter a mode of travelling than the fatiguing one of walking, that he went almost to the foot of the Green Mountains before he thought of resuming it. Then, ashamed of his faint-heartedness, he left the stage, and, shouldering his valise again, he walked for some hours quite vigorously.
He entered the little village of Hillsdale just as the moon was rising, and, after a supper such as none but a pedestrian could eat, he strolled out to enjoy the loveliness of the summer evening and his own meditations, by the banks of a clear and rapid stream, the beauty of which had attracted his notice as he was entering the village. He walked for some distance up its banks, and then, throwing himself down on a grassy mound, he lay in a sort of musing trance, watching the moonlight shimmering on the flashing waters, and listening to the tinkling music of their flow, while his imagination was busily engaged in inventing deeds of heroism and chivalric daring, by which he fancied himself proving to the lady of his love that he was worthy of one so noble and high-souled.
Midnight stole unawares upon him while thus engaged, and, with reluctant steps, he sought the Eagle Hotel, where he had decided to pass the night. A decision not difficult to arrive at, as there was no other public house in the place. The next morning he discovered, to his great annoyance, that he had lost his purse in his evening ramble. He sought for it in vain; and when the landlord, conjecturing from his movements that he was about to depart, asked him if he would like his bill, he could not help a guilty conscious feeling stealing over him as he tried to answer, in an off-hand way, that he intended to pass a few days in Hillsdale.
If Frederick Lanier had not been so unaccustomed to the ways of the world, he would have stated his situation frankly to the landlord, and then have made himself easy until he could receive remittances from home. But, as it was, he kept his affairs to himself; and, while waiting for an answer to the letter he had written home, he went in and out, took his meals, read the paper, and did his best to pass the time away without addressing a remark to any one.
It struck him that he had never been among people quite so rural and primitive, and he was right. But, as the arrival of a stranger was a rare event among them, so he was of proportionate importance. And they were also gifted with the usual sociability of the New Englanders; and a young man that did not seem inclined to tell who he was, and where he came from, and where he was going to, and seemed to have nothing to do but to go regularly to the post-office, and then with his fishing-rod to the river, from which he always returned empty-handed, was an object of wonder and suspicion.
Frederick Lanier, unconscious of the speculations of which he was the object, began to be greatly worried and perplexed by not receiving the letter for which he was anxiously waiting. He grew daily more restless and uneasy.
"He's got a bad conscience, depend upon it," said the landlord, oracularly, as he sat in the midst of his satellites and customers listening to the hasty strides with which Frederick Lanier was pacing up and down the room over their heads.
At length a paragraph in a newspaper brought their suspicions to an open expression.
"That's him, depend upon it," said the landlord. "James Wilson. J. W.; them's the very letters on his portmantle. Five hundred dollars reward. That will be doin' a pretty good business for one day."
"Are you going to take him up, Squire?" asked one of the men in the bar-room.
"Certingly. Think I am going to let such a chance slip through my fingers? It's him—it's as like him as two peas. Read that, friend," continued the landlord, addressing himself to Frederick as he was going hastily through the room, and planting himself so that the young man could not pass him.
Frederick took the paper, and read an advertisement offering a reward of five hundred dollars for the apprehension of a clerk in a bank of a neighboring town, who had absconded with two or three thousand dollars. As Frederick glanced over the description of the runaway, it struck him that James Wilson must have been rather an ill-looking fellow. A broad-shouldered, down-looking, dark-haired, swarthy-complexioned man would be rather an unpleasant person to meet in a lonely place, he thought. He returned the paper to the landlord, saying, carelessly—
"Do you think there is any probability that the thief will be taken?"
"Well, I guess so, if we look sharp."
Something in the landlord's tone struck Frederick disagreeably. He glanced around, and the distrustful, watchful expression on the countenances of those about him revealed at once the nature of the suspicions against him.
"You surely do not suspect me of being this James Wilson?" asked he, in surprise.
"I guess you'll have hard work to prove that you are anything else. What is your name?"
"Frederick Lanier."
"And what business do you follow?"
"I am a student in New York city. My uncle, with whom I reside there, is Mr. Oliver Lawrence. You may have heard of him?"
But no. Well known as Mr. Lawrence was in Wall Street, his reputation did not extend to Hillsdale. Frederick saw that the mention of his uncle's name produced no effect. He glanced again over the description of the defaulter.
"I surely am neither swarthy nor down-looking," said he, catching at a straw.
"Wall, I don't think you be 'ither," said a young man, who seemed to look with some compassion on Frederick in his painful position.
"Asa Cutting, who asked your opinion?" said the landlord, magisterially. "Young man," continued he to Frederick, "I hain't once seen the color of your eyes sence you've ben in my house."
He must have seen them at that moment, for they were bent on him full of flashing indignation. But he went on.
"If you are a college-larnt young man, you can read Greek most likely?"
"Yes."
"Wall, I've got a Greek book here that I would like to have you read out of."
And, after some searching, a small book bound in paper was handed to Frederick. He took it readily, hoping to prove by his scholarship the truth of his assertions. To his disappointment, it was a little Chinese or Japanese pamphlet that had found its way to this remote place.
"This is not Greek; it is Chinese," said he.
"Hum!" said the landlord, in a tone of contempt; "that jest shows how much you know about it. If that ain't Greek, I would like to know what is. Do you ever see paper like that nowadays? That's Greek paper; it was invented ages before Chiny was ever heard of."
"Wall," said Asa Cutting, "I always have thought that them scratches in that book that pass for letters were jest like the scratches on the tea-chists in my store."
"Asa Cutting, what you think is nothin' to nobody, and what you say had better be the same. Young man, sence Greek is unbeknown to you, may be you'll have better luck with Latin."
"I can read Latin," said Frederick, modestly.
"Do you see them letters on my sign? You can read them out of the window here."
"You mean the motto, 'E pluribus unum,' I suppose?" said Frederick.
"Yes," said the landlord. "What do they stand for now?"
"'One of many,'" said Frederick.
"I thought how it would be," exclaimed the landlord, triumphantly. "'One of many!' What, in the name of common sense, does that mean? No, young man; don't you see they are put under the eagle, and they mean, 'The eagle's flight is out of sight?'"
"I think you are mistaken, Square," said the pertinacious Asa; "I am sure the stranger is right."
"Capen Cutting, you are like a sheep's head, all jaw," said the landlord, with some irritation. "You think you've got more sense than any one about here; but I guess you'll find yourself mistaken. Leftenant Davis, of the United States Army, told me what them words stood for, not more than a year ago, and it's likely he'd know. Young man, I'm afraid you are in a bad way."
Frederick began to think so himself.
"I assure you," he said, "that I am not James Wilson."
"Young man, you be," said the landlord, sternly. "What have you got J. W. on your portmantle for, I'd like to know?"
"That is a valise that was lent to me by my cousin, John Williams," said Frederick. "If you will wait till I can write to New York and receive an answer, I can satisfy you that you are mistaken in the person."
"I think, Square, you might allow the young man that chance," said Asa Cutting.
"Wall, I'd be willin' to do it," said the landlord, "if I only knew where to keep him; but the jail hasn't been mended sence that nigger took the roof off with his head and got out, two months ago; and there ain't a room in my house but the cellar that ain't about as onsafe as out doors."
Meantime, as people were dropping into the bar-room, the landlord, for greater privacy and safety, took his captive, with a small train of advisers and lookers-on, into the parlor, and there continued the discussion as to the proper course to be pursued. Frederick offered to give his word not to attempt an escape; but that proposal the landlord put aside with great contempt, and, disdaining any farther parley, Frederick listened in angry silence to the different plans suggested by the landlord to insure the safe keeping of the prisoner, and the consequent obtaining of the reward.
There was a slight bustle in front of the tavern, but the debate was so interesting that it passed almost unnoticed. Soon after, the parlor door was thrown open, and Adelaide Marshall entered, followed by her brother. Frederick thought he had never seen her look so magnificently beautiful. Her long riding-habit showed her figure to great advantage; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkling with the light and color of vigorous health and animation, and the mountain breeze had arranged her blonde hair with a most picturesque negligence around her fair open forehead.
"Why, Mr. Lanier," said she, with gracious cordiality, "this is an unexpected pleasure."
"Fred, I am delighted to meet you," exclaimed Henry Marshall.
An expression of disappointment passed over the landlord's face.
"Do you know this young man?" asked he.
"Certainly," replied Mr. Marshall, with some surprise; "he is an old friend of mine."
"Wall, Square," said Asa Cutting, "I told you you'd better take care what you was about. I kinder thought all along the young man didn't look like a thief."
"That's complimentary," said Miss Marshall. "You seem to have been in some trouble. I am glad we came in time to relieve you from such suspicions."
Frederick could not echo her expressions of pleasure. A week or two in jail, or even a temporary confinement in the landlord's cellar, would have been a light trouble compared with the mortification of being seen by Miss Marshall in such a position. He explained, with an attempt at indifference, the circumstances which had conspired against him, and Adelaide found them highly amusing. She laughed heartily over the advertisement, dwelling with malicious pleasure over each unflattering epithet. She listened to Asa Cutting's circumstantial account of the whole affair with an interest that led him insensibly to make it as long as possible; and, when he came to the landlord's suggestion of confining the suspected man in the cellar, she seemed so very much amused that Frederick could hardly endure it with becoming patience. Even after they were alone, she recurred again and again to the same theme, and always contrived to hit upon the very points that jarred most on Frederick's sensitive nature. When her mother and sister arrived, Miss Marshall repeated the story to them, dwelling and expatiating upon it until Frederick could no longer conceal his annoyance.
He declined coldly the invitation urged upon him by the whole family to join them in their tour—an invitation he would gladly have accepted a few days before; and it was with real pleasure that he saw the cavalcade set out the next morning to continue their journey, Miss Marshall looking back, after she had said "Good-by," to "hope that Mr. James Wilson would enjoy the solitary fishing excursions he seemed to like so well."
The long-looked-for letter came that day; some accident had delayed it on the road. With the remittance it contained he paid his bill, and left the village of Hillsdale with no very pleasant feelings. He was somewhat puzzled what course to take. His liking for travelling on foot had not stood the test of experience, and just then he would have directed his course to any other part of the Union more willingly than to the White Mountains. He wisely decided to return to New York, and, by taking the speediest conveyances, he managed to reach his uncle's house just two weeks after he had left it.
He was warmly welcomed by his aunt and cousins, and Bessie Graham's bright face looked brighter as she greeted him.
"You have come just in time, Fred," said Emily; "we are going to Lake George to-morrow. But how did you happen to get back so soon? I am afraid your 'predestinarian tower,' as that old lady out West called it, has not been so delightful as you expected."
Frederick acknowledged that it had not; and, after tea, he told the whole story to an audience more sympathizing than the former one had been.
"I thought you had a very crestfallen look as you came in," said Emily.
"I hope," said Mrs. Lawrence, "that you made the people understand who you were before you left."
Bessie said nothing; but Frederick was struck by the spirit in which she had listened to his misadventures, so different from the one that Miss Marshall had displayed. The one he had always thought a grave and serious character, and the other a light and childish one. But Miss Marshall seemed to find an endless source of amusement in the mortification of other people's vanity, while Bessie was so occupied with the painful position in which he had been placed that she could hardly smile, easily as her smiles generally came, at Frederick's imitation of the pompous and ignorant landlord.
"Bessie is a sweet little girl," said he to Emily, at the close of the evening.
"I knew you would like her," was Emily's pleased reply.
The pleasant weeks the party spent at Lake George served to confirm Frederick's opinion, and the liking that commenced that first evening after his return went on increasing, until in a few years it ended, as most stories and novels do, in a wedding.
LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:
BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR, DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.
EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW.
THE SIXTH LETTER LEFT.
(Dated April the 9th.)
SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON A VERY IMPORTANT DAY, AND WHAT KITTY THOUGHT OF SOME OF HER MASTERS.
TO-DAY, dearest Nelly, is the 14th of February. Not a girl, I believe, in the whole school, slept a wink last night; ever since sunrise, there has been such a humming and buzzing, exactly as you hear at church when the service is just over. I believe all the girls are mad. No one seems to care for fines or forfeits. What is twopence or sixpence, or a hundred lines of the "History of England," so long as a dear sweet valentine is smuggled into the college? and it requires all the art which a woman has of smuggling, to pass a letter through the examination of this place. I declare it's worse than the custom-house, when you land from Boulogne. Every one who comes in has his pockets searched, and the Lady Principal stands on the staircase all day, watching for the postman. She little knows, however, that he has been bribed (with half a dozen SILVER THIMBLES) to slip all the letters under the door without that tell-tale "tat-tat;" or that Susan has earned in one day more ribbons and handkerchiefs than a year's wages would buy her, simply by having a little human feeling. Snapp and the Lady Principal were never fluttered with such hopes, I'll be bound, when they were young, although it is so long ago they may well be excused for forgetting it.
But it does not matter, Nelly, their locking us up in a state of siege. Rosy May has got a beauty sent round her bottle of strengthening mixture by the doctor's handsome young man; and Lucy Wilde found such a duck tucked in her stockings from the wash. And those impudent fellows next door have pelted us over the garden wall with half a dozen all tied on to a piece of string precisely as if it were the tail of a kite that had got entangled in the trees.
And then, Nelly (mind, this is a secret), there came a new Sunday dress for me (a beautiful shot silk, with all kinds of colors, just like mother-o'-pearl); and what do you think? There, inside it, hid up the sleeve, was such a love of a valentine for your dear, happy, happy Kitty! Oh gracious! when I opened it, I saw two sweet little doves, as white as bride-cake, caged in a net of beautiful silver paper, hovering over a large heart, smothered, dear, in the sweetest roses! It was so pretty, you can't tell; and I was so happy I could have gone to bed and have cried the rest of the afternoon. How kind of him to think of me on such a day! Bless him! How foolishly I love him to be sure, and I should be very wicked if I didn't; for it was only yesterday I flung the paring of an apple three times round my head, and when it had fallen on the ground, there it was in the form of the dear letter "S!" You understand, dearest; but not a word.
Snapp had one. It was inside an orange that was thrown at her from over the wall. Those impudent boys again! She tore it up most indignantly, and flung the bits away with a burst of eloquence about "the vulgar ribaldry of such ignorant, witless insults." We picked up the bits afterwards, and, putting them together, found they formed the ugliest picture that ever was seen, of an old witch riding on a birch-broom, with a big bottle in her hand. It was too bad, but we have pasted the pieces on a sheet of paper, and intend to keep it by us to spite her with some day, if she is unkind to us.
The fact is, the whole house is crazy. If it was breaking-up day, there couldn't be more fun and less discipline. Even that long piece of dryness, Miss Twigg, has been caught laughing several times, and the servants have been giggling up and down stairs, and all over the house, and running every minute to the door, until at last Mrs. Rodwell has put the chain up, and says she'll answer the door herself. She's in such a passion that I shouldn't like to be one of those poor girls who hav'n't paid for their last half year, and to be taken up before her!
Even that curious old Mr. Penn has become touched with the infection. He has been setting us the drollest copies, about "Faint Heart ne'er won Fair Lady," and "Though Lost to Sight, to Memory Dear," and such like; exceeding even his usual eccentricities.
He is the funniest little specimen you ever saw, Nelly, and ought to sit to have his portrait taken in China. He would make a capital Dresden ornament, for he is a very great curiosity; but in his present shape he is much more curious than ornamental. He is our writing-master; but his accomplishments go far beyond pot-hooks and hangers; for he teaches us, also, arithmetic, mathematics (much we understand about them!), and Latin (we all like "Amo, I love"—I think of Sidney as I conjugate it), and elocution; besides drawing to the juniors. Poor Penn! His is a sad life, Nell. He was brought up with expectations of having a large fortune. Those expectations are all gone now; for you cannot read the slightest hope in his care-worn face. His whole appearance implies a struggle to live. Every article of his dress speaks of a long fight with poverty. His coat looks so thin that you imagine, if it were brushed, it would be swept clean away like so much dust. It is buttoned close up to his throat, and what you see of his linen is clean, though rough and jagged at the edges, like the leaves of a book that's been badly cut. His boots are patched to that extent that, when it has been raining very hard, he doesn't like drying them at the fire, for fear of our laughing at the numerous patches about them. His hat—but never mind about his dress, Nelly; for I feel a sort of shame in counting the darns and stitches about this poor fellow's appearance. Suffice it to say, he always looks the gentleman in the midst of his shabbiness, and that he wins the respect of us giddy little girls, even in spite of his bad clothes. The latter, I can tell you, is no small recommendation in a girl's school.
He is clever, and I would sooner learn of him than of that ponderous Professor Drudge, whose explanations are so high-flown that we never can see what they mean, even by standing on tip-toe. At first, all manner of tricks were played upon old Penn. He never could find his spectacles—his knife was always mislaid—his quills were always stolen—but he never grumbled or made the slightest complaint. Last winter he used repeatedly to leave the room. We could not fancy why or where he went, until one day he dropped his pocket-handkerchief. It was nothing but holes and rags—almost as bad as the handkerchief I have seen the clown in a pantomime wipe his eyes with when he has pretended to be crying. He had been ashamed to withdraw it in our presence; and well he might, for on my word, without meaning any harm, we should all have burst out laughing, if he had. We could not have helped it, Nelly. You never saw such a thing, dear! "It was not a pocket-handkerchief," said that great stupid Meggy Sharpe, "so much as a Penn-wiper!"
Well! as we were all laughing at its poverty and comical appearance—you must have laughed yourself, Nelly—who should come in but Blight? In a few strong words she made us ashamed of our unfeeling mirth, and brought the color still more to our tingling cheeks by running up stairs and bringing down one of her own pocket-handkerchiefs, which she bade us slip unperceived into poor old Penn's coat pocket. We watched him from the window. The old gentleman pulled out his handkerchief as soon as he left the house, but, perceiving the substitution, his head dropped, poor fellow, and we saw him with the handkerchief held up to his eyes until he turned the corner.
Ever since then, no more tricks have been played with our writing-master. His poverty, unlike with most men, has been his friend—and a very good friend, too. Contributions have been dropped in the same poor-box for his relief, until the old gentleman has grown comparatively quite a dandy; one of Noble's black satin aprons has found him in stocks for months, and Blight is always knitting comfortable muffetees, slippers, and chest-protectors for him in the winter. We picture to ourselves the old man emptying his pockets when he gets home, and his surprise at finding the little gifts (and cake sometimes) they contain. We are happy in the pleasure we know we give him. He never says a word, but merely looks his thanks. We feel his gratitude in the increased kindness we receive from him. He calls us his "angels," and we know directly what he means; if he said more, O Lord! how we should all cry, and he, perhaps, more than any of us.
He is here, Nelly, mostly all day long; but doesn't dine with us. The Lady Principal sends him out a plateful, heaped up with almost insulting profusion, as if she were sending it out to a beggar. Perhaps she isn't wrong, however, for it is all eaten. He carries down the tray himself, that none may see how clean his plate has been polished.
I need not tell you, Nell, dear, that we all are fond of poor Penn. He is so kind, so gentlemanly, so patient, acting to us more like a parent than a teacher. Besides, he sets us the strangest copies, the oddest problems—things never heard of in a school before—but reconciling us to our tasks by making us laugh, and interesting the dullest pupil. You won't credit it; but that conceited thing Twigg fancies him in love with her. She dresses out her ringlets as long as spaniel's ears, and puts on cherry neck-ribbons when he comes. All day long is she pestering him to mend her pen, and to explain away difficulties about x in algebra; just as if a man could be bothered into love! Penn takes it all very good-temperedly; but I imagine it would bring his wig prematurely to the grave, if he was told that he was going to marry Twigg.
None of us can tell what pittance the Princesses' College gives for the life-service of such a man. Not a tenth, I dare say, of what they give to Herr Hullabullützer. Such fuss, dear, as is made for the Herr's reception! The room is heated to a certain degree of nicety, the light is subdued, sherry and biscuits are ready for his refreshment, tea and cake (our cake) brought in afterwards, and the young ladies kept waiting in succession every quarter of an hour, so as not to lose a moment of his valuable time. And you should only see him lounging in the arm-chair; his little fourpenny-piece of a watch placed before him, as if the object of his visit was to follow its hands, and not our fingers. Why, he looks, dear, the handsomest personification of contentment, hair-oil, and conceit, that a foreigner ever bamboozled people with in this country. His shirt is light pink, and perforated like an open-work jam tart. His wristbands are turned back nearly as much as the sheet on the pillow of a bed. His head would make a beautiful block for a French hair-dresser's window; and he has sufficient chains and miniature pistols, donkeys, cannons, and dogs dangling round his neck to start in business a Jew peddler. He dozes one-half the time; but then it is a reverie—the meditation of genius. The other half he plays with his glossy curls or his whitey-brown moustache, so he may well be excused if he doesn't know exactly to a minute what air his pupil is playing. It's true, he scarcely gives himself the trouble to correct us when we are wrong; but then he teaches the young princesses! and so we should not expect him to be over patient with little chits of school-girls. He is an artist: poor Penn is only a man of intellect. He goes to the palace three times a week; poor Penn has only been to college; so the two are not to be compared.
Once, however, when your dearest Kitty was making more noise over the "Battle of Prague" than has ever been made over the battle of Waterloo, the ringleted Herr caught up her hand, and said, in a voice that melted with the sweetness of barley sugar, "I can-not perr-mit such soft litt-tle fin-gerrs to murr-derr har-mo-nie;" and—and, dearest, I think Kitty's hand felt the smallest possible baby's-touch of a squeeze.
I had on your pretty turquoise ring at the time, and since then every girl has wished me to lend it her for her music lesson. Just as if it was the ring that!!!——
Fraulein Pinchinhertz is quite sentimental over the handsome Herr. She sits in the room during the lessons, looking and listening with all her soul in her eyes, and talking German in the softest manner. But the Herr admires his boots infinitely more than he does her.
But, bother take it, there's the bell for tea. Good-bye, my darling Nelly, and do not forget the toffee you promised to send to—
Your fondest KITTY CLOVER.
P. S. I will show you the valentine when I come home. Tell me, have you had any? Pray, how many?
P. S. It is very strange—some one sang under our windows last night, "Wilt thou love me then as now?" I wonder if it was him?
P. S. I have had this more than three weeks in my pocket, waiting for an opportunity to post it.
A SONG.
BY CHARLES STEWART.
As fancy breathes her gentlest gale
O'er memory's shallop, bright with flowers,
And up the stream of Time you sail
To visit childhood's fairy bowers—
As early scenes bring to your mind
The day gone by of youthful greeting—
The joys and pleasures left behind,
As bright, as transient, and as fleeting
As sunshine on a summer's day—
One moment bright, but ere the hour
Hath passed, the landscape wears a frown,
And then 'tis darkened by a shower:
Oh, cherish, as in other days,
One passing thought, one precious tear,
When o'er the past thy vision strays,
For him who writes this tribute here!
And may thy dreams, so glad in youth,
As Time with tireless pinions fly,
Unfold in happiness and truth,
And sit amid a cloudless sky!
GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.
LESSON VI.
FIGURE AND OBJECT DRAWING.
IN executing the copies here given, and, indeed, in all other drawings which are to be shaded, the outlines must first be put in before any attempt to shade is made. The pupil should endeavor to produce the proper degree of shade at one operation, without having occasion to go over or darken it afterwards. This retouching spoils the effect of clearness and spirit which shading at one operation is calculated to give, and which all drawings should have. The drawings in Figs. 1 and 2 will be very easily put in. The outline of Fig. 3 should be drawn in the manner heretofore explained, the shading put in by bold strokes from top to bottom, because if done at two operations a shadow would result, by which the effect would be spoiled; a few cross-strokes may be next put in, which will give a little roundness to the sketch. In Fig. 4, the nearest part of the oval is to be drawn considerably stronger, so as to bring it forward. Figs. 5 and 6 are examples in which the ellipse is distinguishable. In copying Fig. 7, a nice broken outline should first be obtained; the shading being simple needs no explanation. The outline of Fig. 8 is to be drawn as formerly; the indented parts of the leaf to be put in slightly, and afterwards the stronger shadow, which throws forward the curled edge of the leaf. In copying the annexed sketch of a grindstone, to get the outline correctly the framework should be drawn first, carefully observing the relative proportions of the parts, in order to give an idea of perspective.[4] Having done this, an ellipse may be drawn to represent the stone, part of this to be rubbed out afterwards; in shading the drawing, the nearer parts should be made darker than those distant; this causes the latter to recede, having the appearance of distance. In Fig. 10, we give the representation of an old gate; it is so simple that it needs no explanation. Fig. 11, which is the representation of a familiar object, is treated under a very simple effect of light and shade, the shaded parts bringing forward the light ones; this effect is called relief. It is of the utmost importance that the pupil should have a clear knowledge of the mode of producing this effect. We would recommend her to try the experiment of placing simple objects so as to relieve each other, and to sketch them in this manner; this will enable her very speedily to understand the method of attaining the effect. In Fig. 12, the same effect is displayed, only reversed; a mixture of light and shade throwing back the other end, which is in half tint. In Fig. 13, which is the representation of a fuchsia-leaf, the outline must be put in in the manner heretofore explained; the shading is similar to that in Fig. 8. After copying this, we would recommend the pupil to get a similar leaf, and place it in various positions, so that the light and shade will be variously disposed. This will afford excellent practice, and will accustom the pupil to draw or sketch from nature. In Fig. 14, which is the representation of a rural stile, the pupil will find the principle of relief shown in Figs. 11 and 12 again displayed; the shading behind the stumps throwing the light parts forward, and the shaded sides of these causing the back part to recede.
CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.—JUNE.
BY D. W. BELISLE.
BOOTES.—This constellation is situated west of Asterion Et Chara, and contains fifty-four stars. It comes to the meridian the 9th of June. Bootes may be readily distinguished by the position and splendor of its principal star Arcturus, which shines with a reddish lustre, much resembling the planet Mars. This star is supposed to be nearer the earth than any other star in the northern hemisphere. Arcturus is referred to in Young's "Paraphrase," where the Almighty answers Job out of the whirlwind—
"Canst thou the skies' benevolence restrain,
And cause the Pleiades to shine in vain?
Or, when Orion sparkles from his sphere,
Thaw the cold season, and unbind the year?
Bid Mazzaroth his destined station know,
And teach the bright ARCTURUS where to glow?"
Arcturus is a star of the first magnitude, situated in the left knee, and is twenty-six degrees south-east of Cor-Coroli. Three small bright stars curve down to the left foot, while three of the same size, about nine degrees east, curve in the same manner, and form the right leg. Three stars curve upwards, forming the left arm, which he holds aloft, while three still more minute ones mark the neud of the leash which he holds in his left hand, while his right one is marked by four stars; three very minute ones mark the club with which he urges on the hounds.
The ancient Greeks called this group Lycaon, which signifies a wolf, asserting that it is Calisto who was changed into a wolf by Juno.
"But now her son had fifteen summers told,
Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold,
When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey,
He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay.
She knew her son, and kept him in her sight,
And fondly gazed; the boy was in a fright,
And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast,
And would have slain his mother in the beast;
But Jove forbade, and snatched her through the air
In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed her there."
The Egyptians claimed the origin of it likewise, as also did the Hebrews. Its origin is probably too ancient to be traced.
CENTAURUS.—This fabulous monster is represented as having the head and shoulders of a man, terminating in the body of a horse. It occupies a considerable space in the southern hemisphere, yet it is so low down that but little of it can be traced in our latitude. It is situated south of Spica Virginis, and contains thirty-five stars, two of which are of the first magnitude. Agena and Bengula are stars of rare brilliancy, and mark the fore-feet of the monster. These stars are never visible in our latitude, but shine with greater lustre than any that gild our own hemisphere.
It is supposed this constellation took its rise from the simplicity of the shepherds of the earlier ages, who, on seeing men on horses, supposed them part of the animals they rode; so the Spanish cavalry seemed to the Mexicans as late as the year 1500.
The Centaurs were, in reality, a tribe of Lapithæ, who resided near Mount Pelion, and first invented the art of breaking horses. Virgil says—
"The Lapithæ to chariots add the state
Of bits and bridles; taught the steed to bound,
To turn the ring, and trace the mazy ground,
To stop, to fly, the rules of war to know,
To obey the rider, and to dare the foe."
LUPUS.—This constellation is situated south of Libra and east of the Centaur, and is so low down that it cannot be traced in our latitude. It contains twenty-four stars of a small magnitude.
This constellation, according to mythology, is Lycaon, King of Arcadia, who lived 3,600 years ago, and was changed into a wolf by Jupiter for sacrificing human victims at the altar of Pan.
LIBRA.—When the sun enters the sign Libra, the days and nights are of equal duration, and seem to observe an equilibrium like a balance. Libra contains fifty-one stars, and comes to the meridian the 22d of June. It may be known by its four principal stars forming a quadrilateral figure, lying north-east and south-west, and having its upper and lower indices nearly in a straight line running north and south. The two stars which form the south-west side of the square are situated about six degrees apart, and distinguish the southern scale. The two which form the north-east side are seven degrees apart, and mark the northern scale.
The Libra of the Zodiac is found upon all the hieroglyphics of Egypt, which is proof of its great antiquity. In the Zodiacs of Estne and Dendera, Virgo is represented as holding the balance in her hand as an emblem of equal justice to all.
The Greeks assert that the balance was placed among the stars to perpetuate the memory of Mochus, the inventor of weights and measures. It is known, however, to have existed prior to the Greek nation, and therefore the assumption must be erroneous.
SERPENS.—This constellation is situated chiefly between Libra and Corona Borealis. Those stars that lie scattered along for about twenty-five degrees, in a serpentine direction between Libra and the Crown, mark the body and head of the serpent; five of these, standing in a cluster, form the head. They are about ten degrees south of the crown.
"Vast as the starry serpent that, on high,
Tracks the clear ether and divides the sky,
And southward winding from the northern Wain,
Shoots to remoter spheres its glittering train."
Many nations have worshipped the Serpent, among which are the Hivites and aborigines of South America. Job says: "By his spirit He hath garnished the heaven; his hand hath formed the crooked Serpent."
