Pastime and Pin Money in Crystoleum Pictures

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This is the fifth article of the School for Housewives 1904 series published on Jan 31, 1904, and is a little longer article on the crystoleum method of colouring photographs. A quick google of crystoleum paintings provides a number of examples including a nice example of one where the two glass plates have been pulled apart to show the paint work.

Like many of Marion Harland’s articles this is one that is indicative of the times that they lived in. Compared to present day where a coloured photograph is the norm it is interesting to say the least on the amount of effort that was required to create coloured pictures. I must laugh, however, as I imagine the first efforts of school children who might not have abided by the instructions for acceptable colours and instead created purple or green faced people instead.

School for Housewives – Pastime and Pin Money in Crystoleum Pictures

Who has not wished, in looking at a photograph or other attractive picture, that, by some easy process, it could be colored?

The wish is now almost as readily realized as those of the nursery tales which became facts by a single gesture of the fairy wand.

The magic wand that makes real the present day wish for colored pictures is crystoleum.

Strictly speaking, crystoleum painting is by no means a new art, but until recently revolutionized by the invention of new methods and apparatus, it was a very poor art at best. The old-fashioned method of sand-papering the photograph and then treating it to a wax bath made the work at once trying and tedious, with the result that few reached the desired haven. By the new process, however, it is simplicity itself. Indeed, there are few arts which are at the same time so easy to acquire and so well worth acquiring. The labor has been abolished, and crystoleum painting today is a veritable delight and a pleasure.

The materials are neither numerous nor expensive. Before any actual painting can be done, three distinct processes are necessary. The photograph must be fixed on the first glass, he former rendered transparent by a special preparation, after which it is treated to a coating of preservative. This completes the preliminary preparations, and the photograph is then ready for painting. All colors on the first glass must be put on very thinly, and strengthened at the back of the second glass, two glasses being necessary in all crystoleum work.

Should a portrait subject be selected, the eyes, eyebrows and eyelashes will require the first attention. Then the lips should have a soft and natural appearance. Hair needs delicate treatment. Flowers, lace, jewelry and smaller draperies may be painted in appropriate colors. The second glass can then be taken in hand.

Strips of gum-paper are pasted down each see of the picture, as it is most essential that the glasses should not touch. It is the addition of the second glass that gives the wonderfully soft and ivory-like appearance so peculiar to well-painted crystoleums. Flesh tints are applied tickle upon the back of the second glass, also dresses, backgrounds, skies, etc. The picture is then mounted and bound ready for framing. Pictures can be reproduced in this way in almost any size, from carte-de-visite to large photographs 16 inches by 20 inches. The result is a really beautiful colored picture, suitable for hanging in the drawing room.

If the instructions are carefully followed amateurs will be satisfied and delighted even with their first picture, and consider it quite good enough for framing. Not only is crystoleum painting fascinating work, but as an educational medium should be welcomed by parents and school teachers. It first teaches all young people the value and meaning of colors, and how to use them. It makes them interested in everything around them, the color of the landscape, the architectural points of buildings, etc. They also unconsciously notice the color and form of flowers, trees, the decorative art displayed in furnishing rooms, etc.

But the work will owe its greatest vogue to the fact that by its means the amateur can make the most lovely miniatures of herself, friends and relations. If you look at an ordinary photograph you must admit at once that it would be far more charming if by some magic of the photographer’s art the hair, eyes, lips and cheeks revealed their natural colors. Then take snapshots; how much more interesting and fascinating they become when colored. Above all, crystoleum painting is by no means difficult to learn. It can be quickly mastered by everyone of ordinary intelligence. You can spend a few hours upon a picture, or longer, or spread it over a week, just as the fancy takes you. Some enthusiasts spend a fortnight or even three weeks in producing photographs of some of the famous masters in colors, and lovely pictures they have made.

Girls, too, can make money out of crystoleum painting. Many already do so by icing lessons to others. Some add quite a snug little sum to their income by painting pictures and then selling them, either to friends, or through dealers, or by advertising them. Photographs of local interest, nicely colored at bazaars, while colored portraits make admirable Christmas and birthday presents and are greatly appreciated.

Marion Harland

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Uses and Abuses of Canned Goods in the Household

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This is the fifth article in January of the School for Housewives 1905 series published on Jan 29, 1905, and is a revisiting of a topic that had been covered two years previously on the dangers of “canned goods” although I have yet to come across this previous “talk” in my research. Transcribed from the Sunday edition of The Washington Times.

School for Housewives – Uses and Abuses of Canned Goods in the Household

How to Make the Best of the Preserved Foods and Some Errors to be Guarded Against.

SOME of our readers may not have forgotten a lively discussion we had two years ago in this department concerning what we have all fallen into the habit of calling “canned goods.” In this course of our debate sundry unpleasant facts were evolved that moved me then, and ever since, to press upon housewives the importance of putting up fruits and vegetables for their own family use, when this is practicable. It was proceed upon the testimony of competent chemists that many of the “bleached” fruits and such vegetables as corn and asparagus owe color and “staying qualities” to certain acids and salts which are not conducive to the health of the eaters.

One of our staff of chemical experts announced that he found in three tablespoonfuls of preserved pears enough salicylic acid for a strong dose for an adult. From one canning establishment I received the formula for a powder warranted to preserve vegetables, etc., sent in ingenuous good faith. One of the principal ingredients was salicylic acid.

I am assured by several reputable canning firms that nothing of the kind is used in their works, in proof whereof they invite chemical analysis. I am the more willing to believe this because in mid-winter hundreds of families in the country and among the poorer classes of town residents are obliged to depend upon canned vegetables for variety in a diet of salted meats, cabbage, onions, and potatoes.

Next week I shall speak of the need of a winter fare of greenstuffs and fruits. Now, I propose to show how the reproach may be lifted in part from airtight esculents kept over from the fruiting season. We get very tired of them when served au naturel for days together. No matter how good they may be, they are an indifferent substitute for the things whose names they bear. Since we have them and must use them, if only for their antiscorbutic properties, let us study ways and means for making the best of them. The poorest of the tribe is a vast improvement upon the time when desiccation was the one method practiced for preservation, for winter use, of green vegetables, while preserving in syrup, vinegar, and spirits was resorted to for keeping fruits in palatable form for the table. Sweet corn was dried when nearly hard, and had to be soaked over night, then boiled for a long time before it could be eaten. After all, it was hardly an improvement upon the coarser hominy. Tomatoes, peaches, plums, cherries, and pears lost most of their distinctive flavor through long exposure to the sun and subsequent soaking and stewing.

While the demand for canned goods may not have lessened throughout the country, it is undeniable that there is a growing disrelish for them in the minds of people of dainty and cultured tastes, and this is not so much for the reason given in the discussion, viz., the belief that they are not wholesome, as because they are stale, flat, and “common,” if not unprofitable. People who can ill afford it, pay high prices for forced vegetables, rather than set before guests the content of cans purchased at the corner grocery.

Let us see if the cause of this growing dislike many be not in the nature of the thing preserved so much as in the cook’s determination to regard it as an end, not a means, a finished product, instead of semi-raw material. The wrong way to serve all potted provisions is to “dump” them from the can or jar into the saucepan, and from the saucepan into the platter or root-dish, with no attempt at seasoning or enrichment.

Must Have the Air.

It ought not to be necessary for me to repeat again and here as in invariable rule that canned meats, fruits, vegetables, soups, etc., should be turned out of the vessels in which they were preserved at least one hour before they are cooked, or sent to table, and left in open dishes to rid them of the close, airless smell which disgusts many with the entire class. One and all they need aerating – to be “oxygenated” before they are prepared for the service of man.

Get Them in Glass.

Tomatoes, when canned, are the least objectionable of the class. So far as I have pushed my researches for the presence of deleterious ingredients introduced by those who manipulate them for the market, they are comparatively – some brands entirely – free from salicylic acid and the like preservatives. Of course, with these, as with other vegetables, fruits, soups, and meats, there are brands and brands. Some turn out a superfluity of liquid, many unripe lumps and bits of skin mingled with the pulp. Note the name and address of the manufacturer and avoid the brand in future. The housewife who takes advantage of the height of the season, and puts up her own tomatoes, rejecting cores and hard pieces, and draining off half the juice, ill fare best on this score.

When you buy them, give the preference, if you can afford it, to tomatoes put up in glass. The natural acid sometimes forms an unholy alliance with the metals of the cans.

Were I to describe the scallops, croquettes, rissoles, puddings, bisques and other variations of lobster and salmon, which would tickle the palates of the eaters, and gratify the ambition of the hounsemother, I should present the best advertisement of “canned goods” ever spread before the American reading public. Were I to expatiate upon the ease with which the “tinny” taste can be eliminated from canned succotash, and how a can of corn and another of beans may be aired and combined into still better succotash; how canned asparagus, masked by cream sauce, and laid in state upon toast, almost recalls springtime, and when heated and dressed, while hot, with vinegar, melted butter and French mustard, then allowed to get ice-cold – is a delicious salad – there would not be room below this general “talk” for the recipes which are to illustrate this specifically.

The reader is confidently referred to this continuation of our subject for directions as to the “treatment” of some of the countless varieties of artificially preserved foods.

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The Ready Made Flounce

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This is the fourth article of the School for Housewives 1904 series published on Jan 24, 1904, and is a very short column on flounces – aka ruffles for the use of trimming garments.

School for Housewives – The Ready Made Flounce

Devices to be Found in the Shops Which Will Simplify Woman’s Lingerie Making

Several novelties found in the shops at present greatly simplify the work of making one’s lingerie by hand.

Many of us, despite the variety shown on drop goods counters, sill prefer the pattern-made article, and any woman who does this dainty work is interested in time-saving devices connected with it.

One of these devices is the ready-made flounces of embroidery or insertion.

These ruffles come in a single piece, all ready to be attached to the new petticoat without further elaboration.

It will be seen from the shape of the flounce illustrated today that a gored skirt is the style for which the frill is intended.

The cheapest of these flounces costs in the neighborhood of $3.

They increase in elaboration, and consequently in peace, from this one onwards, the most expensive patterns bringing $6.

The ready-made corset cover is another innovation, and much more charming than the name would lead you to expect.

This is a new material sold by the yard, which requires nothing more than ribbons to become a full-fledged cache corset.

A yard and a quarter is usually to be advised for a single article.

The beading finish around the bottom rounds off the lower edge of the garment very daintily.

Ribbon is run through the embroidery around the top, and ribbon with knots and bows forms the shoulder straps.

The goods for this lingerie ranges from 50 to 60 cents a yard. That selling at 60 cents is quite elaborate.

Counting in the ribbon, a charming cover made on this plan need not cost more than $1 to $1.25.

Marion Harland

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Emergency Luncheon for the Unexpected Guests

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This is the fourth article in January of the School for Housewives 1905 series published on Jan 22, 1905, and is a longer article in Marion’s series called Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers on what you can do when you have unexpected visitors and your maid is away or sick.

School for Housewives – Emergency Luncheon for the Unexpected Guests

Let that most trying of all times come around, the time when your maid, who has been with you for years, and knows your every like and dislike, has been taken up sick and is obliged to give up, and immediately a score of friends and relatives descend upon you, each with the laudable intention of “spending the day” with you! Perhaps four or five at once (your table can’t possibly seat more than three additional guests) drop in, and bring a couple of children along, by way of adding to the general turmoil.

Now, it’s an understood thing that you’re hospitable, but no one can blame you, if the first feeling you have is the blankest kind of dismay or a wild desire to fall dead on the spot.

But you “come to,” and the dear old aunt and uncle who’ve come up from the country to visit a few days, and who have counted largely on having a day with you in your home, never know how near a little thing came to upsetting an honest welcome.

You make them comfortable with books and things, and then fly to inspect the kitchen and dining room. The table is your first anxiety; no matter how you contrive, you can’t possibly seat all those people around it. Then a bright idea strikes you; you rush frantically up the back stairs (or “Trip lightly” up the front, humming a careless little song, your very manner calculated to show your guests how extremely well at ease you are), seize your sewing table, and, with a carver’s doily, transform it to a miniature of the big one.

There you put your “little china” – coffee cups instead of tea cups (thank fortune, you’ve enough tea cups for the big table), fruit plates instead of dinner plates, “piecing out” whatever you run short of with the odd gift plates you’ve kept before for decoration.

All these things brighten the picnic air of the little table, and set off the more careful arrangement of the big table.

AN ODD CONTRIVANCE

Chairs, next, to suit that little table – you’ve enough for the big without robbing every bedroom, or asking your guests to each bring his own chair from your parlor. But nothing is low enough for the other table – you bring in your shirt-waist boxes, and fling over them a gay slumber blanket, or an afghan. It’s a trifle bizarre, but only adds to the picnic character.

By this time you look at the clock – you’ve only been fifteen minutes getting this much done, and your rapid resolving of chaos into order is an inspiration in itself. On to the kitchen and victory, although you seem to have to wrest it from defeat!

Your heart sinks again – you’ve plenty of cold roast lamb and quantities of bread, but the bread’s none too fresh and they seem to be the most extensive things your larder boasts. But you make a brave beginning, slice the meat daintily, arrange it upon you pretties platter and then study the bread question. While you’re studying it you’re busy whisking together quick biscuits, and by the time you’ve cut out the last one and popped it in the oven you’ve solved your problem, and decided to turn that bread into tomato toast, to be eaten with the cold meat.

You pare the crusts from the slices, toast and dip it in boiling milk, salted. Then pack it in layers in a pudding dish, salt and butter each layer, and pour over it a few spoonfuls of tomato sauce, strained and seasoned with sugar, butter, pepper, salt and a few drops of onion juice. When the dish is full, you turn more sauce over all; cover and set for ten minutes in a quick oven. You should have enough tomato sauce to make the toast very wet.

Then you discover a lot of cheese, and Welsh rabbit flashes in your mind – it will “make” your luncheon, and needn’t keep you from you guess, because it can be made at the table. But grate your cheese, and see that the lamp to your chafing dish is filled before you go to the table, that there may not me the incessant jumping up and down that is the most annoying habit a woman, whose maid is away, can acquire.

MAKE WELSH RABBIT AT THE TABLE

And when you are all seated, put a cupful of milk and one of cream into your saucepan, with a bit of soda the size of a pea. When the boil begins add two cupfuls of soft, mild cheese (American) with a teaspoonful of made mustard, a saltspoonful of paprika, and a well-whipped egg. Pour upon rounds of buttered toast, each of which has been moistened with a teaspoonful of hot cream, or upon crackers.

This is a very simple form of “rabbit,” but perhaps you’re such a master hand at evolving things that you’re ambitious – prefer to make a more elaborate sort, a “buck.”

If you do, see that the bread is toasted, and the milk heated in a double boiler in the kitchen before you announce luncheon, and soak the cracker crumbs in it. At the table, heat together a tablespoonful of butter, a saltspoonful, each, of dry mustard and of salt, with a pinch of cayenne. When well mixed and boiling add a cupful of hot milk (heated with a bit of soda no larger than a pea) in which have been soaked a half cupful of cracker crumbs and a cupful of grated cheese. Cook all together three minutes, or until smoking hot; add two well-beaten eggs, stir one minute – no more – and heap upon rounds of buttered toast.

Then, if you’ve lettuce, get out your prettiest bowl, and arrange the crisp, fresh leaves prettily in it, and make a simple salad dressing at the table, according to directions given last week. You won’t have much time for your own luncheon, but you can congratulate yourself on the appetites of your guests, which seem whetted by your skillful preparing of good things before them.

For dessert, if you’ve oranges and bananas in the house, cut them up together, and serve them in your lemonade glasses, moistening them well with the orange juice, and sprinkling them with powdered sugar. With coffee, and your warm biscuits and butter, you’ve a delicious luncheon, and one sure to be well appreciated.

At the children’s table, for, of course, that was why you took such pains to make it gay, intending to put them (and your own family’s overflow to look after them) there, such things as Welsh rabbit and coffee won’t be allowed.

Cold meat they may have, and the tomato toast, although, if you had time to make the some baked toast, they’ll probably like it much better. If you have time, make it this way: Toast the bread; have ready in a double boiler a quart of hot milk, slightly salted and with a tablespoonful of butter stirred into it. Butter a deep dish, dip each slice of the heated toast in hot milk and pack in the back dish, salting and buttering each layer. When all are in, pour the boiling milk over the toast, cover and bake for ten minutes. Uncover and brown lightly. Serve in the bake-dish.

WHAT THE CHILDREN SHOULD HAVE

Serve the salad to the children, too, and give them something sweet – honey, preferably, or some of the jam or preserves you put up last summer. Have that as a special dish for them, just as the Welsh rabbit is for the grown-ups, and they’re less likely to create a disturbance (if they’re not overly well trained) by asking for things they can’t have.

Give them milk to drink, or, if your milk supply has given out under he generous demands you’ve made on it, give them some of the grape juice you bottled yourself – they’ll feel that they are having a real party. Instead of cutting up their fruit, have a bowl of fruit in the centre of their table – it will save you work and time, and they’d rather have their oranges or bananas – or both – separately.

Your luncheon will have taken you a good while to prepare, yet no one dish will be troublesome and everything will be homely and restful as you could wish. You will have succeeded in “making a mighty lot out of a mighty little,” which is a tribute to your ingenuity, and proves you worthy to rank with a dozen other inventors.

After luncheon shut your mental eyes resolutely to visions of washing dishes and clearing up, and shut your door upon those same dishes. Give yourself over to your guests for the rest of their stay, and, if possible, forget all about the work that must be done later.

And then, when everybody has gone, proceed leisurely to set everything in order again. You’re very tired, and a little bit bewildered, but secretly rather proud of the way you got through, and glad, too, that you gave a hearty welcome instead of the half-hearted one you felt inclined to give at first.

Marion Harland

What is L’Art Nouveau?

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This is the third article of the School for Housewives 1904 series published on Jan 17, 1904, and is a column on Art Nouveau and more specifically Art Nouveau furniture made popular by Siegfried Bing, a German art dealer who operated a gallery in Paris, la Maison de l’Art Nouveau.

School for Housewives – What is l’Art Nouveau?

What is l’Art Nouveau?

We find in every class of useful articles employed in the home of today certain graceful shapes which we are told are “art nouveau pattern.” We find the name attached to every sort of merchandise from spoons to chairs and sofas, from finger rings and tortoise shell combs to bookcases and mantels.

We are told that “the new art is now permanently established,” that it “marks an epoch in decorative art.” Yet still, surrounded on every side by it, many a woman is still asking herself, “What, oh what, is l’Art Nouveau?”

Let us, first of all, answer her question in the fewest possible words. The “new art,” examples of which are found on every side of us, is a recently developed style in decorative art, which originated in the Paris studio of a certain Monsieur Bing, and was by him christened with the name it now bears. It is a style of protest, intended to wage war against the inartistic furnishings which disfigure so many modern houses.

What is a style? The dictionary definition would be a technical one difficult to understand. Let us look for some familiar examples, outside of art.

Many women at present wear their hair brushed high up over the forehead in a manner which dates back several hundred years. In the details of the arrangement this may vary from season to season, from decade to decade – but the style is still Pompadour.

There was a pattern of coat worn in the time of the English King Charles and fashionable, too, in the days of the French Bourbons. It had large skirts and wide cuffs, embroidery and other individual features. A more important point was its dignity. This coat altered somewhat according to fashions as the years passed, but it never ceased to be the same style. We find its successor today in the Prince Albert, or frock coat, which belongs to a distinct order as contrasted with the “cut-away” or “sack” models, which are representative of other “styles.”

No one who sees a specimen of Art Nouveau manufacture can mistake it for anything else. It is invariably and infallibly recognized at a glance by its leading characteristic, which is that the leaves, stems or flowers of plants and trees form the basis of its design. These designs are sometimes simple enough, but oftener, perhaps, twisted and tortured into intricate patterns. But whether the object be useful or ornamental, and whether it be of large size or small, the fundamental idea remains the same and many be seen in all the complex evolutions of the modest rose or stately palm leaf, whose flower or left formed the skein, as it were, with which the artist wove the exquisite ideas they inspired.

The history of the “new art” is none the less interesting because it bears out the time-honored axiom concerning the lack of novelty “under the sun.”

The most prominent disciples of the movement are one and all ready to admit that anything new in decorative work must necessarily have absorbed something of preceding schools.

The term “Art Nouveau” may be said to have been invented by M. Bing, when he threw open the doors of his now world-known establishment in the Rue de Provence and invited the students of the new art to bring their efforts to his galleries for exhibition. Not the youth of France alone, but enthusiasts from all countries responded to the invitation.

Marion Harland

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Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers – Some Suggestions concerning Salads, Their Hygienic Value and Their Preparation

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This is the third article in January of the School for Housewives 1905 series published on Jan 15, 1905, and is a longer article in Marion’s series called Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers on the treatment of servants.

School for Housewives – Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers

Some Suggestions concerning Salads, Their Hygienic Value and Their Preparation

Across the water a dinner without a salad is condemned as a gastronomic solecism. We Americans would do well to copy this one foreign fashion and relax in some measure our devotion to “fries” and “pies.” As winter strengthens her hold with the lengthening days, our torpid systems require the cooling and purifying juices of fruits and esculents. In unconscious recognition of this hygienic fact our markets teem with green stuffs – celery, cabbage and lettuce – from October to April. Lettuce, the most valuable of them all, is in season all the year round.

In the United States alone salads are, by common consent, accounted the rich man’s luxury. When scarcest, they are never dear by comparison with meats and pastries. And thanks in part to the absurd fallacy aforesaid, a salad, deftly concocted, gives a touch of elegance to the plainest dinner or supper.

The preparation of this adjunct to family or company meal should devolve upon the hostess, by rights, unless she can afford a butler and assistants competent to the task. And this series of Talks is not written for the rich woman. Our flat-dweller’s maid-of-all-work is exceptionally clever if she can be trusted to dress a salad in the precise nick of time, in addition to the rest of her work.

It is such pretty business – the mixing and stirring and turning! It shows off a slim hand and well-turned wrist to such adventure that few young housewives object to the performance of the duty. Most of them take honest pride in their skill in what is justly considered an accomplishment.

If our tyro would acquire the fine art, she should, at the outset, comprehend what some so-called good housekeepers never learn, to wit, the difference between a heavy and a light salad, and the occasions on which each is to be served.

A few hints should suffice to guard her against blunders. A French dressing, to be described presently, is always the accompaniment of plain lettuce or endive. A mayonnaise is not in harmony with the crisp succulence of the tender leaves, and out of keeping with the idea of an impromptu delicacy. Such is a fresh young salad prepared before the eyes of the prospective eaters, between courses – in advertising lingo, “done while you wait.” A better reason for the rule is that lettuce and its sister, endive, wilt within a few minutes after they are touched by the condiments, and the flavor suffers sensibly under the thick coating of mayonnaise.

The simplest form, then, of the salad that follows the meat course of a family dinner, or is a pleasing accompaniment of cold meat at the Sunday might supper (which will be the subject of our next Talk) is this:

The lettuce-leaves which have lain for at least an hour in very cold water are brought to the table in a salad dish and set before the hostess. At the same time another dish and a finger-bowl are given to her. She dips her fingers in the latter, dries them on her napkin, and, daintily using the tips of them in the work, breaks the lettuce into bits, without bruising it, dropping the pieces into the second dish as she goes on. Both dishes should be chilled beforehand. If the dressing has been prepared before dinner, she now pours it over the lettuce, tossing and stirring thoroughly, but always lightly, and when the salad is well-coated serves it. Should the dressing be compounded at the table, she does it before breaking up the green leaves, and thus:

HOW IT IS MADE

Into the bowl of a large spoon she puts a half teaspoonful of salt, half as much pepper, and – should she or her family like to temper the vinegar somewhat – as much sugar as she has salt. Upon this she pours two tablespoonfuls of vinegar, stirs the mixture with a silver fork until salt, etc., are dissolved, turns this into a small bowl and adds five tablespoonfuls of the best salad oil. Then she proceeds to work the dressing into an “emulsion” with the fork, tossing and stirring rapidly until the ingredients are smoothly blended. After breaking the cool lettuce-leaves into bits, she gives the dressing a final stir before pouring it over them. A pleasant flavor is imparted to the salad if the bowl in which it is to be served be rubbed with a cut clove of garlic before it is brought to table. Or a teaspoonful of minced chives may be blended with the dressing.

Warmed crackers, and cream or “Cottage” or any kind of fancy cheese, are passed with the salad.

A clever young housekeeper with whom I lunched unpremeditatedly yesterday, treated me to a delightful modification of lettuce salad. I pass it on to other flat-dwellers.

In the centre of the lettuce, broken into “forkable” bits before it was brought in, was a hard-boiled egg, peeled and ice-cold. Before dressing the salad, my friend cut this up with a sharp silver knife, mixed it so well with the lettuce that we often tasted rather than saw the tiny morsels of egg, and incorporated the dressing – which had the “smack” of a garlic-clove – with the rest.

A simple lettuce-salad with French dressing is the frequent accompaniment of roast and boiled chicken and game.

The universally popular mayonnaise-dressing is a far more serious affair, and in application is almost catholic.

Break into a soup-plate the yolk of one egg, and squeeze a few drops of lemon juice over it. Then, with a silver fork, begin to stir – not beat – the egg around and around. Add the oil, a drop at a time, until the mixture begins to thicken, when it may be put it in larger quantities. To one egg nearly a pint of oil is used. When very thick, thin the mixture by stirring in gradually the juice of a lemon. This done, add again, little by little, the remainder of the it, and continue the stirring until once more very thick.

TAKE NO LIBERTIES

All the ingredients, including the bowl, should be set in ice for several hours that they may be chilled through. The colder the materials the greater are the chances of the sauce being a thorough success. But the directions must be exactly followed. A mayonnaise is one of the subjects with which no liberties are to be taken. In spite of all precautions, the egg will occasionally curdle; but there is a remedy even for this misfortune. Take another yolk and begin again, from the beginning, as at first. When this mixture is very thick, the first dressing may be added, little by little, and very cautiously. If done carefully and slowly the result ill be a smooth, uncurdled mayonnaise, only there will be twice as much as you intended to make. You will, however, have the consolation of knowing that any of the mixture that is left over many be kept until next day on the ice, and will then be as good as ever. The household will be only too happy to have one of the endless varieties of salads for tomorrow’s lunch.

One egg and a pint of oil will make enough dressing for a family of ordinary size.

In the Recipe, Column will be found some of the “endless varieties” alluded to just now. All have been tried and found worthy of housewifely confidence.

Marion Harland