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All of which is very general, and so seems vague, perhaps. So now to make it concrete. Frame this window with curtains which only frame it-or cover it completely, if it must be covered, evenly. Have them simple and straight as to line, and simple and plain as to material. Make them only an adjunct, not an ornament or decoration by themselves. Keep them if possible to warm, sunburned whites, or to dull gold, or to some one of the tan or ecru or "string" colors. These are the colors approaching sunlight.

There is no better foundation or beginning for the window-garden itself-unless it is built into place than a small kitchen table or a wash bench of suitable length, if the table is too broad and too high to suit the situation. Aim at a level of soil which shall receive the light from above, rather than altogether from the side. Of course it is bound to come from the side, in the main; but if the surface of the earth is decidedly below the bottom of the window from six to eight inches below it, let us say the rays strike obliquely down as well as across. And it is this that will draw the growing plants up instead of altogether over. Plants grown on a level with the window will bend almost double in their efforts to

go toward the light; for it is on the tops of their heads that they always want to receive the direct rays, and they bow and courtesy themselves altogether out of shape trying to bring this to pass.

Nail a thin strip of wood two to three inches wide all around against the outer edge of the table or bench top, allowing it to project above the surface of the top like a little fence. It may be a molding or not, just as you prefer or are able to secure; its function is to make of the top really a shallow box which is to be filled not quite full of clean sand-beach sand if you can get it, kindergarten sand if you must buy it. Leave the top of the stand and the inside of this "fence" unfinished, but paint the rest of the wood ebony, green, white, or to match the wood of the room.

On this sand-bed the window-garden reposes either as plants in pots, not so very different from those we are accustomed to, or else plants planted in a box of earth, this box being of a size to keep one inch within the sand-bed all around.

The sand-bed is to take the place of the zinc or other metal tray customarily placed under plants to catch the drippings; but ac

tually it does much more than that. It is an equalizer of moisture, for one thing, and does not permit the plants to dry out as rapidly as they must on the old and unsightly zinc shelf; and at the same time it insures them always against excess of water standing at the roots, which is one of the greatest menaces of plants grown in pots or boxes. Watered on the sand, these retain just as much water as their earth will hold, and not another drop-which is exactly what they should retain. Of course the sand-bed is possible with any kind of a foundation; the wash bench as a beginning is only a suggestion for solving the problem easily and cheaply, and is not recommended where better provision is possible.

Both boxes and pots are prepared in the same way for planting. First there goes in a layer of drainage material-broken pots, oyster shells, coarse cinders, siftings from the soil and what not; and on top of this a filling of potting soil. This must be mixed, usually, for perfect potting soil is seldom found in an ordinary garden. To ordinary garden soil add sharp, clean sand until the former is "friable" that is, porous, light, and readily drained-together with finely ground bone meal or pulverized sheep manure, or both, in the proportion of about a double handful to a pailful of the soil. Mix this very thoroughly before using.

A window-garden need not necessarily employ many varieties in its planting in order to be interesting and attractive. Indeed, it is with gardening indoors quite the same as out-a mass of one well-chosen thing is greatly to be preferred to single specimens of many varieties, however beautiful as specimens these may be. It is mass that counts always-the continuity of it as well as the impressiveness of quantity.

Of all the plants available for the windowgarden there are two very decidedly the best. One of these is the ubiquitous geranium. This will grow probably for more kinds of people, and in more kinds of places, than any other plant on earth; but that is not to say that geraniums rightly selected and tended are not quite a different plant from the scraggly thing usually seen. Indeed, they possess a dazzling beauty altogether unsuspected by the average person who has never seen a really fine plant.

Select a fine variety, either pink, scarlet, or deep red, in the first place; use only this, or this and some equally good white-flowering form; give the plants a soil that is

"towards heavy" rather than light-less sand mixed with it than ordinary potting soil requires, or even some heavy loam and cow manure added, to insure density; and always keep them "towards dry" rather than well watered, and in a sunny place.

The other plant of this twain is heliotrope; and I put it second only because it is to me first choice. Modern horticulture has developed not only several shades of purple of this exquisite old plant, but a white form as well, and flowers in trusses six inches across. Heliotrope does not transplant well, however, so it is better to raise the plants from seed in the box, or in pots where they are to abide permanently, or to transplant only by repotting from small pots to larger. Be very sure that the plants never get dry at the roots; and never undertake to grow them where the night temperature will go lower than 55°.

The common smilax which florists use is a charming window-vine, and it has fragrant white blossoms in winter, too, which I doubt many know. A plant or two of this at either end of any sort of mass is delight

ful, or a whole window-garden filled with it. Give it a little lattice and let its delicate tracery embower the whole window, if you like; it will, easily, for its average growth is ten feet. One of its greatest advantages is that it will grow in the shade, where few things can be induced to grow indoors. Enrich the soil for it by adding a little more than the double handful of bone-meal to a pailful.

For semi-shady windows choose fuchsias, begonias, or primroses. And for an altogether shady window limit the choice to English ivy, myrtle, "corn-palm" or aspidistra, or such ferns as do not require the hothouse atmosphere of moisture. It is practically impossible to have flowering plants, even the socalled shade-enduring kinds, blossom in absolute shade, therefore frank recognition of such a window's limits will bring more satisfactory results than the most laborious effort to do the impossible. Myrtle does bloom in dense shade, however, and a combination of the common Vinca major alba with the Madagascar periwinkle, Vinca rosea, will provide very delightfully for a position. where nothing else will grow.

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It isn't how many flowers grow in your window-garden-it is the mass of bloom that tells. You can always count on geraniums and heliotrope; for less sunny windows, on fuchsias, begonias, and primroses; for growing in real shade, on ivy, myrtle, periwinkle, ferns. A charming window-vine is smilax, which climbs easily, and in winter blossoms fragrantly in white-as few people know

B

Sinful Economies and Wicked Wastes

J

BEING A SEMI-SERMONETTE ON FRENCH HOUSEWIFELY THRIFT

By Martha McCulloch-Williams

Author of "Dishes and Beverages of the Old South," etc.

UST as we had got away from the old ascetic doctrine that appetite was shameful, given us but to be mortified, that things pleasant to our palates were bad for our souls, comes the high cost of living to serve us even worse. It has flooded us with preachments as to our sinful extravagance in diet, it has bombarded us with meatless menus, set us awash with inky floods describing sociologic and college meals at about the price of a postage-stamp. Worse than all else, it tells us fairy tales of French thrift and prosperity, founded on the cornerstone of the pot au feu.

One who knows, reads to laugh a little impatiently. But the multitude which does not know accepts the title for gospel. It does not realize the fact, which is wholly beyond contradiction, that you can never take out of a pot au feu, or otherwise, one grain of nutriment you have not put into

Cookery is not alchemy-it cannot create. Its utmost is to make available food elements in raw stuffs. How then shall a few pounds of meat, more than half bone and gristle, supplemented by herbs, seasoning, a handful of barley, a few carrots, and turnips, supply plentiful food to a family through several days? That is exactly what was set forth for it, categorically, in a late publication. It has been set forth over and over, in slurring contrast to American wastefulness.

Only think, cry these traveled wise folk, French working people eat merely to live; American working people, too many of them, live to eat. Tradesmen tell us it is their laboring custom, which demands, and for the most part gets, the best of everything. When, when, will our people learn that the way to have your cake is not to eat it?

My traveled friends, I do certainly hope never. The laborer is worthy not only of his hire, but of hire enough to keep him full fed, and on the best. Don't tell me bone and gristle and so on are really the best-if you but cook them rightly. If they were the best, they wouldn't be cheap-no trust so far has set out to corner them. I grant you readily that it is well enough to know in what fashion such food supplies can best be used, but that is not saying they are preferable to better things. Wonder if you preachers have ever tried a dinner of soup-meat? It is mighty close kin to the thready French boulli. Meat half gristle becomes tender enough by long, slow cooking-but the taste, even with seasoning, is painfully like glue. It will serve as a foundation of soups, stews, and so ona meal of it once a week will do no hurt. Make it staple, and see what happens! If you have growing children, they will either be pale and stunted or grow up spindling, almost spineless-unless the soup feeding is generously supplemented with

eggs, cheese, milk, butter, and fruit, along with rich sweets.

France, rich in money, is poor in men, and growing poorer. Not only is the birth-rate

smaller than the death-rate -the term of the conscript has been extended from

two years to three,

for only thus

can the

army be

kept at full

strength

without

lowering

the physical standard

to use up, and use up very badly, a halfcent's worth of stale or broken bread. Whoso sets it before her lord oftener that once a fortnight is guilty of contributory negligence if he sues for divorce. Better throw away the Prevention is easiest. If your

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for recruits. England, where underfeeding is notorious, has been forced to lower the standard of height-I think by two inches. Facts like these somehow recall Scripture. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his Own soul?" Paraphrase, "What shall it profit a nation to gain the whole world, and lose its civic soul?" The process may be slow, but it is deadly sure. Kipling is in many things more seer than poet. He delights to sing of the countries overseas, with "Their tall deep-bosomed women, Their stalwart meat-fed men." He knows the difference only too painfully. A nation underfed is an open invitation to plague and famine.

A new rice-boiler. Rice cooked thus is whole, every grain distinct, tender, and perfectly steamed

Witness India, whose rice-eating millions, slow-witted and treacherous, breed like rabbits in a warren, to die like murrained sheep when the rains fail or pious pilgrims bring home the plague. Depend on it, the roast beef of old England has done a lot toward making the British drum-beat heard round the world. It is a question, though, if the credit does not truly belong to bacon. Tommy Atkins eats that, when he gets the taste of meat-and Tommy is, in the last analysis, the symbol and epitome of military glory.

A mere exordium, this, to the sermon whose message is, Live generously, but eschew sinful economies. Bread-pudding, for example-which entails the wasting of fifty cents' worth of eggs, milk, butter, and sugar

family

leaves its

crusts, cut them off before slicing the bread,

brown in

the oven, then

either crush and use up as brown crumbs, or serve crisp and well buttered, smoking hot, instead of rolls or toast for breakfast. Crisped slowly and browned throughout, they crackle and crumble in the teeth. Nothing is more wholesome for children and few things more tasty.

Brown crumbs soaked in melted butter, then made into puddings or custards with eggs, sugar, and milk, reënforced in taste by soaked raisins or candied peel cut fine, baked, and set aside, are a very present help in the matter of satisfying ravenous after-school appetites. The appetites should never be left unsatisfied. An inalienable right of growing children is enough to eat. Their schedule of meals might with advantage resemble that of an English maid who told her prospective mistress she should expect to have, if she took the place, "A dew-bit and breakfast, a stay-bit and luncheon, a nommett, a crummett, tea, dinner, and supper." Unless food is relished it does not satisfy-therefore down with the fetish that things good for your palate are very, very bad for your health. A stomach may be full of pale and nasty concoctions, or inert masses lacking flavor and savoryet crave furiously something different. This after-craving, due to unsatisfying meals, does much to fill the saloons, to send boys and girls to the ice-cream parlors or soda-fountains with their resultant perils. No better First Aid to Family Happiness than a well-filled cake-box, a pie-shelf

never empty, a spice-scented cold ham, ever has been found-or ever will be.

Proper feeding is the bed-rock of proper breeding. Good food, well served and well relished, makes good blood, nerves that last -hence good understanding, good temper, and good manners. Hunger is a fruitful source of ill. Even worse is the sense of repletion from ill feeding with yet a gnawing ache underneath. Flavor and savor are essential to digestion, but they are crutches merely. Your dinner must not be "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen," as is so often the case in the table d'hôtes. Instead, let it be something hot in the mouth, sweet to the palate, tangible, ponderable, to be chewed with relish and swallowed with joy. This means-meat with the proper trimmings. The problem is how to get the meat in sufficient quantity and quality, yet avoid bankruptcy.

Meat prices are mountainous--and mounting. The sociologists, of course, have a remedy. They calmly bid you eat very little of it-making out with things like eggs, cheese, and so on. This, quite regardless of the fact that eggs and cheese are not cheap-indeed, their cost is on all fours with pretty much everything else. The sociologists remind me of a wise lady who told the world how to live well on nothing through the pages of a Sunday paper. To make one chicken yield three dinners for a large family, you had only to boil head, feet, wings, and gizzard, make soup of the boiling water, and serve it

with two pounds

of sausage and

potatoes

on the side-for your dinner Saturday. Next day roast your chick, first cutting off the drumsticks-eat one side of the breast and one thigh. What remained, by help of the reserved drumsticks, would be abundance for Monday dinner. Maybe soonly the family appetite must have been severely chastened.

Such counsel is an insult to intelligence. Instead, my way is-save on something else. The "movies," for instance, are cheap, but if the family of three, or even two, goes twice a week, there's the price of a good dinner-meat. Missionaries also. Better use your pennies to prevent home heathen than send them wandering to the heathen in his blindness-who is quite happy bowing down to wood and stone. Bacon comes in handily here. It is not cheap actually only relatively. A pound, boiled, with string-beans, cabbage, kale, turnips, etc., seasons a huge potful. Boil the meat two hours at least before putting in the vegetables; thus it becomes in a degree degree emulsified and very digestible. Or else fry the bacon crisp, pour away part of the fat for later shortening, and fry in what remains, apples, tomatoes, potatoes of both sorts, sliced a quarter-inch thick, or mashed potatoes made in tiny cakes. Bananas, too-they take only a little while, but should be fried last on account of dripping sweet juice. All these things the crisp bacon makes delicious. Either boiled or fried thus, with sour pickle or cayenne vinegar, plenty of bread and butter, a fat generous pie,

and cups of black coffee afterward, and the eaters will certainly know they have dined.

[graphic]

The

This illustration shows a practical breakfast service for oranges that will fill a long felt want. oranges are quickly prepared and in a most convenient fashion for eating. The method, which comes to us from a land of oranges, can be fully appreciated only after a trial

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