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JavaScript & DHTML Cookbook ™
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 SECOND EDITION
™

JavaScript & DHTML Cookbook

Danny Goodman

Beijing • Cambridge • Farnham • Köln • Paris • Sebastopol • Taipei • Tokyo

JavaScript and DHTML Cookbook™, Second Edition
by Danny Goodman

Copyright © 2007, 2003 Danny Goodman. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North, Sebastopol, CA 95472.

O’Reilly books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. Online editions
are also available for most titles (safari.oreilly.com). For more information, contact our
corporate/institutional sales department: (800) 998-9938 or [email protected].

Editor: Tatiana Apandi Cover Designer: Karen Montgomery

Production Editor: Laurel R.T. Ruma Interior Designer: David Futato
Proofreader: Audrey Doyle Illustrators: Robert Romano and Jessamyn Read
Indexer: Ellen Troutman Zaig

Printing History:
April 2003: First Edition.
August 2007: Second Edition.

Nutshell Handbook, the Nutshell Handbook logo, and the O’Reilly logo are registered trademarks of
O’Reilly Media, Inc. The Cookbook series designations, JavaScript and DHTML Cookbook, the image of
a howler monkey, and related trade dress are trademarks of O’Reilly Media, Inc.

Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as
trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book, and O’Reilly Media, Inc. was aware of a
trademark claim, the designations have been printed in caps or initial caps.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume
no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information
contained herein.

This book uses RepKover™, a durable and flexible lay-flat binding.

ISBN-10: 0-596-51408-5
ISBN-13: 978-0-596-51408-2
[M]
 Table of Contents

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii

1. Strings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
1.1 Concatenating (Joining) Strings 4
1.2 Improving String Handling Performance 6
1.3 Accessing Substrings 7
1.4 Changing String Case 8
1.5 Testing Equality of Two Strings 9
1.6 Testing String Containment Without Regular Expressions 11
1.7 Testing String Containment with Regular Expressions 13
1.8 Searching and Replacing Substrings 14
1.9 Using Special and Escaped Characters 15
1.10 Reading and Writing Strings for Cookies 17
1.11 Converting Between Unicode Values and String Characters 20
1.12 Encoding and Decoding URL Strings 21
1.13 Encoding and Decoding Base64 Strings 23

2. Numbers and Dates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

2.1 Converting Between Numbers and Strings 31
2.2 Testing a Number’s Validity 33
2.3 Testing Numeric Equality 34
2.4 Rounding Floating-Point Numbers 35
2.5 Formatting Numbers for Text Display 36
2.6 Converting Between Decimal and Hexadecimal Numbers 39
2.7 Generating Pseudorandom Numbers 41
2.8 Calculating Trigonometric Functions 41
2.9 Creating a Date Object 42

v
 2.10 Calculating a Previous or Future Date 43
2.11 Calculating the Number of Days Between Two Dates 45
2.12 Validating a Date 47

3. Arrays and Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

3.1 Creating a Simple Array 54
3.2 Creating a Multidimensional Array 56
3.3 Converting Between Arrays and Strings 57
3.4 Doing Something with the Items in an Array 59
3.5 Sorting a Simple Array 61
3.6 Combining Arrays 63
3.7 Dividing Arrays 64
3.8 Creating a Custom Object 65
3.9 Simulating a Hash Table for Fast Array Lookup 69
3.10 Doing Something with a Property of an Object 71
3.11 Sorting an Array of Objects 72
3.12 Customizing an Object’s Prototype 74
3.13 Converting Arrays and Custom Objects to Strings 79
3.14 Using Objects to Reduce Naming Conflicts 82

4. Variables, Functions, and Flow Control . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

4.1 Creating a JavaScript Variable 85
4.2 Creating a Named Function 89
4.3 Nesting Named Functions 92
4.4 Creating an Anonymous Function 93
4.5 Delaying a Function Call 94
4.6 Branching Execution Based on Conditions 97
4.7 Handling Script Errors Gracefully 101
4.8 Improving Script Performance 103

5. Browser Feature Detection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107

5.1 Detecting the Browser Brand 113
5.2 Detecting an Early Browser Version 113
5.3 Detecting the Internet Explorer Version 115
5.4 Detecting the Mozilla Version 116
5.5 Detecting the Safari Version 118
5.6 Detecting the Opera Version 119
5.7 Detecting the Client Operating System 120
5.8 Detecting Object Support 121

vi | Table of Contents
 5.9 Detecting Object Property and Method Support 124
5.10 Detecting W3C DOM Standard Support 126
5.11 Detecting the Browser Written Language 127
5.12 Detecting Cookie Availability 128
5.13 Defining Browser- or Feature-Specific Links 129
5.14 Testing on Multiple Browser Versions 130

6. Managing Browser Windows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132

6.1 Living with Browser Window Control Limitations 135
6.2 Setting the Main Window’s Size 136
6.3 Positioning the Main Window 137
6.4 Maximizing the Main Window 138
6.5 Creating a New Window 139
6.6 Bringing a Window to the Front 143
6.7 Communicating with a New Window 144
6.8 Communicating Back to the Main Window 147
6.9 Using Internet Explorer Modal/Modeless Windows 148
6.10 Simulating a Cross-Browser Modal Dialog Window 151
6.11 Simulating a Window with Layers 158

7. Managing Multiple Frames . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173

7.1 Creating a Blank Frame in a New Frameset 178
7.2 Changing the Content of One Frame from Another 179
7.3 Changing the Content of Multiple Frames at Once 181
7.4 Replacing a Frameset with a Single Page 182
7.5 Avoiding Being “Framed” by Another Site 183
7.6 Ensuring a Page Loads in Its Frameset 184
7.7 Reading a Frame’s Dimensions 187
7.8 Resizing Frames 188
7.9 Setting Frameset Specifications Dynamically 192

8. Dynamic Forms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194

8.1 Auto-Focusing the First Text Field 197
8.2 Performing Common Text Field Validations 198
8.3 Preventing Form Submission upon Validation Failure 204
8.4 Auto-Focusing an Invalid Text Field Entry 207
8.5 Using a Custom Validation Object 208
8.6 Changing a Form’s Action 213
8.7 Blocking Submissions from the Enter Key 214

Table of Contents | vii

 8.8 Advancing Text Field Focus with the Enter Key 215
8.9 Submitting a Form by an Enter Key Press in Any Text Box 216
8.10 Disabling Form Controls 217
8.11 Hiding and Showing Form Controls 219
8.12 Allowing Only Numbers (or Letters) in a Text Box 221
8.13 Auto-Tabbing for Fixed-Length Text Boxes 223
8.14 Changing select Element Content 224
8.15 Copying Form Data Between Pages 227

9. Managing Events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231

9.1 Equalizing the IE and W3C Event Models 236
9.2 Initiating a Process After the Page Loads 240
9.3 Appending Multiple Load Event Handlers 242
9.4 Determining the Coordinates of a Click Event 244
9.5 Preventing an Event from Performing Its Default Behavior 248
9.6 Blocking Duplicate Clicks 251
9.7 Determining Which Element Received an Event 252
9.8 Determining Which Mouse Button Was Pressed 254
9.9 Reading Which Character Key Was Typed 256
9.10 Reading Which Noncharacter Key Was Pressed 257
9.11 Determining Which Modifier Keys Were Pressed During an Event 260
9.12 Determining the Element the Cursor Rolled From/To 262
9.13 Synchronizing Sounds to Events 266

10. Page Navigation Techniques . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268

10.1 Loading a New Page or Anchor 271
10.2 Keeping a Page Out of the Browser History 273
10.3 Using a select Element for Navigation 274
10.4 Passing Data Between Pages via Cookies 276
10.5 Passing Data Between Pages via Frames 278
10.6 Passing Data Between Pages via URLs 280
10.7 Creating a Contextual (Right-Click) Menu 283
10.8 Creating Drop-Down Navigation Menus 291
10.9 Providing Navigation Trail Menus 305
10.10 Creating Expandable Menus 308
10.11 Creating Collapsible XML Menus 320

viii | Table of Contents

11. Managing Style Sheets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
11.1 Assigning Style Sheet Rules to an Element Globally 333
11.2 Assigning Style Sheet Rules to a Subgroup of Elements 334
11.3 Assigning Style Sheet Rules to an Individual Element 336
11.4 Importing External Style Sheets 337
11.5 Importing Browser- or Operating System-Specific Style Sheets 338
11.6 Changing Imported Style Sheets After Loading 340
11.7 Enabling/Disabling Style Sheets 341
11.8 Toggling Between Style Sheets for an Element 342
11.9 Overriding a Style Sheet Rule 343
11.10 Turning Arbitrary Content into a Styled Element 344
11.11 Creating Center-Aligned Body Elements 345
11.12 Reading Effective Style Sheet Property Values 346
11.13 Forcing Recent Browsers into Standards-Compatibility Mode 348

12. Visual Effects for Stationary Content . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

12.1 Precaching Images 354
12.2 Swapping Images (Rollovers) 356
12.3 Reducing Rollover Image Downloads with JavaScript 358
12.4 Reducing Rollover Image Downloads with CSS 362
12.5 Dynamically Changing Image Sizes 366
12.6 Changing Text Style Properties 367
12.7 Offering Body Text Size Choices to Users 370
12.8 Creating Custom Link Styles 374
12.9 Changing Page Background Colors and Images 375
12.10 Hiding and Showing Elements 378
12.11 Adjusting Element Transparency 379
12.12 Creating Transition Visual Effects 381
12.13 Drawing Charts in the Canvas Element 385

13. Positioning HTML Elements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392

13.1 Making an Element Positionable in the Document Space 397
13.2 Connecting a Positioned Element to a Body Element 398
13.3 Controlling Positioning via a DHTML JavaScript Library 400
13.4 Deciding Between div and span Containers 407
13.5 Adjusting Positioned Element Stacking Order (Z-order) 409
13.6 Centering an Element on Top of Another Element 410
13.7 Centering an Element in a Window or Frame 412

Table of Contents | ix
 13.8 Determining the Location of a Nonpositioned Element 414
13.9 Animating Straight-Line Element Paths 415
13.10 Animating Circular Element Paths 419
13.11 Creating a Draggable Element 421
13.12 Scrolling div Content 426
13.13 Creating a Custom Scrollbar 432
13.14 Creating a Slider Control 445

14. Creating Dynamic Content . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 452

14.1 Writing Dynamic Content During Page Loading 453
14.2 Creating New Page Content Dynamically 454
14.3 Including External HTML Content 456
14.4 Embedding XML Data 458
14.5 Embedding Data As JavaScript Objects 460
14.6 Transforming XML Data into HTML Tables 463
14.7 Transforming JavaScript Objects into HTML Tables 466
14.8 Converting an XML Node Tree to JavaScript Objects 469
14.9 Creating a New HTML Element 470
14.10 Creating Text Content for a New Element 473
14.11 Creating Mixed Element and Text Nodes 474
14.12 Inserting and Populating an iframe Element 476
14.13 Getting a Reference to an HTML Element Object 478
14.14 Referencing All Elements of the Same Class 480
14.15 Replacing Portions of Body Content 482
14.16 Removing Body Content 483
14.17 Using XMLHttpRequest for a REST Request 485
14.18 Using XMLHttpRequest for a SOAP Call 488
14.19 Sorting Dynamic Tables 491
14.20 Walking the Document Node Tree 494
14.21 Capturing Document Content 498

15. Dynamic Content Applications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 500

15.1 Displaying a Random Aphorism 501
15.2 Converting a User Selection into an Arbitrary Element 504
15.3 Automating the Search-and-Replace of Body Content 506
15.4 Designing a User-Editable Content Page 512
15.5 Creating a Slide Show 515
15.6 Auto-Scrolling the Page 523
15.7 Greeting Users with Their Time of Day 524

x | Table of Contents
 15.8 Displaying the Number of Days Before Christmas 525
15.9 Displaying a Countdown Timer 527
15.10 Creating a Calendar Date Picker 534
15.11 Displaying an Animated Progress Bar 542

A. Keyboard Event Character Values . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 548

B. Keyboard Key Code Values . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 550

C. ECMAScript Reserved Keywords . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 552

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 553

Table of Contents | xi
 Preface 1

It may be difficult to imagine that a technology born as recently as 1995 would have
had enough of a life cycle to experience a rise and fall in popularity, followed now by
an amazing renaissance. Client-side scripting, begun initially with JavaScript embed-
ded in Netscape Navigator 2, has experienced such a roller coaster ride. A number of
early incompatibilities among major browsers caused many a content author’s head
to ache. But we learned to live with it, as a long period of stability in one platform—
Internet Explorer 6, in particular—meant that we could use our well-worn compati-
bility workarounds without cause for concern. Another stabilizing factor was the
W3C DOM Level 2 specification, which remained a major target for browser makers
not following Microsoft’s proprietary ways. Mozilla, Safari, and Opera used the
W3C DOM as the model to implement, even if Microsoft didn’t seem to be in a
hurry to follow suit in all cases.
Two factors have contributed to the rebirth of interest in JavaScript and Dynamic
HTML. The first is the wide proliferation of broadband connections. Implementing
large client-side applications in JavaScript can take a bunch of code, all of which
must be downloaded to the browser. At dial-up speeds, piling a 50–75 kilobyte script
onto a page could seriously degrade perceived performance; at broadband speeds,
nobody notices the difference.
But without a doubt, the major attraction these days is the now widespread availabil-
ity in all mainstream browsers of a technology first implemented by Microsoft: the
XMLHttpRequest object. It’s a mouthful (leading some to refer to it as, simply, XHR),
but it allows background communication between the browser and server so that a
script can request incremental data from the server and update only a portion of a
page. It is far more efficient than downloading a bunch of data with the page and less
visually disruptive than the old submit-and-wait-for-a-new-page process. To help put
a label on the type of applications one can build with this technology, the term Asyn-
chronous JavaScript and XML (Ajax) was coined. In truth, Ajax is simply a catchy
handle for an existing technology.

xiii
Ajax has opened the floodgates for web developers. Perhaps the most popular first
implementation was Google Maps, whereby you could drag your way around a map,
while scripts and the XMLHttpRequest object in the background downloaded adjacent
blocks of the map in anticipation of your dragging your way over there. It was
smooth, fast, and a real joy to use. And now, more powerful applications—word
processors, spreadsheets, email clients—are being built with JavaScript and
DHTML.
JavaScript in the browser was originally designed for small scripts to work on small
client-side tasks. It is still used that way quite a bit around the Web. Not every appli-
cation is a mega DHTML app. Therefore, this collection of recipes still has plenty of
small tasks in mind. At the same time, however, many recipes from the first edition
have been revised with scripting practices that will serve both the beginner and the
more advanced scripter well. Examples prepare you for the eventuality that your
scripting skills will grow, perhaps leading to a mega DHTML app in the future. Even
so, there are plenty of times when you need an answer to that age-old programming
question: “How do I...?”

About You
Client-side scripting and DHTML are such broad and deep subjects that virtually
every reader coming to this book will have different experience levels, expectations,
and perhaps, fears. No book could hope to anticipate every possible question from
someone wishing to use these technologies in his web pages. Therefore, this book
makes some assumptions about readers at various stages of their experience:
• You have at least rudimentary knowledge of client-side JavaScript concepts. You
know how to put scripts into a web page—where <script> tags go, as well as
how to link an external .js file into the current page. You also know what vari-
ables, strings, numbers, Booleans, arrays, and objects are—even if you don’t
necessarily remember the precise way they’re used with the JavaScript language.
This book is not a tutorial, but you can learn a lot from reading the introduc-
tions to each chapter and the discussions following each solution.
• You may be a casual scripter, who wants to put a bit of intelligence into a web
page for some project or other. You don’t use the language or object model every
day, so you need a refresher about even some simple things, such as the correct
syntax for creating an array or preloading images for fast image rollover effects.
• While surfing the Web, you may have encountered some scripted DHTML effect
that you’d like to implement or adapt for your own pages, but either you can’t
decipher the code you see or you want to “roll your own” version to avoid copy-
right problems with the code’s original owner. If the effect or technique you’ve
seen is fairly popular, this cookbook probably has a recipe for it. You can use these
recipes as they are or modify them to fit your designs. There are no royalties or

xiv | Preface
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
Pots, kettles and the like should be set upon the range—not
thumped and banged. A nicked cooking utensil is a disgrace to the
handler thereof.
Cracks and scaling-off are still oftener the result of sudden
overheating and of allowing an empty vessel to stand over the fire.
The teakettle boils dry, the soup seethes and simmers until bones
and meat stick to the bottom of the pot. To complete the wreck, the
ignorant or indifferent cook snatches off the misused utensil and
runs with it to the sink, turning the cold-water faucet upon the
heated metal. Yet the mistress marvels at the semi-yearly necessity
of replenishing kitchen tools!
Never put away a vessel which is not both clean and dry. Wash with
hot water, good soap, and household ammonia. Use mop and soap-
shaker, if you would spare your hands and do justice to bottoms,
seams and sides of pot and pan. Rinse off the suds, wipe and set,
upside down, upon the range for thirty seconds to make assurance
doubly sure.
Hang up everything that furnishes the semblance of a loop by which
it may be suspended. And always in its own place, so that you could
find each in the dark.
Cover the shelves of the crockery closet with strips of scalloped
oilcloth that come for the purpose, and the shelves on which you
keep metal pie-plates and pans with stout paper, pinked at the
edges.
If you use tin milk-pans, have them seamless, scald daily with boiling
water into which you have stirred a little baking soda, rinse with
pure water and stand in the sun.
Wooden ware should be scrubbed with a clean, stiff brush and soda-
and-water, rinsed well, wiped and dried near the fire or in the open
window.
Buy three qualities of dish-towels—the finest for glass, silver and
china; the second best for crockery used in kitchen work; the third
for heavy kettles, griddles, etc., and have them washed every day.
Even when no grease adheres to them they have a musty odor if
used several times without washing.
Rub gridirons and griddles with dry salt before each using, wiping it
off with a clean towel.
Never undertake to polish your stove until it is quite cold, and do not
rekindle the fire too soon when the polishing is done.
Next to the range, or stove, the sink is the most important feature of
the kitchen.
“Let me see a woman’s sink, and I will tell you what sort of a
manager she is!” was the saying of a shrewd housemother who had
seen much of life and of cooks.
The waste-pipe should be flushed every day when the water in the
boiler is hottest. During the flushing two tablespoonfuls of strong
ammonia should be poured down the grating over the waste. Once a
week in summer add a handful of crushed washing-soda. And keep
the sink, itself, clean all the time!
Grease should never accumulate upon the sides and in the corners;
tea leaves and other débris never be clotted over the vent.
A stout whisk-brush must hang above the sink and be used freely in
scrubbing it. When the whisk becomes stained and flabby, burn it up
and get another. A dirty brush, mop or dish-cloth makes—not
removes—dirt.
Follow these directions, and if the outer drain-pipes are properly
built, you will have no occasion to employ disinfectants and
deodorizers.
The old New England kitchen was the family sitting-room in winter,
and in thousands of farm-houses, this is still the custom. Since no
device can make the sink and its appurtenances ornamental, or
passably comely, have a tall folding screen that may be drawn in
front of it when the day’s work is done. The mistress who never sits
in her own kitchen, but wishes that her maids should have a
pleasant resting-place in the evenings, may offer the screen for their
use. The better class of “girls” will appreciate the kindly thought.
 CHEMISTRY IN THE KITCHEN
Here again I shall be brief and practical. Nobody would read this
page were I to prate learnedly (apparently) of proteids, phosphates,
dextrine, hyposulphites and computed chemical and dietetic values.
The purpose of the honest cook-book is to help, not hinder.
A few facts relative to chemical effects and changes in every-day
cookery should be tabulated.
For example, the mission of the much-used and oft-abused
bicarbonate of soda—familiarly called “baking-soda”—is imperfectly
apprehended by those who handle it most frequently. The average
cook does this handling heavily. “Soda makes bread and biscuits
rise,” is the sum of her knowledge and the aim of her practice in this
direction.
Soda should be measured as accurately as if it were a potent drug,
and never used except in combination with an acid. Even then, lean
to the side of mercy in measuring. One even teaspoonful of soda to
two rounded teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar, one even teaspoonful
of soda to two cupfuls of buttermilk, or “bonny clabber,” one even
teaspoonful of soda to one cupful (one-half pint) of molasses, cause
what may be considered an equitable effervescence, liberating gases
that lighten dough and batter without making them unwholesome.
The “greeny-yellowy” streaks in farmhouse quick biscuits are
poisonous, but the alkali is not in fault. Soda should never be driven
in single harness.
The first stage of incipient decomposition is acidity. If, when a
slightly-suspected fowl or cut of meat is to be boiled or stewed, a
teaspoonful of soda be thrown into the pot as soon as the boil
begins, violent effervescence will attest the presence of the
disturbing acid. This subsiding will leave the meat free from
unpleasant taint.
Beefsteak and chops, which are just a trifle “touched,” may be
restored to sanity by a bath of soda and water, well rubbed in.
Butter that has suffered in quality through the neglect of the maker
in not working all the milk out may be made tolerable for kitchen use
by working it over in iced water in which a little soda has been
dissolved. After which the butter should be wrapped in a salted cloth
with a lump of charcoal in the outer fold.
Ammonia is another beneficent agent in correcting natural or
artificial deficiencies. A bottle of household ammonia should be as
invariably an adjunct to the kitchen sink and that of the waitress’s
pantry as the soap-dish. It “kills” grease by a chemical combination
with it, and lends luster to silver by the same.
Dry soda, laid upon a burn or scald, heals, but not merely by
excluding the air. Flour would do that as well. The alkali acts directly
upon the decomposing skin and vitiated juices of the flesh. The sting
of a bee, wasp or hornet is formic acid; that of a mosquito
something akin to it. Ammonia, applied instantly, neutralizes the
venom and eases the smart.
In the composition of salad dressing, stirring the oil, vinegar, salt,
pepper and dash of mustard together, long and skilfully, makes a
chemical emulsion smoother and more palatable than the hasty slap-
dash mixture too often served as “French dressing.”
Bread-dough which has begun to sour can be brought to terms by
working into the batch a little saleratus dissolved in boiling water,
which is then allowed to become lukewarm before it is kneaded
faithfully through the dough. A like solution should be beaten hard
into griddle-cake batter that has a pungent smell.
Vinegar and lemon juice are invaluable aids in the business of
“tendering” tough meats. Beefsteak, covered for some hours with
vinegar or lemon juice, and olive oil, is made eatable by the action
of the acid upon the fibers which are further “suppled” by the oil.
Vinegar put into the water in which a fowl or mutton is boiled will
serve the same purpose, and a dash of vinegar in boiling fish
removes the strong oily taste that would otherwise cling to it.
Powdered alum stirred into turbid water—an even tablespoonful to
four gallons—will cause a precipitate and a settlement. The clear
water may be drawn off cautiously and used for washing and even
for drinking, having no perceptible taste of the alum.
A bag of powdered charcoal sunk in a pork barrel will keep the brine
sweet through the winter, without blackening it or the meat.
Javelle water, invaluable for removing mildew and rust-stains, may
be made at home in the following manner:
Place four pounds of bicarbonate of soda in a large granite or
porcelain-lined can, and pour over it four quarts of hot water.
Stir with a stick until the soda has dissolved, add a pound of chloride
of lime and stir until this also has dissolved.
Allow the liquid to cool in the pan, strain the clear portion through
thin cloths into wide-mouthed bottles or jugs and cork tightly for
use.
The part that contains the sediment may also be bottled and used
for cleaning sinks, kitchen tables, etc.
An excellent detersive for cleansing and sweetening a kitchen sink is
washing soda. Dissolve a couple of handfuls in hot water and when
boiling hot pour down the drain.
To prevent oil-lamps from smoking or giving forth a disagreeable
odor, boil the wicks in vinegar, then dry in the sun.
 CARVING
The present mode of serving meats after the manner of the table
d’hôte—the carving done in the kitchen, and the results placed upon
the platter to be served to the guests by butler or waiter—has in
large measure done away with the demand for hints to the master
or mistress of the home upon the art of carving. To those who
adhere to the earlier custom, directions can be merely outlines; for
the single means by which one may become an adept as a carver is
in the repeated practice which is required for skill in any work of
manipulation.
A prerequisite to carving is appropriate implements. The knife, the
edge of which has been dulled upon the bread-board, or hacked in
the offices of the kitchen, where it has been employed as the
scullion’s tool, may puncture and tear, but it will not carve. In the
hand of even the most skilful it is exasperation.
The mistress of the home owes it to the head of the table, as well as
to the ease of mind of her guests, to see that the carving set—the
knife and its companion fork—shall be in the best condition for their
work.

To carve a roast of beef

This will depend upon the form in which the roast is placed upon the
platter. If it include several ribs, furnishing sufficient room for a base
of bone, it may be so put before the carver that he may cut
perpendicularly in thin slices, passing the knife in a line parallel with
the ribs. If, however, the roast be laid upon the side, as is usual, the
same direction is to be observed as to the cutting in lines parallel to
the ribs.
Where a tenderloin roast is to be carved—having but the one large
bone which divides the tenderloin from the more solid portion—there
is little choice whether the knife is drawn with or transversely to the
grain: the tenderness of the meat is assured in either case. It may
be more convenient to sever entirely the tenderloin from the firmer
part of the roast before beginning to slice. This will leave the carver
at liberty to serve a portion of each quality of the meat to every
guest, as the tenderloin may not be of sufficient size to serve to all.

To carve a leg of lamb or mutton

If the small ribs—which are generally taken off for chops—are left
with the leg, the carver is free to ask the preference of each guest
for the rib or solid slice. The chops may be detached by drawing the
point of the knife between the ribs, and—if the butcher has properly
done his part—in severing the light cartilage at the backbone, as in
parting vertebræ. The fleshy portion of the leg will be more tender if
cut in slices at a right angle with the bone, as one would carve a
ham; that is, across the grain. Some carvers, however, prefer to cut
lamb or mutton with the grain, as it enables them to serve a portion
more or less thoroughly cooked, according to the preference of
those to be helped. These directions apply equally to carving a
haunch of venison.

To carve poultry

The fowl—whether turkey, chicken or duck—should be placed on its

back upon the platter. This will permit the carver to transfix the
breastbone firmly with the fork; for, upon the stanchness of the hold
here will depend the success of all further operations. The wing from
the nearer side should first be dissevered by a gash of the knife
underneath the socket. This, if the fowl be tender, is easily
accomplished with a single cut. The first and second joints of the leg
may next be separated, and the second or upper joint removed from
its junction with the body, as was the wing. This is easily effected by
a slight cut and pressure of the bone outward. The sidebone may be
taken off by running the blade directly along the backbone; for it
adheres only by a filament of skin and the soft fat that attaches to it
on this line.
These joints having been taken off, the breast is now entirely
exposed, and further carving is a very simple matter. The removal of
the leg has laid bare the cavity, from which the dressing may be
lifted with a spoon, and the cutting of a few slices from the breast,
near the neck, will open the crop with the stuffing usually placed
there to plump the fowl. The main joint and the pinion of the wing
may be severed by cutting the cartilage at the junction of the two
bones.

To carve fish

There is an art in carving fish, and it is confined to a single direction.

It is to open with a knife at the back, drawing the blade the whole
distance from head to tail just above the backbone, and pressing the
meat loose from its fastening. Portions may then be served by
cutting transversely with the backbone. Fish so carved is freed from
the intricate mass of small bones which are sure to mingle with the
flesh if it be cut in any other way. The head, if not already removed,
should first be taken off, and the collar or shoulder-bone lifted from
the fish.
 SERVING AND WAITING
If a butler be engaged to do the family serving and waiting, he
understands his business, or he should not apply for the place. The
rules written out here are for the benefit of households where but
one or, at the most, two maids are kept. I assume that the waitress
takes charge of the table after the mistress has once shown her how
it is to be set.
By the way, I hope you call her a “maid,” not a “girl.” The latter word
has been so rubbed and soiled by persistent usage on the part of
domesticated foreigners, who shed the name of “servant” as soon as
they stamp upon American soil, and by the handling of would-be
“genteel” housewives, that people of refinement hesitate to touch it.
What the old-fashioned New Englanders called “hired help” would
shake the dust off the soles of the shoes they are not yet quite used
to wearing, were you to allude to them as “servants.” “Maid” sounds
well, bearing to their tickled ears a certain dignity not unsuited to
their new estate.
Beginning with the first meal of the day, we will suppose a cereal,
fruit, one dish of meat, bread and butter, potatoes, hot muffins, tea
and coffee—a typical American breakfast, in fact.
A fruit-plate, holding a doily, on which is a finger-bowl half-filled with
water, cold in summer, tepid in winter, is set for each person. If fruit
that requires paring or cutting is to be eaten, lay a fruit-knife on the
plate. If oranges are served, add an orange-spoon. At the right of
the plate are the water tumbler, a knife, with the sharp edge toward
the plate, and a cereal-spoon, bowl upward. At the left should be the
bread-and-butter plate, the fork, tines upward, and a folded napkin.
In front of each plate are a pepper-cruet and a salt-cellar.
In the center of the board have a
bowl of flowers, or something green
and growing, all the year round. At
the foot, carving-knife and fork, a
steel or other “sharpener,” and a
tablespoon; unless you have a
polished table, cover it with a neat
breakfast-cloth, using napkins
(“serviettes”) to match. If your table-
top be at all presentable, lay a
hemstitched or embroidered square of
linen—sold as a “breakfast or luncheon square”—in the center, and
under each plate a doily of the same style. A thick mat to protect the
varnish against the heated meat dish; a carafe, or glass pitcher, of
ice-water on each side of the table, and the tea and coffee equipage
at the head, complete the preparations for serving.
The basket, or dish of fruit, is handed from the sideboard where are
arranged tablespoons, the glass or silver tub of broken ice to
replenish glasses, and, if there are no carafes on the table, a pitcher
of iced water, with a relay of knives and forks in case an extra supply
should be required on account of accidents.
At the last minute, before the mistress is told at the sitting-room
door that “breakfast is on,” the glasses are filled with iced water, a
firm ball of butter and a freshly-cut slice of bread are laid upon the
small plate at the left of each place.
When the family and guests are seated, the waitress, dressed in a
neat gingham or print gown, a clean apron, with bretelles, bib and
full skirt, and a white cap pinned above orderly hair (not used to
cloak unkempt elf-locks), passes the fruit basket or dish to the
mistress of the house from the left side; then to each person at
table.
The fruit eaten, let the waitress, beginning as before, at the head of
the table, take from the right side of each person, plate, knife and
spoon in one hand, finger-bowl in the other, and remove to a side
table, or to the “waitress’s pantry,” where they are to be washed.
Never pile plates and saucers upon one another, or upon a tray. The
habit is slovenly and lazy. Still more displeasing is the scraping of
plates at the side table, or within hearing of the eaters.
If the cereal be cooked, it is usually served by the mistress of the
house. In this case set the hot dish upon a mat beside or before her,
when you have put a cereal saucer with a plate under it before each
person. Have a tray, with a napkin or doily within it, ready to receive
each saucer as it is filled; offer to the eaters from the left, and when
all are served pass sugar and cream on the tray.
When the cereal has been discussed, remove first the dish, then the
saucers, and bring in hot plates, quickly and dexterously setting one
before each person. They should have been warmed through slowly
in the kitchen, but not be so hot as to draw the varnish through the
doilies. Next set the dish of hot meat, chicken or fish, in front of the
carver. As each portion is laid upon a plate, the plate is set upon the
tray you hold. Taking the plate in your hand when you reach the
mistress of the house, set it down before her from the right.
There need be no confusion in this much-debated question of “left
and right” if the waitress will bear in mind one simple rule:
When plate, cup or other article is to be taken from the tray by the
eater, or he is to help himself from an offered dish, the waitress
must stand on his left, that he may use his right hand freely. What
the waitress puts upon the table with her own hand must be done
from the right.
For example, the plate with meat on it is set down from the right of
the person who is thus served. He takes his cup of coffee and helps
himself to sugar and cream from the left.
Before the waitress leaves the breakfast-room for the pantry, if she
does not remain throughout the meal, let her replenish glasses with
water and ice, pass bread or muffins a second time, and if cups are
emptied, offer her tray to take them back to the head of the table to
be refilled. Should she begin to wash plates and saucers in the
 adjoining pantry to save time, let this be done very
quietly. The rattle of china is not a musical
accompaniment to table-talk.
The manner of setting the table and waiting at
luncheon is substantially the same as at breakfast.
Dinner demands certain variations, while the general
principles are the same.
The waitress of to-day has a dinner uniform,
decorous in all, becoming to a large majority of
women. She wears a black gown, deep white cuffs and collar, and an
apron of finer material and somewhat more ornate in fashion than in
the forenoon.
Under the damask table-cloth is laid a covering of felt made for this
purpose—sold as “table-felt,” or a “silence-cloth.” The linen cover lies
more smoothly over this and appears to be of better texture than
when spread upon bare boards. Besides the damask table-cloth, a
“carving square” is laid at the foot of the table, and under it a thick
mat on which the hot dish may stand. On this are carving-knife, fork
and “steel;” also tablespoon and gravy ladle, leaving room between
for the large dish. A cold plate stands at each place, to be taken up
when the hot is set down by the waitress. At the right of the plate lie
the soup-spoon, bowl uppermost, two knives, edges turned toward
the plate, and a fish-knife (if there is to be fish) beyond the dinner-
knives. A tumbler for water, and, if wine is used, glasses for this,
stand also on the right, a little beyond the array of knives.
Some prefer to lay the soup-spoon at right angles to the knives, and
back of where the plate is to be.
At the left of the plate have two large forks; then one for fish, and
outside of this an oyster-fork, if there are to be raw oysters. The
napkin, folded flat, and inclosing a slice of bread, cut thicker and
narrower than for breakfast, lies also on the left.
Plates for the several courses are in array on the sideboard, except
such as must be brought hot from the kitchen. Salad plates and
those for dessert stand in order. Saucers for ices are set upon plates
lined with doilies. Fruit plates are also supplied with doilies, on which
are finger-bowls half-full of water.
A side table is reserved for vegetable dishes. They are not placed
upon the principal table now, even at the daily family dinner. Pickles
and olives are on the dinner-table; carafes of water, and always
flowers.
Some housewives have soup served in hot plates directly from the
kitchen. If the tureen be used instead, the mistress preferring to
pour it out herself, have a carving-cloth at that end of the table also.
The soup ladle lies at her right. As she ladles out the soup it is set
on the waitress’s tray. She takes it off with her hand and puts it from
the right before any guest who may be present; then the family in
turn. At a dinner party, those on the right of the hostess are served
first. The soup-plate is set upon the cold plate in front of the eater,
and when removed is taken from the right, leaving the lower
stationary cold plate in its place, until the fish comes, when it is
exchanged for a hot one.
In clearing the table after each course the soup-tureen, and in its
turn the large dish at the foot of the table go out first, the soiled
plates afterward.
Before the dessert is brought in, crumb the table, using a clean
folded napkin, when you have cleared the cloth of salt, pepper,
pickles, etc.
After the sweets comes the coffee. This is often sent to the guests
into the drawing-room. In this case, the waitress covers a large tray
with a white napkin, arranges the filled cups, smoking hot, upon it,
sets the sugar in the middle and takes the whole into the room
where the party is assembled.
Liqueur-glasses follow the coffee, and are also carried into drawing-
room or library. In announcing to the mistress, in sitting-room or
elsewhere, that a meal is ready, the waitress says, “Breakfast is on,”
or “Luncheon is ready,” or “Dinner is served”—according to modern
usage. One frightened unfortunate, on duty at a trial-dinner party,
filled the hostess with confusion, the guests with secret amusement,
by rattling off all three formulas in a breath.
It is impossible to write out rules that will meet every form and
exigency of “entertaining.” The hostess who, having mastered the
leading principles here given, trains her waitress into the daily
practice of them, insisting that her family shall be served three times
a day in the right order, and as punctiliously as if a state banquet
were the business of the hour, need fear no embarrassing
“situations,” no matter how large the number, nor how important the
stations of her guests.
 AMONG THE LINENS
Everything commonly classed under this head should be carefully
aired before it is put away. Even when this duty has been
conscientiously performed, real linen, made of pure flax, has
marvelous properties for absorbing humidity. And humidity is the
parent of that relentless foe to housewifely peace—mildew. Table-
cloths, napkins and linen sheets that have been packed securely—as
the owner supposed—in closets, drawers and chests, sometimes
present to our horrified eyes a collection of small blotches, like dark
freckles, and as ineradicable, and the folds, when opened, smell
musty. The walls of the closet were not quite dry, or the chest has
stood in a damp room, or the sideboard drawers have gathered must
in an unaired basement dining-room.
It is a matter of common prudence to overhaul the contents of linen
closets, and especially linen drawers and chests, once a month, if
only to make sure that the contents are keeping well. At the same
time be on the lookout for rents, broken threads and thin places.
Never buy cheap linen. If you can not afford the finest, you may
secure that which is “all linen,” round-threaded and evenly woven. A
little practice in the purchase of these treasures will initiate you into
the art of judicious choosing. Having bought good “material,” take
care of it. A break in a table-cloth or napkin, or towel, if neatly
darned, will give you several more weeks of wear out of it—perhaps
months. Hemstitched articles are liable to “give” first in the drawn
work, and a stitch here in time, saves ninety.
You may keep napery in drawers, if more convenient than
elsewhere, or upon shelves in a roomy sideboard. When at all
practicable have a light, airy closet for bed linen. My own linen-
room, built to order, has a southern window, unshuttered, through
which the sun streams all the afternoon on fine days. Except in wet
weather this window stands open for an hour of every day—not
longer, lest dust should blow in.
Suffer another personal paragraph:—Not a sheet, towel or pillow-
case is taken from this closet except by myself. Each pile has place
and meaning. Each set of towels belongs to an especial apartment.
Heavy bath towels; soft damask for the leastest baby’s use; big,
rough huckaback for the boys’ lake baths, and the orderly heaps of
different styles and textures, every one marked with embroidered
letter or monogram designating chamber or owner—are known
familiarly to but one person in the family.
I modestly commend this rule to each housemother. Let the linen
shelves be the especial charge of some one particular keeper. If not
yourself, one of your daughters. This is rendered almost necessary
by the system of rotation that should regulate the use of sheets,
pillow-cases, counterpanes and towels. Those which come from the
wash this week should be kept by themselves. In laying out clothes
for the beds, and towels for the various rooms, select from the
bottom of the pile of those laundered one, two or four weeks ago,
working gradually upward, week by week, until all have gone
through the wash and consequently, all are evenly worn. Never
make up a bed with freshly washed linen, no matter how well aired
it may seem to be.
Sheets, pillow-cases, towels, table-cloths—all folded linens—should
be laid upon the shelves with the open and hemmed ends toward
the wall, the round folds outward. The effect is neater to the eye,
and articles are more easily taken out.
There should be no smell in this airy closet except the indescribable
sweet sense of freshly laundered linen—not strong enough to be
called an odor. Lavender, scented grasses, and dried rose leaves are
poetical in the writing and the hearing thereof, but the sleeper
between smooth cotton or linen sheets sickens of artificial smells.
They are neither “goodly,” nor wholesome.
 THE CHILDREN
Our forefathers and foremothers were dressed, in infancy, precisely
like their fathers and mothers. As we see by the portraits treasured
among our curios, they were abridged copies of the adults of a
hundred years ago. Parents were then consistent in feeding their
progeny with food they considered convenient for themselves.
When the royal father ate fermenty for breakfast it is upon record
that a baby prince, suffering from marasmus, was nourished (!)
upon barley, boiled soft with raisins. They sat up to late functions—
those wretchedly dissipated princelings—and the cotter’s children
went to bed at the same time with himself.
He who doubts whether or not our times are better than the former
would be converted to steadfastness of conviction by patient study
of the nursery habits of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries.
We have children’s outfitters nowadays, who fashion garments
utterly unlike those worn by be-corseted, be-trained, and be-
pantalooned grown people. The cotter’s wife clothes her boys in
knickerbockers and blouses, her girls in loose waists and brief skirts,
all designed expressly—although she does not know it—to allow free
and healthful growth of the immature creatures.
I wish I could add that reform as radical and commonsensible had
been wrought in children’s diet, and children’s hours of rest and
sleep.
Mothers who have thought deeply upon these matters and acted
upon meditation, appreciate the hygienic law that children require
sleep to promote growth, as well as to repair the waste of waking—
which are working—hours. If an adult needs seven hours’ slumber,
the infant of days—under seven years of age— requires ten to
satisfy wants his senior has outgrown. Up to the age when the child
ceases to add inches, if not cubits, to his stature yearly, provision
must be made for the steady drain upon vital and nerve forces.
The aforesaid canny mothers call in the little ones from play before
sundown in summer, bathe them, endue them in nightgowns and
pajamas, put dressing-gowns over these, and loose slippers upon
the tired feet, then set them down to a supper of bread and milk, or
buttered bread with a dash of jam or jelly, and good, sweet milk,
with once in a while a plain cooky as an afterthought. Supper over
and prayers said, the darlings are laid in bed by the time the west
begins to blush at the sun’s nearer approach. In winter, the six
o’clock supper is served in the nursery or dining-room, and the
bairnies disposed of comfortably to themselves and to the rest of the
household before “grown-uppers” sit down to the “hearty” supper or
dinner dividing the working day from an evening as busy, and
sometimes almost as long.
To borrow from the slang dictionary—the child needs the ten or
twelve hours’ sleep in his business of growing tall and robust, steady
of nerve and sane of mind. Furthermore, he needs food adapted to
his needs. Plenty of cereals; plenty of milk; plenty of ripe fruit in the
season thereof; meat once a day; nourishing broths and a few green
vegetables. No fried things whatsoever; neither tea nor coffee. No
pastry; no mince pie nor plum pudding, nor highly seasoned entrées.
Time enough for these delicacies when the inches (and feet) are all
in, the muscles in splendid working order, the gray matter of the
brain “all there,” and ready to do the duties of a man’s brain for fifty
years to come.
One branch of a child’s education, sorely neglected in tens of
thousands of homes, is mastication. As soon as he cuts his teeth
teach him why they were given him. Make him chew everything he
takes into his mouth. Able dieticians are proclaiming boldly that milk
should be chewed, a mouthful at a time, if one would not have it
change to curd about the diaphragm. The child’s meat should be
finely minced for him until he can cut it up for himself, and bolting
be reckoned as a breach of decent behavior. He may forget the
truism that “gentlemen eat slowly” after he joins in the great
American rush for fortune. Obedience to it for a term of years will
lay the foundation of sound digestion. He will have a better chance
of long life and no dyspepsia, than if he had been allowed to gulp
down milk by the glassful without drawing breath, and to gobble
steaks and chops in two-inch chunks.
Insist that the child shall behave decorously at the table, as well as
eat properly, from the time he can comprehend an order conveyed in
the simplest language. Do not let him make porridge of his soup by
crumbing bread into it, or churn crackers into mush in his milk, or
dip toast into his cocoa, or work vegetables and gravy into a mound,
using the knife as a trowel. He should be reproved for sipping soup
and other liquids audibly, and for loud inspirations after drinking.
Line upon line and precept upon precept, gently but regularly
enforced, will make a well-bred boy of him. And right habits learned
in childhood last a lifetime.
There is common sense in each of the conventions at which
vulgarians scoff.
 DIET AND DIGESTION
The second depends upon the first. The two make up a whole which
is Health.
“Food values” is so emphatically a technical term that I would not
employ it here if it did not express just what I mean, when used
untechnically.
What we eat has many and differing values. It is possible, without
degenerating into dietetic cranks, to appraise them properly and to
apply the knowledge thus gained to the building up of these bodies
of ours and the consequent up-building of the immortal better part
they encase.
Digestions are so many and so diverse, the one from the other, that
it is rank folly to prescribe bills-of-fare warranted to agree with
everybody.
Take, for example, milk. It has won from the ablest writers on
dietetics the title of the One Perfect Food for the human race.
Specialists on dyspepsia prescribe an almost exclusive milk diet for
obstinate cases. In typhoid fevers it is the specific regimen. One man
consumes inordinate quantities, by advice, to increase adipose
tissue. A woman lives upon skim milk, swallowed very slowly, to
reduce her flesh. And so on through multifarious cases—all acting
upon the recommendation of experts.
All the time, as each of us knows, certain stomachs can not digest
milk, or even retain it long enough to test its nutritive properties,
while in others it causes intense heartburn and engenders bile.
Toast and tea are the stock invalid diet, the civilized world over. Yet
Medical Daniels (M. D.’s) are rising up by the score to protest against
ruining stomachs with tannic acid and burdening digestive organs by
forcing what is no better than dry sawdust upon them.
Chocolate is freely prescribed as digestible, and so nutritious that
one could live and not lose flesh, eating nothing else, for weeks
together.
I am acquainted personally with ten people at least, to whom any
form of chocolate is poisonous and abhorrent to every sense.
Natives of the land where the cocoa palm grows virtually subsist
upon the nuts, and many in other lands devour the imported
cocoanut with impunity. The fatty flesh acts upon some stomachs
with the virulence of glass filings, producing terrible cramps and
even convulsions.
A noted teacher of culinary lore strenuously recommends our native
nuts, walnuts, filberts, hazelnuts, chestnuts, and so forth, raw, and
cooked in various ways as a substitute for meat. The innovation is
daring, and opposed to the conclusion based upon the observation
and experience of scores of other writers, to the effect that nuts are
hurtful to six people out of ten, the oils, and the cells which contain
the oils, difficult of digestion by any save the strongest stomach.
It is much the fashion with writers upon domestic economy to extol
fish as more economical and more easily digested than flesh, besides
being rich in the phosphates needed to repair the waste of brain
force.
Some people who would scout the imputation of invalidism can not
eat even fresh fish without experiencing symptoms not unlike
ptomaine poisoning. I recall the case of one woman who was
extremely fond of oysters, yet dared not touch them for fear of fatal
consequences. I once saw her faint away an hour after she had
eaten half a dozen.
Who shall decide when dietists and individual digestions disagree so
radically as is indicated by these and hundreds of other examples?
And by what standard of gastronomic morality shall we gage
personal conduct in the government of appetite? Since man must
eat to live, and an unimpaired digestion is wealth inestimable—what
shall we eat?
Certain combinations of materials are manifestly iniquitous. Cooked
fats, fried fats in particular; soggy bread, especially when fresh from
the oven; hot cakes, (“sinkers”), viscid with griddle grease and
swimming in butter; tough doughnuts, reeking with lard; leathery
pie-crust; underdone fish and rare pork and veal; cabbage that has
been cooked in but one water; turnips that have been left in the
ground until they are stringy pith; tough meats of all kinds that
resist mastication; unripe fruits—none of these should ever enter
human mouths, or be imposed upon the long-suffering digestive
apparatus.
The housemother who studies wisely the properties of the fare she
puts before her family will adjust food-values to the several needs of
those to whom she ministers. The child of weak intestines must have
neither oatmeal, hominy, nor mush for his breakfast cereal. Rice,
rightly cooked, thickened milk, well boiled, and arrowroot porridge,
will heal irritation, and, as it were, tighten the tension of the
machine. He may not indulge in the apple-sauce and cracked wheat
which are better than laxative drugs to his hale brother.
A bilious girl should not drink milk unqualified by a dash of lime
water, and never take coffee. Her languid, appetiteless mother will
be refreshed in nerve, stimulated in brain, by a demi-tasse of strong
coffee taken without cream after her dinner. It is doubtful whether
or not creamed coffee is a wholesome beverage for any one. It is an
established fact that the addition of cream works a chemical change,
and for the worse, in that which, taken clear, is a valuable digestive
agent.
An important branch of the mother’s profession is to acquaint herself
with the stomachic idiosyncrasies of each member of her household.
Certain compounds and some simples do not agree with one person,
while others thrive upon them. To be cognizant of the peculiarities of
each constitution is to be forewarned of the danger of gastronomic
experiments. Lay down as a positive law that it is wrong—a sin
against the body given by God—to eat what one is sure will disagree
with one. Tabulate for your own convenience a code of “kitchen
physic.”
To wit, that Indian meal is laxative; oatmeal, heating; wheat-flour,
binding; that tea is slightly astringent, and coffee, creamed, a gentle
aperient; that sweets and rare beef engender gouty acid in those
disposed to rheumatism and constitutional headache; that candies
and other confectionery ferment into sharp acid in an empty
stomach, and should, therefore, never be eaten unless as a dessert.
The same is true of pickles. Except when eaten in combination with
meats and other oily foods, they are actively unwholesome. The
schoolgirl habit of champing pickled cucumbers and pickled limes, as
a starving pauper might gnaw a crust, is pernicious and disgusting.
The skins of raisins and grapes are indigestible. Figs are a well-
known cathartic, a fact the housemother should avail herself of
where a doctor, if summoned, would prescribe a drug. It is always
better to control digestive irregularities by diet than by medicines,
each of which is a poison which cures one ill by creating another.
Pears dispose one to constipation. Ripe peaches and ripe apples
regulate the bowels in a vast majority of cases; an orange, eaten at
bed time, is a gentler agent than Rochelle salts, and does as good
work.
The veteran practitioner who insisted fifty years ago that “cupboard
cures” were safer and surer than those wrought by materia medica
was in advance of his age. The twentieth century is just growing up
to his standard.
I have spoken of qualifying milk with lime water for bilious people.
Other articles of food unwholesome to some constitutions may be
modified with wholesomeness by the use of certain condiments
which act as correctives to hurtful qualities.
For example, nuts may be eaten freely when salted. Thus treated
they are introduced at dinner as digestive agents and appetizers.
When accompanied by fruits, nut-oils are readily assimilated by the
gastric juices. Hence, nuts and raisins go naturally together upon the
menu.
Cayenne pepper makes oysters and fish a safe enjoyment for those
with whom they disagree actively if this be not used, and lemon-
juice further counteracts the evil effects of fish-oil and the dreaded
ptomaine.
 THE IMPROMPTU LARDER
Some of her friends call it “The Emergency Pantry.” The owner
objects to the term because it conveys an idea of bandages and
styptics. Whereas, the cozy closet devoted to the comfort of possible
guests—to be welcomed and fed, although unexpected—contains
substantial food and appetizing delicacies.
She belongs to the great and growing host of suburbanites
dependent upon peripatetic butcher and baker, and the nearest
“general store.” The keeper of the typical general store never orders
so much as one jar of marmalade or a pound of fancy biscuits until
the last is sold, and has never a twinge of mortification in saying:
“Just out! Expect new lot next week.”
So our hospitable housewife stocks and keeps filled her reserve
shelves.
John has a way of bringing home a chance guest to dinner when the
notion strikes him, and Mrs. Notable’s town friends have their way of
happening to be in dear Mary’s neighborhood about lunch time, and,
having come all the way out from town, it is hardly worth while to go
home when there are afternoon calls to be paid in the suburbs.
When one of these calls chances to be upon Mrs. Notable, afternoon
tea must be served. Mrs. Notable’s daughters join theater and
concert parties, going early into the city and coming out late and
hungry. Iced lemonade, ginger ale, cake and sandwiches refresh
them and their attendants in summer, and on winter nights
something hot and savory from “mother’s chafing dish.”
Back of all this stands mother’s Impromptu Larder. One shelf holds
the best brand of canned soups, chicken, tongue and boned ham;
another sardines, anchovies in oil, anchovy paste and pâté de foie
gras, soused mackerel, and mackerel with tomato sauce. Baked
beans, plain, and baked beans with tomato sauce, have honorable
place among potted foods; also dainty jars of fancy cheeses, ready
for use at a second’s notice, and bottles of grated Parmesan. Olives,
including pimolas, stand in line with “pin-money pickles” and
catsups. There is a brave array of homemade jellies, marmalades,
brandied and pickled peaches; a case of imported ginger ale, bottles
of domestic liqueurs, and glass cans of apple-sauce and tomatoes,
put up in Mrs. Notable’s own kitchen. A fair proportion of each kind
of pickle and preserve is set aside for the Impromptu Larder and not
touched for family consumption.
Fancy biscuits of many sorts have several shelves for their own;
sweet and unsweetened cheese biscuits, sea-foams and snowflakes
and zwieback; hard crackers and soft crackers; plain wafers, fruit
wafers and cream wafers; lady-fingers and ginger-snaps—make a
goodly show to the eye and stay the mistress’s surprised soul when
the impromptu luncheon or supper must be more sudden and
abundant than usual.
“My strong tower!” she once called this pantry, laughingly.
In winter she finds room for nuts, raisins, apples and oranges; in
autumn, for baskets of grapes. These last named may be called
“transients,” the supply being renewed frequently.
Mrs. Notable is not a rich woman. She is obliged to make each dollar
do the full work of one hundred cents. To this end she keeps an
“expense book,” setting down every article purchased and the cost
thereof.
In the account of necessary outlays that for replenishing the stores
in the strong tower is registered under the head of “hospitality.”
 FAMILIAR TALK
BREAKFAST
Common sense would decide that we should begin the day with the
glad alertness with which the sun smiles at us over horizon, or
housetops. He rejoices as a strong man ready—that is, rubbed
down, supple and light—to run a race.
There are still writers of “goody” books and works on hygiene who
extol the morning mood. According to them, the whole human
machine is then at its best. The head is clear, the stomach is
vigorous, the spirits are buoyant, life is a joy.
In reality—the reality of the every-day life of respectable people who
have not tarried long at the wine, or eaten Welsh rarebits over night
—the hard pull of the day is at the beginning.
The head of the average man or woman ought to be clear, the
digestive organs active, limbs and joints in excellent working order.
There should not be what one comedian describes as a “dark-brown,
fuzzy taste” in the mouth, or the feeling that the cranium is stuffed
with cotton wool, and the diaphragm should not loathe all manner of
food.
But such things are. Where one man tells you that breakfast is the
best meal of the day, fifty account the ceremony of the earliest meal
of each new day as a hollow mockery. A celebrated judge left upon
record the saying: “No man should be hanged for a murder
committed before breakfast.” Another, almost as famous, openly and
officially declared his unwillingness to condemn a prisoner convicted
of manslaughter of whom his physician had testified that he was a
chronic dyspeptic. “A dyspeptic,” urged the judge, whose own diet
had consisted of mush and milk for ten years, “is never quite sane.”
Not one of his three daily meals is “comfortable” to him whose
alimentary apparatus is out of order. To one in tolerable health the
business of “stoking” the engine for the drive of the forenoon should
not be irksome.
Thus common sense and hygienic general principles. Now for facts.
A brilliant woman summed up the popular judgment on the subject
in an after-luncheon speech before other literary women, in the
assertion that “the human machine needs to be wound up and
lubricated and regulated by bath and breakfast before it is fit to
work with other machines, or, indeed, to go at all. Breakfast,
partaken of in the company of one’s nearest and dearest, is a
blunder of modern civilization. It is an ordeal over which each should
mourn apart.”
A young man of education and breeding, who lives in bachelor
chambers with three other “good fellows,” confesses that, while the
seven o’clock dinner hour is always full of cheer and good-will, the
four friends seldom exchange a syllable at the breakfast table
beyond a brief salutation at entering the room, and a curt “good
day,” in separating to their various places of business.
“Thanks to this sensible silence, we have lived together three years
without quarreling,” he wound up the story by saying. “Every man is
a brute until he has had his morning coffee.”
Much of this is talk for talk’s sake, and some of it is Temper. It is not
easy for one to get full command of oneself before the relaxed
nerves are braced by tea or coffee, and the long-empty stomach is
brought up to concert pitch by food. If we have slept too heavily, we
are stupid; if too little, irritable.
I admit that the American’s first meal of the crude day, with the
accompaniment of the rush for car, or boat, or train, that turns out—
or in—dyspeptics by the hundred thousand yearly, is not conducive
to domestic happiness, or the preservation of table etiquette. The
householder, devouring porridge, two cups of scalding coffee, rolls,
steak and fried potatoes, at discretion, with one eye on the clock,
and both feet braced for the jump and run he knows are imminent if
he would catch the train, is in the first or fortieth stage of what a
witty essayist diagnoses as “Americanitis.” His children’s railroad
speed of deglutition and the scurry for school are along the same
lines of discomfort and disease.
Upon the mother’s hands and head rests the responsibility of
“getting them off for the day,”—a battle renewed with each morning
until she “fairly loathes the name and the thought of breakfast.”
The remedy for the domestic disgrace—for it is nothing if not that—
is so simple that I have little hope it will be respected, much less
accepted.
It is, get up fifteen minutes earlier in the morning!
The plain truth is that your system is not “ready for breakfast,” when
you announce that you are. The racer, to whom Scripture compares
the smiling God of Day, never takes the first lap at a rush. He warms
gradually to his work, having at the outset paid as diligent heed to
the “Make ready!” as to the “Go!”
If you rise usually at seven, have the hot water and cleaned boots
brought to the door at a quarter before seven, and get up when you
are called. A brisk bath and a smart rubbing with a crash towel,
preceded by fifty gymnastic strokes, such as arm-swinging and
general flexing of the muscles; twenty-five deep breaths that pump
the morning air down to the bottomest well of your lungs and clear
the respiratory passages of effete matter lodged there during the
night—these, with a general disposition to speak charitably toward,
and to speak civilly to companions and competitors in the race,
correspond to “make ready.” Clean, supple, and in good heart, come
to the table as to preliminary refreshment you have time and
appetite to enjoy.
At least seven-tenths of the twaddle over the horrors of the family
breakfast are affectation and indolence. Breakfasting in bed is an
imported fashion, and to my notion, is not a clean practice. The tray
brought to an unaired room, a tumbled bed and an unwashed body,
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