we
found this picnic life great fun. The household consists, besides F----
and me, of a cadet, as they are called--he is a clergyman's son learning
sheep-farming under our auspices--and a boy who milks the cows and
does odd jobs out of doors. We were all equally ignorant of practical
cookery, so the chief responsibility rested on my shoulders, and cost me
some very anxious moments, I assure you, for a cookery-book is after all
but a broken reed to lean on in a real emergency; it starts by assuming
that its unhappy student possesses a knowledge of at least the rudiments
of the art, whereas it ought not to disdain to tell you whether the
water in which potatoes are to be boiled should be hot or cold. I must
confess that some of my earliest efforts were both curious and nasty,
but E ate my numerous failures with the greatest good-humour; the only
thing at which he made a wry face was some soup into which a large lump
of washing-soda had mysteriously conveyed itself; and I also had to
undergo a good deal of "chaff" about my first omelette, which was of the
size and consistency of a roly-poly pudding. Next to these failures
I think the bread was my greatest misfortune; it went wrong from the
first. One night I had prepared the tin dish full of flour, made a hole
in the midst of the soft white heap, and was about to pour in a cupful
of yeast to be mixed with warm water (you see I know all about it in
theory), when a sudden panic seized me, and I was afraid to draw the
cork of the large champagne bottle full of yeast, which appeared to be
very much "up." In this dilemma I went for F----. You must know that he
possesses such extraordinary and revolutionary theories on the subject
of cooking, that I am obliged to banish him from the kitchen altogether,
but on this occasion I thought I should be glad of his assistance. He
came with the greatest alacrity; assured me he knew all about it, seized
the big bottle, shook it violently, and twitched out the cork: there was
a report like a pistol-shot, and all my beautiful yeast flew up to the
ceiling of the kitchen, descending in a shower on my head; and F----
turned the bottle upside down over the flour, emptying the dregs of the
hops and potatoes into my unfortunate bread. However, I did not despair,
but mixed it up according to the directions given, and placed it on the
stove; but, as it turned out, in too warm a situation, for when I went
early the next morning to look at it, I found