wards I asked an "old chum" what I was to do with
my chimney. "Sweep it with a furze-bush, to be sure," she replied. I
mentioned this primitive receipt at home, and the idea was carried out
a day or two later by one man mounting on the roof of the house whilst
another remained in the kitchen; the individual on the roof threw down
a rope to the one below, who fastened a large furze-bush in the middle,
they each held an end of this rope, and so pulled it up and down the
chimney until the man below was as black as any veritable sweep, and had
to betake himself, clothes and all, to a neighbouring creek. As for the
kitchen, its state cannot be better described than in my Irish cook's
words, who cried, "Did mortial man ever see sich a ridiklous mess?
Arrah, why couldn't ye let it be thin?" But for all that she set bravely
to work and got everything clean and nice once more, merely stipulating
that the next time we were going to sweep chimney we should let her know
beforehand, that she might go somewhere "right away."

I feel, however, that in all these reminiscences I am straying widely
from the point which was before my mind when I began this chapter, and
that is the delusiveness of a cookery book. No book which I have ever
seen tells you, for instance, how to boil rice properly. They all insist
that the grains must be white and dry and separate, but they omit to
describe the process by which these results can be attained. They tell
you what you are to do with your rice after it is boiled, but not how
to boil it. The fact is, I suppose, that the people who write such books
began so early to be cooks themselves, that they forget there ever was a
time when such simple things were unknown to them.

Even when I had, after many failures, mastered the art of boiling rice,
and also of making an excellent curry,--for which accomplishment I was
indebted to the practical teaching of a neighbour,--there used still
to be misfortunes in store for me. One of these caused me such a bitter
disappointment that I have never quite forgotten it. This was the manner
of it. We were without servants. My readers must not suppose that such
was our chronic condition, but when you come to change your servants
three or four times a year, and have to "do" for yourself each time
during the week which must elapse before the arrival of new ones, there
is an ample margin for every possible domestic misadventure. If any
doubt me, let them try for themselves.