Marion Harland's Complete Cook Book: A Practical and Exhaustive Manual of Cookery and Housekeeping

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