
 

 

 

 

DETROIT, JUNE 8, 1886.

 

 

THE HOUSEI—TOmesuppiemenc

 

 

PA TIEN (1E WITH THE L0 VE.
They are such tiny feet!
They have gone such a little way to meet
The years which are required to break
Their steps to evenness, and make
Them go
More sure and slow!

They are such little hands!

Be kind. Things are so new, and life but stands
A step beyond the doorway. All around

New day has found

Such tempting things to shine upon, and so

The hands are tempted hard, you know .

They are such new, young lives,

Surely their newness shrive s

Them well of many sins. They see so much
That, being immortal, they would touch,
That if they reach

We must not chide, but teach.

They are such fond, clear eyes

That widen to surprise

At every turn; they are so often held

To sun or showers—showers soon dispelled
By looking in our face.

Love asks, for such, much grace.

They are such fair, frail gifts;

Uncertain as the rifts

or light that lie along the sky—

They may not be here by and by—

Give them not love, but more—above

And harder—patience with the love.
-——.—...___—

THE HOME DYNASTY.

 

Between the two evils of over-governing
and not governing enough in the manage-
ment of children, it seems hard to point
out the exact path. Yet if a choice must
be made, it really seems as if the latter
were the most desirable, the better policy.
The child that is continually hedged
about with restrictions, “ You must not
do this,” that or the other thing, becomes
in ‘time either a stiﬁ, unnatural, “old”
child, or develops obstinacy and rebellion
against legitimate law. Btubbornness is
born of continual repression, anda sulky,
morose disposition is often engendered.
What grown person, schooled in self-
control, would not chafe at being contin—
ually watched and reproved, and resent
the eternal “Don’t do so?” A child is
fully as sensitive, and quite as jealous of
its newafound rights. Continued fault-
ﬂnding will ruin the sweetest disposition
a child ever inherited; for we must admit
temperaments are often matters of inher-
itance. Between the old-fashioned, stern
discipline which formulated the saying,
“Children should be seen, not heard,” and
forbade a child the right to speak in its
own defense even though a parent was
its judge, and the latter day laxity which
permits impertinence and disobedience
there is a "golden mean” which conscien-

 

tious parents strive to ﬁnd; which studies
a child’s disposition, then works toward
a symmetrical development of character,
which is never to be reached by a succes—
sion of “ Don’ts.” By the very fact of
forbidding a desire is often created. Do
not we older ones sometimes realize that
“ bread eaten by stolen waters is pleas-
ant?” and are we not simply “ children of
a larger growth?” Small misdemeanors
may often be suffered to pass unnoticed
with better results than to attempt a per-
petual correction of each youthful pecca—
dillo; but whatever shows willful dis-
obedience or deliberate purpose in wrong,
should be promptly corrected.

Do we not often expect too much of
the children? A young child is very ani-
mal in its nature; it cares principally to
eat and play, and for what pleases its
fancy; as it develops reason and its high-
er nature hold animalism more and more
in check. Children, too, are like unfold-
ing seeds; the “seed leaves ” are rough
and coarse, quite unlike those which will
grace the plant when its embryonic stage
is passed. We say a child "outgrows”
much of its youthful uncouthness, but
this outgrowing is really a development
of the moral nature until it subdues the
animal, and the child begins to reason
and reﬂect and imitate. But we must
not look for autumn’s ripe, perfect fruit
in May.

Do we not often fail to make due allow-
ance for childish faults? Think how new
the world is to them and how many
things they have to learn, how imperfect-
ly their perceptive faculties are develop-
ed, and how little of experience, and of
experience in judging, they have as yet
acquired. The child who tells what a
mother considers a falsehood is some-
times but narrating the circumstance as
he saw it, or as the result of imperfect
judgment, or because he forgot exactly
how it happened. If harshly punished
as untruthful, what a wrong is done? I
think there are but few who retain vivid
recollections of their childhood who can-
not recall some unjust punishment, the
result of misapprehension, which defeat-
edits own purpose because we realized it
was unmerited. I would never say “ Tell
me the truth” to achild, because truth is a
word representing an abstract quality
uncomprehended by the child-mind; but
rather “Tell me how it happened,” or
“Tell me all about it.” Then listen pa—
tiently to the story and place the blame
where it belongs. Any of us who have
ever heard children tell each other stories

 

must admit the brilliancy of the juvenile
imagination; an imaginative child colors
surroundings through its fancy, and
should not be lightly accused of false
hood. A tendency to exaggeration may
be called lying and whipped out of a child
—or more properly. the child may be
whipped into sulks and- sullenness—but
the better method is to call the child’s at-
tention to the exaggeration and get him
to modify it, which he will probably do
somewhat after the Frenchman’s method
of comparison, “Superbe, magniﬁque,
pretty veil!”

We should never forget that with child-
ren, as indeed with older people, example
goes further than precept. There are
parents who are like “'Mr. Pecksniﬁ,”
moral guide—posts, ”always telling the
way to a place, but never going there.”
What will it avail a mother to preach
truthfulness and sincerity to her daugh—
ter if the latter detects her in social
“ white lies,” or hears her say one thing
to her neighbor and another thing of her?
Will verbal teachings of honor and
honesty stand against the practical
lesson on market day when the stale eggs
are slipped in among the newly-laid ones,
or the ancient hen sandwiched among
the spring chickens? Many a good dea—
con would hardly care to have his son
stand by during a horse trade with a
neighbor, when he is trying to pass off
“the old gray mare” as sound in wind
and limb and several years younger than
her mother. How can he have the eﬁrcn-
tery to say “Be honest and honorable in
all your dealings, my son, if you would
win conﬁdence and esteem,” when the lad
sees the “screenings” judiciously dis-
persed through a load of wheat and the
bags studiously arranged with a view to
unloading without detection; or when the
ﬂeeces are “ stuffed ” with “ tags” and
like refuse and sold as “ all right!” How
can the father compel his son to respect
the property rights of others when he
himself ignores his son’s rights to the
calf or lamb which the boy has carefully
cared for becauseit was “ his,” till market
day, when the title deeds were transfer-
ferred, and the money it brought went
into the father’s pocket. Many a girl

‘who deceives her mother was taught

equivocation by the mother’s example—
not her precept; many a boy has learned
his ﬁrst lesson in dishonesty at his
father’s hands. Brieﬂy, then, if you
would train your sons and daughters in
the way they should go,” you must travel
the same road yourself. BEATRIX.

 


 

2

THE HOUSEHOLD

 

WORK IN THE GARDEN.

 

There are a number of varieties of
hardy ﬂowering plants that are ”old as
the hills,” to those who raise many ﬂow-
ers, and yet strangers to very many others.
The perennial ﬂax or Linum, for one, is
so much admired by visitors here. very
few of whom remembered to have ever
seen it before, and it is one of our most
desirable of hardy herbaceous plants, not
at all particular as to soil or attention.
It gives an abundance of the most dainty
ﬂowers the whole spring, and summer
too, if seed vessels are removed before
ripened.

In answer to the Ohio lady's question
about using soot‘for roses out of doors,
we dust it under the leaves, and cover
the ground under the bushes with it.
But at this time in the spring, insects
have so much the advantage if heretofore
undisturbed, that it will be necessary to
use hellebore or the emulsion spoken of
frequently in the horticultural depart-
ment of the FARMER, to destroy them. I
find pyrethrum answers excellently for an
nsecticide for any occasion I have had to
use one for house plants. 1 have never
tried it for roses or currant worms.
Pyrethrum roseum may be planted now,
or two or three weeks hence; is very
hardy and requires but slight cultivation.

I do not ﬁnd it safe to set tender bulbs,
as tigridia and tuberose, or tender plants
such as fuchsia and coleus, out of doors
until June. They grow rapidly after the
weather is settled and quite warm. There
is no way to use geraniums and like
plants that have done duty through
Winter, that will be so satisfactory,

and require so little care, as to ﬁll a.

a bed with them, if ever so small.
Slips taken early and started well will
give good thrifty duplicates of the old
ones, to be used in the house. If you
have not abundant room for large plants,
store them in the cellar through winter.
Coleus slips started in August are best for
winter service, as it is not easy to keep
old plants over in a living room. I can
send six nice plants of coleus for ﬁfty
cents. '

In setting out plants care should be
taken to set them ﬁrmly, with the roots
placed in a natural position, using water
freely as the earth is replaced; do not
forget to shade them; and seedling plants
should be taken up with the least possible
disturbance of the tender rootlets, and
reset carefully. As they grow stronger,
should they incline to run up, transplant
again; this will check the too rampant
growth, and so induce better form and
more ﬂowers. There is much to learn
about transplanting, but I wished to
answer a few questions.

E. L. Nye’s transposition is constantly
recurring to my mind, with thoughts of
what leaving home is to so many of us, a
breaking up of our everyday business

and cares, and not to be accomplished
without sorrow and regret. Although
the future may have for us far more of
enjoyment and ease, still we do so cling
to those whom we have labored and made
sacriﬁces for, and many aheart knows
the pain of leaving its youthful home.
Flmox. MRS. M. A. FULLER.

GOLDS MITH’S “ DESERTED
VILLAGE.”

 

A correspondent of the Housnnonn
says she wrote to a relative in England
for information regarding the incidents
which led Goldsmith to write his famous
poem, “The Deserted Village,” and re.
ceived the following reply, which is
hardly deﬂnite enough to be satisfactory:

“You ask me what the ‘Deserted
Village ’ is like? Describe it as it deserves
to be described, I cannot. The aim of
the book is to show the cruel wickedness
of those who convert arable land into
parks for their own pleasure, thus driv-
ing the people off the soil into the big
cities. Would to God our statesmen
had listened to what Goldsmith told them
more than a hundred years ago! Old
England would not be in the terrible
state she is now if they had. Your country
is new and has a future before her, so as
you love the Lord Jesus ‘cry aloud and
spare not’ against the American govern-
ment allowing our coroneted sportsmen
to buy up land that should be sold for
tillage.”

“Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of
the plain,” which the poet locates in
England, was really the village of Lissoy,
on the estate of General Napier, in Ire—
land, where much of G)-dsmith’s youth
was passed. General Napier, desiring to
extend his grounds, compelled the
villagers, who were his tenants. to seek
homes elsewhere; that he might have
“ Space for his lake, his park’s extended bounds.

Space for his horses, equipage and hounds.”

The parsonage where lived Goldsmith’s
father, the “village preacher,” who was
“A man to all the country dear

And passing rich on forty pounds a year,”
was, when the poet wrote, occupied
as a sheepfold in the lower story. To
express the peaceful serenitv of the
pastor’s character, the poet has this
beautiful simile:

“As some tall cm: that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale and midway leaves the

storm,

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are

Egg-hill sunshine settles on its head."

The author shows us how luxury and
pride may destroy the simple pleasures of
village life; how the man of wealth
“takes up a space that many poor sup—
plied,” and says: _

“ Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey

The rich man’s joys increase, the poet‘s decay!

’Tis yours to jud e how wide the imits stand

Between a splen id an'l a happy land."

The poem is famous for its beauty of
sentiment and grace and simplicity of
diction. Its pictures of rural life are
charming through their homeliness and
ﬁdelity to nature. He paints for us the
village inn, “where news much older than
the ale went round;” the schoolmaster,
whose eloquence “amazed the gazing
rustics ranged around,” among whom
,“still the wonder grew that one small
head could, carry all he knew;” the
parson, whose “ failings leaned to virtue’s
side;” whose

“* *t 'house was known to all the vagrant
rain.

He chidi their wanderings but relieved their

a .

’i‘he lon remembered beggar was his guest,

Whose eard, descending, swept his ancient
breast.

The ruined s enithrift, now no longer proud

Claimed kin red there, and had his claim al—
lowed;

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by his ﬁre and talked the night away,

 

 

Wept o’er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch and showed how ﬁelds
were won.”

The reader of this poem will recognize
many familiar lines, oft quoted, always
terse and vigorous. Like Shakespeare's
plays, it abounds in epigrams and those
descriptive phrases and similes which
seem so simple, yet are really the evidence
of the genius of the writer, art under the
guise of simplicity. Irving’s Life of
Goldsmith is very interesting reading,
and from it the most complete and full
knowledge of the life of this singular,
erratic genius is to be obtained; his
peculiarities gave rise to David Garrick’s
epitaph;

Here lifglllolly Goldsmith, for shortness called

Who vlgrclixte; like an angel and talked like poor
0 ‘ 7

Our correspondent further queries
whether there is not land enough in this
country to spare. The popular idea has
gone with the sentiment of the popular
song, “ Uncle Sam is rich enough to buy
us all a farm,” till the area of public land
suited for ranche or agricultural pur-
poses, has been very greatly diminished.
Until proper explorations and surveys
were made, the whole west was supposed
to be as fertile as Kansan prairies, with
the exception of what in our old geog-

. raphies was called the “Great American

Desert.” Better knowledge of the ter—
ritory has disclosed the fact that large
tracts can never be made agriculturally
available, and still larger areas are tillable
only by means of irrigation. Lavish
grants to railroads, and sales of really
valuable lands at a nominal sum by the
government, have so reduced the public
domain that, allowing for the increase of
population which is inevitable, we are
compelled to admit we have not “land
to spare;” and already popular feeling is
aroused against permitting English
syndicates or American ranchmen to
further diminish, by purchase in large
tracts, the land which should be reserved
to meet the demands of a fast increasing

nation.
+

MEMORY.

 

Some one has said that of all the gifts
with which a beneﬂcent Providence has
endowed man, the gift of memory is the
noblest. Without it life would be a blank,
8. dreary void, an inextricable chaos, an
unlettered page, cast upon the vast ocean
of uncertainty. The most trivial things
will sometimes recall incidents both pleas-
ant and sad. A perfume, a strain of mu-
sic long forgotten, perhaps a voice long
unheard, may take us back to childhooi’s
days; and thus we often gain fresh cour«
age and strength to meet care and temp—
tation, sorrows and trials. Though our
summer is past, memory will bring us
many joys; the ﬂowers that we know are
faded and dead will bloom again fair and
beautiful, and fragrant as when our hands
gathered them. The faces that we know
for many years have been hid from human
eyes, will rise before us through memory.
Oar faces may have lines of care. we may
be worried and vexed with household
difficulties, but our way will often be

 

 

 


 

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD

3

 

made smooth with memories of other
days. We live our lives over again through
memory. Don’t you remember the old
well, where the water was drawn up
with a long pole, with an old leaky
bucket. moss-grown perhaps; how deli—
ciously cool that water was. There was
just such a well on our way to school
when Iwas alittle girl; we used to get
the water there for the school-house.
There were several apple and cherry trees
around that threw a shade; some of the
stones near the wooden curb were broken
out. Moss grew upon the stones, and the
bucket leaked so we were obliged to draw
up several times in order to ﬁll our pail.
The water was as cold as ice, and as I
think of it to-day, I would give any thing
to be a child again, just as I was then,
for then I had faith, now I have doubts.
Happy, innocent children 2 eager and
anxious to be men and women, to begin
the battle of life—but when it is reached
looking back earnestly, wistfully. The
happy circle of brothers and sisters, the
various dispositions, the different aspira-
tions, mischievous pranks, and the moth-
er’s punishments; the long bright days,
when we played and were sorry when
bed-time came; the long rainy days when
we rushed en masse for the garret and
made the rats and mice scamper; how we
did make the spinning wheel whirl. The
boys—man fashion—took the big wheel,
us girls were glad to whirl the little one;
then there were the swifts, these had a
round of gaieties. All the ﬁreplace furni-
ture was set out, the spider ’on long legs,
the bake oven and kettle, the brass and-
irons, the trunks and boxes riﬂed of their
contents, the harder the rain poured the
better we liked it. There, too, was the
little wooden cradle, in which every one
of us had been rocked; and I love to think
of my mother,

“ Of her hand that led me forth.
0f the footsteps that followed mine own;

The eyes that smiled when she called me a child.
But have faded and left me alone.”

What beautiful lessons she taught us
in long talks, that life was a school; that
our circle must necessarily be broken
here, but we could be an unbroken band
in our Heavenly home. Every spot
around our old home is dear to us, even
though strangers dwell there.

Memory is ever active, ever true; alas, if
it were as easy to forget! There are often
times that hard words are spoken. un—
kind deeds done, and we would so gladly
forget them, but memory recalls the bit-
ter as well as the sweet, but if we only
knew it, such memories are friends in
disguise. for they are faithful monitors,
and are experience’s ready prompters.
How many years are crowded into mo—
ments by the strange power of memory?
Old people can review their lives; if they
have led useful, good lives, the memories
will be fraught with pleasure; if the years
have been spent in sin and wrong-doing,
how remorseful will be the memories.
The thoughts of the criminal will 'carry
him back to the purity of his childhood
home, the good inﬂuences that surrounded
him, the caressing touch of his mother,
the councils of a kind father, but he wan-
dered away from them, drifted out to sea,

7

 

and now has no hope, only remorse and a
wasted life. But if we live as good lives
as we know how to, our old age will be
pleasant. “As the sunlight breaks from
the clouds and across the hills at the close
of a stormy day, lighting up the distant
horizon, even so does memory, when
the light of life is fast disappearing in
the darkness of death, break forth and
illumine the most distant scenes and inci'
dents of past years. And the very clouds
of sorrow, which have drifted between,
are lighted up witha glorious light. As
the soft, clear chimes of the silvery bells
at the vesper hour ﬂoat down on the
shadowy wings of evening, even so are
the thoughts of old age. They recall
scenes past, their memory being all that
is left now. It may be the face of a
mother, the smile of a sister, a father's
kind voice, all stilled in death.”

EVANGELINE.
Burns CREEK.

—-—¢0§——-

IN AN ART MUSEUM.

 

“The ﬁrst annual exhibition of the
Detroit Museum of Art” opened at Mer—
rill Hall, on Woodward Avenue, on the
afternoon of May 29th, to continue two
weeks. The great success of the Art
Loan exhibition, still remembered by all
who were fortunate enough to attend it,
encouraged the managers of the present
exhibit to hope for continued evidences
of the interest in art then awakened.
The collection of statuary, oil paintings,
water colors and engravings is by no
means aslarge as at the former exhibi.
tion, yet the quality of the pictures quite
compensates for decreased quantity. On
a ﬁrst visit, one is able to get a clearer
idea of what is to be seen, and it is pos-
sible to ﬁnd what we desire to see with-
out a half-day’s search.

The central and most imposing picture
in the present collection is Rembrandt
Peale’s “Court of Death,” which ﬁlls
the stage at the end of the hall. This
celebrated allegorical picture, which is
said to have earned its owner $50,000, is
well known through the engraved copies
which have been generally disseminated;
and also from the fact that it was, half a
century ago, the most widely known
picture by an American artist. Death is
a shadowy, intangible ﬁgure in the
centre, whose foot rests upon the dead
body of a youth, whose feet and head
touch the waters of Oblivion, indicating
the mystery of the beginning and the end
of life. Death’s agents form the court;
War, with helmet and shield, is preceded
by Conﬂagration. whose ﬂaming torch
sheds a lurid light on War's ﬁerce face;
Famine and Pestilence follow. Pleasure,
Remorse, Suicide, Intemperance, and
other ﬁgures ﬁll the background. Age,
in person of an old man, upheld by Hope,
a beautiful ﬁgure with uplifted face, ap-
proaches Death without fear or hesitance.
This picture is now owned by the
Museum.

Opposite this great picture are two
worthy of notice. being the work of
celebrated old masters. One, “The
Martyrdom of St. Andrew,” is one of
those realistic pictures which remind us

 

of the terrible cruelties practiced in time
of religious persecutions. It was painted
by Murillo, the “greatest of Spanish
painters,” who died two hundred years
ago. The canvas above, “A Seaport,” by
Claude Lorraine. as celebrated in France
as Murillo in Spain, and contemporary
with him, is far more beautiful. It is
like looking through an open window, at
sunrise, upon the sea. where the ﬁsher—
men are drawing their nets. In a good
light, the sunlight effect is wonderful; it
is as if the sun actually streamed from
behind the portico, upon the sea and the
persons standing upon the quay.
‘t‘Herodias with the Head of St. John in
a Charger,” is supposed to be by Rubens,
a famous Flemish painter of the seven-
teenth century. though it is not quite
certain. If it is not irreverent to criticize
“the old masters,” (and I dare say it is
impious in the estimation of artists,) I
should say Herodias’ face is as expres-
sionless as if she bore a roast of beef on
splatter, and that she has an arm that
could dispose of St. John without the
formality of an executioner. But I con-
fess the old masters are not to my corrupt
and uneducated taste in art. They chose
such horrible subjects; and their women
always seem so expressionless to my un—
tutored eyes.

There are three lovely landscapes by
Corot,‘ and Ifeiicitated myself on “ grow-
ing” when I said sotto vase, “That is
surely a Corot," and turned to my cata—
logue to ﬁnd it so listed. If I were so
happy as to own any one of the three,
whoever pleased might have the Rubens
and Murillo. Bouguereau, the French
artist whose “ Nymphs ” caused so much
comment at the former exhibition, is
represented by “ The NutsGatherers,”
two children who have thrown them-
selves upon the grass, one holding a
handful of nuts, while they look earnest-
ly at each other as if discussing some
momentous question. Bouguereau has a
wonderful way of painting human ﬂesh;
these faces, and the bare arms and feet
disclosed by the short peasant dresses are
wonderfully real; it seems incredible
mere pigments should be able to so
counterfeit reality. “Maternal Affec-
tion" by Perrault, apupii of Bouguereau,
shows the master’s teachings in the
management of the rosy ﬂesh of the babe
in itsmother's arms, and the bare arm
and shoulder of the latter.

No. 14, “Children and a Bird’s Nest, ”
would please the small people. The boy,
with an odd mixture of pride and com-
passion in his face, stands with a nest-
full of young birds in his hand. His
sister is looking at the wide open, ex—
pectant mouths with curious interest.
They are “real country children,” the
boy’s shirt is torn where he has climbed
for his treasure, and a sleeve hangs un—'
buttoned; the girl has something on her
head which closely resembles a nightcap.

Another genre painting is entitled
“Bluﬂing.” It is inimitable. Two boot-
blacks are seated upon their “kits,” en-
gaged in a game of cards. One holds a ,
“ full hand” of nine and ten spots. But
his face expresses as much anxiety,

 


4:

 

THE HOUSEHOLD.

 

doubt, hesitancy, perplexity, as if he
held all the best cards and could hope to
win something. His dirty hand scratches
his head under his tattered cap, and boy-
fashion, both feet are curled round his
box. His Opponent watches him with a
very mischievous twinkle in his eye, and
smiling. parted lips. It is owned by Gov.
Alger. ,

“Don’t Stir,” by Elizabeth Gardner, is
valued at $2, 250; it represents two child-
ren and their mother intently watching
a bird which is eating the crumbs on the
window-sill. The “Departure for the
Hunt” represents the entrance to an old
stone manor house; the gaily capa risoned
horses are pawing the ground impatient
to be oil, the eager hounds can scarcely
be held in leash by their master, and
ladies and cavaliers, in theﬂorid fashions
of two hundred years ago, are exchang-
ing ceremonious salutes in the fore-
ground. The drawing is spirited, and
the execution very ﬁne. “ Who’s There?”
is asked by a child who stands beside the
door with expectant yet cautious face;
she holds a candle which she shades
from the draught with one hand, thus
throwing its full light upon herself. One
must note the semi-transparency of the
ﬁngers of the hand that guards the candle;
the little girl is catalogued at $500.

Ihave been able to mention but very
few of the notable pictures in the present
exhibit, but a voice from “one having
authority ” warns me that our little annex
has its limits. I would only say that
those who enjoy ﬁne pictures will ﬁnd
much to please them, much to repay the
exertion of a visit. Bm'rmx.

——...——._
EXTREMES.

I fear that Faith, with the best of in-
tentions, is too much of an extremist to
be reasonable. . She forgets that it is not
in the game that the evil lies, but in the
.' gambling. You can go out on the lawn
and play a game of croquet or marbles
for money as well as a game of cards.
Many people who would not have a
“euchre—deck ”in the house, think au-
thers, dominoes, checkers, chess, croquet)
etc., are all right, when in reality they
would be just as bad as cards if gambled
with. A Christian mother of my ac-
quaintance thought to keep her son from
playing cards by refusing them admit-
tance to her home. But she soon learned
that he played every place and chance he
could get. She then had a pack bought
and gave him the privilege of playing at
home. Now he cares very little for the
game. Teach the children where and
what the evil is, and the innocent part
will do them no harm.

How should our sons “ acquire a taste
for strong drink.” if not by its use or by
nature? Either is a hard case to deal
with, for they will have it if they can get
it, unless they can be prevailed upon to
be “temperate in all things.” It is in the
excess that the evil lies. Did not Paul
tell Timothy to “use a little wine for the
stomach's sake?” There were extremists
in those days. Matthew says: “ John
came neither eating nor drinking, and

 

they say he bath a devil. The Son of
Man came eating and drinking, and they
say, Behold a man gluttonous and a
winebibber, a friend to publicans and
sinners.” Teach the children to be tem-
perate in all things. Never drink for the
joliity of it. The “ social glass ” is what
ruins so many young men. If one never
drank nor ate only for the “stomach’s
sake,” they would never be drunkards or
gluttons. Would you say never eat for
fear of being a glutton? Never use a
knife, because men have been killed with
one? And so on to every extreme. I
know a father who keeps his cider locked
up, but still he has a son who gets drunk
whenever he can get anything to make
himself so; another who likes cider and
gets “ tipsy” on it; and still another (13
years old) who “ don’t like sweet cider,
wants it hard.” I know another father
who never locks up his cider, and when
there is any drawn they have a reasonable
quantity, and are told the injurious ef-
fects of drinking too much, and when it
gets “hard” they “don’t like it,” and it
is put into the vinegar. Why such a
difference?

I diﬁer with Faith; I do not think it
such “easy work ” to bring up children
“in the way they should go, ” so that when
they get old they “will not depart from
it.” I once quoted that proverb to a
strict mother, and she said she did
not believe it, for she had tried her
best to train her oldest boy in the way he
should go, read the Bible to him, and
long before he was old enough to go for
himself, he told her he did not want her
to read the Bible to him any more; and
when he left home he went into every-
thing she had not taught him, and did
nothing she had taught him. The last I
heard of that young man the ofﬁcers of
the law were after him. Now what was
the matter with that boy? Was it the
mother’s fault? I think we can go to ex-
tremes in these matters; can be too strict,
or not strict enough. Different natures
require different training. Some can be
governed by love alone; for others the
rod must be added. Cain and Abel had
the same training, I presume.

Where is the evil in the private dance?
I would prefer it to thefmuch-used “ buss
ing bee.” Dancing is not forbidden in
the Bible. The “ preacher” said there
was “ a time to dance,” as well as a “time
to every purpose under the heaven.”
Ecol, 3rd chapter. “ David danced before
the Lord.” II. Samuel, 6, 14. “ Both
young men and old together rejoiced in
the dance.” Jer. 31, 13. There was
“ music and dancing ” when the prodigal
son returned. I do not approve of the
public dance, there is so much chance for
evil to be associated with it. Let us try
to avoid the real evils and let the imagin-
ary ones go. HRS. M. c. M.

Srsrxn Lans.

——...—-———..

F03 what is known as heartburn, a
disagreeable sensation accompanying in-
digestion, a saltspoonful of salt, dissolved
in half a wine-glass of water is usually
an effective remedy; more pleasant than
the usual dose of saleratus water.

 

A CORRECTION—A. lady writes us from
Jackson, respecting an allusion made in
Beatrix’s article in the HOUSEHOLD of
May 25th, in reference to the death of a
lady through being bathed in a solution
of corrosive sublimate and alcohol. The
error was made by the unfortunate victim
herself, not the nurse, as would be infer-
red from the comment in the HOUSEHOLD.
Our correspondent gives the particulars,
which we quote: “Mrs. Hood, feeling a
little rubbing with spirits might be help—
in], asked for some whiskey or brandy,
but not having any at hand, the nurse
suggested alcohol, and Mrs. Hood told
her where to ﬁnd the bottle. After get-
ting the bottle, the nurse brought it to
Mrs. Hood and asked her if that was the
one. She replied it was. After the burn-
ing commenced Mrs. Hood remembered
she had put corrosive sublimate in one
bottle of alcohol, and so told the nurse
herself; thus the nurse is in no way to
blame, Mrs. Hood telling these circum-
stances herself.” This statement quite
exonerates the nurse from any blame
whatever, or even the slightest suspicion
of carelessness. Yet it points out more
fully the great care that should be taken
to properly label every bottle or package
containing any substance of a poisonous
nature, or which can prove inimical to

health.
——...—_

Useful Recipes.

 

Bnnrs'rm Por—Pm.-—Remove the fat and
chop the meat into inch-square pieces. That
part of the fat which resembles suet is to be
finely chopped to use for the crust. If the fat
is not abundant, buy half a pound of suet, and
after reserving a cupful for the crust chop the
rest, put in a saucepan over the ﬁre, and when
it is hot put in the beefsteak and brown it
quickly. When the beef is brown, sift a table-
spoonful of ﬂour over it and mix till it is
brown; add a quart of water, salt and pepper,
cover, and cook slowly an hour and a half.
Half an hour before the meat is done sift a
teasp00nful of salt and two of baking powder
with a pound of ﬂour, mix the suet with it, stir
in cold water enough to make a dough that
can be cut with a spoon. Dip half of this into
the gravy as dumplings and put the rest upon
the top of the pot-pie, butter the cover, replace
it and cook twenty minutes or half an hour,
according to the ﬁre. This is Miss Juliet
Carson’s recipe, and said to be an excellent
way of managing a tough beefsteak. '

 

S'rnwxn Tuamrs.—-Pare the turnips and cut
them into half-inch dice, boil in salted boiling
water until tender, which will require from
fifteen to forty—ﬁve minutes, according to age,
then drain, and heat in a pint of white sauce,
made as follows: Stir together over the ﬁre a
tablespoonful each of butter and ﬂour until
they bubble, then stir in gradually a pint of
boiling water and pepper and salt to taste;
boil until it is thick enough to coat a spoon
dipped in it. Stir the turnips into this sauce.

 

Crxxmox Purse—Make a short ﬂaky crust
and roll into sheets about four inches across;
on half of each sheet sprinkle sugar to the
depth of one-third inch, moisten with water
and dust thickly with ground cinnamon. Turn
over the other half, fasten the edges together
firmly and bake in aquick oven. While hot
rub the white of an egg over the top, and
sprinkle with granulated sugar.

 

 

 

 

