
 

 

 

 

 

DETROIT. AUGUST 3. 1889.

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD-"Supplement.

 

A GOOD HOUSEKEEPJR.
How can I tell her?
By her cellar;
Cleanly shelves and whitened wall.
I can guess her
By Ler dresser;
By the back staircase and ball.
And with pleasure
Take her measure
By the way she keeps her brooms;
Or the peeping
At the keeping
Of her back and unseen rooms.
By her kitchen’s air of neatness,
And its general completeness,
Where in cleanliness and sweetness
The rose of order blooms.

___....—__

THE MISADVENTURES OF THE
3—— FAMILY.

 

(Continued)

Bruno said at the breakfast table that he
would have to go to town this morning. I
told him I guessed I’d go too—not that I
really wanted to go, but 1 though it would
be a good chance to play oﬂf a little scheme
I’ve had in mind for some time. It has al-
ways been a grievance to me that Bruno
will go to town looking so! I don’t see
why a farmer need advertise his calling,
and bring it into disrepute, by always look-
ing like a scarecrow when he goes to town.
Of course when a man is doing his farm
work he ought to dress suitably for it, but
there's no need of wearing butternut over-
alls, cowhide boots and the oldest hat in
his collectionlwhen he’s off on the road.
Now if I do say it myself, Bruno’s rigis al-
ways in good shape. I’ve seen farmers’
turnouts I would really be ashamed to ride
in—everythin g covered with mud, dried on
coat over coat, spokes rattling, and dirt
enough in the bottom of the buggy to
plant a hill of potatoes. But Bruno’s
buggy is always clean, cushions and rug
dusted, harness shining, and when “ Char—
ley ”is between the thills we don’t take any-
body’s dust. But Bruno himself don’t al-
ways correspond with the rig; he’s very apt
to think it altogether too much trouble to
change his clothes, even if I am going with
him, and I sometimes feel as if there was
too much of a contrast to suit me.

Well, when I told Bruno I’d go too, he
said all right, he’d be ready in about two
hours. I went right on about my work,
got it all out of the way, shut all the win-
dows and all but the side door, and waited.
He came in, all in a whew, half an hour
late, and exclaimed “ Why. ain’t you
going?” “Oh yes,” I said, “ I’mall ready,”
and I tied on my sunbonnet and took down

 

the key to the door. Bruno made excla-
mation points of both eyes. “ You ain’t
going down town in that rig!” When
Bruno gets a little excited he is apt to be
ungrammatical. “ What’s the matter with
my rig?” I said. Then I looked him
square in the eye, and added, “It cor-
responds pretty well with yours.” I had
on a calico dress, old, but clean and whole,
collarless and cuﬂiess, and I’m really proud
of my new rufﬂed sunbonnet. But there
was decided disapprobation in Bruno’s
face as he surveyed the short, scant, un‘
draped skirt which showed a good deal of
shoes. “ Well, I wouldn’t want to go into
town looking such a guy,” and he caught
up the basket of butter and the “store
book,” and started for the wagon-house. In
about six minutes he whizzed past the
side door, and never even halted, though I
stepped out and prepared to lock the door.
Then I sat down on the step and laughed,
for he had done exactly what I expected he
would. I think I furnished him some
food for reﬂection, anyhow, for though he
never said a word, he. brought home a
beefsteak and some bananas, and I can’t
tell when he’s done such a thing before
without being told to—and he doesn’t al-
ways do it then.

In the afternoon I went over where
Bruno was cultivating the potatoes, mean-
ing to go on to where our migratory gar
den is located this year, and ﬁll a basket
with cucumbers and string beans for him
to bring back. But the potato bugs were
so thick I spent some little time picking
them off the late potatoes, which are look
ing splendid. I do enjoy having nice
potatoes. Just as soon as they are fully
ripe in the fall, we have them baked about
three times a day. They make the butter
ﬂy, but they are delicious. When Bruno
changes work with a neighbor he often
expresses commiseration for men who have
always to eat boiled potatoes. It has al-
ways been a comfort to me that Bruno
likes my cooking so well. Once when he’d
been away threshing for four days, he ate
bread and butter till I begged him to stop,
or I’d have to set a sponge the ﬁrst thing
after dinner. He said he hadn’t had a bit
of butter that was ﬁt to eat for four days.
and he’d got so tired of biscuit he didn’t
want to see one for a month. He professes
profound contempt for messes, and I never

‘can get him to taste a salad or anything of

that sort. We had scalloped ﬁsh for sup-
per one night. I took what was left of a
Whiteﬁsh we had for dinner, picked the
bones out, ‘put a layer of ﬁsh on the bot-

 

tom of a little basin, then a layer of
powdered bread crumbs, then more ﬁsh,
seasoning each layer with pepper, salt and
plenty of butter, and ﬁnishing up with a
covering of crumbs, and baked it twenty
minutes. I knew he wouldn't touch it if I
called it “scalloped ﬁsh," so I just passed it
to him and “ never said nothin’.” “’ What’s
this?” he asked suspiciously. "Oh, that’s
what ﬁsh was left from dinner, warmed
over." He helped himself gingerly, but
had a second and more liberal help before
long. After this auspicious introduction,
it will be “scalloped ﬁsh "' next time, and
he’ll recognize an old friend. He’s so
afraid of anything he isn’t acquainted
with.

Picking potato bugs is not an exhilarating
employment. I left it and went down on the
low land next the railroad, where I found
a few midsummer ﬂowers, some lady-slip-
pers and a stalk of meadow lilies. Then I
picked the cucumbers and the beans, and
went home to get supper. When I got to
the house I found our seven Chester White
pigs had broken out of the pen, and had
rooted up the grass in the front yard till it
looked as if it had been harrowed both
ways and crosswise. They had tipped
over my stand of house-plants, and my
lovely fuchsia, at least three feet high, was
all broken and torn to pieces so I had to
cut it back almost to the ground. My
ﬂower bed was totally destroyed, every
plant rooted out. Well, I sat down on the
doorstep for the second time, but this time
I didn’t laugh; I cried. It was too pro-
voking, after Ihad worked so hard, to have
those miserable pigs destroy in a couple of
hours everything I had done. I left things
as they were and got supper. I heard
Bruno calling the pigs and saw him patch—
ing up the pen. He didn’t say anything,
when he came in, and I burst out, “I sup—
pose you see what your nasty thoroughbred
(awfully sarcastic) pigs have done !” He’s
very proud of those pigs; they’re the ﬁrst
venture he’s made into ﬁne stock, and I
expected he’d say it would make their
little noses grow- shorter and stronger to
root. But he didn’t. He only said, “Well
Brue, it is too bad, I don’t see how they
got out, but I’ll ﬁx the lawn as well as I
can, and I’m awful sorry about your
ﬂowers.” So after supper he got some-
thing he uses about digging post-holes and
pounded the grass down again, and was
clumsily trying to straighten out the ﬂower
bed when I went out. he was so goon.
about it—and it wasn’t his fault anyway—
that I was glad he wasn’t round wnen

 


‘2

discovered the damage, for I was mad, now
I tell you: and I know I should have
scolded a blue streak if there had been any
one for an audience. Oh dear, if one could
only always control temper and not get
angry and all stirred up with wrath in-
ternally! And if when one is mad, others
would always give the soft answer, what
lots of unkind words would “die a’born-
in’! ” I always feel ashamed of myself
when I get provoked over anything and
Bruno answers “ softly;” but if he ﬂies off
too, we generally have a “ family jar.”
( To be continued.)

W..—

A SPICY ENCYCLICAL FROM DAF-
FODILLY.

George Eliot says: “ It is worth while
to forget a friend for a week or ten days
just for the sake of the agreeable kind of
startle it gives one to be reminded that one
has such a treasure in reserve, the same
sort of pleasure i suppose that a poor body
feels who happens to lay his hand on an
undreamed of sixpence which had sunk to
a corner of his pocket.” I always think of
this when the HOUSEHOLD comes on Mon-
day morning; and by the way, it is really
the only friend that still keeps coming
without fail. I have lost all others by not
sending them letters. When one sets out
to get everything done before letter writing,
she may be sure that it is only a question of

" time when not a single letter Will the post-
man leave her and all her glow and desire
to write will be absorbed in the gluttony of
work. I have been making dresses until
I wish it were the fashion to wear feathers,
and the habit to grow them on the human
body from birth. I have said each new
day, that my vacation shall be spent in
writing and reading when this is ﬁnished.
Looking back now I remember mornings
like this, summer mornings, when Icould
just as well have sat down to write as I
can this morning; the work is not done
now. It never will be complete, and I
may as well enjoy communion with the
outer world through a social letter as to
smother sentiment that will certainly re-
fuse to revive again even should the wcrk
ever get done. This is Monday morning.
There is a washwoman downstairs. Vashti’s
white dress is on hand, there are two white
vests cut out early this morning before
breakfast “ for a good start." About these
vests: My husband is on the corpulent
order, and I do like to see a fat man look
clean. White vests cost so much ready made
and are so hard to iron, that I tried an ex-
periment on a seersucker, cutting a pattern
of his new cloth vest, and it ﬁtted exactly.
Then I purchased white pique of ﬁgured
design, some at 25 cents per yard and some
at 60 cents; three-fourths of ayard is plenty
for the fronts, and a yard and a half of

, Lonsdale cambric will line the fronts and
make the back. This I make single. I
sew the outside and lining of the fronts to-
gether and turn them, putting the pockets
right through. If they are between the

glining and outside they are hard to iron. A
plain seersucker looks just as well with the
pockets stitched on the outside. On the

straps behind I put a button hole and
small button to fasten on the buckle, as it
rusts sometimes. Put eyelets for buttons
with rings. A box of 100 rings costs eight
cents. Buttons with good shanks should
be used, and there you are. A vest can be
washed in ten minutes and when dry
starched with Elastic starch, which is used
only for cold starching, and ironed im-
mediately. While on the washing sub-
ject I will suggest that coal oil for use in
washing, accordingto my mind, is no good.
My washwoman used it one day, and we
used some towels and napkins for a picnic
luncheon and everything tasted so of the
oil that we could hardly eat.

The “weeks,” as I have read them
through, cloudy and fair, have been a
graphic review of my own early life.
Sometime when the “week stories ” have
all grown cold I will tell about my last
week at farm work. As things are now I
am convinced that country housekeepers
do have a good deal harder time than we
in the city. For instance, in the early
morning hours our cow backs up to the
front door and leaves our milk and cream;
on Tuesday the little mule with the gay
red net dangling round his heels, brings
the thin man with the wart on his nose,
who fetches the three pound crock of de-
licious creamery butter that is placed at
once in the convenient ice chest, which is
ﬁlled every day by the brawny boy of the
“Cold Wave.” Every morning without
fail, comes the “old man ” with his vege-
tables and fruit, fresh and sound as at any
market in the world, and prices as rea-
sonable. The butcher and grocer call for
their orders and deliver them on your
kitchen table without extra charge. Our
gas stoves, lighted in an instant, are worth
more than jewels. Fortiﬁed behind wire
screens it would seem that there could be
little to do but fret. So when I catch a
few stray ﬂies inside how I do ﬂy with a
wet rag, reminding me of one of Samantha
Allen’s stories, where the family were
camped in the woodhouse to keep the
dwelling clean, and a ﬂy once got in. The
husband was commissioned to go in on a
horse and drive out the obnoxious insect.
But sisters dear, with all these adjuncts,
“something still remains undone."

“ And we stand from day to day,

Like the dwarfs of times gone by,

Who as Northern legends say.
On their shoulders hrld the sky."

Adanizah says. “Mamma, what is the
use of it all, this cooking and cleaning and
washing dishes and getting vexed with
hired help, only in a few days to lie
down in the grave, blotted out?” I reply,
“My little Miss, your mother was not mar-
ried at your age, she has been now twice
married, has you two grown daughters to
comfort her, has lived in many places and
seen much of life’s joys as well as its sor-
rows, and has yet neither gray hairs nor
spectacles. Young folks are inclined to
feel that if something romantic has not
come to them by 18 they are fated for
obscurity. ‘ Bide a wee and dinna fret.’ In
the meantime learn all that you can from
your surroundings.” Bits of knowledge

 

gained from very homely experiences in

 

    

THE HOUSEHOLD.

the rural Ohio home while I was fearing I
should always have to be a rustic, have
been a tower of strength in time of need;
and then how many people I have been
able to help! What power and independ-
ence it gives one to be competent to do for
yourself when money will not purchase
assistance. What a blessing it is possible
to be sometimes to a suffering sister or
child. It is surprising and exasperating to
confront so much ignorance of practical
things as one often does amongcity people.
It is equally as exasperating to know that
men in the country who have the good
sensible wives, are so mean and stingy
that they make them wish they could skip
out to a city to live, for I happen to know
that the men in cities as a rule do less
quibbling about money than do farmers.
One thing is sure, the wife has to provide
for the household, as a man cannot attend
to both his business and his wife's in a
city. I am always ready to join any com-
mittee that is devising ways and means to
hwart a stingy husband. The ﬁrst sign of
the good time coming is when the man of
the house ceases to ask an account of every
penny he gives his wife. Let us continue to
“show ’em up” until they become ashamed
—these fellows who think their wife has
no right to have a cent.

ST. LOUIS. DAFFOOILLY.

—-——-—...__.__
CHERRY TIME.

 

If cherry time is a merry time it is also a
season of extra work for farm women, for
the haying and wheat harvest put it in the
form of a layer cake, and this year the
fruit is plentiful enough for liberal serving.
Inasmuch as I am neither on the farm or
personally interested in the canning, my
experience was different than usual, but
was sufﬁciently novel to be enjoyable. I
was visiting an aunt in one of the thriving
villages in St. Clair County, and with her
desire to get her own cherries for canning
was an earnest wish that I should see their
farm in the new country, so on Saturday
we were up and 01$ for a ten mile drive
before the clock struck ﬁve. It was a per-
fect morning, cool enough for a pleasant
ride; the heavy dew was glistening in the
early sunlight and all nature was fresh and
fragrant. We whirled through the broad,
clean main street and headed due north on
the new road that was opened only a few
months before, through what had been a
vast swamp. For a few miles there was a
thick, tangled growth, and then what they
called an open swamp of thousands of
acres without a shrub or stick on its sur-
face, only the tall, rank grass covering
the black soil, then the “island,” as a
break of high, timbered land was called,
and then back to the prairie again, until
our ten miles brought us to a rich, rolling
farm of 160 acres that had been well
timbered, but was now under good cultiva-
tion. Such a ride as that was! Wild ﬂow-
ers with all the old familiar faces beamed
on us from close up to the wheel track
away back into the thicker shade, and
there were so many new ones that we had

 

never seen in our old home woods. Long

  

 


 

THE HOUSEHOLD.

l

3

 

spikes of the daintiest pink and blue blos-
soms that would be an ornament to any
ﬁoWer garden, snowy primroses that close-
ly resembled the choice Chinese varieties,
lilies of many hues, and all surrounded with
an emerald setting of plumes and lances of
waving ferns and grasses, the foot hills of
shrubs 1'18ng into mountains of living
green formed from the dark pines as a
background. I greedily tried to catch the

' panorama during the ride, but one pair of
eyes could not see all the beauties. That
prairie land is now being broken up for
farms, all that is required being a ” liven-
ing up” by repeated plowings to yield
heavy crops, the black loam seeming
almost inexhaustively productive.

Arriving at the farm the paterﬁunih’a-s
unlocked the door of the rough log house
and invited us in; a cook stove was soon
ﬁlled with pine roots that sent out a cheer-
ful glow and resinous perfume, while the
coffee and eggs were prepared and the
well ﬁlled lunch basket supplied all farther
needs for our eight o’clock breakfast,
served on the home-made, cross-legged
table. Then a neighboring woman was
engaged for help, and that one man
thought himself in a deplorable condition
while trying to follow the directions and
render himself useful to three women, but
when ﬁve came again we were ready for
the journey home, with sixteen quart cans
of hot cherries and a three gallon jar pitted
for the home canning. We looked over
the crops that were nearly ready for the
harvest, wandered through the heavily
fruited orchard, admired the dozen horses
of various ages and the cattle that were
fattening on the rich pastures, and then
the old log house was locked and left to
itself again and we drove down the shady
lane to the highway, and home by a circuit-
ous route that included a call on an old
school friend not seen “before for twenty
years, this taking us through the older
farming country that was similar to that of
Macomb. Two of the crops grown were
noticeably different, the large ﬁelds of ﬂax
just opening their dainty blue blossom-eyes,
and we thought these the prettiest ﬁelds
ever seen. But the harvesting is peculiar,
as it requires hand pulling, stalk by stalk,
and the product is sold by the ton to a
manufactory near by. The other uncom-
mon crop was the unapproachable Canada
thistles that reared their proud heads above
the waving ﬁelds of wheat, oats and barley,
as though they had the best right to be
there.

Just as the sun set behind a bank of rain
clouds we were again on Main St., a tired,
happy trio, and this was the substance of
the cherrying for this season for

Wasmxarou. EL SEE.

____....._.__

A SIMPLE yet unique paper-holder is
thus described in an exchange: Take
a broom handle and saw off tw and
one-fourth feet of it. Into each end
screw a picture knob and gild the whole.
Suspend by ribbon, passing it around
the knobs and tying in a pretty bow.
Hang the paper over this, leaving the
table unencumbered.

 

ANOTHER WEEK‘S PROGRAMME.

.—

It was late when we got up Thursday
morning, and as it was raining we did not
feel that we had to hurry as much as usual.
After breakfast of codﬁsh, boiled potatoes,
bread, butter, doughnuts and coffee was
ﬁnished, Mae attended to the dishes and
dining-room while I looked after the
chickens and did the bedroom work. Mae
looked over some ﬁne, large raspberries,
and soon had them ready to can. Mary
and I prepared the vegetables for dinner,
and then we had a little time before din-
ner to sew.

Dinner of beef, new potatoes, peas, let-
tuce, bread, butter and cottage pudding,
was soon over and while Mae and I were
doing the dishes Mary canned the raspber—
ries, the sugar to do them with having
been brought from town by one of the
men during the forenoon. It seems good
to be able to sit down to sew in the after
noon instead of taking care of fruit, and we
sew steadily with the hope of catching up
with the mending and other sewing. I
succeed in ﬁnishing some plain sewing
and also work on a dress that has been in
the house three or four weeks.

Supper time comes all too soon, and
when it is ready and we are waiting for the
men, who fail to appear when the bell
rings, I write a letter. By the time I had it
ﬁnished, the men were ready for supper
and hungry as hunters. The bill of fare
was cold beef, warmed peas, German toast,
butter, onions, canned huckleberries,
feather cake and tea. We were all hun-
gry, the lateness of the hour increasing the
feeling. After the work was done up, Mae
and I harnessed the horse to the cart and
started for town. We did not get there as
early as we intended, but were early
enough to get the mail from the east.

Friday was clear and bright, and we
made up for our late rising the previous
morning, by being up and having break-
fast ready at the usual time. This meal
consisted of pork, fried potatoes, eggs,
steamed bread, doughnuts, cookies, butter
and coffee. After breakfast Mary went to
churning and I picked some string beans
for dinner. It was disagreeable to pick
them while the dew was on the leaves, but
it was better than waiting until the sun
was so warm. The old cat showed her
liking for my society by coming where I
was and sitting on my shoulder while I
was picking, and “Simon” stood outside
trying his best to open the garden gate.
The rooms all had a general and thorough
sweeping and cleaning up, as I think rooms
in use need such a cleaning at least once a
week. I also had a blouse waist for my-
self to wash out, as I was so unfortunate
as to get too near some paint the other day,
and it would not do to allow it to become
thoroughly dried.

Mary had made a pie for dessert, and by
the time the other things were made ready
for dinner it was nearly noon. It had been
clouding up and getting ready to rain for
some time, and now it began to sprinkle a
little. The men came in to dinner and
Karl began to harness the horse so that one
of the men could catch the train for a

 

neighboring town, to get a wheel of a
machine that had broken, replaced by an-
other. Dinner of pork, bacon, potatoes,
beans, bread, butter, pickles and custard
pic was ﬁnished and the men started to
bring something from the ﬁeld. It was
raining, and I was glad I had thought to
put the rubber coat and lap blanket in the
cart before he started for towu.

Dishes are done and we are about ready
to go to sewing when Mary calls my atten~
tion to the water, which is running, not into
the cistern but on the ground. I throw an
old gossamer over my head and start for
the barn for the ladder, when I remember
that the short one is at the other barn, a
quarter of a mile from the house. I hear
the chickens peeping and there they are
standing in a puddle of water and the old
hen doing her best to keep their heads dry
and warm, if she couldn’t their feet. I ﬁx
them up all right and go to the house,
where I discover that my clothes are wet
through. After changing them I sit down
to sew while Mae reads a story from a new
magazine. We are interrupted by Mary,
who wants us to help her for a little while.
It is nearly four o’clock by the time we are
again ready to sew, and I have been doing
this for about ﬁfteen minutes when word is
brought from the ﬁeld that I am to go to
town to have a broken rod mended. I also
ﬁnd that a letter I sent to the ofﬁce by one
of the men a week ago, had not been
mailed at the time and was still in his
pocket, and the two things combined make
me wrathy for a while. I write a little
more to go with the old letter and make
sure that it is mailed this time.

When I reach home from town supper is
nearly ready, and so I attend to outdoor
things. One of the neighbors has brought
us a fourteen quart pail of such nice cher-
ries, and said we could have as many more.
They are nice to have, but we dread doing
them up on Saturday .when there is so
much baking to be done. The men worked
later than usual, and it was seven o’clock
by the time they were ready for supper,
which consisted of biscuit, dried beef
bacon, poached eggs, beans, onions, butter
huckleberries, cream cookies, feather cake
and tea. The work was ﬁnished and bread
sponge and coffee prepared while Mary
tended to the milk.

The week is ﬁnished and so is the “ One
Week’s Programme,” of which I am sure

all are glad. KETURAH.

CONCORD.
———ooo-—-—

IN reply to an inquiry, we would say the
HOUSEHOLD cannot be sent without the
FARMER. The price of both is but one
dollar per annum; and we calculate that
any person, in any condition of life, can
ﬁnd a dollar‘s worth of good reading in
the ﬁfty-two numbers, whether they live in
town or county.

—-——-...—_

POLLY says: “ I am afraid the affairs of
the 8— family are not so entirely con-
ﬁned to that family (I mean their manner
of conducting matters), as might be, as I
have met a few families whose experience
is similar. ‘ Misery loves company;’ you’re
not alone, Mrs. Bruno.”

 


 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD.

 

THE LAST WEEK.

 

(Continued from June 20th.)

Thursday, breakfast, potatoes, cold beef
chopped and warmed in gravy, fried bread,
bread, butter, cake, sauce, coffee. I do
the work and make preparation, for I will
have to bake bread tO-morrow; then we get
ready andall go home to spend the day.
We had a lunch and saved our appetite for
the early supper, which consisted of roast
duck with dressing, new potatoes, green
peas, fresh bread, butter, radishes, jelly,
cheese, cherry pie, ice cream, cake and tea.
We had a pleasant visit. I enjoy a day
spent like this much better than to go
away to town and be in a large crowd; that
is very tiresome to me.

Friday, for breakfast we had coffee,
meat, potatoes, milk toast, cake, sauce.
The men came early and went to work at
the well, they pump one and a half hours
with a horse and pronounce the well a suc-
cess, The water is very cold and as clear
as crystal, not a particle of sand in it; they
put in a pump and their job is ﬁnished.
Now when we get a windmill we will have
water pretty handy. I have baking to do
and get an early dinner for the men; it con-
sisted of mashed potatoes, eggs fried in
butter, fresh rolls, butter, apple jelly,
baked rice pudding, tea. Just as I get my
work ﬁnished my mother and sister come.
After they were gone I went down in the
ﬁeld to see if the peas were large enough
to cook, they need to grow a few days yet.
I got back to the house just as the grocery
wagon stopped, made some purchases and
then got supper; rolls, butter, radishes,
cherries, cold pudding, fruit cake, choco-
late cake, cookies and tea. After supper
I worked on my tidy.

Saturday’s breakfast is coffee, bread,
butter, potatoes, eggs, cake and jelly. I
had churning to do and pies to bake; gave
the house a thorough sweeping, dusted,
wiped oﬁf doors and windows with a clean
cloth rinsed often in clean water, rubbed
spots Oﬂf the dining-room carpet and pre-
pared dinner. The meat man came early
so I got a roast, and as the oven was in use
I had what my good old grandmother
would Call a “ pot roast;” cooked it until
done in a kettle with a little water, then let
it cook down, turning often, browned
both sides; that with potatoes, gravy,
(made in the kettle after the meat was
taken up) bread, butter, jelly, cream pie,
cherries and tea comprised the dinner.
Adolphus has just commenced his haying
and had one extra man today; there will
be more help next week, consequently
more work in the house. Cherries, of
which we have a bountiful crop, are ripe
and must be taken care of; harvesting will
soon be here, then threshing, plenty of
work ahead. After dinner, mopped the
kitchen ﬂoor, watered plants, cleaned the
porches, by the time I get ready to sit
down, I feel pretty tired, so read and rest
until supper. We have bread, butter,
radishes, cold meat, raisin pie, tarts, cake,
cookies, sauce and lemonade.

Sunday we did not get up as early as
usual; for breakfast had bread, butter,
meat, fried potatoes, jelly, cake, coffee.

 

Concluded we would not go to church, as
we were invited to attend children’s exer-
cises at a neighboring Sunday school at
half past two, the forenoon was spent in
reading and writing. I did not get dinner,
but we had luncheon; bread, butter,
radishes, cold meat, pie, cake, cookies,
milk; we then got ready for Sunday school.
The school-house was appropriately de-
corated, the exercises were very pleasant;
after they were over we went home with
friends to tea, came home about sundown,
did the usual night’s work, then wrote
until bedtime, and thus ends my “ week.”
WACOUSTA. LAUREL VANE.

——-.O‘——
POOR BRUNO !

 

I do not wish to be too critical of the
many splendid articles which appear in the
HOUSEHOLD. I wish ﬁrst to say how
much I have enjoyed Evangeline’s papers;
they seemed so life-like, giving us an in-
sight into the many little unpleasant cir-
cumstances which must happen in our
every day life, yet at the same time show-
ing what a useful, happy life each one Of
us may live by cheerfully discharging
each day’s duties, monotonous though they
may seem.

I have also read “The Misadventures of
the B Family,” and I sincerely hope
that Bruno is a myth, for if he is a real
person he must be very unhappy. I thinkif
Mrs. B— instead Of grumbling about it in
the HOUSEHOLD, had kindly insisted upon
the return of the turkey money, or that the
garden must be near the house, these and
many other little grievances would have
been easily remedied. She seems to think
that Bruno has a poor opinion of her
abilities in many ways, but will Mrs. B—
ask herself if she has placed her husband
on the standard that any true wife should
her husband? My imagination reaches out
and methinks I see Bruno coming home at
night tired out with puzzling over the
binder that did not work well, hunting for
the cattle that had strayed into the corn
ﬁeld, or some other equally hard task, and
wishing to read a few minutes, picking up
the HOUSEHOLD and ﬁnding such a dismal
description of himself. What feelings of
delight would thrill his bosom, and with
what silent expressions of pleasure he
would gaze upon his loving wife, whom he
had expected to comfort him in dark days
and share the bright ones also! I would
advise Mrs. B-—-, instead of sending her
troubles to a newspaper to be published, to
go for assistance and advice to the one who
has taken her for his helpmeet through life.

At present I am not cheering the life of
any unhappy Bruno, and if I would accept
Mrs. B———’s picture of home life, I think
I would hesitate to launch upon a sea with
such dark and ominous clouds hanging
over it, but I do not, and dear readers, I
hope sometime to be able to tell you about
a much happier one.

Do the readers of the HOUSEHOLD think
Mrs. B— is justiﬁed in presenting such a
picture to the many young lady readers of
this little paper? Each one makes mis-
takes, but if we let kind thoughts be the

 

 

robins to cover over anything which seems
unpleasant, there would be more bright
days in poor Bruno’s life.

ALBION. MARIE BELLE.

 

HOUSEHOLD HINTS.

 

Do not put your feather bed or pillows in
the sun to air. The sun’s heat draws the
oil out of the feathers, and turns them ran-
cid. To wash feathers, put them in bags of
unbleached cotton, and boil them ten min-
utes in water containing soap and ammonia,
rinse in clear water and hang in a shady
place to dry.

 

SYRINGING plants affected with red spider
will help greatly to clean them of this
troublesome insect. They cannot live in
an atmosphere heavily charged with mois-
ture. This enables owners of greenhouses
to control them. When the temperature is
up to 90 deg. the plants, benches, ﬂoor,
etc., are thoroughly syringed and the house
closed up, they retire to other quarters.
They like a hot, dry atmosphere.

STONE jars, holding a gallon, are best for
holding jam and spiced fruits. Provide
some foolscap paper, some thick boiled
ﬂour paste, some pieces of cloth and a ball
of cord. Fill the jar nearly full—within a
quarter or half an inch of the top—while
the jam is boiling hot, cover the paper
with the paste and paste over the jar, paste
side down, tie it; cover a piece of cloth in
the same way, and tie it down, then let it
cool before tying over the top several
thicknesses of paper. Keep in adry cool
closet, but never in the cellar.

 

RUSKIN’S remark, “ I have lost much of
the faith I once had in the common sense
and even in the personal delicacy of the
present race of women, by seeing how they
allow their dresses to sweep the streets, as
if it is the fashion to be scavengers,” is
quoted approvingly by some of our ex-
changes. Mr. Ruskin should get his head
out of the clouds long enough to allow the
fact that long dresses are no longer worn
on the streets and have not been for the
past ten years, to dawn upon his decidedly
languid comprehension. As for the editors
who quote him, if he should assert water
isn’t wet, they would probably agree with
him.

.—.__...__.__
Contributed Recipes.

Wnr'rr. MOUNTAIN Carin—Two cups sugar;
two-thirds cup butter; one cup milk; three
cups ﬂour; two teaspoofuis baking powder:
whites Of eight eggs. Flavor with lemon:
bake in layers. Filling: Two cups sugar;
half cup water; boll until it ropes. Beat the
whites of three eggs to a stilt froth. pour the
syrup over them and beat briskly: spread be-
tween the layers and on top.

MOCK MINCE Pin—One cup vinegar: one
cup sugar; one cup molasses; two cups bread
crumbs; two cups water; one cup chopped
raisins: half cup butter: two can; spice: of all
kinds; a little pepper and salt.

WAOOUSTA. Mum Van.

 

 

 

