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DETROITK JAN. 16, 1892.

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD-"supplement.

 

 

POLLY.

 

She Is neither gay nor witty. her face is far f1 om
pretty. .
And her name is not the sweetest ever heard.
She has never learned to speak Latin, German.
French or Greek,
And of Shakespeare she would fail to quote a
word.

Hers are not the daintiest feet. but her gowns are
always neat.
Though you’d never think of calling them in
style.
Studied arts are all unknown, but you could not
help but own .
There is something very pleasant in her smile.

She will never wield a pen to secure her rights
from men; ’ _

Neither does she on the “ sweetest nevei ” dote.

'She has never useda brush on satin. silk or plush.

And of music she can scarcely tell a note.

“But she has a recompense in good, solid common
sense; - v , .
And her cheery face is always bright to see;
She makes one feel the worth of that sweetest spot
on earth.
In a home that’s always bright as it can be.

As a housewife. I’ll engage that if you should
search an age.
A better one than she you could not show.
You should see the things she’ll bake. the bread
and pies and cake.
That always chance. to “ turn out right," you
know. . '
‘No. she's not the one toshine in a brilliant social
line: . '
That you‘d never call her handsome I'll agree':
’But she's inst the sort of wife that would be a joy
through life - . .
' To a simple hearted fellow. say like me.

_——...———— ;‘

AMONG ‘ THE BOOKS.

i

 

“ An American Girl in London,”'by
Sara Jeannette Duncan, is a very amus-
ing account of the adventures of “Miss
Mamie Wick, of Chicago,” who, having
prepared to visit England with her
“ poppa and momma,” saw no reason
why she should not carry out her inten-
tion in spite of circumstances which
compelled her parents to forego the
journey. So, supplied with plenty of
money and three trunks, she crossed
the ocean alone, relying upon awelcome
from a distant relative of her father’s
who lived in London and whose annual
Christmas cards had seemed to inti-
mate a friendly interest in the Wick
family, of Chicago. The authoress turns
the tables in a very clever fashion upon
those English men and women who
come over to America, stay over one
steamer, pick up anything which is not
as it is done “in Lennon ” and go home
and write a book about us. In very
charming fashion she shows that Eng-

lish customs and manners, accent and
currency, and a good many things
British seem as amusing to Americans
as do certain American ways to English
people in this country. And often the~
inference is very apparent—“ we do
these things better with us.” Those of
our transatlantic cousins who criticise
the ﬂat pronunciation which character-
izes—in fact is, the New England dia-
lect, may perhaps now be conscious of
the missing aspirate of the English
amiddle class; and if they say the eul-
tured English do not misus‘ektheir h’s,
we may retort by saying that the aver-
age American doesn’t say “ ceow.”

Perhaps Miss Mamie’s encounters
with the British Matron are the most
wittily told : you see some of us are fa-
miliar with an Americanized edition
of the mgn aforesaid, and can ap-
preciate t3 7i umor of the characteriza-
tion. Some portions of the book are too
sketchy to be clever, but there is so
much that a amusing, especially to
anti-Anglomaniacs, that one doesn’t
criticise either matter or manner. The
humor is delicate and pervasive.’ The
going to Ascot with the Bangleyﬂoi’ﬁns,

emy, where every one looked at the
dresses and Miss Mamie remembered
afterward that the walls had been hung
with pictures ; the lunch with the two
lads at Oxford, where, having mistaken
a jug of cream for mayonnaise and
poured it upon her ﬁsh. to avoid em-
barrassing her host—already blushing:
beautifully pink at having to do the
honors-she calmly said, “ we likebit
with ﬁsh in America,” and ate as reach
of it as possible considering something
had been done to it with vinegar; the
description of the quiet country home
of the Stacys, and the awkward con-
tretemps which resulted, through her
ignorance of English social ways, in

who wanted to marry her but hadn’t as

 

the “ private view ”~ at the Royal Acad-~ .,

paying a visit to the family of the man 1

Olive Schreiner, is one of the strangest
books which has ever fallen in my way,
especially if we consider the life and
opportunities of the author. Born in
the heart of South Africa, she had cut-
grown childhood before she ever saw a
town, the nearest approach to such be-
ing Matesfontain, a little station con-
sisting of a farm, a hotel, a mill and a
warehouse, with a few poor houses, in
the heart of the Karroo desert, 300
miles “up country.” Her youth was
passed on the farm, amid such scenes as
she describes in her books—dead levels
of sand and karroo bushes and barren
ridges of rocks.

Miss Schpreiner is the author of
“ Dreams,” a collection of short sketches
written since the publication of her
“Story of an African Farm.” These
are allegorical in the'ir nature and are
peculiarly mystical. The “Story”
was :begun when she was yetachild
and’revised and completed later. The
wonder is that one so young, so inex-
perienced, as we regard experience,
could write a book at once so original,
so pathetic, so full of life’s deeper
meanings. It bears evidence of an un-
usual, indeed what might be considered
an abnormal development of spiritual
life, which was without doubt the result
of the isolation and loneliness of the
surroundings. To every human soul
comes at times the consciousness of
being eternally and absolutely alone, a
feeling that often so oppresses and
'bears down upon us that in sheer
excess of it we seek companionship, yet
knowing it is impossible to escape from
the loneliness we carry with us. If men
and women in the midst of civilization,
surrounded by equals in intelligence,
can yet say “We live in a desert. No
one person understands any other per-
son,” what must that isolation—that
soul-solitude in which every human
being is hopelessly enfolded—become up-
on the sand plains of South Africa, with

 

‘ yet even faintly indicated the fact to her,

ccntenting himself by paying his atten- .

‘ tions to her chaperon—all are charm-

‘ ingly detelled. One can’t help wishing

Miss Mamie had been presented at
court and‘ told us about it. Her Opinion
of Royal ﬂunkeys‘in' plush and ancient
. dowagers in decollette dresses" might
not have been ﬂattering but would cer-
tainly have been amusing.
l “The Story of an African Farm,” by

v
‘d

the unchanging sandy waste around,
the unchanging blue above, and semi-
civilized Kaﬂirs as attendants? Nur-
ture a remarkably sensitive, thought-
ful and impressionable child upon Bib-
lical mysteries and doctrinal sermons;
let her perplex her small head with the
problems of life as she sees it and try
Cto‘ reconcile them with God as she has
learned Him from Old Testament les-
sons and a religion which makes Him

   
   

  
  

J!


 

2 The Household.

 

simply stern judge and all-powerful
ruler, and you have the conditions un~
der which such a book might be writ-
ten. It is hardly orthodox, according to
denominational standards, nor is it alto-
gether pleasant reading, yet there is a
peculiar fascination about it. As you
read, Memory, turning your own life
leaves, says to you: “I thought this
too, long ago.” “This puzzled me
once.” “I asked myself that question
long ago.” You lived all that once;
those fears, those yearnings, you felt;
and you worshipped as far off, and fear-
ed the little brown devil with his cloven
foot, and wondered at the wrong and
injustice in your little world, as did the
child upon the red sand beyond the
kraal.

In what school did the little South
African girl learn this ? “A man's
love is aﬁre of olive wood. It leaps
higher every moment; it roars, it
blazes, it shoots out red ﬂames; it
threatens to wrap you round and devour
you—you who stand by like an icicle in
its ﬁerce warmth. You are self-re-
proached at your own chilliness and
want of reciprocity. The next day
when you go to warm your hands a lit-
tle, you ﬁnd a few ashes. ’Tis a long
love and cool against a short love and
hot.”

Or this: “ The less a woman has in
her head the lighter she is for climbing.
I once heard an old man say he never
saw intellect help a woman so much as
a pretty ankle, and it was the truth.
* * * * Alittle tenderness; alittle
longing when we are young; a little
futile searching for work, a little pas-
sionate striving for room for the exer-
cise of our powers—and then we go
with the drove. A woman must march
with her regiment. In the end she
must be trodden down or go with it; if
she is wise she goes. * * * * Let

-any man think for a moment of what
old maidenhood means to a Woman. Is
it easy to bear through life a name that
in itself signiﬁes defeat; to dwell, as
nine out of ten unmarried women must,
under the ﬁnger of another woman?
Is it easy to look forward to an old age
without honor, without the reward of
useful labor, without love ? I wonder
how many men there are who would
give up everything that is dear in life
for the sake of maintaining ahigh ideal
purity?”

But no fragmentary quotations can
do justice to the rpectiliar scope and
purport of this South African sketch.

BEATRIX.

QUINCES will not make solid jelly
after they have been touched by the
frost. This is about the only thing
that will prevent the jelly from harden-
ing properly after being boiled.

BY using soda water as a wash, it is
asserted you can clean ceilings that
have been smoked by a kerosene lamp.

And lamp burners are best cleansed by
washing them in strong soda water.

WHAT TO TEACH, AND HOW TO
TEACH IT.

 

Some time ago a correspondent of the
HOUSEHOLD asked the important
question, how she should answer the
oft recurring questions of her little girl.
those questions the majority of chil-
dren, with the natural curiosity which
should be seen in childhood, ask of
their parents on their own “imme'
diate and wondrous heritage of power.”
I waited, thinking surely some of the
good sound sense of the writers to the
HOUSEHOLD would be given in an an-
swer to so important a query. Finally
it passed from my own mind, but was
recalled when on looking through a
magazine, I found an article from the
pen of Frances E. Willard entitled
“ How to Bring Upa Boy.” The article
in full is most excellent, but I will only
give that portion which refers directly
to the correspondent’s inquiry. The
article is written especially on the
training of boys, but this certainly (by
changing the pronouns) may as wisely
be applied to the little daughters. She
says:

“The boy is sent to school to learn
the most sacred endowments of his
being from some low lad on the play
ground, or some leering youth in the
back alley; or some peddler of vile
literature who waylays him on his
way home. Knowledge abhors a
vacuum, and if the boy’s ,head is not
ﬁlled with pure explanatiﬁg of his own
nature and powers, it will be packed
with those that are impure. For every
school has in it its three classes of
children—~those from homes celestial.
terrestial: and diabolical. It is so much
easier to sink than to climb, that in the
natural effort of all to ﬁnd equilibrum,
the lowest minds spread their con-
tagion wide~t, and the tendency is to
keep time to the ”slowest step in the
last battalion of the ‘little soldiers
newly mustered in.’ Hence the
mothers should make sure that purity
has the ﬁrst word. The boy’s ques-
tions will be early asked Let not the
coarse reply get in its work before the
chaste one comes. Science is like ﬁre:
it burns out dross; tell him what
Ssience says. God’s laws are a 1 equally
clean and holy; tell him of the laws of
God. But how shall you tell him? Al-
ways according to the truth of things.
The bird in its nest; the ﬂower on its
stalk; the babe in its cradle, all show
forth one creative law. Probably the
best result of women‘s higher educa-
tion is that they will thus be better
ﬁtted to bring up their children. The
scientiﬁc spirit in the mother will
better understand the constant ques-
tions of her son.

“There will be other questions of
the alert little brain. ‘Mamma, what
makes that man walk crooked?’ the
l boy asks as the awful object lesson of a
‘ pois )ned brain crosses his path. Then
'let her teach him that the body is

 

 

God’s temple, and that into it must not
enter anything that deﬁleth. Shine
in upon his quick intelligence with a.
‘ Thus saith nature, thus saith reason,
thus saith physiology, chemistry and
hygiene.’ Teacn him that the laws of
Nature are but the methods of God’s
ever present action’; that He is not far»
from every one of us, but ‘in Him we
live and move and have our being.’ ”
WILLIAMSTON. HATl‘IE E. RIX.

 

HOW “ME ’N‘ SARAH.” JOlNED TEE
FARMERS’ CLUB.

 

I’ve put in nearly ﬁfty years farming.
I never drank liquor in any form. I’ve
worked from ten to eighteen hours a
day, teen economical in clothes and
never went to a show more than adozen
times in my life, and raised a family
and educated them. My wife worked
with me, washing pails, scalding pans,
skimming milk, sewing new seats in
the boys’ pants, and spanking butter,
and sometimes milking the- cows. For
forty years we toiled along together
and hardly got time to look into each
other’s faces or to step to get acquaint-
ed with each other. Finally my wife
wanted me to join the Farmers’ Club.
This happened one rainy day when I
was greasing my old boots by the

kitchen ﬁre. I asked her what did the“

Farmers’ Club amount to, anyhow. She
said it would make me popular, “ and
maybe you’ll get to be president of it,
afterawhile.” President, hum! She-
said it would learn me a more easy and
diversiﬁed method of farming. We-ll,
we’ve had one of those embroidered,
nightshirt diversiﬁed farmers come
down from the city, and buy a farm
that had nothing to it but a fancy
house, a meadow in the front yard, and
a southern aspect. He tried to diver»
sify farming by raising Bohemian oats
and bonded wheat. He went “ker-
smash.” He couldn‘t raise a disturb-
ance on it. But my wife (Sarah) said
I must not look at one man’s failure,
but look at our neighbors enjoying
themselves. They go about once in
every two weeks with bouquets and
happy faces to elevate farm life and
make home more attractive.

Now Sarah’s judgment was always
pretty good, so I to‘d her I would join

just to please her. So one day I was.

going by the president’s house andI
stopped. And what do you suppose I
found the president’s wife doing?
Why, she was spankin’ butter just like
Sarah does! And the president was at
the barn milking the cows, just as I

have to do myself. So I told him my-

business, and he took down my name,
said he thought it was a good idea for
us farmers to meet occasionally, and
see if we could improve the present
method of farming, and told me where
the next meeting would be held. So I
went home and told Sarah about it;
she was just pleased and said she
thought life would be more pleasant in-

 

 


 

 

 

. I' ‘
r” g, g a .

The Household. 8

 

the future. So the day before the
meeting Sarah was stepping around as
light as a duck on a moonlight night.
She sewed lace in the top of her dress,
and trimmed the wristbands of my
white shirt that I hadn’t worn since
last town meeting. And next day I
hitched on to the light wagon and
drove around to the front gate for
Sarah, and when she came out she
looked ﬁne. I knew I wouldn’t be
ashamed of her, for she was dressed as
good as any farmer’s wife. Then we
were off to the meeting. When we got
there the president introduced me to a
great many strangers, and even to a
man I had been acquainted with for a
long time; but as he owed me a dollar
on some seed corn he had to be in-
troduced to me. I looked to see where
Sarah was and she was in the parlor
and the women seemed to be making
quite a pow-wow over her. I had quite
a talk with old Lankinsledger about
how cheap taters were this year, and
’twasn’t long before we were called to
dinner, and this was the most in-
teresting part of the meeting for me.
After dinner the president did what
they called "calling the meeting to or-
der,” and after a while diﬂ’erent mem-
bers got up and made speeches about
their experience in farming. I didn’t
say anything, but I thought I wouldn’t
have to try very hard to make as good
a speech as some of them, for they all
thought they were doing something
smart by mixing in a few big words.
Then they talked about where
they’d meet next time and we in-
vited them to come to our place,
so they concluded to come. Finally
they said something about ad-
journing—guess that’s the new name
for chore time—so Sarah and I started
home, and she began to tell me about
what she had heard at the meeting.
She said there was a new style of
dress now, and hers wasn’t ﬁt to wear
for nice any more.’ I told her I
couldn‘t see how. that was, for my
pants never got out of style when there
wasn’t any holes in them. But she
said ’twas the different way they made
dresses now that caused them to be out
of style, and said something about flaps
and fans on dresses. I told her to
compose herself; she was getting
tangled up in some of those big words
she heard at the Club. We got home
about dark, and had to do the chores
by lamp-light. And we sat up pretty
late that night talking about the Club,
but we ought not to, for I had to get
up early next morning in order to make
that hired man earn his wages. For
the next two weeks Sarah was at me
for a new dress for the next meeting.
But I told her I didn’t want to be at
any expense through this Club busi-
ness, for I joined it to learn how to
save expense; and I guessed she’d
have to wait till she had worn out the
one she had. She wanted me to pre-
pare a speech, so when they came to

 

our house I could get up and talk like
the other men did. She wanted me to
write it down, but I knew it was easier
to tell it than to write it. She thought
I might make mistakes, but I knew
there war 11 ) danger as long as I didn’t
interfere with those big words.

Well, the day before they met at our
house Sarah said I'd have to go to
town to get stuff for the meeting.
When I asked her what she wanted,
she said for one thing a bunch of celery.
I asked what that was and what it
looked like and she told me ’twas a sort
of bouquet and made the table look
nice. She wanted a half pound of
mustard, three pounds and a half of
brown sugar and a nuimeg. She was
going to say something else, but I
told her to stop or we’d have no meet-
ing. I got the stuff and it cost me
forty-nine cents, too; all on account of
this meeting business. And Sarah
worked awful hard getting ready, but
she never complained ’cause ’twas her
own doings. The next forenoon I could
smell the pork boiling clear out in the
barnyard and I knew we were going to
have a good dinner. About noon they
commenced to come and I began to help
put away their horses; and they kept
on coming and I kept on helping till at
at last, seeing there was no other way,
I had to run out the light wagon and
hitch the horses on the barn ﬂoor and
put rails between them. I noticed that
each farmer saw that his horse had a
manger—full of hay before he went to
the house, and the last who came
thought I didn’t raise hay enough for
this sized farm. I didn’t say anything
for I didn‘t want to tell him what I
thought, so we all went to the house.

Pretty soon Sarah began to ﬂy around
to get dinner, and it was soon on the
table, and when we went out to
dinner the table looked pretty nice I
can tell you. She put the bouquet
called celery right in the middle of the
table.- Itold them to pitch right in
and make themselves at home, and
they seemed to take right hold; and I
noticed that old Lankinsledger ate a
good deal of pork with his mustard, and
Three—ply Bumblesteen ate an awful
lot of mustard with his pork, and nearly
all of them took the second cup of
coffee, and toward the last they began

to brouse at the bouquet and t :at beat.

me, for I supposed bouquets were made
to look at and smell of, but they never
quit till they ate up the Whole business.
I never saw anything to beat that
since I left York State, where the
foreigners used to eat the sweet corn,
cob and all. So ﬁnally we got through
dinner and went into the sitting-room
and I had to go over and sit on the corner
of the wood box. Finally the President
did what they called “ calling the meet-
ing to order,” and Mr. Frozenhide got
up and said he believed in making
home attractive for the boys; and Mr.
Summerfallow said he believed in
plowing under ‘clover for wheat, but I

 

wondered where he got it, for I haven’t
had a catch the last three years. Mr.
Greasthewagon said this mild winter
would be a great rebate on wintering
stock. [couldn’t stand it any longer;
I wanted to talk myself; so I got up
and told them that my cattle had gone
through awhole mowful of hay since
October, and eleven tons of bran. Hay
doesn’t seem to have the goodness to it
that it had last year; and with these
new roller process grist mills they
jerk all the goodness out of bran, so
you might as well feed cows sawdust
and upholster your horses with hem-
lock bark. As for the boys leaving the
farm I don’t blame them so long as
other things pay better; but I say, and
I say what I know, that the man who
holds the prosperity of this country in
his hands, the man who actually makes
money for other people to spend. the
man who eats three simple, good
square meals a day and goes to bed at
nine o’clock so that the future genera-
tion with good blood and cool brain can
go from his farm to the Senate and
Congress and to the White House—he
is the man who gets left- at last to run
his farm, with nobody to help him but
a hired man and a high protective
tariff.

“Yes,” said Mr. Croaker, "' but look
at the glory of sending from the farm
the future President. the future
Senator, and the future member of
Congress.”

That looks well on paper, but what
does it really amount to? SOOn as a.
farmer boy gets in a place like that he
forgets the soil that produced him,
holds his head as high as a hollyhock,
and while he sails round in a room with
a ﬁre in it night and day, his father on
the farm kindles the ﬁre in the morn-
ing with elm slivers, and wears his
son’s lawn tennis suit for underclothes,
and he milks in an old gray shawl
that held that member of Congress
When he was a baby.

After I got through nobody said a
word for a minute or so. then they be-
gan kt) tilk about where they would
meet next time, and ﬁnally adjourned,
and commenced to go home. And I
kept on helping them to get started till
it was dark. Then I had the chores to
do and I hardly knew where to begin.
When I got through milking I started
to go to the house, and fel': over one of
the rails we had put bet ween the horses;
the milk spilled all over my best pants,
I hurt my elbow, and I was mad.
When I got to the house Sarah hadn’t
the disheswashed and it took us till
ten o’clock that night to get our work
done. And I told Sarah that this
would put an end to the Farmers’ Club
with us, for all it interested were those

who seemed to yearn for society and
popularity more than to pay their
mortgages. '1‘. 8

THE gum of the cherry tree dissolved
in alcohol, makes an adhesive paste,
good for pasting labels, etc.

 


 

4 .

‘The Household.

 

HOW IT GREW.

 

The sto:y, Of course, begins with a
woman—one of the most common type
of farm-wives; plain; of meager educa-
tion and known as “ambitious,” inas-
much as she always undertook double
the tasks any one could‘ do well. She
was often discouraged and “blue,”
feeling that her life was barren and her
worlda very narrow one. Her work
was just like that of almost all other
women on a large farm, it went on in the
proverbial route from sun to sun; and
then, while her children were small,
:ontinued through the hours of night.
.But the recollection of the poverty of
her early years made her rejoice over
every feature of present prosperity,
and she always taught her children to
remember that there were many poorer
than themselves. Her babies usually
followed their good-night kiss with,
“0h, mamma, I wish every poor child
had as warm abed as this!” As they
grew Older, a weekly paper, the
ireasure of the oldest child, had much
to say of a ward in a certain hospital
which was “free to poor children.”

Now a hospital was an institution as
little known in this rural place as if it
had belonged to anchor planet; but a
place to make comfortable, and‘if pos-
sible cure the poor little ones, was
talked over a good deal, and a picture
of one of the cots looked at until every
line was familiar. Then came a time
when the mother read that such a
ward had been Opened in Harper
Hospital, Detroit. Ah, that was nearer
home! And as, at long intervals, news
paper items regarding the noble
charity were read and discussed, they
began to wish they could do something
to help make the children happy. “ I,”
suggested the nine year old girl,
“ might spare them some of my picture
books.” “And I,” piped up the second
in age, “might send Phema, only she
hasn’t any legs or arms, but she can
work her eyes yet quite good, and
tome little girl might like her to play
with.” Then the sturdy boy promised
his “taws” when he got too large to
play with them. Each had proffered
the treasure most dearly beloved, and
the mother recognized the noble im-
pulse as One worthy Of encouragement,
and turned her mind from its beaten
paths to “think up some way.”;='She
had found from experience that a box
~0f leaﬂets was just the thing for a weak,
convalescent child to amuse itself
with; a lot of pretty pictures Cwere
going to waste in the attic, so she told
them they might make leaﬂets to send.
Stormy Saturday afternoons were to
he set apart for the work, and they
went at it with zeal and a muss. Other
children came in and wished they
could do something of that kind too;
and some good spirit whiSpered, “ Why

1} en ‘3” The leaﬂets and a box
0f ﬂowers were ﬁnally sent; and such a
came back; and

 

  

such a chattering went on at school
and at home, that before long a dozen
girls, ranging in age from four to
fourteen years, organized themselves
intoasociety called “Friends of the
Children’s Free Hospital.”

Although this was but about nine
months ago, they have. in many ways,
made their influence felt in the hospi-
tal. They have crocheted edging for
nightdresses, etched a pretty bedo
spread, made table bibs, and sent in
fruit and flowers at every opportunity.
Anything in the country which is new
straightway becomes news, and assuch
is considered in all its bearings. The
mothers began to talk it over and the
“original” began to collect abox of
old soft cotton and outgrown night-
clothes. She found everybody so re-
sponsive to the thought of helping that
the idea Of a society among themselves
suggested itself, and though quite un-
accustomed to such work and strangers
to parlimentary rules, they met at a
central house, and got themselves into
working shape, and a good work they
have done. They were all toiling
people, had little time and less money;
but they agreed to give one afternoon
of each month for sewing and the dues
were placed at ﬁve cents.

One problem puzzled them; they
were ﬁfty miles from the city, and
could not see ,how their nickels were
going to buy material for the garments
and send them that distance too. But
they soon learned that packages could
be sent free, and that those in charge
of the hospital were glad to send out
garments tobe made, as the making
represented money to them.

 

q

The children are of all sizes, kinds
and color. The hospital is open to “all
sick children under twelve, whose
parents or friends are unable or un-
willing to provide for them. N o ques-
tion is asked except, “Are they suffer-
ing and needy?” and they are made as
comfortable as possible.

A band of earnest, noble-hearted,
generous-handed people have founded
and uphold this charity. “Yes,”
sneers Farmer Weazen, “ but they are
rich and able to do it.” True, but why
should we deprive ourselves of the same
pleasure they have—the pleasure of
knowing that we have at least tried to
do good?

“Not only what we give, but also
what we keep” is said to be the true
measure Of a gift, so on the book of that
Recording Angel, which we all like to
dream about whenever we have a good
deed to make note of, the half bushel
of windfalls may, in some way un-
known to mathematics, amount to as
much as the check of several ciphers.
A good deed always reacts, and no
person can help another without help-
ing himself more. Farmers, com-
pared with city people, are strangers
to the habit of charity; but more than
one woman has already found that it
“drives away the blues” to do some-
thing for the “C. F. H.” and that it is
well worth a nickel to meet with
neighbors in such a pleasant way—
where merry tongues keep time with
the needles.

This is the story of how the ﬁrst
Auxiliary Association grew. It was
through blindness and blunders, but
any one wishing to form one now may

Fruit cans were furnished, and during easily do so by applying to the Secre-

the summer each active

member tary for rules and directions.

Where

handed a can to her friend and also to this is not practicable, two or three

her “friend’s friend” with a request
that she ﬁll it with whatever she could
best spare. No one refused, and in the,
autumn sixty quarts were sent. Half
bushel baskets were received empty
and returned in groups, ﬁlled with all
sorts Of things—from the fragrant
onion to pippins and Snow apples.

They did not ask for anything which
a farmer would market. but only for
sufﬁcient sympathy and interest to
gather up and send to them that which
goes to waste on a large farm every
year. They are “thinking it out”
and talking it up, and the prospect is
that the two “Auxiliary Associations ”
-—a second has been formed four miles
from the ﬁrst—of this year will be
multiplied in number and increased in
strength another year. One hour Of
some day in the city, spent at the hos-
pital, is certain to make any one with a
heart its earnest friend forever after.
The little white cots, the pallid, suf-
fering occupants, greeting with a
bright smile the one who “ sent the
apples,” and reaching gladly for the
golden buttercups—guests from the
woods—something they have never
seen,ls something pleasant to remember.

 

  

neighbors may do a good deal, while
even one woman, when she says she will,
she will; and will be happier forever
after, thinking of the little sufferers
who have been helped to bear their
pain, or brought out of it into health
and independence, through her ex-
ertions. A. H. J.

THOMAS.
——Q.._—

A CORRESPONDENT at Baldwin, Lake
County, asks the HOUSEHOLD to tell
where grape fruit grows, how it grows,
and how to prepare it for the table.
Grape fruit grows in Florida and be-
longs to the citrus family, which in-
cludes the orange, lemon, lime, etc.
The fruit grows upon a tree like the
orange, but is much larger and of a
paler color when ripe. There is a very
bitter white coating under the outer

rind, but the pulp is a pleasant acid,
midway between the orange and lemon.
The shaddock is another and larger
variety of grape fruit, and both are
considered a speciﬁc for malaria, and
are often seen in Northern markets.
The fruit is eaten like the orange; we
know of no way Of pre ring it for the
table except to serve s iced with sugar,
asoranges are served. b .ng careful,

however, to remove all th: bitter white ,

coat.

  

 

 

  

 

 

    
  
    
   
    
 
  
   
  
  
   
   

       

