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DETROIT, JUNE '7, 1890.

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD-"Supplement.

 

 

THE LI 1 TLE WOMAN.

Sweet little woman, two years 0 ‘,d

~.Cast in the Maker‘s daintiest mould.
Brightening my life with her sunny smiles
Her coaxing ways and her baby wiles.
Busy-so busy with childish play,

But glad to creep to my arms, and lay

Her little head on my happy breast,

While I crooned her into a dreamy rest.
And what are these that my vision blur ?—
Ahl the angels unbarred the gates for her;
Sweet little woman, two years old.

Cast in the Maker’s daintiest mould.

Sweet little woman, two years old,
Safe with Christ, on the streets of gold.
Watching for me by the gates of pearl,
‘Dear little goldenvhaired baby girl;
Intently listening to hear the fall
or my steps, as i answer the Savior‘s call.
Ready to spring to my arms once more,
When I moor my bark on the blessed shore;
to I patiently wait till the angels kind

. Shall lead me where I am sure I‘ll ﬁnd
The sweet little woman, two years old,
Safe with Christ on the streets of gold.

___—...._—_

CONTENTME.‘ * 7'.

 

They say that I am wearing my life away

Out here in the country so far from town,
That gentle ways will never be mine,

Nor fashion‘s approval, nor wide renown,

So long as i work and my hands are brown.
And with homely work till the book of “ Time,"

But they do not know how happy I am
In ﬁlling the place of mother and wife,

That the waving grain and the birds’ sweet call
And the prattle of children is part of life,
And better, far better, than fashion's strife,

Yes, better than riches and farm and all.

___.....___

AN UNPLEASANT SUBJECT.

What an appetite some people appear
to have for the horrible! It seems to me
as if that must be a peculiarly diseased men-
tal organization which can recount with
such particularity and apparent ,relish all
the details _of a sickness or surgical opera‘
tion, to. the most revolting minutiae. I
spent the evening _ recently with two ladies
whose conversation consisted of a recital

of the various accidents and illnesses which,

had happened to the members of their
large and especially afﬂicted family, and
immediate circle of friends. It was worse
than a medical treatise. I tried to stern the
tide and divert the current of talk into
more agreeable and edifying channels, but
vainly. “All roads lead to Rome,” so all
excursions were soon headed oﬁ and the

‘ recital went on of this one’s sufferings

from catarrh, that one’ s long lingering m
donsumption, the other’s malignant ulcer,
the fourth’s encounter with the surgeon’s

  

 

knife, till when happily I could make my
escape and get home, my dreams were
haunted by gruesome visions and I woke
in a cold perspiration, dreaming Death was
about to amputate my arm with a meat axe.

The ills of humanity are indeed many
and grievous. We pray in the Litany
“ * * from sudden death, Good Lord,
deliver us!” but after all, since death is
inevitable is not he rather to be envied who
is called suddenly, without the suffering,
the pain and agony of a long and wasting
sickness, from which the fainting heart
often begs vainly for the merciful release
of death? The sudden going away is
harder for those left behind than for those
who are taken; there are words we would
have spoken, farewells to have been uttered ,
perhaps, alas, forgiveness we would have
entreated, but the dead are at peace.

We ought tc—we do—sympathize with
those who suffer, witness the devotion of
relatives, who spare nothing which can
help mitigate the pain or aid in restoring
the invalid to health. The unselﬁsh in-
terest of friends, the kindly acts of
strangers, prove a common animating im-
pulse of pity for the distressed and afflict-
ed. But why must we be called upon to
listen to the revolting, blood curdling
accounts of how much poor human beings
can endure and still hold the breath of
life? If our listening would spare them
one pang, if our minute knowledge of
their condition would alleviate it ever so
little, we would gladly endure for their
sakes. But we all know we cannot az'd
them thus, and their friends might spare
us the sick room details ard symptoms
which should be—sometimes in the in-
terests of decency-sacred to the physician
and the nurse.

Moreover, there are many reﬁned women
and young girls whose delicacy' ls aﬁronted
and outraged by having their suiferings
made a matter of gossip among strangers
or even their friends. There are those, too,
'who are perforce obliged to listen ‘to such
things, whose sense of delicacy is offended
by hearing of matters relating to other
people which they know, were they those
who must endure them, they would not
desire to have indiiiere-ntly gossiped about.
If one hasn’t much delicacy, individually,
it is well to respect that of those who have.

Avery. sympathetic nature is often un-

pleasantly affected by hearing these “ hos-

pital experiences,” as I have heard them
called. A' delicate, sensitive lady, who, a
martyr to,her politeness. listened. for half
an hour to the harrowing descriptlon of a

death by canon of the throat, left the
parlor after the call and was found, pale
as death and almost in a faint, on the bed
in her own room. Asked what was the
matter, she shuddertd, covering her eyes,
"Mrs. -———’s talk C(mpletely unnervrd
me. She pictured that poor W(man’s
death so vividly I can see her this minute. ”
And it was days before the impressions and
depressirg inﬂuences of that call wore oﬁ.

Some people have a morbid relish for
the horrible and a ghoulish interest in re-
peating sick room experiences, and are as
willing to hear as to be heard. Each after
his kind. But good taste, good sense, deli-
cacy of feeling, and “good form" u e

in relegating the details of illm :l-c
symptoms, the remedial agents em; M -\ed,
to mi se who are in charge of the gr dent.
We may show our sympathy 1)- tin Hntlly
inquiries, the flowers, the dainty ll'slltb to
tempt a capricious appetite, . r if x 1 casion
demands, our care and attentit n; 1m H: are

sufﬁcient evidences of our affectionate in-
terest, and it seems as if the friends of
sick people would do well to follow the
example of the physician, whrse code of,
professional ethics enjoins upon him a dis-
creet silence regarding the ailments of his
patients. BEATRIX.

 

A LETTER TO THEOPOLUS.

Theopolus Thistle, the successful this-
tle-sifter, has succeeded in sifting a whole
handful of thistles from that much abused
subject—housecleaning; and now comes to
the HOUSEHOLD under the delusion that
the nimble ﬁngered members will ﬂy to his
rescue and speedily extricate them. Ah
not Mr. Thcopolus, we shall, instead,
promptly advise remedies for your own
disease. Subject yourself to the treat-
ment of )I. Pasteur and see if he can cure
this. aggravated case of madness. So many
Benedicts are suffering from the same
malady, it would be a great thing for the
feminine portion of humanity could a
remedy be found to allay these terrible
‘spring ravings. “ Oh the sorrows and
trials that housecleaning bring to himl,”
Of course Mary Jane is, during this tem-
porary reign of Queen Scrubbrush, as
happy as an angel, the more weary she be-
comes the more she enjoys it, and partakes
of the herring, pickles and stale bread as
though they were the nectar of the gods.
She is thankful for the herring and glad she
is not compelled to eat indigestible hot rolls
in place of the I-more healthy stale _ bread,

 

As to sleeping on a chair, well now I see

  
 


 

2' THE H()I;TSEH()LD.

_

how that is; he caught that nap while
seated in a rocking chair, watching Mary
Jane and Polly tacking down carpet. Now
Theopolus, let me whisper in your car;
just order Mary Jane to unload that easy
chair in yonder cosy corner which they
got settled while you were out for your
walk. Now light a cigar and watch your
Mary Jane through the curling smoke. It
will seem less real, and your sensitive
heart will be less harrowed because of the
weariness which she is enduring. We
take it for granted that your reason for
disliking housecleaning is that your ex-
treme tenderness for Mary Jane causes you
pain when you know she is working so
hard. I hope she will be more thoughtful
in future and choose her housecleaning
time during your summer vacation.
Union Crrr. DELLA E.

 

A REMINISCENCE.

When the air is heavy with the perfume
of lilacs, and the planters are busy in the
corn ﬁelds, an incident comes back to me
soplainly that I beg a short space in the
HOUSEHOLD. As I was industriously
transplanting tomato plants, a kind neigh-
bor tossed a letter over the garden fence
andl read the following: “Cousin—The
season is over here in town, and oh! I am
just tired out, I need a good rest; If it
will be convenient meet me at your depot

day after tomorrow. Lilla Bell.”

' Now this was Phil’s cousin, not mine; I
had met her several years before, when
husband and I went to Grand Rapids to
make purchases, and she had treated me
with so much scorn and contempt that I
came home with much less importance
than I had taken with me. Nevertheless,
she was coming, and I had not even time to
let her know ”if it would be convenient.”
Of course Phil must ﬁnish the corn ground

that day, so he could not go to meet_her,_

and it devolved upon me totake three years
old Dolly and six months old Dickey and
drive to the depot. Iarose at three o’clock
the eventful morning, for the house must
look its best. Everything in order and
the children ready, we started at eight 3.
m. and arrived in the village just as the
train came steaming in. But 10 and be-
hold! fair Lilla Bell alighted not, and I
upbraided myself severely for thinking
she could come on so early a train. It
being four miles back home, and the next
train due at one p. m. I was undecided
how to act. Phil’s dinner must be ready
at noon and oh dear] But as I was holding
the babies and gazing helplessly around,
good farmer Dean approached and re-
marked that I “ looked 1 8 if I was too late
for the train.” I quickly told him the
circumstances, and with a twinkle in his
faded gray eye, he said if she wasn’t too
high~toned maybe she would ride along
with him, as he would remain in the
village till the next train came. As this
seemed the best way out of the diﬁiculty,
I described her as rccurately as possible,
and wrote a few lines for him to hand to
her and thus explain matters, telling her I
would meet her at Mr. Dean’s and take her
home with me. I will not mention the

mischief those babies got into after reach-
ing home, but ﬁnally I left them asleep
and went to farmer Dean's. Lilla Bell's
greeting began “Deary me! how absurd
of you to think I could come on such a
terribly early trainl” As we walked up
the lane leading to our cozy home her ex-
clamations were all tothis eﬁect: “ Deary
melhow horribly lonely it looks! I wonder
you live!" I set outa dainty lunch for
her, at which she looked askance, and con-
ducted her to our cheeriest room and told
her to rest. For along weary month she
remained with us, forever‘on the alert to
criticize and ﬁnd fault. The babies an~
noyed her, they “injured her sensitive
nerves.” She would never be “ bothertd
with little nuisances.” If I worked in the
garden she thought me very much de-
graded, and because I was not acquainted
with the characters in the popular novels
she thought me very heathenish. She pro-
posed teaching Phil some table etiquette,
and lectured the poor frightened hired boy
for daring to enter her presence with his
coatoﬁ. But at last she declared herself
rested and went her we y, and happiness
once more abounded in our little home.
Last winter as I was going to a distant
county to visit friends, I learned by ac-
cident she was living on the route, and
decided to repay, in a measure, her visit.
I found her beside her washtub, with one
foot rocking a cradle, for she was now
Mrs. Lilia, and from time to time the
cradle’s occupant uttered heartrending
shrieks which must have penetrated her
sensitive nerves. As her husband was
away, she was obliged to go out in the
cold and open a pit; of potatoes, which,
thought I to myself, is fully as degrading
as working in a garden. She was so mor-
tiﬁed that after dinner (‘2) I did not accept
her invitation to remain over night, and as
I journeyed toward my destination I mused
that we little know what the future holds
in store for us. MAYBEE.

”h“...—

BOSTON BAKED BEANS.

The New England Farmer, published at
Boston, the headquarters of the “ three
B’s,” describes the process of preparing
this peculiarly Bostonese dish. Here is
how it is done:

A quart of beans should be picked over
carefully, then washed in lukewarm
water. Afterwards put them in ﬁve or six
quarw of cold water and let them soak
over night. In the morning drain this
water off and put the beans into fresh cold
_water, heat slowly and cook until the skins
can be broken easily. A few minutes be-
fore this point is reached add onehalf
teaspoonful of soda.

If the beans are cooked until soft they
will become mushy, and neither look nor
taste as well as it kept whole throughout
the process of cooking. Experience taught
me how they looked when ready to take
from the ﬁre. Miss Parloa thinks they
need to simmer ﬁfteen minutes, and Mrs.
Lincoln says “ until soft enough to pierce
with a pin." Turn into a colander and

 

drain, then put them in a brown wth‘en
bean-pot, for which there is no good sub-

 

stitute. Have about half a pound of the
best pork, pour a little hot water over it,
scrape the rind thoroughly, and then cut
it crisscross just through the rind with a
sharp knife.

Put the pork in the beans leaving only
the rind exposed. Now mix together a
tablespoonful of salt, a scant teaspoonful
of mustard and a tablespoonful of molasses
in a cup of hot water and pour over the
pork and beans. Add as much more water
as is needed to cover them; put the cover
on the pot and set in a moderate oven for
six hours at least. As the water cooks.
away add more boiling water. The last-
hour remove the cover and let the pork.
cook brown and crisp.

Some cooks bury a small onion in the
beans when they are put into the oven, but
it is not best to add this unless you are
certain the ﬂavor will be liked. The soda
added takes out the acid in the skin of the
bean and softens it; the mustard should
never be omitted as it is a great improve-
ment. The amount of pork added is a
matter of taste, but too large a piece makes
the beans greasy and indigestible. Some
people do not eat pork and substitute a
piece of butter and add more salt; others
add a small piece of corned beef and this
is an excellent way for a change.

 

CHARLOTTE RUSSE.

Martha Jane asks directions for making
a Charlotte Russo, and I will try to tell
her a satisfactory way. Make a sponge
cake by this rule: Three eggs. yolks
beaten to a cream and whites to a stiﬂ
froth; a heaped cup of sugar—granulated
isbest—; ascant cup of ﬂour, into wh _
is sifted a teaspoonful of baking-pow r
and a pinch of salt. Stir the whites into
the yolks until blended, add the sugar
slowly, lastly the ﬂour, then spread the
batter thinly in a dripper ora large shallow
baking dish. It will bake in ten minutes.
If you have not a Charlotte Russe mould,
a square or oblong dish will do. Cut a.
piece of the sponge cake to ﬁtthe bottom of
the mold or dish, and ﬁt the rest of the
cake around the sides, then ﬁll with.
whipped cream made as follows: Take a
pint of rich cream, stir into it a cup of
sugar, the beaten whites of three eggs, and
a wineglass full of sherry w.ne-, mix and
set on the ice an hour, then whip the
cream, skimming off the froth or “ whip "
as it rises and lay on a hair sieve to drain,
returning the cream which drips off to be
whipped again. Fill up your mould and
set on the ice. Flavor with vanilla if you

like. The beaten whites of three eggs is

an improvement. Or you can use this rule
if you have conscientious scru pies over the
sherry: Dissolve half a box of gelatine in
a teacupful of water; putting on the stove
to heat thoroughly. When dissolved, pour
it into three beaten eggs, and let it just
corne to a boil over the ﬁre, then remove
and stir in a teacupful of sugar and half a
teaspooniul of vanilla. Have ready 8
quart of rich whipped cream. Stir the
gelatine mixture tillrcold,.then stir into it
the whipsof the cream and pour into the

"i


 

vi

xi

THE HOUSEHOLD. 8

 

cakeiined mould. By keeping it on the
iceitcanbesetso itcan beturned out of
the mold upon a dish.

Martha Jane can use her present recipe
for the Charlotte part with the above
sponge cake recipe, if she prefers it. I can
never make quite enough by either of these
rules to satisfy all the demands for “ more
Charlotte. mammal " MARY ANN.

 

POWER OF INFLUENCE.

 

Pa r read at the May meeting of the Liberty
‘ peFarmers’ Club. by Miss Minnie West]

Inﬂuence is a power hidden, but ef-
ﬁcacious, which controls or moves things
in a gentle way. A power, hidden and
gentle, but a power which nevertheless
controls. A power which none escape,
more effective than the sternest command
or most stringent law, and efﬁcacious in a
great degree, I believe, because hidden;
one which we do not resist because many
times we are not aware of its presence.

How are we to measure the power of in-
fluence? How can we be made to realize
the importance of exerting the right kind
of inﬂuence over those with whom we as
sociate? I have known no better way than
to pause a moment and observe the eﬁect
of the inﬂuence which others exert over us.
I have heard it said that we are inﬂuenced
by everyone whom we meet or see. [know
not whether it be true or not, but it is cer-
tain that I remember with great distinct-
ness certain people whom I have met, but
whom I never knew. At the same time,
however, I know I have forgotten some
with whom I had a slight acquaintance,
or so nearly forgotten that I never think of
them unless I hear their names mentioned.

We all know how even the expression of
the face or tone of the voice of one with
whom we are conversing will check or en-
courage the expression of our thought,
and how almost unconsciously we watch
these things and are governed by them. We
have all observed the enlivening inﬂuence
of a bright, cheerful tone upon a group of
people, and the depressing effects of a
gloomy face or solemn voice.

How often our decisions are altered or
made ﬁrmer by the knowledge that they
will be displeasing to some one else! In fact,
I think many of us are too easily inﬂuenced
or swayed by the opinions of others. We
are inﬂuenced most by th« se whom we es-

I teem most, and the good opinions of whom

we wish to win and retain; by those with
whom we associate most, and I think few
of us realize to what extent this power is
exerted upon us. The inﬂuence of areally
pure and holy life is beyond estimation;
when we associate with pure-minded and
reﬁned people we are, unconsciously it may
be, lifted up and made better by the contact.
The dlent inﬂuence of a true, pure life
will go much farther'toward evangelizing
the world than all the ﬁnest precepts and
most beautiful logic in- the world, par-
ticularly if given by one who does not
practice what he preaches. There is
nothing so far reaching or powerful to con-
trol as inﬂuence; and the inﬂuence of a holy
life is never lost, it lives after the death of
Its author. Then too, I think the inﬂuence

 

exerted by a really bad, evil-minded,
vicious person is not so bad if it be detest-
ably low and vile, ungilded in every way;
it is less pernicious because of its very
vileness that that which is exerted in a
more reﬁned manner. Such an inﬂuence
is revolting to us, detested and shunned on
account of its lowness, and therefore, had
as it is, it is less contaminating to us than
it might be, because we shun such people
and shudder at the thought of becoming
like them.

The type of inﬂuence ,which I consider
most pernicious is that exerted by a class
of people, bad at heart, with no real it ve for
God or humanity, but who clothe their sins
in the garb of reﬁnement and therefore
make them attractive. People are led astray
by them because their vices are made at-
tractive; the ﬁrst step downward is in-
variably taken in this way.

If we heed the teaching of the “ Book of
Books” we shall be safe.

We are inﬂuenced not alone by people,
but by circumstances. The inﬂuences
exerted by prosperity and adversity have
been discussed at a former club meeting,
with a decided leaning towa d the side
of adversity as being the best character-
builder. We believe the tendency of
adversity is to make us truer men and
women and lead us to consider the needs
of our fellow man. '

If we are so powerfully inﬂuenced by
others, is it not true that others are to a
greater or less extent inﬂuenced by us,
and is it riot our duty to God and man to
see to it that we, individually, exert the
best inﬂuence possible over our friends?
Inﬂuence them in some way we must and
do; and if it is toward the downward path,
shall we be able at the last great day to
render up a joyful account of our steward-
ship here on earth? Shall we not dread the
opening of the Book of Life if we know
that some one has entered eternity much
worse by our inﬂuence? If we live sothat
the world will be better for our having
lived in it, we shall not have lived in vain,
and our inﬂuen' 0 will receive the benedic-
tion of Him whose inﬂuence none can

question.
-—-‘r.>-————

“M’ HUSBAND."

“ I’ve just had a telegram from m’ hus-
band, and he’ll be home tomorrow morn-
ing,” said the young wife of a "commer-
cial traveler,” as I met her the other day,
all smiles and dimples. “ Then I suppose
you’ll forego your usual ex tra ‘forty
winks’ on Sunday morning and go to the
station to meet him,” said I, after she had
stated he had been away three weeks in-
stead of ten days, as he had expected at
leaving. “Well, I thought I would at
ﬁrst,” returned she, “but indeed I think
I’ll stay home and have a nice hot break-
fast all ready for him when he comes.
That’ll be just as good a proof of my af—
fection, don’t you think so? ” “ Indeed, my
little woman, you have a ‘ievel head’”
thought I, as she hurried round the corner
on her way to market. " A nice beefsteak
and a steaming coﬁeepot, with a bright
face glowing with happiness behind it, is

 

the best possible ‘welcome home' to a
hungry man after an all-night ridein a
sleeper.” And so when I saw “m' hue
band,” gripsack in hand, whisk round the
corner alone at a two-ten’ gait, I could
guess at the tableau behind thou demure
lace draperies'at the window.

That’s the secret of it. If you love your
husband, and want to keep his love, make
him comfortable. Count no sacriﬁce of
your own inclinations—and indolence -toe
great to secure his comfort. Make home so
happy and so comfortable he doesn't want
to leave it—and you—for any other society.

It amuses me to watch this little woman,
a wife of nearly six years' standing, and
her ways of manag'ng “m' husband.” He
was “ one of the boys," once, and nothing
short of an all night session at poker or a.
champagne supper was “life" for him.
But he is as perfectly content and happy
in his home with his cigar and his news
paper as he ever was in his fast life. How
did she do it? As I told you above, simply
by making home so comfortable and cosy
that he has no disposition to leave it for
any other place. When business keeps
him in the city, she is always at home
when he comes from work, and supper is
ready; she slips into a wrapper and her
slippers and down stairs in the early dawn
to prepare breakfast, and packs his lunch
basket with the daintiest care while he dis-
(usses a broiled beefsteak and a cup of
coﬂee. No lunch off the pantry shelf ing»:
to work on, no supperless, ﬁreless home
for him. What “m’ husband” prefers,
regulates the bill of fare; even if it is a
dish she does not eat herself, it is not too
much trouble to prepare it if it suits him.
She is never too tired to mend a glove or
too busy to sew on a button or do what-
ever else he wants done; and he can al-
ways ﬁnd ways and means to gratify her
little wishes and enter into and help carry
out her plans.

Man is something of a sybarite by nature.
Hence, at night, after the slippers are
donned and the supper discussed is it any
wonder that with a contented sigh he draws
his easy chair out of her way as she clears
the table, ﬁlls up “ Radamanthus ” (his
pipe) and “blows a cloud " over the even-
ing paper? It is the “ pipe of peace,” too;
there's no growling or grumbling about
smell or smoke. The food is put away, the
dishes piled in the sink and the dishpas.
turned over them, and she is ready to talk,
to play a game of cards, to read to him,
whatever “ m' husband ” pleases. If he
seems engrossed in his newspaper, perhaps
she slips out of the room fora few minutes,
and presently he will follow her; if he does
not at once ﬁnd her, it’s “Josie, where are
you? Why don’t you come back?" And
once I heard her say, ‘ ‘ Why, you were read-
ing, and I wanted to ﬁnish this." He only
said, dropping his voice a little, “ I like to
have you with me, dear, if I am reading."
There was a sense of companionship in her
presence, it was pleasant to .him to know
she was near.

Do not fancy there are no differences of
opinion, no conﬂict of wishes or purposes..

. But each has the good sense not to force a'

 


 

g.

2,» THE HOU‘SEQOLp;

.3.

 

point to an absolute issue where “ I 'will”
o‘t “i1 will not,” sharp and peremptory,
‘ puts a quietus on further discussion. Each
shows in hat will be disagreeable to the
other, and"if the plan is not willingly
acquiesced in, after a little discussion it is
' dropped by mutual consent. And one
gives up about as much as the other, and
both are happy in it.

She does not try to “ make him over” by
“her standards, but accepts him as he is. And
best of all, she does not “nag” him. No
faultﬁnding, no complaining, no grumbl-
ing, that trio of rocks that wreck so many
married lives. And so, as time goes on,
they ﬁt together like parts of one perfect
whole. And he g ows more strong and
steadfast and faithful instead of chaﬁng
under the “ matrimonial yoke;" and she-—
well, I believed her when she said, with a
new earnestness in her voice, “ I think a
great deal more of m’ husband now than I
did when I married him,” and then with a
quick relapse into her usual levity, “and
just think, we’ll have been married six
years in May! Real old married folks!
All the romance gone! Good bye!”

. BEATRIX.

—_———...-—-—-

. HINTS FOR THE INTERESTED.

 

For wear at summer resorts, where row-
ing, climbing, walking, and other out door
pursuits are the order of the day, there is
nothing more satisfactory than the blue
ﬂannel sailor suit, with the accompanying
trim straw sailor hat. The full round

skirt, simply hemmed, is sewed to a cotton.

waist on which is placed a plastron of
white or cardinal if the collar of the blouse
is rolling. Loose shirt sleeves with square
cuffs are comfortable. The only trimming
needed is a little white or gold braid‘.
White ﬂannel makes more dressy suits, and
if trimmed with gold braid and worn with
a white sailor with band of gold lace, is what
is‘descriptively termed “ a nobby suit.”

Pretty sashes are of gay plaid surah. It
is best, if you can afford it, to buy the re.
quired length and double the silk length-
wise, running the edges together; this gives
more body to the sash. Or the material
may be cut in two, hemmed on the sides
and the ends fringed. Sew it in the under
arm seams of the dress, cross in front and
tie in a knot on one side about an eighth of
a yard below the waist line.

Pretty and simple dresses for the little
girls have full skirts, full sleeves, waists
With pleats both back and front, turning to
meet a row of insertion down the front, and
turn-over cuffs and collar of embroidery.

If you are making dresses for a little
miss who expects to grow between now and
next summer, sew the dress skirt directly
on the waist without a belt. Next year
you can lengthen both skirt and waist by
putting in a bias belt of the dress material,
or one of insertion. This is better than
letting down hems or tucks. When you
out the sleeves, make them too large for
the armhole and lay the fullness in a for-

. ward turning pleat at the seam. Next
year rip the sleeve, cut out the armhole,
let out the fullness and sew in the sleeve
again. Sleeves cut full this year can be

 

lengthened by a deep cuff next season, and
if the dress “ binds” round the neck it can
can be cut out under ayoke of embroidery,
or pieced up under a rolling collar.

A very pretty dress for a irl from one
to three years old has a skirt of embroider-
ed ﬂouncing, two yards being required,
about thirteen inches long. This is gathered
to a waist of plain nainsook, made of al-
ternate rows of insertion and tucking. The
armholes are corded, and embroidered
ed gin g is gathered to form little sleeves.
The neck is ﬁnished with a turned down
frill of the embroidery, with a- narrow
standing edge as a heading. The bottom
of the waist is faced, the top of the skirt is
turned down and gathered and sewed to the
waist, a three inch wide ribbon sash is folded
around the waist and tied at the back.

A very serviceable material for summer
traveling dresses is light weight serge. It
does not “ cockle ” under moisture, hence
bears salt sea air and mountain dews with
indifference; does not wrinkle or pull, and
is strong and durable. For dust cloaks,
not‘ ing is better than mohair alpaca, or
brilliantine as it is now called. It is light
weight, hence not cumbersome, sheds dust
as a duck’s back does water, and can be
made up to look stylish. ‘

There is a decided tendency to increase
the length of dress skirts for house wear.
I have emphasized that qualifying clause,
because I 6ccasionally see ladies who ap-
pear to be wearing their house dresses on
the street. Even street dresses are made
longer, but .not to touch the walk. I do
not btlieve it possible we shall ever return
to the old, abominable fashion of long
dresses for the street—dresses which wiped
up its indescribable ﬁlth and were worn
and ragged with twice wearing. Women
have become too independent, too sensible,
too conscious of the ﬁtness of things, and
above all, too dainty—too daintily cleanly,
to adopt such an unclean style. Therefore,
make your house gowns as long as you
choose, but a dress you intend to wear
upon the street must still be walking
length, unless you expect those who walk
behind you and see the dust and dirt and
the frayed edges to indulge in unpleasant
suppositions relative to the condition of
your underclothing.

Hosiery is unusually handsome this year.
From the fairly ﬁne inst black wear at 250,
we rise by gradations to the exquisitely ﬁne
open work silk goods at 955 per pair. Black
is still the leading color, though many

fancy colors and. stri pings are shown. Black,

lisle threat: hose are very desirable, and
begin at 50c, up to 952; many have toes and
heels in fancy colors. Open work designs
for wear with slippers are very dainty and
delicate. The new models are to have set-
in soles of different design and color to the
principal design.

The close ﬁtting Jersey undervest has
entirely superstded the bulky gauze wear.

Beautiful goods can be bought‘for 50c,

while the long-sleeved, high-necked vests
are from 85c upward. Many ladies will wear
these vests, in silk and lisle thread, in lieu
of corset covers during the summer. and
will ﬁnd them cool and comfortable.

By some unwritten law of Fashion’s

 

high priestesses, one may wear a hat with:
a dress cut‘low in the throat, but must not‘
It is well to re-'

wear a bonnet with it.
member this; also to bear in mind that
iow-throated dresses are not suitable for‘
street wear. Collars of walking dresses
are as high as ever. '
I met “the mannish girl” the other day.
She had on a trim black skirt with a habit
back—that is, the fullness all pleated into
a narrow space in the centre of the back; a
low cut vest; a habit—or Vassar—shirt,
which, so far as is visible to the observer,
exactly resembles a man’s shirt front, and
with which is worn a black silk tie of four-
in-hand effect, and a standing collar. A
jacket built on the same lines as a man’s
coat surmounts the whole, and Missy puts
the crowning touch to her outﬁt when she
dons the jaunty sailor hat, set a little back,
and with no trimming save a band of rib-
bon. Thus arrayed, she strikes a swift
gait and semi-military carriage, and you
can safely wager a big red apple that she
attracts more attention than a dog-ﬁght.
For those who wear mourning, Hen-
rietta cloth is the popular fabric, both in
summer and winter. For lighter dresses,
tamise and wool batiste, and wool crepon
are chosen, and instead of net, the silk
grenadines. India silks also are popular.
These are not trimmed with crape, even
for the deepest mourning—for which it
may be stated Henrietta cloth alone is con-
sidered suitable. The trimmings used on

other goods are folds of the material or of
dull silk, with gimp of dull silk cords.
Widows alone wear the long crape veil;

these bereaved of parents, children, or -

brothers or sisters, wear black dresses
trimmed with the same and veils of silk
warp nuns’ veiling. The widow’s bonnet
has no trimming, being entirely covered
with the veil, which is pinned on the sides
of the bonnet by black pins. Undressed
black kid gloves are worn, and a plain
black surah parasol, with a crape border.
For other mourners, there are toques of
lace straw trimmed with twists of crape de
chine or dull silk; chip bonnets are also
worn.

Tun editor of the Ladies Department of
the Toledo Journal, Miss Louise Mark-
scheﬁel, says we may er joy the ﬂavor of
asparagus in winter without the trouble of
canning it or the expense of buying it,
simply by drying it in the sun, putting
away in a box till winter, when it is to be
soaked over night and cooked with the
addition of a little salt at the water.As this2
is the asparagus season, now is the time to
try this plan, which promises a delicious
addition to a winter day’s dinner.

 

THE HOUSEHOLD Editor wishes to re-
turn thanks to Miss Ella Cole, of Watrous:
ville, and Mrs. H. Webb, address not given,
for boxes of the beautiful and deliciously
fragrant bloom of the wild crab apple tree;
and, to Mrs. A. H. Johnson, of Thomas,
for a box of sweetbriar, lilacs, and alovely
cluster ‘of pelargonium and Hoya qarnoscg,
which were found awaiting her. return
from Manchester on Monday, 2nd inst.
Her pleasure in the beauty and perfume of
the ﬂowers was greatly enhanced by the
remembrance .of the kindly esteem and af-.

fection which she knows accompanied them. -

.. saws-y: .pﬂ'rzg- _/_

