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DETROIT, QAPRIL 18, 1887.

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD-"Supplement.

 

 

TH E DIFFERENGE.

 

BEFORE.

“ You‘re an angel,” he said.
“ But I can’t bake bread,”
She sighed with a sweet little sigh.
“ Ahl my sweetest, my own,
Let those gross things alone;
’Tis love, only love i” was his cry.
‘AFTER.
“ Well, my dear, this is rough!
Heavy bread, and steak tough!"
He said. with a bang and a slap.
“ If my thoughts I’d express,
I would plainly confess
As a breakfast, it ain’t worth a rap.”

_____...____

MOURNING- WEAR.

It is an almost instinctive feeling in the
human heart which prompts us, when be-
reaved by death, to desire to express, in our
garments, somewhat of the desolation
which has overwhelmed us. And it seems
as if “the absence of light” by which we
deﬁne black, is beautifully expressive of the
grief of the heart, when‘ those who have
made its lightness and brightness have been
taken away. Mourning is not “the ad-
vertisement of grief;” only those who have
never mourned can call it so. Grief and
joy alike desire expression. The rich may
shroud themselves in costly crape, but the
pathos of sorrow is just as truly expressed
in the rusty black, the faded crape of the
very poor, or the putting away of their few
ornaments by those who cannot afford to
“ go into mourning,” as we say. But there
is a mourning which is a concession to
Fashion, and a grief which ﬁnds alleviation
in its new attire; some of us have known
those who seemed to ﬁnd a death in the
family only an opportunity of getting a lot
.of new clothes, and who were too anxious
about the proper depth of the hem of the
crape veil and the width of the crape folds, to
have much time for tears. The depth of the
mourning is not always typical of the sorrow
of the heart. There are natures too shallow
to feel either grief or joy acutely; they are
easily diverted; quick to feel, quick to for-
get, and go through life more happily, to
all appearance and reason, than those
whose joys and sorrows take deep root in
the inner depths of sensitive hearts.

Our dry-goods salesmen here tell me
there is no goods which is exclusively
mourning wear, except crape. Even Hen-
rietta cloth—which answers to the “ bom—
bazine ” ‘of our grandmothers, though a
much prettier goods—of which widows’ ﬁrst
dresses are made, is often chosen by others,
and with jet ornaments makes a beautiful
costume, quite unlike the garb of sorrow.

 

So many ladies wear black now, that
mourning is distinguished more by make-up
and accessories than material. Crape is
used much less than formerly, because our
mourning etiquette is now established, and
people do not put it on except for the
nearest relatives. It is an expensive goods;
dust and damp alike ruin it, it musses
easily, everything spots it. It is unhealth-
fui, too; the dye used contains a poison
which affects the lips and skin, and it is
very injurious to the eyes. It would be
much better if it were not worn at all. I
think any woman justiﬁed in disregarding
the requirement that she shall not be seen
in public for six months 'after her bereave-
ment without her crape veil over her face.
She shows no respect to the dead by injur—
ing health or eyesight. It is quite allowable
to turn the veil back over the bonnet, to
which it is secured by small jet pins, and
wear a black gauze mask veil over the face.
Crape bonnets and veils and crape-trimmed
dresses are worn for husband, father or
mother, or grown-up children. Many ladies
choose bonnet and veil of the ﬁne nuns’
veiling with a woven selvedge, which comes
expressly for the purpose; the veils are not
worn over the face. The material is very
nice for the purpose, as it is not affected by
damp. ’

Henrietta cloth and imperial serge are
made up for heavy mourning dresses;
tamise and cashmere in dead black for
spring and fall, and nuns’ veiling and
grenadine for summer. A widow may also
wear lustreless black silk while she is in
mourning, but not with crape; silk and
crape are not a good combination. The
tailor styles are very appropriate for making
up mourning dresses, which should be
plain, and little trimmed. For summer
wear, anuns’ veiling, made with a skirt
laid in wide side pleats, with long draper-
ies front and back, as heretofore described,
apostilion basque, with revers of the goods
corded with the same, would make a very
suitable and appropriate dress. A vest of
crape, or revers and cuffs, might be used
instead, or the revers and edge of the
basque might be corded with crape. But
the dress as at ﬁrst mentioned, worn with
a collar lined—mot edged—with black and
cuffs to match, is just as appropriate.
Small, bullet-shaped crochet buttons are
best. A mantle would not be necessary
with a dress designed for summer wear, but
for spring or fall might be of the tamise or
cashmere of the suit, lined, and ’corded
with the same or with crape; this would be
for wear with the crape bonnet or veil.
After these are laid aside, the mantle

 

A;

might be trimmed with tape fringe. Fur is
admissible with crape, but it must be black;
though I have seen a crape veil over a seal
sacque on our avenues, it disregards the
proprieties of mourning wear. Cioth
jackets are suitable after crape is laid aside;
the buttons should be large jet ones.

For what is called light mourning, that
change in attire by which we symbolize a.
a sense of afﬂiction mitigated by remote-
ness of consanguinity, all black tailor suits
are worn on the street, and house dresses
of black have vests of diagonal folds of soft
wool set between the revers, and cuffs and
collar of white wool with edges feather—
stitched in black. “Second mourning” is
not used; one goes back to colors by a series
of gradations, a black and white dress. a
grey one, next a suit of some plain color,
quietly made and so dark as not to be con»
spicuous; abrupt transitions are avoided.

Gloves for mourning are lack kid. or the
undressed kid if preferred: for summer
wear the silk gloves are used, and are mucl:
more comfortable than kid. Parasois are
plain, of heavy silk with ha ndsonie handles.
on which is sometimes tied a bow of black.
ribbon. A lace parasoi, or lace-edgei’l one.
should not be carried while one is in
mourning, and especially not if crape is
worn. Crepe is emphatically
mourning; with it lace, gold
bous and jet, except brooch and perhaps
chain, are inappropriate and incongruous-
We must preserve the unifies in dress and.
deportment, 'or we make our mourning;
ridiculous. Last winter at the tlieltre a
lady entered one of the most conspicuous
seats, wearing a widows’ cap, ' with a very
long and heavy crape veil, which was folded
over like a monk’s cowl, in a fashion new
to Detroit and “just imported from the
east,” shading without covering her pretty
face, all the fairer by contrast. But the
heavy crape in its odd style, in a theatre,
attracted more attention than the “star”
who occupied the boards, and the battery
of eyes and opera glasses mighthave discon»
certed a woman who had not “ got herself
up ” on purpose to be looked at.

For neckwear, linen collars with a thread’
of black along the edge, or in a black and
white stripe, are worn: choose those which
have a line of white to come next the neck,
the black is so unbecoming. For deep
mourning the black crepe lisse ruches are
worn, or puffs of white crape, as preferred.
Sometimes a dress is made with a crape (30;-
lar, inside of which is basted a folded,
feather-edged ribbon; or a narrow band of
ribbon, either black or white, is worn‘ round;
the neck and tied in a bow at the side.

{74:7 badge of
jewelry. rib—

    


     

2

THE HOUSEHOLD.

  

 

Round hats for those who do not wear
. crape are of black straw, trimmed high
with loops of lustreless silk, with dull jet

ornaments. Heavy repped ribbons are
also used. Satteens. barred or striped
mulls, and Sicilienne, a repped cotton

weave, are the standard wear for black cot-
ton dresses in summer. BEATRIX.
-—————‘eo——-

ONE WOMAN.

How the old, the familiar truths of life
are re-born in our souls, revealed more
livingly to us! Often is it given us to feel
the benediction of a familiar truth, a truth
through conﬂict won, yet somehow forgot-
ten. and in the toil and gloom of the day it
iswhiSpered to us again, and bestows new
promise of conquest. Few but need oc-
casional reminding of the trite though ever
impressive truth, that it is good to be at-
tracted out of ourselves, forced to take a
near view of the suiferings, the conflicts,
and the difficulties of others. People are
prone to become engrossed by the peculiar
trial, theintimate grief and bitterness which
are their individual lot in life.

 

I have been deeply impressed by a. late
reading of the Life of Charlotte Bronte. in—
to what a noble, patient atmosphere such a
work charms one! The history of a life so
sorrow-ﬁlled and woesstricken, yet so calm-
waiting and trustful woos the heart to the
contemplation of that larger life, in which
the immortal soul lifts its wings.

Truth and feeling can never grow old, so
long as life has passions, so long as the
human heart is born through suffering into
triumph. Whoever has read Charlotte
Bronte’s works must have been impressed
by their truth, truth of feeling and truth of
expression. Her method of writing was
peculiar. It was not every day that she
could write. For weeks and months at a
time she was under a cloud of mental or
physical suffering, and could add nothing
to the portion of her story already written.
Then, some morning, she would wake with
the progress of her tale clear before her, in
distinct vision. She had strong regard for
the truth of expression, and exercised
singular felicity in the choice of words.
She never wrote down a. sentence till she
clearly understood what she wanted to say,
had chosen the words, and arranged them
in their proper order. This care gives her
work the ﬁnish of a piece of mosaic.

While acquaintance with the life of any
author whose books we read is interesting
and desirable, this knowledge is perhaps
seldom felt as a necessity to a. just and ap-
preciative understanding of his works. But
Miss Bronte’s works are characterized by
such depth of earnestness, weirdness,
loneliness, and passionate portrayal of
human feelinghone feels the suffering and
the force of the individuality back of their
creations, and longs to know what was the
life of the woman. Bulwer somewhere
says, “Character is fate. Men’s diSposi-
tions do their dooms dictate.” While this
is true, in part, who has not known lives
.richly fraught with happiness, lives in
\which promise and fulﬁllment have gone
thand in hand, while others seemed almost
foreordained to sorrow and privation? Such
seemed the life of Charlotte Bronte, on toe

the six children of a clergyman, whose
mother died when she was a. mere child.
Of the life of these little ones, never chil-
dren in the sense in which we naturally un-
derstand that term, one must read with
something like awe. Haworth is a lonely
spot, buried from all the world. At
Haworth parsonage, a lonely stone house,
surrounded on two sides by the village
graveyard, was the home of the Brontes.
Here four of. them grew up, here their
plans were formed, their life-work ac-
complished, and here one by one they were
early called from their duties and their suf-
ferings.‘ Charlotte never knew the bless—
ings of childhood’s careless happy time.
Early her unusual powers stirred within her,
and she began the deeper life of reﬂection.
At nine, she became the oldest of the
family of three girls and one boy, the two
older sisters having died. Always a strong
characteristic in Charlotte was the absence
of hope; this was constitutional. In later
life, she never dared allow herself to look
forward with hope, she had no conﬁdence
in the future. One can better understand
Lucy Snowe in “Villette,” when one
knows that the pressure of years of sorrow
had crushed all buoyancy of expectation
out of her.

It is painful to 'read of the efforts of the
three sisters to maintain themselves by
serving as governesses among strangers;
how their sensitive, shy natures suffered
and endured, yet persevered until life itself
depended upon relinquishing the distaste-
ful labor. Then the long cherished hope
of securing pupils and conducting a school
at their own home crumbled to naught;
their brother, who had been the brightest
hope of the family, turned to the home to
hide his shame, to torture them with his
dissipation and slow, degrading death.
Here they awaited in anxiety and terror
the end of a life from which they had
hoped so much. Searcely ever seeing any
one, their recreation being long Walks over
‘ the heathery moors they loved so well—the
lonely and wind-swept moors through the
long winters, green in spring-time with
moss and , fern, purple with bloom in
autumn. Here they wrought, lovrng and
living for each other, and sent their gifts
to humanity forth into the world, until sud-
denly, one after the other, the two sisters
left Charlotte alone with her father, she
the last of his children. We can under-
stand something of what the author of
“Shirley” must have suffered when she
wrote the chapter, “The Valley of the
Shadow of Dea .” The bolts of death
came in the midst of her writing. “Till
break of day- she wrestled with God in
earnest prayer. Not always do those who
dare such divine conﬂict prevail. Night
after night the sweat of agony may burst
dark on the forehead; the supplicant may
cry for mercy with that soundless voice the
soul utters when its appeal is to the Invisi-
ble. ‘Spare my beloved,’ it may implore.
‘Heal my life’s life. Bend not from me
what long affection entwines with my
whole nature. God of Heaven—bend—hear
—-—be clement!’ And after this cry and
strife, the sun may rise and see him
worsted.”

 

Strength comes to us from hearing what

seems possible to be borne, not when the
soul is tortured with fear of failure. She
believed submission, courage, exertion,
when practicable, the weapons with which
we must ﬁght life’s long battle. Who
could describe or imagine the loneliness of
her life in the years which followed the
death of her sisters? The saddest memo-
ries were her only companions. She knew
her life was to be a lonely one, she sub-
mitted to her lot, conquered it.- Yet her
triumph was not that of a victor calm and
supreme on the throne, but of a victim,
torn and suffering. Her faith in immor-
tality was ﬁrm. In speaking of the ﬁrst
declaration of unbelief in a God or a future
life she had overheard, she says: “Sin-
cerely, for my own part, do I wish to ﬁnd
and know the Truth; but if this be Truth,
well may she guard herself with mysteries,
and cover herself with a veil. If this be
Truth, man or woman who beholds her
can but curse the day he or she was born.”
A wise word of counsel is this: “ What-
ever your present self may be, resolve with
all vour strength of resolution, never to de-
generate thence. Be jealous ofashadow
of falling off. Determine rather to look
above that standard, and to strive beyond
it.” She was slow to trust, ﬁnding the
hearts of those about her a “ sealed book,”
yet she was deeply and truly attached to
the few who understood her, and believed
indiscriminate visiting unproﬁtable and
vulgarizing. She speaks so truly, when she
says: “ In the matter of friendship, 1 have
observed that disappointment arises chieﬂy,
not from liking our friends too well, or
thinking of them too highly, but rather
from an over—estimate of their liking for
and opinion of us; and that if‘ we guard
ourselves from error in this direction, and
can be content, and even happy to give
more affection than we receive, can make
just comparison of circumstances, and be
severely accurate in drawing inferences
thence, and never let self-love blind our
eyes—l think we may manage to get
through life with consistency and con-
stancy, unembittered by that misanthropy
which springs from revulsions of feelings.”

0n the subject of marriage, she speaks
forcibly. She believed it to be an imbecility
for a woman without beauty or fortune to
make marriage her principal aim. Further.
she concluded there was no more respectable
character than an unmarried woman who
makes her own way through life, quietly,
perseveringly, without the aid of husband
or brother, and who having attained the
age of forty-ﬁve or upwards, retains in her
possessions a well regulated mind, a. dis-
position to enjoy simple pleasures, and
sympathy with the sufferings of others.
She had three oﬂers of marriage before she
accepted the man with whom she spent so
happily the few last months of her life. She
seemed to have drank the cup of sorrow to

its dregs, and at the last her life was sweet;
but her brief happiness went out with her
life, with this question on her lips: “Oh!
I am not going to die, am 1? He will not
separate us, we have been so happy.”

Lnsmn. S. M. G.
—-————4”—-———

To iron tablecloths without creasing them
roll them upon along curtain roller as fast
as they are ironed dry, beginning at one
end.

 

 

 

 

 


   

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THE HOUS.EHOLD.

   

3

 

HOW TO BE A GOOD HUSBAND.

 

- Honor your wife; she must be exalted
and never dethroned. Love your wife; the
measure is as Christ loved the church and
gave himself for it. Show your love; all
life manifests itself. As certainly as a
live tree will put forth leaves in the spring,
so certainly will a living love show itself.
Manya noble man toils, early and late, to
earn bread and position for his wife. He
hesitates at no weariness for her sake. He
rightly thinks that such industry and pro-
vidence give a better expression of his love
than he could give by caressing her and
letting the grocery bill go unpaid. He
ﬁlls the cellars and pantry; he drives and
pushes his business; but he never dreams
that he is actually starving his wife to
death. He may soon have a woman left to
superintend his home, but his wife is dying.
She must be kept alive by the same process
that called her into being. Recall and re-
peat the little attentions and delicate com-
pliments that once made you so agreeable,
and that fanned her love into a consuming
ﬂame.

It is not beneath the dignity of the
skilled physician to study all the little
symptoms, and order all the little round of
attentions that check the waste of strength,
and brace the staggering constitution. It
is good work for a husband to cherish his
wife. Suffer for your wife if need be;
Christ suffered for the church. Consult
with her; she is as apt to be right as you are,

, and frequently able to add much to your

stock of wisdom; in any event she appre-
ciates your attention. Study to keep her
young. It can be done; it is not work but
worry that wears. Keep a brave, true heart
between her and all harm. If you will care-
fully walk in the way of righteousness you
can shield her from cankering care. Provi-
dence will not be likely to bring upon her
anything that is not for her good. Help to
hear her burdens. Bear one another’s bur-
dens and so fulﬁll the law of love. Love
seeks opportunities to do for the loved
object. She has the constant care of your
children; she is ordained by the Lord to
stand guard over them.

N0 disease can appear in the community
without her taking the alarm; not a disease
can come over the threshold without her
instantly springing into the mortal combat.
If there is a deﬁciency anywhere it comes
out of her pleasure. Her burdens are
everywhere; look for them that you may
lighten them; make yourself helpful by
thoughtfulness. Remember to bring ’into
the house your best smile and sunshine;
it is good for you, and it cheers up the
home. There is hardly a nook in the house
that has not been carefully hunted through
to drive out every thing that might annoy
you. The dinner which suits or ought to
suit has not come on the table of itself. It
represents much thoughtfulness and work;
you can do no more manly thing than ﬁnd
some way of expressing in word or look

‘ your appreciation of it.

Express your will not by commands but
by suggestions. It is God’s order that you
should be head of the family, you are

clothed with authority. But this does not
-authorize you to be stern and harsh as an

oﬂicer in the army; your authority is the
dignity of love; when it is not clothed in
love it ceases to have the substance of
authority. A simple suggestion that may
embody a wish, an Opinion or an argument,
becomes one who reigns over such a king-
dom as yours.

Study your own character as husband.
Transfer your deeds, with the impressions
they might naturally make, to some other
couple, and see what feeling they would
awaken in your heart concerning that other
ma]. Are you seeking to multiply the
joys of your wife, as well as to support her?
Are you an agreeable associate among your
companions? If not why should you ex-
pect your wife to be pleased with you.
Have you acquired the ability to entertain
and cheer your friends? If not it is time
you were studying to improve yourself as a
husband. If you can make yourself a
model husband, and thus help your wife to
be a model wife, that will insure your home
against shipwreck, and your happiness
against decay. Seek to reﬁne your nature.
It is no slander to say that many men have
wives much more reﬁned than themselves.
This is natural in the inequalities of life.
Other qualities may compensate for any de-
fect here. But you need have no defect in
reﬁnement. Preserve the gentleness and
reﬁnement of your wife as a rich legacy for
your children, and in so doing you will lift
yourself to higher levels. Be a gentleman
as well as a husband; the signs and bronze
and callouses of toil are no indications that
you are not a gentleman. The soul of
gentleness is a kindly feeling towards others
that prompts one to secure their comfort.
That is why the thoughtful, pleasant lover
is always so gentlemanly, and in his love
much above himself.

Remember the past experience of your
wife. In all probability she has left a bet-
ter home than the one to which she comes.
All the changes for the worse are painful;
only her love for you extracts the pain. She
can not but contrast your pinched accom-
modations with the abundance she left. It
is right that these changes should come;
young people cannot commence where the
aged leave off; yet it becomes you to remem-
ber that she has taken you instead of all of
these comforts, and you must see to it that
she has no reason to regret her exchange.
Make the most of her better nature. This
reﬁnement enters into her value as a mother
and the maker of a home. Level up. If
your wife has the advantage in reﬁnement
—and this is quite a common condition, as
girls usually have a better chance for educa-
tion and more leisure for books than boys—
do not sink her to your level, but by study
and thoughtfulness rise to her plane. The
very ascent will improve your home, and
add to your value as a husband and to your
inﬂuence as a citizen.

Stay at home. Habitual absence during
the evenings is sure to bring sorrow. If
your duty or business calls you, you have
the promise that ypu will be kept in all your
ways. But if you go out to mingle in other
society and leave your wife at home alone
or with the children, know that there is no
good in store for you. She has claims upon
you that you cannot afford to allow to go to

 

protest. Reverse the case. You sit down

alone after having waited all day for your
wife’s return, and think of her as reveling
in gay society, and see if you can keep out
all doubts as to what takes her away. If
your home is not as attractive as you want
it, you are a principal partner. Set your—
self about the work of making it attractive.
Find some book to read or to have your
wife read to you; or some work that both
can be interested in; ﬁnd something that
shall give interest to the evenings. Home
is your only retreat. Satan ﬁghts a family
as Napoleon fought his enemies—divides it,
then whips the parts in detail. When you
lounge away from home, you go into temp-
tation, and send temptation to take your
place at home. Take your wife with you
into society; seclusion begets morbidness.
She needs some of the life that comes from
contact with society. . he must see how
other people appear and act“ toften re—
quires an exertion for her to go out of her
home, but it is good for her and for you.
She will bring back more sunshine. it is
wise to rest sometimes. When the Arab
stops for dinner he unpacks his camel.
Treat your wife with as much consideration.
[The above paper, read before the Van
Buren County Grange, in February, was
forwarded us by A. C. G., but unfortunately
the name of the author was not given. We
should be glad to give the writer the credit
of her excellent ideas, were we but able to
do SO.——HOUSEHOLD Eu]
____4...__.__..

WOMAN’ S INFLUENCE.

 

“ Great statesmen govern nations,

Kings mold a people's fate,

But the unseen hand of velvet
These giants regulate.

The iron arm of fortune
With woman’s charm is purled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.”

Taking my little girl upon my knee to
night, I seemingly scan the future years
that will see her, daughter, sister, wife and
mother. Oh, the responsibility that is even
now resting onthose tiny baby shoulders!
Mother, Home, and Heaven, those three
sweetest of English words, are to be made
and gained by her. The Home to be made
so pure and bright that it will indeed prove
to be “a stepping stone to Heaven.” She
can be either the sunbeam, making light
and warmth to parents, brothers, husband
and children; or she can be the sort of
woman that we occasionally meet—God
grant that they may be few—who are
forever dashing cold water on all our little
enterprises, and are seemingly shut up
within themselves as securely as if fenced
in. Much, I know, has been written as to
the overscredulousness of woman. So be it;
but I had far rather

“ Trust all and be deceived
And weep that trust and that deceiving,
Than doubt one heart, which. if believed.
Had blessed one‘s life with true believing."

The little child that runs to mother to
have a hurt made well by a kiss and word
of sympathy, should be taught to cultivate
this feeling of pity and sympathy for an-
other’s afﬂiction, and in turn, extend a
loving hand and cheering word to those
even outside of immediate friends. What
girl has not blushed with pleasure to hear
her brother’s “chum” tell how Frank used
to tell the boys so much about his sister,

 

and how they laughed at him for preferring


4:

THE. HOUSEHOLD.

 

to remain in and write to her, rather than
join them in their larks. And how “ sweet
were the recollections of a well-spent life ”
when her father with a ﬁrm hand-pressure
and trembling voice, bade her be as
“good a wife to Harry” as she had been
daughter to him; while the mother, with
quivering lips and tearful eyes “kisses her
and says that “the house will seem so
lonesomenow;” and in her heart adds “Oh,
my baby!”

And the young husband,‘ ah! he knew
well how to choose from among his lady
friends the one who would make home
happy. Passing through the gardens, rich
with ﬂowers of priceless worth and un-
approachable beauty, he strains his eyes for
his favorite. New, well nigh disheartened
by his seemingly fruitless search, and
again gladdened by What, at this distance,
seems the desired object, but no! this is a
blossom, he wants but the bud of the pure
blush—rose. Ah! here it is; apart from the
coldlilies and stately dahlias he ﬁnds the
bud, and plucking it and placing it within
his bosom, murmurs, “I promise to cherish
and protect.” And now the little queen of
the domestic kingdom called Home; how
manifold her duties! The sovereign ruler
of her husband’s heart, and yet the willing
and loyal subject to her lord’s commands.
It is for her to lead her youthful son to the
edge of the precipice and gaze with him in-
to the yawning depths, black with the
eddying circles of sin, below: and then
with loving counsel and words of faith,
direct his eyes to yonder heavenly heights
teeming with “that peace that passeth all
understanding.” She must teach him to
abhor the evil and love the good, and how
great will be her reward to hear him, a
noble man, say, “My mother made‘ me
what I am.” We can not all be Florence
Nightingales, but each girl, now perhaps
careless or at least indifferent, can be “the
perfect woman, nobly planned, to warn, to
comfort and command.”

LIZZIE DIMON.
WINDSOR, Can.

—————4¢o——-—-—-
“MOON FLOWER.” AND VIR-
GINIA CREEPER.

THE

The HOUSEHOLD EDITOR, having ob-
served with admiring eyes the cuts of a
mansion coveredwith a vine bearing bios-
soms which, to be in relative proportion to
said mansion, should be at least the size of
a dinner plate, which have appeared in
many of our leading magazines this spring,
wrote to Mrs. Fuller, of Fenton, for infor-
mation respecting this wonderful ﬂower,
which is so persistently “boomed” by a
prominent nurseryman, who, as he is out-
spoken in denunciation of the ﬂoricultural
humbugs who sell blue roses and scarlet
tuberoses, ought not to excite undue expec-
tations in the minds of the public in his
own business. Mrs. Fuller’s reply follows:

“ My opinion of the ‘moon-ﬂower’ is
that it is a case of ‘great cry and ‘little
wool.’ The vine originally came from
Florida, where it is a perennial. My hus-
band’s sister brought me seed and 1 plant-
ed it, where it would climb on the house.
The way that vine ran under a Virginia
creeper which was established near by,
was a caution; it proved itself “ a racer.” It

a

 

grew and bloomed ‘even after frosts, being
protected by the creeper; and had the white,
fragrant ﬂowers described, the size of a tea-
cup, but frail, and blooming only in the
evening. It is a sort of Morning Glory; or
“Evening Glory” would be perhaps a
more appropriate name. I am convinced
we cannot grow it here under ordinary con-
ditions as regards protection. I think the
plant is classed in Gray’s “ Lessons in
Botany” as Calynyctz'on :pecz’ou. I en-
close an extract from a lady living in
Florida relative to it: ‘We had the “ moon
plant” with us last year for the second
season. It raised quite an excitement
among our good citizens. It is as you
doubtless know a showy and pretty thing,
but like every handsome and cheap article
will soon run in the ground.’

“The seeds of Ampelopsie quinquefolz’a,
or Virginia creeper, will, as I knew but
forgot to say in my former letter, grow
readily when self-sown or planted while
fresh. When we came to Michigan about
thirty yeirs ago, a, few of the early settlers
had this vine about their doors, having
brought it from the East with them. The
seeds might have been dispersed by the
winds, birds, and other means, which would
account for its appearance in low grounds
in a wild state; though I am told it grows
wild in Kansas. 1 ﬁnd it much more satis—
factory than A. Veitckii. The young plants
can be set in the spring; we often cut a
slip and lay it on the ground and each eye
generally brings a sprout. I can send a
nice root by mail for 25 cents.”

———-———«§—___
THE WORLD’S BEST.

One of the tenets of my individual creed,
is that whenever aught of the above named
commodity comes witlnn the small circle of
my, orbit, I shall promptly proceed to be
come an absorbent of as much, or as little
of the nature and beneﬁt of the same, as I
can comprehend or assimilate. And so
when the city papers announced that Pat.
S. Gilmore, of world-wide fame, with his
“incomparable band of 50 eminent musi-
cians, assisted by Miss Letitia Fritch, the
charming soprano,” would give one grand
concert at Music Hall, on the evening of
April 6th, I stood not upon the order of
going, but simply said, “I go,” and I
went. Result, I have something in
memory that will be “ a joy forever.” The
perfection and power of the music was to
me something wonderful—a revelation! As,
for instance in “The Prophete” in the
performance of which the Prussian Band
took the ﬁrst prize in a contest among the
best bands of Europe at the great Exposi-
tion in Paris, there were passages in
which, closing my eyes, and giving myself
up to the spell of the mighty melody, I
seemed to ﬂoat in a sea of sacred sounds, in
which were vocalized, harmonized and blent
in one complete chord of praise, all the
God-like attributes of the human soul.
Heaven will be like that! And thus I
might go through the whole of the 18 or 20
selections rendered that evening by this
“ best military band in the world,” no two
producing the same effect upon my spiritual
organism. But Iforbear, only saying that
the genial Irishman does not forget “the

 

people.” And that every encore—and
there were as many of these as there were
selections on the printed programme—em-
bodied one or more of the “tunes ” to the
measures of which we have all either
danced, sung, laughed or wept. And when
all those instruments, playing with the
spirit and the understanding also, set our
nerves and muscles all atune to the gay
measures of a ﬁne old jig, everybody in
the audience that ever loved to dance, felt
as though they must obey the call, “ Ladies
to the right!” And I was quite sure that
the two smiling divines who sat across the
aisle, partly rose to their willing feet. As
for me I caught hold of my chair and sat
quite still, but it was hard work. Ah,
music hath power!

“ The music of the spheres,” which the '
ear of the Inﬁnite alone can hear and com-
prehend, what must its measures be? But
it seems as though the genius that can
control, conduct and carry into such per-
fect execution such a range of musical ele-
ments must be under the direct tutelage of
the Inﬁnite Master of all melody.

Their closing selection was made up of
15 of the most popular and varied in style
and sentiment of Scotch melodies, begin-
ning with “Scots who hae wi’ Wallace
bled” and ending with "Auld Lang Syne.”
Now if you can just for one moment inr
agine what it must be like to hear these and
“Annie Laurie,” “White Cockade,”
“Robin Grey” and all the rest played by
such a band as that, played without varia-
tions, you have the key to Gilmore’s secret
of getting and keeping the popular heart.

FLINT. E. L. NYE.

Contributed Recipes.

RHEUMATIC LINIMENT. -'1‘wo ounces oil of
origanum; two of turpentine; two of harts-
horn; two of opodeldoc; one-half ounce of
vitriol.

RHEUMATIC LINIMENT N 0. 2.—-—In two ounces
of soft water dissolve one ounce of Castile
soap, and add to it two ounces of tincture of
camphor, one ounce of opium, one ounce of
chloroform, and one ounce of spirits of tur-
pentine. This is excellent.

CAMPHOR Cranium—One and a half ounces

01' spermaceti; and the same quantity of
white wax. Scrape thin into an earthen dish,
then add one and a half ounces of powdered
camphor, the same quantity of glycerine, half
an ounce of sweet oil and two drops of after
of roses or other essential oil for perfume.
Heat, stir till melted, then stir till cold. For
chapped lips and hands.
- FOR SALT Brawn—Put ten cents worth of
salsaparilla bark and ten grains of iodide of
potash into a quart of water. Boil until re-
duced to one pint. ‘

FOR INFLAMMATORY RHEUMATISM.—Half
ounce bicarbonate of soda: three drachms
iodide of potassium: two drachms tincture
digitalis; one draohm tincture of opium; one
pint water. Mix. Dose, one teaspoonful
every six hours. MRS. C. W. J.

DETROIT.

 

 

FLOWER SEEDS FOR 1887.

I will send one package of choice pansy seed,
mixed sorts, for 15 cents. Dahlias, any color, 12
cents each; ﬁve for 50 cents; 12 for $1. Seeds
from over 100 choice varieties of perennials,
everlastings, annuals or herbs, six packets for
25¢; 13 for 50c or 30 for 81. Send stamp for list

MRS. M. A. FULLER (DILL),
Boa: 297, Fenton. Mich.

 

