Motherly talks with young housekeepers / embracing eighty-seven brief articles on topics of home interest, and about five hundred choice receipts for cooking, etc.
Date: 2023-01-22T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Cooking; Home economics

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Title: Motherly talks with young housekeepers

Author: Mrs. H. W. Beecher

Release date: January 22, 2023 [eBook #69858]
Most recently updated: October 19, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: J. B. Ford and Company

Credits: Charlene Taylor, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS ***

MOTHERLY TALKS
WITH
YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS:

EMBRACING

EIGHTY-SEVEN BRIEF ARTICLES ON TOPICS OF HOME INTEREST, AND ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED CHOICE RECEIPTS FOR COOKING, ETC.

BY

MRS. H. W. BEECHER.

NEW YORK:
J. B. FORD AND COMPANY.
1873.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,

BY J. B. FORD & CO.,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge.

PUBLISHERS’ PREFACE.

THIS book, composed of brief and pithy articles, on almost every conceivable point of household duty, is a friendly monitor for young wives, and a mine of good sense and information for growing maidens. Originally published in the Household Department of “The Christian Union,” the articles have been so frequently called for and inquired after by those who had found help in them, that the author yielded to the desires of others, and has gathered them into this little volume.

Mrs. Beecher’s notion of woman’s sphere is, that, whatever exceptional women may be able to accomplish, by reason of peculiar circumstances and talents, and freedom from domestic responsibilities, the place of labor and achievement for most women, and for all married women and mothers, is Home. And this book is exactly what its title sets forth,—a kind and motherly way of helping the inexperienced to make agreeable, well-regulated, and happy homes. Following the “Talks” are a choice selection of nearly five hundred Cooking Receipts, all vouched for by the author’s own experience and skillful testing.

CONTENTS.

PART I.
MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.

| | PAGE
I. | System in Work | 3
II. | March | 7
III. | Spring Labor | 11
IV. | Sunshine and Fresh Air | 14
V. | House-cleaning | 17
VI. | Washing-day | 21
VII. | Putting Clothes to soak | 25
VIII. | Patient Continuance in Well-doing | 28
IX. | Preparing for the Country | 32
X. | Heedlessness | 35
XI. | Washing Flannels | 38
XII. | June Cares | 42
XIII. | Pure Air and thorough Ventilation | 46
XIV. | Milk and Butter | 49
XV. | Making Cheese | 53
XVI. | A troublesome Question | 57
XVII. | Woman’s Kingdom | 63
XVIII. | The Kitchen | 66
XIX. | How much is a Wife worth? | 70
XX. | Teach little Boys to be useful | 74
XXI. | Bleaching, Starching, and removing Stains | 78
XXII. | To iron Shirts, Vests, and Embroideries | 84
XXIII. | A Talk about Beds | 88
XXIV. | Marketing | 91
XXV. | Trust your Children | 96
XXVI. | Who invented Bread? | 100
XXVII. | How about the little Girls? | 107
XXVIII. | Stealing Servants | 112
XXIX. | Fall Cleaning | 117
XXX. | Fashionable Dress | 122
XXXI. | Lessons by the Wayside | 126
XXXII. | Pauline Pry | 130
XXXIII. | Buy your Cage before you catch your Bird | 135
XXXIV. | Care in selecting a House | 138
XXXV. | Visiting for one’s own Convenience | 141
XXXVI. | Will they Board, or keep House? | 146
XXXVII. | Choice of Colors in Dress | 151
XXXVIII. | Harmonizing Colors in Dress | 156
XXXIX. | A Word about Moths | 160
XL. | Winter Butter | 164
XLI. | Repairs | 169
XLII. | Accurate Weights and Measures in Cooking | 173
XLIII. | Teaching little Girls to sew | 176
XLIV. | The Care of Poultry | 180
XLV. | Institutions for the Education of Women | 184
XLVI. | Great Mistakes | 189
XLVII. | Study to make Home attractive | 193
XLVIII. | The Care of Cooking-Stoves and Ranges | 198
XLIX. | The Old Ways and the New | 202
L. | A few Hints on Carving | 206
LI. | Parental Example | 209
LII. | True Taste more effective than Money | 213
LIII. | Cooking by Steam | 217
LIV. | Vegetables | 221
LV. | Cabbage | 225
LVI. | Pulse | 229
LVII. | Pot-herbs and Salads | 234
LVIII. | Mistakes in cooking Vegetables | 237
LIX. | Divided Family Government | 242
LX. | How can we secure good Servants? | 247
LXI. | The Guest-Chamber | 250
LXII. | The Care of Infants | 255
LXIII. | Personal Neatness | 261
LXIV. | Are House-Plants injurious to the Health? | 266
LXV. | Bad Butter | 271
LXVI. | October | 277
LXVII. | The Slavery of Fashion | 282
LXVIII. | Pickling and Preserving | 287
LXIX. | What has become of all the little Girls? | 292
LXX. | Procrastination | 297
LXXI. | The surest Remedy | 302
LXXII. | A few little Things | 308
LXXIII. | Planning for the Week | 312
LXXIV. | Shopping | 316
LXXV. | Dusting | 320
LXXVI. | A Chapter on Soups | 323
LXXVI. | More about Soups | 328
LXXVIII. | Testing Character | 333
LXXIX. | If we knew! | 337
LXXX. | In such an Hour as ye think not | 342
LXXXI. | Grumbling | 346
LXXXII. | Little Foxes spoiling the beloved Vine | 351
LXXXIII. | Waste not—want not | 356
LXXXIV. | Making Cake and Pastry | 360
LXXXV. | As thy Day so shall thy Strength be | 366
LXXXVI. | What we know not now we shall know hereafter | 370
LXXXVII. | Until Death do us part | 375

PART II.
CHOICE FAMILY RECEIPTS.

YEAST.
Yeast | 385
Another | 385
Yeast-Cakes | 385
BREAD.
General Rules | 386
Bread without Sponging | 386
Good Bread | 386
Bread with Sponging | 387
To make Bread from Flour that runs | 387
Bread by Scalding the Flour | 388
To make Stale Bread fresh | 388
Graham Bread | 388
Steamed Brown Bread | 389
Corn Bread | 389
Rice Bread | 390
BISCUIT.
Morning Biscuit | 390
Tea Biscuit | 390
Soda Biscuit | 391
Indian-Corn Biscuit | 391
Parker House Rolls | 391
Rusk | 392
Sweet Potato Buns | 392
Potato Pone | 392
Gems | 392
Gems, No. 2 | 392
Graham Gems | 393
BREAKFAST AND TEA CAKES.
Corn Cakes | 393
Another Way | 393
Another | 393
Another | 393
Steamed Johnny-Cake | 394
Corn-Meal Cake with Apples and Suet | 394
Muffins | 394
Another Way | 394
Cream Muffins | 394
Another Way | 394
Raised Muffins | 395
Hominy Muffins | 395
Quick Muffins | 395
Graham Flour Muffins | 395
Raised Waffles | 395
Corn-Meal Waffles | 396
Buckwheat Cakes | 396
Rice Griddle-Cakes | 396
Sour-Milk Griddle-Cakes | 396
Green-Corn Fritters | 396
Mock Oyster Fritters | 397
Corn Oysters | 397
Rice Cakes | 397
Rice or Hominy Cakes | 397
Rosie’s Sally Lunn | 397
Strawberry Shortcake | 397
Cream Toast | 398
SOUPS.
General Directions | 398
Stock for Soups | 399
Tomato Soup | 399
Another | 400
A Vegetable Soup | 400
Mock-Turtle Soup | 400
Bean Soup | 401
Soup with Eggs | 402
Green Pea Soup | 402
Turtle Bean Soup | 402
Nursery Soup | 403
Oyster and Clam Soup | 403
Potato Soup | 403
FISH.
To Boil Fresh Fish | 404
Baked Salmon Trout, with Cream Gravy | 404
Boiled Salmon Trout | 404
Fried Halibut | 405
Fish Chowder | 405
To prepare and dress Cold Fish | 405
Newport Fish Pudding | 406
Fish-Balls | 406
Codfish Balls | 407
Scalloped Crabs | 407
Oyster Pie | 407
Oyster Fritters | 408
To Fry Oysters | 408
Lobster Patties | 408
Lobster Rissoles | 409
Fish Sauce | 409
A good Breakfast Dish | 409
Best Mode of Roasting Fish, Ducks, &c. | 409
MEATS.
BEEF.
Leicestershire Hunting Beef | 410
Spiced Beef | 410
Curried Beef | 411
Meat Pie | 411
Beef Collops | 411
To Cook a Beefsteak | 412
Rump Steak, with Oyster Sauce | 412
A French Broil | 412
Beefsteak Rolls | 413
Beef Croquettes | 413
Mock Duck | 413
A Nice Breakfast Dish | 413
Mock Venison | 413
To prepare Cold Roast Beef or Mutton | 414
Economical Breakfast Dish | 414
A “Two Story” | 415
MUTTON AND LAMB.
Shoulder of Mutton Boiled | 415
Shoulder of Mutton Spiced | 415
Mutton Stew | 416
Roasting a Leg of Lamb | 416
To use Cold Lamb | 416
Mint Sauce | 416
VENISON.
Jerked Venison | 417
Venison Steaks | 418
COOKING IN A “RUMFORD BOILER.”
To Roast Beef or Mutton | 418
To Boil a Leg of Lamb or Mutton | 418
Corned Beef | 418
To Cook a Ham | 419
Fish | 419
VEAL.
Meats for June | 420
Calf’s Head and Harslet | 420
Head and Harslet Hash | 420
Veal Pie | 421
Sweetbread Croquettes | 421
Veal Patty | 422
Minced Veal | 422
Veal Hash | 422
Veal Loaf | 423
Croquettes | 423
POULTRY AND GAME.
Steamed Turkey | 423
Broiled Chickens | 424
To Bake a Chicken | 425
Gravy for Roast or Baked Poultry | 426
Chicken Pot-Pie | 426
Fried Chickens | 427
To Cook an Old Fowl | 427
Roast Duck | 428
To Roast a Goose | 428
Wild Goose | 429
To Roast a Green Goose | 429
To Boil a Goose | 429
To Stew a Goose | 430
To Stew Pigeons | 430
Wild Squabs | 431
Chicken Pudding | 431
Chicken Jelly | 432
Chicken Patties | 432
To make Remnants of Meat, Chicken, etc., palatable | 432
Meat Croquettes | 433
PORK AND HAM.
To Boil a Ham | 433
Broiled Ham | 433
Ham Croquettes | 433
Ham and Toast | 433
Ham Toast | 434
To use Cold Boiled Ham | 434
Another Way | 434
Ham Ball | 434
How a Pig was Roasted on a Sugar Plantation | 434
Good Sausage Meat | 435
A Dutch Dish | 435
SALADS AND OMELETS.
Chicken Salad | 436
Italian Chicken Salad | 436
Lobster Salad | 437
Potato Salad | 437
Plain Omelet | 437
Puff Omelet | 438
Oyster Omelet | 438
Omelet with Jelly | 438
Baked Omelet | 438
Omelette Soufflé | 439
EGGS.
Boiled Eggs | 439
Fried Eggs | 439
Poached Eggs | 439
Hard Scrabbled | 440
Fricasseed Eggs, or Egg Baskets | 440
Egg Toast | 440
Scrambled Eggs | 441
Scrambled Eggs | 441
Dropped Eggs | 441
Cottage Cheese | 441
Cheese Toast | 442
VEGETABLES.
Corn | 443
Another Way | 444
Boiling Potatoes | 444
Another Way | 444
To Boil New Potatoes | 445
Mashed Potatoes | 445
Potato Croquettes | 445
Saratoga Fried Potatoes | 445
Scalloped Potatoes | 445
Snow Potatoes | 446
Potato Cakes | 446
To Fry Sweet Potatoes | 446
Macaroni | 446
Egg-Plant | 447
Another Way | 447
Fricasseed Egg-Plant | 447
To Stew Tomatoes | 448
Baked Tomatoes | 448
Scalloped Tomatoes | 448
Boiled Rice | 449
Cooking Rice | 449
Peas | 449
Green Peas | 450
Beans | 450
Asparagus | 451
Spinach | 451
To Boil Cabbage | 451
To Boil Cabbage with Meat | 452
Another Way | 452
Cabbage like Cauliflower | 452
Cauliflower | 452
Hot-Slaw | 452
Cold-Slaw | 453
To Cook Onions | 453
CAKE.
GENERAL RULES.
Loaf Cake | 454
Mrs. Breedley’s Fruit Cake | 455
Rosie’s Raised Cake | 455
Fruit Cake | 455
Farmer’s Fruit Cake | 455
Whortleberry Cake | 456
Olic Cake | 456
Nice little Cakes | 456
Queen Charlotte’s Cake | 456
Lemon Cake | 456
Molasses Drop Cake | 457
Chicago Fruit Cake | 457
Cider Cake | 457
Snow-flake Cake | 457
Cocoa-nut Cake | 457
Macaroons | 457
Delicate Cake | 458
Sponge Cake | 458
Pineapple Cake | 458
Molasses Cup Cake | 458
Loaf Cake | 458
Walnut Cake | 459
Loaf Cake | 459
Western Cake | 459
Snowball Cake | 459
Molasses Cake | 459
Corn-Starch Cake | 459
Moss Cake | 459
Jenny Lind Cake | 460
Sugar Cookies | 460
Cookies | 460
Another Way | 460
Molasses Gingerbread | 460
Plain Gingerbread | 460
Excellent Ginger-Snaps | 461
PIES, PUDDINGS, AND DESSERTS.
Pastry | 461
Puff Paste | 461
Potato Pastry for Meat Pies | 462
Pumpkin Pies | 462
Dried-Apple Pies | 462
Pies of Canned Fruit | 463
Mince Pie | 463
Rice Pie | 464
Apple Puffs | 464
Marlborough Pie | 464
Chess Pie | 464
English Christmas Plum Pudding | 464
A Family Christmas Pudding | 465
A Simple Christmas Pudding | 465
Bread Pudding | 466
Boiled Indian Pudding | 466
Baked Indian Pudding | 466
Palmyra, or Date Pudding | 466
Sponge-Cake Pudding | 467
Steamed Pudding | 467
An Excellent Pudding | 467
Apple and Tapioca Pudding | 467
Sweet-Apple Pudding | 468
Fig Pudding | 468
Barley Cream for Invalids | 468
Apple Float | 468
Sago Pudding | 468
Cocoa-nut Custard | 468
Apple Pudding | 468
Sauce | 469
Nice Cheap Pudding | 469
Orange Pudding | 469
Custard without Eggs | 469
A Quick Pudding | 469
Rice Meringue | 470
Sago Pudding | 470
Lemon or Orange Honeycomb | 470
Apple Snow | 470
Snow Pudding | 470
Cocoa-nut Pudding or Pies | 471
Bohemian Cream | 471
Spanish Cream | 471
Rennet Wine | 472
Cold Custard | 472
Baked Apples | 472
Apple Snow | 472
PRESERVES AND JELLIES.
To Can Peaches | 472
Mixed Marmalade | 473
Jellies | 473
Peach Jelly | 474
Quince Jelly | 474
To Preserve Quinces | 474
Candied Orange Peel | 475
Apple and Quince Sauce | 475
Apple Sauce | 475
Baked Pears | 476
CHEESE.
Stilton Cheese | 476
Cottenham Cheese | 476
Parmesan | 476
Cheddar | 477
Dunlop | 477
New Cheese | 477
Swiss Cheese | 477
Sage or Green Cheese | 477
Cream Cheese | 477
Potato Cheese | 478
Cheese Straus | 478
PICKLES.
Peach Pickles | 478
Pickled Plums | 480
Green Tomato Pickles | 480
To Pickle Green Tomatoes | 481
Pickled Nasturtiums | 481
Pickled Cauliflower | 481
Tomato Pickles | 482
To Pickle Onions | 482
To Pickle Red Cabbage | 482
Cucumber Pickles | 482
To Pickle small Cucumbers and Gherkins | 483
Tomato Catsup | 483
MISCELLANEOUS HINTS.
To make Tea | 484
Substitute for Milk in Tea and Coffee | 485
Bread Crumbs | 485
GLEANINGS.
To Clean Kid Gloves | 486
To keep Grapes | 486
To Clean Oil-Cloths | 486
Fill your Lamps in the Morning | 486
Colored Silk | 487
To Remove Fruit Stains | 487
Bee or Wasp Stings | 487
To Preserve Brooms | 487
Glossy Starch | 488
Salt with Nuts | 488
To take Ink Stains from Mahogany | 488
To keep Quinces | 488
Fruit Stains | 488
Ink Stains | 489
Buying Furs | 489
Drying Umbrellas | 490
A Tight Ring | 490
Scrubbing White Paint | 490
How to wash Graining | 490
To keep Codfish | 491
Zante Currants | 491
To keep Cheese | 491
To keep Smoked Beef and Hams | 491
To keep Preserves | 491
Care of Flour-Barrels | 491
Indian Meal | 491
Coffee and Tea | 492
Raisins and Starch | 492
Household Weights and Measures | 492
To test Flour | 492

INTRODUCTION.

FOR the last two years we have occupied a corner in “The Christian Union” with the following brief articles, and from week to week endeavored to bring to its readers something useful and practical. We have reviewed the daily labors indispensable to all classes of homes, giving whatever suggestions or criticisms seemed to us most needed or desirable, not only as regards the manual labor of a household, but also the actions, motives, and principles which build up and secure the happiness of a family; or which, falsely understood and neglected, must lay the foundation for misery and sin.

We have been requested by many of our readers to gather these talks together, for the more convenient use of those for whom they were written, namely, young housekeepers, who, marrying before their domestic education has received sufficient attention, daily find many stumbling-blocks in their way, which haply a word fitly spoken might remove.

Where so much has been written in the way of “Advice to Young Housekeepers,” “Household Guides,” etc., it would seem superfluous to venture on this well-worn track, did it not lead to a portion of general education too little thought of, where “line upon line and precept upon precept” are peculiarly needed.

The home education of our girls is often sadly neglected. Indulgent mothers, who have kept their daughters in school from earliest childhood, think it would be cruel to ask that any part of their vacation should be usefully employed. It must all be given to relaxation and amusement, leaving the knowledge of the homely household duties which would enable them to superintend and adorn a happy home to be learned after they have been “graduated.” Yet how many young girls pass from the seminary at once into married life, and on their first entrance into society are transformed from simple school-girls into wives and housekeepers! If no part of their child-life was devoted to those lessons, which none should be able to teach so kindly and so thoroughly as a mother, what is the result? The home which the lover dreamed of, proves dark and comfortless, and the bride is too often transformed into the heartless devotee of fashion, instead of the companion and helpmeet God designed a wife to be.

Young ladies would soon discover the richer life there is in one’s own home, if they were early initiated into an intimate knowledge of the whole routine of home duties and household mysteries, so that when they shall be exalted to the dignity of the mistress of a house, they can with good judgment and intelligence direct their servants, or independently perform the labor of a family, easily and methodically, with their own hands. With such knowledge, and the ability to execute, they can greatly augment domestic happiness and add new lustre to their charms as companion and friend.

True, there is much that is hard and disagreeable in household cares and labors; but what good thing do we possess that does not require thought, effort, and often unpleasant labor before we come into the full possession and enjoyment of it? Under any self-denial or hardship experienced in the performance of duty, there is a great comfort in the knowledge that, the work being once mastered and made familiar, any thought of drudgery connected with it disappears; and in the happy consciousness of independence and power over difficulties one finds great pleasure and full compensation.

In preparing these articles for book publication, we have not attempted to bring them together in a methodical manner, but have allowed them to follow one another in about the order in which we were moved to write them by the daily occurrences around us, or in reply to many letters from discouraged or ready-to-halt young housekeepers. Nor have we presumed to give advice or instructions to old, well-established mothers and housekeepers, who doubtless know far more than we do, and at whose feet we would cheerfully sit for instruction. But like a mother in the midst of her young daughters we have desired to stand, answering such questions as they would naturally ask, pointing out mistakes that they are likely to make, showing where the error lies, and trying to offer a remedy; not in household affairs alone, but in many phases of the duties that belong to the wife and mother as well as to the housekeeper. To give some little assistance and encouragement in every effort to make home what it should be,—the happiest place on earth,—is our earnest desire.

EUNICE W. BEECHER.

PART I.
MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.

I.
SYSTEM IN WORK.

“I HAVE been hard at work all day,” we think we hear some say; “up stairs and down, from the cellar to the attic, looking into every nook and corner, and ‘putting things to rights’ generally. O dear! I wonder what next those grim old housekeepers would expect me to take hold of. I have everything in good running order, as far as I can see, and now how I would like to take a book and curl up somewhere, out of sight and hearing, and have one of the old-fashioned good times I used to have before I was married. Well, I don’t care. I mean to have it, anyhow, and just let things go on without my watching, for a while. Nora can manage to keep the house in order, somehow, now I have everything in its right place, I am sure.”

Ah! but, my dear little woman, if you do not give daily attention to your household affairs, in a few days, under Nora’s rule, you will find the machinery all out of order, and be compelled again to go over the same wearisome labor you now complain of.

“What then am I to do? From this time on, is my life to be a perpetual drudgery?”

No; not if you are wise. Be patient. It is a new thing to you now. Care does not sit lightly on young shoulders; but time and a reasonable amount of patience will soon make the “crooked ways straight, and the rough places smooth.” A few weeks of extra time and thought, at the beginning of your new life, will teach you how to work methodically. Until this lesson is fixed in your mind, it will be “uphill work”; but persevere. Have a regular plan for each day’s work, and every step will be easier and more natural.

There is nothing like method and regularity to lighten labor. We have so many poor, discouraged, repining housekeepers, chiefly because they were not taught from the beginning to work methodically. Let this once become a fixed habit, and almost every one can find leisure for reading and recreation, certainly if in a position where they can delegate the hardest, roughest labor, under suitable supervision, to a servant.

Secure a few moments every evening to think over and arrange for the necessary labor of the morrow. Bring before your mind just what ought to be done, and fix the mode and time for doing it distinctly. While dressing, the next morning, review your plan, that all through the day it may be like a map spread out before your eyes. Of course, many things may occur that no foresight could provide for,—sickness, unexpected company, or interruptions past your control,—but nothing that can wholly derange a well-digested plan for every day’s duties.

Try this mode of working resolutely for a few months, and labor or oversight of labor will become so nearly a second nature that you will arrange, or perform almost instinctively, even with pleasure, that which now seems a heavy burden, grievous to be borne. To show just what may be done, let us take a glance at the arrangements for washing and ironing days.

Every housekeeper has her own way of apportioning the work of her servants. Where there are three girls, many prefer that the cook should take charge of the washing, leaving either waiter or chambermaid to do the cooking Mondays and Tuesdays. If these are tolerable plain cooks, this may answer; but, generally, on those two days the table is less pleasantly served than during the remainder of the week.

Now, we prefer to feel as sure of a well-cooked and well-served dinner on “washing-day” as on any other day in the week. For that reason, we think it a more excellent way to have the cook understand that the kitchen, pantries, and cooking are her own especial care; from which, until that work is done, she is not to be called to assist in anything else. This plan, we think, insures a more orderly kitchen, cleaner pantries, and better prepared and more regular meals, than when the cooking is given over, two days in the week, to one less accustomed to it. We see no good reason why, if company happens in unexpectedly, one should not be as well prepared to serve them on Monday as on Wednesday or Thursday. By giving the washing into the care of the second girl, we think one may escape most of the terrors of “washing-day.”

Early rising should be one of the well-understood rules of the house, for the servants at least. As soon as up, on Monday morning, the laundress’s first work is to light the fire, if the laundry is separate from the kitchen; if not, the cook, of course, attends to that. The furnace is then to be well shaken and cleaned out, fresh coal added, and the ashes sifted and removed; which, if done every day, as it should be, is but a small item comparatively. Sweeping the front stairs, hall, doorsteps, sidewalk, and gutters comes next in order. By this time the fire and water will be in a proper state to commence washing; and that once begun, the laundress should be exempt from any other duty, save to feed the furnace, until the washing is finished and the clothes brought in and folded.

On Tuesday the same routine, while the fire is kindling and the irons heating; after that the laundress gives her undivided attention to her ironing. She should be up in season to finish sweeping stairs, hall, etc., and commence her washing and ironing by seven; and then, unless the washing is very large, an ordinarily bright girl should have all finished by Tuesday night, and be ready to give her full time to the chamber-work,—making beds, sweeping, dusting, washing windows, etc., during the remainder of the week.

The waitress is often expected to take charge of the furnace, but we cannot think it is desirable. If there is a fire to be lighted in the parlor or sitting-room, to remove the ashes, wash the hearth, and have the rooms dusted and in readiness for the family, and then put her table in order, is all that she will be likely to do well. Besides, after working in the cellar over the furnace, she cannot be fit to wait on the table without taking more time to free her hair and dress from ashes and dirt than she can spare, if you would have the breakfast served promptly. And what is more disgusting than an untidy waitress? The waitress should have charge of parlor, dining-room, silver, answering the bell, and on Monday and Tuesday do the chamber-work.

Where but two servants are kept,—and we are inclined to think the fewer servants the better the work is done,—of course the two must divide the work, each assisting in the washing and ironing, but the cook still retaining the charge of the meals.

II.
MARCH.

THE morning sun shines brightly, the air is mild and balmy; you go about your early cares with a cheerful spirit; and, after seeing that the “pickings up,” the brushing and dusting, which are a daily necessity, are faithfully performed, you sit down to your sewing, your books, or your writing in a satisfied and comfortable state of mind. But in a few hours the sky grows dark; grim and threatening clouds obscure the sun; the wind sweeps round the house with long, wailing moans, or short, fierce gusts, while you shiveringly draw the warm breakfast shawl closer about you, and find that you have suddenly passed into a far less genial atmosphere than you enjoyed in the morning.

March may come in a very mild and gentle manner, but don’t trust it. It is “fooling you.” Its smiles are quickly followed by frowns, and the bright, warm sunlight all too soon will be forced to give place to fierce winds and drifting snows. We are quite as well pleased when this, the first month of spring, appears in its own proper character,—windy, stormy, and bitter cold,—for then we hope that it will make its exit in a gentler mood.

Yes, this is truly March,—cold, raw, and blustering March,—which, with the early days of April, before the winds have fairly died out, is the terror of all careful housekeepers,—insuring an abundance of extra work; for its winds and storms will force an entrance into every part of the house, however securely guarded. No burglar’s alarm can promise safety from this insidious foe. Windows, pictures, and furniture, so nicely cleaned and polished but a few hours since, require a repetition of the same work many times a day. No month in the whole year demands such incessant use of dusters, brushes, and brooms,—such unslumbering watchfulness.

Why not clean once a day and then let the dust be till next morning?

Because, if allowed to remain, it soils your hands and dresses, spoils your pictures, finds lodgment in your finely carved statuary, or settles in the graceful designs or rich upholstery of your furniture. Once snugly secreted in woollen or plush, dust is not easily removed, but becomes the favorite resort for moths, affording abundant material for all their wants. There is no month in the whole year which so completely makes you the slave of the broom and dusting-brush. If there is a carpenter ingenious enough to build a house so tight that it can defy the searching winds of March, he would most certainly be a universal favorite among all housekeepers. Under the doors, from the top, bottom, and sides of the windows, in at the key-holes,—everywhere the dust finds an entrance. No table, chair, or shelf may be touched without showing the presence of this subtle enemy. Each book, picture, or article of dress acknowledges its power. Was it not in the month of March that the plague of dust tormented the Egyptians? Unless some learned interpreter of the Bible can prove the contrary, we are inclined to accept this idea. There is no other season of the year when one feels so little courage, for we cannot “rest from our labors.” However faithfully the work may be done, an hour will destroy all trace of our industry. Then why attempt to do it? Why not let all cleaning cease till March gives place to its betters, and then have a general purification?

If there were no other reason for patient continuance in well-doing, notwithstanding all discouragements, the injury done to carpets and furniture would be a good and sufficient one. With the strong March winds the dust is so thoroughly sifted into the threads of carpets, and into the moldings and ornaments of furniture, that if not very often removed, it would be almost impossible ever to do it. The sharp grains of dust would sink into the carpets, and the friction of walking over them would wear out the material more in this month than in any two months of the year. Heavy brocatelle curtains and delicate lace are very easily defaced and injured by the dust, if not often shaken and freed from the constant accumulation.

It cannot be helped; through all this windy, unmanageable season, frequent usings of dusters and brushes are inevitable, and, if thoroughly applied, aside from the economy of it, will greatly lighten the labor of the spring house-cleaning.

A good beating with a furniture whip (two or three ratans, lightly braided or twisted together, and the ends united in a handle, found at any house-furnishing store) is an excellent thing to dislodge dust from chairs, sofas, table-covers, mattresses, etc., but the beating must be followed by the use of the feather-brush over all, and an old silk handkerchief for polished or highly varnished furniture.

Windows are very difficult to keep bright and clean at this season of the year. If there is rain or snow, it is usually followed by high winds, which dry the streets and very soon cover the damp windows with a storm of dust,—settling into the molding and around the sash to such a degree that it will require much time and hard work to remove; and even while washing them, the dust is still swept over the windows. It is wise, when windows are so quickly and easily defaced, to wet a clean, smooth cloth in a little whiskey or alcohol, and cleanse the glass with it. It removes the dirt much more thoroughly and gives a better polish to the glass than water can, and evaporates so quickly that the dust will not so readily adhere. This may be liable to objections on the ground of economy; but, for three or four weeks it is much more effective, and makes the work so much easier, that we are inclined to think it is not extravagant. Of course it must be used with judgment. A little will be sufficient.

Now, more than any other part of the year, the ashes must be removed from the cellar, if you have a furnace, faithfully every morning. If allowed to accumulate, a heavy wind will send them up through the flues and registers, to settle in the carpets or furniture, and do more injury than the dust, because the alkali in the ashes will eat the texture and injure the colors.

Then, again, it is important that on washing-days some attention should be paid to the wind. It is a great trial to a methodical housekeeper to put off the week’s washing for a day or two. It seems to derange all the work planned for other days, and makes one feel unsettled, as if everything was sadly out of joint. It is not at all pleasant to consent to such innovation, but March is a tyrant, and in the end it is better to submit to its caprices. To see all your clothes on the line at the mercy of a real March wind, would be worse than to defer the washing and wait for a milder day. The clothes will be more injured and worn by one day’s snapping on the line, in a very high wind, than in weeks of wear; and unless one has a good, roomy attic with windows at each end to admit free air, it is wise, if not agreeable, to put the clothes in soak, after washing, in plenty of clear water, and wait for the calm, or defer the entire washing to that propitious moment.

Yet a good, brisk March wind, with an unclouded sky, has its excellences. There is no better time to put blankets, carriage-robes, and heavy winter garments out to air. If not left out too long, such heavy articles will not be liable to so much injury, by whipping on the lines, as cotton and linen, and it is an excellent and effective way to free these cumbrous garments from dust and moths.

These are only a few of the reasons for the necessity of more than usual vigilance in this stormy month of March; they are but hints to call attention to the subject. Your own good sense, kept awake by the wild wind that is shaking the windows as we write, and bending the tall masts beyond, will enable you to carry them out more minutely and practically than we shall attempt at present to do.

III.
SPRING LABOR.

MOTHS.—The first few days of April are too near kin to March to warrant any decided steps toward the regular spring house-cleaning; but it is quite time now that special attention be paid to moths and their characteristic destructiveness.

In furnace-heated houses, moths are occasionally found in mid-winter; but they are only the advance guard of the main army, and do little harm, save by the annoying reminder of what one has cause to fear in spring.

In April they will begin to show themselves very much in earnest, and are seen too often for your comfort, particularly after the gas or lamp is lighted. If an expert, you may destroy many, as, attracted by the bright light which lures them to destruction, they fly around you; yet enough remain to keep you constantly on the lookout. We know of no remedy, when moths have once gained entrance to a house, but ceaseless watchfulness. They often deposit their eggs in the fret-work and open spaces in cornices, as well as in woollens and furs, and therefore all such hiding-places should be carefully searched. In high-studded rooms it is difficult to reach these sheltered nooks, and therefore in them moths too often find a secure retreat. But although difficult, it is not impossible to dislodge them, even from these high places. A tall step-ladder, with a little care and some one to steady it at the base, can easily be mounted, and from this height you readily gain access to your enemies. If the carving is deep and intricate, take a quill, and with the feather-end brush out these holes into a dust-pan; follow this brushing with a wet cloth wrapped round a pointed stick. It takes time, care, and patience, but is very necessary. In houses that are not often painted, you will probably find large quantities of dust and lint that have accumulated and settled, from sweeping, in the cornices. In this the moths deposit their eggs; and, when hatched, the worm which eats your garments may be found here, snugly rolled in its thin covering, or perhaps just ready to fly through your house, depositing its eggs for the next generation of moths.

A new house, left for months unoccupied, or an old house long untenanted, it is said, will surely be overrun with moths. For this we do not vouch, but are quite inclined to credit it. Our first experience of the plague of moths was on taking possession of a house, almost new, that had stood empty some months,—a dearly bought experience, the debt for which is not fully cancelled after more than fourteen years. In all the cornice ornaments we found large quantities of the eggs and worms snugly laid to sleep, till the warm spring sun should rouse them to begin their mischievous expeditions among our furs, blankets, and garments. Many were fully developed, and flying about in search of some choice place to deposit their eggs.

The spring and summer are their busiest time; and as soon as it is warm enough to dispense with furs, heavy shawls, and woollen garments, these should be well shaken and brushed, then hung on the clothes-line and beaten with the furniture whip, every spot or stain cleansed, and repairs attended to before being done up and put away for the summer. Each housekeeper has probably her own theory as to the best way for packing up such articles as moths injure. Some put pepper, camphor, cedar-chips, sandal-wood, or moth-powder among the articles to be stored away, and then sew them up closely in old linen, or cover them with two or three thicknesses of paper, lapping one over the other, leaving no holes, and then seal the paper up with mucilage. We prefer the paper wrappings, but feel a little safer if we sprinkle Poole’s moth-powder over the articles before sealing.

We have been told that strips of cloth dipped in kerosene, rolled up and placed among flannels, furs, etc., which should then be shut tight in a cedar trunk or close drawer, will surely prevent moths from injuring them, destroying the eggs or such moth worms as are already in possession.

This appears sensible, inasmuch as moths are said to be repelled by any pungent, disagreeable smell. And surely, if that be so, kerosene would be most deadly.

In carpets, moths generally seek the corners and secluded places. For that reason it is essential that in sweeping, at all seasons of the year, one should see that great attention is paid to the corners and edges of carpets. Never attempt to sweep there with a common broom. You cannot get at the corners. Take a whisk-broom or a round, pointed brush, such as is used to clean buttoned furniture, called a furniture button-brush, and with it clean out the corners where the carpet is turned in. Have close at hand a pointed stick, which, with a cloth wrapped about it, will enable you to pry into every nook thoroughly. Every few weeks it is well to draw the tacks in the corners a little way, and, turning back the carpet on to a thick paper or old cloth, give the edges a faithful brushing. It is under and near these corners that moths love to secrete their eggs.

IV.
SUNSHINE AND FRESH AIR.

FEW realize how dependent we are on sunshine and fresh air for good health and pleasant, cheerful homes. When shown into a dark and dismal parlor,—blinds all closed and heavy curtains dropped to exclude light,—and creeping forward in search of a seat, fearing, each step, to stumble over a chair or upset a table loaded with small wares on exhibition, we always feel suffocated, as if in a vault among dead men’s bones. And when the servant, after calling her mistress, returns and opens the shutters just far enough to allow one small ray of “light divine” to struggle through, what a relief it is! How we long to spring forward, throw back the curtains, swing the blinds wide open, and give admittance to the full glory of the free, glad sunbeams. But no! Health and comfort must be sacrificed rather than expose the costly carpet and rich curtains. Only so much light as will enable our friend to recognize us may be allowed to enter, and after a few moments’ conversation, as cold and spiritless as the room itself, how glorious seem the clear sky and pure air as we leave the house! We are so chilled and benumbed by our short tarry in those prison-like parlors, that it has penetrated to the heart, and we are not quite sure that we feel any great affection for the friend from whom we have just parted, until, having walked a few moments, we regain life and freshness by a full bath in the fresh breezes and invigorating sunshine.

Strange that any will deprive themselves of blessings so rich, so free, and health-giving for a mere fancy,—particularly when we find that the richest and most beautiful fabrics are generally those which will bear exposure to open windows and pure light.

That perfect ventilation and abundance of light and sun are indispensable to a healthy atmosphere all over the house, should be understood as one of the principles of good housekeeping. Servants are generally careless in airing the rooms committed to their care. Bedrooms, dining rooms, kitchen, and pantries are seldom sufficiently ventilated; and it behooves a housekeeper to maintain a constant watchfulness against such remissness. As soon as you are dressed, throw open the window, take off the bedclothes, spread them neatly across two chairs set in the draught,—taking care that the ends do not drag on the floor. Raise up the mattress; double it like a bent bow on the under-bed, or palliasse, that the air may circulate freely through and around it. Beat up the pillows and bolster, and throw them across a chair near the open window. Some hang them out of the window. All right, if you are careful first to brush the sill free from the dust that will, of course, accumulate there. When ready to leave the chamber, open the doors through from one room to another, even if some rooms have not been used; but be careful, in cold weather, to close the doors leading to the halls, that parlors and halls be not made uncomfortable by too much draught.

Children, boys and girls alike, should be instructed never to leave their bedrooms without at least throwing back the bedclothes and raising the windows; and guests in a family, one would suppose, will do this for their own comfort; but it is well that every housekeeper should be sure that it is done before she goes to the kitchen or breakfast-room. It is particularly desirable that our children become accustomed to this kind of care and attention to their sleeping-rooms; for if the habit is fixed in early youth, when absent from a mother’s care, in school, college, or business, and compelled to board, whatever other discomforts they may be subjected to, they can secure for themselves well-ventilated beds and sleeping-rooms. If, from extra morning duties or ill health, you are not able to attend to this part of the chamber-work yourself, then, as soon as the rooms are all vacated, the chambermaid should go to them at once, taking with her the chamber pail and cloths, and, first opening the windows and putting bedclothes and mattresses to air, as above mentioned, should empty all slops, wash out the washstands and all pertaining to them,—pitchers, soap-cup, tooth- and nail-brush holders,—gather up all dirty clothes and towels, and put them into the basket, or, if wet, hang up to dry. By the time this is faithfully done, the chambermaid will be ready to go to her own breakfast, leaving the windows open, unless in stormy weather, and the beds unmade. Keep strict watch that the servants do not fail to air their own rooms and spread open their beds when they come down to their early morning’s work. Never fear to open chamber windows in stormy weather. If the rain or snow beats in badly, drop the window from the top a little way, or spread an old bit of bagging or oil-cloth before the window to protect the carpet; but in spite of wind or weather, have a full current of fresh air pass through your bedchambers every morning. Once a week mattresses must be thoroughly brushed with a whisk-broom, and the tufts or buttons that tack them together cleaned with a round pointed brush, called a button-brush, so that no lint or dust can lodge about them to shelter moths. When free from lint and dirt, throw the mattress across a table, or spread on the floor an old sheet kept for that purpose, and lay it on that. In the same manner brush the under-bed; then turn it up and with a wet cloth wipe off the inside of the bedstead, raising up the slats that no lint may remain lodged there. By such care you will save much trouble from moths and bugs. It is well to attend to this on Friday, or whichever day may be set apart for sweeping, as lint may be dropped on the carpet, and should be at once removed.

V.
HOUSE-CLEANING.

“LAST year I thought house-cleaning would be ‘real fun.’ I had never before taken the entire charge of such extensive operations, and thought, in my simplicity, that I would show the old ladies how a smart young housekeeper would walk through the fiery furnace, with not even the smell of fire upon her garments. But I little dreamed what I had undertaken. I found out, however, before the ‘fun’ was ended, to my entire satisfaction, and now, in this my second year of housekeeping, look forward to the spring cleaning with the greatest repugnance; gladly enduring all the cold, the winds, and storms of early spring, because they postpone the evil day. But now milder weather and warmer suns are upon us, and this great nuisance may be no longer deferred. How I dread it! No regularity, all rules abolished, servants rebellious, husband—to put it mildly—uncomfortable; baby cross, and I—the crossest of all? O dear! What shall I do?”

What shall you do? Take it easy. Patience, my child, the oldest panacea, is still the sovereign cure for such trials. But why “borrow trouble”? For weeks you have, in imagination, been carrying this burden which you so much dread. Wait till the proper time comes to take it up. Give each hour its own work; do not permit yourself to groan over that which belongs to the next; and you will find the heaviest and most disagreeable labor, if arranged and performed systematically, glide smoothly through your hands. When it is finished, you will look back in amused surprise at the “bugbear” you had conjured up for your own torment.

True, what is generally understood as regular “spring house-cleaning” is not a pleasant operation; but is it absolutely necessary that this important part of household duties should be made a terror to all in the house? We think not. When furnace, grates, and stoves, have been in constant use for six or seven months, and gas or lamps are burning many hours each night, a very thorough house-cleaning is indispensable. No care can prevent smoke, ashes, and gas defacing walls and ceiling, and finding a lodgment in carpets and furniture, all over the house. And it is necessary that the warm spring days should be devoted to cleaning and renovating; but certainly not to the exclusion of real home comforts and pleasures, while this work is in progress. It is folly to commence by putting the whole house into disorder; displacing everything, leaving no room in habitable condition, that by and by you may, from this utter desolation, bring order out of confusion.

It is best to commence with the cellar, and the first thing to be done, after seeing that the coal-bins are in order, is to have your coal for the year put in. It is usually as cheap, and often cheaper, in the spring than in the fall. The coal safely housed, have the furnace emptied and put in thorough repair. Remove all the ashes. If you have an ash-vault, or bin containing the ashes of the whole winter, you will require a man to do it; but if—which is much wiser—the ashes have been sifted and removed every day, it is no burden, and but a few minutes’ work. Then all bits of waste boards, boxes, and barrels, no longer usable, should be chopped fine and stored with the kindling wood. If dust and cobwebs have been overlooked, brush them down very carefully; sweep the cellar bottom, and, if it is of stone or cemented, scrub it clean. If all this has been done every week, as it should be,—save the putting in coal and repairing the furnace,—it will be only a piece of regular work; but it must be done before any other cleaning is attempted, else the coal dust and ashes will penetrate every part of the house, and render all your labor useless. No door or window can be shut so closely that they will not force an entrance. Be careful to shut the “registers” from the furnace in every room, before moving ashes or coal.

The cellar being in order, the next step is to the attic. If it has been properly attended to through the winter, it is no hard task to make it fresh and clean, unless you allow it to be made the “catch-all” for every kind of useless trash. If not “hard finished,” the walls should be nicely whitewashed or calcimined, after the attic has been swept and dusted. This done, scrub the floor faithfully; polish the windows, and arrange neatly all that properly belongs to the attic. If you have pieces of carpeting stored there, they should be taken into the back yard, well brushed, and spread on the grass or hung on the line, the first thing, before the cleaning is begun.

The cellar and attic in order, you are ready for the upper chambers. If you can afford it, it is well to secure four good house-cleaners, and by putting two in one chamber and two in another, keeping up a quiet, but vigilant superintendence of both parties, you will find, if the work is well contrived, and each part arranged in regular succession, it will be done more quickly, more effectually, and with more economy, than to endeavor to drag through with little help.

Ingrain and three-ply carpets must be lifted every year, and that is the first thing to be done. Brussels and velvet do not need to be taken up oftener than every two years; while heavy Wiltons, Axminster, and Moquettes should not be removed oftener than every three years. The texture is so firm, no dust works through to the carpet lining beneath, and faithful sweeping and thorough use of the “carpet-sweeper” will remove the dust and moth’s eggs. Extra care will be required to clean and brush in corners, and wherever the carpets are turned in and nailed; and they must also be protected, while the walls, ceiling, and wood-work are being cleaned, by a heavy drugget spread over them, and moved from place to place as the cleaning progresses.

When washing painted walls and ceilings, take care in drying them that they are wiped in straight lines, from top to bottom, and not unevenly, or in circles; for however clean you may wash the paint, careless wiping will give it a streaked and untidy appearance.

Brush wall-paper carefully with a feather duster, and then pin a large towel tightly to a clean soft broom, and placing it up to the ceiling, bring it, with an even pressure, in a straight line down to the mop-board or casing. Proceed in this way until you have gone over the entire paper. It will be necessary to change the towel when it looks soiled. If this work is well done, the paper will look almost as fresh as new.

In cleaning door-knobs, bell-pulls, or speaking-trumpets, cut a hole in a piece of oil-silk or soft oil-cloth, and put it round the knob or bell-pull, etc., to protect the paper or paint from being soiled.

We have no room to carry these suggestions further at present, and leave your good, earnest, common-sense to practice and improve upon them.

VI.
WASHING-DAY.

“IF it were not for the washing, housekeeping would lose half its terror. But I rise every Monday morning in a troubled and unhappy state of mind, for it is washing-day! The breakfast will surely be a failure, coffee muddy, meat or hash uncooked or burnt to a coal, everything untidy on the table, and the servants on the verge of rebellion. With a meek and subdued countenance, with fear and trembling, lest some unlucky word of mine may infringe upon their dignity and cause them to leave before the washing is finished, I go softly about the house.”

This ought not so to be. In the first place, if you allow yourself to be kept thus in bondage to your servants, you destroy all hope of comfort. Let them once see that you fear to give them offence, and from that hour they are your tyrants.

Define, distinctly, the appropriate duties of each; but with this proviso, that in emergencies they will be required to lend a helping hand in any department where their services are needed. Let them understand, unmistakably, what your rules are,—for you cannot manage a household without well-digested laws and regulations,—then kindly, but firmly, make them know that you will have no infringement upon those rules.

“I wonder how long any girl, my Bridget, for instance, would stay, were I to take such independent ground.”

Probably not long, if she has learned that she can intimidate you; and once aware of that, the sooner she takes her leave the better for your future peace,—that is, if you will be taught by this experience to begin right with her successor. Those servants who fully recognize the lady as their mistress, in something more than name, are generally the most respectful and reliable.

Never allow a girl to give a disrespectful answer or manifest irritability, simply because the work for some days in the week may be more distasteful than in others; and never permit them to threaten to leave you without insisting that the threat shall be carried into effect, unless an ample apology is given; for, if passed over submissively, it will be repeated whenever the girl’s temper is ruffled. Not for our own selfish comfort alone, but for the good of all who are compelled to employ servants, should we defend our own rights and position; not till there is concerted action and organized rules that will define the duties and rights of mistress and maid, and these rules strictly enforced, will this plague, which leaves us at the mercy of our servants, be stayed.

And now let us see if there is, really, any good reason why washing-day should be so full of terror. If one is feeble, it is not easy, nothing is; but to a strong, healthy person, it ought not to be burdensome, even if one is obliged to do it one’s own self, particularly with the aid of all the “modern improvements.” The apportionment of duties we have already considered, in Chapter I.

Twenty years ago the tubs and wash-benches were to be brought from the cellar or area, all the water pumped, and often carried some distance, heated in a boiler, then poured into the tubs, and every article wrung out by hand. Then, in the city, tubs were carried out into the streets and the dirty suds emptied into the gutter. But there was little complaint then of hard work. What would the girl of the present day think if expected to work under such disadvantages?

Now we have hot and cold water in the laundry, wringers, “tubs set,” generally, which can be emptied at pleasure, without a step, making the washing of a medium-sized family not as laborious as the Friday sweeping of a large house. With one or two servants in the house, to divide the work, washing is not and should not be considered a hardship.

Put the clothes to soak overnight, rubbing soap on the collars, wristbands, bindings, etc., of each article. We have found Babbitt’s soap very satisfactory, safe, and much more economical than most soap. It is excellent for bleaching. Cut up several cakes in sufficient water to dissolve them, and let it boil till the soap is all dissolved, then pour it into a wooden pail, or old butter-tub that is well cleaned, and when cold it will be nice soft soap, and keep well as long as it lasts. This is a good way to prepare any soap for soaking or boiling clothes. But it is more economical to have a cake of hard soap, to use for the dirty spots, while washing.

Rub soft soap on the dirtiest parts of each garment, when you put them to soak, and just cover them with water. Table linen should be soaked in a separate tub, and washed first; the fine clothes, sheets, and pillow-cases put in another, and stockings and coarse things in a third tub.

Early Monday morning wring out the clothes from the water in which they were soaked, and prepare a fresh, clean hot suds. Table linen and all fine or starched clothes should be washed and hung out first, that they may be dried before night. If any are left out overnight, it should be the stockings and underclothes, bath-sheets, and dish-towels; the latter must be soaked by themselves, and washed in water that has been used for nothing else.

When a boilerful has been washed, rub soap on all bindings, collars, etc., replace the clothes in the boiler, fill it with cold or lukewarm water, and set over the range to boil not over twenty minutes; then pour all into a tub, adding cold water enough to make it comfortable to the hand, when ready to put them through the second suds. While the first set of clothes are boiling, of course those for a second boilerful are being washed and ready to be put in as soon as the first is removed, that no time may be lost. When the second is over the fire, get the first through the next suds and the two rinsing waters, which should be blued and ready as quick as possible. Do not be sparing of rinsing water. Have your largest tubs two thirds full, and put in but a few pieces at a time, so that each article may have unobstructed benefit of a large body of water, and all the soap may be removed. Wring and shake out and put into the second rinsing. Shake out each thing from the last rinsing, snapping them smooth; lay them loose into the clean clothes-basket, and hang out to dry before you begin on the second boiler. Careless rinsing and wringing will soon turn clothes yellow. When two girls assist about washing, one should rinse and hang out while the other is washing. It greatly expedites the work, of course, if they do not spend half the time talking; but it must be a very large wash that, even with but one at the tubs, is not all on the line before two o’clock.

Refined borax, in the proportion of one large handful of the powder to ten gallons of boiling water, is said to save nearly one half the soap, and make the clothes beautifully white and clear. It is a neutral salt and will not injure the fabric. For laces, cambrics, etc., an extra quantity is necessary. The wash-women of Belgium and Holland, so famous for the beauty of their work, use borax instead of soda.

Much more might be said on this topic if space would permit, perhaps of little interest to old experienced housekeepers, but our talks are more especially intended for those just entering upon the unknown sphere of domestic care.

VII.
PUTTING CLOTHES TO SOAK.

“A YOUNG housekeeper” is troubled at the idea of “putting clothes to soak” overnight. She is sure it must take two or three hours to do it, and asks, “How is one to do this, who lives in the country, where the ‘modern improvements’ of hot water and cold and stationary tubs are not found, except in the houses of wealthy families; but where all the water must be pumped or drawn by hand, and carried to the tubs by one who has all the work to do for husband and family, and perhaps keeps a few boarders beside? To bring the water, soap the clothes, as they are put in the tub, would occupy two or three hours of the Sabbath; for, as you speak of washing Monday, we infer that you mean to soak the clothes Sunday.”

Yes, Sunday morning or evening, as is most convenient. We think it—like getting breakfast, washing dishes, making beds, etc., on Sunday—one of the necessary items of household labor. True, some prefer to do this Saturday evening, but too long soaking yellows the clothes, and beside only part of them can be collected Saturday. Some also soak their clothes a half-hour Monday morning, but, in our judgment, very little is gained by that. We would, however, by no means advocate the mode we have advised, if two or three hours of the Sabbath or of any other day in the week must be given to it. Twenty minutes or, if a large wash, half an hour, is abundant time.

This young housekeeper evidently imagines that we must be giving theoretical advice, and not such as can be successfully carried into practice. But in this, as in all that we have offered, we speak only of “what we know, and testify of that which we have seen” and done. Ten years at the West, at a time when all “modern improvements” were unknown, and when we were so situated that the work for husband and little ones, and often several boarders, was, of necessity, done with one pair of hands, where the water was all to be drawn, not pumped, with now and then a “shake” or “chill,” to fill up the measure of the week’s work (and fever and ague, “out West,” in those days, was a genuine article), compelled us to economize time, if not labor. We never found two or three hours to spend in putting clothes to soak. When supper was over, Saturday evening, dishes washed, and babies to sleep, the water was drawn, tubs filled and covered, to keep the water free from dust, and, except the bedding and garments, to be changed Sabbath morning, all the dirty clothes accumulated through the week were “sorted” and laid in piles on the table, in the “wash-shed,” covered over with the clothes-baskets, ready to be soaped and put into water. This last may be done before dressing for church or, as we much prefer, before retiring, Sabbath evening.

Such lessons, taught by the best schoolmaster in the world, necessity, are often far more valuable than any we can learn in later life, and under more easy circumstances. Of course no man, whose labor ends with the close of the day, who deserves the honored name of husband (house-bond), would need to be asked to put his strong arm to the work, so far as to draw the water and fill the tubs, after tea, in the twilight of Saturday evening; while the wife and mother, whose work never ends till all are sleeping, is putting the little folks to bed and getting everything in readiness for breakfast Sunday morning. But often the nature of the husband’s employment deprives him, by necessity, of the pleasure of assisting his wife. Then, if without servants, there is no other way but for her to prove “woman’s equality with man” by doing it herself. After all, there are many harder things than drawing the good clear water from the well.

Now, with water in the tubs, clothes laid in separate parcels, plenty of soap dissolved, or a nice barrel of soft soap close at hand, does not our “young housekeeper” think the clothes could be soaped and put into the tub in less than half an hour? Would there not be plenty of time after breakfast, before dressing for church, to perform this necessary labor as we think it? Or if making beds or uneasy children consumed too much time in the morning, how long would it take to throw on a wrapper just before retiring, when all is quiet at night, and have the clothes all at soak? The answer to these questions depends on two things,—are you an early riser? have you such established system about all your labors as to secure a time as well as a place for everything?

There is one other point that may as well receive attention while we are on this subject.

Many are in the habit of changing bed-linen Saturday night, to avoid what may seem like extra labor Sunday morning, in accordance with their ideas of a strict observance of the Sabbath. We cannot think this wise. It certainly does not meet our ideas of that “cleanliness that is next to godliness.” We think it should be a matter of principle to have everything as pure, as sweet, and clean Sabbath morning as is possible. All one’s clothes are put on fresh on that morning; table-cloths and napkins come right from the drawer. If these are all brought out spotless in their purity, in honor of the Lord’s day, then why should not our beds also rejoice in the whitest of linen? We think it a grateful and appropriate way of beginning our Sabbath; and if the bed-linen is laid out Saturday night, as it should always be, we do not see how it can occupy more time to put on clean things than those which are tumbled and soiled. We think the objections to it are of that kind spoken of as being “wise above that which is written.”

VIII.
PATIENT CONTINUANCE IN WELL-DOING.

AFTER one of those days of perplexity and annoyance that will occasionally come to all housekeepers, old or young, order having at last been restored, and peace beginning to dawn out of the confusion, we took up the pen to begin our weekly talk with young friends. But pausing for a moment’s rest and deliberation, our thoughts took form and life, and led us into an imaginary conversation with a young housekeeper, passing though the same trials we had just been battling with. We think we cannot do better than send the thoughts and scenes that rose before our mind, as they so truly illustrate our idea of the necessity of constant watchfulness combined with “patient continuance in well-doing.” We think most of our readers, who have just begun life’s cares, will have already learned that imagination does not, in this case, equal the reality.

Scene.—A lady’s chamber, and the occupant in tears. Enter a Motherly Talker.

—Why! what can be the matter? You, so bright and cheerful usually, in despondency and tears! Some great trouble must have befallen you!

“I am completely discouraged! I ought never to have undertaken housekeeping. It is evident I shall never make a good housekeeper, and I will not be a poor one. After all my boasting when I first began, I am ashamed to tell you now how miserably I have failed. But ‘open confession is good for the soul,’ and when you have had the whole story, say if you think I am worth the teaching.”

Why, how humble our little woman has become! Some “lion in the way,” and, doubtless, of your own creating, has disheartened you for the present, we think. Tell us, without hesitation, what troubles you, and we will see if we cannot find a “silver lining” to this cloud, as it is easy to do in most cases.

“Well, listen, and tell me, when you learn how I have been blinded, if I have not cause to hide in the valley of humiliation.

“I have labored hard to train my Bridget, to the best of my ability, and, with all her inefficiencies, have felt and boasted that she was really neat. That being the case, I felt myself capable of keeping so strict a watch of her weak points, that she could not hide her mistakes so deftly but that I would find and try to teach her to rectify them. I had, at the commencement of my new life, arranged everything in the nicest order; and having started the machinery, Bridget seeming so ready to carry out my rules, I was confident that, by keeping up a careful supervision, I could not fail, and was in a fair way to become a bright and shining light among my sister housekeepers.

“Well, Bridget left me yesterday. I didn’t much care. There would be no trouble in replacing her, and doubtless securing a more capable girl. Beside, a few days’ work all to myself would be no hardship; for had I not been so faithful in my oversight of all domestic affairs, that everything about my house must be in perfect order?

“I was in the habit of visiting kitchen and store-closet daily. The sink seemed clean, the range well polished, the boiler bright, and dishes all in order, and making quite a pretty display on the shelves. Ah! if I had handled each article, looked into each pot or kettle, instead of being content to see only the outside, I should have soon learned that all was falsely fair! Why! everything was slippery, greasy, dirty, or leaking, except those which were placed in the front rank, for show. I am sick and lame from just this morning’s cleaning and scrubbing, and am not half through even the kitchen. Half the dishes that looked so nicely on the shelves are ‘nicked’ or cracked; holes burnt in the saucepans, and bits of old cloth drawn through to stop the leak,—who can tell how long they have remained there, gathering filth, or from what dirty rag they were torn!

“How often I have praised Bridget for keeping the kitchen coffee and tea pot so bright. But when I took them down this morning, lo! the coffee-pot was minus a handle, and the teapot bottomless! They were placed with the perfect side in sight on the shelves, and the broken parts wholly concealed; while my best things were doubtless used in the kitchen. If I must take up each article, day by day, to be sure of their condition, I could do nothing else through the day.

“In the cellar a barrel stood, in its proper place, filled with kindling. I reached my hand in hastily to get paper to start the fire, and quickly snatched it out, cut and bleeding. There were only a few papers on the top of the barrel, and all the rest of its contents was broken glass and china!

“Then my store-closet is kept locked, and the key in my own pocket. I have always handed out everything—sugar, spices, sweetmeats, etc.—myself, yet I find much sugar, sweetmeats, spices, and jellies missing! Now that my suspicions are aroused, I see what has gone. If I keep the keys myself, and yet am not safe from pilfering, what can I do? But other housekeepers have not this trouble: where lies the secret of their success, and my most humiliating failure?”

Now, although this is simply an imaginary scene, there is far more truth than fiction in it. Many housekeepers of late years have often had the same experience, and worse. This evil is growing upon us rapidly. If deliverance comes not to us,—perhaps through China,—our housekeepers have a gloomy prospect. The secret of apparent success with some often arises from the fact, that keeping two or three girls employed, when one leaves without warning, those who remain are expected to manage as best they can, till the vacant place is filled. In these cases the mistress does not see with her own eyes all that takes place behind the scenes. Such “ignorance is bliss,” perhaps, but certainly not the best economy. Whereas, if housekeepers are left alone without any help for a few days, and are obliged to take the work into their own hands, they learn several unexpected lessons which are not easy to forget. They see the evils which have been quietly accumulating under the carelessness or deceit of servants, and will not be so readily blinded the second time.

When you have servants about you, it is not possible to handle every article, to look into every corner, daily. One might as well make no pretence of keeping “help.” And while only a slavery of the most exact and unfailing watchfulness can save you from many leaks and much extravagant waste, yet, by this course, you may lose, by the constant irritation of disposition, more than you can save pecuniarily. The only safe way is to make things as secure as possible; first, as to the character of servants when you engage them; secondly, by way of guarding them from the temptation of open closets and immunity from oversight.

So long as servants can and do forge “characters” or “recommendations,” or use skeleton keys,—and many do this,—we are greatly at their mercy, unless we look the evil squarely in the face, and attempt to find a remedy. We are told that to speak plainly of these things—which are truly of frequent occurrence—we open the eyes of the servants as well as their mistresses, and tempt them to do the wrong which, but for the speaking of it, they never would have thought of. Let no one believe this. It is entirely a mistaken notion. Our ladies have no idea how thoroughly posted their servants are—even some of the most trusted—in every evil of this kind. A better way is to meet any such dangers openly; not willingly stumble along blindfold, lest we should see what we cannot help fearing is going on in our midst. See it, and try to overcome it by greater caution. Never, under any consideration, take a written “recommendation” of a girl. Go to the lady who is said to have written the “character,” and learn the truth. That destroys all danger from forged certificates. If it is thought too much trouble, then you must not complain of imposition.

Again, if you judge best to keep locked closets and store-rooms, there are many patent locks, not expensive, which no “pass” or “skeleton key” can open. Put such on your store-closet and places which you most desire to guard, and you at once secure yourself against another evil.

And “patient continuance in well-doing,” frequent, careful, but kindly oversight, thorough but not suspicious inspection of kitchen, store-rooms, closets, etc., will lessen many others; the remainder we must endure until, among all the reformatory movements of this progressive age, some good spirit shall effect a deliverance from the heaviest burden that oppresses the housekeeper,—unfaithful, inefficient servants.

IX.
PREPARING FOR THE COUNTRY.

JUNE, the month of roses, is near, and all who are compelled to live a large part of the year in the city are looking forward to some weeks of rest from ever-ringing bells, interminable flights of stairs, and all the wear and tear that belong peculiarly to a city life. But there is much to be done before you can safely close the doors and leave the house and its content under lock and key, for the summer. Every part of the house should be thoroughly examined, and none but the eye of the mistress can be depended upon. Each article that is to be left behind must be carefully looked after. Winter garments, furs, and such heavy shawls as may not be thought advisable to take to the country, have of course been aired, beaten, sprinkled with Poole’s or Lyon’s insect-powder, wrapped up in linen or paper, and sealed so that no moth can find an entrance. Even if done up in linen, it is better to put over that a strong wrapping-paper, and seal up with mucilage. If this is faithfully done, moths cannot, or rather will not, wish to get in. We are inclined to think that Poole’s powder is the best; it is certainly the most disagreeable, and that speaks well for its efficacy. Camphor or cedar trunks, made expressly for packing furs, woolens, etc., are a great convenience and very safe; but for those who have none, sprinkling with the powder and sealing in thick paper is, though more troublesome, equally reliable.

If the house is to be closed for some time, a very thorough cleaning of paint, windows, plated knobs, and bell-pulls is a useless waste of time and strength, as they will all be bronzed in a few weeks; but every part should be well swept, and all accumulation of dust removed. In the attic or any uncarpeted room, where the boards of the floor have shrunk, leaving open spaces between the boards, much dust and lint will gather in the crevices thus formed, and become favorite nests for moths. All such places should be swept with great care. A stiff brush should be used to clear every particle of dirt out, and then scrub the floor with hot soapsuds. When it is dry, sprinkle insect-powder in the seams. This done, and well done, we think there need be no hesitation in leaving a house unoccupied for a few weeks; certainly we should feel far less solicitude than to leave a servant in it.

Insect-powder should be put round the corners and edges of such carpets as are to remain on the floor for the summer. There is a little bellows that generally comes with Poole’s powder, or can be had at house-furnishing stores, by which you can blow the powder under the edges much more thoroughly than in any other way.

Next, see that all food is removed from the house; meat, salt or fresh butter, flour, meal, bread, or cake should be disposed of. Such articles soon spoil and make the air impure and offensive; or, if not offensive, it entices rats and mice into the house to prepare work and trouble for you all through the winter.

The furnace and ranges must be cleared out, and if any repairs are necessary they should be done now. It will annoy you far more to have these to attend to when you return and are in the confusion and haste of getting “settled” for the winter, with the thousand interruptions to which you will then be liable. The top of the range should be rubbed in sweet-oil, or lard that has no salt in it, to prevent rust. Flat-irons, bake-pans, soup-boilers, all iron-ware, must also be oiled, wrapped up in paper, and hung up, that you may find your utensils in perfect order when you return, needing only a good washing in hot soapsuds to be ready for immediate use. Have locks, keys, bolts, and bars in a good usable condition, that you may feel sure that nothing is left without strong fastenings.

All this preparation is hard work, and you are very thankful when the last trunk is locked, the last bundle or basket fastened, and this labor ended. But the comfort and satisfaction of knowing by your own actual observation and care that all has been done, and waits your return in the fall, with no mark of carelessness to rise up in reproach against you, will be ample compensation. Yet, at the last minute, take one more journey from cellar to attic, to “make assurance doubly sure,” and then, leaving all that care behind you, go on your way rejoicing.

X.
HEEDLESSNESS.

THERE are many annoyances that fall to a housekeeper’s lot which seem very insignificant when spoken of, and too trivial to put on paper; but they are grievances nevertheless, and like a wasp’s or bee’s sting, though small, not easily borne; and when they follow each other in quick succession, and are constantly repeated, the accumulation, like a whole swarm of bees, will tax the grace and patience of the strongest. It is the little frets of daily life that, when summed up, become almost unendurable; and to them is added the mortification of knowing that friends who are only “lookers on,” having never themselves touched the burden with so much as their little finger, feel no sympathy, but on the contrary almost a good-natured contempt, that any one should be so weak as to be shaken by such trifling troubles and vexations. But they are not trifling; if they were only occasional they would be; but they are of daily, hourly occurrence, and, because they are never ending, make a housekeeper’s responsible position one that demands self-control and patience of a higher order than any other position to which woman aspires. There is a dignity in being burnt at the stake that enables one to rise above the pain; but to be harried to death with briers and brambles is very humiliating, yet a torture none the less.

Many things that are really untidy are not noticed until, through neglect, they increase, and at last cause great confusion in the home affairs, simply because the young housekeeper’s attention has not been called to them, or she does not yet understand how to regulate and control them. Ignorance may be bliss, but it is of a nature that leads to mischief in the end.

Let us point out some of these petty troubles, and see what they amount to and how they may be removed.

What more disagreeable and annoying than to have the vapors or odors that arise from washing or cooking pervade the whole house, giving to it the sickening smell of the lowest class boarding-houses? When seated quietly in the parlor, it comes so gradually upon one that it is hardly noticed; but step for a moment into the fresh air, and on your return you will be greatly disgusted at the fumes that half suffocate you as you open the door. This infliction can be escaped only by keeping the doors of the kitchen or hall leading from it tightly closed. Yet it seems almost impossible to teach a servant that just “pushing the door to” is not shutting it, and the smells of the kitchen will escape as readily through a half-closed as through an open door. There is no help for this evil but watchfulness and constant reminder. You can put springs or rubber straps on the door, and while they are new and stiff they will swing to with force enough to close it; but the spring will soon grow careless, like other servants, and by and by not shut the door entirely. As well leave it wide open as ajar. Besides, springs are very troublesome and inconvenient, and, in the passing of servants with their hands full, endanger the dishes. And, worse than all, we have noticed that a spring on the door has a singularly inflammatory effect on the disposition of the servants; and after they have been hit or a few dishes broken once or twice by it, the spring suddenly breaks or is cut. Of course it broke itself, or nobody—that most mysterious mischief-maker—did it. The watch and care of the mistress is the only remedy.

Another careless habit which often proves a great grief of heart to the thorough housekeeper, and to which the attention of the beginner should be directed from the first, is the use of dish-towels and dish-cloths, instead of “holders,” to remove pots, stew-pans, and kettles from the fire, or meats and pies from the oven. It is a habit that is harder to conquer than almost any other. The most ample supply of holders may be provided, yet the mistress seldom enters the kitchen but she sees the nice crash towel caught up to remove a boiling pot from the stove, or a gridiron from the fire, and if it is not tossed into the sink, scorched and smeared, it is a marvel. And the “holder” you had so neatly made but a few days before, now a mass of grease, stove-crock, and filth, is perhaps lying in the coal-hod ready to be thrown into the fire, where you will be the least likely to find it out; for to wash a holder never enters into the heads of those who use, or rather abuse, them so badly.

A cook’s holder should be made of some strong, dark material, a piece of tape about a half-yard long sewed on one corner, and a large hook on the tape to hook into cook’s belt or apron-string. It is then always ready for use.

“And will she remember to use it?”

Doubtful; certainly not without your watchful care. But be sure and have them ready, and then strictly endeavor to secure their proper use.

The ironing-holder should be of soft, light-colored material, that dirt and stains may bear testimony against its use about clean clothes, till it is washed. Harsh material is severe on the hands when used for hours on a hot iron. When out of use, the ironing-holder must be put away with the ironing-sheet, bosom-board, etc., that they may not be used in the kitchen.

Again: watch the dish-towels; see that they are not thrown on the floor or into a chair to be sat on by the first one who happens in, and perhaps the next minute used to wipe the fine china or cover over the bread fresh from the oven. Such things are constantly being done. Do our housekeepers know it? Of course they never do such things themselves; but if they once gave it a moment’s sober thought, would they not, for their own comfort, endeavor to prevent its being done again? Who would wish to eat or drink from china wiped with towels so misused? Who would like to eat bread that had been wrapped up in a dish-towel, however clean? They should be washed and boiled every day after the dinner-dishes are out of the way, hung out to dry, and fresh, clean ones used at tea and till after dinner the next day, when the first set are brought in for the dishes, and the second washed, boiled, and hung out,—thus securing clean towels for each day. But no matter how faithfully this rule may be carried out, no dish-towel should ever be used for bread, no bread-cloth should be used to wipe meat, no meat-cloth used for fish. Each contracts a taste or smell belonging to its own peculiar work, and each should be marked and employed for its own appropriate use, and no other.

XI.
WASHING FLANNELS.

“CAN you tell me what has been done to my blankets? Not a year in use, and look at them! Fortunately I put but two into the wash this week, and now I think I shall never dare to have another washed. My pretty, soft, white blankets absolutely ruined!”

Not ruined, as far as use is concerned, but the beauty has departed, never to return. Did you overlook the washing of them yourself?

“Most certainly not! I never did such a thing in my life. I told the laundress that I wanted her to be very particular, and she assured me that she was fully competent to the work. I have just been speaking to her about them, and she can’t tell what should make them look so badly, unless there was something wrong about the wool.”

That is simply absurd. Did you question her as to her mode of washing them?

“O, no. I should not have known if she had managed incorrectly, and to question her would only have exposed my own ignorance to a servant, and that I am very loth to do; but she said she rubbed them very faithfully, soaped them thoroughly, and boiled them in good, clean suds.”

Soaped and boiled blankets, or woolen goods of any kind! No wonder they are brown and muddy, and as thick as a board!

Blankets that are carefully managed will not require washing often; yours have been in use so short a time they certainly could not have needed it, unless they were accidentally soiled.

“No, they looked very fresh and fair; but I had supposed blankets should be washed every fall and spring. I never asked why.”

O, no! They are always put between the sheets and bedspreads, not in contact with the body at all, and it would be long before anything but an accident or the greatest carelessness could soil them.

There are people who will lie down for a nap in the afternoon between the blankets! The housekeeper who can patiently or silently endure that must be nearer akin to the angels than we generally find them. True, no woman would be guilty of such carelessness; but ignorance is an excuse for many short-comings. But it is not this class of men that we intend to have at home in charge of household affairs when women go to Congress.

Occasionally, in a fair, clear day, and when there is a moderate wind, it is well to pin blankets on the clothes-line in the yard, that they may be well aired and freshened, and whatever dust may have settled in them be whipped out by the wind. When they really need washing, the first step is to see that there is a good quantity of boiling water ready. Next, select the largest tub and fill half full of boiling water; dissolve and stir thoroughly into it two table-spoonfuls of powdered borax and sufficient soap to make a good lather, but on no account rub soap on the blankets. Put into the tub but one blanket at a time. Shake it to and fro with the clothes-stick till perfectly wet through, then press it under the water to remain till cool enough to use your hands in it, when each part should be examined very carefully, gently rubbing or squeezing the suds through it. Hard rubbing fulls woolens. When sure that all spots or dirt are removed, wring them into a second tub of boiling water into which you have thoroughly stirred some blueing. If your first suds are strong enough, the blankets will retain sufficient soap for the rinsing water, which in woolens requires a little soap. Shake the blanket up and down in this water, with the clothes-stick, till it has flowed through every part. Then, while the water is still hot, wring it. It requires two persons to wring and shake out a bed-blanket. They should take it by the ends and snap vigorously, to remove all the water as far as possible. Then carry it to the line, throw it over, and pull it smooth, bringing the hems straight and true, and pin on to the line strongly. When half dry, turn it lengthwise on the line, and pull the selvedges together in a straight line, so that no part may draw up in cockles or full unevenly.

It is not well to wash woolens of any kind on a rainy or cloudy day; but for blankets it is ruinous. A bright sunny day with a brisk wind is very desirable, as it snaps out the water, giving it no chance to settle. When the blanket is perfectly dry, fold very evenly, but never press or iron it.

Washed in this way, although your blankets may not be quite as white as when new, the change will be hardly noticeable, and they will be soft and fleecy until worn out. A tall, large tub with a pounder or dasher on springs, fastened across the tub, like the old-fashioned pounding-barrel, or the tub and dasher of the Metropolitan Washing-Machine, is one of the most convenient and desirable tubs to wash blankets in, as the washing can be done at once without waiting for the water to cool. The pounder should be used gently, as harsh rubbing or pounding knots the fibers of woolens, but the spring dasher keeps the water filtering through every part without any hard usage.

Wash flannels in the same way, only bring them from the line while quite damp; pull out and fold evenly. If any spot has “fulled” or “cockled,” when it is a little damp you can pull it smooth. Roll up the articles tight, for a little while, until dampened all over alike, and then press them till dry, pulling the garment taut from the iron as you press.

There are many theories about washing woolen goods. Several of the “Household Guides,” of late, recommend washing in cold water. Some even advise soaking them all night, claiming that they do not felt or full any more than when washed in hot water, and are not as liable to grow yellow. But we cannot think this idea correct. Professor Youmans, in his “Book of Household Science,” describes the difference, in the structure of fiber, between woolen and cotton and linen fabrics, with a drawing of the straight, smooth form of linen or cotton filaments, and the toothed and jagged structures of woolen fabrics, and says:—

“It is evident that the latter, by compression and friction, will mat and lock together, while cotton and linen fibers, having no such asperities of surface, are incapable of anything like close mechanical adherence. Hence the peculiar capabilities of woolen fabrics of felting, fulling, and shrinking, caused by the binding together of the ultimate filaments. We see, therefore, the impolicy of excessive rubbing in washing woolen fabrics, and of changing them from hot to cold water, as the contraction that it causes is essentially a fulling process. The best experience seems to indicate that woolen cloths should never be put into cold water, but always into warm, and if changed from water to water, they should go from hot to hotter. In the most skillful modes of cleansing delaines for printing, the plan is, to place them first in water at 100° or 120°, and then treat them eight or ten times with water 10° hotter in each change.”

XII.
JUNE CARES.

THERE is much of romance and beauty in the month of June, partly imaginary and partly real. During the frosts and snows of winter, the sharp winds and dreary storms of spring, our thoughts turn with most affectionate longings towards June,—the month of loves and roses. Yet, when she comes, hardly any other month of the whole year brings so many little frets and annoyances as the month of June.

The first two or three days, so warm and balmy, lull us into a dreamy state of delightful rest and security; but we wake to find damp, foggy mornings, with mists so dark and dense that you long to cut a window through for the sunshine, which you feel must be held in durance vile behind it. Particularly is this noticeable if living near a river. All through the first half of the month we have cold, stormy days, then suddenly damp, sultry, sticky ones. In the morning we are uncertain how to dress. If warm, and we put on cool, thin garments, perhaps in an hour or two a chilly wind sweeps by, and, shivering and quite uncomfortable, we resort to a breakfast shawl or sack; they are a little too much, and we drop them, only too glad, in a few moments, to draw them close about us again; or, in an obstinate fit, we refuse to yield to the demands made by these sudden changes for warmer clothing, and a heavy cold is the result. The wind has a decided partiality for the east most of the time in early June. If it veers for a few hours to the south, it is in an unsteady, wavering manner, and soon turns back to the east again. The result is, that the first half of June will very likely keep you in an uncomfortable, dissatisfied state of mind. Everything molds; clothes grow damp in drawers or wardrobes, or the washing is caught out in a shower, just as it is half ready to be taken in. It is decidedly “falling weather.” Be watchful to guard against any infelicities that may follow these changes, patiently accepting what they bring that cannot be avoided. That’s the only true way. This variable weather usually lasts till the middle of June, sometimes later, when we may look for more settled but very warm weather.

The flies have been reconnoitring,—sending out scouts, during those few weeks of mild weather; but as the warm days become more permanent, they come on with their main army. We have put the moths to rest, but these intruders, if not as mischievous, are quite as hard to manage, and even as persistent. There are various kinds of “fly-paper,” around which, if ready for them, certainly lie large numbers of the slain to certify to the virtues of the paper. It is doubtless of some benefit, but does not by any means free us from this great vexation. It is at least a dirty, mussy remedy, requiring one to be incessantly on the watch lest flies who have tasted the paper fall into food, or lie about in an unseemly manner. If servants in the kitchen or dining-room have any gifts toward neatness, this constant litter makes them cross; if they have not that gift, the careless way they allow the dead flies to lie about, and the fear that they may approach too near the cooking, may make the mistress cross also,—two evils to be scrupulously avoided.

During the heat of summer we are compelled to keep open doors and windows, but these lawless intruders know, apparently, the moment when we lift the latch or raise the window, and swarm in upon us in myriads. To secure the air and baffle the flies, we have found mosquito netting a great help. A simple frame of pine, about an inch and a half wide, fitted closely inside the lower sash, with mosquito lace or net nailed across it (galvanized nails or tacks should be used, to avoid rust), is the most effectual safeguard we have ever tried. The frame must not be quite as high as the lower sash, as room is needed to push in the spring to open or close the window. The outside doors and those leading from the kitchen to the dining-room may have frames fitted in the same manner,—the frame having a cross-piece in the middle. It can be hung on hinges, having a hook in the cross-piece to fasten it with, while the real door may be kept open all day, excluding the flies, but leaving freedom for the air to circulate. By a few days’ extra care the family will soon learn to close this net door, or swarms of flies will quickly remind them of any heedlessness in this matter. A wire net is the most durable, although more expensive at first; but it will soon repay the extra expense, for lace or netting must be renewed every year. Yet notwithstanding these precautions, the flies will often effect an entrance, especially into the dining-room when dishing the dinner, or when merry, heedless children rush in and out, always forgetting to close the door. Cut old newspapers in strips an inch or an inch and a half wide, nearly the whole length of the sheet, leaving only about two inches uncut at the top. Take a smooth round stick about two feet long, and laying three or four of these cut papers together, wind the uncut part about the stick. Tie the paper on with strong twine, very tightly, so that it will not slip, leaving the long ribbons of paper hanging loose, and you have a most effectual fly-brush. Cheap calico is still better, as paper tears easily and litters the room. Keep one always on hand for the kitchen, and two for the parlor and dining-room. If the flies have secured an entrance during the dishing of dinner, when it is served spread a large piece of netting over the table to protect the food from dust or the flies you may brush down. Open the door, let two persons take each a fly-brush, and, standing opposite the door, swing the brush in concert through the room swiftly toward the door, and it will be amusing and gratifying to observe how hastily the intruders will vacate the premises. One or two well-directed charges will leave you free to shut the net door, remove the netting from the table, and partake of your dinner unmolested.

XIII.
PURE AIR AND THOROUGH VENTILATION.

AT all seasons of the year it is important that the house should be kept dry and well ventilated; but extra precautions are necessary in warm weather. The nights are often close and sultry; windows are left open with the hope—often a vain one—that an occasional breeze may deign to sweep through the rooms, and assist us in the labor of breathing. And here is danger. The night air, what there may be of it, and the heavy morning fogs, fill the house with dampness. The bedclothes are moist and disagreeable. The garments laid off on retiring at night, if left near an open window, are heavy with dew. Fever and ague, rheumatism, cholera, and dysentery lurk always in such an atmosphere. One of the best preventives is a quick blaze, in an open fireplace or stove, immediately after rising; no matter how warm the weather may be. A handful of brush or light wood, just to make a blaze, expel the bad air, and dry the rooms, not heat them, is all that is needed.

Those who can be in the country during the summer will have no difficulty in finding plenty of brush,—dead branches, or sprouts, or bushes, cut off in clearing up the fields or hedges. On a rainy day, when outdoor work or play cannot be advantageously attended to, a child could easily cut them up into foot or foot and a half lengths, tie them in fagots, and pile them neatly in the wood-house, ready for use. Keep one of these fagots always in the fireplace or stove, ready for lighting every morning. It will dry and purify the air wonderfully, and save doctors’ bills and much sickness.

Aside from the ill effects of dampness, the air is full of impurities arising from the body, and more injurious through the night than in the day. Professor Youmans says:—

“The escape of offensive matter from the body becomes most obvious when, from out of the pure air in the morning, one enters an unventilated bedroom where one or two have slept the night before. Every one must have experienced the sickening and disgusting odor upon going into such a room, though its occupants themselves do not recognize it. The nose, although an organ of excessive sensibility, and capable of perceiving the presence of offensive matters where the most delicate chemical tests fail, is nevertheless easily blunted, and what at the first impression is pre-eminently disgusting, quickly becomes less offensive to the smell; but the impure air has not departed. Two persons, occupying a bed for eight hours, impart to the sheets by insensible perspiration, and to the air by breathing, a pound of watery vapor charged with latent animal poison. When the air in other inhabited rooms is not often changed, the water of exhalation, thus loaded with impurities, condenses upon the furniture, windows, and walls, dampening their surfaces, and running down in unwholesome streams.

“Yet we are not to regard the human body as necessarily impure, or a focus of repulsive emanations. It is not by the natural and necessary working of the vital machinery that the air is poisoned, but by its artificial confinement, and the accumulation of deleterious substances.”

In speaking of the prevalent inattention to a perfect ventilation in our homes, and the need of great care in this respect, if we would secure health, Youmans also refers to the “gaseous exhalations, of every sort, that escape from our kitchens, filling the house with unpleasant odors; the imperfect combustion of oil and tallow in lighting our homes; the defective burning of gas-jets”; and the injurious effects upon health,—causing severe headaches, if nothing worse; to the destruction to health from the poisonous influences of green paper-hangings upon the air, from which the fine particles, loosened by dusting or moving about the room, are set afloat in the atmosphere, and are often very deadly.

Then from the decayed vegetables—carelessly allowed to remain sometimes for days in our cellars—and the damp and stagnant air of cellars and basements come exhalations most destructive to health. Even dry closets and rooms in upper stories become moldy and musty if not often and thoroughly aired. “To be pure and healthy, air requires continual circulation; but cellars are rarely either ventilated or made dry by water-proof walls or floors, and are usually damp, cold, unclean, and moldy.

“The air from these basements and cellars ascends to the upper rooms in such small quantities that it does not produce immediate disease; yet it so gradually undermines the health as not to be perceptible. Many an invalid, who fancies himself benefited by the change of air in going to another residence, is really only improved by escaping the moldy atmosphere that arises from beneath his own ground-floor.”

By quoting thus largely from Professor Youmans, we bring good authority for the particular and earnest advice we have offered to our “young housekeepers” with regard to the drying and ventilating every part of their houses. We doubt not many a one, who has begun with sound health, has gradually sunk into a confirmed invalid, when the principal cause could be traced back to carelessness in this seemingly unimportant duty. And those who are thus slowly poisoned by the impure air which comes through this neglect of duty are the most ready recipients of all infectious and epidemic diseases.

It is always well to have either a bath full of water near where one sleeps, or, if no bath, a pail or tub full set into the room, as water is one of the best disinfectants, cleansing the air by taking up all the impurities from it as fast as they arise. But this water should be let off in the morning, and fresh water used for bathing or washing; and if you need drinking water in your bedroom,—and it is well always to have it near,—do not let it remain open in your room, as it absorbs impurities, and would be unfit for drinking; but either have a lid to your pitcher or cover it over with a thin cloth, to keep dust and insects out, and set it on the ledge outside your window, in the pure, fresh air.

XIV.
MILK AND BUTTER.

JULY and August are trying months for those who have charge of milk and butter, unless the work to be done is performed in large establishments devoted entirely to it. When a milk-house is built under large trees, to shield it from the fierce heat of the mid-day sun, with a stream of pure cold water running through it, the labor is diminished full one half. Indeed, we should not call it labor, but an exhilarating amusement to take charge of such an one as we saw, a few weeks ago, in Norwich, Chenango County, New York. We have not thought of it since without a longing, amounting almost to coveting our neighbor’s work. To find this house among the trees, away from the confusion and turmoil of the town, which is shaken by the ceaseless din of more noisy occupations, was most restful and tranquillizing; the music of the rich, green leaves among the long sweeping branches, and the murmur of the restless brook, could not fail to give a spring and elasticity to the spirits that must, in a great measure, overcome the sense of fatigue. This was our first impression, as we stood outside the unpretentious building, and it was in nowise changed when we stepped upon the smooth floor, as white as good soap, fresh water, and a willing arm could make it.

Our attention was immediately attracted by the sound of machinery. In the farther corner of the room stood two large barrel-churns, the dashers of both moving up and down with an easy, uniform motion, impelled by the wheel and belt overhead, to which they were attached. No fears for the aching back and tired arms neutralized our enjoyment, for the woman in charge sat, resting by the open door, till the butter was ready to be taken out into the “butter-worker.”

A large trough, some twelve or fourteen feet long, six or eight wide, and perhaps four deep (we simply use our Yankee privilege of guessing at the dimensions), and lined with tin, was placed in the middle of the room, where the curd for “skimmed cheese,” made from milk after all the cream was removed, was “set.” This and the churning arrangements occupied half the building. The other half was a large tank, through which the water from the brook flowed continually. Into this reservoir, always full, tall tin cans, between two or three feet high, and perhaps a foot across, were set. Little danger that milk in that cool bed would sour before all the cream had been risen. About this tank ran a wide shelf or ledge, on which stood great tubs of golden butter waiting to be sent to market.

In the second story, equally cool and clean, large shelves were placed, where the cheeses are kept to dry, or ripen, entirely separate from the butter.

This is a very tame description of a scene of labor which was to us exceedingly interesting. We must now hasten to speak of that which is real care and labor,—the management of small dairies, where butter is only made for home consumption.

The most scrupulous cleanliness must be recognized as being absolutely indispensable. If all else is done to perfection, and that is wanting, you cannot have good butter. As you skim one mess, be sure that the shelf on which it stood is faithfully scrubbed and left unoccupied until it becomes dry. Every utensil used about milk or cream should be kept for this, and drafted into no other service. Many object to using soap in washing milk-pans, pails, etc. But we have great affection and reverence for soap, and cannot imagine that its free use can harm any article employed about a dairy. We always insist that the pails, pans, skimmers, butter-prints, and churn be washed in very hot suds; if a servant fears to risk her hands, we use our own. A small, pointed scrub-brush must be used to scour the seams, corners, handles, etc., of all the utensils, and particularly the strainers in the pails. After this scrubbing is well done, rinse in an abundance of hot water, and then pour over all a large kettle of boiling water. Let the articles stand in this a short time, then wipe with clean towels, and turn down on a stand or shelf prepared for them outdoors, where the sun will sweeten them perfectly. Even in rainy days, better leave them out an hour or two that they may have the benefit of the air at least, if deprived of sun; then wipe them dry, and bring into the milk-room before night.

A small unpainted tub should be kept expressly to wash milk things in. The brush, wash-cloths, and drying towels ought all to be marked, and never used for any other purpose. See that they are washed, scalded, and hung to dry, outdoors if possible, every time they are used.

If the milk-room or cellar is small and not ventilated, it is very difficult in July and August to keep milk sweet long enough for all the cream to rise. While the weather is very hot, unless one has a deep, cold cellar, or a spring of water running through it, it is well to scald the milk when first brought in. Have a kettle half full of boiling water over the fire; strain the milk into a clean pail, and set it into the boiling water until it gets scalding hot, but not boiling. Be sure and remove it before it rises in wrinkles on top. If too hot, the butter will have a disagreeable taste. The butter is never quite as good, but the cream rises more rapidly, before the milk has time to change,—a very important gain, and one to be considered in case of a small cellar.

In very warm weather, with no more protection than is generally found in small dairies, it is not often possible to keep milk over twenty-four hours before skimming. Every minute the cream remains on the milk, after it changes, is an injury to the butter. Thirty-six hours is the proper time for milk to stand, when the weather is cool enough to keep it sweet. Some keep it forty-eight hours, on the plea that more butter is secured. We doubt if it is so; but whatever is gained in quantity, by keeping milk so long unskimmed, is certainly lost in quality. Many think it important to keep the cream till ripe, or sour, before churning. We think it a mistake, if good, sweet butter is the thing sought. In cool weather we churn when the cream is as sweet as that which is used for coffee. In July and August the cream will sour, and the flavor of the butter shows the difference. As soon as the butter “comes,” it must be well washed down from the sides of the churn, and gathered into a mass. If very warm, wash a piece of ice and put it into the churn, leaving the butter five or ten minutes to harden before putting it into the “butter-bowl,” which, with the butter-ladle and churn, should have been kept full of cold water all night. When the butter is firm enough to work over, take it into the bowl and throw in a handful of salt; we fancy it causes the buttermilk to run off more easily; work out all the buttermilk as gently as possible; too much working or rough handling injures the grain of the butter. This done, pour in ice-water; wash the butter through that; pour off, and add more, till the water runs clear. Twice washing, in a generous quantity, should be sufficient. Then taste, and see how much more salt is needed. After the washing, press the butter with the ladle till no water runs; toss it into a compact roll, cover with a clean linen cloth, and put into the ice-chest till next morning, when it must be again broken up, worked over, and packed into a butter-pail or jar, pounded down compactly, and covered with strong brine, in which pulverized saltpetre—a great spoonful to four quarts of brine—has been dissolved. Cover the jar or pail closely, and set in the ice-chest or a cool place.

This method will insure good butter the year round. It is the buttermilk left in most of our market butter that gives us so much poor butter. If that remains, no brine or care can make it sweet.

The Blanchard Churn is, we think, one of the safest and most convenient, as the washing, salting, and working can be almost entirely done in the churn, by turning the wings, or dasher, back and forth half-way,—pressing out the buttermilk and salting it more evenly and with far less fatigue.

XV.
MAKING CHEESE.

FIRST, a dry, airy, thoroughly ventilated room must be provided, of even and moderate temperature. It should be used for a cheese-room only, and access denied, if possible, to all but the operator. It is useless to attempt the work if flies cannot be excluded; and, when open to all, that is impossible. The windows should be kept open in fair weather, but blinds always closed, to avoid currents of air, except to admit what light is needed while the work is being done. Frames covered with wire or mosquito net can be fitted into the windows, and a door of the same material hung inside, shutting closely to exclude the flies, yet giving admittance to as much air and light as are needed. If wind and sun have too free access to a cheese-room, the cheese cannot ripen properly.

Cheese-tubs, cheese-knives (a long wooden knife for cutting the curd), cheese-ladder, hoops, cheese-boards, or followers, cheese-basket, bowl, and cheese-cloths made of strong linen, but woven very loosely, and the cheese-press,—these are the necessary utensils.

The months from May to September are good cheese months; some keep up the work through October; but the cheese is more difficult to cure, and will not be as good.

If night and morning milk is to be used, strain the night’s milk into pans, and set in a cool place. In the morning take off all the cream; heat the skimmed milk to 95° or 100°, pour it into the cheese-tub with the morning’s milk, and stir in the cream; add the rennet, and mix all well together with the long wooden cheese-knife or a wooden spoon; cover the tub with a close-fitting cover, and spread over that a thick cheese-blanket, to keep in the heat while the curd is forming. The milk, when drawn from the cows, is from 85° to 90°, and until the curd is well set, it should not lose more than from five to seven degrees of its natural heat. See that the cows are driven to and from their pasture gently; for, if they get overheated, the milk will rise above the natural heat, and must be cooled off before the rennet is stirred in; as, if the milk, either from this cause or any other, is over 90° when it is set, the cheese will be spongy and of very poor flavor, or no flavor at all. If the milk is too cold the curd will be so tender it will never become firm, but will bulge out at the side, and will not keep. Be sure and ascertain the temperature of the milk always, before adding rennet. If the milk is too cold, heat some milk and stir in, until the whole rises to the proper temperature; if too warm, wait till it cools sufficiently before adding the rennet. The quantity of rennet to be used depends so much on the quality of the article, that experience only can teach the exact amount to use. If good and strong, two ounces is quite enough for sixty quarts of milk. The curd will have set firmly in an hour or an hour and a half, when it must be cut gently, first round the sides of the tub, then across in lines, reaching the long wooden cheese-knife to the bottom of the tub, each time about an inch from the last; then cut in the opposite direction, forming squares, to give the whey an opportunity to rise above the curd. Let it settle a few minutes. Then throw over the tub a large square cheese-cloth, or strainer, and after the curd has settled and the whey risen to the top, sink the strainer into it and dip off the whey as closely as it can be done. The strainer is then spread over a square splint cheese-basket, woven very loose and open, and the basket set on the cheese-ladder, which is laid across another tub. The curd must now be cut into small pieces gently, and put into the strainer. The corners of the cloth are then gathered up and twisted tightly together, and a flat, smooth stone, kept for that purpose, of about twelve or fifteen pounds’ weight, laid upon it, to press the whey from the curd. It should stand an hour; and, while draining, such things as will be no more needed to finish the work for the day can be washed, scalded, and set out to dry; for, of course, hot water is always ready.

The curd when ready is removed to a large wooden cheese-bowl, cut in slices, and a pail of the whey heated to 120° or 130° is poured over it. Great judgment and care are required here, as, if scalded too much, it makes the cheese hard; if not enough, the cheese will spread and crack. The hot whey should be left on till the curd will “squeak”—as the children used to call it—when bitten; then returned again to the strainer and basket, to drain free of the hot whey. This done, cut it up again fine; put in the salt, and thoroughly stir it in. The taste is the best criterion to judge of the quantity,—about six ounces to every fifteen pounds of curd is a fair estimate. A cheese-cloth must now be laid over the hoop; the curd dipped into it, pressed down, but heaped up in the centre; the corners of the cloth folded smoothly over, and the first cheese-board, with holes all through it, put on; one a size smaller laid over that; and the cheese thus prepared is ready to be put into the press, and subjected to a pressure of from forty to sixty pounds, according to the size of the cheese. It should remain in the press two or three hours. If the whey, which is now pressed out, is of a slightly greenish color, the curd has been properly prepared; but if it is white, like milk, the curd was formed imperfectly, and the cheese will not be of the first quality.

When the cheese has remained in the press for about two hours, some advise to take it from the hoop and let it stand an hour in hot whey, to harden the skin. We do not like the idea, and fancy much fine flavor would be lost from the cheese.

We should simply put it into a dry cheese-cloth and return it to the press, to remain till next morning. In changing the cloth, if any rind presses over the top of the hoop, cut it off smoothly and turn that side of the cheese down. Leave it now until the next morning in the same cloth; only it is well to turn it over in the press several times in the course of the day.

When taken from the press the last time, a piece of cheap muslin should be soaked in hot butter and fitted over the top and bottom, and a band, also wet in butter, bound tight round the cheese and sewed to the edges of the top and bottom covers. The cheese is then placed on the shelf. It will need rubbing with butter every day for some weeks, and must be turned over every day for several months, washing the shelf clean each time, and changing the place so that the shelf may get well dried.

If the whey is saved, in twenty-four hours a thick creamy substance will rise, which, if skimmed off and churned, forms butter very quickly, and is excellent to dress the cheese with,—a great economy, and better for the cheese than table butter. Put some of the butter into a tin dish kept for that purpose; throw in a small red pepper, and put it over the fire till boiling hot, then set aside for dressing, leaving the pepper in.

These directions give the general idea of making cheese. There are many varieties of cheese, which it would be very interesting to notice, pointing out in what the difference consists; but we cannot appropriate more space to this matter.

XVI.
A TROUBLESOME QUESTION.

“ONE of the most urgent of the unsolved, irrepressible questions of the times,” says the “Household,” a most excellent Vermont paper, “relates to the trials which modern housewives experience in their efforts to manage their households satisfactorily, and still have time for needful rest and social culture. As yet the problem remains a puzzle alike to the housewife and to the philanthropist. Labor-saving machines, which promised so much relief, practically fail to lighten materially the housekeeper’s tasks. ‘Biddy’ is still the main dependence in the performance of hard work in the kitchen; yet the constant oversight which she usually requires often renders her services a doubtful advantage.

“That the cares of housekeeping increase faster than means are found for their disposal seems generally true. Whether this is owing to increased luxuriousness in our ways of living, or whether the housewives of to-day lack the executive ability of their grandmothers, remains an open question.”

It does not seem to us very difficult to find the reasons for the great increase of our domestic cares; the puzzle is to find the remedy.

We escape much of the hard work our mothers and grandmothers performed so energetically, and about which housekeepers of the present day hear so many disparaging comparisons; for machinery does better and far more expeditiously many things that in olden times could only be accomplished by hard labor.

The wool is no longer carded by hand. Our factories have banished the spinning-wheel from the good old kitchen fireside; the little ones nestle no longer by mother’s knee, watching with never-ceasing wonder and enjoyment the “head” of flax disappear from the distaff and become a smooth, bright thread, under the skillful hand and foot that keep the pretty wheel so active. The cool breeze, laden with the perfume of cinnamon-roses and lilacs, while it sweeps through the open window of the old attic, no longer sports with golden curls, as the children run merry races in their efforts to “keep step” when the long white rolls of wool in the hand of the mother are transformed by the rapid revolutions of the big wheel into yarn for knitting. Little hands no longer wind it, from the spindle on the swifts, into skeins, or fill the bobbins for the weaver’s shuttle, and no bright eyes watch it as it flies through the warp.

The mothers escape the labor of the loom, while the little folks lose all this, or the still greater sport of meddling with the web, in their vain efforts to throw the shuttle through, or to bang up if they succeed,—the frolic often cut short by banging their fingers, instead of the woof, with the heavy beam. Machinery relieves us from all such labor, and deprives our children of much real fun, for which there is no compensation.

We almost regret those old-fashioned times, and often wonder if the elegancies and (supposed) increased comforts of our modern dwellings are a sufficient compensation for the multiplied labor and the necessity for so much more help which we are forced to employ. For though our mothers and grandmothers did more rough, homely work, we do not believe that they had half so hard a time in doing it as their daughters have in their efforts to teach modern servants how to perform the necessary labor of our present style of housekeeping. To weave a web of cloth is but child’s play, compared to the worry and disappointment and mortification that cause our modern housekeepers to “die deaths daily,” through the utter incompetency of those they are compelled to have about them. The tyranny of our modern style of living increases the proper amount of work to be done far beyond what one pair of hands can perform.

We think the deterioration is in the servants, and not in the mistresses. With all loving respect for our mothers and grandmothers, we feel confident that their daughters’ executive ability is equal to their own.

To be sure, husbands will tell of their mothers’ gingerbread, pies, and doughnuts, and, with an air of hopeless longing or patient endurance, wonder why nobody “nowadays” can ever cook as their mothers did!

To be sure! Why can’t they? For the very reason that our husbands cannot eat “ever so many” pickles, pies, gingerbread, and big bowls of bread and milk, as they used to do on returning from school; finish off with a pocketful of apples, and then be half ready to cry that their containing powers are not equal to their appetites. A good game of “tag,” however, up the front stairs, down the back, through the long hall once or twice, soon remedied that difficulty in boyhood. If husbands will only let their brains run wild for a short time, quit study, forget business, gold markets, and all such corroding cares, and be wild, harum-scarum boys once more, their wives’ gingerbread will taste just as good as their mothers’ and grandmothers’ did. That is the trouble with the husbands’ appetites. But the housekeepers’ troubles lie deeper than this.

The whole routine of modern housekeeping is much more complex than in our parents’ time. To be sure, they rose early; parents and children then knew what “sunrise” meant, for they were dressed and at work before the sun’s red wheel began to rise over the eastern border. The cows were milked, the milk put in the cool milk-cellar, the butter made, the breakfast ready—a good substantial, healthy breakfast—long before the time when our housekeepers of to-day are out of their beds. “Early to bed, early to rise,” simple, nourishing meals, quiet home pleasures,—not many hours spent in senseless calls, but an occasional good old-fashioned visit to keep the heart fresh and living,—these insured health and strength, good digestion, tranquil sleep, and cheerful homes.

Early rising facilitates the action of the domestic machinery in a wonderful manner. One hour lost or wasted in the morning clogs the wheels, and the work drags heavily all day. One hour gained is the best lubricator in the world. Everything glides along smoothly,—head, heart, and hands work in harmony.

Once, when a little girl, we were in despair because our “stent” was not finished in season for us to go a berrying with the brothers and sisters. Taking her kerchief from the black satin reticule that always hung on her arm when knitting, the dear old grandmother gently wiped the fast-falling tears, saying, “Ah, little one! you didn’t want to get up this morning when the others did. Remember that if you lose an hour in the morning you will waste half a dozen hunting it all day long, and deprive yourself of much pleasure. I’d try and remember, if I were you, never to lose another.”

We regret, for their own comfort, that our present housekeepers do not retain their parents’ habits of early rising. But contrast the life of our parents with the modern life of their descendants. The demands of society, late hours, too much visiting and company, make laggards in the morning; and the appetite, injured by untimely eating at these late hours, is supposed to need coaxing with dainties at breakfast. The elaborate breakfast requires as much time and labor as belongs to a dinner; and the dinner, with all the variety that etiquette claims,—several courses, and a multitude of dishes consequent upon these courses,—increases the labor immensely; and, unless blessed with a good corps of servants, requiring little oversight, we can secure little time for rest, reading, or sewing. Such servants are seldom granted to mortals in our times. Twenty years ago, one girl, without any of the modern improvements,—water to be brought from the street pumps, suds to be taken up and emptied in the gutter,—accomplished more work, and made the family more comfortable, than three or four will do now.

We are inclined to believe that the heaviest trials of housekeeping may be traced, not to the degeneracy of our mothers’ daughters, but to a marked and most unfortunate change in the character and capacity of our “help.”(?) This is no freak of the imagination. Some few families still retain servants that have been with them for years, and such housekeepers have no sympathy with their less favored sisters; but let death or marriage remove these comforts, and compel them to seek others to replace the old and well-tried ones, and they will learn that this complaint has very substantial foundations.

What remedy may be found it is impossible to say. In part our housekeepers are to blame. They have such horror of being left without help, such dread of constant changes, that they live as slaves to the whims and caprices of an ignorant class of persons, who soon recognize their fears and dependence, and use this knowledge to extort high wages for very little service,—compelling then mistresses to pass over their impudence and arrogance by bold threats of leaving.

This lack of independence, this fear to assert their own authority and rights, is, we apprehend, in a great measure the cause of the insubordination and uselessness of the girls of the present time. When they learn that their services will not be accepted unless faithfully rendered, we may look for easier and happier times. But how is this to be accomplished? A few cannot remedy the evil. It can only be effected by general co-operation. We are not willing to acknowledge that the housekeepers of the past were any more capable than those of our time; but we do think that our position, owing to the great annoyance we are subjected to from the kitchen cabinet, is far more trying than our mothers’ could have been.

What sort of housekeepers our daughters will become, enervated by late hours and all the gay and strange excitement of modern life, and crippled by the hideous freaks of fashion, it is painful to imagine and impossible to foretell.

XVII.
WOMAN’S KINGDOM.

“I SEE unrest, discontent, strife, and sin: I see girls—children in years—from whose cheek the first blush of innocence, from whose soul the last vestige of youth, have vanished; women sold to frivolity; women wasting most precious gifts; women whose ambition has no higher object than to mislead and triumph over men; men growing hard, selfish, and wicked, the slaves of their passions, going down to death, with no hand to save,—all for the lack of a true home. Then I remember that the home is the true kingdom of woman, where her rights can never be dethroned; that all pure love, all right thoughts, all religion, all governments, if you would have them live, must have their roots beneath its altar. This conviction impels me to say to every woman who has a home, Let home stand first, before all other things! No matter how high your ambition may transcend its duties, no matter how far your talents or your influence may reach beyond its doors, before everything else build up a true home! Be not its slave! Be its minister! Let it not be enough that it is swept and garnished, that its silver glistens, that its food is delicious. Feed the love in it. Feed the truth in it. Feed thought and aspiration, feed all charity and gentleness in it. Then from its walls shall come forth the true woman and the true man, who, together, shall rule and bless the land.”

Is this an overwrought picture? We think not. What honor can be greater than to found such a home? What dignity higher than to reign its undisputed, honored mistress? What is the ability to speak on a public platform to large, intelligent audiences, or the wisdom that may command a seat on a judge’s bench, compared to that which can insure and preside over a true home, with such skill that husband and children “rise up and call her blessed”? To be the guiding star, the ruling spirit, in such a position is higher honor than to rule an empire. Woman’s rights! Has man any higher rights than these?

To be sure man often abuses his power, and brings sorrow and woe upon her who, trusting and loving him, should always be the mistress of his heart, an equal partner in all his possessions, his joys, and his sorrows. But are there no cases on record where “the woman Thou gavest me” has abused the power with which the marriage vow endowed her; destroying the peace, and making shipwreck of all that her husband holds most precious?

The law does not as yet secure to a wife such independence as will guard her against injustice and meanness from the hands of her husband; but what defence have they provided against the bitter sorrows that bad wives can bring down upon their husbands? Has any one ever ascertained the full statistics, or clearly estimated the average? It is well, no doubt, that this matter has been so widely agitated, as it all tends, we hope, to establish the rights of both man and woman on a firm foundation; but if, before this “revolution” is settled, man should make a full statement of his wrongs, there are those who could bring forward just cause of complaint in large measure. Ah! if husbands and wives would always remember that, with them, as in other associations, “union is strength”; that “united they stand, divided they fall”; that together they should walk through life, together share the joys, together bear the burdens and the crosses,—what a happy world this would be! If it is a united kingdom, the wife accepts the rough as well as the smooth of household rule, as her part of the administration. If able to govern without a “kitchen cabinet,” a happy woman is she! But if not, she also takes the trials of the kitchen, the disagreeable details which must form a part of her home life, the vexation of spirit caused by the inefficiency of the servants of the present time, and this is the dreariest part,—all great and increasing hindrances to the perfection at which she should aim. But a good wife will endure these infelicities till a remedy is found, remembering that they are but a small part of home. The purest, sweetest, holiest elements that constitute a home, if recognized and administered in the right spirit, will enable her to forget these trials in the joy and peace that is set before her, and to which all may surely attain, if woman forgets not her high calling in a poor ambition.

Meanwhile the husband—the household king—accepts his part in the rule of this united kingdom. Are his cares any lighter than his wife’s? Look at them. The dust and toil and strife, the battling with the great world outside, in whatever sphere his talents and duties call him, to provide necessities, luxuries, or honors, accordingly as he is prospered, for the family who are sheltered in his home.

We think the joys and the sorrows, the crosses and the crowns, in married life are about evenly balanced, and nothing will right all the wrongs, and bring order out of the confusion of these vexed questions, so surely as the shelter of a true home, ruled by the true wife and mother.

XVIII.
THE KITCHEN.

UNFORTUNATELY, many ladies have not health or strength sufficient to take such supervision as will secure a neat and well-arranged kitchen; and, still more unfortunately, there are many, and we fear the number is increasing, who have such repugnance to any care save the genteel arrangement of their parlors, or the fashionable adornment of their persons, that they shun their kitchens as they would the plague. They will give occasional directions for some fancy dish, or the more elaborate details, if preparing for company; and then, if their husbands attend to the marketing, relieving them from all care, and the cook and waiter have breakfast, dinner, and tea at the desired time and in proper shape, they are content. If their parlors and chambers appear neat and inviting, they ask no questions as to the condition of their kitchens, and never inquire if the supply of utensils is adequate to the amount and quality of the labor the cook is expected to perform, or if they are of a kind to expedite or simplify her work. Indeed, one would suppose that the kitchen was entirely out of the mistress’s domains,—a region for which the cook only was responsible. If any are content to eat what is set before them, “asking no questions,”—not “for conscience’ sake,” but for the sake of their own indolent self-indulgence,—that is their right, and we would in no wise interfere with the full enjoyment of it.

But we know there are those who find no bliss in such ignorance, but prefer to know when and in what their food is prepared, and willingly accept the care and, it may be, the annoyance which the knowledge will bring. In many of the most palatial abodes, where comforts and luxuries of every character abound, little attention is paid to any comfort or convenience connected with the kitchen. Refusing to provide straw, Pharaoh exacted the full tale of brick from the Israelites of old; and so some housekeepers exact the most elaborate meals, without any thought of providing the conveniences which will best enable the cook to gratify their wishes.

We once watched with a sick child belonging to the rich family of the town. The furniture, the silver and glass, were of the best. It was necessary to prepare wine whey for the little sufferer during the night. The mother, exhausted with much watching and anxiety for the child, was sleeping, and, unwilling to wake her, we left a fellow-watcher in charge while we found our way to the kitchen,—if the miserable room could be called by that name. The floor was made of loose, rough boards, that sprang up with every step; an old, dilapidated table, minus one leg, was propped up on the back of a chair; broken dishes, worn-out saucepans,—in truth, we were at our wits’ ends to make even the simple wine whey in such utensils as we found in that strange kitchen, and have often since marvelled by what skill the excellent dinners and suppers we have partaken at that house could ever have been manufactured in such a den and with such “conveniencies.”

Whenever it is possible, a large, airy kitchen should be provided, with every thing to expedite and simplify the labor, and with every facility for perfect ventilation,—a most important point. In the homes of the wealthy there is no reason why the kitchen should not be in all respects so arranged and furnished that the cook must be inexcusable if she does not keep it and its belongings in the most perfect order.

But for those who cannot command the means to build and furnish a kitchen of this kind, the necessity for the greatest neatness and order in that department is still stronger. The occupants of second-class houses are often those who must themselves do or overlook much of the heaviest labor of the family, and therefore have no time to spend in the doubtful luxury of “clearing-up days.” Such days are generally wasted days. Those who find them a necessity are mostly a class who, for five days in the week, never put anything in its proper place, leaving all in disorder till Saturday. Then everything is hunted out of its hiding-place, washed, scoured, polished, and put where it really belongs. The improvement is so striking that one would suppose the kitchen would never again be a scene of disorder and confusion; but probably before Monday’s sun has set carelessness and misrule will have again regained their empire, and taken unto themselves seven spirits worse, if that be possible, than the first. And thus Saturday’s labor will have been given in vain. There is not one servant in a hundred who does not need the watchful eye of a methodical mistress to enforce the necessity of order and neatness in the kitchen. If it is made and furnished in the best manner, it should certainly be carefully kept; but if it be small, inconvenient, and have a meagre supply of utensils, neatness and order become an imperative necessity.

Jules Gouffe, a famous French cook, says: “The more inconvenient a kitchen may be, the more need for cleanliness, carefulness, and for plentiful and good utensils to simplify one’s work. Cleanliness! Cleanliness!—the great essential in all cooking operations—should, I maintain, at the risk of being thought over-particular, be written in large capitals on the door of every kitchen, large or small. A kitchen may be small, badly arranged and lighted, but it should never, on any plea, be dirty. Failure in cooking is often attributable to want of attention to cleanliness. Nothing more than a dirty saucepan is often sufficient to spoil the effect of a whole dinner. All kitchen utensils should be examined daily. Saucepans of all kinds cannot be kept too carefully; they should be washed, scoured with fine sand, and well rinsed each time they are used. The washing of many things in the same water should be carefully avoided; the greasiness this engenders adds much to the labor of cleaning. The brightness and cleanliness of the outside is very commendable; but the cleanliness of the inside must not be sacrificed to that.”

What would be Jules Gouffe’s sensations could he look into many of our kitchens? What would our good housekeepers themselves say—those of them that are not obliged to do the cooking for their families—if we should tell them that the pans in which their bread is baked are seldom washed out and dried, but are, unless thrown into the closet just as the bread was taken from them, wiped with a wet, greasy dishcloth, and bread baked in them over and over again, day after day, with no other cleansing? Said a good lady, “What is the reason that the bottom crust of my bread always tastes like rancid butter?” Examine your bread-pans, and you will no doubt find the reason, to your great surprise and vexation. How often, think you, is your molding-board set away without being washed after molding bread or rolling pastry, and the dough left to dry and sour on it, and the next batch molded on the same unwashed board? “That can’t be possible. I saw it hanging up in the store-room over the flour-barrel only this morning, and it was clean.” Turn it over, under side up, before you speak with too much certainty. How about the flour-sieve? Is it left in the flour-barrel,—thrown in with the sponge, from the cook’s wet hands, upon it, or a piece of unused pastry put in it? If so, when the barrel of flour is about half used, you will find that it has suddenly become sour.

Is it not well to watch over these things daily?

XIX.
HOW MUCH IS A WIFE WORTH?

A FEW weeks since, a party sitting near us in the cars were speaking of a young man, a wealthy farmer, who had just disturbed his friends by venturing to marry a poor girl. We judged by the conversation that he had been well educated, and for wealth and intelligence was quite looked up to by his townsmen. But he had married for love, not money or position, and these friends were liberally using friendship’s privilege to make rather severe remarks about him in his absence.

First, it was so foolish, after his fine education, instead of entering into one of the “professions,” to return to the homestead, the quaint old farm-house, and taking the care of his aged parents upon himself, settle down to a farmer’s life. So foolish!

But that was a trivial offence compared to taking a poor girl for a wife, with nothing but a common, practical education, good health, a loving heart, and willing hands to recommend her. With his cultivated and refined tastes, what happiness could he hope for in such companionship? But then he would be a farmer, and perhaps she would be all that a farmer’s wife need be.

We have often thought of the tone of this conversation. For what do men generally marry, and what estimate do they put upon their wives? How many really good husbands ever realize how large a share of the prosperity of their home, its comforts and success, they owe to their wives. The husband earns the money, it may be, but does he ever make an estimate, a fair business estimate of what it would cost, in dollars and cents, to buy the care and comforts that he receives through his wife’s labors, whatever may be their standing in the community? Particularly is this a pertinent question in regard to a farmer’s wife.

While this subject and the conversation just alluded to were fresh in mind, we chanced to pick up a stray paper which spoke quite clearly on some of the points in question. We subjoin a few sentences. They may not come exactly under the head of “talks with young housekeepers,” but they certainly belong to the “Household.” Besides, while we are on such intimate terms with the wife, common courtesy demands that some little attention should be paid to the husband.

“We will for the present leave out of sight all sentiment, all reference to the little comforts and felicities that go to make up the sum of domestic happiness, and come right to the practical question, ‘Does a young woman, who comes to her husband with little or no dowry, but with willing heart and hands and a fair share of intelligence, who takes care of him, of his house, and of his family as it increases, often without any hired help, really earn anything more than her board and clothing?’

“No man will deny that a good wife is a treasure. Her care and labor certainly secure him many comforts; but how much would he consider them worth in dollars and cents? It is a great comfort to a husband to have his three meals a day properly cooked and prepared at hours that suit his convenience. He can swallow a dinner in twenty or thirty minutes, that it has taken most of the wife’s forenoon to prepare. He thinks it a good dinner; but how high an estimate think you would he put upon the labor of preparing it, if required to state the worth in money?

“With what astonishment and disgust would he look upon his table if set with dishes that had not been washed since last used; but how high a money value would he be willing to put upon the one unromantic item of washing dishes, which, nevertheless, takes so large a share of a woman’s time?

“With what satisfaction he puts on the clean, smoothly ironed shirt and the nicely darned socks! They do not look much like the ones he pulls off to throw into the wash.

“Some one had to rub pretty smartly to get the dirt all out; some one strained over the hot flat-irons to make this shirt so glossy; some one spent an hour, perhaps while he slept, to darn those unsightly holes in the heels of these stockings. And if a farmer, it was his wife most probably that did it all; and not this one week only, but every week, as sure as the week comes round. Now, he does appreciate cleanliness, notwithstanding his protestations against washing-days and house-cleaning; but is he willing to own that it is worth anything in money if done by his wife?

“Then comes the case of the milk and butter. Every day it must be attended to at the proper time, the cream churned, the butter made and carefully worked and salted. He is proud that his wife makes good butter, and quite happy to have customers tell him, ‘Your wife makes better butter than any one round here.’ But then, are not the cows his? Does he not furnish the food? does he not milk and take care of them? Is her part really worth anything in dollars and cents?

“Then, again, her energies are taxed early and late in the care of the children. She is, of course, an interested party here; but then she don’t pretend to own but half a share. Is it really worth nothing to soothe, amuse, correct, teach, and watch over his half of the little folks as well as her own? This is real brain-work. Where is the man who will say that this care for their children does not require all a woman’s wit and wisdom? But if asked to place a pecuniary value upon this part of a wife’s and mother’s care and labor, to how high a figure, think you, it would mount?

“A farmer’s wife, who really does her own work, or faithfully oversees its being done, which is by far the most trying part, has no easy task; but we would ask for her only what is justly her due. If there is any standard by which her services can be rightly estimated, we would like to know it. We wish to know whether there be any surplus in her favor; whether, when she asks for a few dollars for some purpose not strictly necessary (a book, for instance), she ought to feel that she is asking for her husband’s hard-earned means, or whether she has a right to feel that it is her due? How much must a wife credit to her husband’s generosity; how much use with a free conscience as her own faithfully earned portion of their joint labors?”

Young men will do wisely to give this matter a serious thought, lest they make the mistake of taking a wife’s labor and attentions as a matter of course, as a right, instead of feeling that in taking his name, his wife claims, not only an equal right to his cares and labors, joys and sorrows, but also an equal right to a proper use of the money which she has done her part to earn or to save. A wife, a farmer’s wife particularly, has too much toil and perpetual watchfulness to make her life desirable, if with it all she is to be considered a beggar, a recipient of charity, instead of a joint partner with her husband in all that he has.

XX.
TEACH LITTLE BOYS TO BE USEFUL.

HOW often, when anything has been said of teaching little boys to be useful, have we heard mothers exclaim, “What an idea! Teach boys to be useful! I wish you would tell me how; for of all the restless, awkward, mischievous, troublesome comforts on the face of the earth, I do think boys are the most trying. I am sure I love my boys just as much as I do my girls; but it is so much harder to manage them, to keep them out of mischief, to know what to do with them. They were vexatious enough when we were boarding; but now, when, with four children on my hands, I am but just entering upon my novitiate as a housekeeper, feeling my way step by step, they fret me woefully. They are under my feet all the time. Too young to be sent to school more than a few hours a day, or to be turned out unattended, to play with chance companions, they hang about me, uneasy, restless, fractious, teasing for something continually. I often think it would be a comfort could we put them on a shelf to sleep through the unquiet, turbulent period of childhood, to wake up full-grown men. My little girls can always find something to do, but the boys—make boys useful, indeed! It would be a true benefactor who could teach mothers how to accomplish such a marvellous thing!”

Well, I notice that you very wisely and skillfully combine instruction with amusement in your management of your little girls. I watched with much interest how pleasantly you were teaching them to be useful, while they found work to be only amusement. “I wonder which of these little girls would like to run and bring mamma a few apples”; and away, in great glee, trotted little three-year-old Kitty, with her little basket.

“Would Mary like to help mamma pare this nice red apple? Which, think you, can make the largest paring without breaking?” How happy the little lady was to leave her play and make the trial! Why not make the same effort to amuse and instruct your little boys?

“Would you have me teach them to set the table, wash dishes, sew, or try to work?”

Do you not believe they can be taught all this as easily as girls? We hold that, in a large family, each one, boy or girl, should be taught to be useful; to help their mother indoors and out, and, above all, learn to help themselves. This they cannot do if allowed to be idle.

In the city, and in families that depend entirely on hired help, it is more difficult to train children to be industrious and useful. It is not well to let the young, imitative little ones be much with servants, certainly not unless the mother is there also; and all instructions of a practical nature should be given by her, and practised under her eye. Wealth is by no means to be despised; but when it is so employed as to remove all labor from us, or to so free us from care that we do not teach our children how to make themselves serviceable, it is no blessing, and may become a curse. Those who have begun life poor, and worked their way to wealth by real hard labor, forget, when their children start up around them, how much true, solid pleasure was in their struggle for this well-earned prosperity, and as they relax their exertions and begin to feel the enervating effects of wealth, they remember only the hardship, forgetting the pleasure. Because there is now no absolute necessity for it, they shrink from permitting their children to follow in their early footsteps, and so cheat them out of the strength and independence for which no amount of gold can in any way compensate.

But we are neglecting the boys. We will give you an example which will explain somewhat our idea of making children useful, boys and girls alike.

We remember a large family in which there were seven boys. They were not driven to work, but from their earliest childhood were, little by little, trained to understand and do all kinds of outdoor work pertaining to a large farm; but it was also understood that they were to lend a helping hand indoors whenever the mother or sisters needed them. They knew they would only be called in when it was quite necessary, but very early recognized the importance of knowing how to do anything that came before them. If the mother or sisters were sick or absent, they could so far fill up the gap as to keep things comfortable till health was restored. They could dress the youngest, make a bed, sweep a room, make a cup of tea or coffee, broil a steak, or wash the dishes in a very satisfactory manner.

When quite little, not old enough to undertake heavy or rough work, they were allowed any amount of play, but it was expected that all but the baby must do something useful, something that was work, in the course of each day. So, little by little, as they trotted about after mother, they gathered up many things which, in mature life, were of great value.

The family lived some miles from church, and as it was customary to have preaching in both morning and afternoon, with Sabbath-school between services, they took a slight lunch of crackers or gingerbread, stayed through all, and returned in season for a late dinner and tea united. Now it was a settled rule that the parents and part of the children should go to church every Sunday, rain or shine; and the oldest children, boys and girls, took turns in staying at home to get dinner and take care of the baby.

They all took great pride in having everything in order, and a good dinner all ready, when the church-goers returned; and the boys’ housekeeping was as creditable as the girls’. None felt it to be a hardship; on the contrary, those who were too young to be left in charge looked forward with great anxiety to the time when they should be allowed to “take their turn” with the older and more favored ones.

When these boys left home for school or college, a box, with scissors, needles, thread, and buttons, was always placed in each trunk; and the lost buttons were replaced and the ever-recurring rents repaired by their own hands; and with the stitches went many thanks daily to the wise mother who had taught them to take care of themselves, as well as be helpful to others.

Now, my dear young housekeeper and anxious mother, do you not think your little sons would be less restless and fretful, and far more happy, if you allowed them to “make b’lieve” that they were a most important help to you, until, by a little patience and indulgence, you succeeded in making the imaginary help a reality, which would repay you in later years for all the slight inconvenience and annoyance you experienced in teaching them, and insure comfort and independence to your sons, under whatever circumstances they might be placed.

XXI.
BLEACHING, STARCHING, AND REMOVING STAINS.

A YOUNG housekeeper writes us: “Without the least knowledge of domestic concerns, I passed from the school-room into the position of a farmer’s wife. Together with other things of which I am ignorant, I need some minute directions for starching, ironing, removing stains, etc. Any hints on these points would be very acceptable to me, and I doubt not to many others. I can now succeed very well in managing the cooking and butter-making, but am sorely tried about my washing and ironing sometimes. With cooking and butter-making, my sewing and babies, I have enough to do, and feel like evading the care or oversight of the washing and ironing, but cannot. There are so many kinds of stains,—fruit, tea, and grass stains. Then if the girl succeeds in doing the washing pretty well, she makes such work with the starching, and smuts the clothes so badly in ironing, that I am much troubled. Whether not particular enough in cooking or straining the starch, I don’t know.”

We judge from this letter that our friend is obliged to depend on “hired help” for her washing and ironing. We think we can show her how to succeed as well in this department as she seems to have done in cooking and butter-making; but whether she can manage to secure the observance of our directions by the girl in the laundry, is another and very doubtful question. One of the hardest of the housekeeper’s trials with the servants of the present day is their unwillingness to receive any directions or counsels about the mode of doing their work; yet they seem utterly without any capacity to plan or arrange their labor for themselves, so that it may be performed in the best and easiest manner. They will be an hour in doing that which with a little forethought or method could have been done in one third of the time, and in no one item of household labor do they manifest their total want of system so strikingly as in the laundry; yet they will not be taught a more excellent way.

With regard to stains, which are a grief of heart to all good housekeepers, it is much surer and less troublesome to remove them when fresh; and the eye of the mistress must watch over this, or they will be left to dry, and most likely be overlooked when the washing is done.

Most, if not all, fruit stains can be taken out if stretched over a dish or pail, and boiling water slowly poured over them. If the stains have not been allowed to dry long, this will speedily remove them. But if they have, unfortunately, been put into the wash, the soapsuds will “set” the stains, and then, when discovered, they should be dipped in “Javelle water” or “bleaching fluid.” They should remain in this but a few moments, then be well rubbed and put at once into the boiler, and, as a general thing, when the article is taken from the boiler to rinse, the stain will have disappeared. If the stains from tea or grass are fresh, “Javelle water,” or a little ammonia, will easily remove them; but in either case, if done before the regular washing, the article should be well washed and spread on the grass to bleach and dry. Stains that have been long dried, or washed and boiled in before they were noticed, are much more difficult to remove. Ink stains can be taken out of linen as follows:—

Wash the spot in salt and water as soon after the ink is on as you can, taking care that it is not put into suds before it has been well washed in the salt and water, and then sponged with lemon-juice, else the soap will instantly “set” the color, making it almost impossible ever to remove the ink.

When ink is spilled on the carpet or on woolen goods, if attended to instantly after the accident, it can be taken out entirely by sweet milk. First, wipe off carefully all that can be soaked up by a handful of cotton batting. Then have a dish of sweet milk ready, and dipping the clean cotton batting in it, wash the spot, changing the batting for a clean piece as soon as it gets black with the ink; and also get clean milk, when the first becomes discolored. Continue this till the ink no longer shows; then take a pad of hot suds and a clean cloth, and wash as far as the milk has wet; rinse with clean warm water, and rub dry with a clean cloth. We have never known this to fail.

Ink spots, paint, or grease can be removed from clothing by mixing four table-spoonfuls of spirits of hartshorn, the same quantity of alcohol, and one table-spoonful of table salt. Mix it well and apply with a sponge or brush. Wash off with clear alcohol.

To remove ink stains from colored articles, drop hot tallow on the spot; then soak and rub it with boiling milk. This will be found effectual. Of course, the tallow and milk must be afterward washed off, either with soapsuds or alcohol, else a grease spot will be left.

Your oil-cloth should never be scrubbed with a brush, and on no account use soapsuds or hot water. It has a bad effect on the paint, and the cloth will not last as long. After sweeping, wash with soft flannel and lukewarm or cold water. Let the oil-cloth get thoroughly dry; then prepare a small bit of bees-wax, softened with a little turpentine, and rub the cloth well with this preparation, using for that purpose a soft furniture polishing-brush. This need not be done every week, but whenever the oil-cloth grows dingy. Cared for in this way, it will last twice as long as with the ordinary scrubbing, and always look fresh and new.

A less troublesome way, but not quite so effective, is to wash the oil-cloth, after sweeping and washing with flannel and warm water, with sweet skim-milk, and then rub very dry with a clean dry cloth. Wipe straight one way of the cloth, not round and round, as that will give a cloudy, unpleasant look to the cloth.

When clothes have become yellow or of a bad color from poor washing or from lying unused some time, it is well to take them, after boiling, from the first suds and spread on the grass to bleach, while another boilerful is being washed. When the second is put on to boil, take up those that have been bleaching on the grass and rinse faithfully through two generous rinsing waters; the last water to be blued. Then pass through the wringer, starching such as need it in hot starch, unless you prefer to wait till you fold them, and hang up to dry. Then take the second lot from the boiler, and leave on the grass to bleach, while you get the coarser articles washed and on to boil. This done, take up the second, rinse and hang out, and so on till all the white clothes are on the line.

Most servants object to the bleaching, and they wash all the white clothes and leave them wrung out in piles in the baskets till all are washed, before they hang up anything. This is poor work. The clothes become yellow and streaked by lying in coils as they come from the wringer, and under such management it is impossible to make them look clear and white. The sooner they are on the line after passing through the last rinsing, the clearer the clothes will be, and if well snapped as they are hung up, and pulled straight and evenly on the line, one finds compensation for the little extra trouble—and it is very little—in the greater ease with which they can be folded and ironed.

It is well to bleach clothes while washing, all through the pleasant weeks of spring, summer, and fall, as it can be so much better done than in winter. One hour on the clean grass before rinsing is long enough. It is not well to leave clothes out overnight when it can be helped, as they are liable to be trampled over by cats and dogs during the night, or be spotted by the drip of the dew or fogs from the trees or vines.

For blueing there is nothing better than the “Nuremberg Ultramarine Blue,” which comes in pretty little balls about the size of a small cherry, at from fifty to seventy-five cents a box. One box with care, in a medium-sized family, will last several months. The balls must be tied into a blueing-bag, and used like common blueing.

A large fire-proof earthen saucepan or one of the yellow-ware pipkins is better than tin or iron to make starch in; but if these are not to be found, a tin kettle will do very well, if kept bright and clean, and never used for any other purpose. When cooking it should be carefully attended to, and then there is no danger of its scorching.

Two even teaspoonfuls of starch for each shirt, a salt-spoonful of salt, a piece of sperm or white wax as large as a pea, or, if these are not to be had, that much lard or butter, is a good rule. Use enough cold water to wet the starch, so that it can be stirred free from lumps and beaten perfectly smooth, then pour on boiling water. It is not easy to give the quantity of water to this amount of starch, as the tastes vary in regard to the stiffness of collars and bosoms. The starch must be stirred often, and boil slowly from fifteen to twenty minutes. Skim and strain while hot into a large wooden bowl or earthen dish; keep a bag for straining starch, which should never be used for anything else; but it is safe to keep close watch, or towels, napkins, etc., will be used for this purpose instead of the bag. It is not long since we found one recommended as a splendid laundress straining starch through a shirt-sleeve, which was tied about the wrist with a fine handkerchief. A good starch-bag was hanging not six feet off. “Never mind, my lady, I’ll wash it all out.”

If you prefer to starch after the clothes are dried, wet the bosoms, collars, and wristbands in hot water, wring very dry, and starch while the cloth is yet warm. Rub the starch in faithfully, wring in a dry towel to remove all starch that may adhere to the outside, spread the garments out evenly, rub with a dry cloth, roll up tightly, and let them remain two or three hours before ironing.

In cold weather it is safe to dampen and fold clothes at night, and then it is desirable to have the starched clothes ironed first. In warm weather starched clothes should never be dampened or folded till morning, as there is danger of the starch becoming sour and mildewing; and unless there is a cool, airy room to leave them in, it is not safe to sprinkle and fold anything, for they may mildew in a warm room in a night.

If any article needs mending, it is well to do it before ironing. When ironed, fold and press each article neatly, and hang evenly on the clothes-bars, leaving them there till perfectly dry. Fold shirts so that the bosoms will not be bent in the drawer. Collars should be kept in round boxes. Ladies’ undergarments should be folded so as to bring the sleeves and necks outside. It is no more trouble, and it certainly is pleasant to have a drawer look neat and attractive when one opens it. It is what a good old grandmother used to call sort o’ restful to look at. Skirts should be made not much stiffer than new cotton. The noise of a very stiff skirt when one is walking is not the pleasantest music. They should be either hung up in a deep wardrobe or folded together lightly and laid on a broad shelf.

XXII.
TO IRON SHIRTS, VESTS, AND EMBROIDERIES.

SHIRTS cannot be ironed with ease and ironed well without a bosom-board. It should be made of pine, well seasoned and entirely free from gum; one and a half inches thick, one foot nine inches long, and eighteen inches wide; very smooth and straight; rounded on one end, and rubbed with sand-paper to remove all roughness. The square end must also be smooth, and with a hole in the middle near the edge, to hang it up by. Take two or three thicknesses of an old woolen blanket and cover one side. Stretch it very smooth and tight, and fasten to the board with tacks. Use the galvanized tacks, so that the clothes will not be iron-rusted by coming in contact with them. When tacking on the last side, be sure and draw both thicknesses of blanket very tight, so that there may be no wrinkles. Over the blanket tack two thicknesses of Canton flannel, the fleecy side up. Bring the edges of both blanket and cotton over the sides, so that when nailed you can cut them even with the other side of the board. Then turn it over and cover the other side with thick flour paste, and stretch over it a piece of Canton flannel; when this is quite dry, paste on another, and so on, as each becomes perfectly dry, till you have four thicknesses of Canton flannel pasted together on the board; the last one being trimmed so as to lap over and be tacked on to the side of the board, thus making a neat finish and covering up all rough edges. The soft side is to iron embroidery, Marseilles vests, and other figured articles on; the hard side to be used in giving a polish to shirt-bosoms, collars, etc.

The bosom-board being thus prepared, make cotton covers to slip over all, fitting as tightly to the board as they can and yet allow of its being readily removed without tearing. Be careful to have these covers changed after each week’s use.

A skirt-board should also be kept in every house to iron skirts and dresses. This must be six feet long, eighteen inches wide at the bottom, one third narrower at the top, and one and a half inches thick. The top should be rounded. Cover one side with two or three thicknesses of an old blanket, as directed for the soft side of the bosom-board; tack on smoothly; cover the other side with coarse cotton, and nail over on to the edge of the board, so as to cover the raw edges of the blanket. Have cotton cases also made for the skirt-boards, to be changed and washed with each week’s use.

Covers for the holders will also pay for the trouble of making them, as they insure, as far as possible, against smut on the clothes when ironing. But to make this pay, the housekeeper must be put to the slight inconvenience of seeing herself that these covers are changed, and follow up this care by promptly demanding them, when each fresh washing comes up, to be put away with the other clean things.

The ironing-table should be covered with a thick blanket, doubled, and that with a cotton sheet. A coarse, thick, gray or white blanket, like an “army blanket,” may be bought quite cheap; they come on purpose for “ironing-blankets,” and answer just as well as a better quality.

Flat-irons should be carefully kept from dampness, which soon rusts them. Leave them standing on the end; they soon spoil if set on the face. If they become rusty, scour with emery till quite smooth, or, if past your skill, send to an emery factory and have them ground smooth. Keep a piece of yellow bees-wax, wrapped in a cloth in the drawer of your ironing-table, to rub the irons on in case they get coated with starch. Have a clean cloth at hand to wipe them on before using, each time you take a fresh one from the stove.

Having our ironing-table, bosom-board, and other implements now all ready, we will attend to the ironing.

A perfectly clean sheet must be spread over the other ironing-sheet before commencing to iron the starched clothes. In ironing a shirt, begin with the binding at the neck; then fold the back in the middle and iron; then iron the sleeves, and wristbands, if there are wristbands on the shirt; fold the sleeve in neat plaits and press them hard after ironing; then iron the plain part of the shirt and the collar, if on the shirt, ironing the bosom last. Iron the bosom and collar on the bosom-board; rub the bosom over lightly with a damp cloth, and iron hard and quickly with a polishing-iron. If you have none, you should get one if possible. They are found at all hardware stores. They are rounded instead of being flat, like other irons, without an edge, and very smooth, so that no mark of the iron is left on the article ironed. This iron is very convenient to use for caps, vests, and many small things.

In ironing a shirt-collar, pass the iron rapidly over the wrong side, then iron the band, lastly the right side of the collar, which should be well polished, and ironed till perfectly dry.

Gentlemen’s linen or duck pants should be ironed on a pants-board, prepared like the soft side of a bosom-board, and as nearly the full length as possible. The pockets must be turned outside before ironing, that they may leave no crease on the pants. Hang pants to air by the straps or the waistbands.

In ironing a skirt, slip the skirt-board through by the round end. Have a clothes-basket or clean sheet on the floor under the skirt-board, so that the skirt may fall on it as you iron.

Have a large piece of mosquito net over the clothes-bars to protect the articles already ironed from flies, dust, etc.

Cake-napkins, doilies, or towels that are fringed, must be well snapped while damp, to leave the fringe smooth and untangled. Some use a fringe-comb. This is very well occasionally, but we think, if often used, it tears the fringe, and soon gives a thin, worn-out, ragged look to the article.

Muslin dresses need to be about as stiff as new muslin, the starch being strained into the last rinsing water. White gum-arabic added to the starch is very nice for muslin dresses; they iron easier, and look newer. Dark muslins must be starched in rice-water or gum-arabic, as common starch leaves white patches over the dark color after ironing. Iron, as far as possible, on the wrong side.

To make good rice-starch, boil a pound of rice in four or five quarts of water; let it boil until perfectly soft, adding boiling water as fast as it boils out, so as to keep up the same quantity of water all the time; stir frequently and break it up as much as possible while boiling. When the rice is as soft as it will boil, pour the whole into a gallon of water and strain through a thick cloth. It is said that eighty drops of elixir of vitriol put into three gallons of clear spring water and one of rice-water, thus prepared, is excellent to set the color. We have never tried it. Ox gall we know is good to fix the color in calico or muslin, as well as to cleanse grease and dirt from woolens. There is nothing better to clean broadcloths, coats, vests, and pants. Get the butcher to fill a bottle with the gall, and put four or five spoonfuls into about three quarts of hot soapsuds, and sponge the garments with it, carefully rubbing every spot. When dirt and spots are removed, sponge in clear hot water, and hang the garment up by seams of the arm-holes of coats and vests, and waistbands of pants, where they will dry quickly. Press on the wrong side when about half dry. Woolen dresses may be cleaned in the same manner.

XXIII.
A TALK ABOUT BEDS.

AS we look around silently among the many young housekeepers, we think we hear some of them say, or, if they don’t, they ought to, “I am ashamed to ask any one into my chambers, for my beds are a perpetual vexation to me. They look as if tossed up by a whirl-wind; the mattress laid on unevenly, every inequality as visible as if the occupants had just risen. The sheets and blankets never find their proper place, and the pillows are as hard and knotty as if made of cotton batting. I try to teach my girl how to do the work properly, but unfortunately am too ignorant myself to speak with authority, and I have no doubt she is aware of my deficiencies, so my words are idle breath to her.”

If you don’t know how to tell a girl, go to the rooms with her and show her how you wish the work done. That will be the easiest mode for you, and more likely to be remembered by the pupil.

“Alas! I don’t know how to make a bed neatly myself. I never attempted it in my life, until I was married. Ah! if I ever have daughters, they shall be taught how to care for their own rooms, and make their own beds neatly, however rich we may become, or however many servants we may employ.”

That is wise and right. Though riches may relieve one of much hard labor, they should not enervate, or incapacitate for such an amount of exercise as is necessary to secure a vigorous muscular development, and also enable one, in an emergency, to step in and perform with ease and independence whatever there is to be done. Riches cannot insure us against a “hitch” in the domestic machinery now and then, and every girl should be so taught that, in her father’s house or in her own, she can bring “order out of confusion” by an independent use of her own hands.

It is, as I have said in an earlier talk, important that once a week, at least, everything should be removed from the bedsteads in order that all the dust and lint, which will lodge about them, may be removed, and occasionally they need a faithful washing, to rid them of the dust and lint which will settle in the slats, about the joints, springs, and moldings.

The mattress should be thrown up every morning for a good airing, and when this is done turn it over, under side up, and then proceed to make the bed.

Making beds is a very simple thing. Every housekeeper may have some rules differing from her neighbor in this as well as in every department of labor; but there are some that are common to all.

Having placed the mattress evenly on the springs or palliasse, beat it hard to remove lumpy places, and next spread over the under sheet right side up, with the wide hem at the top, and raising up the mattress with the left hand, fold the sheet smoothly under at the top and bottom; then fold under at each side, bringing the sheet very tight and smooth across the mattress. By having a wide hem at the top and a narrow one at the bottom, there is less danger that by any one’s carelessness you may some time sleep with that part of the sheet to your face which the night before covered your feet. Now spread over the upper sheet, right side down; then as you put the finishing touch to the bed, in turning the upper sheet down on the spread at the top, the right side of the hem will be outside. In spreading on the upper sheet, bring it well up to the head of the bed, that you may have a handsome, generous width to turn down; lay it very smooth and straight, then put on the blankets, folding both upper sheet and blankets nicely under at the foot; but bring them only so far up at the head as will cover the shoulders, and not turn down doubled across them.

The bed-spread comes next. It should be put on very evenly, the middle fold of the spread coming just in the middle of the bed, drawing it up toward the head about as high as the upper sheet, a full foot above the blankets. Now lift the top of the blankets with one hand and fold the spread smoothly under them, on one side of the bed, then pass to the other side and proceed in like manner. By this mode, the spread will prevent you from being annoyed with the rough blankets, should the sheet get misplaced during the night. This done, turn the upper sheet down over all, drawing it as smoothly as possible, and tuck all down at the sides, between the bedstead and the mattress. When tucking under the last side, draw the spread, blankets, and upper sheet as taut and straight as possible, giving the sides of the bed as even and true a line as you can. Now put on the sheet tidy, if you use them; and they are desirable, even if made of cotton, and perfectly plain, as after one night’s use the upper sheet becomes wrinkled and tumbled, and the bed cannot be made to look as neat as one could wish. Then lay on the bolster, well beaten up, in its clean, white case, placing the pillows, which have also been faithfully beaten, above all, and dress them with tidies, to match the sheet tidy.

Some prefer to have the bolster put on beneath the under-sheet, in which case the sheet is drawn so high up as to allow plenty of room to fold under the lower side of the bolster, before turning under the head of the mattress.

A bed thus made will be smooth and level on the top, without a wrinkle, and as square and straight at the sides as if boxed in wood.

This is all so very simple, after one becomes accustomed to it, that the old ladies, who have all the mysteries of housekeeping as familiar and entirely at their command as the alphabet, will shake their heads and vote this a very stupid waste of time and space; but they have forgotten how acceptable minute directions were in their young days. So we will encourage ourselves by hoping that some tired young housekeeper, who has groaned over ill-made beds, may find a few crumbs of comfort here, which will remove a part, at least, of her many annoyances.

XXIV.
MARKETING.

IT is very important that every lady should understand how to select and purchase such stores as may be needed in her family. This knowledge must be acquired in girlhood. Mothers should allow their daughters to accompany them occasionally in their market expeditions, quietly explaining, as they pass from one stall to another examining the various articles needed, their reasons for rejecting or purchasing. We are all inclined to put off, from day to day, this part of our domestic instructions which our daughters greatly need; “we are too busy,” “in a great hurry,” and “can’t be hindered,” by answering the thousand whys and wherefores with which young children follow us. It is, to be sure, something of an annoyance, but very trifling compared with the pleasure our daughters will take in going with us through our daily rounds, if we begin this training while they are small. Let them occasionally make a few purchases themselves; give them their choice from among certain unimportant articles, and then explain the rule by which they will know how to select the best or reject the imperfect. Such lessons must begin early, or, ere we are aware, our little girl has discarded her dolls and stands by our side, a lovely woman; and before we realize this bewildering change the voice of the charmer has awaked another love in her heart, for which she leaves father and mother for a new home and new cares. Happy for us, if we have so taught her that this new yoke shall be easy and these new burdens light.

In marketing, we would not advise roaming from one store or market to another, after one has become sufficiently acquainted in a city or village to have a correct idea of the quality of the produce and the character of the vender. Until this knowledge is well acquired, it is important for one’s own security to make trial of many; but when well assured that you have gained a fair estimate of both quality and character, it is, we think, better to make most of the purchases at one place. The grocer, butcher, fish and poultry dealer will take greater interest in faithfully serving a regular customer, at reasonable rates, than one who may not buy of him again for weeks; and it certainly is a greater saving of time and trouble to purchase of one than of many. If they cannot supply your present needs, it is for their interest to send out and procure what you want; and we think they generally do this with pleasure, and with a hearty wish to give you the best.

In buying Beef, remember that ox beef is the best. The animal should be five or six years old before it is killed, if you would have the best beef. If well fed it will be fine grained; the lean should be of a bright red color, and well mingled with fat. If there is not a good quantity of fat running through it, the beef will be tough and not well flavored. The fat should be a rich clear white, just tinged with yellow, and firm, and the suet also. Heifer or cow beef is paler than ox beef, firmer grained, the fat a clear white, and the bones smaller, but it is not as rich or juicy. When the animal is too old or badly fed, it is of a dark red, the fat skinny and tough, and in very old beef a horny substance will be found running through the ribs. When it is pressed, if the meat rises quickly from the finger it is good; but if the finger-dent rises slowly or not at all, do not buy it; it is poor meat. The sirloin and the middle ribs are the best for roasting. If you buy a sirloin, have it cut from the “chump end,” which has a good undercut or fillet. The rump is often preferred by epicures, but being too large to roast whole, a roast is usually cut from what is called the “chump end.” Porter-house steak is the best for broiling, but not the most economical. One rib is too small for baking; it dries in cooking, and is not good economy, unless you take out the bone, roll the meat and stuff it, when it makes a nice dish for a small family.

Veal should be small and white, the kidney well covered with fat. If the calf is over ten weeks old the meat will be coarse. The flesh should be dry and white. If coarse-grained, moist, and clammy, have nothing to do with it. The fillet, loin, and shoulder are the best for roasting. The breast, well cut and jointed, makes a fine stew or pot-pie, and is better economy than when baked or roasted. Veal is excellent to make “stock” for soups; the knuckle or the poorer parts of the neck are just as good for soup as the more expensive parts.

Mutton should be dark colored, and have plenty of fat. The color determines the age, and age is considered a mark of excellence in mutton. It should be five or six years old to satisfy a lover of mutton. All the joints may be roasted but the saddle, and next to that, the haunch; the leg and loin undivided are the best; chops are cut from the loin, cutlets from the leg, the best end of the neck, or thick end of the loin. The leg and neck are often boiled.

Lamb should be small, pale red, and fat. It is best roasted. The leg, when the lamb attains a good size, is excellent boiled.

Pork should never be bought except from a butcher whose honesty you are sure of, and who knows where the pork was fattened. It is not a very healthful meat at the best, and none should be used unless corn-fed. There is much bad or diseased pork sold, and it is very dangerous food. If the flesh feels flabby or clammy to the touch, it is not good, and should not on any account be used. If there are kernels in the fat, let it alone. The fat should be hard, the lean white and fine in the grain, and the rind thin and smooth.

As soon as your meat of any kind is brought home from the butcher’s, wipe it with a clean dry cloth. If in summer you find any “fly-blows,” which is very common, cut them out at once, and no harm will be done. In the loins a long pipe runs by the bone; that should be taken out immediately, or in a few hours it will taint and spoil the whole joint. If the meat is not to be used at once, dredge it with pepper. Powdered charcoal dusted over meat will help to keep it sweet, or will remove any taint already begun. It is wise to keep charcoal on hand during warm weather; it is wonderfully efficacious in preserving meat, and, if dusted over it while hanging, it can all be washed off when you are ready to cook it. Most meat is more tender and easily digested if kept hanging some time, and charcoal is a great and reliable aid in preserving it. Lamb and veal cannot be kept as safely as beef and mutton.

In choosing Fowls, bear in mind that the male bird, if young, will have a smooth leg and a short spur, eyes bright and full, feet supple. The hen may be judged by the same signs, and if these are not found, be sure the birds are stale and old.

Ducks, geese, and pigeons should have pliable feet; if stiff, they are old. In all the vent should be firm; if discolored or flabby, they are stale. This last sign should be remembered in judging of all poultry or game.

The eyes of Fish should be bright, the gills clear red, body stiff, and smell not unpleasant,—or rather, not stale, for we imagine that fish can never be of a pleasant smell, however palatable it may be to the taste.

As far as possible, buy all stores by the quantity; if nothing else, you save the weight of paper, no small item in the course of a year; but there is always some reduction when an article is purchased at wholesale. You save the retail commission, if nothing more.

In warm weather, meats, of course, cannot be bought in large quantities, unless for a large family who are in possession of a good ice-house. Rice, tapioca, raisins, etc., are an exception to this rule, for they should never be bought in large quantities, except for boarding-houses or hotels, as they are very easily filled with insects.

A store-room should be very dry, and supplied with a good number of shelves and drawers for stores of all kinds. A thick slab should be placed across from one end to the other, so high that nothing suspended from it will hit the head in passing through it. In this it is well to have some strong hooks to hang hams, dried beef, tongues, baskets, etc. A neat step-ladder should be kept in one corner, by which you can easily reach whatever is needed. These hooks are a great convenience, not only to put away your marketing, but so many things keep better for being suspended where there can be free circulation of air; and a store-room must be well ventilated. Eggs keep well hung up in a basket, or in nets made for that purpose. Buy your lemons in June and July, when freshest, cheapest, and most plentiful, by the box, and suspend them on these hooks in nets, and they will keep all summer.

XXV.
TRUST YOUR CHILDREN.

THERE is no lesson that so well repays the teacher as that by which children are taught to feel that they are trusted; that father and mother commit matters of importance to their care, with confidence that they will not disappoint them. Begin this teaching while the child is yet young. Of course you must gauge the importance of the trust by the age of the child, taking care that you do not tax the little one beyond its capacity, but being just as careful to have it understand that you are in earnest. It is a great event in a child’s life when it first feels that you look to it with loving confidence for the performance of certain duties that you have trusted to its honor. The feeling of responsibility which comes with this knowledge awakens self-respect, and the care and faithfulness which the youngest sees must be necessary to the satisfactory execution of the work will be good seed sown, which in after years will bear fruit, amply repaying all the trouble it cost to prepare the soil for its reception. That such teaching is not the easiest duty one can accept, every mother knows full well, and would much prefer to do the work herself, if conscience permitted, than be subjected to the tediousness and annoyance of drilling a child to do it. But this is a mother’s mission, which it is not wise to delegate to another.

When a child has been repeatedly shown precisely how to do certain things, begin to leave these little chores for it to do alone when you are not near. Let it be something trivial at first, of course. Say to the little two-year-old, “Mamma must go out for a little while. I am sorry to leave the nursery in such disorder; but Eddie is such a helpful little man, he will put all the blocks and ‘Noah’s Ark’ up just as I like to see them; and little Kitty, too, knows how I wish her to fold the doll’s clothes and lay them in the drawer, when her play is over; I am sure this room will look very nice when I return.”

If this kindly training is begun early, do you not know how proud and happy these miniature men and women will feel when this work is intrusted to their care,—a token of mother’s confidence in their ability? Of course, it may be necessary to be a little short-sighted when you return, and pass over for the time some few items that will bear improvement; but let these wait. Appear pleased—be pleased—with their efforts; give as much sweet praise as is judicious, to gladden their little hearts. It will be time enough when the next trial is made to say, “I think I would fold this little dress so,” or, “Put those books here.” Gentle hints, interspersed with all possible approval, will fix the lesson, so that you can soon feel safe to put the play-room almost wholly in the care of quite young children, except the sweeping or other work beyond their strength. But these lessons, as we said before, must begin early, else the child will learn to prefer being waited upon to doing the work itself.

As your child can bear it, add year by year to the trust and responsibility. Accept the labor as a love-offering to save your time and strength, and it will not be long before willing hands and happy hearts will really lighten your labors, and save you many weary steps, while at the same time they are learning a lesson that will do them good through life. Vary the teaching, by sending the child, by and by, out to do a little shopping,—some small thing, but such as will call for the exercise of taste and a little judgment; nothing of much importance, so that, should there chance to be a slight mistake, no great harm will follow; yet so much that the child, by thus learning to judge and discriminate in small things, will be preparing for greater ones.

An expedition of this kind stands out among the brightest of our childhood memories. It was in a season of severe sickness both at home and in the vicinity. Our mother was ill, the older children either on the sick list or absent. It was quite necessary to send to the shire town, twelve miles distant, where, in those “long-ago” days, the most important shopping was done, and the foreign groceries purchased. Father had his buggy at the door just ready to start on this tour, and was making a list of the last items, and directions from mother, when he was summoned in great haste to a patient. Here was a dilemma! The purchases must be made; the patient must be cared for. What was to be done? We were sitting in the south hall-door, playing with the baby, so near to the sick-room that we could not help hearing the consultation. Father must go to his patient; but who was to go for the articles so greatly needed? The “tailoress” would be on hand in the morning, and the cloth must be had for her work; a tailoress was an important character in those days, and if we lost our turn there would be weeks to wait before we could secure her again. That would never do, for “the boys” must soon return to school, and their clothes be ready, anyhow. What could be done? We heard the hurried talk, with a kind of dreamy wonder as to how they would settle the troublesome question; but, as one who could have no personal interest in the solution, went on with our frolic with baby, when mother said, “Write out a list, with full directions, and send E——.”

What a bound our heart gave! We nearly dropped the baby. We, not twelve years old; and mother thought we could be trusted to do such a big thing! We felt a half-head taller only to think that mother—bless her!—thought us capable of it. Whether it was decided that we should go or not was, just then, quite a secondary consideration, yet we were “all ears” to catch father’s reply: “Send that child! What does she know of buying anything? And this is a very important errand.”

Ah! here our heart collapsed; we didn’t quite want to go,—the work seemed so great,—but we did want father to think us as trustworthy and capable as mother did.

“If you think it safe for her to drive alone so far, I think you may trust her to do the errand well, with suitable directions. The merchants and grocers are old friends, and will not take advantage of the child.”

“Well, it is the only thing we can do,” said father, with an anxious, dissatisfied tone, and this great responsibility was committed to our care.

How much we thought in that long twelve-miles ride to the town! What anxious thoughts on the return ride, fearing that we had forgotten something, or made some ill-advised purchase; but under it all there was a dull pain to remember that father didn’t quite trust us, which did not leave us until, safe at home, all the purchases laid out and examined, he drew us to his knee, close by mother’s sick-bed, and kissed us, with, “Well done, my brave girl! Hasn’t she done well, mother?”

How much good that day’s work did us, giving us courage when duties seemed too hard for us, we can never estimate; but the most precious of all was our mother’s trust and father’s approbation. It is only by love and gentleness that a child can be taught to find real enjoyment in later or important cares. Exact it as a duty; sternly command, watch, with constant suspicion and fault-finding, and labor is a drudgery, and cares of any kind a terror to the young. The child either becomes stubborn, or, if timid and loving, is so nervously fearful of being blamed, that this very fear insures the dreaded results. Ah, if young mothers could know how many hours of self-reproach the grandmothers pass as they look to the time when their little ones were around them, and see, too late, how many mistakes they made simply by their own impatience, over-strictness, and want of confidence in their children’s good intention and desire to do right, it might save them from much regret, and their children from many temptations. But each one must have an experience of her own. When young, we seldom are ready to profit by the experience of the old, or think them of much more importance than “old wives’ fables,” but when, after many mistakes, we arrive at middle age, we are able to estimate their value.

XXVI.
WHO INVENTED BREAD?

AMONG the countless varieties of food, bread, in some form or other, has been almost universally recognized as “the staff of life.” When it became so truly a necessity, or who was the happy inventor, we know not. How far before the creation wise men have pushed their researches and discoveries, we have not the skill to ascertain. The first mention of bread we remember is in the third chapter of Genesis, when Adam was driven from Paradise and compelled “in the sweat of his face to eat bread,” “because he hearkened to the voice of his wife.” Many of his sons have, since their forefathers’ time, regained Paradise, because they did listen to their wives’ counsels. We wonder if men do not sometimes forget this, and cherish a little spiteful vindictiveness, because through the first mother their prototype fell, and he had to “work for his living.” Perhaps it is this memory which makes them so restive under the present efforts for a recognition of a broader platform for “women’s rights.” How silly, brethren! Let bygones be bygones. Did not the curse fall heavier on us for our first mother’s folly, than on you for Adam’s very ready participation in it? Don’t bear malice! Help us up,—not above you, for we do not belong there, but close by your side,—where we may do good to you, as you do good to us. If Adam had not been off on a council committee, public dinner, or at a club house, but working and caring for his farm in Eden with his wife, we don’t believe Eve would have been tempted, or, being tempted, would have eaten that miserable apple. But we shall never learn how bread was invented if we linger.

“Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.” The production of grain for food has always been recognized as the sign of an advanced stage of civilization. Like most of the early traces of progress, the time when grain first began to be transformed into bread is quite obscure. For a long period the grain was eaten, when green, either raw, boiled, or roasted. The Greeks usually deified every new thing. Ceres was supposed to have first brought husbandry into some regular system; therefore they at once constituted her the goddess of Agriculture; and Pan, according to their belief, invented bread, and was forthwith exalted into a god; but long before Ceres or Pan were worshipped, the Egyptians cultivated the earth and made bread from the grain.

When the angels appeared on the plains of Mamre and foretold the birth of a son, in Abraham’s old age, he hastened into a tent and said to Sarah, “Make ready quickly three measures of meal, knead it, and make cakes upon the hearth.”

Many modes of preparing grain, either in cakes or bread, are seen in the paintings discovered in the tombs of the Egyptians; but doubtless for many years the chief food was fish, flesh, or fruit. The Indians used a kind of wild corn, when driven to it by the scarcity of game, or if unsuccessful in hunting; but they never attempted to cultivate it. They boiled it when green, or baked it on hot stones, or roasted it by their fires, as we do the cultivated Indian-corn. Maize or Turkish wheat and a kind of millet are still used, unground, among the poorer classes in Egypt, boiled in milk or water, or roasted.

At a later period, rude stones were made to separate the husks from the kernel; and not long since, it may be even now, in the remote parts of Scotland, a large block of hard wood was dug out smoothly, and after the grain had been well dried, the barley or oats was beaten in it till the husk was removed. When sufficiently broken or bruised to loosen the hull, it was scooped up into the hand, little by little, and blown gently with the mouth to remove all the husk, and then made into pottage or porridge. It now seems a small thing to have all our grain ground and sifted by machinery worked by steam; but how tedious must have been the ancient process! The quern used in Scotland to remove the husk and prepare the barley for use is supposed to have found its way thither through the Romans, who always carried hand-mills in their marches or raids upon other nations. It is very simple, and perhaps the first kind of corn mill on record. “The quern was made of two stones,” says Dr. Johnson, “a foot and a half in diameter; the lower stone a little convex; to which the concavity of the upper stone was fitted. In the middle of the upper one was a round hole, and on one side a long handle. The grinder gradually shred the corn into this hole with one hand, and worked the handle with the other. Thus the corn slid down into the hollow of the lower stone, and by the motion of the upper was ground in the passage.” The quern acts so much on the principle of our mill-stones that our mills might be called querns, built on a larger scale, and run by steam or machinery. The meal thus ground was made into pottage or porridge, being boiled in milk or water, or “brose” when it was roasted, and boiled up in water in which salt meat had been cooked.

Who first conceived the idea of using yeast or leaven, or making bread by any process of fermentation, or at what period it was first so made, we do not learn. We know that the Israelites made leavened bread; so did the Egyptians and Grecians; but who first invented yeast or leaven? The Romans, it is thought, learned the art of bread-making, with many other valuable lessons, during their war with Perseus, king of Macedon. On the return of their armies from these wars, they brought Grecian bakers with them into Italy. This was two hundred years before the Christian era. Bakers were highly esteemed, and during the reign of Augustus there were three hundred and twenty-nine public bake-houses in Rome, chiefly under the management of Greeks, who were for many years the only ones who could make good bread. They enjoyed many privileges, and were put in charge of the public granaries.

The making of fermented bread then gradually found its way into Gaul; but it was a long time before it was known in Northern Europe. In the middle of the sixteenth century, unfermented cakes were the only bread known in Sweden or Norway. It was not till near the end of the sixteenth century that the use of yeast was much known in Northern Europe. About that period yeast from Flanders was brought into Paris as a substitute for leaven. This change greatly improved the bread; but in 1688 the College of Physicians declared that bread made from yeast was very injurious, and the government forbade its being used. But the shrewd Flemish people put up yeast in sacks to allow the liquid part to filter through, and privately sent it to Paris. The excellence of the bread thus made became so evident, that the College of Physicians and their wisdom were forgotten, and the government’s prohibition quietly allowed to sink into oblivion. Very soon this new and improved method of preparing bread extended into other countries.

Leaven is flour and water mixed to a paste and set in a warm place—from 70° to 80°—till it ferments, first passing into the vinous and then to the acetous state. Bread made from leaven differs from that made from yeast by almost always having an acid taste. A piece of dough, from well-raised bread, set aside on ice or in a cool place, and worked into the next batch to be made, gives the best mode of making leaven; and by working a little soda into it before setting the sponge, will make very fine bread, without the acidity common to leavened bread, if managed with care.

Wheat bread is now common in most countries. The best and whitest is made from the flour of the first grinding. Gluten is a very important part of flour, and it is that which gives wheat the superiority over all other grains, it being found only in small quantities in any other. It is the gluten which helps to form the adhesive paste essential to secure fermentation. It is common in the animal kingdom, but rare in the vegetable, and therefore is sometimes called the vegeto-animal principle. The more gluten the better and more nutritious the flour. The loss of this principle, by sprouting, mildew, etc., destroys the adhesive power so necessary to making good bread. The best qualities of flour take up the largest quantity of moisture; the amount which can be absorbed depends on the quantity of gluten. In dry weather, flour requires more moisture than in wet, and long and faithful kneading will add to the power of absorption, without making the bread too thin. Common salt and alum are often used to give poor flour the tenderness and whiteness of good brands. A little salt is good, but too much is injurious, both to the bread and to the health,—alum still more injurious. Liebig recommends lime-water in bread-making. A quarter of a pound of slacked lime to a gallon of pure rain or distilled water, kept in closely stopped bottles; two and a half pints of the lime-water to nine pounds of flour, he says, will make a sweet, fine-grained, elastic bread of exquisite flavor. The lime-water to be mixed with the flour before the yeast is added. Of course, it will not be enough moisture for that amount of flour, and as much more water is added as is needed. Liebig claims that the lime will give the wheat a larger amount of bone-making element, and therefore be more nutritious.

Rice flour, or potatoes combined with flour, help to take up moisture, and keep bread from drying. Rye flour makes a dark-colored bread, but is sweet and palatable, retaining moisture longer than wheat. Indian meal, mixed with rye, and a spoonful or two of molasses added with the yeast, makes the New England brown bread; but to have that in perfection it should be baked in a brick oven, and remain all night; then, warm and fresh for breakfast, it is unrivalled.

Graham bread is made from unbolted wheat, the bran not separated from the flour. The coarse meal swells more in rising, and should not be made so stiff as fine flour. It sours more quickly, requires a hotter oven, and longer time to bake. Much kneading is essential to cement together the starch, sugar, albumen, and gluten found in wheat. It is not easy to knead bread sufficiently for a satisfactory result. Many machines for this purpose have been invented, but we have yet to see one that can be as fully depended upon as a strong arm and a skillful hand. The hand only can decide truly when every lump is dissolved, and suitable combinations made. When the dough springs under the touch, instead of clinging to the fingers, when the fist bears its full impression in the dough, and none adheres to the hand, the cook may cease from the labor. This labor may be lightened by pounding and chopping at intervals, and with much benefit; but the hand is the chief dependence.

If the yeast is bitter, pour on water, and let it stand a few hours; then drain it off, and use the thick part which has settled at the bottom. The water will absorb the bitterness, unless it is from age, and not because of too many hops. In this case, a piece of charcoal heated through, but not so hot as to kill the yeast, thrown into the yeast jar, will correct it; but we should prefer to throw away the yeast, and make new.

When all the rules for making good bread have been faithfully followed, all will fail if not properly baked. We think nothing has yet been found that is equal to the brick oven; but in whatever oven you bake, one rule is common to all,—see that the heat is just right; from 350° to 400° is the proper range for bread. If fresh flour or meal is thrown on the bottom of the oven, and turns a clear brown at once, it is right; if it becomes black the oven is too hot.

We have been greatly indebted to Webster’s “Encyclopædia of Domestic Economy,” and Professor Youmans’ “Handbook of Domestic Science,” for our information on bread.

XXVII.
HOW ABOUT THE LITTLE GIRLS?

“A SHORT time since you advocated ‘teaching little boys to be useful’ by training them to do, indoors or out, whatever, for the time being, lay within the compass of their strength and ability. But now we wish to ask, How about little girls? The boys say it isn’t fair to call upon them to perform ‘girls’ work,’ unless the girls are made to reciprocate the favor, and are willing to take their turn in doing ‘boys’ work’ when necessary.”

Bless your little hearts, dear boys! Who objects to that? Not the little girls, certainly. Isn’t it just what many of the big girls are seeking to do, and the big boys—“children of a larger growth” than you, my little man—are striving to prevent? Where is the girl, unless she has by fashion and conventionalities been unnaturally biassed, who would not gladly, once in a while, exchange sewing, sweeping, and dusting for a run out into the free air and glad sunshine, to take your place, and do your work,—feed the chickens, weed in the garden, hoe the corn, milk the cows, or rake the hay,—though modern improvements have of late cheated them of half such pleasures? Anything that little boys can do, little girls would think “such fun,” if they might occasionally have the privilege of doing it,—country girls, we mean,—God help those whose home is in the city! There are so few pleasures there that the young can enjoy in the open air. To walk on hard, cold sidewalks, dressed like little ballet-dancers, or ride over the rough pavements, with no free, untrammeled movement, or through the dirty streets, with their vile, impure smells, can give no such joys as our country damsels, with their larger inheritance and more abundant blessings, are in daily possession of. There is nothing equal to the pleasure our little folks may find, in any kind of outdoor employment, that is suited to their age and strength. These simple labors prepare them for larger and more important duties, and the knowledge will bring abiding comfort and self-reliance as they advance in age and intelligence.

“Will not such work make girls coarse, romping, and hoydenish? Rough, noisy boys are bad enough; would you have our girls become like them?”

Is it the outdoor work that makes them so? Is it not rather the overflow of animal spirits that can find no way of escape but by boisterous, wild action? It is not very agreeable to the old and staid, to be sure, and it certainly is less annoying outdoors than in; yet it promotes health, and is only what we all did, or longed to do, in our youth. Age will soon tame the wild spirits, or restrain a too exuberant overflow, and nothing keeps them in check like pleasant labor. There are, to be sure, sometimes unfortunate associations with really coarse, rude natures, which are very objectionable. We would never allow girls or boys to come under such influence if we could help it; but that evil is to be found in every position,—as often in the house as in the field,—and if not inherent in your child’s own character, the influence will soon be discarded, the dross be separated, and the purer nature rise dominant. You must go out of the world to insure safety from such contact.

“But country girls are not often ladylike and graceful; and work outdoors will tend to make them still more awkward. I couldn’t endure to see my little girl brought up under such influences.”

We have never found in the city more graceful, ladylike, intelligent, pure-minded girls than we have seen in the country; but we have sometimes noticed that those who live nearest to the city, or have spent much time there, too often acquire artificial habits, affectation, coquetry, loud, bold speech, or a fondness for dress, too stylish for a truly modest girl’s adorning, that is seldom seen in real country life. We do not think that any kind or amount of labor will make one less modest or ladylike. We believe that our girls should know how to do, with their own hands, everything that they have strength for, and thereby secure and establish vigor and capacity for duties that, in after years, may fall to their lot. We do not mean that outdoor labor should be their habitual employment. We wish them to have the actual knowledge; but the heavier work, which more appropriately belongs to boys and men, should be undertaken by girls and women only on an emergency. Then love or will, or both united, can make woman strong to do the hardest work, if she has the knowledge, while the necessity lasts. It is because such calls may be made on every one all through life, that we would have each one secure the knowledge early; but in extreme cases, the overstrain on a woman’s physical life, if long continued, will compel the payment of large interest in later years, and therefore should be undertaken through necessity only. God has not organized man and woman alike, physically; nor, do we believe, mentally either. We hasten to add, lest we should be arraigned for heresy, that we do not say they are not equal, but only different; the question of equality we wait for their own works to answer. Woman has sweeter, tenderer, dearer duties, demanding an organization distinct from that which fits man for his rougher, harder, more extended, more public, but not more noble work. We hear of women who have cut down their timber, built their walls, ploughed their fields, or done the blacksmithing for the neighborhood with their own hands, from choice,—a kind of work which we could not do, and would not if we could, unless driven to it by some pressing necessity; but we should like to store up the knowledge how to do it against the time of need. Still, we need not object if others take pleasure in it. Yet will not their own bodies, when they leave youth behind and go down to middle age, bear witness against the unnatural strain which they have been subjected to? Those whose office it is “to replenish the earth” cannot make these violent drafts upon their system with impunity. It is not for a regular, daily occupation that we would desire to have girls taught how to do their brothers’ work as well as their own, though much that pertains to that will always be pleasant and attractive, and light work in the open air will always furnish healthy exercise for our girls; but we want to see every member of the family so educated that there may never occur a vacancy about the home that some one, girl or boy, man or woman, is not able and willing to step into and fill satisfactorily. To this end, faithfully teach your little ones, girls or boys, to put their hands to any work that is necessary.

“Next you will tell us to let our girls saw and split wood, milk the cows, harness and unharness the horse, etc.”

Yes. Why not? They should know how to do all this, and do it well; and try it often enough to feel at ease and without fear in the effort, and that will be sufficient for the present. But suppose in a few years your daughter marries, and goes from you to some distant settlement where neighbors are scarce and “help” uncertain. Girls of wealth and refinement have done such things. Let the monotony of frontier life be occasionally enlivened by a real attack of chills and fever in which all take a part. When husband and “help,” if your daughter is so fortunate as to secure any, take their turn in shaking, will not the wife look back to the time when brother Will and she had their miniature saws and hatchets, and made much sport in preparing the kindlings? Won’t she see that the knowledge how to do this, which was simply amusement then, has been stored up for real service now? She little thought when grandpa taught her to milk old Brindle without fear of the gentle animal, how she would thank him for it in this far-off home. Are you sure that your little girl will never be placed in circumstances, for only a few hours perhaps, when she would be most thankful to know how to do any one of these things? Can you not imagine circumstances where it would be an incalculable blessing? We can, any number of them, not at all beyond the bounds of possibility. We have known cases where it was almost a matter of life or death, that a lady should have skill and courage to harness a horse and hasten for help. These cases may be rare; yet if they come but once in a lifetime, is not the lesson worth the learning? If you were driving a team—a very desirable accomplishment for any young lady—and the harness should break or become unfastened, ought you not, for your own safety, to know how to repair the mischief? Every girl should early learn how each part of the harness must be adjusted, else the pleasure and independence of being able to drive when older will be attended with much risk, and often with fatal consequences. Youth—early childhood—is the time to secure this knowledge, that you may be prepared to use it with confidence and self-control when needed. Even if it is never needed in later life, knowing how will not injure any one.

XXVIII.
STEALING SERVANTS.

IN The Christian Union a while ago, “Laicus” gives the history of a transaction between two neighbors, in which he thinks the indignation manifested by one of the parties was uncalled for, and her objection to the proceeding of the other “but a relic of the old-time slave system.” The case given was in this wise.

Mrs. Potiphar, it seems, “picks up a little girl in New York, and goes through all the trouble, discomfort, and anxiety of teaching her, until she becomes, at last, a very useful and efficient servant.” Those who have undertaken the training of young girls, not their own, will agree that Mrs. Potiphar’s task was not an enviable one, and that the girl owed her a debt of gratitude, which faithful, willing service alone could pay. As the child improved under this training, wages were given, until after five years’ education she received ten dollars a month. Mrs. Potiphar, appreciating the good qualities the girl had developed, failed not to give her ample praise; said she was “worth her weight in gold,” an expression very common, yet not usually taken literally; but she did not increase her wages. It may have been that she gave all that the work demanded of her was worth, or all that she could afford to give; it matters not which; it is no evidence, however, that she wished to defraud the girl of her just dues; it argues no injustice on Mrs. Potiphar’s part. But good friends, kind neighbors, behind her back, said it was a shame to pay Sophia so little; while to the lady’s face, however, they gave smiles and congratulations “upon her good luck.” Ah, what a pity that gossiping, meddling, and backbiting should be found in this beautiful world of ours. How much trouble and mischief these vices have caused! Much of the discomfort and disturbance in our households springs from this evil spirit, making servants fickle and unfaithful, and their mistresses’ life a burden. And it is all so needless! There is little fear, even when not tampered with, that girls will remain long on low wages, unless the privileges and kind care bestowed upon them are of more value than larger pay, and they have the good sense so to understand it. Every girl has a perfect right to seek the highest remuneration, and so that she gives her present employer reasonable notice, to enable her to secure other assistance, or to offer her larger wages, however great the disappointment to the lady may be, the girl has acted honorably and is worthy of no censure. But in the case cited by “Laicus,” Mrs. Chessleburg’s course is so repugnant, so foreign to all our ideas of honor, that we should hope there was some mistake in print, did we not know such acts are of daily occurrence.

Mrs. Potiphar has an excellent waiting-maid, just what Mrs. Chessleburg wants. Mrs. Chessleburg is much exercised in her mind because Mrs. Potiphar gives the poor girl such low wages.

“She is well worth fourteen dollars a month to me, if she is worth a penny.” Four dollars extra would be quite an addition to Sophia’s income. To be sure it would. So her nurse-girl goes confidentially (privately we presume that means) and tells Sophia that Mrs. Chessleburg will give her fourteen dollars a month if she will leave the lady, who, five years ago, “picked her up in New York,” and has taught her, during these years, to be such a desirable servant. The girl goes, of course. Mrs. Potiphar thinks it mean “to steal her girl away in that style.” So do we. Is it strange that we think Mrs. Chessleburg’s desire to right the girl’s supposed wrongs had its origin less in real benevolence than in the selfish anxiety to secure a valuable servant for herself? We certainly must, notwithstanding “Laicus’s” perplexity, join with the ladies in thinking Mrs. Chessleburg’s proceeding highly objectionable, and are confident employees as well as employers will agree in this matter.

We read the article in question to the superintendent of our farm, and said, “How does this strike you? How shall we answer this question? If the girl’s work was worth more than ten dollars, was it not right that she should have it?”

“Yes; but I shouldn’t think that was the right way for a lady to do? Why didn’t she go to the girl’s mistress, instead of sending her nurse-maid to the girl privately? I don’t think any lady would do such a thing.”

“Well! I think you are right about house servants. But on the farm, in your position, for instance, as foreman, there is some difference, is there not? Supposing some gentleman should offer you more than we do, what would you think of that?”

“That he was no gentleman. I don’t see the difference. If he wished to make any such offer, he should go to my employer and state the case, but not to me.”

“But you are not bound to stay with us. If you can better yourself, you have a perfect right to do so. You are a free man.”

“Yes, I know that; but I think there should be some honor, if there is no law, about such things; and I don’t think a gentleman acts honorably who tempts a man with offers of higher wages to leave his employer’s service. Let him go, like a man, to the proprietor of the work himself.”

“Maggie,” said we afterward, “if a lady should send one of her girls to you with an offer for more wages than I give, what would you think of it?”

“O, I’ve had that trick tried on me, ma’am! No lady would do it, and I’d not risk living with any one who would connive at such a mean thing.”

“Why, what would you have her do?”

“Come right to yer, ma’am, or advertise. Sure the papers are open to any one who chooses to advertise.”

Now, this subject appears too clear for any question of right or wrong, liberty or slavery. The same course—open and above-board—should be plain to both employer and employé. Among business men this law of honor is fully understood. The amount of wages in all employments is well defined. Custom fixes the prices for specified labor. It is those who offer beyond the accepted rates who cause most of the trouble experienced in all classes of labor.

A manufacturer engages a certain number of men to work in his mill. He offers and they accept the regular rates of payment. A neighboring manufacturer is short of hands, and privately goes to these men, bribing them, for it is nothing short of a bribe, with offers of higher wages to leave their present work and come to him. If their ideas of honor are no higher than his own, they will probably accept the bribe, and their first employer’s mills must stand idle until he can secure others to fill their places. Would you not call this dishonorable? This is acceded to in the outdoor world, among merchants, mechanics, manufacturers, and farmers. But how much more sacred, how much stronger, should this code of honor be to us, in the family!

If we learn that a girl has “given warning” to her employer of her intention to leave, we have a perfect right to try and secure her; but to avoid the least appearance of evil, to do truly “as we would be done by,” we should think it but wise and just to go first to the lady and signify our wishes, making such inquiries as may be needed. In the case given by “Laicus,” however, the nurse-maid is sent, and offers of higher wages given through her. The girl is bought. We cannot think it acting honorably by the mistress or kindly by the maid. If tempted once to act secretly, she probably can be again, and from a useful, reliable servant may become one on whom there can be no dependence.

If this mode of securing assistance is accepted as a correct and honorable practice, no one is safe. In every department we shall be at the mercy of the selfish and unscrupulous.

The laborer is evidently worthy of his hire, and in this country no class of people are likely to remain long in ignorance of the price they can command, or to estimate their ability at too low a rate.

We object to no one’s obtaining the full value for his work, but claim that there should be no meddling, no underhand work to buy servants or laborers from another, by the private offer of larger wages. Advertising is open to all, and brings the needed help to you; but if you do not choose that mode of supplying yourselves with laborers, then let the employer be applied to, and if you can give his or her servants better terms than they now receive, there are not many who will not advise them to accept the offer. We do not think that ladies enact any such law, as that “no servant shall be offered a better post than the one now occupied, so long as he or she remains in it”; but we do claim that the good old rule should be as fully recognized in dealing with a neighbor’s servant as in everything else, namely, “Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.”

XXIX.
FALL CLEANING.

THE summer is over and gone; cold nights and mornings have so frightened and subdued the flies, that it is easy to hunt them from the house, and by a little extra watchfulness prevent their gaining possession again. The sun, still quite warm and summer-like in the middle of the day, tempts them out from their hiding-places, and they will swarm in at open doors and windows, if unprotected by wire and net frames, in great numbers. Take care that these safeguards are doing duty whenever windows or doors are opened for ventilation or comfort, else the skillful little manœuvrers will soon gain access. Drive them out toward night into the cool evening air. A few really cold nights will free you from these vexatious intruders, and enable you to commence fall cleaning in peace and safety. The danger always is, that this part of fall labor will be undertaken too early. The first ten or twelve days of September are usually raw and cold. The flies, crawling into warm nooks and corners, pretend to be asleep. The housekeeper, forgetting the experience of former years, hastens to get out scrub-cloths, brushes, and all the implements of house-cleaning. Those whose homes are in the city hurry back with the first puff of cold air, believing that flies and heat have both alike departed for the season. But they soon learn that this is a great mistake. These chilly, cold days are usually followed by ten days or a fortnight as warm as midsummer, and generally quite unhealthy. Nothing but real necessity should tempt any to leave the country before they have fully enjoyed the most perfect month of the whole year,—October. But whether in city or country, those who attempt to do their fall cleaning in September will have short-lived satisfaction compared with the comfort derived from the same work in October. Flies, spiders, and wasps, if not harmless then, are at least so far disabled as to be easily conquered, and until that is accomplished, house-cleaning on a large scale is wasted labor.

The first thing to be done, preparatory to house-cleaning, is to have all the chimneys thoroughly swept, and the furnace, range, and grate flues, not only perfectly cleaned from soot, but examined by a competent workman; especially is this needful if the house has been closed or only partially used during the summer. Before real winter weather comes, everything of this kind should be in perfect order.

Have the furnace-grate examined, as it may have been corroded by rust while unused, or so far burned out that, if neglected, some cold morning when a bright glowing fire is most needed it may break down and let your fire out. It will not be pleasant to sit shivering while the old grate is being mended or a new one fitted. The range-grate and fire-bricks must also be looked after and repaired for winter use. A little attention now will save much expense and discomfort later in the season.

If carpenters’ or masons’ work, whitewashing, painting, glazing, or plumbing is needed, it should all be done before any cleaning is attempted. If left till afterward, this kind of work is a great terror to housekeepers. To secure seasonable attention to all these matters, it is essential that the mechanics who are needed should be engaged some weeks in advance; but remember that such workmen are, unfortunately, not as good in keeping promises as in breaking them; therefore watch closely, and hold them to their agreement. This habit of promising more than can be performed is a very pernicious one, and in the end most unprofitable. Mechanics are tempted to this dishonorable practice by anxiety to secure a good job. Knowing the great demand for labor, they imagine if they promise to do your work at a given time, come and do a little, then go to some one else, leaving your work half finished, then back to you again for a while,—the second party annoyed by the same vexatious delay,—that your necessity compels you to endure silently if not patiently. You may submit for this once, but never burn your fingers twice at the same fire. Let it once be understood that employers of all kinds look upon a broken promise as destroying all confidence, and that they will under no circumstances give a promise-breaker a second opportunity to beguile them, and this great trial to grace and patience would soon be overcome.

While repairs are going on, bring down all the woolen garments, blankets, furs, or pieces of carpeting that have been stored away for the summer. Take them out on the grass-plat under your clothes-line, before removing the wrappers, for the preparation in which they have been put away is not very pleasant to the smell, particularly if it is Poole’s powder, which we think the safest as well as the most disagreeable. If it is a windy day, hang all on the clothes-line for a good snapping before you attempt to brush them, and most of the powder will blow off. After an hour or two in sun and wind, brush them well with a nice whisk-broom, and, when done, the garments and blankets may be put in their proper places and the pieces of carpeting sewed up in bagging or canvas or put into a spare trunk. They will need no more powder till spring, if carefully stored and occasionally aired through the winter.

The coal, of course, you had put into the cellar last spring, as it is usually cheaper about May than in the fall. The ashes and soot having been removed, the flues, furnace, and grates all in order, the house should now be swept from the attic to the cellar. Ingrain and three-ply carpets ought to be taken up every year, unless in rooms but little used, and after being well shaken or taken to the carpet-shaking mill, they should be laid out of the way till the room from which they were taken is cleaned. Brussels, Wiltons, Axministers, and all the heavier carpets should not be raised oftener than every three years. Very little dust sifts through such fabrics, and careful sweeping and the use of a good “carpet-sweeper” will preserve them from all harm. In sweeping, preparatory to cleaning, it is well to draw the tacks in the corners and turn such heavy carpets back, so that with a whisk-broom any dirt that may have settled there can be easily removed. It is but little work, and the corners can be readily tacked down again.

When the sweeping is all done, a most thorough dusting is the next operation, so that wood-work, walls, and gas-brackets may be free from loose dirt before water is used. The paint is much easier cleaned after this than if the dust were allowed to remain and be washed off. Some recommend the latter to save time. We think it wastes time.

The walls should be dusted with a long-handled feather duster, then with a clean dry cloth pinned smoothly over a clean broom; wipe them down evenly, beginning at the top and passing in a straight line, “by a thread” as a seamstress would say, to the bottom, changing the cloth as it becomes soiled. Next remove all chimneys and shades from the chandeliers and gas-burners; wash clean, dry and polish with a soft linen towel, and then with chamois-skin, and put them into a closet till the room is cleaned. Now with a cloth, wrung from weak, hot suds, wipe off the brackets and chandeliers, and rub dry with chamois-skin. Draw a coarse linen thread, double, through the opening in the tip of all the gas-burners to remove any dust that may have settled in them while unused. This done, if you have two or three hands at work, the cleaning may be so divided as to be done quite expeditiously; let one wash the windows while another cleans the paint. The windows, if long unused, need to be well washed in warm suds, into which a little spirits of ammonia have been poured,—two teaspoonfuls to half a bucket of suds; then well rinsed in clear water, wiped dry, and polished with chamois-skin. This same proportion of suds and ammonia will also clean paint very easily, and without injury to the hands. It is good for cleaning marble slabs and mantles. The plated door-handles, bell-pulls, etc., come next in order for cleaning; and here, if a piece of oil-cloth is cut to slip over each, so that the walls may not be tarnished, the hot suds and ammonia will prove very effective. A piece of old carpet or drugget should be laid down as you clean windows, paint, or plated ware, if the carpet is down, and moved from one spot to another as you go on.

Now all is ready to put the last touch to the room. Wring a clean cloth from some warm, clear water, in which a little alum or salt has been dissolved, and wipe hard each breadth of the carpet, rubbing straight down the nap. Wring out the cloth often, to rinse off all the dust, and change the water if it looks very dingy. This brings up the nap and gives a new and fresh look to carpets of all kinds; only be sure that the cloth is not so wet as to drip. Leave the windows open when the carpet is finished, and shut the doors till it is thoroughly dried before bringing in what furniture was moved out to clean the room.

XXX.
FASHIONABLE DRESS.

WE are often asked why we do not speak out plainly, in the way of counsel and reproof, about the absurdities of fashionable dress, now so apparent? What good would it do? Almost every paper has spoken plainly, or hinted—the worst kind of speaking, however unmistakable—on this subject, and what is the result? Week by week the fashion-plates are increasingly monstrous, until at last we are uncertain whether it is a bona fide fashion plate we are looking at or “Punch” and “The Budget of Fun.” Neither could take greater liberties or more atrociously caricature “the human form divine.” And, what would be very amusing if the weakness did not excite so much pity, those who urge us to contribute our mite toward a reform, a more Christian mode of dress, are themselves marvellous structures,—a pile, composed of frizzed, braided, curled, and puffed hair, under which a small, delicate face appears; a dress fringed, flounced, puffed, and trailing, with hoops and panniers protruding like a dromedary’s hump; and all this miserable deformity borne about on high heels and the tips of the toes, the discomfort and pain of such unnatural locomotion accepted and endured because it is the fashion. Yet these fair inquirers appeared wholly unconscious that their own disfigurement was a stronger appeal for aid than any words could have been.

Why not begin this reform in your own dress? Brush your hair smoothly, and give us the satisfaction of once more seeing what the head is, as God made it; take off yards of silk, lace, and fringe, and show us your natural, graceful figure. You who move in what is called fashionable society can do more by such independence than all that can be written. Try one season, and mark the change you would effect. “O, we couldn’t think of such a thing! ‘As well be out of the world as out of fashion,’ you know. It would make us so very conspicuous by our singularity. We think it would not be modest to take such a stand. No one person can effect the change: it must be simultaneous.”

Ah, had all reformers reasoned so, what would now be the condition of the civilized world! But Fashion is a tyrant; and we fear volumes written on the evils which she brings will do little good until women have learned to defy her. A few in every age have done valiantly in their attempts to dethrone her, but she changes so often, and so abruptly and entirely, it is difficult to keep track of her. As far back as we can search, the whirligig of fashion has been in perpetual motion, unceasing in its changes. The advice and admonition of age and experience have little influence towards checking this long-established tyranny. The old look sadly upon the vagaries of the young; but if they glance back to their own early days, would they not recall equal absurdities in the fashions of that period, or on a moment’s reflection, perhaps, even the dress and style to which they still pertinaciously adhere may be liable to the same criticism?

We vividly remember the look of dissatisfaction on our grandmother’s face (a dear little woman, nearly eighty years old), whose keen black eyes flashed ominously as we came before her for inspection, dressed for our first party. We stood, at fourteen, a full head the taller, but were abashed at the dignified air of authority with which she descanted on the ridiculousness of our attire. A very narrow skirt, with a few gathers in the back, three small pleats on each side,—it took but six or seven yards then for a dress,—a full waist, with a narrow band round the neck like a baby’s slip, and the belt almost under the arms; a large lace “Vandyke,” or cape, over the shoulders; the hair combed high on the top of the head and tightly tied, and the length twisted into a knot or bow, and kept in place by a big tortoise-shell comb, the top of it full three inches high and six or seven inches round; and this placed back of the hair. Our first high-topped comb! What a wonderful work of art it was in our eyes! And the dress—our first silk—of changeable hues, like the silks which are now coming again into fashion,—how stylish it did look! We thought every one must recognize its elegance. Yet here was this “little grandma,” whose judgment, next to our mother’s, was infallible, looking with disdain upon it, and turning our whole outfit into ridicule! It was heartbreaking! And for our first party! Fourteen was very young to go to parties in those days, but, being tall for our age, we were invited by mistake we presume. At the present time young ladies of three and four send out and receive their cards, and with gloves and fans, frizzled hair, and flounced dresses, mimic the affectation and absurdities of their elders. We have no sweet, simple childhood any longer.

But how was our revered critic attired? The soft, white hair, still quite abundant, was brushed straight over from the brow, not tied on top, but rolled as tightly as it could be drawn over what was then called a pillow,—now it would be, we presume, a rat,—and fastened on the top of the head by two long silver pins with arrow-heads; a spotless white mull cap with a very high crown and deep frill was put on over this pillow and tied with a broad black satin ribbon in a bow on top; a string of gold beads, a square of white lace folded over the shoulders and crossed in pleats in front, under the dress of heavy black satin; the waist of said dress made long down to the hips, with a point before and behind, the skirt not trailed but immensely full; very high-heeled slippers; and on her arm a large black satin bag, or reticule, embroidered with white beads, in which was the ever-present knitting-work, completed the costume. And this queerly dressed little grandmother scoffed at our newer style as being the height of absurdity. Her dress appeared appropriate to her, because we had never seen her otherwise attired; but with all affectionate deference to her superior wisdom, we thought it very ugly, and would have shrunk in disgust from wearing it ourselves; and doubtless our new dress in which we then rejoiced would strike our grandchildren now as equally undesirable.

So fashion changes, and words of expostulation are wasted. But in this age of improvement, when we turn our backs on the things of old while something new is daily being developed or invented, the wonder is, that in the realms of Fashion we see so little purely original. Like a poor horse in a treadmill, she goes the same circuit, and about every fifty years she finds the end, and is compelled to return and reproduce, with some strange additions, but few improvements, the styles our grandmothers and great-grandmothers wore. The high heels, hoops, trains, and panniers of to-day are but the renewal of the fashions of a semi-barbarous age, which, once buried, should never have been revived.

Addison, in many of his writings (see particularly papers 98 and 127 in the “Spectator”), severely criticises the prevailing fashions of his day. Many of these same deformities our better instructed women have for a year or two past foolishly reproduced. We may not quote his words, because the homely language of that period would shock our greater refinement, (although if it could be arranged for opera or theatre, his wholesome counsels might be listened to in public without a blush!).

There is much to be said, aside from the absurdity of the style, and its destruction of all grace and beauty, of the great extravagance which must attend the present fashions, breaking up many homes and alienating true love; and the permanent injury done to health, subjecting its devotees to long years, perhaps, of discomfort and lingering sufferings or an early grave.

XXXI.
LESSONS BY THE WAYSIDE.

LOVE lightens labor, and crowns Care with rosy garlands which beautify her rugged and repellant features. But when those whose presence makes labor easy are absent, Care is more likely to become a hard taskmaster. Our house being thus left unto us desolate, for a few days, we rebel, and have run away.

Seated all alone in one of those cozy little rooms in the “palace-cars,” on the banks of the Hudson, we will try for once how it feels to be free from care, and give ourselves up to the full enjoyment of the position. How beautiful is the scenery through which we are passing! Each one thinks his own native land, his own mountains and rivers, the finest in the world. This feeling often grows into a ludicrous weakness; but we are confident that our noble Hudson must be acknowledged by all as ranking among the first.

“Where will you find in foreign land

So sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”

In spring-time, when every bush and tree is tipped with delicate green, from the banks of the river to the highest point that overlooks it, we call it more lovely than at any other season of the year. But in summer, when the grass is just ready for the scythe, and blossoms of fruit hang from every bough, we say this surpasses the spring. In the early fall, the orchards scattered all along the river-side, laden with the ripening fruit, in each variety of green, red, gold, or russet, and the woods on either side brilliant with every shade of color, add another charm to the wondrous beauty of the scenery. And now, in this later autumn, as we see the

“Leaves around us falling,

Dry and withered, to the ground,”—

the lights and shadows on the mountains, the golden hues exchanged for deeper russet, the dark red of the Ampelopsis mingling with the rich color of the evergreens that cover the banks,—all caught by the flashing river, and thrown back in broken and fantastic reflection,—call for increasing admiration; and mid-winter, when the ground is white with snow, and the trees are strung with diamonds, will only furnish stronger cords to hold us steadfast to our allegiance. There is not “half a kiss to choose” between the seasons on the banks of our glorious Hudson. We love it always and in all its varied changes.

And this is rest for the weary! How beautifully quiet the pretty villages, nested in among the mountains or scattered along the banks, appear! Is it possible that sickness or sorrow, heartaches or envyings, fierce passions or corroding cares, can find a harbor near this tranquil river? It must be so, no doubt; but as we fly quickly past, and cannot see it, what is it all to us? Why trouble ourselves with the thought of sorrows which we can neither alleviate nor prevent?

Ah! we may leave what we call our cares far behind; but we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that sin, and therefore sorrow, is all about us, as truly in the restful solitude of the little niche we for a few hours occupy, as in the weary round of busy life. Out of sight, but almost within reach of our hand, there is a sick child. We hear its feeble cry, and think, from the sound, it must be quite young, and nearly worn out with suffering. The mother, no doubt, tenderly loves her child, yet long days of watching and sleepless nights have taxed her strength to the utmost, and exhausted her patience. Sharp and irritable words are spoken, and as we hear the little one, through the slight partition that separates us, turn restlessly from side to side, unable to find an easy spot, yet constantly longing for change, we know that it is not gently placed on a cooler pillow, or taken to the mother’s arms,—gathered to her bosom, and soothed with loving words. But instead we hear, “O dear! what a torment! I am tired to death! Can’t you lie still one minute?” How these tones make our heart quiver! No doubt she is very weary, and perhaps full of pain herself; but with each peevish, complaining word uttered over that frail little blossom, she is planting

“Thorns, not roses, for her reaping, by and by.”

If she knew that in a few days, perhaps, her babe would be forever hid from her eyes, would not the remaining hours of its short life be soothed, regardless of her own pain, by the tenderest love, and each word soft and sweet as the notes of the cushat-dove! And the father, in full health and vigor, why does he not relieve the weary, overtasked mother? Why does he not give her an hour’s rest, while the little one finds in his strong arms a grateful change? for there is no cradle so soft and soothing to a babe, sick or well, as a loving father’s arms. Instead of bearing this yoke with his wife, we hear cross, ungentlemanly, unsympathetic words of complaint addressed to her, and harsh and peevish commands to the baby. We long to step across the narrow passage that divides us, and, taking the little one into our own arms, kindly tell the parents what seeds they are sowing; to say to them, “If your child dies, each word will rise up in remembrance against you, filling your hearts with anguish. If it lives, you are sowing poisonous weeds, which will cause you life-long sorrow. The child will imitate your example, practise the lessons it is this day so early learning, and teach you how ‘the sins of the parents may be visited upon the children.’ Your own sins and failings will rise up and condemn you through your children.” Good-breeding and etiquette will not permit us to go to them with such warning; yet that this lesson may profit some one, we send it to the friends for whom we write,—the young home-makers as well as the young housekeepers. In thus shaping your children’s future, we cannot but think that the father will be as richly blessed for instilling correct principles, or as surely condemned for wrong training and example, as the mother. We know this is treason and heresy, if judged by the prevailing idea that the mother, far more than the father, is responsible for the principles and character with which the child takes its place among men and women.

We think this bad doctrine. The parents have an equal share in their offspring, and should not hold a divided responsibility.

The nursing and care in the main is doubtless the mother’s office; but in extreme cases it should be borne together. Being naturally more with the child in early infancy, of course the mother has a closer intimacy. But in a well-organized, loving family, you will note that while the love is given to both parents alike, when questions of weight arise, even in early years, the child turns to the father for the final word which shall be infallible. The mother’s gentler, tenderer tone settles every-day questions, but there is strength and authority in the father’s voice from which they are not often tempted to appeal, and a good wife and mother recognizes this state. It is a sad house when the hearts of mother and children cannot, with love and pride, accept this as the natural and legitimate rule of home government and education. Even if the mother does not, in her own judgment, accept the father’s decision with the simple faith with which the child receives it, it is no evidence of tame submission if she pleasantly reserves her reasons till they are alone. All argument should be avoided between the parents before the children on matters connected with the children’s interest. If appealed to, let the reply be simply, “Father knows best,” or, “Do as father says.” By this you strengthen your husband’s hands, and nowise compromise your own conscience or influence. Then when opportunity offers compare your views and give your reasons for dissent, in all truth and gentleness.

XXXII.
PAULINE PRY.

WE come this week to spy out the land,—to roam “up stairs, down stairs, and in the lady’s chamber”; to creep into all by and forbidden places; to look into the bedrooms, ransack the wardrobes, peep into the drawers, it may be; overhaul trunks and boxes, perhaps; in short, to take all manner of liberty and find fault to our heart’s content.

Now we slip, unseen, into the guest-chamber. It is very pleasant and inviting; but we don’t think the bed is made up very neatly. There are “humps” in the mattress. It has not been turned over after using, and well beaten and brought to a good square surface. The sheets and blankets are not put on smoothly; the fine, Marseilles spread is put on unevenly, giving a very untidy appearance to the bed, and bringing so large a proportion of the bedclothes on one side, so as to render it difficult to turn and press them down properly between the mattress and side-rail, and of course you cannot, under such circumstances, give a square, regular shape to the bed. A poorly made bed spoils the appearance of the room, however elegant the rest of the furnishing may be.

Pretty sheet and pillow tidies are of great assistance in giving a fresh, cheerful air to a bedroom. If sheets and pillow slips are neatly tucked and nicely ironed, the bed will look very inviting at first, if well made; but after it has been once used, the wrinkled, tumbled sheets and pillows are not a pleasant sight, and one feels well repaid for the little trouble of providing tidies, however simple; ruffled and embroidered, for the spare chamber if you please, but a part of a fine old linen sheet, with broad hems and narrow tucks, starched and well ironed, gives a very neat finish to the family bedrooms, and with careful folding when taken off at night will not need to be done up for some weeks.

This elegant bureau is all right, as far as it is furnished; but the guest-chamber should be provided with all the little comforts and conveniences which a lady thinks necessary in her own room. A handsome mat or tidy over the marble top, and little mats on each side for cologne-bottle and watch-stand, or match-box and jewel-case, and a pretty cushion, will add much to the appearance of this bureau; or if nothing more, a clean damask towel spread over it is, if not a necessity, at least a great safeguard against stains on the marble, and a protection from the disagreeable chill that creeps over one when resting the hand or arm on the cold marble.

A good comb and brush, free from the slightest suspicion of dirt, a boot-buttoner, and a paper of pins, ought to be on the bureau or in the drawer. A friend often remains over night unexpectedly, and, of course not coming provided for the detention, will find these little attentions and conveniences a great comfort, and duly appreciate your kind and thoughtful care.

A little basket of willow or perforated card, embroidered with some neat and fanciful design, or a bead or muslin bag, is a great convenience much needed to be hung by the side of the bureau or under the gas, to hold the hair from comb or brush, burnt matches, bits of thread or paper. Some such receptacle for loose bits or litter, no matter how simple, should be near every bureau, which the chambermaid must empty every morning. A cuspidor, or wide-mouthed vase, upon the floor, is more elegant than a scrap-basket, but much more expensive.

A curtain of white barred muslin or linen is needed back of the washstand, that the water, in washing, may not soil the paper or paint. A nail-brush is very convenient, we think a real necessity, for every bedroom. Get open, upright brush holders, rather than the long flat ones with a cover, for, by standing the tooth and nail brushes in the upright dish they drain and soon dry; but if laid down and covered they are never dry, and in warm weather soon become quite offensively musty.

A good sponge on the washstand and a clean doily hung up with the towels should be considered as indispensable in any well-furnished spare room as for those in daily use.

Of course the bureau drawers and wardrobe in this room will be left as nearly unoccupied as possible; so we will not stop to open them, but pass into other rooms.

What can be the matter in this young lady’s chamber? As we draw near the bureau, we perceive a most unpleasant smell. We must take the liberty of opening this drawer. Whew! the first breath reveals the mystery.

The brush has been wet to brush the hair, and then without drying shut from the air in the drawer. There is no smell so sickening! It pervades the whole bureau. No perfume can overcome it; and by using the brush, damp and uncleansed day after day, the odor is carried wherever this careless person goes. We have sat by people in church who have used such a brush, and could hardly remain during the service. The cause is unmistakable and cannot be concealed. If no other means can destroy this bad habit, we would recommend that any one so thoughtless should read an article we saw not long since in “Harper’s Bazar” on the vegetable growth, in brush, comb, hair, and scalp, produced by wetting the brush or hair, and leaving them undried or uncleansed. We think once reading that description would be sufficient cure.

The hair-brush should be combed free from hair or dandruff every time it is used, and laid by an open window till well aired and dried, if ladies will persist in wetting the hair or brush. A brisk movement of a dry brush through the hair will soon create a fine lustre on the hair, whereas wetting diminishes the gloss so beautiful in well-kept hair; but we forget that that is an old-fashioned idea. The progress of art and elegance teaches that a wilderness of fuzzy, frizzled hair is now the crowning beauty. Tastes differ, but no change in style or fashion will object, we hope, to a clean, sweet brush; and to secure that it must once a week, at least, be well washed in warm soapsuds, in which a little soda has been dissolved. Soda is better than ammonia, as it cleanses without stimulating the vegetable growth spoken of in the “Bazar,” to which we just referred. Comb the brush while washing, that the suds may penetrate to the roots of the bristles, and cleanse every part; then rinse in warm water, rub dry as you can, and put in the window, or by the fire if the weather is damp, to dry. This care should not be neglected by any one who makes any pretension to neatness.

The bureau drawers in this room are not in good order. You will lose much time, and we think a good deal of self-respect, when next you need a handkerchief or stockings, for everything here seems to have been stirred up by a whirl-wind or a sleep-walker. It will require some skill and more patience than you can spare to separate this wretched tangle.

The pipes in the wash-basin and bath-room are slimy and foul, indicative of neglect. They should be well washed every morning, and once a week a pail of boiling suds, with a spoonful or two of soda or potash, must be poured in, to eat away all impurities, and sweeten the pipes. In passing, let us say this care is more especially necessary in the kitchen sinks. They require a stronger suds, and more soda or lye, and more attention, to eat out all the grease that will accumulate in washing dishes.

The discoloration around the bell-pull, door-knobs, etc., shows that a careless girl has not protected the wall or paint while cleaning them, and the mistress has not kept her eyes open. A bit of oil-cloth, with a hole in the center, to slip over the knobs or bell-pulls while rubbing, would have saved this defacement of paint and paper. And the finger-marks on the doors also tell a sad story of neglect. They need to be washed off once a week—twice, if little fingers are about—with a soft flannel, wrung out of hot suds.

In the sitting-room, the mantel over the grate has not been washed every morning when the fire is lighted in the grate. It should be. See! the gas and smoke from coal or kindlings have turned the white marble quite yellow. Wash it in hot suds, strong with ammonia, to remove the spots, and then use a clean brush and hot suds every morning, and you will save much time, and be well rewarded with an unspotted mantel.

We can’t pry about any longer, but there is no knowing when we may be tempted again to meddle with our friends’ housekeeping.

XXXIII.
BUY YOUR CAGE BEFORE YOU CATCH YOUR BIRD.

A YOUNG lady writes that this old adage is often repeated to her “in connection with grave warnings against early engagements and early marriages,” and asks for our opinion and advice.

This old proverb sounds very wise, and if taken literally may, for aught we know, be correct doctrine; but when used as a warning, in the connection which our friend suggests, we don’t more than half believe in it. We are no advocate for very long engagements or unreasonably early marriages; but we do believe that the happiest marriages are of those between whom the love was early plighted, and that close observation will prove that such are the most likely to stand the test of time, and pass through the many rough and hazardous paths of married life with the most cheerful fortitude. Those who have delayed marriage till their habits have become too firmly established to yield kindly to another’s wishes or peculiarities have not, we think, so sure a prospect of a pleasant and harmonious life. We would sooner trust an early union to carry the wedded pair down to a peaceful old age, not only without losing the love that first united them, but with the firm hope that it would grow brighter and brighter until that perfect day when both, having passed over the river, shall stand with clearer vision and purified affection before the throne of God.

When school-days are over and the young man enters upon his chosen occupation, and the maiden leaves her school-room to return to her mother’s care, then we believe that a betrothal formed with pure love for the basis is a great safeguard. It protects the lover from many temptations by which young men away from home are beset, especially in the city. They have little society save such transient companions as may cross their path, and who will, perhaps, seek to entice them to find pleasure in low and unrefined, if not in really impure and sinful courses. In the evening, after the day’s work is ended, time hangs heavy on their hands, they crave something, they know not what, and are easily entrapped.

Now, while a true love will teach a man to turn from such pleasures in disgust, it will also save the maiden any desire to indulge in the flirtations and coquetries with which gay and fashionable society tempts young and unguarded girls to degrade themselves. An engagement does not always prevent this, we are sorry to say, but pure love will prove an unfailing protection.

Neither do we believe an engagement should be protracted after the lover has entered upon his business or profession, until he has accumulated sufficient wealth to keep his bird in a golden cage.

Begin real life together. That is the true way, all the sweeter and happier if you begin small. The less style and display there is, the more time each will have to study the home character of the one they have accepted as a companion for life, and the better opportunity to learn easily how to bear and forbear, to tone down such peculiarities as are not conducive to mutual confidence and harmony. In all characters there will be such peculiarities,—it is quite right there should be,—but by carrying the same gentleness and courtesy into domestic life which was so easily and naturally given in the days of courtship, yielding a little, giving up one to the other, the early wedded become assimilated, and find in their union an ever-increasing joy, which a later marriage, when the habits become fixed and unyielding, seldom realizes.

“But to begin life in a small way, with limited means, subjects one to much drudgery and many deprivations; besides, we lose caste. Those who knew us in our father’s house, surrounded with comfort and luxury, would scarcely deign to notice us if found in circumstances so at variance with our parents’ mode of life.”

Such friends are scarcely worth the securing. You have outgrown babyhood and childhood, and, having entered upon man’s and woman’s estate, surely do not expect to be always cradled in your parents’ arms; but if you are of any worth you should cheerfully accept life as you find it. “Its rough ascents or flowing slopes,” if trod together and in love, will insure genuine happiness, and we often think one stores up quite as much real pleasure while passing through the rough places as when walking among the flowers. We know that the retrospection is often a source of unfailing enjoyment.

Many, we are aware, find great delight in selecting the house that is to be their home, and furnishing it as elaborately and tastefully as their means will permit, perhaps even beyond a safe limit, and then surprising the bride by ushering her into this unexpected establishment. The surprise is doubtless effected, but although the annoyance may be concealed, in nine cases out of ten we venture to say it is keenly felt. When possible, both should act together in selecting the house, or it may be “rooms,” where is to be their home, and the taste and judgment of both be consulted in selecting the furniture which they expect to have before their eyes daily. In examining and counseling together frequently, they modify each other’s tastes, and in the end are far better satisfied than if either had done the work alone.

The money for furnishing a house is often provided as a part of the bride’s outfit, and of course, if she chooses so to consider the matter, it is her right to select the furniture, without consulting another’s taste or wishes. But the older we grow the more we are satisfied that my rights should be erased from the matrimonial dictionary, and our rights substituted.

XXXIV.
CARE IN SELECTING A HOUSE.

CHOOSING a house or tenement is one of the cares that often devolves upon the wife, and demands great skill, good judgment, and sound common-sense, because there are so many things to be taken into consideration. We have been favored with a book published in London entitled “The Best of Everything.” We have not yet so thoroughly examined its contents as to be able to judge if it warrants that title, but have been much pleased with some “Hints on choosing, buying, or building a House,” and think our readers will be better pleased with some extracts from that chapter than with anything we could furnish:—

“Select a cheerful, healthy locality, and be sure the rent, including taxes, etc., does not exceed one sixth of your income. Do not choose a neighborhood merely because it is fashionable, and carefully avoid occupying a dwelling in a neighborhood of doubtful reputation.

“Be sure that the house is dry, with convenient sewerage and plenty of water. A southern or western aspect is to be preferred. Should the house be infested with vermin, avoid it. See that windows and doors are well secured, that there are proper means of ventilation, and that the chimneys do not smoke.

“Let all needful repairs be made by the landlord before the completion of your agreement, otherwise you will probably be required to execute them at your own expense. Do not deal with a landlord commonly reputed to be disobliging, greedy, or litigious. In every case have a lease properly drawn out and stamped.

“Avoid the neighborhood of a sluggish stream, a mill-dam, or fresh-water lake. The penalties are rheumatism, ague, impaired eyesight, loss of appetite, asthma, and many other ailments. Choose a house away from the vicinity of tan-yards and tallow, soap, and chemical works, old and crowded burying-grounds, or slaughter-houses. A low situation is perilous, especially during the prevalence of epidemics.

“Never lease a house in a narrow street if you can help it, unless the back premises are open and extensive. Houses built with sea-sand will in the winter months discharge moisture and be unhealthy. A house with two entrances is more healthy than with only one. Before closing your bargain, try to learn something of the house from a former occupant.

“If you wish to purchase instead of leasing, do not trust to appearances or rely on your own judgment; but when you have found a house likely to suit your family and your purse, employ a surveyor to inspect every portion of it. He will examine the foundations, the state of the sewerage, and the character of the materials which form the walls, the joints, flooring, and other wood-work. He will be able to detect if soft bricks have been used, by finding traces of dampness at the bottom of the walls. Let a lawyer examine all papers necessary to secure a full possession.

“Beware of rashly purchasing fixtures, such as window-blinds or curtains, hall carpets, or kitchen furniture; new articles may be found in the end more economical.

“Make an effort to pay the whole of the purchase-money. A bond on your house may endanger your credit and affect your comfort.

“If instead of buying a house, you wish to build, select your locality; but before completing the arrangements, ascertain the precise nature of the soil. In a gravelly soil you will readily secure good foundations; but if you find clay, or moist earth, be cautious. You may, indeed, procure an artificial foundation by laying a bed of concrete; but this will be attended with considerable expense. Consult an architect; he will make a plan for your approval, and prepare working plans, and a specification. If the house is to be built of brick, be careful to examine the quality of the bricks, and also of the mortar. Personally inspect the plumber’s work, which, if inferior, will expose you to endless expense afterwards.

“Do not allow zinc to be used either as gutters or water-pipes; it wastes under exposure.

“When a new house passes out of the hands of the carpenters, the painters and paper-hangers take their place. In selecting your paper-hangings, keep in view these considerations. If the ceiling is low, oak paper, or any dark paper, will make it apparently lower still; or if a room be defectively lighted, a dark shade aggravates the evil. Papers of large designs are unsuited for a small room, making it look smaller; and, generally, papers with a variety of colors and showy patterns are inconsistent with elegance. Striped papers are better adapted for rooms with low ceilings. When you have pictures to hang on the walls, floral devices in the paper are particularly unsuitable. Paper of a uniform color, such as light or dark green, is admirably adapted for pictures. The paint of doors and windows should harmonize with the paper-hangings.”

XXXV.
VISITING FOR ONE’S OWN CONVENIENCE.

THERE are very few housekeepers in cities or large towns who will not, at the first glance, understand precisely what this means; and, however many may have been tempted to indulge in this style of visiting, and perhaps often yielded to the temptation, there will be none found, we venture to say, who will not heartily protest against it, when practised upon themselves.

We have before us a letter from a lady on this subject, and think we cannot do better than to transcribe part of it for the benefit of our young friends, as it presents the subject in a clear and very forcible manner:—

“Do not, by any means, imagine that I would say a word against friendly visits, for mutual enjoyment and the cultivation of true friendship. I gladly welcome to my house all who come to see me, and delight to do them honor in every way hospitality can suggest. My friends are sure of a cordial welcome at all times, and I never make a visit I do not wish returned. So much by way of parenthesis.

“Now for a statement of grievances. It is my misfortune (or fortune) to have been brought up in a rural town, about thirty miles from the city where I have resided since my marriage, five years ago. I am a young housekeeper, not yet of sufficient experience to take matters as easily as older and more experienced matrons can, and therefore am more easily disturbed by untoward events.

“The people living in my native town and thereabouts, who are in the least acquainted with me or my husband, find it vastly convenient, when they come to the city, once or twice a year, or oftener, to shop, do errands of various kinds, or attend conventions,—of which we have legions,—to come directly to my house, with all the freedom of brothers and sisters, and stay till their mission to the city, whatever it may be, is accomplished, with no thought or inquiry of how it may conflict with my plans and convenience, or whether my health is sufficient to enable me to bear the addition to my work. And still worse, they never give any notice of their coming; but arrive, perhaps, in the noon train, just as I am dishing up dinner for my small family, with their strong country appetites, whetted by their morning ride, and expect a good dinner and a hearty welcome. If it were only one or two who take such liberties, I would not mind it; but as one after another makes my house their hotel, it becomes a weariness to the flesh. Nor is this all. The hardest and most annoying of all is to have a woman come bringing a young child, and remain till she has made her purchases for a large family. This of course takes two or more days. The child is left in my care, while the mother is only in the house at meal-times. The child is home-sick, lonely, and fretful, and completely wears me out, mentally and bodily; and I have no means of redress. When the mother leaves, she says, ‘Now come and make me a visit,’ well knowing that I never will.

“I might speak of the annoyance of rising two hours earlier than usual to get breakfast in season for an early morning train; but I forbear, hoping you will help those who suffer from this cruel and heartless practice.”

This victim of a selfish and heartless custom has so well portrayed the annoyances that spring naturally from it, that few words of ours are needed. But, in justice to the writer, we must assure our readers that this is no fancy sketch; the half of what the landladies of these gratuitous hotels are called upon—no, compelled—to endure has not been told. Happy, if when sick, without help, or unable to afford to keep any, they do not find it necessary to furnish two or three extra meals, at different parts of the day, after the family have been fed, the table and dishes all cleansed, and the weary provider has just sat down to that large basket of long-delayed mending. Long delayed! And why? Because the time and strength which might have been given to that work have been frittered away for those who have no legitimate claim upon either, and who, perhaps, taking notes of everything which their presence compels the lady of the house to neglect, go away and requite her hospitality by criticising her housekeeping and remarking upon her inefficiency! Or it may be, these long-suffering ladies are rung up at midnight to receive unscrupulous and untimely guests; or, instead of one child to look after, they are expected to act as nurse to three or four. We have tried and known it all, and confess we don’t like it.

Aside from the fatigue and inconvenience, the pecuniary tax is often much heavier than the poor victim can afford to pay. We think the meanest kind of pilfering is that practised by self-constituted guests. We would ride, in the darkest night, over the roughest corduroy roads ever seen at the West in her earliest days, until we found a log-tavern, on the edge of a “clearing,” with no private room, no eatable food, and a bed already fully inhabited, before we would thus trespass on any one upon whom we had not strong claims of hearty love or relationship, and especially without warning. And one who has ever tried this alternative, will acknowledge that we could not well express our abhorrence of the practice of “visiting for one’s own convenience” more forcibly.

Look at it on the score of the host’s convenience. Even with an abundant income, an ample supply of well-trained servants, every housekeeper knows that one is liable to have on the table what may be sufficient for “the family,”—the last of the bread, and only enough meat. The new bread may be almost ready for the oven, but not for the table. The butcher may have been delayed, or forgotten your order, and you have no more supplies on hand. Who does not know the anxiety and annoyance of “improvising” a dinner for unexpected guests, when the larder is not well filled? (By the way, dear young housekeeper, keep watch that you are not often caught with short “rations.”) Then, you often have engagements that demand your attention immediately after you have finished your dinner, and failing to meet such engagements may cause you much trouble, and subject you to very great annoyance. And for whom must you allow all these arrangements, connected with your own or your family’s interests, to be deranged? For almost a stranger,—a mere passing acquaintance, in nowise congenial, who finds your house more pleasant and convenient, and certainly more economical, than a public hotel. There are mischievous, roguish boys in most families, who have a very emphatic nomenclature of their own by which they would designate such liberties; but as we very gravely rebuke all “slang” phrases in our own family, we dare not venture to use their terms, however appropriate, and can simply say, that it is the coolest and most unpardonable kind of unwarrantable familiarity.

There is another trouble connected with convenient and economical visiting, which our friend has not noticed. We trust she has never experienced it. We have, many times; and in former years, with young children to care for, it was the hardest to bear of all the vexations caused by these unwelcome guests. We refer to the disturbance and dissatisfaction which such unexpected increase of labor causes among our servants. If these visits are not like those of the angels, “few and far between,” (and such hotels, once found, are not often left quiet,) your “help” will be very likely to appear before you, carpet-bag in hand, saying, “Please, mem, I must leave you; I did not hire out to a boarding-house.” Ah, what blessed independence! They can give notice to leave, but you cannot. You cannot quit your post, but must stay by, and silently endure. So custom ordains. But if custom enacts unjust laws, lays upon weary shoulders heavy burdens most grievous to be borne, is not a revolt justifiable? We think it is, and, in mercy to patient workers, the sooner it begins and the more unflinchingly it is sustained the better.

When those who have no claim upon your time or your affections take such liberties, besieging you in your home, we think it not at all reprehensible or discourteous to say, frankly, with unmistakable plainness, that it is inconvenient or quite impossible for you to accommodate or entertain them. Be as kind and gentle as you can, but be firm. They have no claim upon you; let it be well understood that you recognize none, and mean to act accordingly. If you accept the intrusion, without protest, you will but rivet your bonds; and while you find them growing stronger and more galling every year, you will also find that your power to resist and break the chains becomes weaker. Your submission to such imposition and oppression will be well noised abroad, and you will find yourself at the mercy of many a chance customer.

To such as come to you in love and for love’s sake, let your doors swing wide open. Intercourse between friends and relatives is another and very different thing. It is giving and receiving, and the pleasure makes the labor light. But to all who use your house for their own selfish convenience, lock the door and drop the key in your pocket.

XXXVI.
WILL THEY BOARD, OR KEEP HOUSE?

WE think it is considered allowable to criticise and gossip about household matters generally, so that we don’t intrench on anybody in particular. But to avoid meddling was a doctrine so thoroughly inculcated in our youth, that in our talk with young housekeepers we have found ourselves shrinking from touching upon many little mistakes that need rectifying, or topics that will bear discussion, forgetting that we are really not prying into private family matters. Yet, thanks to many letters of inquiry from unknown friends, which give us license and courage to take up prevailing modes or ideas and suggest what we think a better way, we shall go on, and perhaps be considered a meddler after all!

When young people marry, the first question asked is, “Will they board, or keep house?” And the reasons for or against keeping house show a very great variety of opinions. We hear this question so often, and see, with pain, how poorly prepared, through the reprehensible indulgence of their mothers, many of the young ladies of the present day are for the performance or superintendence of home cares and duties, that, having waited for some explicit inquiries on the subject, we now propose to embody, in an imaginary letter, some of the anxieties and distress which this same indulgence stores up for the tenderly reared daughters. We will suppose that one of these young ladies writes us as follows:—

“I know that you generally advise young people to go to housekeeping, instead of boarding. That may be the best way for most, and of late I am inclined to think it is; but I am peculiarly situated. I wonder if you can understand how very hard it must be, how almost impossible, for a young lady who has lived twenty years without any cares, who has always seen an abundance of everything,—never knowing or thinking that economy was or could be necessary,—to undertake the care of a house, under circumstances which will make it desirable that the work, if not done by her own hands, should be wholly under her constant supervision. What sort of a housekeeper would you expect her to make? I have just learned that my parents are not able, now, to start me in life as elegantly as I have always been brought up to expect. In a few weeks I shall be united to one, not rich, but I think well worthy of any sacrifice or hardship. He earnestly desires me to consent to begin housekeeping as soon as we are married. I don’t want to, because I am sure boarding will be wiser and safer than my unskillful housekeeping. But my friend says, if I will consent, he will be patient with my short-comings and mistakes, and will work enough harder to make up for all I waste while learning. Poor fellow! he little dreams what an ignoramus he is about to risk his comfort and perhaps happiness with. Why, I know absolutely nothing of what I am just beginning to feel is of the greatest importance, if we would secure a happy union. To be sure, I can sing and dance well, so partial friends say. I paint with skill and accuracy sufficient at least to amuse myself and while away such time as would otherwise drag heavily during a rainy day, and am quite skillful with my needle when I use it for fancy work; but when it comes to useful, necessary work, I am as helpless and useless as a child. Ah, if my dear parents had lavished half the money to teach me household mysteries that was expended to make me thoroughly accomplished, in the fashionable sense of that term, how happy I should now be and how bright the future would appear! I have good health, and, if I only knew how to do anything, would shrink from no hardship; but I honestly know nothing useful. And this foolish lover of mine talks about being patient with my mistakes until I learn to keep house! Alas, it will take years to teach me so that I can see my way through this fog and tangle of ignorance. I shall be an old woman, bent and gray, before I understand the first principles of household economy. Will he bear with me through all the vexatious blunders I shall make while learning, and be patient if, after years of trial, he finds I am but an awkward and unskillful worker still?”

Yes, if this young man is worthy of your love, he will value the efforts you make, and sympathize with you when you find the results unsatisfactory. If he would have your praiseworthy struggles to make the home attractive successful, he must not look back to the “leeks and onions of Egypt,” but accept the journey through the wilderness with cheerfulness, and be lovingly grateful if the “manna” falls at first but seldom. Many a young, inexperienced wife has had all her efforts paralyzed, because her husband was so often murmuring about his mother’s bread and pies and gingerbread. That is cruel and unmanly.

Now, in the first place, let us say to every young couple, Go to housekeeping by all means. However awkward or unskillful you may be, or however small and simple must be your habitation, do not let the first years of married life be passed in a boarding-house. It is no place to learn each other’s character, to become accustomed to the peculiarities that belong to every one; it is no place to accept as home.

If you are not able to employ servants while you two, who have just been made one, are the only occupants of your new home, happy are ye. In this early stage of married life, to venture on boarding, or risk the tyranny of servants, is to deprive yourselves of the sweetest experiences of a true home. No matter how heavy or how light your purse may be, if you are wise, commence small. If young people assume the cares of a large mansion, and with it, of necessity, the supervision of a number of servants, they will soon become disheartened, and vote housekeeping wretched work. But in a small house, before “olive plants” cluster around to tell you that

“The cottage is too small,

And the table wanteth space,”

you become accustomed to the care, and so well versed in all the minutest details of home labor, that you will scarcely feel the additional tax on your energies, either of the olive branches or a larger house, and the additional care of servants, which will, of necessity, come with a more imposing residence.

Then, as to the shrinking from venturing into the new and untried household domains, which young ladies so naturally feel who know absolutely nothing but the “accomplishments” taught in schools, we would say, for your encouragement, that the road to such knowledge as will enable you to form some correct idea of the work which lies before you is not so long or so difficult as your fears have led you to imagine. With a willing heart, with hands made quick and skillful by love, the way will soon become easy and pleasant. If possible, employ much of the few last weeks before your marriage in making yourself familiar with the rudiments of household affairs. Read all you can about it,—how your house should be arranged, what will be necessary in each department. Learn all you can about marketing,—what articles are most desirable, and during what seasons; seek how to judge of the quality of the food you buy, and the honest price for it. These are homely details, but the knowledge will be all needed, indeed it is indispensable to perfect you in good management; but you will secure the most effective knowledge, and the greatest confidence in your own capacity, by going about the house, and, little by little, doing with your own hands the work belonging to each department, under your mother’s supervision, or that of a well-trained housekeeper. At first, as it is all new work to you, it will not be easy or pleasant; but repeat the trial, and with each attempt you will find that you are acquiring skill and courage. Let there be no part of household labor that you do not perform a few times yourself, until you are well assured that you have sufficiently mastered it to do it again, or to detect any mistake or blunder in a servant. If you must keep servants, they will give you little comfort unless they see from the first—and they are usually very quick to discern between an intelligent or ignorant mistress—that you mean to overlook your work daily, and are abundantly able to discover any deviation from the right track. But above all things, unless for a year or two after marriage you can have the privilege of discarding servants entirely, endeavor, before marriage, to feel so much at ease in the kitchen, and so far mistress of cooking, that you will be able easily to detect any failure, and know the reason for it. If bread is brought to the table that is not satisfactory, it is wise to be able to say to your cook, with confidence, “Your bread should have risen longer before being put into the oven. It is not exactly heavy; but it feels solid, and bites tough.” Or, “Your bread is full of holes. You have not kneaded it sufficiently.” Or, “Cook, we must return that barrel of flour. It is not good. See how it ‘runs’ as you are kneading it. We shall have no real good bread from such flour.” “The pastry was not nice to-day. You have handled it too much, and it cuts as tough as leather. Please be more careful about it.”

Thus, by spending an hour a day in your mother’s kitchen, taking an active part in the work to be done there, and going through every department in the same thorough manner, even one month will advance you so that you can see the “silver lining” to all these clouds, and will give you sufficient confidence in your own knowledge and power, to banish all the mystery and dread. Then, when you walk with well-assured steps, knowing that you have conquered so far, and can, of course, conquer all, by patient endurance in well-doing, you will begin to enjoy every step of progress you make. No matter if you are and will be possessed of fabulous wealth, this knowledge should be secured by every young lady. But should you begin with large or small means, in either case your prospects of comfort and happiness are very insecure, if you enter the married state unwilling to acquire that which every woman should know,—the art of housekeeping. In after life, when home cares may be less pressing, become lawyer, judge, or President, if you can; but surely young women can find noble work, sufficient for all their talents and energies, in laying the foundation of and securely establishing a well-ordered and happy home.

XXXVII.
CHOICE OF COLORS IN DRESS.

BLONDES.

IN the selection of articles for dress, one should be guided, not only by the quality of the fabric and durability of color, but also by observing if the color will harmonize with the complexion of the wearer.

Nothing marks refinement and culture, or the want of it, more than the combination of colors in one’s attire. It is folly to spend time and thought upon the adorning of the body, to the exclusion of other and more important matters; but it is always wise to do well whatever is to be done, and to develop and perfect such gifts as God has bestowed, either of body or mind, so as to make them as attractive and valuable as possible. We hold it to be a duty to give such time and thought to dress as will secure the largest amount of pleasure and gratification to one’s family and friends. To labor to secure a prominent position, to become a leader of fashion, is another and very different thing. When seeking to impart pleasure to friends, we are influenced by love; but when striving to be among the most fashionable, we cater to a selfish vanity or a poor and low ambition.

Works on the combinations of color in dress divide complexions into the “fair and ruddy blondes,” and the “pale and florid brunettes.” In the fair blonde we find a delicate white skin; light hair, in all the shades from a golden hue to yellow or orange-brown; light blue or gray eyes; a slight tinge of rose on the cheek, and a richer tint on the lips. In all such complexions the rose-color is not decided enough, and the hair would be improved by a deeper hue; and these changes can be made, in a good degree, by a suitable mingling of color in the dress. One of the most favorable colors for the fair blonde is a delicate green, as it imparts to the flesh-white of the skin a tint of red, which, mingling with the natural hue, forms an agreeable rose-tint,—a good contrast both to the face and hair, especially if the hair is golden, inclining to orange.

The best colors to mingle with the green, as trimmings, are red, orange, and gold. Green and gold form a rich harmony, peculiarly becoming to the fair blonde. Scarlet, blended with green, harmonizes better than red; but if red, inclining to crimson, is used, then orange and gold must also be combined with it. There are some shades of green that are not becoming, unless blended with and enlivened by other harmonious colors. A green bonnet, with rose-color and white, with a white feather, will always be becoming for this complexion. Be careful that too much white is not used, else it will have a cold effect, and therefore will not aid the fair complexion so much. Orange or gold may be substituted for the pink or rose; also red, in a small bonnet, but neither should be placed close to the face. Orange, in a green bonnet, in small quantities, is becoming, if the wearer’s eyes are blue. A few autumnal shades of red, orange, or yellow-green are also in harmony with the fair complexion; but dark green is not at all desirable.

Blue is very suitable, giving an orange tint, which harmonizes finely with the delicate white and flesh hues of the complexion. There is always a natural trace of orange color on the skin, and this color, by intensifying this natural tint, is very pleasing; but the blue must be light, and not too positive. Blue being the perfect contrast of orange, it agrees finely with golden or orange-brown hair. This is the reason that light blue head-dresses are so very becoming on light hair. To give a good effect to blue by gas-light, a little white or very pale blue is necessary to be in contrast or very near the face. If there are green leaves with the blue flowers of a head-dress, they should be placed as near the face as possible.

White, black, a very little yellow, orange, straw, or stone color, may either of them be used in the trimmings of a light blue bonnet with good effects; but not if there are pink or purple flowers on it, as these colors mingled with blue are unsuitable. The colors to be used carefully or avoided altogether, with fair complexions, are yellow, orange, red, and purple. The light shades of lilac may be sometimes used; but it is very trying, and must always, if used, be separated from the flesh by an edging of tulle or some similar trimming, or be associated with its harmonizing colors, cherry, scarlet, light crimson, or gold color, and then they will in part overcome the bad effects; but green and lilac should never be coupled, as it will form a positive discord. A very little light purple is agreeable for a head-dress on light hair, but must be placed near the skin.

Neutral colors, if not too dark, accord well with fair blondes; gray, fawn, drab, and some few shades of brown are the best. Black is good for the fair blonde who has some healthy color, because it increases the rose in the complexion; but it is bad for pale skins, as it bleaches them by the painful contrast. No delicate color can be blended with black without seeming of a lighter tone. Unless used for mourning, black must be mingled with either blue, cherry, mulberry, drab, or lilac, to remove the somber effects; but cherry and lilac must be used sparingly. Red must not be used at all with black for fair blondes, as it gives a rusty tinge. White is suitable with black, if some other color is added; otherwise it is too cold. A black bonnet looks well with a fair complexion, but a little white and rose-color should be added, keeping the rose away from the skin. White is pleasant for all complexions, but more so with the fair blonde who has some color than for any other. Bright colors with white bonnet may be added, but must be kept low, and well grouped. White increases the paleness of a pale skin, but this effect may be neutralized by a blue or green wreath brought well on the face.

The ruddy blonde has a full-toned complexion, inclining to positive rose-red or carnation; dark blue or brown eyes, blonde and brown hair. All the colors suitable for the fair are generally suitable for the ruddy blonde, but the tones and in some cases the hues must be changed. As a rule this type may use more freedom in the selection of colors than the fair; her complexion, not being so delicate, is less sensitive. The hair being the medium between gold and black, and the complexion higher toned and more positive, rich and moderately dark colors may be used.

Green is very becoming, but it must be of the darker shades, and not the delicate green that is so becoming for the fair blonde. If the complexion is light and can use more red, without being overcharged, rich, full-toned green, such as grass or moss green, may be used, as, although sufficiently bright to yield color to the skin, it is not so powerful a contrast as to bleach it. In proportion as the complexion increases in color a deeper green may be selected, passing from the positive to the neutral hues, as sage, tea, or olive green. These deep, neutral greens do not cast much red, while they both harmonize with and reduce the natural hue. A simple rule for the ruddy blonde is, the paler her complexion the brighter must be the green she wears, the rosier the cheek the deeper and more neutral must be the green. For the high-toned blonde the green may be neutralized by mingling rose, scarlet, orange, or white flowers. If on the inside of a bonnet, the colored flowers must be surrounded with some gray or semi-transparent material to keep from contrast with the skin. On the outside dead-green or autumnal leaves, with a few flowers of orange or scarlet, are selected. Rose-colored flowers harmonize better with bright yellow-green than with dead-green leaves.

Blue also is suitable, but it follows the same rules as green: it must be deeper and richer for the ruddy blonde than for the fair. The best colors to associate with the rich blues are orange, salmon, and chocolate; white and black also harmonize with blue. Bonnets and head-dresses, and wreaths of blue, need the same colors blended as for the fair blonde, only of a deeper tint, and all colors pointed out as injurious by the one type must be avoided by the other. The most difficult color to introduce in any dress is violet; its effect on all complexions being so unsatisfactory. All skins appear yellow when in contrast with it, and look sickly and disagreeable. A large proportion of yellow is needed to reduce and neutralize the effects of violet. It becomes positively lost in artificial light, and should never be used or introduced into an evening dress.

Neutral colors are mostly suitable for the ruddy blonde; when light they increase the color, when dark they reduce it by contrast. Russet, gray, slate, maroon, and all shades of brown are the most pleasing of the dark neutrals, and gray, drab, fawn, and stone color, the most desirable of the light neutrals.

XXXVIII.
HARMONIZING COLORS IN DRESS.

BRUNETTES.

IN the last chapter we noticed the colors most appropriate and harmonious for the fair and the ruddy blonde. We shall now note a few peculiarities of the pale and the florid brunette.

In the pale brunette, the eyes and hair are usually a deep brown or brown-black, and the skin pale, often with some sallow shade. With this peculiar complexion, light or very dark colors are the most becoming, because the light colors harmonize with the tint of the skin, and the dark colors with the hue of the hair and eyes. Thus we follow Nature’s coloring, and sustain her effective contrasts. When the colors of the dress are a medium between the skin and hair and eyes, they “reduce the expression, and injure or destroy the greatest charm.”

Black being similar to the color of eyes and hair, and a perfect contrast to the complexion, increases the purity of the natural tints, and is very suitable for the pale brunette. All the shades of dark brown being similar to the hair and eyes, are also appropriate. Claret, dark russet, and crimson are not unsuitable, but less desirable and becoming than black or brown.

Positive blue, green, or purple must not be used; but dark blue, green, or violet may be accepted, provided the complexion has no shade of yellow or sallowness. If there is, these colors must all be avoided.

White, being analogous to the hue of the skin, is very desirable, enhancing the richness of the eyes and hair, and, as it receives a yellow tint from artificial light, is particularly desirable for an evening dress for the pale brunette. Yellow and white united are also becoming in the evening for this class of complexion, but become dull by daylight, and very undesirable. Gold or maize color contrasts pleasantly with black or dark brown eyes and hair, and neutralizes any disagreeable sallowness that there may be in the skin.

The florid brunette often inclines to the olive complexion, and, in many cases, to the copper-colored, or subdued yellow, or orange-brown, with more positive red on lip and cheek than in the blonde types. The eyes are black, the hair jet or blue-black. The tones yellow, orange, and red predominate in the florid brunette, and harmonize together by analogy or similarity; but they also harmonize with the black hair and eyes, by contrast; therefore great care and good judgment should be exercised, lest this agreeable group of harmonizing tints should be weakened or destroyed by the use of objectionable colors. On the other hand, it is desirable to seek to neutralize any unpleasant tone in the complexion, caused by too much yellow, which will otherwise give a sallow and unhealthy tinge to the skin. Yellow, maize, or gold color will effect this; because, while they contrast favorably with the color of the hair and eyes, intensifying their richness by the purple tint which this combination forms, they also harmonize, by analogy, with the tints of the complexion, and at the same time sufficiently neutralize any excess of yellow that these tints may exhibit. When the skin shows more orange than yellow, maize or yellow in the dress will enrich the complexion by the increase of red which these colors will develop.

A yellow bonnet is very becoming to the florid brunette; but as it is worn near and surrounds the face, much of its effects must be neutralized by introducing violet, purple, or deep blue as trimmings; they must not come in contact with the face, however, and should be used very sparingly.

Orange is too brilliant and gaudy to be used in dress, except in very small quantities, and the same rule holds good of red, scarlet, bright crimson, magenta, and all brilliant colors of the like class; they, with orange, are suited to some complexions where it is advantageous to neutralize, but they are too bright for general costume. A scarlet head-dress is becoming with dark hair, intensifying it by contrast, and by the purple shade which it adds when worn near black. Dark red, also, is suitable for complexions that have too much red on the cheeks or lips, neutralizing the color of the skin, and reducing it by contrast. Violet is not agreeable, unless its bad effects are controlled or counteracted by the addition of yellow; but the dark shades of violet are less objectionable than the positive color. A violet bonnet may be used with this type of complexion, if trimmed with pale yellow,—primroses, for instance; the flowers being a good contrast to the violet bonnet, and harmonizing well with the skin.

A black bonnet is not as becoming for the brunette as for the blonde; but by using white, red, orange, or yellow trimmings, it is quite pleasing. It enhances the red by reducing the lighter tints of the skin, but it has no power to neutralize any objectionable tint that may exist. White is more favorable than black, and accords well with this complexion. A white bonnet is suitable, if trimmed with red, orange, or yellow; but the yellow should be mingled with white only for evening wear.

In grouping color with color, nothing is more common than to see discordant tints placed together,—purple and green, for instance; and however rich the material or beautiful the wearer, such incongruity is exceedingly distasteful. In arranging colors, it should be borne in mind that there are two kinds of harmony,—the harmony of contrast and the harmony of analogy. When two dissimilar colors are blended agreeably, such as blue and orange, or lilac and cherry, they form a harmony of contrast. Two distant tones of one color, such as very light and very dark blue, associated, harmonize by contrast; but in this latter instance, the harmony is neither so striking nor so perfect. When similar colors, such as orange and scarlet, crimson and crimson-brown, are grouped together, they form a harmony of analogy; and if two or more shades of color, closely approximating in intensity, are associated, they harmonize by analogy.

Harmonies of contrast are more effective, but not more important, than those of analogy. The former are brilliant and decisive, the latter quiet and undemonstrative. Both hold equal positions in matters of dress, and in arranging the colors of the costume be careful to choose the proper species of harmony.

There are two rules to be observed: first, associate with colors favorable to the complexion tints that will harmonize by analogy or similarity, because contrasting colors would diminish and injure its favorable effect; second, if the color selected for the dress is injurious to the complexion, then contrasting color must be associated with it, to neutralize its objectionable influence.

There is much more to be said on the selection of colors for dress, but we must not trespass longer. We hope that, by our having thus called attention to this subject, our readers may find it sufficiently interesting to become familiar with the rules given, and carry the lessons it may have taught into practical use.

We are very largely indebted to “A Manual for Ladies,” by W. and G. Audsley, for much of the information grouped in this and the preceding article.

XXXIX.
A WORD ABOUT MOTHS.

“MOTHS in the winter! Pray don’t speak of them! Some weeks later will be time enough to stir up our minds by way of remembrance. The vexatious little torments! they surely don’t work in winter! And yet I have noticed several little spots, or holes, that looked as if eaten by moths. I am sure they were not there early in the fall: I couldn’t understand it, but was so confident that moths did not do their mischief in winter, that I have been trying to find some other cause for these marks.”

Ah! there was where you were mistaken. There are two kinds of moths,—one a large silver-colored fly; its worm is shaped somewhat like those found in chestnuts. The other was first noticed some eight or ten years since, by the upholsterers. It is smaller, of a brown or dark drab color. It is governed by no times or seasons, but works steadily on, summer and winter. The heat of our city homes or furnace-heated country-houses may promote this uninterrupted activity. The moth or fly, it is said, finds its way into a sofa or chair between the back or seat under the lining, where, among the springs, it finds a safe and convenient hiding-place. They will often secure a home in these secret places within a week of the time that furniture, right from the cabinet-maker’s, has been brought into the house. If they do, they are so enormously prolific that in a month or two they can be numbered by thousands. We cannot but think that when, in a carefully kept house, these moths are found in new furniture, they must have been first introduced through poorly prepared hair or material with which the article was upholstered or the hair, having been wet, was used before it was carefully dried. This theory may be only an imagination of our own but every year’s experience confirms the idea,—upholsterers to the contrary notwithstanding.

It is said that these moths will not eat pure curled hair, but only use it to fasten their cocoons upon, as being secure from any disturbance, through the elasticity of the hair. They use the inside of furniture only for propagation, and here at the same time may be found the fly, the worms, and the eggs. From this concealment the worm escapes, to feed on the plush or woolen materials, or, falling to the floor, feeds on the carpet. Plush being made with cotton back generally, they seldom eat through that, though they do sometimes cut through the muslin backs of sofas, etc. Little protection may be hoped for from the use of cayenne pepper, Scotch snuff, camphor, turpentine, or all other remedies against the large moth. Continual watchfulness is the only safety.

At least once a week the furniture should be moved away from the walls into the middle of the room and well brushed and beaten with a “furniture whip” or braided ratans. After brushing carefully all around the buttons with a furniture button-brush, pull up the material which will lie in loose folds or pleats about the buttons, and hold them up with one hand while you brush off all lint or dust that may have settled in these folds. These are nice little hiding-places for the worm, and must be looked after. As fast as each piece of furniture has been faithfully brushed and whipped, set it into the next room and keep the doors closed.

While cleaning, turn each chair or sofa bottom-side upward and beat the backs and under part of the seats, to dislodge any that may have found shelter inside. When the furniture has received all needed attention, and is removed from the room, give the carpet a thorough cleansing by going over it with a “carpet-sweeper.” Nothing so effectually gathers up the worms or eggs, and the carpet is less worn than when swept with a broom. Of course, in the corners and around the edges, where the “carpet-sweeper” cannot work, you must use a small whisk-broom and dust-pan, and this must be done before going over the main part of the carpet.

In using a “sweeper” be careful to empty it once or twice while going over a large room, pulling out all the strings and hair that may, when gathered up, have twisted around the axle of the circular brush inside the box. If not removed, it will soon obstruct the motion, and its operation be ineffectual. In using a “carpet-sweeper” have everything out of the way of the machine, that you may have a clear surface across the whole length of the room, if possible; hold the handle up nearly straight, so as to bring all the brush underneath in contact with the carpet; press down, and with a firm hand run over the breadth from one end of the room to the other, going by the seam or thread, lengthwise. When at the farther end lift up the box so that it will not touch the carpet, and, turning round, proceed till the whole length of the carpet has been swept; then begin widthwise and proceed in the same manner, only be careful to run straight. If the “sweeper” is turned round while resting on the floor, the dirt is apt to drop out in rolls by the process of turning. It requires a little experience and good judgment to use a “carpet-sweeper” judiciously; but once understand it and you will not willingly be without one. When this work is done, empty all the dirt from the “sweeper” and comb the rolling-brush with a coarse or “fringe-comb.”

But to return to the moths. If they get inside your furniture, they may be destroyed by taking off the muslin under the seats, the outside ends, and the backs, where they most naturally seek privacy. If this must be done, take each piece out to the yard or on a back veranda, after you have removed the lining; spread down an old sheet and set the furniture on it, and beat with a stick to dislodge the moths. Watch for the flies and worms that you have routed, and kill them as fast as they are seen. If you do not succeed in killing all of them, by a repetition of this operation a few times they will be disturbed and leave the furniture, as they seek to be left in quiet. If they attack the carpet they generally begin under the sofas and chairs or on the edges of the carpet in the corners of the room. In this case, as soon as you find the first intimation of their ill-omened presence, spread a wet sheet on the carpet, and pass a hot flat-iron over quickly; keep a number of irons heating and change often. The heat and steam will destroy both worm and egg.

But do not let this success beguile you into any remissness. They can “creep slyly through a tiny space,” and in a few weeks, if they find you sleeping on your post, will effect an entrance, and will have increased and multiplied until the last state of that furniture will be worse than the first.

XL.
WINTER BUTTER.

MUCH has been said and written on making winter butter. Our papers bring daily complaints of the article as sold in our markets, and furnish us with many elaborate directions how to overcome an evil which can no longer be meekly endured.

In large butter factories, with every facility for preserving uniform temperature, it is not easy to accept any excuse for poor butter, summer or winter; but when butter is only made in small quantities, simply for family consumption, and at a time when the cows are giving much less milk than in the summer and fall, there is a necessity for more care and labor in securing good butter than when we can furnish green pastures and fresh food for the cows. Still we all expect, and should be willing to accept, more discomforts in our winter’s labors than we find in warm weather. Aside from these considerations we fail to see any insurmountable difficulty in securing good sweet butter in the winter. Of course we do not look for yellow butter at this season of the year, and when we see it we distrust its purity; but the golden color, though desirable, as a pleasure to the eye, is not an essential. For years we made a large portion of our own butter from only one cow, with but a few conveniences, and with very limited accommodations to aid us in the work; but we never had bitter butter, and have never found a good reason why any one should be compelled to suffer from that infliction.

In the first place, a great deal depends on having pure, clear milk to start with, and to secure that we think a warm, clean shelter and good food should be provided for the animals. Aside from good hay, free from mustiness, they should have as large a supply of roots—beets, pumpkins, carrots, or potatoes, whichever is the most convenient, or some of all—as you can furnish; but whatever is given should be entirely free from decay, if you would have a healthy cow and pure milk.

The milk will receive no unnatural flavor from any or all of these roots; but no skill can conceal the use of cabbages or turnips, however small the quantity. We know many affirm that they invariably give them to their milch cows and perceive no disagreeable taste in the milk from their use. Judging from much of the butter found in our markets, we can easily believe that cabbages and turnips were lavishly fed to the cows from whose milk the butter was made; and how any one can fail to notice the unpleasant flavor given by such food we cannot understand. Still, we will not quarrel with those who choose to use these esculents so long as our cows are not fed with them and we are not obliged to eat the butter.

Warm food, at least once a day, is not only good for the animal, but insures a better quality and larger quantity of milk and butter. It is very little trouble to put a large kettle over the stove or range early in the morning, and boil such small potatoes as are not nice for table use, or a few carrots, together with all the parings of potatoes or the rind of pumpkins left from cooking. When they have become soft, mash with a long-handled masher, such as any boy of ten has sufficient skill to make; then thicken the water in which they were boiled with a few handfuls of “shorts” or coarse barley or oatmeal; corn meal will decrease the quantity of milk and fatten the cow. Give your cows a generous feed of this mush once a day at least, and they will amply repay your care by increasing and enriching the supply of milk.

With your cows thus fed, kept dry and warm, well cleaned and curried,—for a cow needs that care as much as a horse,—you will have good milk, and from it cream which, with proper care, can be as readily made into good butter in winter as in summer.

Now as to “proper care,” we speak only of private families who have but one or two cows. If your milk-room is in the cellar, it should be entirely separated from the vegetable cellar, and used for nothing that can impart any flavor to the milk, either meats, roots, sauces, or fluids. If it is well cemented and banked up, so as to prevent freezing, you will have very little trouble in keeping the milk warm enough for the cream to begin to rise quickly. Of course you will pour boiling water into the pans, and have them well heated before straining the milk into them. If you have on hand two sizes of pans, fill the larger one third full of boiling water, then strain the milk into a smaller pan, filling it not half full, and set it into the hot water; turn another pan over the top, but not close enough to exclude all air. By so doing you will find that the cream will rise more rapidly and can be more easily churned. When one has but little milk, this is not much trouble.

If you have no cellar that can be kept warm and free from the smell of vegetables, set your milk on a shelf, in a warm closet, where, of course, you will keep no vegetables or meats, as nothing is so easily impregnated with odors of all kinds as milk. Cover the pans or bowls with a fine net, to exclude dust or motes of any kind.

Thirty-six hours is as long as milk should remain unskimmed, summer or winter. Every hour longer, even though the milk may taste sweet, is insuring bitter butter. As you skim off the cream, stir it well each time. The cream should not be in the cream-pot longer than two days before churning. Three days may give you moderately good butter, but it is a very doubtful experiment.

“But how can we churn every two days when we do not gather more than a quart of cream in that time? It would be lost in our churn; we could do nothing with it.”

Take it into a large bowl, and beat or stir it steadily with a silver or wooden spoon. It will take you no longer than to churn in the regular manner, and you will secure a nice roll of sweet butter. But a better, because an easier and more convenient way, is to buy a tall one-gallon stone jar, and get a carpenter to turn you a handle; put on two cross-pieces at the bottom, full of holes; or a circle small enough to go into the jar; pierce this circle with holes as large as a thimble; another circle for a cover, just to fit the top of the jar, with a hole in the center that will slip over the handle, and you have a nice churn, dasher and all. Now put on your large apron, lay a book on the table before you, take your little churn in your lap or on a bench by your side, and read, churn, and rock the cradle if need be (reading and rocking the cradle are not essential, but are very pleasant additions). In fifteen minutes’ steady churning you will find the butter has come, and can be brought together in this tiny churn as nicely as you can desire. If you can’t get at a carpenter, ask your husband or son to do it; or, failing there, haven’t you mechanical skill sufficient to make a dasher and fit it to a stone jar yourself? A piece of a broom-stick, scoured and polished with sand-paper (or if you have no sand-paper scrape it clean and smooth with a bit of glass); two cross-pieces full of holes, screwed on to the bottom of the stick; a round piece fitted into the top of the jar for cover,—you can whittle it smooth, can you not?—with a hole for the handle to pass through, and you have just as serviceable a churn as any carpenter could make you, only, perhaps, lacking a little in the finish a carpenter might have given.

Now, as to the working of the butter: some say, wash it faithfully; others insist that no water should come in contact with the butter. If you have strength and skill enough to work out all the buttermilk with a ladle, or a hand cool and firm enough to toss it from one hand to the other, giving quick, skillful blows as it passes, so that every drop of buttermilk may be beaten out, then we say, never wash the butter. But although you do, and by washing must lose some of the rich flavor our mother’s butter used to have, before there were any “modern improvements,” still, better so than not secure entire freedom from buttermilk. If any remains, you cannot have butter that will keep sweet one week.

Take the butter from the churn into a wooden bowl that has been well scalded, and then soaked and cooled in cold water, and with the ladle press out all the buttermilk you can; this done, throw a handful of salt into three or four quarts of cold water, and wash the butter quickly and thoroughly with it; the salt causes the buttermilk to flow off more readily; pour off the salt-water, and wash again with clear cold water till it runs clear, drain off and sprinkle over the butter what salt it requires to suit your own taste. There is such a variety of tastes, that the exact quantity of salt cannot be easily given. We use a table-spoonful of salt to a pound of butter. Press the butter into a compact form, after working in the salt, cover over with a clean cloth, and set it away to harden. The next morning break up and work it over once more; make into neat rolls or prints, put it into a stone pot, and cover with brine strong enough to bear up an egg. Try this and see if you cannot have good butter in winter.

XLI.
REPAIRS.

“The mother, wi’ her needle an’ her shears,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new.”

A FRIEND writes: “I have been much interested in the Grand Patching and Darning Exhibition; but my husband is rather skeptical as to any great good resulting from it. He seems to think it a waste of time to do this work with such particularity, and doubts if, in these days of plenty, women will find it necessary to patch, piece, and darn so elaborately. I reply, that probably a large portion of those who have seen or read of this work may never be called upon to do it; yet we know that there are many, very many who are, and will be, compelled to economize material, though at the loss of time; and therefore I think this exhibition will prove a good thing, if it should lead to a more thorough knowledge of the way to do this work well. How much more respectable and comfortable the poorer classes could be made, if the wife and mother understood how to piece, patch, and darn neatly, and so contrive that the smallest scrap could be used to good advantage and present an attractive appearance. I wish you would give us a talk on this subject.”

So much has been said, and well said, since this Exhibition was first planned, that a word from us may seem quite superfluous. A motherly care for our “Household,” however, tempts us to venture, though we do not intend to weary our readers with many words. Every point has already been ably discussed, and we can furnish nothing new.

Possibly, many of those who have read about this “Darning and Patching” have turned away, saying, “Thank fortune! I shall never need to employ myself about such work; I should feel that I was spending my time foolishly.” Would the time spent in perfecting yourself in this accomplishment be more wasted, think you, than that which you give daily to crocheting and embroidering a host of things unlike aught in heaven above, the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth? And yet, the time spent in fancy work has taught you little that you could turn to practical use, should reverses befall you,—and who is secured against reverses? Fortune is fickle, and policies taken out in her insurance companies are not reliable.

We would not speak slightingly of many kinds of really elegant fancy articles and ornaments which women’s skill has wrought. If you have the time to spare, then, “these ought ye to have done, but not to leave the other undone.” Should disaster come, and any of us be compelled to “rise up early, and sit up late, and eat the bread of carefulness,”—to plan and turn and contrive, using all the skill we possess to “gar auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new,”—how thankful we should be that in our younger and more prosperous days we had been taught this art, and by it were now able to carry with us into our altered circumstances a power to bring light out of darkness. If one knows how to renovate and remodel, there is far more genuine pleasure in using the knowledge to construct new out of old, than can possibly be gained while shopping on the most extravagant scale. To walk into a store with a full purse, and buy, without stint, whatever the eye covets; to send the material to the dress-maker, and have it made and brought home without any effort on our part, is a tame enjoyment compared with contriving the dress from a scanty pattern, or from odd bits and ends. We weary of that which costs us no toil or thought; the charm soon vanishes, and we seek for something new.

Now, suppose you examine a dress that has done good service. It is somewhat spotted and a good deal soiled; but you say, “It is so pretty and becoming, I shall feel like losing an old friend if I throw it aside; what can I do to renew its beauty?” If the material is silk or woolen, even of the most delicate colors, you can very easily clean it without fading. After ripping it with care, prepare equal parts of alcohol, soft soap, and molasses. Half a pint of each will clean a silk dress, unless you have wasted twenty-five or thirty yards on one dress; in that case you will need a larger quantity of the preparation. Have near you two small tubs or pails of water, one warm, the other cool, unless the material is woolen, when you should use hot water for both. Spread one piece of the dress at a time on to an ironing-sheet; dip a clean sponge into this very dirty-looking, but very effective wash; rub each spot separately till you have cleansed it; then, keeping the sponge wet, go over the whole piece, wetting it thoroughly, and carefully removing the dirt and spots. When satisfied that you have done your best, rinse the piece faithfully in the first water; do not wring it, but hold it up and let it drain a moment; then shake and snap vigorously, to remove as much water as you can. Put it through the second water in the same manner; snap as dry as you can, at least so that it will not drip; spread smoothly on the ironing-sheet, and iron quickly. Be careful to iron by a thread, and iron till perfectly dry. Have your irons as hot as you can use without scorching. If the material is the same on both sides, iron on that which was first used as the outside of the dress, but make it up inside out.

This preparation is such a vile, dirty-looking compound, one would suppose it would ruin anything touched by it. Not so at all. We have cleaned the most delicate silks and ribbons,—blues, violets, pinks, and greens,—and have never failed to secure a very good renovation of the materials, without changing or weakening the color, or leaving the harsh, stiff crackle on the silk which washing usually gives.

Having cleansed the dress, now, suppose you see how much ingenuity you can display in remodeling it. Change the gathers or pleats, that the most wear may fall on stronger spots; alter the position of trimming to hide some weak place, or improvise something to suit the exigencies of the case. If cracked or much worn at top and bottom, cut off all that must go; then cut the upper part of the skirt off from the bottom, about as high up as you wish your trimming to go, and set in a piece of lining or paper muslin, to supply the length of what you have cut away from the broken parts of the skirt. Over this “sham” lay the fold, puff, ruffle, or flounce you have prepared for trimming. It is good economy, we think, to buy a large pattern when you get a new dress, that there may be some left for repairs, at least for new sleeves and waist; but if you have none, piece,—piece very neatly, of course; and with ribbon, silk, or velvet, of a color to contrast, or harmonize with the dress, form your trimmings.

By skill, a garment may be so entirely metamorphosed, that your “dearest and best” will compliment you on your new dress. The only good thing about the present style of overskirts, flounces, paniers, bows, and every conceivable and inconceivable shape of trimming, is, that it is a wonderful help in making old things new.

Some time since, we noticed that a young friend, who is generally remarkably neat and simple in her taste, was rather more elaborately dressed than usual. We honestly complimented her on the pretty silk, the fine fit, and very becoming color.

“But I see,” said she, “you refrain from a word of commendation for my trimmings. They don’t suit your taste, I know, my friend, and pray don’t think that they are in exact accordance with my own. Let me tell you a secret. Every bow, band, strap, fold, and frill hides a piece set in or a hole mended.”

In the midst of a large company, there was not a lady that appeared more genteelly or better dressed than our friend. If there were more like this modestly independent and industrious girl, we should hear very little of the talk, so common nowadays, that young men are unable to marry, because the young ladies are so extravagant.

XLII.
ACCURATE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES IN COOKING.

YOUNG housekeepers very often complain that, notwithstanding their most earnest efforts to work in strict accordance with given rules or receipts, their failures are more frequent than their successes. They admit that sometimes their work proves satisfactory, but ask, “Why should it not always be so?”

The difference in the results of their various trials can only be attributed to the method and accuracy, or to the haste and carelessness, with which their labor is performed. Unless there was some fault in the materials, some difference in the quality, arising from change between the successive trials, or the oven and fire were not properly regulated, there can be no reason for the failure, except the fact that the receipts and rules were not always strictly followed.

“But,” say they, “we used to see our mothers throw the materials together, apparently without thought, and we have often seen others set about the work of making cake, pies, or bread with such an easy, nonchalant air that, to our inexperienced eyes, it was perfectly marvelous that any good results could possibly follow; yet the article would come from the oven in all respects perfect. Time after time we have seen this done, and the work always blessed with a satisfactory termination; but if we attempt that mode of labor, the most disastrous and mortifying consequences are sure to rise up against us. Why is this?”

Simply because you are attempting to walk before you have learned to creep, and naturally get some sore falls by the premature attempt. It is only when accustomed to this labor by long years of constant practice, so that it is done almost by instinct, that any one should venture to deviate from strict observance of well-established rules. But there are very few, comparatively, of the most accomplished and mature housekeepers who attempt this free-and-easy way of cooking; or if, in some emergency requiring haste, they are driven to it, they will assure you that they seldom succeed so perfectly as they would have done had they weighed and measured with their usual care and precision. Occasionally we find a few natural-born cooks, with “a law unto themselves,” just as we find persons who have a natural gift for dress-making and millinery, whose work, performed instinctively, equals any French modiste’s. But such cases are rare, and, we are inclined to think, undesirable, except for one’s own ease. Where there are young girls about, either in the family or among friends, who may be obliged to look to you for instruction, you would find it very difficult and embarrassing, had you that gift, to attempt to teach or put into words anything which you are able to do so entirely by intuition. Even in your own mind, you would find yourself at a loss how to frame a definite rule or receipt for doing it. Your hands seem to perform it independently of your head. Let some of these gifted ones attempt to write out a receipt which a beginner could easily follow, and they would make much more awkward work of it than you do in your efforts to work without a definite rule.

“But even when we do proceed in exact accordance with the receipts, we often fail.”

Are you sure you are exact? We think not. It requires some little experience to be able to weigh and measure correctly, and we have often noticed that it is the lack of this experience which causes failure in most young housekeepers. If it lacks “only a little” of being full weight, or is “only a little” too much, are you not very likely to say, “O, it’s quite near enough; such slight difference can’t matter, and I am in a hurry”?

“Only a little thing” has done much harm in almost every department of life,—a mischief that is often irremediable. If there is only a little too much flour, your bread or cake will be solid; not heavy, perhaps, but lacking that light, tender state which is so desirable. Or, if only a little less than the proper measure is used, it will “fall” from the crust, and come upon your table flat and sodden.

A pair of scales and accurate measures are the only safe reliance, but these are not always to be found in every family. It is, therefore, very desirable to have always at hand a table of correct measures. Indeed, when the table is perfect, it is much more convenient and easier to prepare the proper proportions by measuring than by weighing, only one must use care and judgment to allow for any extraordinary moisture in the articles, as it would affect a measure more than scales. It is always better to put flour, meal, sugar, etc., near the fire to dry before measuring.

A table of measures, plainly printed in good-sized type, should be hung over the table or on the wall in every kitchen.

We close with a convenient table of liquid and dry measure:—

Liquid.

60 drops | = 1 teaspoonful.
2 teaspoonfuls | = 1 table-spoonful.
4 table-spoonfuls | = 1 half-gill.
8 ” | = 1 gill.
2 gills | = 1 tumblerful or half-pint.
2 tumblerfuls | = 1 pint.
2 pints | = 1 quart.
4 quarts | = 1 gallon.

Dry.

2 even teaspoonfuls | = 1 even table-spoonful.
4” table-spoonfuls | = 1 ounce.
8” ” | = 1 gill.
2 gills | = 1 tumblerful or half-pint.
2 tumblerfuls | = 1 pint.
2 pints | = 1 quart.
1 heaped q’t sifted flour | }= about 1 pound.
1” ”sugar
1 even q’t softened butter
1 pint of water | = 1 pound.
10 eggs | = about 1 pound.

XLIII.
TEACHING LITTLE GIRLS TO SEW.

“YES, I suppose I shall be obliged to teach my little girl to sew, some time; but I am very thankful that I have some years yet before I need take up this cross. I supply her with bits of cloth, needles, thread, and scissors, and let her amuse herself with an attempt at sewing; but how I dread the time when I must begin in earnest, and try to teach her the proper way! I sometimes hope that by letting her botch and play sewing, by and by, as she sees me making even seams, and taking small stitches, she will, by imitation and observation, gradually learn, without much effort on my part. Do you not think that she may?”

Never. No doubt some children learn with much less effort than others; but by letting your little girl “play sewing,”—botching as you term it,—you only connive at her acquiring a careless habit which she will not easily exchange for straight seams and tiny stitches.

“Would you advise me to keep thread and needles and cloth from her, and endeavor to interest her in some other play, till such time as I am compelled to teach her how to use them properly?”

No; why should you debar her from such innocent amusements? Why not begin at once to teach her how to do a thing right, even when in play?

“Teach that baby! What can she learn at her age?”

Can she not thread her needle?

“Certainly; quite expertly.”

And can she not push her needle in and out of the cloth?

“O yes; for a baby, she shows quite a genius for this quiet kind of womanly accomplishment.”

Then you see she can learn something, notwithstanding her youth. How much more maturity or skill, think you, will it require for her to learn, by a few well-directed efforts on your part, how to put the needle in at proper distances, taking up only just so many threads for a stitch?

“Why, she is only a baby; but little past three years. Teach her! How preposterous! You must be—”

Growing imbecile, you think. Very likely; but these ideas are no indication of it. They are good, solid common-sense, we think; such as our mothers and grandmothers acted upon, in the olden times, when early teaching and genuine industry were fashionable; when there were more busy bees to “improve each shining hour” of childhood; when these first years, which were then passed in “books and work and healthful play,” were a thousand times more childlike and happier than our days of modern improvement. Now, the toddling wee things are carried in the nurses’ arms to infant parties, dressed and flounced and frizzed, until every vestige of simple childhood is lost in their painfully ludicrous efforts to imitate their more foolish elders,—kept up far beyond a healthful bedtime, and fed with food injurious even to mature stomachs, but ruinous to a child’s digestion. Ah, dear little woman! will it be a harder task, requiring more skill and patience, to take your little girl on your lap, ten or fifteen minutes every day, and show her how to hold and use the needle; taking the warm, soft, innocent little hands, with loving caresses, into yours, and guiding the tiny fingers, until at last she learns to put the needle through the cloth, at proper distances, unaided; will this be harder or more tiresome than to dress and worry over your little one till she is drilled in dancing, taught to bow and curtesy, and gracefully accept her baby partner’s hand in the dance? Will it give you no pain to see the first development of envy, jealousy, and ill temper forced into active growth under such training? Compare this toil and responsibility with the soft and loving prattle of your little girl, as she nestles in your lap, and, with merry laugh, watches the bright needle go to and fro; and when at last she masters one stitch, and you pronounce it well done, will not her shout of triumph repay the teacher’s trouble? Will it any longer be a work to dread? On the contrary, will you not look forward to that daily lesson as the sweetest duty of the day?

“All this sounds very pretty; but when we come to the reality,—the big stitches, the long stitches, the puckers and gathers, the mistakes and vexatious carelessness,—how many yards of cloth will be wasted before one inch of decent sewing can be accomplished by a little child?”

Not one. Cut out a little block of patchwork. Tell the child that she may make a quilt for her doll’s bed just as soon as she can do it well. Use pretty, bright colors. Take her on your lap, and show her how a stitch must be taken, making merry, gentle speeches to her as the work goes on. “See, pet, you must take up two of these threads on that side, and put your needle through two more on the other side, then pull the needle through; that’s one stitch; mamma did that. Now let’s see the little girl take one just like it. No, no; let mamma hold your hand steady. There, that’s right. Now you may try again. See, you have taken up a leetle too much on that side. We’ll just pull that out, I think, and try again. It was pretty well, but a little bit longer than the last, and I guess Dolly won’t quite like it; so we’ll pull it out, and be very careful next time. There, that’s my little woman! You have made three nice stitches, and we will put up the sewing now, and run out doors to play. When papa comes home, mamma will have to show these pretty stitches, and he will be very much pleased.” In this way, it will not be many weeks before the square for Dolly’s small bed will be finished, and you will say, “My little daughter has done it so very nicely, I think we will have to make another, and piece the two together to make a bigger quilt.” Before a year passes, we are sure you will have a quilt large enough for your little girl’s own bed, every stitch well done, and both mother and child drawn closer together and made happier by each day’s lessons. It is, we think, a great mistake while teaching a child to sew, to pass over very poor work, simply because you think after awhile she will learn to do better; and you will throw the few early attempts aside, rather than be at the trouble of picking out imperfect stitches. Only a half-inch, or three or four stitches a day, well done, is a great gain. Be gentle, but very firm. Do not drill the child till it becomes weary, and will shrink from a second trial; but yet, let it be well understood that every stitch must be perfect before it will be accepted, and then be lavish of praise when the effort is successful. Do not destroy the child’s first work, thus carefully done. It will give you much pleasure when your daughter has become a woman, and be invaluable to her as an evidence of your faithful teachings when you are forever hid from her eyes.

XLIV.
THE CARE OF POULTRY.

WE make no pretense to any great skill or experience in raising poultry, and may not be able to furnish satisfactory answers to questions which have been sent by some of our readers who appear wellnigh discouraged by repeated failures; but we venture a few suggestions which, if acted upon, will, we think, in part at least, overcome some portion of their difficulties and perplexities, and may be acceptable to others in their first attempt.

The agricultural papers are filled with descriptions and recommendations of many fanciful, and, no doubt, very excellent, heneries and poultry-yards. We have very little acquaintance, however, with these modern improvements. The few we have seen do not excite our enthusiasm, and we cannot see that the income or gain in any degree compensates for the extra expenditure. We do not learn that Nero’s horses were much benefited when fed on golden oats and shod with shoes of the same precious metal; nor do we believe hens sheltered in sumptuous palaces will be more productive than our Leghorns and Cochins. But each one has a right to his own peculiar fancies; we are speaking now to those who have not yet found time or means to build fancy heneries, but content themselves with more simple arrangements.

We think it important, if possible, to have a good yard and commodious hen-house, in which laying, setting, and roosting apartments can be kept separate. These conveniences cannot always be secured as ample and pleasant as is desirable; but however simple the accommodations may be, it is indispensable that the building be kept scrupulously clean if you would insure success. The roost requires the most care. It should be swept out once a week, the poles and sides being well brushed off with a stiff broom, and the loose feathers and droppings from under the poles collected in barrels, removed from the hen-house, and kept dry. It is an excellent manure or guano, and very valuable when well composted.

The same care is needed in the laying and setting rooms. It is wise, once a week, to take all the straw from the nests, brush the boxes out clean, and replenish with fresh straw. A little ashes or a few bits of charcoal put under the straw helps to keep the nests sweet. The old straw and filth should be put on the compost heap. In the setting apartment the nests must not be disturbed till the eggs are all hatched, and the little chicks, with their mother, removed. Then the box must be emptied, well washed, dried, and whitewashed, ready for a new occupant.

It takes time and some trouble to keep the hen-house and yard always clean; but it well repays the trouble, and, if well done every week, will really take less time than to have a grand clearing up once or twice a year. These clearing days in dwellings or outbuildings are great nuisances and torments, making every one cross and uncomfortable; but if in each department it is understood that everything must always be put into its appropriate place, and that once a week the whole is to be tidied up, the most careless, if once tempted to try the experiment, would be astonished at the increased ease of the labor, and the pleasure would certainly be fourfold.

Every fall and spring and once at least during the summer the birds should all be turned out of the house and yard, that the inside of the building may be well smoked with sulphur, and then thoroughly whitewashed, to secure the destruction of the vermin and the good health of the occupants. A day should be selected when no hens are sitting, and then some charcoal must be kindled in an old tin or pan kept for the purpose in each compartment, and some bits of sulphur sprinkled over the coals when well burning. This done, shut the doors and windows tightly, and leave the sulphur to burn out, which it will do in a few hours; then throw open the doors and windows and let in the air. After this, every part must be well whitewashed, filling all cracks, holes, or corners with the wash,—particularly the nests or boxes for the laying and sitting hens. Sprinkle a few small bits of charcoal in the nests, when dry, to keep them sweet; fill them with fresh straw, and recall the fowls to their clean home.

A box or bin of wood-ashes should be placed in one corner of the roosting apartment, and kept always filled, and free from filth, for poultry to roll in and free themselves from vermin as far as possible.

The roost should be made so that the poles can be raised or let down at pleasure. In the winter, have the poles raised as high as may be, as the heat ascends, and the fowls need as warm a place as possible for winter. In summer, lower the roost, that they may sleep where the air circulates freely. If possible, provide a good roomy yard back of the hen-house, where the hens may have ample space to range. Plums do well in such yards, and the hens do much toward destroying the curculio. Old pans or wooden troughs filled with water must be kept in the yard, that the hens may have drink at all times. If you have plenty of skim-milk or buttermilk, they will be grateful for all you can spare, and show their gratitude by the increase of their daily offerings.

Heaps of old plaster or oyster-shells must be kept in different parts of the yard; if part of the shells can be burned and pounded, it will be better. Any slops from the house will be of great benefit; and if no pigs are kept, everything that is thrown into the “swill-pail,” not salt, can be used to advantage. Keep all water in which potatoes and vegetables are boiled; throw their parings or skins into it, and after each meal put in all refuse bits, bring this water to a boil, stir in a handful or two of coarse meal, and in winter feed it to the hens warm, and you will find it very acceptable and profitable. Every scrap of fresh meat, soup bones, but no salt meat, will do them good. If near a butcher’s shop, he will sell you for a few pennies, or give you, the “lights” or the head of one of the animals. Chop it up and throw it into the poultry-yard. Worms and grasshoppers will help them through the summer months; but they must have something in the way of fresh meat in winter. Every morning and evening scatter cracked or whole corn about the yard in a clean place. In picking it up, they will take with it a little gravel, which is very necessary to keep them healthy.

In many cases it is not convenient or thought necessary to provide a hen-house and yard, all the poultry being allowed to roam at will over the premises. A little care will train them to keep from doing any great mischief in the gardens; but you must not expect too much; if you have grapes, currants, or small fruit, these will be too tempting for a hen’s nature to resist, and, in the end, it will be found to be worth considerable sacrifice of time and money to place them out of the reach of temptation. Besides, if they are allowed to roam, you cannot track their nests at all times, and you will be left without an egg in the house when most needed. With very little care, and by selecting the best and most reliable breeds, this need never happen where hens are kept in an inclosure and with a suitable house. The pure Leghorns molt but six weeks in the year,—in November and December. If they bring out their broods the first of April, the pullets will begin to lay in October, just as their mothers begin to molt. If hatched in August or early September, they will lay by the first of April; so that part of the hens will be laying all the time. Some people kill off their hens as soon as the pullets begin to lay, thus having no molting fowls on their premises; but we think this foolish. The second year’s eggs are usually larger, and a hen may be kept profitably for three or four years. Our own experiments lead us to think the White Leghorns and Cochins the best layers.

XLV.
INSTITUTIONS FOR THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN.

VASSAR is, we think, the first college for women ever established. The liberal provision for its maintenance, in accordance with the wishes of the founder,—the chapel, library, cabinet, recitation-rooms; the houses for the professors; the dormitories for the students; the dining-hall and kitchen; the laundry and the bakehouse,—every needed accommodation, are all completed in the most approved manner. The whole is heated by steam, and lighted by gas. Here physical culture receives all the care that modern science and experience can give. A floral garden is managed by the young ladies. Gymnastic exercises, horseback riding, driving, boating, or skating have their full share of encouragement and attention. The whole establishment and its arrangements are most excellent, securing a suitable amount of exercise to insure good health, and also clear heads for the hours devoted to study.

But in this generous provision for accomplishments for our young daughters, and thorough training in all healthful exercise, there seems to have been one department entirely overlooked, which certainly demands a large share of attention, and where, we think, faithful instruction in the rudiments should, in connection with other departments, begin in the earliest and most simple lessons, with the full understanding that it must go hand in hand with other branches through the whole course. We mean a full and most thorough instruction in all that belongs to domestic economy and household lore.

The preparatory instruction and full collegiate course, in a girl’s education, should embrace more years than are thought necessary to prepare a boy to graduate and enter upon the duties of manhood, because we are sure our girls’ minds are overburdened by an attempt to crowd too many studies into each year, thus keeping them constantly hurried and overtaxed. They have many things to do while in school that boys are not expected to do, or, at any rate, which they never undertake. No young lady, we trust, would sit down to her studies, in the morning, until her room was neatly put in order. Many little touches are needed to secure this, which they cannot depend upon a chamber or parlor maid to do well, and which it would not be consistent with womanly neatness to leave undone. Then a girl has her wardrobe to watch over; rips to mend, buttons to replace, and numerous other things which a boy has done for him or leaves undone. In girlhood as in later life, woman’s duties are more complex and varied than man’s. There are so many little things, insignificant in themselves, but of wonderful importance, in that skillful combination which must be woven together to make the perfect whole in a woman’s character, that it is unsafe to skim lightly over any. Some items appear very trifling and unimportant, when not viewed as connecting links, without whose aid the whole noble structure must be incomplete.

No one can tell, while the process of constructing and perfecting is going on, through what deep and stormy waters the precious bark, once launched, may be compelled to force its way. Therefore it is wise, in laying the foundations, to be sure that no timber, screw, or rivet, however insignificant it may seem at the time, has been discarded or insecurely fastened.

Even if it could be guaranteed that most of the young ladies who graduate from our excellent seminaries would never be placed in a position where they might find it convenient, if not necessary, to labor to secure home comforts, or prepare food for husband or children, yet there is no place free from care, where it would not be more conducive to comfort and happiness for the mistress, not only to know thoroughly what was proper to be done about the house, but also to know how to do it herself, should it ever be necessary. To know how to do it well will do no harm; not knowing how may sometimes subject one to great discomfort and mortification.

We once called on a lady of great wealth. Her establishment and style of living demanded a large retinue of servants, who received the highest wages. There had just been some disturbance among her servants. The cook, receiving forty dollars a month, imagined that her subordinate in the kitchen did not render her the proper assistance. She, the sub-cook, was quite above such service as was exacted. Neither would yield, and both left. The waitress, laundress, and nurse had been nursing a feud for some time, which only needed this explosion in the kitchen and the atmosphere it engendered to develop the final catastrophe. The noise and smoke of the battle had but just subsided when we rang the bell, which was answered by the lady herself with a laughing, happy face, in no wise ruffled by this unusual state of things. After our errand was done, she was led by it to tell us a merry story of the day’s experience.

“And what will you do now?”

“O, I have sent my dressing-maid to the nursery, sent the seamstress to look for others to replace the deserters, and the coachman to market. I will attend the door till they return, and then I mean to surprise my husband on his return with a dinner of my own cooking. Mother used to let me play cook sometimes when I was young. She thought every girl should at least know how to get a dinner. I learned a good deal then which I think I have not forgotten, and I owe it to her that this little disturbance, the first I have had, doesn’t trouble me at all.”

To be sure, those who keep but one or two servants will think that she had but little to disturb her while a dressing-maid, seamstress, and coachman were on hand. But we think those who keep the greatest number of servants are the most to be pitied, and when changes come it requires much patience and some skill to rearrange those who remain, if one extra step is demanded of them.

We know two little girls whose mother is training them to meet such inconvenient changes when they are women, in the same independent spirit. They have a large-sized toy cooking-stove, but one in which they can make real pies, as the little ladies say, and real bread and real cake can be made on it, though of lilliputian size. The stove is kept in mother’s room, the pipe passing into the nursery flue. They have a little molding-board and rolling-pin, and all needed implements on a small scale, and no richer reward can be given than to be allowed to bake a cake, or something of their own making, to be placed on the family table. Of course they work under mother’s eye and by her instructions, and in later years these little girls will thank their mother for this early teaching.

This playing cook is an easy and pleasant way of teaching little girls the first lessons, and if, as in other days, they were fully taught at home the very important accomplishment of housekeeping by their mothers, there would be no necessity for a union of domestic and intellectual institutions in our schools and seminaries; but, unfortunately, very few, comparatively, of the mothers of the present day have health to teach their daughters as thoroughly as would be satisfactory or available; or, if health be given, the disposition to devote their time and attention to the matter is wanting. For this reason we see no better way than to have this part of our girls’ education incorporated, if possible, with the other branches taught in schools and colleges, so that sewing, sweeping, washing, and cooking—all minutiæ of household knowledge—may be as fully taught as reading, writing, or the so-called higher studies; or, if this union is not possible, at least the domestic education might be made a supplementary course,—the scholars understanding that no one can “graduate” until she has passed through that department.

We fear the good old times of mother-teaching will not very soon be revived, and our idea of uniting this important part of woman’s education with that which is thought higher and more intellectual arose from the impression that, if not in some way instructed in home duties, our girls in the course of four or five years of sedentary life would acquire a distaste for more active employment, or, having destroyed their health by injurious and long-continued application, would be utterly incapacitated for it.

We offer these suggestions in the hope that the attention of some of our progressive spirits may be called to this subject with more effective earnestness than has been shown.

XLVI.
GREAT MISTAKES.

WHEN the weather becomes so warm that furnaces and large fires can be dispensed with, the regular “spring cleaning” is usually commenced in earnest. Until then, the most perfect housekeeper cannot prevent the accumulation of ashes or fine dust, which, ascending from the furnace or stove below with each morning’s renewal, will find a lodgment in carpets and furniture, and can be fully removed only by a longer process than can be given weekly. Were it not that the carpets and furniture would be utterly ruined by the insensible deposit of dust and ashes in the winter, and by flies, spiders, damps, and mold of the summer, which by fall have been too much for the most vigilant care, the great domestic terror over which gentlemen so pathetically lament—a general “house-cleaning”—could easily be dispensed with. Without those special troubles, we could get along, by good management, with but very little general disturbance of the regular routine of household cares, and no derangement of family comfort but what the most fastidious could patiently and cheerfully submit to.

The last touch to the perfect purification of the house, in the estimation of many notable housekeepers, is to have the fireplace or grate brightly polished, and the bricks on the back and sides either whitewashed or painted (slate, drab, or some neutral color), and this once satisfactorily accomplished, they are very sensitive if any wish is expressed to have a fire kindled again before fall, preferring to risk fevers or any of the malarial troubles so likely to result from damp or cool nights and mornings, rather than see their clean, nicely painted grates blackened by the action of fire.

Now, we cannot but think this is a great mistake. So much sickness and suffering may, we are convinced, be prevented by kindling a small fire every night and morning, that all pleasure in the beauty of fresh, pretty-colored grates and fireplaces is lost in the knowledge of the price paid for it. A well blackened grate has more attractions for us, as it speaks of dry rooms, rosy cheeks, and good health, whereas unused and spotless bricks tell of rheumatism, chills and fever, and pale, sallow faces.

We first learned the great importance of these morning and evening fires at the West, and should have been thankful to have learned it by an easier way than through the rough school of experience. What was a good theory and better practice in the new Western life is equally beneficial in any locality where cool nights and mornings precede and follow each day, or where sudden changes from dry to damp or rainy weather may be expected. It is not at all necessary or wise in warm weather to build large fires that will heat a room. Only so much is needed as will suffice to dispel the chill damp of the atmosphere, of which one is usually conscious on entering a room early in the morning or soon after nightfall. A few sticks of light wood or a small fagot of brush will suffice. In the city it is not always easy to find material for this purpose; but in the country, whether in an old place or new, there is no difficulty, and no excuse for neglect. Small sticks, and any quantity of brush, from constantly needed repairs or pruning, are always scattered about, which, if not daily gathered up, will soon accumulate, till heaps of unsightly rubbish will meet the eye at every turn. If only for the sake of neatness, and to save time, all this should be daily removed. It is not much labor, and a very short time is sufficient. If you have young boys or girls with you, rightly trained to be useful, an hour or two of outdoor labor will give them pleasant and healthful occupation. Provide them with a child’s saw-horse and saw, a small, light hatchet, and a ball of strings, and let them daily go out and collect such brush as may be lying around. Show them how to cut it in proper lengths, and to tie the fagots neatly. Then they can easily, with a light wheelbarrow, take them to the wood-house or shed, and pile them ready for use. A half-hour’s or an hour’s work every day will do this, and the young folks will not feel it a burden. But if left a week or two, the brush becomes tangled, the heap grows larger, and what should be only pleasant recreation becomes a burden, perhaps really too heavy for children to undertake, and either a man’s time must be given to the work, or industry and labor be made repulsive to the young. That is also a great mistake. But by having this work regularly done, at certain hours daily, by your children, a threefold good may be gained: the house, grounds, and surroundings can be kept free from disagreeable litter; the means secured at the same time, with little labor and no cost, to preserve a healthful atmosphere all through the house; and your children taught a lesson in neatness and industry which they will not in after years forget, and which, whatever their position in life, will always be valuable.

While among the pines and palmettos in the newly settled parts of Florida, we looked with envious eyes on the “fat wood,” as it is called, which lies around the clearings in the greatest abundance. A few small sticks from these pine knots, at the first touch of a match, start into a wonderfully bright flame, before which, while it lasts, the light of our best kerosene lamps is obscured, and the morning and evening dampness is expelled, so that comfortable but not heated air is secured. We were pleased to see in these brilliant fires, regularly kindled, strong proof of good common-sense.

We believe full half the sickness which abounds in newly settled countries or in malarial districts could be entirely prevented by this easy, simple practice. At any rate, it would certainly be quite as effectual as the innumerable and abominable doses which each section of country accepts as the only cure; and it would have the advantage of being a pleasant remedy, warranted not to produce some disease far worse than the first.

Another great mistake is the exclusion of sunlight from our houses. We have spoken of this some time since, and wish the importance of admitting the light of the sun freely, as well as building these early and late fires, could be properly impressed upon our housekeepers. No article of furniture should ever be brought to our homes too good or too delicate for the sun to see all day long. His presence should never be excluded, except when so bright as to be uncomfortable to the eyes. And a walk in good, bright sunlight, before the heat is too intense, is very beneficial, so that the eyes are protected by veil or parasol when the light is inconveniently strong. A sun-bath is of far more importance in preserving a healthful condition of the body than is generally understood. A sun-bath costs nothing, and that is a misfortune, for people are deluded with the idea that those things only can be good or useful which cost money. But remember that pure water, fresh air, sunlight, and homes kept free from dampness, will secure you from many heavy bills of the doctors, and give you health and vigor, which no money can procure. It is a well-established fact that people who live much in the sun are usually stronger and more healthy than those whose occupations deprive them of sunlight.

XLVII.
STUDY TO MAKE HOME ATTRACTIVE.

IN planning and furnishing a house, young people too often sacrifice true taste and their own conscience for style; forgetting that they should arrange a home for comfort, not for a temple of fashion. So large a portion of the money set apart for the whole outlay is expended in adorning their parlors,—the only part of a house which is, in a measure, public property,—that they are compelled to cheat themselves out of much comfort and convenience, when they come to the furnishing of the real home, or family rooms, unless possessed of wealth so abundant that expense becomes a secondary consideration. We think the family sitting and dining rooms should receive more thought and care than any other part of the house. Neatness, of course, should be preserved everywhere, and the parlors be furnished with as much of style and fashion as your means will warrant your expending to meet your own desires, or in deference to public opinion, if you are at all inclined to cater to its gratification. In your chambers study neatness and convenience, and also in the kitchen; but when you turn to the sitting and dining rooms, give yourself abundance of time to deliberate over everything connected with these apartments, and, after due consideration, begin the work, which, if rightly understood, will be a toil of pleasure,—a labor of love, never ending; because every week some pretty device or fanciful change or addition will occur to you, by which you can add to its simple attractions, thereby giving yourself great pleasure, and filling your heart with happy thoughts. From the tone of the letter and question prompting this chapter, we should not class its writer with those who desire a position among the “fashionables,” whose greatest pleasure lies in parties, balls, and theaters, or a ceaseless round of “calls,” and who would be made perfectly miserable if compelled by any circumstance to pass a quiet evening at home, with nobody but their husband. For such there is no home. That word belongs to an unknown tongue, which their hearts can never interpret.

We are not at all in sympathy with those who take it for granted that the husband is always the most to be blamed, if the club house or any outside companionship has more attractions than his own home. When the “twain are made one flesh,” if the union is consummated through love, and not from mercenary reasons, the heart of the husband will be drawn most naturally, in his leisure hours, toward the companion he has chosen from all others; and in these early days it rests chiefly with her to make all the surroundings of the home committed to her care so attractive that his steps turn thitherward, because nowhere else can he secure such true comfort and solid happiness. Having so begun, if you continue thus to cast your spells about him, here in this pleasant sitting-room, young wife, he will always prefer to spend his leisure hours where your skill and taste make it more bright and restful than any other resort can be. Now, in the earliest days of your wedded life, before other cares engross your time and thoughts, you have the opportunity to make home a word of sacred meaning, to learn its true nature yourself, and to gather around it associations that shall be lasting, and a safeguard through life.

It is not by the “great sacrifices,” or “heroic devotion,” which you speak of, that this blessing can be secured; but by little things—daily acts—the work must be begun and the building established on a firm foundation. Bear this in mind constantly while planning the room, selecting the furniture, and arranging the many trifles that, combined, make a sitting-room peculiarly attractive. Secure, if possible, a southern or eastern lookout, or both united. Select pictures that are homelike, even if not the elaborate work of some great artist; those do not always give the greatest pleasure. Flowers and vines about the room or in the windows add wonderfully to the cheerfulness of any room, and to this particularly. Have neat, white shades to exclude the sun partially during the mid-day hours, and outside blinds to keep curiosity from sharing your evening enjoyments. A book and piano are always desirable in a family room, even if you have a grand piano for your parlors. Select the easiest and most comfortable lounges and chairs, taking time to look in several manufactories before you decide; for hard, unyielding sofas and chairs are only fit for show or torture rooms. A commodious table for books, and gas or lamps, suitable for writing, with convenient drawers to hold all necessary writing-material, and your own work-stand in the corner, are essential. These are always useful and convenient; but it is not needful that we go into elaborate specifications. Your own taste and love, if you set about the work in the right spirit, will teach you better than any one else can do. Arrange the necessary articles and all the embellishments with care and thought, so that when you stand at the door and survey the work, the room shall lie before you like a picture, speaking of cheerfulness, rest, and comfort. Here, if you show your husband, from the first, that you are always interested in his outside labors and duties, he will gladly come to talk over the day’s doings; and it will not take long to teach him that a good, true wife is the best adviser he can have,—that his business knowledge and your womanly insight and tact, united, will solve dubious questions, and unravel troublesome tangles, quite as safely and far more pleasantly than any assistance and advice sought outside of home. And in after life, think you, will it not be pleasant to look back and trace much of your happiness to the fascinations and attractions you so skillfully gathered about the pleasant sitting-room, when you, as “young people,” took sweet counsel together, and laid the foundation for mutual confidence and true domestic peace? Had you secured the most elegant parlors, but left this room cold and barren, negligently kept, and destitute of any special attraction, do you think your prospects of happiness would have been as bright? Or can you feel that you would deserve that they should be? It is your work, young wife, to make the home. Your husband may provide and furnish the means, but it is for you to see that they are used for mutual happiness.

Next to the sitting-room, the dining-room must be the most carefully arranged. Strange how few give heed to this! It is sometimes a low, dark, ill-constructed room, reached by stairs often unsafe by reason of darkness, and usually opening so abruptly to the kitchen that the appetite is destroyed the moment you enter by the fumes from cooking which have been gathering in the dining-room all the morning; and the pleasant intercourse which should enliven each meal is often sadly interrupted by overmuch talking from the adjacent kitchen. If there ever is dispute or misfortune there, it seems always destined to occur while you are at your table. Our city dining rooms are too frequently after this pattern. Here is some excuse; for we must expect, in one way or another, to be “cabined, cribbed, and confined” in the city; but in the free, bright country, there can seldom be any such excuse given, and yet the same heedlessness with regard to anything pleasant in the position of the dining-room is noticeable. Opening into a back yard or clothes-yard, or overlooking the barn-yard, with nothing attractive or cheerful,—this is thought good enough for a place to feed in. A very great mistake; for here we should meet, not to eat hastily, and rise up and go our ways, but there should be quite as much enjoyment in free and cheerful conversation at the table as can possibly be secured during the mere act of eating. A friend occasionally drops in; and when children are gathered about the board, their little winning ways and delightful prattle add wonderfully to the pleasure of the repast. Our American men, when actively engaged in business, as a large proportion of them are, often find the breakfast and dinner hours the only parts of the day when they can see their children. It is time little folks were asleep, generally, before the father closes his labors and returns home for tea. For that reason, if for no other, the dining-room, in every family, as being the place where, except on Sunday, the children will have the best opportunity of seeing their father, should be made bright, cheerful, and peculiarly attractive; because it will be more closely associated in their minds with his presence. As they grow older, they should be taught to give their aid in arranging fruit and flowers for the decoration of the table and side-board before each meal, “because papa will soon be here.”

You may think these are all such little things, that you cannot conceive it possible they should be of much importance in arranging a house, or making home happy, and will probably feel that your question has been unsatisfactorily answered. But, dear “young wife,” believe me, it is by little things that you must make the house, now committed to your charge, a happy one, and so attractive to your husband that he can have no wish to seek pleasure elsewhere. It is not by any great effort once in a while, but by the constant, daily evidence of your thoughtfulness and care, that you will secure the confidence and companionship you are so earnestly desiring and seeking after.

XLVIII.
THE CARE OF COOKING-STOVES AND RANGES.

NEXT to perplexities and trouble with servants, there is nothing that so severely afflicts the careful housekeeper as the attempt to secure attention to the cooking-stove or range. The reasons given for failure in any particular point are innumerable, and all cast the burden of blame on the poor, inoffensive stove. There never was such a miserable cooking-stove. The fire won’t burn, or it burns too fiercely; the oven won’t bake at all, or bakes so furiously that everything you trust to it is ruined. It smokes, or the gas escapes, and fills the house with the offensive odors; it burns out more coal in one day than should be used in two; the dampers are useless, or the grate cannot be turned over. There is scarcely a defect to be imagined but is charged to this necessary evil,—the cooking-stove or range.

In part, no doubt, these ceaseless annoyances spring from the heedlessness or ignorance of the servants, but more frequently, we think, it is because the mistress herself does not understand the cause of the difficulty, or how to point out and remedy the mistakes. It is impossible to expect a girl will be successful in managing the fire and stove unless you are competent and willing to give her full instruction, and are also ready to follow this up with constant daily supervision, until time and a faithful trial convince you that the subject is fully understood, and your injunctions regularly followed. Even then watch, with all kindness and patience, not with a fault-finding spirit, but because carelessness and forgetfulness are bound up in the heart of almost every servant, and ceaseless vigilance is your only protection from mistakes of the most mortifying and vexatious character; and do you not know that such trials always come at the most unexpected and inconvenient time? No doubt there are occasionally servants found, or heard of, who are faithful, careful, competent, and safe to be trusted in every particular; but they are, “like angels’ visits, few and far between”; and it is wise for every housekeeper to be as exact in her explanations, and as watchful in seeing them executed, as if she knew her girl was totally ignorant of everything about the stove or range, until well convinced that she fully understands and regularly carries out her mistress’s lessons. Then, if she fails, it is safe to look upon the failure as culpable negligence, for which it would be very difficult to find a reasonable excuse.

Simply telling a servant how you wish the stove managed, or anything else done, is by no means sufficient. To say to the new cook, “Bridget, I wish you to be very particular in cleaning out your range or stove every night before retiring, and have your kindlings and coal all laid ready to start a fire in the morning,” will not secure obedience. The answer will doubtless be, “O yes, mem, I always do that.” Perhaps once in a great while you may find a cook that will do this regularly; for it certainly, if they will only try it, is the easiest way. But take nothing on trust. See with your own eyes before you retire how much this always means. Too often it should be translated, “when it suits my convenience.” Perhaps for a short time it may be done in accordance with your wishes; but keep open eyes, or nine times out of ten, in less than a month, you will be told, “I can’t do anything with the range or stove.” “Have you thoroughly cleaned it out each night as I directed?” “O yes, mem; of course I have.” Now, either go to work yourself and see what is the matter, which is the best way, or send for a man from a stove manufactory to examine. Stand by with the cook to see the results of his examination. Of course the fire must be all out before he can do anything. He will then remove every cover from the top, and most likely find the whole surface perfectly clogged up with small bits of coal and piles of ashes, so that the draught is obstructed; or, if the difficulty does not lie there mainly, he will take out the slide to the pit under the oven, and, notwithstanding cook’s assurances that it is regularly cleaned out, you will find it filled with ashes up to the oven bottom; or the grate has been so imperfectly emptied and cleaned that it is broken, and clogged with clinkers, leaving hardly room to make a fire in it. Now you have the whole mystery solved. All the girl’s protestations and assurances of great care in keeping the stove in perfect order cannot longer blind your eyes. A few such examples may not insure cook’s future attention and truthfulness, but they will teach you, that as the foot of the master is the only warrant for large crops on a farm, or successful operations in any pursuit, so the eye and hand of the mistress must ever be most vigilant and effective to secure comfort in the house.

There is no one convenience on which so large a part of house comfort depends as on a good cooking-apparatus, whether in the form of stove or range; and however perfect the patent, nothing can so easily be put out of working order by careless management. Before starting a new fire, examine if the stove has been thoroughly cleaned from the last one; then open the dampers; roll up and put into the grate a few pieces of paper,—or some shavings, if you can have them, are still better; lay lightly on this some splinters or small bits of kindling wood. Do not throw them on in a heavy mass, but so arrange them as to give free breathing-holes; on this foundation put a few larger pieces of pine kindling, and if you are hurried, and need a quick, bright fire, sprinkle over a small shovelful of coke, if you have it. Nothing kindles quicker than coke. Now replace all the covers, and set fire to the paper with a match, held underneath the grate. If lighted from above, it must be, of course, before the covers are put on, and that fills the kitchen with smoke. When the wood is well blazing, before at all wasted, take off the covers and cross-piece (the paper will have burned out by that time, and little smoke will trouble you), and pour on the hard coal, scattering it evenly at the sides, but a little heaped or rounded in the center. Be careful that the grate is not filled ABOVE the fire-brick. This is a very important consideration, for if heaped above, it injures the stove, burning out the iron-work, and obstructing the draught, so that the coal cannot kindle readily, but wastes and smolders without doing much good. As soon as the coal is well kindled, close the draughts, or dampers, and you will have a clear, serviceable fire. It is a great mistake to use a large amount of paper or kindling. The paper, when burnt out, makes a smothering, black kind of ashes, that deadens the fire, and the pine kindling, if used too profusely, fills the stove with so much bituminous smoke as to clog the pipes needlessly.

When your breakfast is dished and sent to the table, tell the cook to raise a cover from the stove, and see if it would not be well to add a small shovelful of coal to keep the fire in good working order; but it will not be necessary to open the draughts until the breakfast is over and the dishes washed and put away. When that is done, it will be time to begin arrangements for dinner, and then the draughts should be opened a few minutes, and the fire raked down or shaken, so as to remove all the ashes; but on no account stir it from the top; that kills the fire, turning the coals black. The ashes being removed, lift off the two front covers and the cross-piece once more; pour on more coal, always remembering not to fill above the fire-brick. The object in lifting off both covers and cross-bar, instead of pouring in the coal at one hole, and pushing it across with the poker, as most girls do, is to prevent the coal from scattering and lodging on the plate of the stove, under the side covers. If this is done, the coal remaining there prevents the heat from having a free circulation; therefore every time the coal is added, even if both covers are removed, giving a free opening to pour on what fuel is needed, it is best to pass the poker under the side-holes, and see that the upper plate is free from coal and ashes.

We have written these simple directions at the request of a “very young housekeeper,” who assures us that there are hundreds “longing for just such instruction, who, fearing to expose their ignorance, are keeping silent, subjecting themselves to all sorts of mistakes, which make their husbands cross, and set themselves almost crazy.”

We regret that any should feel ashamed to ask questions on household matters, however simple. To answer them, if in our power, is pleasure, and the questions are a great encouragement; for we often think we have exhausted all that need be said, when some word from the “young housekeepers” remind us of points which we have overlooked.

XLIX.
THE OLD WAYS AND THE NEW.

IT is interesting to note the changes and improvements which have been made within the last half-century in almost all the conveniences and implements which are needed in the preparation of food. It may be that the ease and comfort by which this labor can be performed, through these new contrivances, when compared with the old ways, and the facility with which all classes, rich or poor, can and do secure all or some of these conveniences, has tempted to an indulgence in luxuries regardless of economy or health. Perhaps the firm health and longevity so common among our forefathers were in some degree owing to their more simple diet; but also very largely, we think, to their healthful activity and industry, and to the early to bed, early to rise habits which their active life demanded.

But, as the present generation have acquired extravagant tastes with regard to food, as well as in dress, there certainly is cause for gratitude that great improvements in the machinery by which such work can be performed have kept pace with the cultivated taste that demands so much more skill to gratify it. We doubt, however, if any modern improvement can ever set before us food that will have the rare excellence, the exquisite flavor, of that which used to come from our mother’s great brick oven. Ah, the bread,—the rich-colored brown bread; the creamy-white bread; the pies, puddings, and cakes!

“’Twere worth ten years of modern life,

One glance at that array!”

We have yet to see the device which can compensate for the loss of the old brick oven!

But wishing will not restore it to us who live in cities or large towns, unless we can bring back the old primeval forests, and, instead of the “coal-bins,” possess again the old-fashioned wood-houses with their rich stores of seasoned wood, piled high to the rafters; and the huge piles of green wood in the yard, waiting for the leisure days to be cut, split, and housed; or we must emigrate to the unsettled parts of the West and South, which are still rich in splendid woodland, where the settlers are cutting down the grand old forests, or wastefully burning them. In their present haste to clear the land, they forget their own future interest and the comfort of their children, who, by this waste and destruction, will be denied the luxury of wood fires, and compelled to content themselves with coal, and all the annoyances and discomfort connected with its habitual use. Coal is excellent for the cook-stove; but it is a great sacrifice when none but the rich can afford wood fires, in their family room at least.

It may be difficult for the first occupants of wild lands to save the great wealth of fuel, while hastening to open up their farms. But it seems to us that it would be wise to preserve larger tracts of woodland on any new farm or home-steads, as a provision for the future; remembering that any ten acres thoroughly cultivated will bring more abundant and better paying crops than thirty cleared but poorly cultivated; poorly, because the owner uses the time in cutting down the wood on the extra twenty acres which should have been given to the careful cultivation of the ten. When we have been at the West and South, at various times, it has been a source of continual regret to see that which our large towns and cities so greatly need recklessly given to the flames, knowing that the time cannot be far distant when these young towns will feel the need of this fuel as much as their elders. We cannot help thinking while we ride through the burning forests, that even a woman could manage so that the forests could be more largely preserved, and the trees which must fall be saved and made useful and profitable; while the comfort and prosperity of the possessor could be much increased by the economy, because the farm would be brought under more careful culture, and thus sooner return paying crops.

But the thought of the well-beloved brick oven has led us into the wilderness, and away from our subject.

We were noticing the great difference between the ancient and modern manner of cooking. Many of our readers remember and have often used the brick ovens, the large old-fashioned fireplace, the long crane, the pot-hooks and trammel on it, and the great pots and kettles suspended by them over the fierce fire,—the immense “roaster,” the “Dutch oven,” the Johnny-cake baked on the “Bannock-board” before the glowing bed of coals, while bright rows of apples were sputtering on the hearth. But all these names are to your children like words in an unknown tongue. They will never know the rich flavors gained only by this mode of cooking; neither will they endure the pains and penalties by which this knowledge was obtained. What would those tyrants of our households, the modern cooks, say if compelled to swelter over the blazing fire, or roast with the meats they are cooking upon the fiery coals on the hearth?

Some years since we were presented with one of Stewart’s stoves, which proved so satisfactory that we never expected, and hardly desired, anything better; and when, a few years later, we were persuaded to put the “Peerless” in its place, although always very ready to try anything new that promises to lighten or simplify the kitchen work, we confess that it was with much reluctance that we consented to make the change, being in no wise inclined to believe that it could at all compete with our old and well-tried friend, the Stewart’s. But the stove proved itself worthy of its name. “Peerless” it certainly has been, and in all respects given us more comfort than any stove or range we have ever used, baking equally in every part of the oven, and using much less coal even than the Stewart’s. It is made by Pratt and Wentworth, of Boston.

We well remember when cook-stoves and ranges were first brought into common use, and how positive the good housekeepers were that nothing decent could be prepared with these strange contrivances. But only a few days were needed to work a complete conversion. Since then, almost every year brings before the public some new range or cook-stove, or marked improvements on the old. By and by we expect to see stoves and ranges arranged for the use of gas, instead of coal, for cooking; and if a better quality of gas than that which has tormented us for the last few years can be furnished, we imagine any such invention will bring us nearer to the perfection of cooking arrangements than has ever been reached. To be free from smoke, and the dust and vexation of coal and ashes, will indeed be a consummation most devoutly to be wished.

But until gas can be thus used in the kitchen, housekeepers have reason to be well satisfied with the many excellent ranges and stoves now in general use.

L.
A FEW HINTS ON CARVING.

IT is a great accomplishment to be able to carve well and easily, without awkwardness; but it is one that receives altogether too little attention. Too often it would seem that the host or hostess, or whoever is called upon to perform this table duty, has no idea of there being anything needed but to hack off in the most expeditious manner as much meat as is required to satisfy the wants of those present, without the slightest reference to the mode in which it should be done, or the choice bits to be secured by careful carving. We have seen those who in every other respect were true gentlemen and ladies, carve poultry or a piece of meat in such a barbarous manner as to banish all desire to eat, and almost the ability to taste the big, uncouth, mangled lump that was put, or rather thrown, on the plate. To cut off a thick, rough piece from any part that the knife happens to light upon first, aside from being untidy and unpalatable, is also very wasteful. After two or three such careless cuttings, the whole piece is so defaced and uneven, that it is no longer possible to secure a decent looking bit: and the bone is left with much adhering to it, in ragged morsels, which dry and become worthless if left over to the next day, but which, had the joint been properly carved, could have been sent to the table for a cold relish for tea, in a neat and attractive form.

Our ladies are seldom good carvers, and do not often attempt it. Few have been taught, or thought it worth while to try and learn; but in early times it was considered an indispensable part of a girl’s education. The want of such knowledge often leaves one in an unpleasant and embarrassing position; for to every one there occasionally comes a time when the gentleman of the family must be absent, and the lady must do the carving, or ask a guest or stranger, who may be even more awkward than herself.

To stand up while carving is not as proper or skillful a way of doing the work as to be seated; but it is sometimes easier and more convenient, and, if the table be at all crowded, less troublesome to guests. In such cases it is quite allowable.

The carving-knife must be sharp and thin. A large, broad-bladed knife is needed for meats; a long, narrow, and sharp-pointed blade for poultry and game; both should be kept in perfect order, and always ready for use.

When dished, poultry or game must be laid on its back, the breast uppermost, for the greater convenience of the carver, who should put the fork into the breast, holding the bird firmly, until he has taken off the wings and legs, cut out the merry thought, or wish-bone; cut nice, even slices from the breast, and removed the collar-bone. A skillful carver will do all this without once turning the fowl over. Next cut off the side-bone, and cut down the back, dividing the carcass in two. Separate the drumstick from the second joint, and in helping a lady, if she prefer the wing, cut it in two parts that she may handle it more conveniently.

A ham, or a leg of lamb or mutton, should be first cut in the middle, clean down to the bone, passing the knife all round. Then cut thin, even slices from the upper or thicker part, separating each slice from the bone at the bottom, carefully, without tearing it. Some slices can also be cut from the lower part of the leg or ham, which are just as good as the upper part; but after a little you come to the cords or fibers, and then the remainder of the lower part should be set aside to cut out all the little bits for a relish at tea, or, in ham, to chop up as seasoning or with other kinds of meat for hash. By cutting meat in this way, much may be saved. Good carving is good economy.

The middle portion of boiled tongue is the best, and should be first served to guests. The tip is fit only for hashes. It should always be cut crosswise, never lengthwise.

When dishing a sirloin, place it on the platter with the tenderloin underneath, and carve thin slices lengthwise from the side next to you; then turn the piece over, and carve the tenderloin carefully, cutting across the piece, serving equally from both parts.

In carving a fore-quarter of lamb, divide the shoulders from the ribs; then separate the ribs. The fore-quarter of pork and mutton should be carved in the same way. When carving the hind-quarter, cut neatly between the ribs to the joint, which must then be carefully separated, so as not to bring a jagged, mangled piece to the plate. To do this you will be obliged to charge your butcher particularly to crack the joints, not only of the hind, but also of the fore-quarter. He has the implements to do it more expertly than you can, and unless this is well done, it is quite impossible to carve the ribs neatly. Serve a bit of the kidney and the fat to each guest if agreeable. Some do not relish the kidney, and could eat with more relish if it were not on their plate, and for this reason it is safest to ask each one before helping.

In carving a fillet of veal, begin at the top to cut, serving a portion of the dressing to each guest. When carving the breast of veal, cut the upper portion of the brisket, or that part of the breast that lies next to the ribs, separately, and in helping, inquire what part is preferred.

Some like to send a young pig whole to the table, with a lemon or bunch of parsley put into the mouth. We think it much nicer to take off the head, and cut the pig in halves or quarters, before sending it to the table, and then carve it. It would be very unpleasant to many to see such a revolting caricature of a live pig brought before them. But each one must judge for himself.

LI.
PARENTAL EXAMPLE.

PARENTS may give “line upon line and precept upon precept,” in their assiduous watchfulness over the manners and morals of their children, yet, if they do not constantly bear in mind that example has more influence over the young than precept, their efforts will be of little avail. If you reprove a child for careless usage of books, show them how they are injured and defaced, by turning down corners, scribbling on the margin, or throwing them down on the face, how much good will such lectures do, if, when he enters your library, or comes where you have been reading, the child sees your books tossed about, the bindings strained, and the corners in a most undesirable condition?

You endeavor to inculcate a habit of neatness in your daughter; you insist that when she returns from a walk or ride she shall smooth out her bonnet-strings, brush the dust from it, and put it at once in the bonnet-box; you tell her to fold her shawl neatly, hang up her sack, pull the fingers of her gloves straight, fold them up and lay them in their appropriate place; and this you request her to do, not once or twice, but habitually, not only because it is tidy, but also a great saving of time and garments in the course of a year. But if you come in, and toss your street garments about in the most careless manner, how much good, think you, will all your words of instruction have accomplished? You may enforce obedience, but compulsory habits are not usually abiding; and, when old enough to cast off restraint, it will be, not so much the words you have spoken, as the things your child has seen you do habitually, which will influence and guide her womanhood.

You resolutely object to your children using low phrases,—what is termed slang; but if your own conversation is largely interspersed with foolish or needless ejaculations, fight against it as you may, you will find it impossible to prevent them from copying your mode of speaking, and it will be very strange if they do not carry it to a much greater extent than you have done.

Nowhere is this force of example so strikingly exemplified as at the table. It is always disagreeable to see a child sitting with its arms on the table, or resting its elbow there while carrying the food to its mouth. There is some excuse for the little ones, as their short limbs grow weary, and the position, though a very awkward one, seems to them a rest from the restraint of the table; and no doubt it is so. It is exceedingly annoying to see children filling their mouths too full, and then washing the food down by drinking, before the food is half masticated. If a child reaches over another’s plate for some article of food, instead of politely asking for it, who can help feeling disturbed by the rudeness? It is disagreeable to all present to see any one stand upon the round of the chair, or on the floor, and spring after a piece of bread or meat, or push a dish across the table instead of handing it. You shrink from the child who helps itself to butter with the knife from its own plate. All this is annoying in children, but it is intolerable when practiced by the parents. They are as much disgusted as any “lookers-on” can be, when they notice such rude, ill-mannered actions in their children; but while they severely blame these young things, they forget that these are always watching and imitating their parents’ faults.

We have seen those who were in most respects truly refined, whose great anxiety seemed to be to guard their children from any contact with rude associates, and to teach them as much refinement of manner and character as was possible; and in most things we have observed that such parents most scrupulously and conscientiously conformed to their own instructions; but when we have had a seat at their table, we have sometimes been amazed to observe that they felt themselves exonerated from the observance of the simplest forms of table etiquette, yet held their children in strict bondage to such rules, and made the hours spent at what should be the social, cheerful board very uncomfortable by continued reproofs.

“John, take your arms off the table.” The child raises his eyes to his father, and sees one arm laid on the table before him, the other supporting his head, with the elbow on the table, while administering this reproof.

“James, how often must I tell you to ask for what you want, and not reach for it across the table?”

A few minutes after, James sees his reprover reaching to the full stretch of his arm, supplemented by the fork from his own plate, and pick up a potato, piece of bread, or meat, at the farther end of the table.

“O child, will you never learn to eat without smacking your lips and making such a disagreeable noise? It makes one sick to hear you!”

The child has been watching the parent while eating, and trying hard to imitate the genuine gourmand’s smack which he hears from the head of the table.

“I am astonished! Why do you take the bread from the plate with your fingers and toss it in that manner to your sister? Never let me see you guilty of such rudeness again!”

Now, children are quick to see mistakes and discrepancies in the conduct of their elders, or those who have the rule over them. It does not require many years for them to mark how inconsistent such training is. Naturally children are not very fond of rules and regulations; they like freedom of action as well as their elders; and if they see that what is called rude and ill-mannered in a child is the daily practice of those whom they are expected to look up to, is it strange that they take every possible opportunity to transgress these precepts, so strangely nullified by parental example? They are always reaching forward to something beyond their present condition. If father or mother does such and such things, which are denied to the young son or daughter, of course they long for the same privilege; because if their parents do thus, it must be something smart, the imitation of which brings them nearer to manhood and womanhood, and farther from childhood, from which latter period all children are eager to hasten away. Then, if this is so,—and we think every observing parent has found it to be true,—is it not important that the rules which are laid down to secure good morals and good manners in the children should be considered of sufficient importance to regulate the practice of the parents; and should not the deviations from them, on the part of the elders, be few,—or, better yet, none?

LII.
TRUE TASTE MORE EFFECTIVE THAN MONEY.

MANY imagine they must relinquish all hopes of gratifying their tastes, or the inherent love of the beautiful, if they do not rank among the rich. This is an entirely false idea. There are houses upon which thousands of dollars have been expended, that would be quite intolerable to people of real refinement as a permanent residence. The whole arrangement and furniture are so stiff and formal, so heavy and oppressive with superfluous ornament, that simple curiosity to see what strange vagaries can enter into the heads of the rich, and in what absurd manner they study to spend their abundant wealth, would seem to be the only motive which could tempt a sensible person to enter.

On the other hand we find small, modest cottages, which bear unmistakable evidence of the necessity of close economy, which have far more of real comfort and convenience about them than those splendid mansions, and at the same time they are gems, bearing in every part the stamp of true elegance and refinement. They are so beautified by the genuine taste and ingenuity of the occupants, that it is real pleasure to pass from one room to another, or sit quietly and enjoy the sweet enchantment; yet money had little to do toward securing such attractions. It is the fitness of things, the harmonious blending of shape and color, the adaptation of the furniture to the wants of each apartment, that make the whole combination so peculiarly delightful. And yet, how and from what was all this tasteful furnishing constructed? If some of those persons, whose dark and gloomy parlors are hung with the costliest damask, and their furniture carved and upholstered by the most skillful and fashionable workmen, should, by chance, find themselves in one of these pleasant homes, they could not help being captivated by the spirit of the place, in spite of the absence of style or fashion. The elegant, airy, graceful parlors, the rest, the peace and comfort which pervade the whole atmosphere, would be to them a new experience; and what would be their astonishment to learn with how little expense all this, which they acknowledge to be so refreshing, has been secured!

No matter if the purse is not very heavy, young people, with good health and a fair share of taste and ingenuity, have great pleasure in store for themselves, when they undertake together to furnish and beautify a house, which is to be their home. There are so many small conveniences, so many little contrivances, that a carpenter never thinks of, because he has never had woman’s work to do, and therefore cannot see how important these little things are. A woman should know just where an hour’s work, well considered and planned, can be employed to manufacture some convenient thing, that will save much time and strength, and which, however cheaply and roughly made, she can, in a few spare moments, transform into an object of real beauty.

“Harper’s Bazaar,” always full of suggestions, often describes the way of making useful articles beautiful ones. The pictures and explanations are very easily understood, and each one who attempts to profit by these suggestions can elaborate or modify as her skill, time, or means may allow. There is no end to the variety and improvement that will grow out of each successive trial; and certainly no end to the pleasure that one can enjoy in seeing such trophies of taste spring up within and around a new home. A few yards of bright blue, pink, or green paper muslin, with an overskirt of cheap Nottingham lace, dotted muslin, or an old lawn dress, can soon transform a rough half-circle or square piece of board into a pretty washstand or dressing-table. Old broom-handles make good legs for the stands; and a part of the length of the handle, not needed, or some smaller stick, answers nicely for the rounds or braces. The husband can easily bore the holes in the top, into which the legs may be fastened, and also for the braces necessary to keep the table firm; an old piece of cloth does nicely for the under-cover; an old hoop-skirt nailed around the edge of the top, before the wadding and upper cover are put on, is excellent to make the outside skirt hang in a proper manner, or the grandmother’s old-fashioned wire fire-fender, which for years has lain rusting in your mother’s garret, is admirable for that purpose. Then, with the bright, delicately colored paper muslin, and the white lace or lawn overskirt, or cover, you have, with trifling expense, as pretty a toilet-table or washstand as any one need desire. Underneath the hoops or fender you may have a convenient repository for work-basket or boxes, if your house is not well supplied with closets.

“Sleepy Hollows,” sewing-chairs or easy-chairs made from old hogsheads or barrels, and pretty lounges from long packing-boxes, are, we think, among the articles the “Bazar” has sometimes mentioned,—giving pictures and explanations of the manner in which the roughest and hardest work may be executed. From these directions, any one with tolerable skill can gather the first ideas, and then proceed to make the articles, modifying the shape to suit their own fancy.

Pretty ottomans or stools covered to match the furniture of the room are a great convenience, and help to give a genteel, stylish air. If skillfully made and dressed, who could imagine that they are formed from well-cleaned and scoured soap-boxes or butter-tubs, with castors screwed to the bottom, and a cover with hinges on the top, thus serving a double purpose,—making a pleasant seat, easily rolled to any part of the room, and a convenient box or trunk for holding work-bundles, papers, or your boots and slippers.

We never regret the loss of youth and strength so much, or are so near being envious, as when we see young people studying how ingeniously they can arrange a small cottage, and give it the air of beauty and elegance their natures so much crave. They will not find half the pleasure in enjoying it, all perfected, as they would have had in planning and executing; and yet how many throw aside such enjoyment, and turn this pleasant labor into drudgery, not willingly cultivating all the talents God has bestowed upon them, but repining because they cannot afford to employ an upholsterer to furnish what their own skill might have executed perhaps far more satisfactorily.

We will follow these suggestions no further, but hope some of our young housekeepers may be led to improve the hints, in a manner that shall make them converts to the ideas advanced.

LIII.
COOKING BY STEAM.

MUCH has been said of the superiority of steamed food over that which is boiled or baked; and year after year the papers or magazines devoted to domestic economy and the improvement and simplification of household labor have advocated this mode of cooking meats, vegetables, and many other articles of food, every few months recommending some new invention. We have tried one experiment after another, finding, to be sure, some imperfection in all; but enough that was practicable to convince us there was much which was desirable in the idea; and, if able to do the work with our own hands, confident we could reap great advantage from it.

When the mistress of a family has not strength to do her cooking herself, or that part of it which requires more than ordinary judgment and skill, she is not situated so that new modes of work can be tried with much prospect of success. Most servants, particularly the cooks, when accustomed to one mode of work, are very reluctant to change; and, therefore, if the mistress is not able to make all experiments herself, she will soon find, unless fully prepared to have the autocrat of the kitchen abdicate without “giving notice,” that it is safest, and wisest often, to allow a tolerably good girl to move on in the “even tenor of her ways,” without attempting any changes, except those which she can bring about quietly and imperceptibly. This is no very easy lesson for an old housekeeper to learn; but repeated defeats must teach her that patience, as well as discretion, is a “better part of valor.”

In the last century, an American, Benjamin Thompson, made Count Rumford by the Elector of Bavaria for distinguished military and scientific services, gave much time and thought to the study of heat and experiments in cooking, being the inventor of the present style of coal fireplaces and grates, cooking ranges, etc. He was the first person on record, with any pretensions to learning and philosophy, who ever studied the dressing of meat for food as a science. The result was the invention of a boiler for cooking by steam. Within a short time another boiler has been perfected involving the same principles, but containing various improvements over the steamer of the last century, which has been named “Rumford’s Boiler” in compliment to the original inventor. We have been trying it.

Our cook was positive she could never use that thing. It was troublesome, took up too much room on the stove, etc. Bless the girl! That is one of the excellences of that thing. Little else in the way of utensils is needed on the top of the stove, beside one of these boilers. We stipulated that she should use it two weeks, and if found troublesome, it should share the fate of many other inventions, and no more be said about it. But long before the two weeks expired it had won Mary’s heart entirely, and now she would sooner part with anything else from her kitchen than the “Rumford Boiler.”

One peculiarity of this most excellent boiler is, that unlike all others we have ever seen, neither steam nor water comes in actual contact with the article to be cooked. Two inches of water is put into the bottom of the boiler. Then a large receiver, into which meat, fowl, or fish is put to be cooked, is fitted on tight over the boiling water, and shut off from all possibility of being touched by steam or water by a close-fitting cover. Above this two other pans, or boilers, for vegetables, custards, etc., can be fitted with tight cover also; and the whole boiler, which is about as large but higher than an ordinary wash-boiler, is also closely covered. Very little fuel will keep the water boiling hot when once it has reached that point, as no heat can escape by evaporation. It is not generally understood, or at least it is not borne in mind with sufficient care, that “after water is just boiling, all the fuel which is needed to make it boil violently is just so much wasted, without in the smallest degree expediting or shortening the process of cooking. It is by the heat, its intensity and the time of its duration, not by the boiling or bubbling up of the water, that the food is cooked.”

In this “Rumford Boiler” the water can be kept at the boiling point with no more fuel than need be used to keep two quarts of water at that temperature. It is the most economical and comfortable arrangement for summer use, and at the same time equally desirable for the winter. Meat cooked in it not only retains all its juice, but also nearly all its original weight, losing about one ounce to a pound; by the regular process of baking, meats lose over four ounces to a pound.

The uniform heat of the boiling water cooks whatever is put into the boiler equally all the way through; no meat, vegetable, or any other article can be scorched. It would seem impossible for the poorest cook to spoil a dinner, so long as she does not let the fire go out or remove the boiler from the stove. Meats require no basting, and in that respect much time and labor can be saved; and the fire once fairly burning can be kept low as soon as the water has reached the boiling point, and no more care of a coal fire is needed till the dinner is ready.

Meat, fish, and vegetables may all be cooked at the same time in this boiler; for being placed in separate receivers with closely fitting covers, no taste can possibly pass from one kind of food to another. Meat thus steamed or cooked is much more juicy, tender, and easy of digestion than when prepared in any other way we know of. No danger of burning, scorching, or overcooking. If left in much longer than is needed, it is not injured by it; for, as no water or steam can reach it, it is only kept hot in its own juices, without the sodden, disagreeable look and taste of meat that has remained too long in boiling water or a perforated steamer; and, what is even as great a recommendation as the excellent flavor of the food, the house is not filled with smoke and smell of cooking.

Besides, if properly cooked, there is no waste,—all is eatable and palatable; even the tip of the wings from birds and poultry, which in baking are dried up and perfectly worthless, are delicious, for there is no sweeter meat than wings, when not dried past use. In steaming all is tender and juicy. When we steam beef, mutton, game, or poultry, we take them from the steamer, dredge over a little flour, and put into the oven about fifteen minutes,—not long enough to dry, but simply brown delicately,—and think it an improvement.

We have also found, by experiments, that we can do many more things with this boiler than we were promised, and with the most gratifying results. We put bread, cake, and pies into it, cover close, and leave them till done; then set them in the oven long enough to secure the rich, golden brown; and now there are no more burnt upper or under crusts, and no more uncooked bottom crust to our pastry.

LIV.
VEGETABLES.

JUNE is the season when vegetables are most abundant and can be had in the greatest variety. Among the numberless articles of food there is nothing so conducive to health as good, fresh, and properly prepared vegetables, and nothing which so easily deranges the whole system if used stale, unripe, or badly cooked. Vegetables having so large a share in our comfort, it is essential that housekeepers should understand how to prepare every variety not only in the most attractive manner, but also in the most healthful way that can be devised.

In the city it is not easy, hardly possible, to procure fresh vegetables. Those only who have a private team, and can send to the adjacent market-gardens, can hope to have them; hence our city housekeepers, who have never had the good fortune to live in the country during the harvest season of vegetables, can hardly realize the difference between peas, beans, corn, etc., which can be gathered early, and eaten almost with the dew upon them, and such as are heaped into market-wagons and brought from a distance, and exposed for hours or days, if the sales are not rapid in our markets, to the air and sun; made to retain the semblance of fresh vegetables by frequent showers from the hose or watering-pot. Nothing so readily destroys all the sweetness and the richest flavors of such articles as these shower-baths; and although the purchaser may fully understand the whole art of cooking, no skill can bring to our city tables such flavors and richness as the farmers or the country gentleman should enjoy daily. It is through carelessness or ignorance if they do not feast luxuriously all summer. Of course, almost all kinds of vegetables can be cooked in a great variety of ways; and as tastes differ widely, and what would please one may be distasteful to another, by this variety every one may be suited; yet there are some general rules that must always remain fixed and immovable; and if not followed, no mode of cooking these viands will be fully satisfactory. Some few items from the history of some of our most common roots and vegetables may not be uninteresting, before giving a review of the mode of preparing and cooking them.

The Potato, now one of the most useful and nutritious of the esculent roots, is a native of South America, and first found wild in Chili and Peru, although it is often called Irish potato, and supposed by many to have been first found in Ireland. It was brought to England in 1586, and for a long time was eaten as a fruit, or made into pies or puddings, and eaten with sauces and wines. It was so used through the time of Queen Elizabeth. It was planted in Ireland by Sir Walter Raleigh, on one of his estates in that country. After being planted and partly grown, the little green balls, which follow the blossoms, were supposed to be the fruit. Sir Walter had them cooked, but finding them not at all palatable he concluded the crop was a failure, and, as might be supposed, was not very strongly tempted by his first experiment to try it again. But upon turning up the ground, to use for other purposes, to his great satisfaction he found the food he had looked for on the stalk hid in the earth, and of a most desirable character.

After many experiments it was proved that thrice as large a crop of potatoes as of any other root could be produced from an acre, and they soon became the chief food of the Irish peasantry, and remain so to this day.

There is no end to the varieties of the potato that are being brought before the public. New seedlings are announced every year; almost every section has its own special seedling or favorite, which seems excellent there, but deteriorates when planted in other parts; and many kinds which were the best known years ago are now lost sight of entirely. We have not since childhood been able to find the “rusty coats” or “lady’s fingers,” but have never seen a potato that equalled them; partly, no doubt, because one never carries the tastes of childhood into mature age to perfection, but this is not altogether the reason; they were, undoubtedly, very excellent potatoes. The “early rose” is nearer to our idea of the “rusty coats” in flavor, but is not like it in appearance, nor of so perfect a quality.

The potato can be satisfactorily used in more ways than any other edible root,—in bread, pastry, starch, puddings, pies, and salad; boiled, baked, roasted, stewed, fried. It is said “they furnish flour without a mill, and bread without an oven.”

After potatoes are taken from the ground, and have been exposed to the sun and air long enough to dry, the sooner they are placed in a cool, dry cellar the better they will keep. Mrs. Haskill, in her “Housekeeper’s Encyclopædia,” advises that all that are needed for winter use should be packed in barrels, and a little plaster scattered over each layer, to absorb the moisture; such as are to be kept for spring use she thinks should be buried in the ground, and a little plaster be sprinkled over them; also, Mrs. Haskill claims that this is a preventive against rot, but does not consider it sure. Whether this is good doctrine, we leave for our scientific farmers.

The Sweet Potato is a tuberous root, very different from our common potato. It is common in tropical climates, where it is much more perfect than in our colder States. There are seldom but two kinds brought to our markets, the red or purple rooted, and the white or yellow rooted. Far South, the red grows to a large size, and is sweeter and more nutritious than those raised at the North. The white or yellow rooted grows more perfectly with us than the red. In New Jersey they are largely raised, and of a good quality. Thirty years ago, sweet potatoes were a luxury on any Northern table: now they are in daily use when in season; but to find them in the greatest perfection we must still go South for them. The young leaves and tender shoots are sometimes boiled as greens, and are pronounced quite wholesome.

In California, sweet potatoes grow to an immense size, often weighing four or five pounds, and sometimes eight or ten.

The Jerusalem Artichoke grows in clusters of tubers, something like the potato. It is a native of Brazil. It was brought to England and was much in use there before it was superseded by the common potato. It was called the Canada potato, to distinguish it from the common kind, then known as the Virginia potato. It is wholesome and nutritious, but not dry and mealy. The plants are extremely productive and once started it is difficult to eradicate them from the soil; they are said to be an excellent food for horses and hogs. Girasole, not Jerusalem, should be the term. That is the Italian name for sunflower, which this artichoke resembles in many particulars, and to which it is in some degree akin, but not at all to the artichoke proper, which is a plant brought from the Mediterranean. The flower-head before blossoming is the part eaten, boiled plain and eaten with melted butter and pepper, like spinach and other greens. The bottoms are also sometimes boiled in milk and eaten, and sometimes pickled. The French fry them and use them in various ways, sometimes raw as salads.

The Yam also resembles the common potato. It is extensively grown in the East and West Indies, and in Africa and America. It is sweeter and firmer than the potato, grows flat, about a foot long, and sometimes divided like fingers. One variety, called the hinged yam, often grows three feet long and weighs twenty or thirty pounds. When raw, like the potato, the juice is acrid and not healthful, but boiling destroys all harmful properties. A favorite dish is prepared from it in the tropics, combined with grated cocoa-nut and the pulp of the banana.

LV.
CABBAGE.

IN this chapter we have something to say of an old familiar friend, the Cabbage, which for ages has been one of the most useful of all our vegetables, being very productive, and, for many persons, nutritious and healthful. It is found growing wild on the cliffs in many parts of the southern coasts of England; but these do not very closely resemble the large, vigorous vegetable we see on our farms and in our gardens. There it is dwarfed, not weighing more than an ounce, with a few feeble leaves. Even in this state it is sometimes gathered and eaten for greens, but is not very tempting. Although thus found wild on the southern British coast, the numerous kinds now under careful cultivation, in almost all our large farms or market-gardens, are the results of many experiments made by scientific and enterprising agriculturists. It was also largely cultivated and improved in other countries long before its use was understood in England. It was a common product among the Romans, and although they were lawless and ambitious in their inroads upon the surrounding nations, their conquests, with all the attending evils, were conducive of many good results; for wherever their armies went, they left behind new arts and habits, tending toward a larger civilization than is commonly the result of wars. Many fruits, roots, and vegetables, unknown in Spain, Germany, and England, were brought by the conquering Romans into general use among these nations.

The Saxons used cabbage under the name of kale, and it is still so called in Scotland. For a long time it was the only vegetable known in that country, but there is no end to the kinds now in use, and the varieties are multiplied yearly by the experiments and skill of the producers. With some persons it is not easy of digestion when cooked, but when cut up raw and used as a salad there is hardly anything more wholesome or palatable than the cabbage. Some chemists assert that it contains an oil which is injurious, unless, when cooking, the cabbage is boiled in two waters. However that may be, we know that this vegetable is far more delicate and tempting, if, after boiling about half an hour, the water is poured off, and clear boiling water added, in which the cabbage is cooked till done. With that precaution, aside from being nicer, it is not half as liable to produce disagreeable effects.

The Borecole, or kale proper, as now understood, differs from the common cabbage in having long, curly, wrinkled leaves, more like the original wild plant, only larger and of thicker growth, never forming into a close, solid head. They are very hardy, and furnish most excellent winter greens; and if the leaves and stalks are blanched, are greatly improved and very delicate. These kales are improved by frost. The Scotch or German kale, or cualis (curly greens), is used in immense quantities in Britain. The buda and the Russian kale are much less common. The buda is considered a great delicacy when blanched; the sprouts, and not the heart, being the most desirable. We have never seen it in our markets, but should think it might be brought to great perfection in our country, and be a very desirable addition to our numerous sorts of cabbage. The Coleya oil, so much in use in France for lamps, is made from the seeds of one kind of kale, and we think we have been told it is from the buda.

The Portuguese cabbage, from Tranzuda, is extensively cultivated abroad, and we see not why that also cannot be introduced here. It is said to be peculiarly tender and delicate, and destitute of the coarse rank taste of our common kinds. The heart is the preferable part; the mid-rib or stalk being used after the green parts are cut off only as greens. We wonder that some enterprising Yankee has not brought it into our markets.

The Palm kale and the Cow-cabbage are cultivated in Jersey, and other of the Anglo-Norman isles, as food for cattle. The leaves of both grow to a great height, from twelve to fifteen feet. It is the outer leaf that is fed to the cattle; the heart of the bud is quite tender, and when cooked is good and nutritious.

The close-headed cabbage has many varieties,—the white and the red drum-head, sugar-loaf, Savoy, etc. These are raised from the seed, and should be sowed the year before they are wanted, for large heads. While young, or the first year, if cooked at all it is as greens, or cabbage coleworts. Such as are not kept for growth the second year are pulled up, root and all, and thus sent to market to keep them from withering. The roots are cut off by the cook just before using. Some, when the head is half formed, are gathered for summer cabbage; but if left till fall the head becomes hard and firm, and late in the season they are pulled up and stored, or buried in the ground. Such as are needed for summer sprouts or coleworts are left in the ground all winter, and are ready early, with the nice new shoots for the spring market.

The red cabbage makes a fine pickle, and is the kind most used by the Germans for sauerkraut, though almost any variety will answer. The dwarf red is much used abroad for stewing.

The Savoys have leaves much more curly than the other varieties, and the middle part of their firm heads is excellent for boiling, and particularly fine for cole, or cold slaw, or kohl slaw, as the Germans term it. The dwarf and the yellow Savoy will stand the frost. The Brussels sprouts are something like the Savoy, but grow often three or four feet high. The sprouts form in little, delicate heads all the way up. The top of the stalk is more solid, and it is that which is like the Savoy.

The Cauliflower and Broccoli are among the most desirable of the cabbage tribe, and bring a higher price than any. The former is probably a native of the island of Cyprus, and the broccoli is said to have been introduced into Holland and England from Italy, in the seventeenth century. They are quite similar in habit and taste, but the broccoli will bear the frost and cold better than the cauliflower. Both are very great favorites and very delicate.

The leaves of all kinds of cabbage decay very early, and are then exceedingly offensive. They should never be allowed to remain in the cellar or lie about the house, as they are very injurious to the health. The water in which cabbage is boiled is also offensive and unhealthy, and should be poured into drains where it will the soonest pass off.

Our farmers often feed the outside leaves of cabbage to their cattle. All very well if they do not give them to their milch cows. Many of our dairymen will not believe that cabbage or turnips injure the flavor of milk or butter, but we think their taste must be greatly perverted if they fail to detect the flavor at once.

LVI.
PULSE.

MANY of the most useful and important of farinaceous or mealy kinds of vegetables are known under the name of pulse. All the large varieties of the bean, pea, lentil, tare, and vetch belong to this family.

The Vetch and Tare are chiefly used for cattle; very seldom in this country or England are they seen on our tables, even among the poorest class of people; but the lentil, a kind of bean, is greatly esteemed among the French and Germans, and, when properly and carefully prepared and seasoned, is more highly esteemed by them than the common pea and bean. They consider the flavor better, and the vegetable itself more nourishing. In France it is extensively used for seasoning soups, but in England and America is not much known except as food for cattle.

Next to nuts and fruits, all kinds of pulse were important articles of food in the earlier ages, for it required little labor and skill to produce or raise them. When fresh and tender, many kinds of pulse can be employed in cooking, particularly for soups, and many that we know nothing of except through books, would flourish in our climate, both North and South, and might be profitably cultivated. Year by year we find something new in our agricultural catalogues, as well as in the horticultural and floral.

Peas and Beans when dried are less digestible and healthful than when eaten green, as the skin becomes hard, and unless removed, as it can be by rubbing through a sieve for soups, will, with many people, produce flatulency, constipation, and often severe colic. But green or dried, almost every sort of pulse will furnish excellent food for most of our domestic animals, and is also considered very desirable to alternate with other crops, for, if corn or grain is raised year after year, on the same piece of land, it will in a short time wear out the soil; but pulse does not impoverish the land, and therefore may be grown on fields that require rest from more exhausting crops.

We learn that the time of the discovery of peas and beans has not been satisfactorily ascertained, but they were in early times extensively cultivated, especially the pea, in India, China and Japan, although evidently not a native of any of the extreme warm climates. When the English were besieging a castle in Lathian, in 1299, they were well pleased to supply their exhausted stores with this kind of pulse, which grew in that vicinity abundantly, and doubtless, on learning its nutritious properties, gladly introduced it into their own country. During Queen Elizabeth’s reign, her table was supplied with peas from Holland; fit food, says one of the writers of that time, for royal ladies, because “it was brought so far and cost so dear.”

Now, under careful and more enlightened culture, the varieties of peas raised in this country and throughout Europe are numerous. To speak of them all and of the whole family of pulse would require a volume. But much depends on the section in which the different varieties are raised, for, as with most kinds of produce, that which in one locality would prove most excellent, when transferred to another will become quite inferior.

The Chick-pea is small and not very digestible. It will not boil soft, but, like some of the lentils, is parched, and in Egypt and Syria sold in the shops to travellers, by whom it is greatly esteemed, because while passing through the deserts it occupies little room and needs no preparation. Youmans says that it will sustain more life, weight for weight, than any other kind of food, and that peas and beans are ranked first among the concentrated, strength-imparting food; but although strength-giving, we do not think it easily digested, unless eaten while fresh and tender, and cooked with care. Some kinds of peas are prepared by the Chinese as a vegetable cheese.

It would be useless to attempt to mention the best varieties of either peas or beans. Some seek for the earliest, some the largest or most prolific. In selecting, it is always wise to go to some intelligent seedsman, keeping a large assortment of all kinds of seeds, and learn his opinion; then, from the information thus obtained, decide which variety will best meet your wishes and locality. Some kinds of peas, like the string bean, have the pod and seed cut up and cooked together.

The Turnip was introduced into England from Hanover. It now grows wild in many parts of England, but the wild kind cannot, by cultivating, be brought up to the excellency of our garden and farm turnip. The turnip tops are brought into market for greens. The medium-sized roots are better than the largest, which are liable to become corky or spongy.

The Carrot was brought to England by Flemish refugees, during the reign of Elizabeth, and the leaves were in great demand by her court ladies as ornaments for the hair. The ladies of the present day are not satisfied to use it for that purpose, but by putting a root into a glass of water, and hanging in a window, in a few weeks they have a pretty, graceful window ornament, as young leaves will start out and form a green ball, very delightful to the eye in mid-winter. Both turnips and carrots are largely used on the table, and are very desirable to season soups or stews, or garnish fancy dishes. The carrot makes a very good pie, and with a judicious use of eggs and cream can be made quite palatable. When boiled and prepared for the table, the young and tender roots should be selected, as when large or old they become woody and fibrous. The carrot is excellent food for horses and cows. Unlike the turnip, it imparts no unpleasant taste to the milk, and is, therefore, very desirable for winter feed. The carrot contains a much larger proportion of sugar than most of the esculent roots; a large quantity of spirits can be distilled from it, and it is sometimes used instead of malt for beer.

The Parsnip is also a native of Britain, and largely used, not only for soups and garnishing dishes, but as a vegetable; or, dipped in a batter of butter, flour, and white of eggs, it is fried a delicate brown, and sent to the table as a side-dish. During Lent, it is much eaten with fish. It is even sweeter than the carrot,—much too sweet to please all tastes. Like the carrot, it is excellent in soups, and is sometimes made into bread. A kind of wine, said to resemble the Malmsley wine of Madeira, can be made from the parsnip. In Ireland, they brew it with hops, and make what they consider an agreeable drink. Parsnips and potatoes, in Scotland, are often beaten up with butter, and a nice dish for children prepared from them.

The varieties of the Onion tribe are more widely spread over the whole world than any other article of food. The onion, leek, chive, garlic, and shallot are the kinds in most universal use. In Egypt and many parts of Africa, it is noted for its very delicate taste, being less pungent and the odor less offensive than those raised with us. Two thousand years before Christ, it had, in the estimation of the Egyptians, some mysterious signification, and was worshipped by them as possessing wonderful efficacy. The onion is much pleasanter for food or seasoning in warm climates than with us. Those raised in Spain, Portugal, and Strasburg are famous for their great delicacy. They are everywhere used, cooked, raw, or made into salads. When eaten raw the odor imparted to the breath is exceedingly disagreeable, and, even cooked or prepared in salads, is not at all pleasant. It is said that chewing a little raw parsley will remove this annoyance, or a few kernels of roasted coffee, but we have never known anything but time and abstinence that did remedy the evil. It is to be regretted that it should be so, for they would otherwise be great favorites with all, and are, no doubt, very wholesome.

The Leek is more used in Switzerland and Scotland,—indeed, in all cold, mountainous regions, both on account of its being hardy, and because its exceeding pungency is a recommendation in these cold regions. It is a very important ingredient in two Scotch dishes that were the noted favorites of King James I., the “Cock-a-leekie” and “Haggis.” They claim in Wales and Scotland that the leek was brought to them by St. David. The blanched stem is the best for soups and stews, and is more esteemed in France than with us.

The Chive is a native of Britain and France. It is sometimes found wild in the pastures, and, if eaten by cows, imparts a very offensive taste to the milk. It is milder than the onion or leek. The leaves are the part used for broths and soups, and in some kinds of omelets, especially in France, it is thought to be indispensable. With us, it is more frequently found in the dishes at restaurants and hotels than at our private tables.

The Garlic is the most offensive of the onion tribe. It grows naturally in Sicily and the South of France, and from there found its way into Britain and America. It is very little used with us, but is found at almost all tables in Italy, though the root is only boiled to season soups and other dishes, and removed as soon as it has imparted a sufficiently strong flavor.

The Shallot grows wild in Palestine, and was introduced into England by the Crusaders. It is still more pungent in taste than the garlic, but not as offensive. Used in pickles, soups, and made dishes.

The Rosambole is a native of Denmark. It partakes of the character of both the garlic and the shallot, and is used in a similar manner.

LVII.
POT-HERBS AND SALADS.

THE number of plants and vegetables that are of excellent quality, and can be profitably cultivated for purposes of pot-herbs and salads, are so numerous that we can only mention the names, with here and there an item, that we may rouse the young housekeeper’s curiosity sufficiently to tempt her to search for their full history herself and we hope lead others to do the same.

In Burr’s “Field and Garden Vegetables of America,” is a “full description of nearly eleven hundred species and varieties, with directions for propagation, culture, and use.” Among them are many species and varieties which make excellent salads and greens.

The Leaf-beet is much esteemed. The leaf is used for greens. The rib, which is called Swiss chard, is cut out, boiled, and dressed like asparagus, which it resembles in taste. There are five varieties, of which the silver-leaf is the best.

Three varieties of the Nightshade—the white from East India, the large-leafed China malabar, and the red malabar from China—furnish a desirable addition to our pot-herbs. The juice from the fruit of the red variety supplies a beautiful color, but is not permanent. The black, or deadly nightshade, is poisonous.

The Nettle, of which only one kind is mentioned, will grow anywhere spontaneously, but is, in many places, largely cultivated, and is excellent for greens. The young, tender buds or shoots are nipped off as they appear, and will shoot out again very rapidly. By being put into a green or forcing-house, it furnishes a good substitute for cabbage, colewort, or winter spinach. If placed near a flue in the hot-house in winter, it will supply excellent nettle-kale all through the winter. Lawson says: “The merits of this generally accounted troublesome plant have been quite overlooked. Aside from the food it can supply, the stalk is quite fibrous, and may be made into ropes and cordage and good thread; besides a white, beautiful linen-like cloth can be manufactured from it, but it has never been cultivated for that purpose. It is an Asiatic plant.”

Spinach is one of the most important of this class of edibles. It grows wild in England. Flanders supplies us with some of the cultivated kinds. The orache, or mountain spinach, is quite hardy and very good. It is a native of Tartary, and was brought into England by Sir John Banks.

The Quinoa, a native of Mexico, is easily cultivated here. The leaves are used like spinach. The seeds in some places are made to take the place of corn or wheat for bread, and are excellent food for poultry.

The English and Irish Sea-beet are much liked in some places, and are easily cultivated.

The Shepherd’s-purse tastes somewhat like cabbage, but is much more delicate. That which is raised and marketed in Philadelphia is wonderfully juicy, and the leaf grows quite large.

Of the salad plants, Celery stands among the first. It is a native of England, and has many varieties, too numerous to mention here.

Lettuce is an Asiatic plant, and, like celery, is an important and almost indispensable article in preparing chicken, lobster, or other mixed salads. It is also eaten plain with simply salt or dressed with vinegar, sugar, and oil; or, what is better still, a few drops of vinegar, with sugar and rich cream.

The Endive, a native of China and Japan, is largely cultivated in America, and by many considered one of the best autumn, winter, and early spring salads.

Corn-salad, brought from the South of France and Europe, is sometimes boiled or cooked like spinach; but usually the young leaves are dressed for salad, and in winter and early spring are excellent.

Cress, or pepper-grass, belongs to Persia, but is largely raised here; eaten as a salad, either separately or mixed with lettuce or celery. The varieties are quite numerous.

Horse-radish and Mustard are from Europe. The young tips are sometimes mixed with other greens, and their natural pungency adds quite a pleasant flavor to less highly spiced pot-herbs.

The Nasturtium is from Peru. The seeds make a pickle almost equal to the caper, and the young shoots furnish a fine, pungent salad; and in all its many varieties it is a pretty garden ornament.

The Purslain, Rape, and Rocket are natives of Europe.

The Samphire is used as a seasoning for salads. Tarragon, from Siberia, is also put in salads for seasoning, and much used steeped in vinegar for dressings of various kinds.

Valeriana, as a salad, is by some thought more desirable than corn-salad, and is likewise a very beautiful garden ornament.

All these and many more can be grown in our own country, and most of them with very little trouble. Interesting statements respecting them can be found in most of the agricultural books, which are well worth reading.

LVIII.
MISTAKES IN COOKING VEGETABLES.

FRESH vegetables, properly prepared, are among the most important articles of food. They mostly abound in saline substances that are indispensable to the maintenance of a healthy condition of the whole system; but to secure the blessings they were designed to yield, everything depends on their being freshly gathered and carefully cooked.

It is very difficult to obtain freshly gathered vegetables when one is obliged to depend on the city markets for them. In this, as in many other things, our farmers, and those who can afford even a small vegetable garden, have far more to be thankful for than those whose home is in the city, and whose tastes and desires extend no farther; for although to those who heartily relish the summer productions, stale vegetables may be better than none, yet the use of them is always an unsafe experiment, making easy victims for the many diseases incident to the summer; whereas we imagine a reasonable prodigality in eating most of the summer vegetables and fruits, when they can be had every day fresh from the garden, is peculiarly conducive to the enjoyment of sound health.

Then, as regards the cooking of the many kinds of vegetables that are desirable only when fresh, it must be remembered that many sorts have a large proportion of woody tissues, which require a suitable degree of heat by which they can be softened or decomposed before they may be eaten with impunity. That done, and the acid which is found in almost all esculent vegetables becomes an essential assistance to sound digestion, as it tends to strengthen and give tone to the stomach.

Hard water is often recommended for cooking many kinds of vegetables, but we know of none that are improved, and many that are injured by it. Beans and peas, for instance, are injured by boiling in hard water, whereas if soft water is used the skin softens, loses its huskiness, and these delicate vegetables become highly nutritious.

A little soda is used by many cooks in preparing vegetables; but it is only when one is so unfortunate as to be unable to procure soft water to cook with that we think it can be tolerated. To be sure, it secures a fine green with some articles, such as peas and beans, and makes them very tender, but this is gained at the expense of all sweetness and natural flavor.

A few rules for gathering and preparing vegetables in the country may be given, which, if carefully observed, will secure their being brought to the table in an excellent condition, and eaten without one murmur of dissatisfaction.

First, be sure that they were raised from the best of seed. It is useless to expect good vegetables unless they spring from the most perfect and best variety of seed. “Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles?” Those who cultivate but a few acres simply for family use, having learned the importance of choosing their seed with care, are every year becoming more and more particular in their search for the finest varieties. More depends on this than farmers have been accustomed to think; but seeing what can be done by amateur gardeners through care, and reading the success of other experiments, they are giving much more attention to this than was customary in former years. The result is, that there is no longer any excuse for having a poor article brought either from your own garden or the market. It is the length of time it has been gathered, and the manner in which it has been prepared, that determines its excellence.

All vegetables are injured by lying exposed to sun and rain; but corn, peas, fresh beans, asparagus, and lettuce become perfectly worthless. They should be gathered while the dew is yet on them, brought to the house, and placed at once in a cool place where the sun will not strike upon them. It is better to leave corn in the husk, peas and beans in the pods, until it is time to prepare them for cooking. Then watch that they are not left long in water, if, indeed, you cannot avoid washing them entirely. Corn when taken from the husk needs no washing; simply remove all the silk. If there is a black or rusty spot on an ear of corn, reject it entirely; it shows the beginning of disease. It improves a mess of peas, adding greatly to their sweetness, to boil the pods, after shelling, about fifteen minutes in the water you are about to boil the peas in. For this purpose, you must pour cold water over the pods, to remove any dust or minute bugs that may be upon them; wash quickly, and then leave them to drain before shelling. The peas, of course, after this need no washing, neither do beans. Asparagus should be washed quickly, to remove all dust; but must on no account be left in the water a moment after it is clean. As soon as washed, put in a cullender to drain, and then over the stove to cook as soon as you can. All vegetables should be laid in the saucepan in which they are to be cooked, with sufficient salt to season sprinkled over them; then boiling water poured on, and the whole brought to a boil immediately, else they become of a brownish color and look very uninviting. The salt, either put on them first or the water salted before they are put in, prevents the color changing. Then boil, or, what is better, steam them for the proper time,—twenty minutes for asparagus, peas, and corn is long enough, never over thirty minutes; when so old as to need longer cooking, they are too old to use at all. Beans require longer time, unless very young; from three quarters of an hour to an hour will be necessary.

Very few vegetables, comparatively, are as digestible raw as when cooked; those used for salads, such as celery, lettuce, cabbage, etc., are exceptions. Some which when raw are quite poisonous can, by skillful boiling, be transformed into our most nutritious and easily digested food; yet the attempt to cook them is too often made in such a careless and reckless way that, although whatever poison they contain when raw is dispelled, the mode of cooking makes them about as injurious to the health as the poison could have been,—half raw or overcooked till they are clammy or sodden, or cooked with salt and fat meat until their whole nature seems changed,—requiring a stomach like that of an ostrich to digest them.

The potato, when raw, is not only unpalatable and injurious, but is supposed to be really poisonous, while proper cooking changes it to one of the most palatable and healthful of all vegetables.

The bitter cassava is so deadly when raw that the Indians use the juice to poison their arrows; but when grated and pressed, to remove the juice, it is subjected to a heat which destroys all that is unsafe, and then we have the tapioca, so much prized for table use, and which is regarded by many physicians as far more digestible for infants than arrowroot; but the sweet cassava, from which bread is made, is, even when raw, free from all harmful qualities. The wake-robin, from which sago is made, is so poisonous that the juice will blister the hand; but like the cassava, when roasted or boiled, is entirely free from all injurious qualities, and is, after being thus cooked, made into sago.

In many of our “cook-books” mint is recommended for seasoning various kinds of vegetables, but we do not believe a good vegetable can be improved by anything that destroys the true natural taste. Peas may be much improved, we think, by boiling the pods, after washing them in clear soft water, about fifteen minutes; then strain the water from the pods, bring it to a boil, add some salt to keep the peas green, and use as much as is needed to boil the peas themselves in. It gives them all the sweetness that the pod contains, which is sufficiently near the flavor of the pea not to impart any unnatural taste. A little cream may be added with the butter, pepper, and salt required to dress them, although we think the little water that is needed to cook them (and it should be very little) is far better. When we see a little mint advised to “give a fine flavor,” we have no objection to others enjoying it, but confess we think it a perverted taste.

Peas, beans, asparagus, corn, and potatoes should be either steamed or cooked in as little water as can be used without burning them; and to dress the first three, some of the water in which they are boiled should be used; then, in helping them out, if any prefer them dry, it is very easy to take them from the dish free from liquor.

Another great mistake consists in allowing most kinds of vegetables to cook too long. Some require much longer time to cook than others, but all need careful watching. Beets, turnips, carrots, parsnips, etc., need considerable cooking; but if you go beyond a certain point they become watery or sodden, and lose half their excellence or are completely ruined. Peas, corn, and potatoes should require but little time to be cooked sufficiently. When young, peas and corn do not require over fifteen or twenty minutes; as they become larger or attain their full growth, thirty minutes may be needed; if more than that, they are no longer fit to use, except for soups or meal.

Peas, beans, asparagus, and lettuce are often injured by being washed too much, or by being left soaking in water. Wash as little and as quickly as possible; drain, then cover up the dish, and put them in a cool place out of the sun till ready to cook. Lettuce, particularly, will be far more crisp and tender if, after washing and picking it over carefully, it is laid on ice till needed.

LIX.
DIVIDED FAMILY GOVERNMENT.

“I HAVE a family of young children, naturally amiable and obedient, who, while very young, seldom needed even slight punishment; but as they grow older wants and wills are thickening, and, occasionally, natural perversity and willfulness are manifested which sometimes require restraint. The mother’s heart would shield her children from such denials or demands as the father sees is necessary to their proper education and future happiness. Her tenderness warps her judgment, and too frequently her speech and action stand opposed to mine. Hence the question must often arise, if she cannot control her words and feelings in the presence of the children and servants, how far am I bound, in view of the future well-being of our offspring, to push my authority, and, as the father and head of the house, insist upon her yielding to my judgment without such opposition; and if I am compelled peremptorily to insist upon her silence, when I am attempting to control our children, what is her duty?”

These questions, which have been addressed to us, are full of interest; and the answer, if given simply from the first impressions derived from the perusal of the letter, without mature deliberation, would seem comparatively easy. But a few moments’ careful reflection will suffice to show that, looked at in all the various aspects necessary to form a thoroughly correct judgment, it is a very intricate and important subject, for which no one general rule can be made to meet the necessities of all. The happiness of the family, as a whole, and the future welfare of the children, require a united government; but, unfortunately, we do not see it to any wide extent. Children, who should be a bond of union, are too often the cause of dissension and division. If the father is stern, arbitrary, and unreasonable in dealing with the little ones, a judicious mother, who has suffered for them and watched over them by day and by night from their birth, naturally shrinks from the effects which severity or irritability must have on their young and tender minds, knowing, in almost every case, that gentleness and love will soften the heart and secure obedience, while coldness and harshness will harden, and provoke rebellion.

Or, perhaps, on the other hand, the father is loving and tender, yet firm; fully aware that foolish and injudicious indulgence, although for the present gratifying, will in the end work out, not the peaceable fruits of righteousness, but, for the children, years of sin and sorrow; for the parents, wretchedness, tribulation, and anguish. With a father whose constant thought is to seek the best interest of his children, even though it can be obtained only at the expense of some self-denial, if the mother co-operates, the training of their family will be a labor full of love and gladness. When both parents see eye to eye, and seek God’s blessing on every step, they may rest assured that their children, thus led in the way they should go, will, in mature age, rise up and call them blessed.

It is very strange that parents, with so many examples which should on the one hand warn them against over-indulgence, and on the other encourage them in the administration of all needed discipline, should not learn to avoid disputes or discussion in the presence of their families. When they so far forget their children’s best interests as to wrangle and dispute whenever a case of discipline is necessary, and allow children and servants to hear and see the whole, they not only lose the respect of those who should naturally look to them for guidance and help, but, more than all, they do lasting injury to those whom they should protect and love. One or two specimens of divided counsels and the mischief is done. Children are quick to observe; they turn to the parent who they learn will be most ready to hide their faults or overlook their short-comings for help to escape punishment, or to secure the gratification of every childish whim; but they soon learn to care little for either parent, for the selfish love of a child who has lost respect and reverence for father or mother is of little value. If the father commands and the mother, openly or privately, cancels the injunction, or the mother permits an indulgence and the father revokes the permission, the child will soon become angry and stubborn; and even if not daring to utter reproach and insolence openly, the spirit of bitterness and revolt is aroused. If parents were seeking to destroy their children, they could scarcely find any means so well calculated to accomplish the object. But the mischief does not end here; the parents themselves become embittered by such dissensions. Sometimes it leads to disputes and quarrels, and sometimes to partisanship; and thus the child’s selfishness, jealousy, and mercenary nature are cultivated. In such divided households better far are early deaths than life and health for children that must otherwise grow up under such malign influences.

If parents cannot see alike, in matters of family government, then they should agree between themselves on some compromise; but in the presence of their children, these differences ought never to be mentioned. Even if one parent is mistaken, it is better far to pass the mistake by, unnoticed, than that a dispute should arise, or that the other parent should interfere in the presence of servants or children. In almost all such cases there is blame on both sides; but, right or wrong, it is better that one should yield instantly and let the other decide, for the time being, than to attempt to right the wrong in the presence of any one, particularly in that of children. It is not hard to do this; and, O parents! if you truly love each other, it should be very sweet and easy kindly and unselfishly to discuss the matter under consideration; but let the husband dismiss during the discussion all idea of authority. It is an ugly word between husband and wife at all times; and in the endeavor to settle a disputed point, if you seek for any good results, keep it as far out of sight as possible. Go to your wife in the same spirit that influenced you while wooing her, and speak with the same tenderness; we think words thus spoken will be like oil on the troubled waters, and bring you into closer and more harmonious union than any commands can do.

But while settling any disputed point with regard to the management of children, it should be constantly remembered by the father that, of necessity, the mother must have more to do with their early years, and can hardly fail to understand their peculiarities better than he can do. It is only a few moments at a time that the father can spend with them, while the mother must watch over them hourly, providing for all their constantly recurring wants. To her belongs, naturally, the care of their health and early habits; to her the watching and weariness in times of sickness, and the harassing toil of nursing them through the fretful period of convalescence, back to soundness and vigor.

In the few hours the father’s business allows him to spend with his family, he may be able to see the weak points more clearly than the mother can do, who must be always with them. He may see plainly how, at times, she weakly yields to their caprices, allowing herself to become a slave to them, often because too weary to be firm. This is the time when his love, tenderness, and sympathy for his wife, the mother of his children, should be most earnestly manifested; when he can prove which is the stronger, which better fitted to be the true head of the house. These weaknesses, from whatever cause they spring, should not be noticed before the little despots; when alone, the husband, with the greatest kindness and gentleness, can show his wife how such indulgence will lay the foundation for much present trouble, and perhaps for a corrupt and disgraceful future. If she has good sense, and he, with unselfish desire for the good of all, does not seek by arrogant dictation to set himself above her, we can hardly imagine a wife and mother who would not earnestly endeavor to make the necessity of such appeals very unfrequent.

But if the mother is frivolous and self-indulgent, too weak and indolent to take up the cross of refusing childish, unreasonable importunities, for the glory that shall crown her when, by her firmness, her children have become noble men and women,—then, God help her who can thus lay the ax to the root of all domestic happiness! For the husband and father to push his authority or command silence with the children at home, constantly exposed to such influences, can do no good; it only increases the difficulty. We know of no better or surer way to save the children than to remove them from home and a weak mother’s cruel indulgence, and place them in some school where health and morals may be carefully watched over, but one sufficiently strict to save them from the evils of too great indulgence. This is a hard task; but it has saved many children whose parents, either one or both, were too foolishly tender or too cruelly indolent to control them, as God has commanded, in their early years.

LX.
HOW CAN WE SECURE GOOD SERVANTS?

MANY inquiries reach us, both from city and country, as to the best and most certain way to secure, if not the best, at least tolerably good servants. It is a question impossible to answer with any degree of certainty. The very best managers, the kindest and most conscientious, are no more sure of being suited than those who work without method, and are not governed by the law of kindness.

“Where shall we apply when searching for help?” is a question that is asked very frequently, and is equally impossible to answer. Some say, “Advertise.” The next will give you such a history of her trials from advertising, as will most effectually frighten you from that mode of help-seeking. But they will tell you to go to one intelligence office, and, if that fails, refer you to the next best. Another will say, as we should, that of all places an intelligence office is the most disheartening and the least reliable of any.

A lady in the country, with a large family, who is so happy as to have two grown-up daughters for her chief assistants, is desirous of “obtaining a raw German or English girl, hoping to be able to train her to do general housework properly,” and inquires where she must apply to obtain such a one, “right from the ship,” before a week or two of idleness has taught her the “ways and the manners” of those who have been in this country longer.

We have very little experience with what are called “greenhorns,” or girls right from the emigrant ships, though we doubt if they can be any more ignorant or half so unmanageable as many of the girls who have been in America for years.

The emigrant ships which come to New York land their passengers at Castle Garden. “The Labor Bureau of the Commissioners of Emigration” is under the supervision of Eugene Casserly, and we are told by reliable authority, that unless friends have secured employment for them before they reach our shores, their names, if they come seeking work, are registered in an intelligence office there. For any one proposing to seek servants from among those just landed, it may be well to go to that office, when these ships first land their passengers, and endeavor to form as correct a judgment as is possible, before actual trial. We are also told that some little conversation with the officers of the ship will sometimes make the selection easier or more satisfactory. During the tedious passage the officers have many opportunities of seeing their passengers under circumstances that can, if they choose to notice, enable them to form a reasonably correct idea of their character and capacities; though we fear that officers on board emigrant ships seldom give much heed to those under their care.

A reader inquires “if it would be safe for a young housekeeper to attempt to train a ‘raw recruit,’ and, if so, from which of all the countries whose people flock to our land we would advise her to seek for a good, reliable servant.”

It requires much patience and no small degree of skill to take a girl from another country, whose whole life and associations have been entirely different from our own, and bring her into a new life by teaching her to forget all her early habits and modes of working. It is a great and uncommon gift to be able to do this with patient kindness, and yet with such authority as insures obedience. Success in such an undertaking is a blessing both to the teacher and the pupil. Now and then we find one who, under such teaching and benevolent guidance, has fully repaid all the thought and care which has been bestowed upon her, and who, by her fidelity and unwearied energy, has won the love and grateful appreciation of all, and is looked upon as the good angel of the family. But we regret to say such characters are rare; and though, in some instances, the impatience and irritability of the mistress may repress much of good which, under better auspices, might have been developed, yet we do not believe as a general rule that the chief blame should rest with the mistress. Not one in a hundred—and that we fear is a high proportion—of all the Irish that come to our country can, by any amount of care, patience, or indefatigable teaching, be transformed into a neat, energetic, faithful, truth-telling servant; and as for gratitude, once in a while you may find one who remembers your faithful teaching, your kindness and care in times of sickness or trouble, who cannot be turned from her fidelity and attachment to you; but for the most part all this vanishes like the morning dew, at the first chance for easier work or higher wages.

The English and Scotch, as far as our observation goes, are more inclined to make their employers’ interest their own. They labor as faithfully, and watch with an eye to economy quite as earnestly, when left in charge alone, as when the master and mistress are near them. Of course there are exceptions to every rule; and we speak more from our own experience than from what others say.

The Swiss and Swedes are usually smart and capable; but their inability to understand our language when they first come to us, makes their instruction difficult and tedious, unless the mistress is well versed in foreign languages.

A good Welsh girl is one of the best,—usually neat, active, and quick to learn; and as the pastors of the Welsh churches hold it a part of their duty to exercise careful supervision over those under their charge, that acts as a great safeguard.

There are no better servants to be found than such as come from Canada and Nova Scotia, if one can secure such as bring from their own country a genuinely good character. Naturally hardy and industrious, they are not the kind of girls who begin by asking, “How many in the family? How large is the washing? Have you stationary wash-tubs? What privileges do you allow your girls?” But whatever they are told to do, if within the compass of their ability, they do it more willingly and cheerfully than most. But there are not a large number of the Swiss, Swedish, Welsh, or Nova Scotia girls to be had, nor are all who come to our country of the better sort; so that whichever way we turn for domestic help, one is almost compelled to feel as if buying tickets in a lottery.

LXI.
THE GUEST-CHAMBER.

IT is the prevalent opinion among housekeepers that the guest-chamber, or “spare room,” must, in every respect, be the best and most desirable chamber in the house. We think this a mistaken idea. Of course the room should be pleasant and inviting, furnished as tastefully and with as many conveniences as can be afforded, without curtailing the comfort and pleasures of the family, and with such regard to comfort that a guest, on entering, may feel at once not only at home, but as if surrounded with kindness and thoughtful care. All this can be accomplished without appropriating the largest and most commodious room for that purpose. The chambers most used, and, after the sitting-room, most necessary to the comfort and happiness of the family, to whom the house is home, and not a mere transient stopping-place, should be the best ventilated, the largest, and most convenient. The mother’s chamber and the nursery—if there must be two apartments, they should be separated only by a door, that the mother’s care may be near at hand—ought to be chosen with reference to the health and enjoyment of those who are expected to occupy them for years. The “spare room” should be a secondary consideration, for our guests are but temporary residents of our rooms, to whom, indeed, must be given all the time and attention that family cares will allow; while to the permanent inmates the house is a resting-place from hard labor, a refuge from outside care for some of the family, and to make it such to husband and children, the housekeeper has a daily routine of duties which can be wonderfully lightened by pleasant surroundings. And thus, for reasons having a bearing on every member of the household, it seems to us very desirable that more thought, care, and expense be given to secure a pleasant outlook, a thorough ventilation, and attractive and convenient furniture for the family rooms, than for the one set apart for those who, however honored and beloved, can of necessity remain but a few days.

We would by no means leave the impression that a family should selfishly retain their regular apartments when so many guests are present that several rooms are needed. In times of large gatherings it is very delightful to see each member of the household contribute some part of his or her rights to the free and cordial entertainment of friends. On such occasions, if they are not too frequent, it is quite amusing and conducive to much sport and cheerfulness to meet in family council and discuss the ways and means that may be employed to stretch the house, so that twenty people can be comfortably lodged in a space where usually eight or ten have only sufficient room. This, for a short time, is no hardship,—it is like a picnic,—and every child, from its earliest years, should be taught there is a pleasure in giving up rights, whims, and fancies, connected with its own special apartments, for the accommodation of others. The lesson is very easily taught, when they see that this is only a temporary thing; knowing this, when the pressure abates, they will return to their rooms better prepared to estimate and appreciate the care and affection which has so pleasantly consulted their taste and comfort in arranging the apartment which is set aside for them.

It is painful to glance into rooms in daily use, and see no indication that a moment’s thought has ever been bestowed upon their adornment, or to fill them with objects that, to the children’s eyes, will unite grace and beauty with usefulness for the family’s every-day life. “O, this will answer! It’s good enough just for our own family.” But look into the guest-chamber, for which enough has been expended to compel pinching in all that belongs to home and family comforts, and all for the ostentatious display of hospitality! When you see such incongruities and contrasts between the furnishing of the family apartments and the “spare room,” you will find the same rule runs through everything connected with the family. For every day use the commonest kind of delf, with odd bits of broken or defaced china, mismated cups and saucers, of every variety of color, and the food carelessly prepared, and of the poorest and cheapest quality, showing the same unwise disregard for family comfort. But let a visitor appear, and the table is dazzling with silver and cut-glass, and loaded with dainties over which the utmost skill in cooking has been expended. This is all wrong. Home should be first, company of secondary importance. Let your family always have the best you can reasonably afford; then cordially welcome your friends to share the good and pleasant things with you. It is not easy to teach children to love home, and prefer its society to all others, if they see that all the good and pleasant and beautiful things you possess are only to be used when you have visitors. You have no right to hope that your children will have good manners or be refined, if they see only the coarsest of everything when alone with you, but are called upon, with company, to put on company manners. Love of home, refinement, and good manners are blessings that will rust out and be destroyed, if not brightened by constant daily use.

But we have wandered out of the guest-chamber, and will now return. Because we urge that the family apartments should have the first claim, we would not be understood that no thought should be given to the room your friends will occupy; we only claim that it should not be paramount to all others. Select the furniture with such care and taste as your means will allow. It is not necessary that one should be rich to do this in the most perfect manner. Be sure that the bed is comfortably made, and at all times scrupulously clean. If used only for one night by one person, all the linen should be changed for every new-comer. A white spread, even if not of the best and heaviest, is always an improvement for any bed. Have a spare blanket neatly folded and laid across the foot of the bed, unless you have a closet in the room; then it is a protection from dust to put it there. A low easy-chair or rocker is always desirable, for a lady friend may bring a young infant with her; then, if in accordance with, your ability, furnish easy-chairs or a lounge, but no bedchamber should be crowded with furniture.

A table with a drawer, or small neat writing-desk, with an inkstand, a few pens, paper, and envelopes, are desirable, as friends often come unexpectedly, and neglect to bring the needed articles. To find such conveniences ready at hand will be taken as a kindly attention, which is among the little things that make a guest-chamber homelike.

A brush and comb, a cushion and pins, should be kept on every bureau, and the “spare room” is no exception to this rule. In this room one or two bureau drawers should be left open for the use of guests. The comb and brush, like those in other chambers, should be washed every week if used, or after every new occupant. A few drops of ammonia, put into a little soap and water, will cleanse a brush easily; rinse well in clear water, and stand it up to dry. For the washstand, good soap, plenty of towels, and a nail-brush should be provided. The water-pitcher must be kept filled; a water-bottle, with a glass turned over it, or a decanter with a stopper, is better for drinking water than a pitcher, as water left exposed to the air in a sleeping-room soon becomes impure and unwholesome. A slop pail or jar is needed by the side of the washstand, unless the wash-basins are set to be filled from the pipes, and emptied by the waste-pipe. A match-box, filled, is always an important article in every room, and a little basket or cornucopia is needed to hang by the glass, into which the hair from the comb and burnt matches may be put. This should be emptied when the slops are taken away; but hair must never be thrown in the sink, as it clogs the pipes; always burn it.

Of course, when there is no necessity for close economy, there are a thousand elegances with which it is perfectly proper to beautify, not only the family rooms, but the guest-chamber; but the things here specified are convenient and some really necessary for all sleeping-rooms, and can be procured or made by home ingenuity. Beautify and enrich the guest-room as lavishly as good taste and your ability will allow, only let the family chamber be not neglected for that purpose.

LXII.
THE CARE OF INFANTS.

“ARE our little ones so related to household cares, that Mrs. Beecher will give young mothers, now and then, a few words of instruction on the management of infants? I am a young mother as well as young housekeeper, and although not very competent, I, and probably many others, could easier work our way unaided to a respectable standing in all that pertains to the manual labor of the household, than risk mistakes in the care and training of our babies. I think the little ones very necessary to the formation of a true household, and am ready to accept any care and annoyance, if I may only be certain that I am not giving my strength for naught, but so that in these early days I may be enabled to ward off illness, and keep my baby healthy and vigorous. It is usually happy and quiet; but there are times when mind and body are taxed to the utmost limit of my endurance. It often has spells of crying, when no skill which I possess can soothe the disturbance, whatever may be the cause, or lull the little one to sleep. In no way, either by medical advice or the exercise of my own judgment, can I discover the cause, or find any indication which would show the child to be unhealthy.”

We most certainly consider the little ones very peculiarly a part of “The Household” department, and will cheerfully give any assistance to young mothers that is within our power. We have before this been called upon to answer similar questions, and see no reason to change the answers we have felt to be correct.

Young mothers are frequently told, we think very unwisely, “You have no cause for anxiety. Most infants either have their crying spells until they are three months old, or are very quiet and serene up to that period, and then change and cry, and are restless most of the time till some months later.” Believing this, the young mother tries to possess her soul in patience, and struggles on, waiting for the good time coming. But we think there is always some definite cause for a trouble which robs the mother for months of a large portion of the pleasure her infant should bring her, and makes the new world into which the little pilgrim has just entered so truly “a vale of tears.” The cause once ascertained, there must be some remedy found, through the large experience of so many mothers who have been harassed and perplexed by similar trials.

Often kind friends manifest their affection and interest injudiciously through their anxiety to see the new-comer, when both mother and child would be much safer for a few days of perfect, uninterrupted quiet. In the early days when an infant should be forming the habit of long naps, and at regular times, and when the mother should be kept from any excitement, these friendly calls begin, and each caller has great curiosity just to look at the new baby, or just to wake it one moment to see whose eyes it has borrowed. This incense offered to maternal pride is too mighty, and the mother’s judgment bows down before it. If she allows this foolish innovation once, she must twice, and soon a restless habit is formed, and short naps and long cries may be expected. It takes but two or three such friendly visits in the course of one day, to excite the child so that sleep becomes impossible; and then, although it is not needing food, when all other means fail to quiet it, what more natural than to put it to the breast? But broken rest and nursing too frequently will assuredly cause pain, and crying will, of course, be the result. In such cases, no remedy may be hoped for until those to whom the child is committed, and who alone should be responsible for forming its habits, have learned that sound judgment and good common-sense must be their guides in the care of their helpless little ones, and not maternal pride.

But, on the other hand, take a child who from its birth is trained in the most sensible manner,—washed, dressed, and fed at fixed hours, and laid, without rocking, to sleep in the crib, where no foolish friend, indulgent aunt, or grandmother is permitted to disturb or see it until it wakes naturally and is ready for the next meal. All through the day it sleeps, or serenely watches the dancing shadows on the wall, or the bright sun through the curtains; and but for the little cooing, rippling sounds that occasionally give token of its presence, one hardly realizes that there is a babe in the house. But at night the little one becomes restless and begins to cry. Every means for quieting it are resorted to. It is patted, trotted, rocked, and sung to, but all is of no avail. What can be the matter?

Let us take this uneasy little mortal. Ah! we see. In dressing it in the morning you pinned the little waists as tightly as you could draw them, so that the body is as round and unyielding as a marble pillar. The morning bath and change of clothes brought some relief from the night’s fetters; and for the first part of the day, or, if uncommonly strong and healthy, until night, the child may be quiet and endure; but by night, release from so many hours’ bondage is absolutely needed. How would you like to have your clothes thus bound about you? No room for free breathing, no elasticity of body! What chance for healthy digestion? After many hours, during the day, of perfect inactivity, what wonder if by night the poor baby feels this compression insupportable! Its little limbs must ache, and the whole body become stiff and numb. But instead of relief, when the child is disrobed and night-clothes substituted, it is only to tighten the bands, and leave it to pass the long hours of darkness as much like a mummy as before.

When we see a child thus bound, we think it would afford us pleasure to act as dressing-maid to the mother long enough to teach her what torture she is thoughtlessly inflicting on her helpless babe. It has no way of attracting your attention and begging for relief but through tears. If the mother was subjected to the same distress for once, she would ever after understand why her baby lifts up its voice like a trumpet, to tell her of her sins.

Whenever an infant begins to cry, without any apparent cause, by day or by night, let your first act be to examine its clothing; loosen it, remove the pins, or untie the strings, and see if the lungs have free space to expand, and the body a chance to move every limb and muscle. Rub the body gently with your warm hand, particularly the back, lungs, and bowels, to promote the circulation which the barbarous swaddling-bands have all day impeded. Try this remedy, particularly at night, and, unless you again “put on the screws,” in most cases your baby will fall into a peaceful slumber, and you may hope for unbroken rest.

But here is another whose garments are all sensibly adjusted, yet its piteous cries are enough to make the heart ache. What is the matter? Touch the little blue hands, and you will find them like ice. Take the child in your lap; draw your chair to the fire; heat a blanket and wrap about it; lay it on the stomach, across your lap, holding the cold hands in one of yours; shake out the foolishly long robes, till, hidden somewhere in this mass of flannel and embroidery, you find the numb little toes, and hold them toward the fire till warm. See how it stretches its feet to the fire, and puts the pretty face close up to your warm hands. Many a child who has cried for hours, taxing all the mother’s strength and skill, and filling her heart with alarm, will, under this simple treatment, in a few minutes be fast asleep. Only turning a child over in the crib—anything to change its position when you find that it begins to cry or becomes restless before its nap is finished—will sometimes soothe it to quiet slumber, give it the benefit of a long sleep, and you sufficient time to accomplish many things which must have been laid aside had baby waked too soon.

Endeavor to imagine yourself in an infant’s place when it manifests symptoms you do not well understand. You wrap its hands and feet so closely, when you lay it down to sleep, that it cannot stir. Could you remain two hours thus fettered without becoming cramped and full of pain? Loosen the wrappings; shake up the pillow and turn it over occasionally that the little head may rest on a cool spot (and, by the way, a good hair pillow, not too full, and well beaten every day, that it may not become lumpy, is far more healthful for any child than feathers). If awake, change its position; or if it has lain long, take it up, toss it gently, and play with it awhile to give it a pleasant variety, and cause the blood to circulate freely through the whole body.

If these simple methods do not pacify a crying child, it is very probable that some of the above-mentioned causes have produced colic; but do not give the simplest medicine till you have tried what virtue there is in an enema of tepid water. Unless the crying indicates the beginning of some acute disease, we have invariably found the effects almost magical, and in no case will it be hurtful.

Never nurse your child when you are chilled, fatigued, or terrified. The child, however hungry, must wait, or be otherwise fed, until your own system becomes quiet. It must be a very strong child who will not suffer from the nourishment the mother offers while under such disturbance. If your excitement proceeds from fear, go to your husband or some friend who has the power to soothe or talk you into quietude, before you see your child. If fatigued, sit down and rest; if overheated, wash your face and hands in cool water, keeping out of any current of air, and become thoroughly cool before you nurse your baby.

If, unfortunately, you have allowed yourself to be overcome by anger, keep far away from the little one, till you have asked God to still the tempest, and feel that by his grace you are at peace. If in such an unhappy state you dare to perform a mother’s sweetest duty, your child will bring you to repentance before many hours elapse.

In early youth we were once compelled to watch by a child in convulsions. This was among our first painful experiences, and when we were absent from home. To our dying day we shall never forget the mother’s dumb anguish when told that the child must die. We afterward learned that she had been furiously angry with her husband. The angry voices frightened the child, and to still its crying, even in the fierce heat of her passion, she put the babe to her breast. The physician knew of her ungovernable temper, and, boarding with her, had been the witness of the morning’s tornado. Over the suffering little creature, he sternly told her that her temper had killed her child. We never saw her but once after that sad trial, but the marks of the penalty which followed so quickly upon her sin were still stamped upon her face.

Mothers do not enough understand or believe these facts, because they are not accustomed to trace the effect to the cause; but a physician who looks carefully into the cases which come under his care will assure you that this is no fiction. A mother at all times is called upon to guard well her own actions, and to practice much self-denial for the sake of her offspring, but never more than when her child draws its nourishment from her breast; and never are judgment and care in the clothing, in the fashioning and adjusting of it, more important than while the babe is incapable of making known its wants or discomforts except by crying.

LXIII.
PERSONAL NEATNESS.

THOSE who have the oversight of household affairs, and perhaps are also compelled to perform much of the manual labor themselves, cannot be expected to keep their garments at all times spotlessly clean, still less can they preserve their hands soft and delicate; yet there is far too much inexcusable carelessness about personal appearance, among those who are called upon to be always active and industrious, as well as among those who have fewer responsibilities.

“Well, I, for one, don’t see how a farmer’s or mechanic’s wife can help it; she is obliged to rise early to prepare the breakfast, or see that it is being properly prepared; then the milk requires early attention, or perhaps butter and cheese are to be made: one duty follows another in such quick succession, that from the time the housewife rises in the morning until after dinner, at least, she is compelled to work rapidly if she would be through in proper season. What time has she to think about her own personal appearance? A fine housewife that must be, who would feel obliged to stop in the midst of some important work to see if her hair was in company order, or that no spot of any kind had soiled her dress or apron. It is all very well for ladies to be thus particular, but laboring people have no spare moments for any such ill-timed neatness.”

We do not expect you to be always “in company order,” as you understand that term: that would be exceedingly inconsistent; yet we could never understand why one’s own family—those whom we love, and with whom we hope to spend our days—should not have as strong claims upon our thoughts, time, and personal appearance as those whom we seldom see; and we do know that one can work, and work hard, and yet be at all times so tidy that she need not be mortified to be caught by company. Let us give you a few hints which good common-sense can easily enlarge.

When retiring at night give the hair a thorough brushing, not only for your own comfort and to promote a healthy condition of the hair, and remove all dust that through the day will naturally settle in it, but also to secure greater expedition in dressing in the morning; this done, fold it up loosely, draw a net or very thin cap over to prevent tangling: with this precaution it should not take long when you rise to smooth and arrange it neatly, though, unfortunately, smooth and neatly arranged hair is no longer fashionable; but it is hoped that while at work, even those who bow down most subserviently to the fickle goddess, Fashion, so arrange that no loose hairs are flying.

It is convenient to have morning-wrappers made with a narrow ruffle round the neck of the same material as the dress; or, if yours are not so made, before retiring baste or pin in a simple collar or ruffle, that no needless time may be spent in dressing. If you are not accustomed to a full bath every morning, a thorough bath at night is very desirable, even if only a sponge bath can be obtained, and then a copious washing before dressing will occupy but a few moments. The teeth should be well brushed, and the mouth and throat faithfully rinsed in cold water morning and night and after each meal; no hurry of work should be an excuse for neglecting this duty, if not for neatness and comfort, for health’s sake. The hair in order, face and hands washed, and teeth brushed, it will then require but a few minutes’ time longer to be ready to leave your chamber and go to your early morning labors in the neatest working order.

A large apron made from heavy brown or white “butchers’ linen” is much neater and more serviceable than calico or gingham; it does not wrinkle so easily, and if wet will not become limp and useless so soon. The sleeve of a morning-dress should be large enough at the bottom to be easily folded back above the elbow and pinned up; or, if preferred, a deep cuff is very convenient, as during work it can be unbuttoned and turned back in the same way. Put a button and a loop of tape or strong cord about a quarter of a yard apart, on four seams of the skirt at least,—before, behind, and on each side,—so that you can loop up the dress evenly instead of pinning it awkwardly back; it is much neater and in the end will save time, and certainly it keeps the dress from being soiled at the bottom, and thus saves much washing.

Now go to work with bare arms, a large, long apron, and dress looped up, too short to be drabbled; and it is very seldom, except in cases of uncommon accident, that one’s working attire may not be kept in suitable condition to meet any stranger or friend who may chance to call during the busy hours of the day. With smooth hair and a clean dress, you may consider yourself perfectly presentable; all preparation needed should not occupy five minutes, and no caller should be kept waiting longer. Unpin the sleeves, unbutton the dress where looped up, take off the apron, wash hands and face, and smooth the hair if need be,—that is all. To keep a visitor waiting is not in good taste; we think it inexcusable, unless compelled by some unusual hindrance. In that case, send in your reasons or some apology for delay, when the caller will either wait patiently, knowing that you could not help it, or, if in haste, return regrets and leave. This is far more kind and courteous than to keep any one waiting fifteen or twenty minutes, in haste perhaps, but not daring to leave, because thinking each moment you will enter.

If, while preserving, or in any other way, you stain your hands, a few drops of muriatic acid will remove the stain at once. It is very convenient to have a bottle of this liquid always in the house, for a black, ugly stain on the hand is a very disagreeable sight; but the bottle should be put in a secure place, where children or careless servants cannot meddle with it. It is poisonous, but perfectly safe if kept securely and used as directed. Wet the spot with the acid, rub quickly over the stain, and immediately wash in clear water, else it will burn and make your hands uncomfortably rough. After washing off the acid, give your hands a good washing in hot soapsuds, using a nail- or finger-brush to clean all round the nails, which in preserving or paring fruit are usually badly discolored. Those brushes which have a nail-cleaner at the top of the handle are the best. No one should be without a finger-brush, and to none is it more indispensable than to those who have the most of the family work to do. Wet the brush and rub soap on it; then brush the nails and inside of the hands with it before you finish washing them. Nothing more effectually removes the stains and dirt, which will of course settle on the inside of the hands when handling pots and kettles or working over the stove; and even if your hands are roughened by no such labor, the nail-brush is of great service.

Often when in haste, the dress or apron is caught against a hook or nail, and a sad rent is made. Whatever your hurry, do not go a moment with this accident unrepaired. If it happens while some article is over the fire which may not be left a moment without danger or injury, you can at least pin up the unsightly hole. Always carry a small pincushion, filled with pins, in your pocket; if you do not need one yourself, somebody else may be in trouble for want of only a pin; and make it a point, as far as possible, to keep a needle ready threaded near by, so that at a moment’s warning you can temporarily run up any rent made while at work, which, if in your power, is far better than pinning it up. A big grease spot or prominent rent on a woman’s dress is a poor recommendation, and we confess we never see them without forming an unfavorable opinion, if a stranger, or experiencing a feeling of mortification and annoyance, if a friend.

A looking-glass, comb, and brush are out of place in the kitchen, but a small glass in a back hall or entry close by, with a shelf beneath for the comb and brush, are quite necessary for your servants, and it is a great convenience to have another near by for your own use, so that if hastily summoned from the kitchen, you can smooth your hair, and by the glass assure yourself that there is nothing untidy about you.

There is one kind of personal neglect that we often see, with great surprise, and quite frequently among a class of people who have little to do with hard work, and no excuse for the carelessness from lack of time. We have seen, just above point-lace and diamonds, ears that have long been unacquainted with a plentiful supply of soap and water. A pretty ear is very attractive to us. We always notice particularly the eye and ear in every one we meet; and if we see brown, dirty-looking streaks behind the ear, or the rim and inside dirty, with unseemly accumulations of ear-wax remaining uncared for,—if it is on a girl who applies for a place, we would not receive her; if on a “lady,” we find it hard to feel much respect for her. Unless in a desert, unblessed by water, there is no manner of excuse to be found for such neglect.

These hints may seem quite insignificant, but we cannot think them so. Aside from the comfort and respectability of scrupulous neatness in your own habits, you are, by your example as you should be by your precepts, giving ideas of neatness and order to your children and servants. But if they see you come down in the morning with your hair in disorder, your garments dirty or torn, shoes or boots slipshod or unbuttoned, you may be sure your example will be very readily imitated, and probably greatly exaggerated. If a girl is uncleanly in her person, there is every reason to presume she will be slatternly about her work, and particularly so about her cooking. Therefore, if only for selfish reasons, it is most desirable that young housekeepers should have a high standard for personal cleanliness, and live in full accordance with it.

LXIV.
ARE HOUSE-PLANTS INJURIOUS TO THE HEALTH?

“MRS. BEECHER: My wife and I are both attentive readers of the ‘Christian Union,’ and we venture to ask for a few words of information upon the subject of house-plants. We are passionately fond of flowers, but have frequently seen it stated that plants, especially flowering plants, vitiate the air, rendering it unfit for breathing purposes. Is that really true? We like plants in our sleeping-rooms, but of course would give them up if convinced that they were injurious to the health. We have heliotropes, roses, geraniums, lilies, fuchsias, and a number of other plants. Do these render the atmosphere noxious to life and health? As plants liberate oxygen and absorb carbonic gas, we think they ought to be wholesome. Or is it the blossom that does the mischief? Is a sweet-smelling flower poisonous? Will you please set us right upon this matter, and oblige

“Two Young Housekeepers.”

We copy this letter entire, hoping by so doing to bring this subject to the attention of those whose opinion and judgment are of greater worth than our own. There are many conflicting opinions concerning the effect which plants and vines, growing in the house, and filling it by day and by night with their delightful atmosphere, have upon the health of their worshipers. If the wise and scientific among our readers will give this matter attentive and sober thought, we hope to find in the multitude of counselors the wisdom which is so much needed.

It is not very many years since physicians lifted up their voices against this pleasant adornment of our homes, by which some portion of the joyous summer may be wrested from the grasp of the frost king, and which enables us while indoors, to forget that fingers and toes are in danger the moment we venture outside of the carefully tended parlor garden.

But our physicians change their opinions like other mortals, and at the present time some affirm that plants and vines in the house, or even in the sleeping-apartments, are health-giving. They tell us that the carbonic gas which is being constantly set free from our lungs, and which is detrimental, is at once absorbed by our flowers, while these at the same time give to us, in exchange, the oxygen which, in its proper place and quantity, is so necessary to health and life.

Other physicians assume that a growing plant is not noxious or in any way detrimental, but that as soon as it begins to blossom it should be at once removed from a bedchamber, and if allowed to remain in the house at all, should be placed, while in bloom, as far as possible from the family apartments.

Again, it is stated—and all these conflicting opinions, we are told, come to us from the “best and most reliable authority”—that no plant, in flower or not, is at all injurious in any part of the house, so long as the perfume from the blossom is not powerful and not at all offensive. “Who shall decide when doctors disagree?” It seems to us very important that our learned, scientific men—those who make the effects of the various gases on life and health a careful study—should give this question a thorough investigation, and when, after mature research, they arrive, as they suppose, at a proper conclusion, should publish their opinion in simple terms, such as all can comprehend. We should rejoice if the conclusion of the whole matter might be such that all could lean upon it with no fear of its proving by and by a broken reed; but it is difficult to keep pace with changes in the results of scientific investigations.

One year certain health-principles are established, the next they are set aside for some other thing. Some articles of food are prohibited as being very injurious, but in a few months the prohibition is cast aside. One mode of diet is declared pernicious, shortening the days, and making the few that are granted undesirable. Yet, just as you are ready to accept this theory, you are told of those who have lived wellnigh to a hundred years, or perhaps have passed that period, always healthful and cheerful, yet the proscribed diet or article of food has been habitually indulged in by them.

For our own part, we find it difficult to believe that the plants cultivated in our homes, and which so beautify and enliven our winters, can be injurious, provided the rooms in which they are placed are kept well ventilated. In severely cold weather it may not be advisable to open a window just over the plants, but when windows are raised to air adjacent rooms, where there are no flowers, then open the doors leading from them to the parlor, or winter garden, that the cold breeze from without may sweep through the whole suite of rooms for a few moments until the air is entirely changed. This, even in the coldest winter, will do the plants no harm, nor their owners either, but, on the contrary, will be very beneficial, making both more healthy and vigorous. Many a lady in mid-winter sits by the fire or register, yawning and stupidly sleepy, with a dull heavy pain over the eyes foreboding a severe headache, who could throw off all this torpidity, defy the headache, and rise up refreshed and vigorous, if she would simply throw open her doors or windows just long enough to drive out the overcharged air in the room, and by so doing bring in exchange a pure and invigorating atmosphere from the outdoor world; and house-plants will be equally benefited by the same prescription.

We should not think it wise to have plants in bloom in the sleeping-apartment, unless the room was large, and the doors so arranged as to favor frequent and complete change of the air.

It is always desirable, just before retiring, to raise the windows for a few moments, not only in the parlors, but in the sleeping-apartments, particularly if they have been used through the day as sewing-rooms. It will insure a more refreshing sleep, and also a brighter awakening in the morning. House-plants should be placed on a stand having castors, so that they can be easily rolled away from the windows when opened, until the room is fully aired; or, if freezing cold, an old cloth kept for the purpose, or old newspapers, should be thrown over the plants to protect them from being chilled.

Cut flowers, we think, should not be left in a bedroom overnight. Just before retiring, set them into a cool, dark closet. They will keep fresh much longer by using this precaution, and the occupants of the chamber escape any possible injury from them. The water in which cut flowers are put ought to be changed every night and morning, or it will become slimy and offensive, as well as injurious.

The love of flowers is very desirable in children, and should be cultivated from their earliest years. For that reason, if for no other, we should be exceedingly sorry to have any physician whose judgment we respected forbid the cultivation of house-plants, particularly in the nursery. In that room every bright and pretty thing should be gathered, and certainly nothing more quickly attracts the attention of children than a choice collection of flowers. To find these all about the house, but especially in the nursery,—their own peculiar domain,—secures a taste for them far more surely than to see them kept exclusively in the green-house, or in rooms set apart for their culture and nothing more. Yet no mother will risk her children’s health in the least degree, and if her physician assures her flowers in any part of the house are harmful, she will eject them at once. We do not at all believe they are injurious to the health, and know that they greatly increase the happiness of those who cultivate them. But we are open to conviction, and if any one of reliable judgment can bring sound reasons against keeping these house-gardens, we should be glad to know of them.

LXV.
BAD BUTTER.

OF all the needless discomforts common to boarding-houses and hotels, we know of none so truly inexcusable, nor which subtracts more from one’s enjoyment, than the use of bad butter for cooking purposes. When placed on the table in the butter-dish, if found to be imperfect or quite unpalatable the butter can easily be rejected. To eat good bread without butter, or, if the bread is unsatisfactory, a fine mealy potato with a little salt, is by no means the greatest hardship that you may be subjected to. But imagine yourself seated at the table, and a large dish of fresh peas, green and tender, brought in. You have been hoping, almost impatiently, to see them each day, and now what a feast is yours, in anticipation. You can hardly wait till the soup is removed. Visions of the splendid peas, of sweet and delicious flavor, which you used to eat at your father’s table, are floating before you; and tender remembrances of the dear hand that then so deftly ministered to your childish appetite are rising, until you are fast verging toward sentimentality, when your turn comes to be helped. These peas are the first real country peas, picked right from the vines, you have tasted since your home was established in the city, and you eagerly bid farewell to sentiment, and address yourself to the full enjoyment of visible, tangible things. How you would like to take a real big mouthful in a childlike manner! But you control your eagerness, and, ladylike, demurely carry the spoon to the mouth. O horrors! Have you fortitude and self-possession sufficient to enable you to swallow that detestable morsel? Politeness and unwillingness to exhibit your disgust to others at the table control you. With a shuddering gulp you swallow, but hold your breath till you snatch a piece of bread or a mouthful of water to send after, with some faint hope of removing the vile taste. What is it that so disturbs you? Rancid butter! Is there anything, any taste more revolting and abominable? That delicious dish of peas spoiled, irretrievably, by a spoonful of the nauseous abomination, manufactured by careless dairy-women, and bought by easily gulled grocers, or by those persons possessed of india-rubber consciences, capable of stretching to any imaginable length, who will sell this abomination for good butter. Or it may be some sharp, managing landlady has bought it, knowing its bad character, for economical reasons. Her boarders will not eat very heartily of any dish that is flavored with such butter, and yet they will be compelled to eat something, even if distasteful. We know such ideas of economy—not honesty—are common; but boarders are very foolish who submit to this imposition. If they choose, they can easily teach such unscrupulous managers that being “penny wise and pound foolish,” in the long run, will not secure prosperity.

But you will try to judge charitably. Perhaps this was a mistake; and it may be that only the peas have suffered. You will try to look cheerful and satisfied, and turn to the nice piece of broiled chicken on your plate. Alas, alas! Juicy and tender, broiled just right to a perfect brown, but all destroyed by this miserably rancid butter! “The offence is rank. It smells to heaven!” What can you do? Where turn? Beets, beans, succotash,—that dish to which, with green peas, you swore allegiance in early childhood, and have faithfully kept the vow,—all destroyed by this most villainous compound. You nibble at a bit of bread or piece of potato, and try to wait patiently till the dessert is brought in, for you see no alternative but to make that your principal meal. You wonder if others are as uncomfortable, but, conscious of the intense disgust your face may exhibit, fear to look boldly around.

Well, there is a balm for almost every woe, and here comes the dessert; it may bring healing for your wounded feelings. What a delicious-looking apple-dumpling! This atones! Will you take wine sauce or hard sauce? You don’t like wine sauce; but the butter in the hard sauce,—dare you venture? Why, surely no one will risk such butter as the vegetables were seasoned with in a delicate sauce! But one taste is sufficient to show you that you have not yet fathomed the depths of economical audacity. You put back your plate and try a bit of pie. Even into the pastry the enemy has found entrance.

But you say, “What is one to do? The rooms are engaged for a month, and I must stay the limited time or forfeit the price of the rooms, and that I cannot afford to do; yet I shall surely starve. I hardly feel that I can eat a meal without butter. The table butter is not so intolerable as that used in cooking, but even that is all I can endure. What can I do?” Will it not be better economy to leave at once, and lose the rent of your rooms, rather than stay and starve a month, or attempt to “fill the aching void” by that which may derange your stomach, and induce fever, dyspepsia, or other sickness, which will cost, in doctors’ bills, ten times the price of your rooms to eradicate?

This great evil will never be remedied while those who board, either regularly or only for a few weeks in the summer, continue to “put up” with this discomfort as one of the ills of life which must be borne. Let it be once fully understood that all boarders—all who frequent fashionable resorts—are fixed in their determination to endure this cruel imposition no longer, and that as soon as they find poor butter is a part of the regular diet, and good butter only an occasional luxury, they will at once leave, and we think the hotels and boarding-houses will soon find means to procure a good article. Let this class of purchasers alone refuse to buy any but the best, and the large number of poor butter makers will soon be taught the necessity of greater carefulness in their dairies.

Bad butter is entirely a needless discomfort. The fault begins, of course, with the manufacturers. They have no excuse, as a general thing. Once in a great while, there may be a reason for a few pounds of poor butter in the dairy, which, though it should be a source of regret, is not necessarily a disgrace. Sickness in the family may sometimes compel the overtaxed housekeeper to neglect the dairy, or leave it for a short time in incompetent hands, who, either indolently or ignorantly, fail to give the milk-pans a thorough scalding, or leave the cream too long on the milk and too long unchurned, who do not understand salting or working over the butter; but in such cases no one with any self-respect will allow the butter to leave their own house. If at all usable, they will sooner submit to the disagreeable necessity of using it for their own food, or put it at once into the only place where poor butter has any right to be,—the soap-grease pot; anything rather than do themselves the discredit, and their customers the injustice, of sending it into the market. That is a species of meanness that should be considered unpardonable; and just as soon as the grocer learns that his customers will not, under any consideration, buy poor butter of him, and the dairymen understand that the grocer will not look at any but the very best, this mischief will be rooted out, “the plague be stayed”; poor butter makers will find their occupation gone, and leave the field to more conscientious and more competent manufacturers, or at once, from self-interest, if not from self-respect, resolutely set about securing instruction, and learn the only way to make good butter. This is easily done; care, neatness, and good judgment are all that is requisite after the mode of operation is understood, and the preliminary steps are simple and easily taken. It is a marvel that this nuisance has been so long tolerated. It is just as easy to make good butter as poor. It is simply want of neatness or deficiency of judgment that fills our markets with a miserable preparation that is only fit for soap-grease or the pigs.

First, take care that your cows are not allowed food that will affect the taste of the milk,—such as turnips, cabbage, or onions; then the cows’ bags and the milkers’ hands must be washed perfectly clean before beginning to milk; any dirt or bad flavor from the cow’s bag or the hands, that may find its way into the milk-pail, will taint the milk and injure the flavor of the butter; for it should be borne in mind constantly, that there is nothing that receives any foreign taste so readily as butter.

Next, all the utensils—pails, strainers, pans, skimmers, churn, butter-bowl, and ladles—must be kept as sweet and clean as scalding water and a hot sun can make them. The cream, even in the coldest weather, must not be allowed to remain on the milk over thirty-six hours, and in warm weather even less. In hot days remove the cream as soon as the milk begins to sour: none will rise after the milk changes. Although it will, of course, become thicker by souring, it does not follow that it will be any better; on the contrary, every moment the cream is left on sour milk takes from the sweetness, quality, and purity of the butter. In churning, the motion should be even, not too rapid, and, when gathered, the butter must be well worked over and salted, and set on the ice, or in a place so cool that it will soon harden and keep so; but be sure that no meat, fish, fruit, or vegetables are put in the milk-room or cellar,—nothing from which the milk or butter will contract any taste. It will require a second salting the next morning, to remove what buttermilk may be left from the first working. One of the great merits of the Blanchard churn is the facility with which the buttermilk can be freed from the butter, as the less manipulation the better for the butter, provided you secure entire freedom from buttermilk.

Many put in a little saltpetre, to make the butter hard and firm,—a bad practice, we think, not only because it gives a slightly unpleasant taste to the butter, but also because it may prove injurious to the consumer. A butter-pail or pot, perfectly sweet, should be well rubbed with salt, and the butter be packed in it, and well pounded down so as to leave no air-holes; then cover the butter an inch deep with brine strong enough to bear up an egg, and put to the brine two table-spoonfuls of pulverized saltpetre. This will help to keep the butter sweet and hard; and, used in the brine, will neither impart any acrid taste to the butter nor be in the least degree unhealthful.

These rules strictly followed by our dairy-women, we are confident that there will be no complaints of bad butter, but the comfort and happiness of the consumers be greatly increased, and the labor of the butter makers in nowise augmented thereby.

We lately saw a receipt for keeping dairy utensils pure and sweet, which we mean to try, as we think it cannot but be advantageous. Keep close by the table on which the milk things are washed “a small tub or a hogshead, according to the size of your dairy. In this, slack some good quicklime, enough to make a thin whitewash; fill with water, cover closely to keep out dirt and dust. The lime will settle, leaving a saturated solution of lime-water over it, as clear as spring water. Wash the utensils as usual; then dip each article into the cask of lime-water, giving them a quick turn, so that every part shall be immersed in the lime-water, then set them up to drain and dry, and the purification is complete.” We presume in the case of a churn, cheese-tub, cheese-press, or other large article, that pouring the lime-water over it will answer the purpose just as well, though using the lime-water up sooner than by dipping into the cask.

The lime in the clear water instantly neutralizes the acidity of the milk which may yet remain in the cracks or seams of the milk-vessels. The lime keeps the water pure all summer, and the waste and evaporation may be made up by adding clear water when needed, as the lime settled at the bottom will keep up the strength of the saturated solution.

LXVI.
OCTOBER.

THE brilliant hues in the mountains, the falling leaves in the lanes (over which the horses’ feet make such sweet yet melancholy music), remind us that October, the brightest, dearest month in the whole year, has come; but while we rejoice in anticipation of the glorious hours it promises, we must not forget that during these mild, invigorating days our houses must be set in order properly to meet the sharp November weather, which is close at hand, and the fiercer blasts of winter which will follow.

Now the frosty nights and cool days will soon relieve us from the plague of flies, which have by their unconquerable impertinence so perplexed and disheartened all good housekeepers through the summer; at least we may promise this relief, if they are hunted every night and morning from the dark corners where they delight to hide at the first approach of frost. Attack them every evening with brush and broom, driving them out doors into the cold night air, closing doors and windows after them, and a few frosty nights will rid you of this evil for the winter. After each battle sweep up all the dead and disabled and burn them, that from out of the pile which you will have gathered no stunned or crippled fly may be ready to rise up against you with the morning sun. As the cold increases they become stupid and less active, and huddle together in masses on the ceiling or windows, where they cling, too stiff and torpid to shun your approach, thus affording a good opportunity to brush down and destroy them in large quantities. If up each morning before the sun, as every good housekeeper should be, you will have another favorable time to remove them; but if both night and morning these opportunities for banishing your enemies have been neglected, you will find as soon as the fires are kindled, or the bright warm October sun shines through your windows, they will come out from their hiding-places and be just as busy through the day, and far more annoying, than in July and August. If you have been vigilant, the frost and snow, combined with your unwearied skirmishes, will soon set you free, and the flies be remembered only as trials of the past; and through the winter, at least, you may hope to rest from your labors in this particular direction.

But never imagine that you can sit down in idleness; as the flies are routed, or on the retreat, you will find yourself beset with wasps. During the chilly September days they begin to seek for winter quarters. They are well content for the most part to weave their summer nests away from the house, in trees and shrubbery; but as cold weather approaches they are prone to select some snug retreat under the rafters of the barn or the eaves of the house or attics. They like to curl up in large masses inside the window-blinds on the east or south side of the house, where they remain too torpid to stir at your approach, until the sun pours in its warm flood of light, to wake them to life and activity. Wherever they are thus found massed together, if at all within reach, be sure and spare no effort to destroy them early in the morning, while in this torpid condition. It is very easy then to kill them: take a pitcher of boiling-hot water, raise the window carefully and pour it over them; or if nested close on the window-glass, pour it down between the upper and lower sash and it will destroy large quantities of them instantly. The few stragglers that were only slightly touched with the hot water will not be vigorously active, and you can easily brush them into a pail or dust-pan and burn them. Unless you take some such method of removing the wasps, it is not safe to raise your windows to air your rooms and let in morning air and sun, as they will be sure to seek shelter in the chamber instead of remaining inside the window-blind, because as the sun warms their lodgings they become quite lively; and, once in the room, should they crawl in under the pillows and sheets, a favorite shelter for them, the warmth of your body at night would most probably rouse them, and they might disturb your slumber in a manner by no means agreeable.

It is unfortunate that wasps often attack without provocation; and such applicants for winter shelter should be destroyed as effectually as possible, especially when there are children about. Their stings are bad enough for an adult to bear, but it is piteous to see a child suffer from them; because to the pain is added a terror not easily controlled. Notwithstanding the utmost vigilance, some may so skillfully secrete themselves that your first knowledge of their presence will be a sting. Every one should keep a speedy antidote in the house, and nothing gives so thorough and instantaneous relief as cut tobacco,—the only thing that we know of that it is good for. We never fail to have a paper close at hand, where every one in the house knows where to find it. Wet a small quantity of it and lay at once on the spot stung, holding it on tightly for three or four minutes, and the pain and swelling will be at once removed.

These annoyances disposed of, you can now commence a thorough house-cleaning, and at once begin to remove all the marks by which the flies have disfigured your house and furniture, and disturbed your peace through the warm weather.

No good housekeeper will allow the glorious October days to beguile her into forgetfulness so far as to neglect house-cleaning until the raw and chilly November weather is upon her, and winter is close at hand. October is by far the best month for fall house-cleaning, not only because the flies are disposed of, or so far under your control that they can be kept out of the house, but also because the weather is usually not so warm that such work is exhausting and severe, nor so cold that the necessary exposure chills; the cleaning can be accomplished with more comfort and less fatigue than in any other month of the year.

During the summer all the small fruits have been plentifully supplied, and later, peaches, pears, and grapes have furnished much enjoyment and many luxuries; but all these good things levy a tax upon us in some shape or another, generally defacing furniture or leaving ugly stains on our clothes or table linen. The clear, frosty nights that we may soon look for will aid materially in eradicating the stains; but the injury done to furniture, especially articles with marble tops, requires a different treatment.

Fruit stains may be removed from linen, without in any way injuring the fabric, by rubbing yellow soap on both sides of the stained spots; then wet some starch in cold water or in lemon-juice to a thick paste, and spread over the soap; rub this starch-paste into the cloth thoroughly, and expose the linen to sun and air till the stains disappear. If they do not entirely go in three or four days, repeat the application. This is for stains that have been in some days; if taken when fresh stained there is little trouble in removing them. Hold the stained place over a bowl and pour on boiling water; let it filter through slowly, pouring on the water gradually till the stain disappears; then lay the article in the hot sun for an hour or two, when it may be washed and ironed. The water used must be really boiling, and the stain fresh made, not dried in for days, for this remedy to be efficient. As by this mode one avoids all danger of injuring the texture of the cloth, it is worth while to take a little trouble at once and save the linen instead of waiting until quite dry. Bleaching liquids, chlorate of lime, Javelle water, and many other preparations, are good if carefully used.

When marble is stained with fruit, oxalic acid diluted with water, or oil of vitriol and water, rubbed on the stain and left a few minutes, will remove the spot; but they must be used with care, for if left on too long they will destroy the polish of the marble. Rub off very dry, and polish with chamois-skin.

There are a multitude of receipts for removing stains both from linen and marble, but very many, although they remove the stains, are liable to remove the cloth also, or in marble destroy the polish; others are useful, and in time our readers shall have them.

LXVII.
THE SLAVERY OF FASHION.

“WORN OUT,” “Overtaxed,” “Used up,” “Too tired for anything,” are expressions daily heard from mothers and housekeepers; and the languid step, pale, care-worn face, and heavy eyes bear witness that these are not foolish, unmeaning words, but all too near the truth for safety. Most are ready to recognize the fact that half the feebleness and ill health among women arises from over-exertion while attempting to carry burdens too weighty for the constitution. Yet how much of this is needless, in no wise increasing the comfort or happiness of the family circle, but, in every department of household labor, the result of blind, unreasoning adherence to the dictates of fashion. Look backward but one half-century. Are those of us who require three or four servants to keep the household machinery in working order any happier than our mothers were? We turn from our fashionable cooking and elaborately served tables with longing for the simpler yet most excellent cooking of the olden time, when one servant was sufficient, and often none at all was required; the mother, with her little daughters round her, preferring to do all the work without a servant, that she might herself teach her young girls the lessons of domestic economy as none but a mother can teach them.

Was all that labor more wearing to health and strength than the cruel bondage in which we live, while laboring to secure, from servants, the care and efficient work absolutely necessary to the present style of living? With how much more appetite we partook of the plainly cooked and more healthful food in those days, undisturbed by the bustle and confusion of many courses, or the constant attendance of a waiter, whose eyes and ears are usually more observing of the little pleasantries and freedom of the family circle than of the service which a fashionable style demands, and whose tongue is ready to retail all that is said or done at our table, and “with additions strange.” The meal finished, the labor of clearing away and washing the many dishes now required is fourfold what was demanded in the times of more simple and pleasure-giving customs, to say nothing of the reckless heedlessness and destruction fostered by the haste necessary to be ready for the next formal meal.

But the slavery of providing for the table is nothing in comparison with the over-exertion which fashionable dress exacts. Even if the labor of the olden time was burdensome, and time and strength too heavily taxed, yet the exercise of the whole body, and frequent opportunities of breathing fresh outdoor air, which housework compels, were far more likely to secure firm health than can be hoped for if one sits for hours bending over ruffling and trimmings, thereby restricting the proper action of the lungs, and straining the eyes until they become weak and prematurely old. In many cases this must all be done without help, for few, comparatively, can afford to hire a seamstress, and yet be able to spend money as lavishly on such elaborate dress as the present monstrous style demands. But we are not sure that even that herculean task is as injurious to health and happiness as the severe strain on strength, nerves, and temper, which those ladies whose purses are always full experience in traversing the city, roaming from store to store, in their anxiety to secure the first and newest style, and at the same time torturing themselves lest, after all this labor, they should misjudge or be beguiled into wrong selections. With this fear ever present, they repeat those tiresome journeys day after day, making themselves disagreeable and uncomfortable, and exhausting the wonderful long-suffering and patience of the shopkeepers before they can decide which of all the many patterns they will purchase.

But the material being at last selected, can they now rest from their labors? Ah, no! their trials are but just begun. The ruling power in the fashionable world—the dress-maker—condescends to acknowledge that the articles selected are all satisfactory, though twenty or even thirty yards are hardly enough for a full dress (our mothers looked very fine and far more inviting and graceful with but ten yards in their dresses). But now comes the great struggle. How shall the dress be made? Mrs. —— has twelve small frills or flounces around her skirt, and a train two feet long; then there must be a bustle “ever so big,” over which falls a pannier, with puffs, bows, buttons innumerable, bands, folds, and—mercy! we are getting beyond our depth, for we cannot possibly understand all the terms given to the piles upon piles of strange “fixings” which go to make up the whole of that most abominable deformity called a fashionable dress. But the poor harassed devotee has them all at her tongue’s end, for her heart is full of them. If Mrs. —— has a dozen ruffles or puffs, she will not be outdone, but will have eighteen or twenty, and a bustle twice as big, which shall extend her overskirt and all its puffs and bands twice as far; and ever so many more dozen buttons all over,—above, below, before, behind, between the frills or bows,—anywhere, so that Mrs. ——’s trimmings are surpassed. “But, truly, now, dear madam, is this the very latest style? Isn’t there something just a little newer?” And then another discussion begins, anxious, nervous, and trembling, lest some one should be a little ahead of her in style. The poor slave spends many precious hours before she dares to decide on the pattern. But at last that question is settled; and now another trouble assails her. The arrogant dress-maker well understands the power these devotees of fashion have vested in her hands, and her victims, proud, sensitive, and overbearing perhaps to all others, must bow to her will and caprices. She will take her own time to finish the work.

“But, O madam! I must have it for this party, before any one else has this new style.”

She pleads in vain. No coaxing will avail. She must await the despot’s will, and spend hours or days excited and unhappy, fearing that the dress will not be finished in season for the party. And when at last it comes, look at it! We could laugh, were we not ashamed to think that women can be so absurd. What can be more uncouth, ungraceful, or deforming than a lady dressed in the extreme of fashion, or indeed with but half the absurdities that are daily seen. A camel, with its hump and peculiar gait, is graceful compared with the figures with frowzy hair, dresses puffed and looped up over a bustle, that we see stooping and tottering on high-heeled boots, or with the additional incumbrance of a long trail, sweeping through our parlors, and, at the slightest beck of fashion, drabbling through the mud.

Will our women never learn that they are giving health and strength, almost life, “for that which satisfieth not”? Once in a while, when the bondage has pressed too heavily, and they sink exhausted on a sick-bed, some few wake to a dreamy kind of consciousness of their folly; or a mother, who has endeavored to make her little girl as “fine as the finest,” is prostrated by giving her strength for this absurd waste of time and comfort, and begins to see that there is a better way she can manifest her love for her child.

A year or two ago we received a letter, from which we will copy a few sentences:—

“I have been trying to get away to the country with my family of two little girls and the baby; and, that they might appear in as fine feathers as any other birds, have overworked and gone to bed sick, instead of being seated in a nice parlor-car, inhaling the pure country air, as we whirl along, away from the city.... When I was a girl, we wore our own hair; and a white muslin dress, with a fresh ribbon for a sash, was all that was needed for the largest party. And how we did enjoy ourselves, and life! The elderly people talked, or played whist, while the young ones danced right merrily the old, square cotillion, Virginia reel, etc.; and mirth and pleasure was the finale of many a day whose early hours had been given to domestic duties, which then were shared by all at home. One day with a dress-maker, and no machine, made a dress entire, without fatigue. The “artiste” was often a lady like ourselves, and sat at the same board, and did her work conscientiously, while the day she passed with us was no dreaded ordeal, but rather a pleasure to look forward to....

“Well, to-day, lying on my bed, overtaxed and overworked, I have been thinking of these things, and then of other mothers, who, like myself, spend all their strength in toil, and lie awake all night, ‘too tired to sleep’; and so employ the wakeful hours in planning work for another day, using up as fast as possible the precious gift of life, which the good Father above gave to us.”

Now, why can we not be content to live happily and easily? I speak not of the sorrows that from time to time come upon us, when the heart bleeds, and the wounds quiver long; for the deep scars which tell where the strain was hardest, tell also of the healing which He who scourges never fails to bring. God did it.

But the toil of sorrow and care we make for ourselves have no promise of His relieving. The slavery of fashion, which so often leads to sin, cannot be carried to his throne, and left there for a blessing. Will not some one tell us some practical way to begin a reform, to release us from a bondage which is becoming intolerable?

It may be to have one ruffle less; to tuck more sparsely the flounce of even the innermost petticoat, or to sew one yard less edging on a baby’s shirt. But whatever and wherever the lesson, I pray you begin it at its A B C; and as it advances, I have faith to believe that headaches will be lessened, “prostrations” less nervous, appetites and sleep more regular, and women lift their heads like the flowers after the rain, glad and grateful.

We had something to say of the injury done to our little children by this early training in devotion to fashion; but we must leave that for another time.

LXVIII.
PICKLING AND PRESERVING.

IN the preliminary steps to almost all new enterprises there are “lions in the way,” from which it is very natural, at first, to shrink back with at least a partial discouragement; and, as a general thing, the two most formidable “lions” which cross the young housekeeper’s path are pickling and preserving; that is, if she has not, before marriage, taken part in this work, under her mother’s supervision. We hear more complaints and repining in this direction than in any other. Time, strength, and money, it is affirmed, are spent in earnest endeavors to succeed; but the time and strength are given in vain, and the money is wasted; so their failures compel them to believe. The pickles become slimy and moldy; the jelly won’t harden; the sweetmeats ferment; the canned fruit turns sour. In short, “the troubles and trials,” writes one, “incident to this portion of housekeeping are enough to make young girls forswear matrimony, and go into a convent; only they never will believe in these trials until they are bound; and then, instead of a convent, a boarding-house would seem the only alternative, if they would escape manifold vexations; for if a young housekeeper do not succeed in all her duties, but particularly with her pickles and preserves, ‘Mrs. Grundy’ is sure to go prying about, and expose every failure, and these failures are attributed to shiftlessness, instead of misfortune.”

We have great sympathy for any one in her first attempt to manage this portion of fall labor, unless able to secure the support of some judicious friend familiar with all the minutiæ necessary to accomplish it creditably. Courage, self-reliance, and a resolute will are of very great advantage, and can usually carry one successfully through most difficulties; but experience is, after all, a wonderful assistant in securing success,—in “making crooked places straight, and the rough places smooth” and easy. Our household journals and papers are full of instructions and receipts for preparing every kind of pickles and preserves; but with all these valuable aids, it will require several experiments, in most cases, before a beginner can feel that the difficulty is mastered, and this work stripped of all mystery; once successfully done, however, it becomes as simple as making bread, pastry, or cake.

Still, we cannot but think that too much time and strength are expended in private families on some parts of this labor. Since this kind of work is done on a large scale, and these luxuries so cheaply procured in the many excellent establishments arranged expressly for the business, and which have reduced the various operations to the simplest and easiest forms, we feel confident that housekeepers might relieve themselves of this part of their cares, and be none the poorer for it; certainly this is true as far as canned fruits and preserves are concerned. It is but reasonable to suppose that in these large manufactories, with every appliance and convenience to secure the most perfect and expeditious work, in many articles they can equal, if not surpass, the most expert cook or housekeeper.

The regular, old-fashioned preserve, with “a pound of sugar to a pound of fruit,” is much less used since the system of canning fruit, and thus retaining the natural flavor, has been introduced. This is certainly more healthful, and to most tastes more palatable, than the rich preserves. The person must be fastidious indeed who could ask for any sweetmeat more delicious than the pears, peaches, cherries, and plums that now fill our markets and groceries, and there can be no doubt that for those who must buy the fruit, and take the labor and risk of canning it, it is far more economical to buy it from the factories or grocers ready canned. Even when one has the privilege of raising one’s own fruit, if it can be sold with reasonable profit we think it questionable if there is anything saved—any real economy—in canning the fruit at home, instead of buying it. For those who have leisure, and do not find it important to be very exact in economizing strength or money, it is all very well to do everything of this kind at home. To many whose time hangs heavily on their hands,—and, mythical as it seems, we suppose there are such,—preserving as much as they can of every variety of fruit, even to the absurdity of using watermelon-rinds and cucumbers, is, perhaps, a real pleasure. Though, while books are to be obtained, and fine flowers and beautiful scenery to be seen, we cannot comprehend how one can spend time in this work, simply for the enjoyment of it. But it is all well enough if it gives pleasure; and doubtless articles prepared with one’s own hands have a flavor more acceptable than when they are bought ready for use. But to all housekeepers whose minutes are precious, these labor-saving manufactories are a great blessing, and the slight difference that may be recognized in the excellence of the article, when compared with the home-made, is not to be noticed when we remember the additional time and ease, to say nothing of health, one secures by buying preserves and canned fruit from reliable establishments.

Whether these ideas hold good with regard to pickles, may be somewhat doubtful. We cannot but think that the large amount of spices, now so much used in making pickles, is injurious to the health; even the simplest kind, we are inclined to believe, should be used with moderation; and as the imported pickles, and those prepared in the manufactories in this country, are often compounded with articles known to be injurious, it is safer to make whatever is required in the way of pickles, whether mixed or plain, at home, under your own eyes. Some of the various kinds of vinegar now in use, and largely employed in the factories for pickles, is very injurious. The process of “greening” pickles is carried on with most reckless disregard of health. A bottle of small, delicately-greened pickles is very attractive to those who do not know the poison hidden in them.

Cider vinegar of the purest quality is the best. But in the process of making, if pickles are soaked or boiled in a brass kettle, they are poisoned by the verdigris, or acetate of copper, which is formed by the action of the vinegar on the brass. Acid dissolves the lead that there is in the tinning of saucepans, and corrodes copper and brass, and if it remains in such vessels any length of time the vinegar becomes very injurious. For these reasons metal kettles should be discarded in making pickles. When necessary to boil vinegar, use a stone jar on the stove, and also use wooden spoons and forks. Most suppose that the delicate green cannot be obtained without the use of alum in the brine, and in this brine they must be soaked, boiled, and allowed to cool in a brass kettle half a day. They claim that by thus soaking, the skin is acted upon by the metal, or acetate of copper, and by soaking afterward in hot water this poison can be so far removed as to be no longer injurious. It is said that if soaked long enough in the brass to bring out the full green, pickles would be dangerously poisoned; and that one can tell if this has been done by the clear, light green color; but if, after soaking in the alum and brine, in brass, half a day, and then being removed and soaked in hot water, the action of the heat turns them a dark grass green, the poison is destroyed. This may be so, but we prefer pickles made green without the help of brass, or not green at all. There are ways by which all adulterations may be discovered. The chemist would find no difficulty in ascertaining; but very few of those most interested—our housekeepers—are competent, even if they have time or inclination, to examine these things scientifically, and therefore it is well to insure against harm in domestic manufacture by having it fully understood that metal kettles of every kind should be discarded.

The many kinds of sweet pickles that have become common within a few years are, we imagine, less liable to derange the stomach than such as are spiced highly, and prepared mainly with vinegar. The mixed pickles—piccalilli, Indian pickle, Bengal pickle or chutney, and the Chow Chow—are all fiery, and must require an uncommonly strong digestion to be eaten without injury.

But each one must judge for himself. Pickles of all kinds will always be in use, no doubt, and it is well for every housekeeper to know how they are made. Pickles should be always kept covered with vinegar, and if at any time there are indications of their becoming moldy, boil up the vinegar again, adding more spice. Have the jar two thirds full of pickles, and one third full of vinegar. Keep the jar closely stopped, as exposure to the air will make them soft.

In greening pickles (for they can be greened enough without brass) keep them closely covered while the hot vinegar is on them, so that none of the steam may evaporate. Boil them only four or five minutes, or it will take away their strength, and they will soon become soft.

LXIX.
WHAT HAS BECOME OF ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS?

WE look in vain into many pleasant homes, or into the streets, cars, or steamers, for what was once a common sight, and was then, and ever must be, the sweetest object in nature,—a simple, artless little girl with all the pretty, unaffected ways and manners of unsophisticated childhood, fresh and beautiful, about her. There is no lack of small beings, dressed in such a marvelous style that Darwin himself would be puzzled to make out the class to which they belong; but we find nothing to remind us of the little girls we used to know, either in dress or manners.

In former times a pretty muslin bonnet or a simple close-fitting cottage straw was thought the most appropriate covering for a little head, protecting the bright eyes from too intense light, and shielding the rosy cheeks from the sun’s too fervid kisses; but now, leaving eyes and cheeks entirely unprotected, we see something placed on the sunny curls, which is elaborately trimmed with bows, feathers, a flower-garden, or perhaps a mingling of both; for, although it is too small for even a good-sized doll, the milliner, with an ingenuity which would have been praiseworthy if exercised in a more sensible manner, has contrived to pile up trimming enough to hide even the faintest suspicion of a bonnet. But, what is sadder than the lack of true taste and good common-sense in this stylish affair, we see no semblance of childlike simplicity in the wearer. And the bonnet is but the beginning of this unfortunate change which we mourn; the pretty baby waist, the plain white dress, the neat muslin or merino, so appropriate, which little girls used to wear, are supplanted by incomprehensible garments, the fac-simile of the grand dame’s attire; flounces, fringes, bows, and double skirts looped and festooned in an astounding manner; the child’s—no, we mean the young lady’s—height (there are no children in these days) is less than her circumference. This dress is put on over a hoop, and the “mite” who is made to carry such an incongruous burden totters about on high-heeled boots. This tiny specimen of womanhood, hardly weaned from her mother’s breast, or, more probably, a wet-nurse’s, shakes out her redundant robes, bending and twisting her small body in grotesque imitation of the women spoken of by the Prophet Isaiah, “with haughty mien, walking and mincing as they go.” See how the little ape looks over her shoulders as she tottles about, to be sure that her hoops give her dress and figure the correct wiggle her sharp eyes have observed in the stylish mother and her fashionable friends. It is lamentable that all the simplicity and beauty of babyhood and childhood should be destroyed by fashion.

Added to the absurdity of the dress, these little women attempt to discourse on the “latest style”; with their companions or dolls you will hear them imitating the discussions on this subject that they daily hear in the parlor or nursery from their mother; or, still imitating, with a contemptuous toss of their little heads, they will inform their listeners that they “couldn’t think of ’sociating with those girls, because they are not stylish!”

A few days since, as we passed out of a store on Broadway, our attention was arrested by the conversation of two little figures seated in a fine carriage, waiting, doubtless, for mamma to finish her shopping. They were dressed in a style positively overwhelming: their hats were wonders of skill; their gloves had the orthodox number of buttons, with bracelets over them; a dainty handkerchief, suspended from a ring attached by a chain to another ring on the little doll-like fingers,—the dress was simply indescribable. The elder was speaking to the younger, who, scarcely more than a baby, sat demurely by her side: “O, mercy, just look at that horrid little girl who is crossing the street! she has no hoops on, and not a single flounce; no trimming at all on her dress! and, oh, see her gloves; she has only one button! Pshaw, she’s nobody,—not a bit of style!”

The younger lisped a reply, which we lost as we passed on; but it was painful to think of the training they must have received which enabled them at that early age to judge a child of their own years so quickly by the rules of fashionable dress, and because her attire was not in exact accordance with that week’s style, turn from her with contempt as something too low for their notice.

Then, again, how soon a child, taught by daily precept and example, learns to watch her little companions with envious or exultant feeling, as the case may be! How quickly she begins to grow hollow-hearted and deceitful; receiving, as she sees her elders do, a companion with open arms or a welcoming smile; expressing the greatest affection, but the moment she leaves begin to criticise or make unkind remarks.

“I don’t like Nellie one bit, mamma; she’s such a proud, stuck-up thing! I suppose she thought I should feel bad ’cause her dress had more trimming, and was a little newer style than mine. I didn’t let her know that I noticed it. But I do think it real mean, mamma, that she should have nicer things than mine. Papa is twice as rich as her father. It made me mad to see her show off her dress; and she kept looking at mine and sister’s in such a way.”

“I hope, my dear, you were polite to Nellie.”

“O yes! but, mamma, I was awful glad when she left; though I was just as smiling and pleasant as could be to her face.”

“That’s a good girl. You must always be very polite and cordial to your companions, you know. But I must say I think Nellie was quite vain; and you must never show that you are proud of your clothes. I shall go out to-morrow and get you that pretty dress you teased so for, I think!”

“O mamma, I am so glad! And as soon as it is made I’ll go right over and call on Nellie. Won’t she feel bad when she sees my new dress! It will be ever so much prettier than hers.”

And the mother smiled complacently, with never a thought of the wicked feelings she was cultivating in her child. O mothers! how can you be so blind! Both by precept and example you are teaching your children to make dress their idol, and to know very little of anything but that which pertains to fashion; to be envious or contemptuous of their little friends and companions, according as they are dressed better or worse than themselves. Can you ever reflect that God did not commit such treasures to your keeping without meaning some day to call upon you to render up the account of your stewardship? What can you say, when asked how you have trained the young souls given to your care? Can you reply, “We have been instant in season and out of season in teaching them,”—what? To work for the good of others; to learn to do right; in all simplicity to love and obey the Saviour, who, taking a little child in his arms, said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Of such? Ah, no! Not of such children as those; you are training to avoid, not evil communications, but unfashionable companions; to look on the outward adorning, and not on the heart.

But it is not alone the worldly-minded who make no pretence to any higher law than their own selfish gratification, who bow the knee to fashion. Christian mothers, are you guiltless? Think of the time, the health and strength given to dress; the bondage which compels you to pervert all real taste, to do violence to your own natural instincts of neatness and true elegance, and accept the absurdities of fashion, simply because the ruling style requires it. If you are thus influenced and beguiled, do you flatter yourselves that your children will not, from their earliest years, regard such homage as important? We do not think it wrong to dress neatly and in as good taste as possible. We blame none for giving so much thought to their own dress and their children’s as to provide those articles that are appropriate and becoming to the different styles of face, figure, and complexion. It is natural, and we think right, for a mother to dress her darlings as neatly and prettily as she can, without unnecessary waste of time and strength; but we do think it sin to spend money and time lavishly in following the dictates of fashion, and not of good taste and common-sense; no one pretends to believe that there is either of these in the present style of dressing. It is utterly destitute of grace; is ridiculous to the last degree; but fashion compels, and women—Christian women—obey, and teach their little daughters like obedience! O, the money, time, and strength given to destroy, by the absurdities of fashionable dress, every vestige of beauty and grace which God gave you in your little ones! Take the week through, hour by hour, do you not give more time and thought to your own and your children’s dress than you can spare for your Master’s service? Do not your children gather from your daily walk and conversation that to be fashionably dressed is of more importance than loving and serving the Saviour, who died for them and you? Judging by your daily conversation, which will they think of the greatest importance, the service of God, or devotion to fashion? To which do they see you giving the largest part of your time, the adorning of their little bodies,—“the plaiting the hair, the wearing of gold, and putting on of apparel,”—or in teaching them that which is not changeable, “not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight of God, of great price”? What can you say, fashionable Christian mother, when He calls you to give an account of your stewardship?

LXX.
PROCRASTINATION.

AN inclination to put off till to-morrow that which were more appropriately done to-day seems quite natural to almost every one, but it is one of the symptoms of depravity, and the earlier it is fought and conquered the better. There are some sensible mothers whose constant endeavor is to prevent this habit from gaining a foothold in their children’s characters. From earliest childhood they watch and nip it in the bud. Those who have lived an active life—every moment claiming its own special work—are the mothers who can best train their children to understand the full value of the prompt, regular performance of each duty, however small.

“Come, little one, it is time to get up.” The child is perhaps disinclined, thinks one more little nap would be comfortable. But it is time to prepare for breakfast, and what is gained by delay is nothing but the first lesson in selfish indulgence and procrastination. The child does not need it. If it went to bed, as it should have done, when the birds folded their heads under their wings, it requires no more sleep. A few gentle words or caresses will soon chase all traces of slumber from those bright eyes, and the little one, merry as the birds, is soon ready for breakfast.

While children are very young begin this education, and see that it is distinctly understood that no excuse but illness can avail. They must be up at a given hour, and by the time they are twelve years old you will find it difficult to keep your little girls and boys in bed beyond the regular time. You have thus established a habit of early rising which will cling to them through life; that is, if their mother gently and lovingly impressed upon their minds what they would lose by delay and gain by promptness. But, although a stern and severe compulsion may secure obedience while under your eye, by that course you make the act so disagreeable and repulsive, by associating it with your stern manner, that they are tempted to rush to the other extreme whenever they can do so with impunity.

Children naturally love play better than work or study; but it is better that they early learn that there is something besides play which even little girls and boys can and must do. They, of course with no evil intention, will be inclined to stretch the play hour or recess a little beyond the appointed time. It is the parent’s duty to watch and guard against this, not on account of the real good which a young child might accomplish in these few extra moments, but for the sake of establishing a habit which will be of infinite service for the child in after years, that the discipline, though for the present not joyous, may work for its future happiness and usefulness. Therefore, make the hours for recreation as frequent as seems necessary, only let it be distinctly understood that when that time expires there must be no delay, no procrastination. As the child grows older and able to exercise a little judgment, it will soon become conscious of the loss incurred by dilatoriness, and the gain secured by a prompt performance of duty. A judicious mother will soon teach it how to contrast the two modes of action, and a few unfortunate experiments will fully corroborate her teachings. The penalty to be paid for leaving any duty which should be done now until “by and by,” generally follows very speedily after the omission.

When quite young we were given a piece of work one morning which should not have occupied an hour’s time. In the afternoon our brothers were to go to a neighboring town in a sleigh, and we were promised a ride with them, on condition that this work was finished in season. It was a rich treat, and we were greatly elated. The work we were set to do was so easy we made merry over the idea of a failure. But the sun did shine so brightly, and it was so pleasant to stand at the east windows and watch the men at the huge wood-pile, sawing and splitting the winter store of wood; and it was such fun to see the old gander chase our little roguish brother away from the place where the stately old fellow kept watch and ward over his mate on her nest, that every few minutes our sewing was forgotten and we were seated on the old-fashioned window-sill. A gentle voice often reminded us that we were wasting time, and must be left behind if that simple seam were not finished in season.

“O mother! I can finish it just as easy!”

“Yes, dear, if you work steadily, but not if you delay in this manner.” Dear, patient mother! How much easier for her to have taken our neglected work and done it herself than to keep such a vigilant watch over a giddy girl; but for a child’s good a mother bears all things.

Time flew by, unregarded by our idle fingers. Presently a sleigh dashed up to the door, the bells jingling merrily. It cannot be time! But a cheery voice rang out, “Come, sister, not a minute to spare,”—and that little, little bit of work not quite done!

“O mother, mother! only a few more stitches! See! O mother, let me go!” But, even while we uttered this piteous wail, we knew that mother could not break her word. When she took her sobbing little girl on her lap, and explained how necessary it was that we should suffer the penalty of our persistent procrastination, if we would ever destroy this bad habit, we were conscious that her grief was deeper than our own, that she suffered with us. We did not soon forget that lesson, and it did not require many similar ones to effect a pretty substantial cure.

No one is more strongly tempted to put off till a more convenient season, here and there, some minor duty, than a housekeeper whose cares are many, and helpers very few. By afternoon she is so weary, rest would be very pleasant, but just as she thinks she may indulge in one half-hour’s quiet, some little item rises up that should receive attention to-day. “I have half a mind to let it pass till to-morrow,” but to-morrow has it own duties, and unexpected ones may arise. A few experiments in this most excusable of all procrastinations will teach the folly of the attempt to add to the already filled register of the next day’s work the duties of the present time.

The clothes are brought up from the wash; on sorting them out and putting them in place, you find a small hole in this article or a rip in that. You are very tired, your head aches; to thread your needle and mend those few small rips or holes seems a burden. “It is so little I’ll let it go till next week, one week’s more wear can’t make much difference.” And it is laid aside unmended. How is it when it next comes up from the laundry? A huge rent or a most appalling hole is the result. A heavy wind arose when the clothes were on the line, and with every snap a dozen more stitches were added to the work that procrastination has cost you, if indeed the garment is not ruined past any repairing. “A stitch in time saves nine.”

Some friends have just left your house. During their visit much work accumulated, while you felt bound to entertain your guests. Either you are with no help, or your servants are very busy, and you say, “I’ll take off the soiled linen from the bed, and leave the room to air a few days, or till a more convenient season.”

The airing is all very proper, but two or three days are not needed for it, and, if you leave the bed unmade, you will not find it wise or at all labor-saving in the end. Let the room and bed air until you are ready to take off the sheets and pillow-cases that need to be changed. When you go up to do that, take with you the clean articles, and being there, why not finish the work and leave all in order? But, if instead of that you say, “We’ll put the ‘spare chamber’ in order to-morrow,” perhaps just as you are retiring, a carriage stops at your door, and guests quite unexpected arrive, who find it convenient to stop with you overnight, to be ready for the morrow’s train, and late in the evening the guest-chamber must be prepared. Just try this once or twice,—you’ll not care to try it oftener,—and see if some one don’t come unannounced just as, when tired and sleepy, you are ready to retire. Will it be any easier to do the work which was put off till a “more convenient season,” at this late hour, than it would have been to have finished it at the proper time?

“There is hardly enough bread to last through to-morrow.”

“Well, it is stormy; we sha’n’t be likely to have company to-morrow. I guess this will answer, or we will stir up some biscuit if needed.”

In spite of wind or weather, be sure if you risk the delay you will have unexpected guests, and will regret that you neglected to be ready for the emergency.

“Here are some letters which should be answered immediately.”

“I guess it won’t make much difference if I leave them till to-morrow. I am very busy now.” So you wait. Are you any less busy to-morrow? A headache, or a sick child, or company prevents an answer then. Your correspondent waits anxiously for your reply, the failure of which may be the cause of great inconvenience.

We could multiply examples, but your own experience will fill up the picture, and, if you are wise, teach you that each day has its own duties, which can be mastered; but if you add to them the work of yesterday you make the burden grievous to be borne. Your old “copy-books” told you, when you were young, that Procrastination is the thief of time. In riper age remember it. “Never put off till to-morrow that which you should do to-day.”

LXXI.
THE SUREST REMEDY.

TO the troubles and annoyances which befall housekeepers there is no end, if they are obliged to rely on servants for comfort and peace of mind. In social gatherings the conversation often turns on the trials they experience from this part of their household. It is not at all strange that it should be so, for “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh,” and verily in this particular the heart has ample reasons for being abundantly filled, and there is no end to just cause of complaint.

One girl is a good worker, but impudent; another is always willing, but very untidy. This one is neat, but so slow that her work is never finished. That one is unequaled in order and efficiency, but her temper is so uncertain you cannot make a suggestion without risking a storm that quite destroys all the pleasure her excellent work might otherwise afford you. One is extravagant and wasteful; another economical in using materials for your family, but dishonest in appropriating your property for her own benefit.

So, in a company of a dozen ladies, one takes up the discourse as the other ends, and, without exaggeration, proves her own trials even more vexatious than her neighbors’. It is possible that the mistress, by searching, may find some slight symptoms of these very defects in her own character. The least said on that side of the question the better, perhaps. But, as we once heard a lady say, “We don’t hire servants for that sort of actions.”

But, whatever may be the defects of the mistress, we know there are very strong foundations on which to build the complaints about servants; for it cannot be denied that these “troublesome comforts” have it in their power to diminish the sum of domestic happiness, to a degree which requires much grace and patience to endure with equanimity; and that the power they have usurped is on the increase will not, we imagine, be gainsaid. Once the employés in the family fully understood the position they were engaged to fill in their employer’s house; and knew that certain service was paid for, which must be strictly and honestly rendered, or they would lose their place, and having lost it, unrecommended, would find it difficult to secure another. Once—and the time is not so far distant but that most of us can still remember it—one girl was expected to do the work that we are now compelled to employ three to do. And this one girl did the work, and did it well,—far better than we can hope to have it done now. She was not injured by it; no complaints were made, we mean in ordinary cases,—in every station some may be found who abuse power and cruelly oppress those whom circumstances have placed in an inferior position; but these are only solitary cases; as a general thing there was no ground for complaint. The service was kindly and cheerfully rendered. But now, with three or four girls, the work drags, is imperfectly done, and “the work is too hard” is the constant cry. Why is this? What reason can be assigned for a change so complete and annoying?

In part because the foreigners who land on our shores, and upon whom, unfortunately, we are obliged to depend for all labor which we cannot do ourselves, come to us with strange ideas of what is meant by all being “free and equal”; or, if you take one right from the emigrant vessel, it requires but a few weeks for those of their nation, who, having been here longer, think themselves better informed, to impart their knowledge, and teach erroneous ideas of these rights. Under such bad influence it takes but a short time for the modest stranger, whom you received into your house and endeavored to teach a correct mode of labor, to be transformed both in dress and manners into a bold, self-willed girl. Her countrywomen gather about her and warn her not to be “put upon,”—a favorite phrase among those whose chief aim is to get the highest price for the least labor. “Stand up for your rights”; and they proceed to expound a code of “rights” which, if they were allowed to carry into practice, would soon leave us entirely at their mercy.

They are told to insist upon just so many times at church, and certain days “out.” Then the funerals—and there never was such mortality as is always happening among our servants’ relations, particularly the cousins—and the weddings, and the baptism of infants for which our girls are to stand “sponsors,” all come upon us in quick succession. Then, every step of the work each girl is expected to do must be carefully defined, and you are not to be allowed to call upon them, on any condition, for one thing over and above the specified labor.

How has this class of persons succeeded in taking and maintaining such a stand? In part it has grown up, gradually, from seeing in their employers the independence that is a distinctive peculiarity in our national character. But that which, when rightly regulated, is a noble thing, when used by uninformed and undisciplined minds, for selfish ends, is not likely to bring forth the most desirable results.

But is not the trouble and disturbance through our servants, which particularly characterizes the present day, in part the fault of the ignorance of the mistress? Our ladies give much less attention to domestic affairs than in former times; and our young ladies are growing up, for the most part, poor housekeepers. The material for the very best of servants may be easily ruined by a poor mistress. Much time and money is expended on the education of our girls; but that part of education which would help to keep them strong and healthful is almost entirely ignored,—we mean regular work, at stated times, about the house; not only to establish good health, but to secure a thorough knowledge of domestic operations.

“What time has a young girl to do anything at home?” True. What time for home affairs, with the present mode of education, and the present customs of social life, have young men or maidens? Our teachers know they are expected to “fill” their pupils to the utmost extent of their mental capacity, and social life grasps every moment that can be spared from books or schools, even claiming the hours that should be given to sleep. No matter about the health. “That is not our business,” say the educators; and, “That is not our business,” echoes Fashion. Our children go from one study to another—rushing on to be educated—as fast as possible; and, in two years after leaving college or seminary, of what practical use will half these studies, for which they have given so much time and health, be to them? Far be it from us to undervalue a thorough, practical education,—one that will fit our boys and girls to lead good and useful lives. “Its price is above rubies.” But we sometimes think that they are being educated to death; mind and body enfeebled and made unhealthy for lack of practical common-sense on the part of parents and teachers. If more time was given to physical labor while our children are growing up, and less time to schools, and fewer studies crowded into each term, the fathers and mothers would not grow old so fast,—being relieved of part of their work; and our young people would have nobler minds in sounder bodies.

But to return to housekeeping, and the young who must take that position: let them secure as much knowledge as they can without injury to health, but let it be understood that, whatever place they may be called upon to occupy, a thorough domestic education will be the best foundation on which to build, and by which they can best secure happiness, honor, and usefulness.

Instead of filling the papers with lamentations because they are not permitted certain rights which an unregulated ambition urges them to claim, let our women first be certain that they fully understand how to exercise all the rights which are unalienably their own, and which no one attempts to dispute. Let these rights be well cared for and properly executed, and who will object to any woman’s reaching out after, and securing just as many more as she can possibly assume and manage successfully, without neglect of other duties already her own. Let the highest right, the noblest that woman can desire,—for it is next to the angels’,—the supreme right which God gave us, and no man disputes or can usurp, be fully appreciated and acted upon,—the right to make a glorious home, to make our husbands nobler, because they are happy and comfortable there (they don’t know how to do that, they can’t take care of themselves without us); the right to nurse and rear and bless our children; the right, with the ability, to teach our servants by our own practice how to be a blessing to themselves and to us. Then enter the lists, if you choose, and do battle for just as many of what have been called man’s rights as you are capable of managing well, or have any ambition for.

Until these first duties are understood and properly performed the prospects for home comforts and happiness are very shadowy. The fault is not wholly with the servants. If those duties which belong to the mistress are delegated to uneducated, ill-informed subordinates, what, even with the very best intentions, can you expect but anarchy and misrule? Care and experience are as essential to good housekeeping and home comforts as in any other profession or field of labor.

The lawyer cannot look for success in his profession if he simply opens an office and delegates the care to an ignorant office-boy, while he himself knows nothing about law, and never studies. The doctor gives years of time and study before he attempts to practice. The merchant goes through a long apprenticeship before he commences business for himself; but our young girls leave the school-room to assume a right of which they know nothing,—the privilege and honor of making a home. If women would only understand how much skill and power is requisite, what a noble, honorable thing it is to succeed, or become eminent as a homemaker, there would be fewer boarding-houses, fewer miserable, dissipated husbands, fewer fast, wild, reckless children, and fewer worthless servants.

LXXII.
A FEW LITTLE THINGS.

WE take up now a few perplexities which are apt to disturb the equanimity of the young housekeeper, and propose to give some minute directions for the better performance of those “little things” which so often discourage the beginner, such as the building of fires, dusting, etc.

With an open grate or fireplace in daily use, it is very necessary, before any dusting can be thought of, to clear out the grate, remove the ashes, and kindle the fire; for nothing so fills a room with dust as the necessary work about a fire of any kind, even with the most careful management. To be ready to do this, or in a condition to instruct a girl how to do it, it is important that the necessary implements and conveniences should be on hand, and in a suitable condition for easy and successful operation.

And, first, a coarse piece of bagging, or an old bit of carpeting, or, if you have neither, a large piece of stout brown wrapping-paper, should be kept in an appropriate place, ready for this part of the morning’s work; even old newspapers will answer, though by no means so convenient or durable as bagging. Spread a large strip before the grate or fireplace to protect the oil-cloth or carpet from ashes and cinders while you are clearing out the grates. This done, lift up the fender or polished hearth-pan, always in front of a grate, and set it down on the floor-cloth or bagging. Put up the blower, and with the poker rake out all the ashes that can be shaken from the under part of the grate. By keeping the blower up while doing this, most of the ashes which would otherwise float over the room, lodge in the furniture or carpet, and in the end do them much injury, will be made to fly up chimney. Having thus removed all the ashes, you can take the blower down and rake again smartly from the top until only the half-burnt coals remain.

Now, with a stout, coarse holder kept expressly for that purpose, take the ash-pan, full of ashes, from under the grate, and empty it in an ash-barrel in the cellar, or outdoors; by no means empty them from the pan into an empty coal-hod in the room, as is too often done. Be careful that no live coals go into the barrel. You will be obliged to watch a girl very carefully about this “little thing,” or, under the silly idea that it saves work, most girls will do this so carelessly when you are not by, that your rooms will be filled with ashes by their folly.

When the ashes have been emptied, if your grate rests on cleats or is fitted into sockets, lift it off and turn into the ash-pan the half-burned coals which remain, to be taken out and sifted before using again; then, placing the grate on the bagging, with a small whisk-broom proceed to brush down into the pan all the soot and ashes that have lodged on the sides and back of the fireplace. Do this gently, so as to avoid sending it out into the room. When done, remove the pan, sweep up any ashes or litter that may be on the hearth, wash it clean, and put back the grate and ash-pan into their proper places. Set up the fender, roll up a quantity of waste paper and put into the grate (if thrown in loosely it will burn out instantly before the kindling catches), put on the kindling, and start the fire. If where you can get coke from the gas-houses for the foundation of the fire, it will, we think, prove good economy, for you will need but two or three pieces of kindling, as it ignites readily without a blower, making a very warm fire, and soon causing the hard coal to burn brightly.

Here, also, great watchfulness is requisite if you trust to a servant to start fires, for, unless closely followed, they will persist in half filling the grate with kindling, even when they are provided with coke, and need to use but very little wood. In the city, where wood is so dear, economy in kindling-wood becomes quite important.

The fire having been kindled, the rooms can now be set in order. Of course the window-blinds were opened the first thing after dressing in the morning, that gas or lamps might not be left to burn needlessly. We are tempted to stop, before dusting, and say a word on the extravagant use of gas or oil by the servants about a house, but we must leave that for another time, and proceed to finish the first part of every morning’s work.

In dusting, a soft but not too fine cloth should be first used. At almost all dry-goods stores cloths are to be had with soft, tufted nap, especially adapted for dusters; but an old towel may be kept for that purpose, and answers very well if you cannot obtain these. Gently wipe up with the dusting-cloth whatever ashes or dust may have settled over the mantel or furniture, but do not wipe it off on to the floor to settle again into the carpet or furniture in the room,—that would be spending time for naught,—and as you proceed take it up into the dust-cloth, and every little while shake it out of the window or door. In this way go over everything once, that the greatest part of the dust may be disposed of, being particular to wipe in and around moldings, carvings, and cornices, where dust seems more inclined to rest than on the plainer surfaces. This finished, go over all again with an old silk handkerchief or chamois-skin, rubbing hard enough to remove spots or finger-marks, and bring a nice clean polish on the furniture or ornaments in the room. If you have pictures hung round the walls, a long-handled feather-brush is quite necessary, especially if the room is high studded, as city rooms generally are at the present day. You cannot spare the time every morning to bring in a step-ladder in order to dust the tops of the picture-frames or the casings and moldings over and around doors and windows; but if left some days untouched, the moths will soon find it out and take up their abode in such desirable quarters. The long feather-brush will easily remove most of the light dirt that settles in such high places, but do not use it with a sharp, quick flourish, as whatever dust lodges so high cannot be taken up with the coarse dusting-cloth, and must, of course, if disturbed, fall to the floor, but if brushed off rashly, will fly over everything. For this reason the tops of pictures and doors should be dusted first, that there may be an opportunity to remove whatever settles unavoidably when going over other parts of the room.

Every three or four weeks the tall step-ladder is needed, and then all these places which cannot be reached otherwise must be well cleaned and rubbed, and the casings of windows and doors wiped clean with a wet cloth. This work, when done, must always be after the regular sweeping-days.

Windows require attention every day; we do not mean, to be washed every day, but to be dusted and have the spots carefully rubbed off. The dust from the streets finds easy entrance, and settles readily on the window-panes, which would soon become dim and blurred without daily oversight. Especially is this the case in damp weather, or when one lives near salt air. Brush each window with a short-handed feather-brush, if you have one; if not, save and dry turkeys’ wings, or the long tail-feathers from any poultry, tie them up neatly, and you secure an inexpensive feather-brush, and as effective as if bought at the store. If you find spots or finger-marks on the window-glass, put your mouth to the spot and breathe sharply on it; then, before your breath evaporates, rub quickly with a clean linen cloth or a chamois-skin, and you will be well repaid for your labor.

It requires some time and many words to explain, as minutely as you wish, how all these little things should be done; but if you are methodical, you will soon learn to work quickly as well as thoroughly, and will be very much surprised to see how short a time is needed to do all that we have been so long telling. You will use less time, take the month through, by careful dusting and necessary cleaning each day than—neglecting this duty—you would be compelled to give every few weeks in one great cleaning effort, by which the whole family must be incommoded, meals delayed, poorly cooked, or dispensed with altogether for the time being, because it is “cleaning day.” No wonder husbands shrink from such days, preferring dirty rooms all the time to having clean ones, for which they pay such unsatisfactory premiums. A little quiet care and cleaning every day will, we think, secure the largest amount of freedom, and certainly much more pleasure and happiness for all, than these dreaded days of confusion and discomfort.

LXXIII.
PLANNING FOR THE WEEK.

NOTHING so simplifies labor as a well-defined, regular plan for each day’s specific duties. At first, to one unaccustomed to systematic work, it may be difficult to get into the track, and follow the route until it is so familiar that it becomes almost second nature. But with each effort, duties thus methodically performed will be easier, and when the plan you design to follow has been well digested, and each part so adapted as to reach toward the good of the whole, labor will not only be greatly diminished, but a positive pleasure in the performance of duties so perfectly organized will be the crowning reward.

Yet to arrange a plan for each day requires thought and judgment, and she must be a wonderful character who, from the beginning, can so perfect a code of laws for the regular discharge of household labor, that no modification or change will be necessary. If a young housekeeper, at the end of one year’s trial, begins to feel somewhat at home in her dominions, she should be well content, nor allow a shadow of discouragement to mar her comfort, even if now and then she finds her carefully planned rules requiring some little adjustment, to secure a smooth and easy action. Try, and reject, until you have secured a plan by which you, the mistress, can best manage others, or yourself perform the work. No one can tell you by what rules you can best govern your domains. Suggestions may be given, which will be of great service in enabling you to arrive at the desired results in the most successful and expeditious manner; but further than that, the work to do is yours, and not another’s. Each one must work out the problem of what is best for herself individually, with what aid she can glean from the experience of others, according as it shall be congenial, or adapted to her own peculiar way of working and her own peculiar position.

Even those daughters who are fresh from the wise instructions of a mother, who led them with her through a daily round of cares until they are as skillful in domestic management as she is herself, will not find, when they enter the marriage state, the duties of their new homes exactly like those of their mother. Many things may, and doubtless will, compel a somewhat different administration, although the fundamental principles will be still the same. The husband’s position may demand change in the mode of proceedings to which she has, from childhood, been accustomed. His tastes or means may render it advisable that the wife should modify or enlarge her rules for the performance of domestic duties. The desired change may, from necessity, or from whims, which for permanent happiness she will be wise to humor, be so abrupt and entire as to require almost a new mode of action and labor, calling for much deliberation before it can be perfectly satisfactory; and of course this will be almost like commencing an education from the beginning.

Different homes and diverse tastes demand, and justly, to be regulated on somewhat different plans. New duties, and new modes of performing them, are opened to the young housekeeper, however efficient she may have been in all domestic affairs under her mother’s eye; but this should be no reason for discouragement or self-reproach. Put the mother in the daughter’s place, and she might find it equally strange, and no easier to rearrange her code of laws for domestic labor, only so far as age and longer experience has taught her more wisdom and greater facility in regulating household affairs. But whatever the style or position, there is none, however high or low, that is not improved and the work simplified by systematic arrangement. Let each day of the week have its own peculiar work, modified or varied, of course, by changes which cannot be foreseen,—such as sickness, absence of part of the family, unexpected company, invited guests, or holidays.

And here let us say, it is desirable, when you invite friends to dinner or tea, that you choose such days as are the least filled with work which cannot be well set aside,—such as washing, ironing, etc.,—so that you may take time for entertaining your guests, without the burden of feeling that you are compelled to leave for to-morrow the work that should have been done to-day, and, by so doing, to lay up for yourself too heavy burdens and unsettle the regular course of labor for the rest of the week.

We do not propose to give rules for any one. That would be quite impossible, as so much depends on the taste of the master and mistress, the number of the family, and of the servants employed. But there are a few things which, in our opinion, will make the work easier, and increase the comfort of all concerned. For instance, on Saturday all the clothes for changes should be laid out, so that the Sabbath may find us arrayed in spotless garments. And this being done, as all the soiled clothes are ready, it would seem that Monday must, almost of necessity, be set apart as the established washing-day. Of course, if one has a laundry distinct from the kitchen, as soon as the washing and ironing of one week is finished, the range will be cleaned out, ashes brushed off, kindling laid, and floor scrubbed, all for the next week; and if everything is thus in order, it must be an uncommonly large family if the washing is not all done, clothes-lines and pins brought in, and, in winter, coarse clothes sprinkled and folded, in good time on Monday night. This should be Monday’s work, somewhat modified, perhaps, according to the help employed in this department. When two or three girls are employed in one house, as we have before said, we do not think it the most comfortable way for the cook to take charge of the washing. Let her help, if necessary, as she may find time; but if she first performs her regular duties, the family will be more comfortable; and if the second girl has charge of the washing, the clothes will, or should be, more satisfactorily done by one steady hand. Let Tuesday be for ironing. Wednesday the chambermaid and laundress will need for cleaning the laundry and halls, wiping off finger-marks from doors, and any chamber-work which did not receive particular attention Monday or Tuesday. The cook will need by Wednesday to clean up her tins, floors, closets, or if company or the family require, to do some extra cooking. On Thursday the silver should be carefully looked over and polished by chamois-skin, after washing in hot soapsuds, or with whiting if any brown spots are found. Friday is the best day for sweeping, and seeing that mattresses and bedsteads are free from dust; which, if left to accumulate, will breed moths and other vermin. Saturday may be employed in cleaning parlors, washing windows, polishing door-handles, bell-pulls, and stair-rods, and a thorough oversight of the house generally.

These items are only by way of suggestions, to be filled up or discarded as the housekeeper’s judgment, taste, or position may deem advisable. We only claim that, having once examined and become fully persuaded in your own mind what your position and the comfort of your family demand, you should settle upon some well-considered plan, and then determine to carry it into practice, as far as possible, with promptness and regularity. Take time to consider; try, and try again; but having settled what is best, act upon it without flinching.

LXXIV.
SHOPPING.

WE have heard from ladies remarks like the following: “Before I was married, and cares and responsibilities became more and more exacting every year, there was nothing I used to enjoy more than roaming from shop to shop, seeing everything that was to be seen, but without the responsibility of purchasing, because my mother always attended to that. My shopping in those days was only to gratify curiosity. But now it must be done in earnest, without shopping for sight-seeing or loitering,—the only desirable part of the business.”

Now, I cannot but think this waste of time and gratification of a childish curiosity in young women altogether wrong. The amount of “shopping,” as it is called, done from no necessity, but only to while away the time, is very great, particularly by young ladies who have no intention of purchasing. While there are books to be read, sewing to be done, mothers to be helped, and their burdens lightened by their daughters’ loving care, and painting, drawing, and music to be practiced, we don’t understand how time can hang heavy on one’s hands. Pleasant walks and rides, lectures, concerts, and picture-galleries, can surely furnish all the exercise and recreation that is needed or at all desirable, and will be much more conducive to the improvement of the mind and strengthening of the body than this too prevalent custom of sauntering through the streets, gazing into the windows, or visiting the stores, looking at and handling everything one fancies, but buying nothing. Many evils spring from this absurd method of taking exercise, or wasting time. There can be no healthy exercise in loitering in a crowded and perhaps ill-lighted, poorly ventilated store; for capacious, airy, and well-ventilated establishments are not common. The effect of such dissipation on the mind and character cannot be ennobling. To watch and criticise the people who pass, to remark on their dress, manners, and peculiarities, is almost certain to establish an unkind, censorious habit, and, in the end, make those who practice it confirmed gossips,—the most unlovable and unsafe of all characters. A love of dress; a desire to imitate or surpass those who are the most extravagant in their outlays; an envious disposition; dissatisfaction with their own condition and the income allowed for their dress; longing to cast aside good clothes and secure the newest and most stylish, every time the shopping farce is performed,—are some of the evils which, it is to be feared, will grow out of this propensity; and added to this, another still more to be deprecated,—the selfish disregard for the feelings and interests of others.

It is painful to observe with what recklessness our young ladies will sit at a counter and call for one piece of goods after another, until the shelves before them are almost entirely stripped,—tossing one article here and another there, throwing heavy goods upon delicate articles, while the perplexed clerk endeavors to hide his anxiety, and shield his wares from harm, in the most gentlemanly and unobtrusive manner; but his politeness and delicacy are wasted, for this class of shoppers care little for the discomfort of a clerk.

In this manner they flit from counter to counter, wasting not only their own time, but that of the employés in the store, and exciting false hopes of a good sale, and then, without a word of apology for the trouble they have given, leave that store to go through the same folly at other establishments.

A few days since we witnessed a most provoking display of this manner of wasting time, and by no means an uncommon occurrence. All the room for some distance on one side of the store, and two or three of the clerks, were monopolized by a party of young girls,—we fear they thought themselves entitled to be addressed as young ladies. The earnestness with which they called for one class of goods after another warranted the attendants in anticipating a large sale; but when woolens, silks, linens, ribbons, and laces were heaped around them in great abundance, and many really earnest purchasers had been kept long waiting for attendance, or, not having time, had been obliged to go elsewhere, these girls carelessly rose and turned to leave.

“I am sorry we can show you nothing satisfactory,” courteously remarked one of the clerks.

“O, we didn’t come in to buy,—only to look around,” replied the leader of this ill-mannered party, with a scornful air; and an absurd, silly giggle went through the party as they left the store, evidently satisfied that they had had a good time and played off a smart joke on the clerks.

The expression of disappointment suddenly changed to contempt, visible among the young men who had so politely waited upon those thoughtless girls, was very significant of their estimate of such characters. If their mothers could have seen the whole performance, and, giving each a good shaking, sent them home to learn good manners, and a proper use of time by a term of labor in the kitchen, we should have been thankful.

But in the case of the “mother and housekeeper,” who inquires how real, earnest, practical shopping may be disarmed of its terrors, and made easy and simple, we would say there is nothing easier if you begin right. Before leaving home on a shopping expedition, be “fully persuaded in your own mind” that you know just what you want, what you must have, and how much you are willing and can afford to pay for what you desire to purchase. Make out a plain list that you can understand at a glance, and when you enter the store call first for the must-haves, examine the quality and pattern, and ascertain if the price is such as to justify you in buying. Then, if satisfied on those points, look at various patterns of the same fabric and price, and select the one that pleases you the most perfectly, and, naming the quantity and place to send, pass on to other departments. Don’t allow your attention to wander to anything but the article under consideration, until you have decided that item. If it is a dress, examine and decide before looking at sheeting or table linen or anything else. That settled, pass on to the next topic on your list, and so continue until you have finished the work you had arranged to do. Then, if you have a little leisure, you can look about you at the various articles displayed, gratifying your love of fine things, and gaining an insight into the quality and price of articles you may need in time; only take care that when your purchases are finished, you do not interfere with other purchasers, or engross the time of busy clerks unduly. In making out a list, classify the articles you are intending to buy, putting groceries, crockery, books, dry goods, etc., each by themselves, and begin at the nearest place. By this method you will save yourself much time and fatigue.

These are very simple rules; but try them and see if shopping is any longer a duty to be “dreaded.”

LXXV.
DUSTING.

AMONG the many little things a good housekeeper should vigilantly watch over, while trying to teach a child or inexperienced girl, careful and thorough dusting is one of the most prominent. It is not alone those who are confessedly ignorant that require this supervision, but one half of all the hired help we ever saw have never been trained to do that kind of labor perfectly. They are accustomed to look at it as being of less importance, and more easily slighted without attracting notice and subjecting themselves to rebuke, than other portion of their duties. They may be very capable in many other parts of the work allotted to them, yet lamentably fail when they undertake to dust a room. A parlor- or chambermaid may begin her work properly. With broom, whisk, duster, and dust-pan, with short sleeves, a clean handkerchief or cap over the head to protect the hair from dust, she commences to clean and “put the room to rights” in the most approved manner. Books, papers, works of art, ornaments, or furniture—everything movable—are carried into the next room if convenient, or if not, neatly covered from the dust, which must necessarily be raised while sweeping; thus leaving the floor as nearly vacant as possible, to facilitate that operation.

But, if superintending this work done by a new girl, you will notice that, however methodical in all else pertaining to her work, she does not stop to clean, carefully dust, and polish each article, as she takes it from the room, and by so doing have them all ready to set back again, with no delay, when the room is well swept and dusted. She seems to have no idea that this will simplify her work, save time and extra handling, and, as often happens, in case of any necessity for unusual haste in finishing the work, be a great convenience. But, seeing how like a good worker the girl takes hold of the other portions of her labor, you perhaps think it not best to embarrass her by too many criticisms at first, having no fear but at the close of the sweeping the dusting will be well done; called away by other duties, you leave her to finish, on the whole well pleased, and hopeful that you have secured one who will prove faithful and reliable, relieving you from constant watchfulness in her department.

On your return, the first glance at the room confirms your hopes, but by a second look your dream of peace grows shadowy. The room is nicely swept, the furniture placed more nearly in the proper position than, for a first trial, you had expected; but there the charm vanishes. Such dusting! It must have been attempted; for you see the mark of the dusting-cloth, as if hastily passed over, or brushed across the plain surfaces of tables, chairs, etc., but looking more as if flies or spiders had run races over them, than like the efforts of a human hand to dust the room. Here and there some one or two articles have been tolerably polished, but wherever there is any elaborate carving, intricate molding, or dainty piece of statuary, requiring extra care, the dust has settled, and lies unmolested in ugly masses, defacing or concealing all the beauty.

You summon the girl, trying all the time to school your heart and voice to patience. You show her the dust, and, taking the work into your own hands, proceed to give her practical demonstration of how the work can and must be done. As you pass from one article to another, you explain the injury to furniture and ornaments which will follow careless dusting. Point out how speedily dust hides in the moldings and carvings, and show her how to gain access to all the intricate and troublesome ornamental work. As you proceed she sees how easily and perfectly it can be done; but do not flatter yourself that this lesson, so thoroughly and plainly given, will relieve you from the responsibility of following up your chambermaid with continued watchfulness and reminders. Be prepared to repeat this lesson every week, and at the end of months find the repetition still necessary. If you do not find this so, you may thank God and take courage, for you have secured a treasure which you will do well to cherish.

It is because our servants are so inclined to slight this seemingly small, but really very important part of domestic economy, that we think mothers should begin early to teach their little daughters how to dust a room, and polish, by thorough dusting, all the furniture and articles of beauty. Let them take first lessons in learning to keep their play-room and playthings free from dust, and the knowledge thus gained in play will soon be of much practical and valuable assistance to their mothers. We know there are some children naturally careless and flighty, while others are born neat and methodical. This difference is very observable in children of the same family, trained by the same mother, with equal care; and mothers soon understand that one child must be looked after, in every step of her way toward becoming a practical, useful, helpful daughter and woman, more than the other. Such children draw very heavily on their mother’s strength, patience, and hopefulness; but if the child is of an affectionate disposition, in the end love and experience will conquer.

There is great need that mothers be not discouraged in their endeavors to teach their daughters all that pertains to practical domestic economy; for, if we are not greatly mistaken, the time is not far off when we shall all feel the necessity of looking to our daughters to assist us in the nicer parts of housework, if we would have comfortable, happy homes; relying on servants only for the coarser, harder parts that would tax our strength too severely, or engross our time too much, to leave any for social life or intellectual improvement. These must receive their full share of our attention; but the home cares have equal claims. Let there be an equal distribution, giving to each her portion in due season, and there will be less waste and extravagance, and lighter hearts and happier homes.

LXXVI.
A CHAPTER ON SOUPS.

HESITATION in taking the first steps in any new enterprise or new work is very common. With some it springs from great caution; with others, from lack of confidence in their own ability. They magnify troubles which may arise, and imagine all manner of difficulties, until very small and easy duties are clothed in a mystery which they shrink from solving.

In working, a novice, if at all timid or lacking self-reliance, often keeps herself in a constant state of alarm lest she make some great mistake, and, strange as it may seem, few things in the whole round of cooking-experiments assume a more formidable aspect than the simple act of making a soup. It is a mystery which grows more uncanny the longer it is looked at from a distance; but lay your hand upon it, and you will soon learn that you have been frightened at a shadow.

There are several things preliminary to making soup which are quite essential. First of all, it is desirable, though not absolutely indispensable, that you provide yourself with the best and most convenient utensils.

A stock-pot is usually a large, round kettle, with a closely fitting cover, into which the meat or bones and odd bits for preparing the stock or broth for soups are put, to be cooked. It is generally made of iron or copper.

A soup-digester is a kind of stock-pot made wholly of iron. The lid fits closely into a groove in the top of the digester, with a projecting piece which, when turned till it meets the socket or notch on each side of the groove, acts like a lock, holding the lid on tightly. In that respect it is far better than the stock-pot, for nothing can boil over in the digester, and no steam escapes except through the valve at the top of the cover. They are to be obtained at almost all hardware stores, and are of all sizes, from three quarts to ten gallons.

Next, having provided the utensils, good “stock” of various kinds should be kept constantly on hand, regulating the quantity prepared at one time by the state of the weather and the size of your family. In summer, in a cool cellar, it will keep, by frequent scalding, several days. In winter it is safe to keep it much longer, only, like everything else, it requires to be looked after carefully. Few soups can be of the best quality without a strong stock to start with. Liebig’s Extracts of Meat answers very well for a substitute, but is better used in connection with the stock.

Every bit of meat which is left over, that cannot be satisfactorily employed otherwise, should go at once into the stock-pot or digester. Bones, after carving from them all the meat that can be advantageously secured, must be well cracked and added to the other pieces. The vessel should be always near, ready to receive any stray morsel. When enough is collected to make a good quantity of stock, put cold water to the pieces; for the juices, which are what you desire to obtain, are much more readily extracted in cold water than in hot. On the contrary, meats that are to be boiled for table use should always be put into boiling water, which closes the outer surfaces instantly, thus retaining the juices.

When the water is added, set the digester over a moderate fire, where the contents will not boil rapidly, only simmer. After it begins to boil, add salt and pepper. Opinions differ as to the length of time needed in the preparation of good stock; but it is generally allowed to simmer most of the day, which is too long, and it thereby becomes muddy. We think a few hours’ boiling will extract all the juice, and make better stock than longer. Remember that stock should have more salt, pepper, and seasoning than would be desirable in the soup to be made from it.

When done, strain it into a large stone pot, kept for that purpose exclusively, and cover closely till morning, when the fat will all rise to the top and harden, and should then be removed. Never allow stock to remain in the stock-pot or digester overnight; for, even when there is no copper to render it unsafe, it will assuredly taste of the iron, and the flavor be very greatly injured by it.

If you have no bones or bits of meat on hand to make stock with, a knuckle of beef or veal can be procured with little expense; or, if a rich soup is desired, several kinds of meat should be mixed. For instance: Take four pounds of the shin of beef, four pounds of the knuckle of veal, and a half-pound of good lean ham—any scraps of poultry, necks, wings, etc.—that may chance to be unused. Three onions, three carrots, one head of celery, a few chopped mushrooms, two or three fresh tomatoes, or what would be equal to them in canned tomatoes, if they can be obtained; just a shake of savory herbs and parsley, and, in cold weather, three turnips. In warm weather turnips will cause the stock to ferment. Add an ounce and a half of salt, one table-spoonful of sugar, twelve white peppercorns, six cloves, three small bits of mace, and four quarts of water. Line the nicely cleaned digester, after well buttering it, with the ham cut in thin, broad slices carefully trimmed from all the outer fat that may taste too strong of the smoke, or which is at all rusty. Then cut all the meat from the beef and veal into about three-inch pieces, and lay them over the ham. Set it on the stove, and when all is delicately and equally browned, put in the beef and veal bones, well cracked, the bits of poultry-trimmings, and pour over all four quarts of cold water. When it comes to the boiling point, bring to the side of the stove or range, skim very carefully, adding now and then a little cold water, to stop rapid boiling. Let it simmer in this way till it is quite clear, and then put in all the vegetables and other ingredients, and keep it simmering over the stove five hours. Do not let it at any time come to a brisk boil, as that will waste the stock and injure the color.

When done, strain through a fine hair-sieve or cloth into a large stone stock-jar, and cover up carefully till needed.

Prepared in this way, a stock will keep in cool weather a long time, if kept covered closely from the air, by occasionally scalding, and is always on hand when you wish a rich soup. While it is cooking, in adding water to stop boiling, be sure that you add enough to supply that wasted in steam, so that when done and strained you will have four quarts of liquid. One quart will be sufficient for the stock for four rich soups.

A less rich stock may be obtained by using less meat and seasoning, or by carefully saving the water in which fresh meat or fowls have been boiled, adding vegetables and seasoning to suit yourself. Let it simmer gently for six hours, skimming it carefully, and then strain and set aside for use.

White stock, for white soup, is made like the rich stock; only, instead of browning the meat before adding any water, you should rub the digester with butter, lay in the meat, moisten with half a pint of water, and simmer slowly, until the gravy begins to flow; then add five quarts of cold water and such vegetables and seasoning as you prefer, or the same as for rich stock, and let all simmer five hours. When stronger stock is required, double the quantity of veal, or put in an old fowl. The liquor in which a young turkey has been boiled is excellent for white stocks or soups.

Browning for soups is made with two ounces of powdered sugar and half a pint of water. Put the sugar in a smooth, clean saucepan over a slow fire till it begins to melt; keep it in motion with a wooden spoon all the time until it becomes black, when the water should be added. Let it dissolve in the water, then cork closely, and use only a few drops when required. In France an onion is burnt to put with the browning; but all browning, although it adds somewhat to the looks of some kinds of soups, does not often improve the flavor.

To clarify stocks or soups which are sometimes a little muddy, carefully separate the whites of eggs from the yelks, and use the whites to clear the soup. One egg to every quart of stock or soup to be clarified. Beat well together, with one fourth of a pint of water to every egg, and, still beating, add gradually to the stock, which should be just warm. Then place it over the fire, and when it boils skim thoroughly, whisk it well, and draw the kettle to the side of the stove, to let it settle till the whites of the eggs become separated from the soup; then strain through a fine cloth, and, if rightly done, the stock or soup will be clear.

Thus, as will be readily understood, we have given most important preliminary steps toward making soup. In the next article we give directions for making several kinds of soups, and thereby answer several requests in one chapter.

LXXVII.
MORE ABOUT SOUPS.

MANY suppose they can obtain just as good soup by preparing the whole between breakfast and dinner, claiming that the idea of keeping “stock” on hand is a foolish one, and an increase of the cares and labors of providing. We think this is a mistake, springing from ignorance in some cases, in others from the fact that the objectors have never tried what seems to us the better way. It is certainly the most economical, and on trial we are sure will be found a saving of time and labor, instead of an additional tax.

By allowing the material for stock to simmer slowly, one obtains the foundation for the strongest and best flavored soup which can be made from flesh. Whereas, if the meat is taken in the morning, and prepared for dinner the same day, one must hasten matters, and cannot take time to separate the meat in small pieces, or have a soup free from muddy streaks and a strong, disagreeable flavor.

Liebig objects to cooking the stock for any great length of time, because he assumes, and justly, that the albumen and fibrin which, after protracted cooking, will rise hard and bony, cannot be so thoroughly separated as not to leave some disagreeable flavor, and take away much of the real nutriment of the soup. He says if we take one pound of beef free from fat, and separate it from the bones finely, as for mince-meat or sausages; then mix it uniformly in its own weight of cold water, heat it slowly to a boiling point, and allow the liquid to boil briskly for only a few minutes; then strain through a towel to free it from the coagulated albumen and fibrin which will be mixed with it, we can, by this short boiling, secure an equal weight of the most aromatic soup or beef-tea, of such strength as cannot be obtained, even by boiling for hours, from a solid piece of flesh. Youmans says, by long boiling the rich part of the meat extracted by the cold water coagulates and becomes insoluble, instead of remaining dissolved in the soup, as it should do, in order to secure the most highly nutritious substance of the meat. A piece of flesh put into boiling water undivided is in the most unfavorable condition possible for making good soup. It is customary to protract the boiling, because it is supposed to thicken and enrich the soup.

We have no doubt, if the mistress could oversee the whole process, that a better soup would be obtained by less than the four or five hours’ cooking which we recommended in our last article for stock. But if she is obliged to commit the preparing of stock or soups to willing but careless hands, who half the time do not cut the meat up fine or crack the bones, a longer time is necessary to extract the full flavor, which will not then be as pure.

What are called clear soups should be of a light straw color, and not too strongly flavored with the meat.

White or thick soups must only be thick enough to adhere slightly to the spoon when hot.

Purée consists of vegetables or meat reduced to a very smooth pulp, and then mixed with enough stock to make a thick soup like most of the bean or pea soups.

One of the most generally palatable soups is the turtle or black bean soup, with rich beef stock for the foundation.

Soak a pint and a half of the beans overnight in plenty of lukewarm water. In the morning drain off all the water and cover with fresh cold water; see that your soup-digester is perfectly cleaned, and three quarts of beef stock put in it, then set it over the fire. (Of course you never allow your digester or soup-pot to be put away without being thoroughly cleaned; but sometimes girls have been known to forget or make a mistake; and it is best for many reasons that all utensils should be examined thoroughly, rinsed with hot water, and wiped dry each time you take them out for use, if only to remove what dust may settle on them while in the closet.)

As soon as your kettle is in order and the stock in it, drain off the water from the beans; put them into the stock and set at once over the fire where it will come to a boil slowly. As soon as that takes place, set it a little one side, and it will simmer, not quite boil, till time for dinner. It will take some four or five hours to make the beans perfectly tender. Half an hour before straining, add a teacupful of tomato catsup and half a pint of canned tomatoes or six fresh ones. Let it cook a little more briskly for a half-hour, then rub through a coarse sieve or colander, and serve hot. In preparing stock for this soup, the savory herbs and mushrooms may be omitted, also the tomatoes, as it is better to add them just before the beans are done, and strain all together. Some like to squeeze a few drops of lemon-juice into soup when in their plates, and it is well to have a quarter of a lemon put on a small saucer or cup-plate by every one at the table, so that they can add it if agreeable.

An excellent beef soup can be made from the bones left from a roast. Cut the bones apart, and crack them to pieces with a broad hatchet kept for that purpose only, as the good husband may object to having his carefully kept hatchet used by “women folks,” and you may be equally unwilling to take articles that have been used you know not for what. Cover the bones with cold water, and set on the range where they will simmer, not boil, between three and four hours. When the meat is so tender as to slip easily from the bones, scrape it all off and set it aside; put the stock thus made in a stone pot and cover closely, after it is cold. We should have said in former directions that stock must not be covered up till cold, then closed carefully. The next day remove every particle of the fat; warm the stock enough to strain it; cut up one onion (if you and your family like them), two or three potatoes, one turnip, a few bits of cauliflower or cabbage, if desired, and two carrots. Put these in the stock, adding, if you like, a half-pint of rich stock; add pepper and salt to your liking, half a teacupful of tomato catsup, a table-spoonful of rice washed clean, or “star” macaroni. Boil one hour, and dish without a second straining. Of course all these seasonings and vegetables must be varied or modified to suit the special tastes of different families.

The meat cut from the bone may be made into nice “force-meat balls,” and put into the soup when dished for the table. To make these balls, rub the meat smooth in a marble mortar. If very dry, moisten with a spoonful of rich stock. When smooth, season with salt, pepper, a little thyme, summer savory, and green parsley chopped fine. Beat one egg light and stir in, thickening the whole with cracker crumbs, enough to roll into small balls the size of a large walnut, and fry in boiling lard, or place on a dish and bake a clear, even brown, and put into the soup the last thing before sending to the table.

Julienne soup is among those most used at hotels and eating-houses. Put half a spoonful of butter into the soup-kettle; slice in two onions, and fry to a clear brown, taking care not to scorch them; then add three quarts of good stock, two small turnips and two carrots chopped small. Let this boil gently one hour, and then add a pint of green peas, freshly gathered, and the same of young and tender string-beans, a little mace, salt and pepper as needed, and a single stock of celery chopped fine. Too much celery gives a bitter taste to soup. Boil two hours more; then rub a table-spoonful of butter, with the same amount of flour, and stir gradually into the soup. Boil a few minutes and dish.

A good vermicelli soup with stock made from a shin of veal, boiled in three quarts of water, can be prepared with little trouble. The stock must be skimmed carefully, and, this done, put in one whole turnip, one carrot, and one onion; none of these should be cut up. Boil three hours; add salt and pepper to taste, and a quarter of a pound of vermicelli after the three hours’ boiling, and let it boil gently one hour more, then take out the bone and vegetables and serve. If the stock boils away too much, add a little water.

LXXVIII.
TESTING CHARACTER.

NOTHING so completely unmasks all the peculiarities of each individual, showing bright and noble traits most clearly, and casting deeper shadows on all that is weak, disagreeable, and unlovely, as being shut up in a steamer or in cars for days together, acquiring an intimacy in one week far more familiar than would have been formed in a year of ordinary intercourse. Nowhere are selfishness, irritability, and vanity so quickly detected; nowhere are such opportunities to manifest patience, self-abnegation, and all sweet and gentle qualities, in the most forcible and attractive manner, as in this phase of social life. You may call daily, or spend weeks with people in their own homes, and never imagine that fierce ambition, weak and silly vanity, petty jealousy, or a harsh and bitter temper are smoldering where all appears so cheerful and quiet, ready to be fanned into flames by the first annoyance beyond their power to repel. While no shadows fall or clouds obscure their sky, how pleasantly the moments pass by! Smiles and gentleness meet you at every step. To secure your comfort and pleasure is their delight; to dispense the hospitality of their homes gracefully and with a free hand does them honor; to neglect to do so would detract from the dignity of their social position, and be disgraceful. Every attention and courtesy paid to a guest reflects honor on the host, and few are so perfect that these considerations do not have some weight. This may be assumed without at all detracting from higher motives.

But become companions on a journey with those who, as host and hostess, have been so attractive, and the most astonishing changes, for which you are entirely unprepared, utterly foreign to your estimate of their character, may meet you in every word and act. Take care, however, while watching the mote in your neighbor’s eye, that he does not discover the beam in your own. In the infelicities of traveling, remember you are liable to the same criticism, and watch and pray lest your own conscience compels you to acknowledge the justice of the censure.

On the other hand, you will often see persons so quiet and gentle at home, that while you respect, you never think of them as presenting any very striking characteristics. Sensible and unobtrusive, the goodness, unseen, carries comfort to all around, while the recipients seldom recognize the cause of the good influence which surrounds them, until some startling commotion proclaims their silent ministration. The freedom born from a common annoyance, discomfort, or danger, such as is often experienced in traveling, sometimes reveals heroes and heroines where we least expected to find them.

One may read some strange chapters in character if he quietly watch a crowd rushing on board a car or steamer, eager to secure the best position, where most can be seen with the greatest comfort. The rudeness and selfishness of each movement and act would be unpardonable in their own homes. If you are careful to be on board early, before the “rush” begins, it is certainly permissible to secure the best seat you can, but with the reservation that old age, feebleness, and infancy have a claim on all, which, if need be, should lead you willingly to relinquish the position, however desirable, if by so doing you can add to the comfort of any who come to you with these vouchers for their right to your assistance and sympathy. Unfortunately, we often see this gentle consideration for age and feebleness disregarded; but when it shines forth how beautiful it is! How it covers little faults and foibles, which, but for such unexpected manifestations, would have much power to vex and distress!

An elderly lady in feeble health took her seat in the cars, homeward bound after a long absence. Being a cold, rainy day, it was especially desirable to avoid all draughts from open windows. A party of young people in high spirits seated themselves in front, and at once opened the window. The wind, sleet, and rain rushed in, making all around uncomfortable. Several remonstrated, but with no satisfactory results. Even the indulgent father gently insinuated that they might themselves suffer from such exposure, but not a word was spoken of the risk to others. Every other seat being occupied, the invalid could make no change; and feeling that all the health gained by her absence from home might be lost through this severe exposure, with much reluctance she mildly requested that the window nearest her might be closed. The favor was rudely refused.

These young people were evidently persons of wealth, on their way to travel some time in Europe. From such examples, what impressions must the people of the “old country” form of the characters and manners of the new? The lady, probably reflecting gravely on the habits of the young of the present day, sighed for the time when age was honored and the young taught to reverence gray hairs.

Time flew by, and again the invalid sought health far from home. The boat was crowded with the young and gay. No wonder she remembered the scene on the cars with sad forebodings, the sadder because on a voyage one is liable to more discomforts than when traveling by land, and probably was prepared to be perfectly isolated, asking for and expecting nothing. The passage was disagreeable in the extreme, and all more or less seasick. Of course, under such circumstances, it would not have been surprising if each was disposed to think only of his own discomfort. On the contrary, kindness, respect, and attention were the rule, with hardly one exception. Those but slightly sick were prompt in ministering to the comfort of the more seriously afflicted. Affectionate inquiries, gentle sympathy, and, when needed, most tender assistance, filled with bright spots a voyage which, but for this blessed spirit, would have been intolerable; making warm and genuine friends for life of those who but a few days before were perfect strangers.

These two experiences prove how unwise it would be to form one’s estimate of all, in any circumstances, by the freaks and folly of a few. How easy to excuse much heedlessness and frivolity, hoping for better things with coming years, if out from among many youthful follies such good traits are made apparent!

If this law of unselfish kindness were thoroughly understood; if all, particularly the young, could realize the rich reward for every kind act, repaying them tenfold even in this life,—it would extract many thorns from weary feet, prevent much heart-burning, and give a glory to the life below only second to that blessed life above, where, when they enter, they may hope to hear, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

LXXIX.
IF WE KNEW!

“If we knew the baby fingers
Pressed against the window-pane
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow,
Never trouble us again,
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the print of rosy fingers
Vex us then as they do now?

“Ah! those little, ice-cold fingers,
How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions
Strewn along our backward track!
How those little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns, but roses,
For our reaping by and by!

“Strange we never prize the music
Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown!
Strange that we should slight the violets
Till the lovely flowers are gone!
Strange that summer skies and sunshine
Never seemed one half so fair
As when winter’s snowy pinions
Shake the white down in the air!

“Lips from which the seal of silence
None but God can roll away,
Never blossomed in such beauty
As adorns the mouth to-day;
And sweet words that freight our memory
With their beautiful perfume
Come to us in sweeter accents
Through the portals of the tomb!

“Let us gather up the sunbeams
Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day;
With a patient hand removing
All the briers from our way.”

THE wind is playing with the long gray beard on the grand old live-oak over our heads; the air, soft and balmy, brings the slightest intimation of perfume from the orange-trees around us; the golden fruit, half hidden in the rich, glossy leaves, and here and there a bud just opening into the delicate blossom, give promise of another harvest before the first is fully gathered. Before us lies the beautiful St. John’s river, smooth and tranquil as a summer sea; but a steamer in the distance, like a graceful swan, approaches the wharf, and will soon disturb its calm, and toss the placid waters into merry ripples or foaming, sparkling waves. Only for a moment she touches the wharf, then glides away, and the river subsides into its wonted calm. Her coming and going have no interest for us, save that which a glimpse, however transient, of beauty, strength, and grace must always awaken. She brings none to greet us and claim the welcome, so gladly given by one far from home.

Everything around us is quiet. The inmates of the cottage are mostly out sailing. The gentle provider for the household comforts, “on hospitable thoughts intent,” is preparing for their return from this “toil of pleasure,” tired and ravenously hungry. We are entirely alone; and as we sit in this wonderful quiet, the little poem quoted above, “If We Knew,” stirs our heart with strange and solemn power.

Lives there one who does not, in moments of retirement or solitude, look back to the earliest hours of childhood, and recall times when, if he could have known the results, his actions would have been far different?

If all could in youth look along the map of life clear to the end, seeing all the breakers and quicksands, which by patience and self-control could have been avoided, how much more comforting would be the view they might take, in after years, of the “backward track”! No doubt it is well, for many reasons, that we cannot read the future. Trials and sorrows, which no skill or forethought could have turned aside, would have been doubled by anticipation and foreknowledge. And yet we doubt if there are many who, looking back from the “half-way house,” would not willingly endure all the additional pain if they might have possessed the power to foresee the inevitable results of certain courses, and, profiting by this foreknowledge, have avoided the danger or the sin.

Brother, sister, “if you knew” that soon “those little baby fingers” would “never trouble you again,” would you be impatient or cross to your little playmates for their childish, willful ways?

Two little boys were playing together. Both wanted the rocking-chair for a horse. Full of health and animal spirits, their dispute ran high, and ended in a blow. Only a few days passed, and the baby hands of the younger were folded in “snowy grace” upon the cold and quiet heart, and laid in the grave. A short time after, hearing bitter sobs in the garden, the mother found the lonely brother—himself but just past babyhood—lying under the peach-trees, watching with eager eyes some birds flying over his head, and calling, between his sobs: “O birdies! little birdies! Fly up! fly higher! and tell Jesus if he will only let little brother come down to me, he shall have the rocking-chair all the time, and I never, never will strike him again! O, never, never!”

Ah! how many brothers and sisters look back upon little disputes and sharp, childish quarrels, that would hardly have been remembered had both been spared to grow up together; but one having been taken away, that dispute, or the wrong done, remains through life a sore spot in the heart of the survivor.

Father, be not harsh with your son. He disobeyed your commands, has done wrong, and for his own good deserves rebuke; but remember he is “only a little one.” Let your censure be tempered with gentleness. It was but the overflow of exuberant life, not willful disobedience. If you could look forward to what soon may be, how leniently would you judge, how tenderly chide, and by your gentleness secure obedience much more effectually!

Ah, poor, tired mother! you are very weary and wellnigh sick. Your eyes are heavy for want of sleep, and your head throbbing with the noise and shouts and wild frolics of your little ones. It is often very hard to bear; but it is health and strength and life overflowing in their yet untried, undisciplined hearts. Be patient! If soon, with hot and tearless eyes, you watch by the little crib where fever may conquer that life but late so joyous and full of activity, can you endure what God may see best to bring upon you, if, by impatience, you have “scattered thorns, not roses, for your reaping by and by”?

“I have asked you twenty times to mend this coat, and it is not done yet. ‘No time’! How long would it have taken, I should like to know? But—well—I can go ragged, I suppose. You give little heed to my wishes or comfort. You must take your own time and way, without regard to my convenience, or you will not be satisfied.”

Husband! why do you say such ugly, biting things? You love your wife. You would be indignant if a looker-on should hint that you misjudged her or were exacting. Your heart—or that silent monitor, your conscience—tells you that she did not intend to disregard your wishes or advice. She was tired, overtaxed with many cares and frequent interruptions, or perhaps sickness is creeping upon her unawares. Whatever the reason, the offense was but a “little thing.” Or even if she was self-willed or irritable, be patient with her. You are fully aware that one mode of speaking makes her indignant, and stirs up all the offensive, opposing elements in her character; while, on the contrary, a certain tone of your voice, a love-look from your eye, would have brought her to your side in an instant, sorry, self-upbraiding, loving and honoring you with all her heart. Ah, “if you knew”! These first morose, fault-finding words are, perhaps, “leaving on her heart a shadow, leaving on your heart a stain,” which may be the beginning of coldness, mistrust, and defiance, or perhaps a darker sin, when but for them you could have secured joy and gladness in your house, growing sweeter and purer day by day. Deal gently. You, her husband, can make her happy, loving, and good, or you can make her irritable, unloving, and evil, thereby destroying your own happiness as well as hers. You are the house-bond or home-bond. See that you sever it not by your own folly.

“John, why do you always wait, and wait, and hinder me so? You can come at once, just as well as to keep me waiting, if you only choose to!”

Wife, it is just such little, impatient, waspish words that will tempt your husband to seek quiet, comfort, and appreciation away from your side. No matter if he does “speak just as impatiently as you have done, fifty times a day,” show him a better way. Why retort, or increase the “little shadows,” which you can by gentleness dispel? Yield a little; it is not hard, and you will reap a glorious reward. Is not your husband’s love and confidence worth keeping, by the exercise of a little patience and forbearance? But if not for present joy, to ward off future misery at least, “set a guard over the door of your mouth, that you sin not with your lips”; and so tread life’s pathway with him to whom you have vowed a wife’s fealty that, if called to sit in the desolation of widowhood, there shall not be added to that sorrow the anguish of self-upbraiding for little services impatiently rendered, or love requited by coldness or irritability.

When we have passed through all the labors and trials of early life, and in full maturity or just on the decline pause a moment to recall the friends of our youth now gone, and the sweet family ties now broken, how the heart aches with the memory of hasty words or actions, and vainly yearns for one more opportunity for the better performance of our whole duty, in all love, fidelity, and patience! But

“God ... pity us all
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: It might have been!”

LXXX.
IN SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOT.

WHEN a young girl is called by the death of her mother to assume the management of the family before her home education has been completed, we know of very few cases which draw so largely on our sympathy. Grief and depression for the loss of a mother is hard enough for the young heart to endure; and added to this, it is no easy thing to accept the responsibility of providing for the comforts of those thus thrown upon her care. All the economical arrangements of the household, the oversight of cooking, even when the labor is done by the hands of a servant; the daily watchings to prevent miscalculations in marketing; the neatness and regularity to be secured in every department,—may seem light to an experienced matron, but are heavy burdens to be laid upon a slight young girl. Yet all this is but a drop, compared with the thought and anxiety she must feel in administering to the health and happiness of her father and of the children, even younger than herself, who will now turn to her for the care once so efficiently and promptly given by the mother. And most likely, until trials came to her, the daughter had never had cares or duties that demanded the exercise of her independent judgment,—her mother being always near to direct and decide.

A daughter may be ever so thoroughly instructed in all womanly employments, yet if her mother retains the entire charge of every portion of the household labor,—the child simply following as she is bid,—there can be little opportunity for the development and exercise of her individual judgment. She naturally prefers to lean on one ever ready to relieve her from distasteful duties. This is, no doubt, pleasant for both,—the mother is happy in shielding, the child happy in freedom from care. But we doubt if it is wise or right, for often “in such an hour as ye think not” all this must be changed. Frequently, without a moment’s warning or time for preparation, the mother is taken from her family. Ought she not to have furnished her child, by her teachings, with that experience which, like a lamp trimmed and burning, would guide her footsteps, enabling her, when this unlooked-for trial came, to assume these responsibilities with comparative ease? We believe that even at an early age it is best that some particular duty should be committed to the care of every child, thus teaching them self-reliance from the beginning of life, and accustoming even the little ones to feel responsible for a certain amount of daily labor. Of course, the mother will quietly watch that these small duties are properly performed, but not openly, so that her child loses the sense of real accountability, by knowing that “mother will see that it is all right, even if I should neglect or make mistakes.” The mother must point out mistakes, but the child should always be made to rectify them. The knowledge that doing work hastily or carelessly will only be the cause of punishment by compelling her to do the work over and over again, until it is right, is a great safeguard against contracting careless habits. Lessons thus enforced do not often need repeating.

Little by little, as the child grows toward womanhood, let the mother throw off some portion of her cares, teaching her daughters to oversee or perform them correctly, and by so doing not only lighten her own labors, but make such duties easy for her children in after years, or if they should be called prematurely to the entire charge. When daughters are old enough to become their mother’s companions, they should also become joint partners in home and household responsibilities. When out of school, divide the work so that every other week the mother shall be entirely free from all care,—a guest in the family; or if that is at first too great a tax on the young partner, “take turns” in dividing the work,—the daughter one week having the charge of the cooking, marketing, and arranging for each meal entirely herself; the next week, of the dairy, if on a farm, or the laundry or chamber- work. When each week is ended, the mother can point out the failures, or recommend a better or easier way of doing some particular thing; but unless advice or directions are asked, it is far better that the young housekeeper should be left to her own skill and judgment. For a few times this may not prove the best economy, but in the end “it pays,” and with good interest. Of course, before this plan can be carried into execution to any extent, the young lady has served an apprenticeship, so far as to know, herself, that part of the work which comes under her jurisdiction each week; and when practice shall have made perfect, and the term of apprenticeship expires, it is excellent discipline for a daughter to assume the reins entirely, for a shorter or longer time, as health or pleasure may determine, subject to such suggestions as may be deemed advisable. This arrangement gives rest and liberty, if all her children are grown up, for the mother to read, travel, or enjoy social life; as she could not do when they were young and needing the mother’s care,—which should never be delegated to another, unless compelled by ill health. This is a most valuable training, by which the young housekeeper is prepared for a useful life, or a happy home of her own some day.

We cannot but feel that of late years too large a proportion of care and thought is bestowed by parents in educating their daughters to shine in fashionable life,—in giving them an ornamental rather than a solid, practical, or intellectual education. They dislike to keep their children at close study, lest they should spoil their figures or their eyes, and allow them to discard housework for fear their hands will not be small and delicate enough to show to advantage at the piano, or in a party. Music, painting, and dancing are all well enough in their way,—some of them very important,—but should not be sought after to the exclusion of the practical, and by no means the least important part of a young girl’s education, and preparation for an active, useful life. Many young ladies will not willingly accept these views; but it is for the most part because mothers, out of mistaken fondness, do not care to have them; or, as is too often the case, because they do not like the drudgery, as they term it, of teaching the lessons in domestic economy, so necessary to their future welfare,—an indolent or selfish mode of setting aside heaven-ordained duties, for which a severe reckoning may one day be demanded.

LXXXI.
GRUMBLING.

IT must be that a certain class of people find pleasure in fault-finding and grumbling, or they would not search so industriously for an opportunity to exercise their talents in this direction; or, failing to secure a legitimate occasion, willfully manufacture one. In the family, this habit is, unfortunately, often carried to a great extent, even among those who are, undoubtedly, sincerely attached to each other. The first word in the morning is usually a querulous inquiry or complaint about some trivial thing which they merely suspect has been neglected or unsatisfactorily performed. They do not take the trouble to inquire if their suspicions are well founded. Such inquiry might deprive them of the luxury of grumbling. If it were not so sad to hear the early morning hours thus desecrated, it might furnish much amusement for a looker-on to notice how often these unfortunates are caught in their own trap, and the fact made evident to all that the foolish words were but the ebullition of arrogance and irritability, having no foundation.

“My dear!” (you will notice that a gentleman grumbler begins a complaint with a strongly emphasized term of endearment,)—“my dear! why could you not heed my request that our breakfast might be one half-hour later this morning? I told you I was very tired, and needed a little more rest. But it is useless for me to imagine you would deviate from your rules one minute just for my comfort.”

“Why, Tom! how unreasonable you are! You are so in the habit of finding fault, that you never stop to learn certainly if there is any cause for dissatisfaction. Your breakfast is just three quarters of an hour later than usual. I delayed it just as long as I could, expressly for your comfort.”

“I said half an hour, not three quarters. That was every minute I could spare. Now, I shall be too late for some very important business. But you are always interfering, as if I didn’t understand my own business best!”

But when the grumbler has had a good cup of coffee or tea, and the “inner man” is suitably refreshed by an abundant breakfast, he seems to be in no great haste to attend to that important business; but has leisure to look over the papers, play a moment with the children, and can really speak gently to the one so rudely censured in the morning, before his appetite was appeased.

“Now, I call this real cruel, John. I must go to market right off after breakfast, because you forgot to bring home the marketing last night. And I asked you so particularly; as we have company to dinner, I have hardly time to get ready. But I might have known if I wanted anything in season, tired or sick, I must always do it myself. It is really too bad!”

“My dear! if I might slip in a word, I would like to inform you that I did bring home the marketing according to orders, and gave it to the cook. You will doubtless find it in the store-closet.”

“O John! that’s just like you. Why couldn’t you have told me last night? It wouldn’t have hurt you to have taken that trouble, I’m sure.”

“You had company, you recollect, when I came home. I had an errand to do after tea, and you were fast asleep when I returned. What chance had I to tell you?”

“You couldn’t have told me quietly, even if we had company, I suppose?”

“Why, child! how eager you are to find fault!”

“O, yes! of course I am the only one to blame.”

It is not necessary to multiply examples, though, we are sorry to say, they could be brought from every class and position. But such things are not pleasant to hear, and certainly do not look well on paper. It is to be feared that we all have some germs of this same malady,—enough, at least, to understand the symptoms, and warn us to vigorous efforts to eradicate them. If allowed to take root, they deface our own characters, and disturb, if not destroy, the comfort of home. When parents indulge in this sin of grumbling, they cannot wonder if their children follow their example, and even go beyond it. A whole family of grumblers! what can be more wretched?

Another class, whose behavior at home is unexceptionable, spare their families, reserving their grumbling for business hours, giving their servants or clerks the discomfort that the first class lay by for home consumption. There is hope for those. By and by some high-spirited sufferer from their waspishness and fault-finding, having endured their wearisome grumbling till patience is no longer a virtue, may teach them a lesson, through their self-interest, that will perhaps prove effectual.

But we have a few words to say of another class,—grumbling travelers. At some of our hotel tables, where travelers “most do congregate,” one can read a chapter of absurd and ridiculous weakness to be found nowhere else. We have known people to sit down to a table where we could find no occasion for complaint, and grumble loudly at every individual article. Coffee, “horrid”; tea, “an insult to set such stuff before any one”; soup, “too thick,” or “too thin”; and so on through the whole bill of fare. Nothing set before them that was not made a subject of criticism or rude comparison between the hotel fare and the wonderful perfections of their own table. This habit of fault-finding is, by a certain class, considered a certificate of superiority which cannot fail to convince the public that they are persons of wealth and high-standing at home. A mistaken idea. Even the waiters at public tables, who, in consequence of the variety of guests to whom they are called, are usually good judges of character, are not deceived by this vain pretense; but many sly glances, that can only be interpreted as contemptuous, may be detected; and as these complainers leave the table, the waiters whisper to each other, as they pass to and fro, “Shoddy,” with looks that cannot be misunderstood.

This class of travelers leave their homes, not for information and improvement, but for the opportunity of grumbling, on a new and more extensive scale than can be attained in their own families. They leave home in search of some yet untried cause for grumbling, and by a long stretch of conscience and imagination they contrive to find it, and return with a large store of freshly gathered material, over which to expatiate for some weeks, quite to the relief of their families.

All this kind of grumbling appears to us most unreasonable and ridiculous; but if not inclined to find fault in any of the ways mentioned, we are beginning to fear that every one meets some point in life where he imagines dissatisfaction and complaint to be perfectly justifiable. Something in their surroundings is out of joint. Their most carefully laid plans and well-grounded expectations fail; friends grow cold; where lies the fault? Is none of it with you? The foundations of our worldly prosperity seem built on solid rock, but they slide from under us. We take to our hearts one dearer than our own life, and in an hour when we think not the bond is severed. Time and again the cradle is left empty; or a sweet and loving spirit emerges from it, and step by step grows toward clear companionship, when, as in a moment, God calls, and we are left in sackcloth and ashes. We murmur and repine,—God’s dealings appear so unequally distributed. In the same vicinity one family grows up unbroken, from babyhood into vigorous manhood, while another home is left desolate, and they cry out in their anguish, “I do well to be angry.” They forget that God deals with his children as they deal with the rich but uncultivated lands committed to their care. What is more beautiful to the eye than a large grove of wild orange-trees?—but how useless if left unimproved! Who complains when their beauty, for the present, is destroyed, the trees cut back and pruned till they stand bare and unsightly? But the buds and grafts which have been introduced will soon start into new life, the branches begin to shoot upward, and the sweet, pure blossoms and golden fruit will clothe the tree, which a grumbler would have thought wholly destroyed, with new beauty. The old beauty was defaced only that the tree should, in the end, become fruitful, and thereby more gloriously perfect than at first.

Yet we murmur when our wild orange groves are cut back, pruned, and grafted, and the “seedlings” from our nurseries transplanted. We forget that

“Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

Stand dressed in living green,”

which are made more gloriously beautiful by every rare and precious plant that our Father transplants from this beautiful but stormy earth to his garden,

“Where everlasting spring abides,

And never withering flowers.”

LXXXII.
LITTLE FOXES SPOILING THE BELOVED VINE.

“A MOTHER” desires to know if she fails in discipline, or if her children are more troublesome and difficult to manage than other people’s. She has coaxed, reasoned, whipped; shut up in solitude, fed them on bread and water, or confined them in a dark room; but all appears to be ineffectual. They do nothing really wicked, in the strict sense of that term; but they forget or disregard all rules or commands, are mischievous and careless; boisterous and full of frolic one day, to the neglect of every duty, and the next, quarrelsome, irritable, and in every respect uncertain. This mother feels her responsibility deeply, and with all her heart desires to bring her children up in the right way, but is more and more conscious that she fails in her efforts, and now feels disheartened and discouraged.

We judge the great trouble here is over-anxiety. Her children are governed too much. It is not easy to lead young, conscientious mothers to see this; but the grandmothers, profiting by their own mistakes, see in these boisterous, careless, impressible children that which, if not too closely pruned, will mature into strong, healthy men and women; and in their irritability and disobedience they recognize the effect of over-restraint, and too great repression of youthful, exuberant, animal spirit, which, if slightly modified and gently led, will be an invaluable assistance to these little ones in after life, giving them strength and force of character to act well their part when they enter in earnest on their life’s work. No doubt quiet, demure, proper children would be the most desirable, just for the present comfort of mothers or friends. Overtasked bodies and aching heads find such children less troublesome. But it is not for present ease that good mothers live. They look for their reward in the future usefulness of their children, and “for the joy that is set before them” they endure the cross like good soldiers.

Yet while striving, in all patience, self-sacrifice, and love, to make your children happy in the formatory state, and at the same time teach them better ways, you must also be on the watch for the foes without and the foes within,—the “little foxes” that seek to destroy

“The beloved vine
Trusted to your tending
By the One Divine.”

In no case be easy and lenient to that which is sin,—not merely childish sport or thoughtlessness. Root up the smallest germ from which mean, low, or wicked habits will spring, with a kind but uncompromising firmness. You cannot guard your charge too closely here; but be most scrupulously careful that you are not overhasty in judging of the character of their faults, but have rightfully distinguished between deliberate, intentional wrong-doing and childish folly. Let your children feel that for the first you accept no excuse; for the latter you are lenient, full of loving-kindness and tender mercy. For disobedience that springs from stubbornness and a willful determination to do that which is forbidden at all hazards, be not cruel and harsh, but firm, and so severe that the child will have no doubt of your resolution to destroy the evil by meeting each act with quick retribution. Yet when compelled to punish, be so careful of your own heart that your erring one cannot but see that you are severe from no one emotion of anger, or because you are made uncomfortable, but because God has committed them to your care, and will demand a strict account of your stewardship. Be sure, in your dealings with your children, that they have no difficulty in seeing that you recognize a wide difference between overt sins and wrong done through childish thoughtlessness and ignorance; and while you gently point out the inconvenience and mischief apparent in consequence of their careless acts, seek to make it plain to them that you restrain because you do not like them to seek their sports and amusements selfishly, and at the expense of others’ comfort. Before you decide that any act of your children is really sinful and deserving punishment, examine and hear all that can be said in excuse or palliation.

Then as to the mode of punishment, when it really becomes necessary, we think the parents’ judgment ought to be the surest guide, as they should better understand the characters they have to deal with. Some children, when they find that punishment is sure to follow wrong-doing, submit easily; others are resolute or defiant, and these traits should decide the nature of such infliction as the parent finds unavoidable. There are times with certain children when we think a sound whipping the most curative process; while to others it would be so humiliating as to irreparably injure the child’s character; but a whipping is not needed once, where some young, inexperienced, but conscientious parents employ it twenty times. Where it must be resorted to, let it be sufficiently severe to make a repetition a thing to be dreaded; but, if brutal, it is simply barbarity, not justice.

Never, under any circumstances, strike a child on the head or box the ears. That is the act of anger, and in general is practiced only when the judgment is overruled by passion. Do not attempt to turn a child from the “error of his ways” by any such heathenish means. No one can judge at the time of the force of a blow dealt in anger; and though done thoughtlessly, in a moment of irritation, it may bring life-long suffering and sorrow. So, shutting up a child in a dark room, though it may not appear at the time so barbarous, has often resulted in the most painful, if not fatal injuries. Neither do we approve of attempting to convert a child through its appetite; a dark room, a cup of water, and a crust of bread savors too much of the inquisition or the convict’s cell for Christian parents to imitate.

After all, each one must be a law unto himself. Another cannot give special rules for any one; but there is one thing that it may be well for every parent to bear in mind always, namely, that probably a large proportion of the evil we find in our children is but the continuation or increase of our own faults, unheeded while they were our own. And this should teach us great caution, great love and gentleness in governing our little imitators. Mrs. Mary Crann, some years ago, published some pretty verses on “The Little Foxes,” which spoil our “beloved vines.” They are very touching, because so true, and mothers cannot fail to read them with deep feeling, and with full hearts thank the author who in these lines gives utterance to the sorrow and self-condemnation which so often oppress them, when their own faults and failings look at them through their little ones. We think we cannot do better than to finish by giving our readers the whole poem:—

“Little foxes, spoiling
The beloved vine
Trusted to my tending
By the One Divine.
Little foxes, wherefore
Have ye entrance found
To the vine so precious
Growing in my ground?

“Have ye leaped the fences?

Have ye climbed the wall?

Were there tiny openings?

Ye are very small,

And ye can creep slyly

Through a tiny space;

But I thought I closed up

Every open place.

“And I watched by daytime,
And I watched by night,
For the vine you’re spoiling
Is my heart’s delight!
I have kept the earth-worm
From its precious root;
I have trimmed its branches,
But they bear no fruit.

“For the little foxes
Have assailed the vine,
Trusted to my tending
By the One Divine;
And though I’ve been faithful
Since its birthday morn,
They were in the garden
When the babe was born.

“For they are the failings
That I would not see
When they were my failings,
When they dwelt in me;
Little faults unheeded,
That I now despise;
For my baby took them
With my hair and eyes.

“And I chide her often,
For I know I must.
But I do it always
Bowed down to the dust,
With a face all crimsoned
With a burning blush,
And an inward whisper
That I cannot hush.

“And sometimes it seemeth
Like the voice of God,
And it says, ‘Poor coward,
Using now the rod
On a child’s frail body,
Till I hear it moan,
And see its soft flesh quiver
For a sin thine own.’

“O my Father, pity,
Pity and forgive;
Slay the little foxes
I allowed to live
Till they left the larger
For the smaller vine,
Till they touched the dear life,
Dearer far than mine.

“O my Father, hear me,
Make my darling thine,
Though I am so human,
Make her all divine!
Slay the little foxes,
That both vines may be
Laden with fruit worthy
To be offered thee!”

LXXXIII.
WASTE NOT—WANT NOT.

MANY, particularly among the young, associate economy and frugality with meanness, ungenerousness, and a churlish, disobliging disposition.

“There would be no pleasure or comfort in living,” said a young lady, when a friend was endeavoring to show her the desirableness of “counting cost,” before entering upon any extravagant expenditures,—“there would be no comfort in living, if I must stop and consider the price,—adding up at every step, and deliberating upon the sum total before I dared to make a purchase; to say every minute, ‘Can I afford this?’ or, ‘Can I manage to do without that?’ To compel myself to study how I could alter over an old garment, how to change the trimmings so as to hide such piecing as must be done, before I could bring the article into usable shape, and at the same time preserve a genteel appearance; to pick up pins and needles, buttons and strings, keeping before my mind all the time the idea of economy and saving, in everything, small as well as great! Pshaw! I should feel so mean. I should despise myself, and think all my acquaintances would despise me also. I’d sooner spend what I have in a free-and-easy manner, taking what pleasure I could in it, as long as it lasted, and, when all was gone, go to the poorhouse or die! I do really think so.”

A change of cars took them away, and we do not know what reply was made to this speech; but from it we thought one could, without uncharitableness, form a pretty correct estimate of the speaker’s character and probable future. She may not end in the poorhouse, though that would not be the most unlikely thing that could happen; but if she marries, the heart of her husband cannot safely trust in her, and her children will not rise up and call her blessed. Waste and extravagance go hand in hand, and happiness and comfort do not walk with them. Those whom they beguile become selfish, seeking their own gratification, regardless of the interests of others.

It is possible that parents often err in their mode of inculcating economy, and, while striving to enforce its practice, render the whole subject, and every idea connected with it, distasteful by overmuch teaching. However that may be, for some reason the young appear to look upon it as something to be shunned, feeling that they would “lose caste,” if they even spoke of it, and to attempt to practice it would shut them out from certain acquaintances as something quite inferior. So, if compelled to economize, they do it secretly, while they think of it as an evil to be deplored. All their little devices to “keep up appearances,” and bring their surroundings into harmony with their more wealthy neighbors, they shrink from having known, as from real disgrace or guilt; whereas the ingenuity displayed is something often worthy of much praise, if used openly, without regard to foolish criticisms. Those who have the gift to practice a judicious economy, to save carefully, because it is right, and not from a niggardly, miserly desire to hoard,—in household affairs, in dress, or in anything that comes under their care,—are endowed with a talent for which they may well be proud, and which is recognized by all sensible people as most desirable, even by those who are placed in circumstances where the closest watchfulness and care may not be a necessity.

But it is not merely as matter of necessity that we wish to direct the attention of all good housekeepers to the duty of thrift and carefulness in the management of their affairs. We do not think the poor, or those merely in moderate circumstances, should be allowed to monopolize all the pleasure which, if rightly viewed, can be secured by a frugal use and proper economy of the good things of this world that may be placed at our disposal. The rich have an equal right with the poor to share in this pleasure. A proper education, presenting this subject in the true light, will show conclusively that the more abundant the riches, the greater will be the satisfaction derived from proper discretion and judgment in the use and distribution of them. The good one can do, the large amount of personal happiness to be secured by the good done, would be sufficient motives, even if there were no higher, for strict watchfulness against waste, even in the smallest item. If one has the means, and recognizes the greater convenience of making purchases in large quantities, there is no degradation in doing it because it is also the better economy. But because they have bought by the wholesale, and filled their store-rooms with large and generous supplies, they must not feel that they have nothing to do but fold their hands and allow others to scatter their stores recklessly and without judgment. Making the purchases and seeing them carefully put in place is by no means the end of their duty. They are but stewards of God’s bounties, and a steward may not relax his care. If a lady can afford to keep a housekeeper, and is willing to submit to the rule and tyranny of one, rather than burden herself with the entire charge of a house, we can only say, “There is no accounting for tastes,” and will not presume to doubt her right to do so; but even then, after having thrown off the supervision of the household, and all the details connected with its care, we believe every one should still retain sufficient responsibility to be sure that the housekeeper is faithful, capable, and willing at all times to render a satisfactory account of her stewardship; and the mistress should be able to know, also, by these accounts, if she is true to her trust. If this was generally understood to be the rule with all, there would be less unfaithful stewardship, less defalcation in the household certainly, if not everywhere else.

But the injury done to subordinates by extravagance is one of the worst features of this evil. Our servants are quick imitators, and if the mistress is easy and careless in her expenditures, the maid soon learns to follow her example, and so will waste the material put into her hands. It does not take long to teach one of the improvident class, from which our servants usually come, a lesson which not only leads her to be careless of the property of others, even when she has no thought or intention of being dishonest, but wholly unfits her for saving her own earnings or managing a home of her own. Hence we see all around us those who have lived in wealthy families marrying, with no knowledge of providing for a family, or of using the little they have with economy. So they sink down, year after year, into deeper poverty and wretchedness; ending, perhaps, in the poorhouse; when if the lessons learned in their employer’s house had been those of true economy, they might now be living in neat and comfortable homes.

LXXXIV.
MAKING CAKE AND PASTRY.

ONE of our young friends, speaking of her troubles, says:—

“I must have cake in the house, but shrink from the attempt to make it; and in my brief experience in housekeeping have, so far, depended on the bake-shops; for I know nothing about such work, and won’t let my girl see me trying it, lest she find out what a novice her mistress is. If I should put all the materials for my cake together, in the most careful manner, and when it is taken from the oven find that it was not good, I should not know if the failure arose from my want of skill in preparing it, or from my girl’s carelessness in baking it; but she would doubtless know whose the fault was, and I am dreadfully afraid it would prove to have been my own. I don’t understand much about cooking, and still less, I fear, how to judge of the quality of the materials I must use in cooking.”

In the first place, bear in mind always, in purchasing, that it is cheaper in the end to buy the best, and in no one article is this so manifest as in flour. Get the best in market, even if you pay an extra price, and notice the brand. Try the flour faithfully, and if it proves satisfactory, “make a note of it,” and continue to furnish yourself with that kind, unless, after a few times, you find it deteriorates.

Good flour will adhere, slightly pressed together in the hand; and when you unclasp your hand, the lines in the palm will be plainly seen on the flour you have held so tightly. Dough from good flour will not be a clear, blue white, but yellowish, and, when well kneaded, will not stick to the hand.

We should have said, in the first place, by inquiries and observation secure a good, honest, reliable grocer,—one who will truly endeavor to serve you with the best; having satisfied yourself that you can trust him, you will find his judgment will assist you out of many uncertainties, until you have, by experience, learned to trust your own.

The same rule for buying holds good of all groceries. Buy the best. You will save money and insure comfort by it. There is no more economy in buying cheap sugar than cheap flour. A barrel of pure, clear, granulated sugar will last longer, and in the end be cheaper, than any of the coffee or brown sugars.

Before collecting your materials for making cake or pies, see that your stove or range is in good order; the grate shaken free from ashes; all the fuel needed for the cooking added and burning clear. Be careful that no doors or windows are opened, so that the air will blow across the stove. No oven can bake well if this is not prevented, or if the sun shines across it. We all know that if this happens, the coal will soon look whitish, instead of burning clear and lively.

Having the fire and oven in a proper condition, you can now prepare for making bread, cake, or pastry. Of course you will have a large, clean apron, and fold, not push, your sleeves back above the elbow. A sack apron, with high neck and short sleeves, made long and full enough to cover the dress, is a great convenience, for if suddenly called from your work you can throw it off easily, leaving your dress in a neat, presentable condition. A close net cap drawn over the head will prevent loose hairs falling into your work, and should be more used than is common. A basin of water and a clean towel close by are necessary, so that you need not be obliged to stop in the midst of your work to get it in case of any mishap. Put everything you will need on the table. Be sure that all utensils are always put away clean, so that, when they are next wanted, you will not be hindered to do more than wipe them free from the dust which may have gathered upon them. Scrupulous neatness about all your cooking-utensils should never be forgotten. If iron, tin, wood, or earthen vessels are set aside without being scrubbed perfectly clean and wiped dry, you will waste much time when next they are needed, aside from risking a moldy or rusty taste in your food.

A good-sized bread or molding-board, white and clean, perfectly dry and smooth, should be placed on the table. It keeps the flour, sugar, etc. that may fall, from the table, and is readily lifted, with all the soiled dishes on it, to the sink for washing,—thus saving much litter and many steps. Learn to cook without gathering a large number of things about; after a little practice, you will be surprised to see how few things are really needed, and how much confusion and how many steps can be avoided by a little management.

In making cake, dry and sift the flour, roll the sugar, if at all lumpy (granulated sugar will not lump), and put it in separate bowls or pans. Wash the butter, for cake or pastry, and put it into ice-water; weigh or measure the sugar and milk needed. Raisins should be stoned, the citron cut in thin slices, and currants washed and picked over, covered closely, and put away in a cool place the night before they are needed.

These materials all collected, butter the pans. If for cake, line them with clean white paper, well buttered. Use butter, instead of lard or drippings, as they may give an unpleasant taste to the under crust. Cake baked in butter-lined pans does not burn so readily on the bottom. If the cake does not require long baking, unbuttered paper will answer, as it will peel off readily when the cake is cool. Have some clean paper at hand to cover the top of the cake, if it begins to scorch.

The white paper used to print our newspapers on is as good for buttering and lining cake pans as the more expensive letter-paper, and is also very nice to cover shelves with, or lay in the bottoms of drawers. Two or three dozen sheets will last a good while, be of little expense, and very convenient for many purposes.

Eggs that are to be used in cake should be put into cold water in summer, while you are making your preparations, until ready to use them. Then break each one separately into a cup, to see if it is good; but by breaking all into the dish you beat them in, you risk ruining the whole by one bad egg. If good, turn it into the dish, and proceed the same way with the others. Have your nutmegs grated, and all other spices ready.

These preliminaries attended to, (and it takes but a few minutes to have all in readiness when you have done it rightly and methodically,) begin to put the materials together. First beat the butter and sugar together, till white and creamy; then beat the eggs,—the yelks and whites separately always, as whites require longer beating than yelks. Strain the yelks after beating, and add to them well-beaten butter and sugar; then the spices; stir in the flour gradually, before using the sweet or sour milk needed. If you use soda and cream of tartar, the latter should be sifted with the flour, and the soda, dissolved in cool milk or water,—never in hot water,—should be added after the milk. If prepared flour is used, no soda or cream of tartar can be put in at all. Beat the batter very light, flour the currants and raisins and stir in; then add the whites, beaten stiff, the last thing. After they are added, the batter must not be beaten hard,—only enough to have it thoroughly incorporated with the dough. In beating the whites, do not stop after you begin till quite stiff, else they will “go back,” and then they will not come up light again.

In raised cake, put in the fruit, rolled in flour, just before you put the cake into the oven. Spread it over the top lightly, and press it in but a little way, else it will all sink to the bottom and be worthless.

Only practice and watchfulness can teach you how to judge correctly when cake, bread, etc., are done. If ever so perfectly made, it will be heavy if taken from the oven before being thoroughly baked. When obliged to turn pans round in the oven, do not move them roughly, and never, if possible, take cake, bread, or biscuit out of the oven to turn. The air striking on them will make them heavy and solid.

Cake made with sour milk or buttermilk should be put into the oven the moment it is put together, unless, like cookies or hard gingerbread, it is to be molded or rolled. In that case it is quite as good to be kept overnight or for some hours before baking.

In making pastry use the best butter you can find. Poor butter is bad enough anywhere, but nowhere so detestable as in pastry. If made with lard it looks nicer, but is by no means so good, and certainly much more hurtful than when shortened with two thirds more butter than lard. Use the hands as little as possible in making pastry; either rub in the shortening quickly, or chop it into the flour, so as not to heat it by your hands, particularly in warm weather. Wet always with cold water, and in summer with ice-cold water. Don’t touch it with your hands after you are ready to put in the water, but stir together with a knife quickly and lightly, turning it at once upon the board and roll out. Molding will make it tough. Bake in a moderately hot oven to a delicate brown. If scorched or hard baked, it will be bitter and disagreeable. If your oven does not bake so well at the bottom as at the top, the bottom crust will be very heavy and unhealthy.

Before rolling out, let your pastry stand on the ice, or in a cold place for an hour, as it makes it much more flaky.

In making puddings, some advise beating both whites and yelks together and then straining them. We prefer to beat separately, straining the yelks. The milk for most pies should be boiled, in which case the eggs must be added the last thing, and after the milk has become cool.

In batter puddings, only a little milk should be added to the flour at a time, and all the lumps beaten out smoothly before adding more, if you would have a light batter. When berries of any kind are put into batter pudding, they should be rolled in flour and added to the batter the last thing, or they will not mix well, and will settle to the bottom and be heavy. One third more flour is requisite for a batter pudding with fruit than when plain, except with cherries. They need only a little more.

If you have no tin pudding-boiler, a bowl, with a thick cloth tied tightly over, answers very well, or a thick tow or “butcher’s linen” square cloth. If a cloth is used, wring it out of cold water, and then sprinkle or spread flour over. Tie the cloth or bag very tight, but allow room to swell; plunge at once into a pot of boiling water, which must be kept constantly boiling until the pudding is done, or it will be poor and watery. Replenish the water as it wastes, by pouring boiling water from the teakettle into the pot. If there is fruit in the pudding, it should be turned over four or five times the first half-hour; if plain batter, turn it over when it has boiled ten minutes, or the flour will settle.

When done, a boiled pudding must be plunged into cold water a moment, to make it separate from the cloth easily. In cutting a boiled pudding, dip the knife in hot water for a minute, or lay it on the sides of the pudding till warm, and you can cut it without making it heavy.

Old housekeepers will think these hints quite needless, but letters daily received show them to be very much needed by the young, with whom in a short time we intend to have another quiet talk, from which the old folks may retire.

LXXXV.
AS THY DAY SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE.

FROM those who seek counsel or consolation we receive many letters which we would gladly excuse ourselves from answering, by the plea that such topics come not under our supervision. But we cannot feel that words for “The Household” mean only information about the washing, cooking, and house-cleaning,—simply those things which belong to the temporal state and bodily comfort. We are compelled to attach a broader meaning to that word household. All the joys and sorrows, the hopes and fears, all the perplexities and anxieties which the mother, even more than the mistress, must accept when she assumes her position as the head of the home circle, cluster around the word and rise before her each hour of the day, if she conscientiously tries to do her duty. Not alone the health and bodily comfort of those who compose her kingdom, but their life-long usefulness and eternal happiness, are committed to her watchful care, and may be wrecked by one false step, one unguarded act, one ill-tempered word or unjust suspicion. Ah, to attempt to trace her responsibility through all the life that lies before her is overwhelming if she has not learned to feel that “as her day so shall her strength be”!

At times the mother’s life is full of brightness and joyousness; again, she sinks to the depths of despondency, or trembles with wild forebodings as her multiplying duties rise up before her, and she realizes how many conflicting characters and dispositions are depending on her for guidance. Nowhere does she feel this so keenly as in the care of her children. The consciousness of ignorance or inability to judge correctly, to act judiciously, so as to meet the wants of each child and be just to all, oppresses her. If all were alike, so that one code of laws, one well-digested line of action, would be as appropriate to the whole as to each individual case, the responsibility of rearing a family would be far less oppressive.

But there are no two the same. Each differs so widely in taste, disposition, and habits, that it necessitates as many modes of management as there are children in the family. One is loving and gentle. The parents need but express a wish, and, through the affections, the child finds its greatest pleasure in yielding its own wishes to secure theirs. Another is timid and sensitive to the last degree. A sharp “word at random spoken,” or ill-advised censure, may have “eternal power through life to wound,” because this very timidity induces a habit of reticence and concealment; the child preferring to endure the pain, rather than go through the ordeal of an explanation or justification; and the next one may be too proud to attempt it, both coming to the same results through widely different peculiarities.

One is bold and outspoken; another carelessly, recklessly happy, forgetting or neglecting all the rules of home in the overflowing joyousness of living; another is so under the influence of approbativeness, that to please and be approved, crowd independent, manly action out of sight; and the mother is too happy, if the power of this peculiarity does not too often draw the child beyond the bounds of strict honor and truthfulness.

And so through a large family you may look in vain for two so similar in character that, by taking that course which proves best for one, you may safely guide the other by it.

A mother of eight children, whose faith is wellnigh exhausted, who is cast down and wholly discouraged, thinks she would gladly die to escape the great responsibility of managing them; and this responsibility is growing greater and greater each year, as her boys and girls are leaving babyhood behind, and rapidly springing up toward manhood and womanhood. While they were little she enjoyed every moment, never feeling the care a burden. By and by one was taken from her, and for a while she refused to be comforted, till the Saviour spake and drew her to him.

But while she has evidently learned to believe in Jesus, we think she has not yet learned to trust. After her conversion, the sense of her obligations to lead her children by the strait and narrow road has, we think, pressed very heavily upon her, and she is in danger, not only of hedging the path so closely as to render it distasteful, and to drive them from it, but is also depriving herself of all the joy she might possess by their true and loving companionship. She becomes alarmed at every act which teaches her that her children are but mortal, and sees in it evidence conclusive that they are rapidly going to destruction.

She comes to us for counsel and asks, “Is it because I am so sinful or so incompetent, that I do not succeed better in teaching my dear ones to forsake the evil and choose only the good? They are loving and kind; but if their hearts are not entirely astray from God, why do they so constantly forget all I try to teach them, and do those things which they know I think wrong? Did you ever feel discouraged and almost hopeless?”

Yes, O yes! And voluntarily threw away half the comfort every mother is entitled to when her children are young and ever with her. Anxious mothers never fully remember the days of their own youth, or realize that half of what they call sin is but the overflow of bright, young spirits, ready to effervesce and sparkle a little beyond the strict lines that the mother, in her more sedate years, has marked out as the proper bounds. Then mothers are so full of apprehension, so easily alarmed! “The evils of this life appear like rocky precipices,—rugged and barren when seen at a distance”; and they are sure their children will stumble and fall, and be destroyed by them. But wait and trust. When the great pressure of present care is somewhat lifted, and the children, one by one, go out from your immediate influence, and little grandchildren rise up about you,—for whom, though you dearly love them, you do not feel the full responsibility,—you will find on a nearer approach to these “rocky precipices” which so frightened you, “that there are many fruitful spots and refreshing springs mixed with the harshness and deformities of nature.” And remember, above all things, that it is folly to add all the possible cares and burdens of the future to those which can come to you only day by day.

“Does each day upon the wing
Its allotted burden bring?
Load it not besides with sorrow
Which belongeth to the morrow.
Strength is promised, strength is given,
When the heart by God is riven;
But foredate the day of woe,
And alone thou bear’st the blow.

“One thing only claims thy care:
Seek thou first, by faith and prayer,
That all-glorious world above,—
Scene of righteousness and love;
And, whate’er thou need’st below,
He thou trustest will bestow.”

LXXXVI.
WHAT WE KNOW NOT NOW WE SHALL KNOW HEREAFTER.

STRANGE how natural it is for each individual to feel that there are no troubles, no sorrows, so severe as his own! How ready we are to feel that if the lessons our Father is teaching us were such as others around us were learning, we could surely bear them with fortitude!

The mother whom we spoke of in the last article, like many more who fully understand her difficulties,—for they are passing over the same rough road,—felt her trust and faith failing; yea, would “gladly lie down and die,” before half her threescore years and ten were accomplished, might she escape the responsibility of teaching her children, and using her best faculties (no one is asked to do any more) to train them up into noble men and women. The task appeared so hard, the way so long, and her faith so weak!

Now another mother claims, at least, our fullest sympathy,—a Rachel, “mourning for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they are not.” One after another has been taken from her, and each one at “the most interesting age.”

When is this “most interesting” age? Can a mother draw the line? In early babyhood the precious gift nestles in her bosom, and lives entirely through her life,—so dependent on her for every care and comfort, that no one else can attempt to supply her place. Utterly helpless as the babe is, when the mother realizes how necessary to its life is her ceaseless watchfulness, can there be any period when it will be so interesting, so dear to her heart, as now, in this state of complete dependence?

But slowly it emerges from this helpless condition. Its first recognition, its first smiles and playfulness, are all bewitching. What can be more lovely? A few weeks pass, and it can sit alone; then it begins to creep; now, with what absorbing interest the first steps are watched, and commented upon with a pride and earnestness as if no child ever did all these things before. The mother’s heart is overflowing with love and tenderness; but God calls, and the lovely babe is forever hid from her sight.

How can she bear it? Whose sorrow was ever like unto hers? Why is it that God has sent this trial? What lesson can be taught by it, that will do half the good which that child’s presence would have accomplished? What is there in the care, the anxieties of watching over its maturing, which can be thought a hardship? How joyfully would this mother bear all this, if the life of her child might have been spared! She longs to lie down and die, not because of the responsibility which she knows would have increased with every added year,—she could have trusted her Father to give her strength sufficient for those duties. Her faith and trust fail, because God took her child from her, and in her anguish she cries, “Why am I thus bereaved?” In answer to these sad questions we can only say, “What ye know not now ye shall know hereafter.” In the first bitterness of this grief, there is nothing more to be said.

Another little one is given to soothe the mother. She watches it with trembling heart, through all the stages that her first-born had passed. Every unusual motion, every cry the child utters, fills her heart with alarm; some fresh cause for fear is found daily. But the little one thrives, has reached and passed all the points of deep interest which once before the mother watched with such pride. Now it begins to lisp her name, and shortly its cunning prattle is the theme of constant thought and conversation. When she rises in the morning,—at the table, by the fireside,—it is again and again repeated, a many-times-told tale, but always fresh, always new and beautiful. The mother has nothing else with which to entertain the friends who call, and truly believes that nothing could be told so new or so pleasing. In her absorbing delight over each new grace and beauty that is day by day developing, has she always remembered the Giver of her treasure? or, has her love become idolatry?

Again death enters, and just as the mother has begun to feel secure, her darling is snatched away from her. In this hour of anguish, what can comfort? Her heart rises up in rebellion, and she sees only cruelty in this second stroke. In her despair she accuses God wrongfully. She demands the reason why, “What evil have I done, that I am bereaved of my children?” And friends can only weep with her, saying, “What ye know not now ye shall know hereafter!”

We grieve with you, poor stricken mother. We know every step of the thorny road you are crossing; but do not allow these trials to make your heart grow cold and bitter. You say, “I see nothing but injustice in these dispensations which have left my home so desolate. Another child has been given us, but I am trying to steel my heart against it, for anything I love is taken from me.”

This is all wrong. You say that your husband is kind, and bearing his own sorrow for the loss of the little one silently, that he may comfort you. Should you not remember that he has been equally bereaved, and may need your sympathy? “Bear ye one another’s burdens,” and by so doing will you not find strength to rise above this affliction, so far that you can perform your duties with comfort, if not with cheerfulness? You say you have no pleasure in the little one still left you. May it not have been sent as a ministering spirit, to awaken in your heart a deeper love and gratitude for the mercies that still surround you, and bring you nearer to the Father, who often “wounds to heal, afflicts to save”? There are trials harder to bear than those which seem to have so nearly crushed you. When, instead of the prattle and frolic of babyhood, the child becomes old enough to be taught how to assist the mother in various ways,—begins to read and study, showing a mind rapidly maturing, giving promise of no common strength of character,—do you not see that it must become even more precious with each new development? Yet when incurable disease fastens upon it, and the parents see their bright and joyous child slowly but surely fading from their home, is not this a heavier calamity than when our little ones are taken from their cradles after only a few days of suffering?

We have seen a mother for months hold back her tears, and minister to the wants of the sufferer; and, hardest of all, sit by the bedside and listen to the child’s anxious questionings,—soothing its fears, when knowing that it is just entering the dark valley; singing of the peace and joys that lie beyond; step by step, as death came nearer, leading this child of her love down even to the banks of the “river that flows close by the throne of God,” that when its timid feet touch the waters she may herself almost lay the child into the Saviour’s arms, who is waiting to receive and bless it. In this, cannot you imagine that there is a depth of anguish which you have not yet fathomed? As our children grow toward manhood and womanhood with promise of rich maturity, does not our love grow with their growth, and strengthen with their strength? When their education is just completed, and they are almost ready to begin life’s work, if taken from us, is not the loss greater, the desolation more appalling, than that which you have known?

But your sorrow, though yet unsanctified, must be, to us, held sacred from severe judgment. Nature will rule for a time, and may compel utterance for which you can hardly be held responsible. We only fear that your grief may become morbid and your heart refuse to see the silver lining which may be discerned in every cloud. Why these afflictions have been sent we cannot tell. Our Father sees when our hearts have turned from their allegiance, and knows best what sharp lessons will be necessary to bring us back to him. He may see that your love has blinded you to the solemn duties that rest upon you, and to save the children from the effects of injudicious indulgence, may have taken them to himself, and by their loss design to draw you nearer.

Some lines, sent us by Mrs. Crann, the author of “Little Foxes,” will show you more clearly what we would convey than any words of ours:—

“We sat within a lighted room,
My baby boy and I;
But empty were my loving arms,
Where he was wont to lie
And look up fondly in my face,
For pretty toys were near;
And, though I called him lovingly,
The darling would not hear.

“I yearned to clasp him to my heart,
But wooed him all in vain;
To leave his play and come to me
Would give him too much pain.
I took the candle in my hand,
And, with a breath of air,
Extinguished its soft, cheerful light,
And made all darkness there.

“And soon I heard a sweet-toned voice,
To which I love to hark,
Cry, ‘Mother, take me in your arms!
I’m frightened in the dark!’
And then I caught the sweet boy up,
And felt him clasp me tight,
And knew that I was needed then,
Because there was no light.

“And as my darling grew in years,
The brightness of my joy
Made me adore our Father less
Than I adored my boy.
He called me in a tender tone,—
His voice is always mild,—
But I refused to go to Him,
And played on with my child.

“And then He blew my candle out
By stopping Harry’s breath;
And in the anguish of that grief,
The darkness of that death,
I cried out in a trembling voice,
And with an aching brow,
‘I’m coming to thee, O my God!
For my heart needs thee now.’”

LXXXVII.
UNTIL DEATH DO US PART.

“A WIFE” writes that she has three children; has been married eight years, and thinks it would be pleasant to be relieved from all home cares, and travel for a few months. Her mother would take her children home, so that she could feel perfectly at ease about them, but her husband objects. He cannot possibly go with her, and though it would be much pleasanter to have him accompany her, yet she could go with friends, who would give her every attention. Her husband is abundantly able to afford her this pleasure, but objects to her leaving him,—“having his home broken up, and his children separated from him” (sensible man!). “He endeavors to persuade her to be contented at home until by and by he can take wife and children on this pleasure trip.”

Now she declares that she has no faith in these by and byes, with which husbands seek to keep their wives from enjoying the present, by promises for the future. She thinks him unreasonably selfish, and feels that she would be justified in cutting loose from such bondage occasionally, and taking her pleasure, as she constantly sees so many other ladies doing.

We are pained with the whole tone of this letter, of which we give but a few lines. Notwithstanding her complaints and fault-finding, the writer cannot hide the fact that, from her own showing, she has a pleasant home, an indulgent husband, and wealth sufficient to obviate any necessity for labor or care, more than is required to superintend her domestic affairs, and look after her children, as every mother and housekeeper pledges herself to do when she enters the marriage state. It is natural that her husband should object to her leaving him for months, deprive him of his children, and disorganize his home, for her own gratification.

“Until death do us part,” the promise reads: not simply for a few years, at the end of which time the whole domestic economy may become deranged simply for personal pleasure, apart from the family.

We see nothing that this dissatisfied woman has to complain of, but are inclined to think she has been infected with those pernicious doctrines which have led to loud complaints about women,—defrauded of her rights, woman’s cruel subjugation,—doctrines with which we have less and less patience, because we see more and more clearly the mistakes and mischief which have sprung and will continue to spring from them, unless the “plague is stayed.” No doubt many a woman is oppressed and treated unkindly, often cruelly, and made to feel that she is placed by her husband in a subordinate position, instead of reigning with him over their home,—his other self with equal rights and power, as is only meet,—having charge of one department, while he takes another for which his stronger organization and peculiar masculine abilities are better adapted. The husband to superintend the outside, severer duties: the wife as God prepared her to be, the mother watching over infancy, and through those duties made less physically strong, but giving grace and refinement to the home, which, without her,—under masculine supervision,—would degenerate into coarseness and inelegance.

We know there are many overtaxed, broken-down women who by kindness and just appreciation might have been saved, and remained altogether lovely and refined, making their homes like Paradise before the fall.

There are also many broken-down men, dispirited, uneasy of life, ruined by the frivolity, irritability, and extravagance of their wives, whom a refined, sensible, loving woman, would have redeemed and made happy, noble, and godlike.

We imagine the rights and the wrongs are about equally divided on either side. The deceitfulness of the human heart, the natural depravity, unsubdued, left to run wild and ungoverned, seeking not the peace and happiness of the chosen partner, but their own selfish gratification, has changed many a noble man into a reckless, uncomfortable, unprincipled husband, or an arbitrary and harsh domestic tyrant. And the same selfish indulgence and unregulated passions have also changed many a woman, capable of shining in her appropriate sphere as mother, or home refiner, into an irritable, unsatisfied fireside torment.

But this is wandering from the main point, through a train of thoughts very naturally evoked by the perusal of the letter referred to. We believe many homes are injured and much dissatisfaction and unhappiness occasioned by the greatly increased disposition to travel; roaming each year away from home, and too frequently without the companionship which should naturally be secured. A man is often compelled by business to be absent from home for weeks, or even months, to go abroad, and frequently when it would be impossible for him to take his wife with him. Often one must go for health, while it is important that the other should remain at home to look after their common interests. These are misfortunes which cannot be avoided, and must be borne from necessity, not from choice.

But when we see either desiring to roam, “to go a pleasuring” alone, when both cannot go, we wonder at the folly which is laying the foundation for bitter regret in later years. The marriage ceremony is but a mockery, if the two who exchange vows are not expecting to find their chief earthly joys in each other’s society. But when they can bring their minds to a separation of weeks or months, just for pleasure, we think they little dream of the heartaches they are laying up in store for one another.

Keep together while you can. Death will sever the bond, all too soon, or sickness compel absence, full of fear and sad forebodings. It is impossible for a husband and wife to be absent from each other often, even for a few weeks at a time, without finding little changes on their return. Every one has some peculiarities of character and disposition which are not exactly congenial; but if married young, before habits or traits are fixed past change, all these little infelicities are softened or lost sight of in daily communion, and man and wife assimilate, and grow more and more of one heart and one mind, if happily mated. But let these separations, even of short duration, once begin, and they soon grow apart. The natural traits and dissimilarities which constant association have held dormant wake up, and are less and less easily lulled to sleep after each separation.

We think women are more injured by this roving than men. The latter are seldom long absent, except on business, with no leisure for pleasure-seeking while away; and in their necessarily rapid traveling, the hurry, the annoyance, the loss of creature comforts, which are found in greater perfection at home, are more felt, and usually the comforts and luxuries of their own fireside are more fully appreciated on their return. In the whirl of business while absent, they have little temptation to take up any unusual line of thought or action. But a woman, unless she must go for her health, more frequently travels to have a “good time,” throwing aside all cares, instead of taking them with her as her husband does. In this freedom, she at once enters upon a mode of life altogether different from that which a wife, mother, or housekeeper can have at home. Her love of nicety and order is less disturbed when she has only herself to care for; and a selfish habit, a feeling of entire independence, is easily established, so that when she returns home she finds it difficult to take up again what was once a pleasure, but now seems more like the “burden of life.” The noise and confusion of children or much company, for the care of which she feels responsible, are far more irksome than before her “pleasure trip.” She does not find the yoke so easy or the burden so light. The habit of being interested in or sharing one another’s cares, reporting little items of daily news when together, is destroyed, and without any intentional unkindness they have learned to turn to others for the amusement or the social intercourse which was once a part of their life.

These are not intentional slights, but the changes which repeated absence most naturally brings. A woman sees the changes much sooner than a man,—sees, grieves over them, and is made unhappy by them, if she loves her husband, though often too proud to let it be known. If pleasure trips are frequent or of long duration, these changes are more marked. Husbands and wives, who were once made uncomfortable and restless if one meal passed unshared, learn after a while, by frequent separations, to let many pass with but little regret. Separation has lost its former importance in their eyes. Why should it not be so? If death divides them, however true the sorrow, time after a while must bring healing; and the heart, although there will always be a niche which no one else can occupy, must, after many days, turn for comfort and companionship to other, if not better friends. Sometimes, perhaps, in a younger and fairer, the old love is entirely lost sight of.

Let this discontented wife, who, after eight years of married life and the care of home and three children, feels that she should be indulged in a vacation and freedom from these responsibilities, ponder well the probable consequences of the steps she desires to take in opposition to her husband’s wishes. To secure the short-lived pleasure of a few months’ travel, can she afford to risk the many changes she may expect on her return? Will she be willing to see that her husband has less confidence in her, less desire for her society, than formerly; that he has learned that there are many comforts and pleasures to be found outside his home? Is the gratification worth the price she may be called to pay for it?

We have not put this subject in as clear and strong a light as we desired; but if what we have said may have sufficient weight to lead this “wife,” and others who are showing indications of having been infected with the same restless, dissatisfied spirit, to think long and soberly before they decide, we shall be thankful. We do not believe a true-hearted, sensible wife would willingly desert her post or seek any enjoyment in which her family cannot share.

Keep your families unbroken; together share each other’s joys and sorrows, so far as possible, until death severs the bond. That is the wisest, happiest way of living. When death compels separations, you will have enough to regret, without mourning for the days needlessly spent apart.

PART II.
CHOICE FAMILY RECEIPTS.

YEAST.

Yeast.—Good yeast is indispensable in order to secure good bread.

Pare and boil eight medium-sized potatoes. Remove them from the water when done, and put into it one small handful of loose or two teaspoonfuls of pressed hops. While these are boiling, mash and roll the potatoes very smooth, free from lumps; mix with them three even table-spoonfuls of flour, a half cup of sugar,—brown sugar is the best for yeast,—one even table-spoonful of ginger, and three of salt. Strain out the hops after boiling fifteen minutes, and pour the boiling water over the potatoes, flour, etc. Stir well together, and again set it on the range or stove till it boils up once, stirring it all the time, or it will burn. This done, pour it into a large earthen bowl or stone pot to cool. When blood-warm, add one penny’s worth of bakers’ yeast or a yeast-cake. Keep in a warm place till well raised, then put it into a stone jug; cork and tie down securely.

One teacupful will raise three good-sized loaves.

Another.—Take one pint of the water in which the potatoes for dinner were boiled; while it is boiling hot, thicken with flour; add a cup of yeast when the batter is cool. Set the jar in which it is made in a warm place, and it will be light in a few hours and ready to use.

Yeast-Cakes.—Pour a pint of boiling water over a teaspoonful of hops; let it stand ten or fifteen minutes, then strain the water into a saucepan; heat it boiling hot, stir in flour enough to make a stiff batter, and set it aside to cool. When lukewarm, put in a teacupful of good yeast, or a yeast-cake softened in water. Set in a warm place to rise. When light, add a teaspoonful of salt, two table-spoonfuls of molasses or sugar, and a little soda. Then mix in corn meal to make it stiff enough to roll into a long round roll. Cut it in slices about half an inch thick, spread meal over your board, and lay these cakes to dry. Turn them frequently while drying, and, if possible, get them dried in two or three days, or they may become sour. It is well to dry them in the air, but not in the sun. Put them in bags in a dry place; and when you use one soak it in milk-warm water.

BREAD.

General Rules.—Five quarts of flour and one quart of milk or water are sufficient for two loaves in quart-pans.

Rub shortening, salt, and potatoes, if used, into the flour before wetting it. The milk or water for wetting should be about milk-warm, and the yeast be stirred into part of the wetting for the sponge, or into the whole, if the bread is to be made without sponging; then pour it on the flour and knead.

Bread without Sponging.—Sift five quarts of flour, cover and set by the fire to dry. Pare and boil five medium-sized potatoes. When done, drain them dry from the water and sprinkle over them a teaspoonful of salt. Mash perfectly smooth and free from lumps, adding an even table-spoonful of sugar, and rub all together, till potatoes and flour are perfectly combined. Take a pint of the water in which the potatoes were boiled, and a little more than a pint of milk, and when blood-warm stir into it one cup of home-made or a cent’s worth of bakers’ yeast. Pour it on the flour and potatoes, and knead the whole together without sponging. All bread should be kneaded a full half-hour, then covered with a clean bread-cloth, and over that a bread-blanket, and set in a warm place to rise. If mixed overnight it will be ready for the second molding before breakfast; then make into loaves and put into the pans for the second and last rising. When light let it be well baked, but not long enough to make it hard and dry. When done, take from the pans, wrap a bread-cloth round each loaf, and turn upper side down into the pans, leaving it there till cold. This will help to make the crust tender.

Good Bread.—Put what flour will be needed for two or four loaves, according to the size of your family, into your bread bowl or pan. Make a hole in the middle, pressing the flour compactly towards the sides of the pan; then pour in sufficient boiling water to thoroughly scald and wet about one half of the flour. When cool, stir in one cupful of lively domestic yeast or a cent’s worth of bakers’, or, if you prefer, a small cake of dried yeast previously soaked in warm water. Set it near the stove or in a warm place in cool weather, cover closely just before retiring at night, and it will be light by morning, when a teaspoonful of salt and enough more warm, but not hot, water to wet all the flour must be added; knead it very thoroughly, and set it to rise again. When light, work it again, and put in the pans to rise for the last time, and as soon as it is light bake in a moderately heated oven. If the oven is too hot at first, the bread is apt to get brown on top and bottom too soon, and then it will not be done in the middle. A moderate oven at first is best, increasing the heat gradually until the bread is about half done, when it should be of a steady heat till the bread is done.

Bread with Sponging.—Stir into three quarts of milk-warm water one even table-spoonful of salt, and flour enough to make a soft batter. To this add the yeast above mentioned, or, in warm weather, use only half as much. Set the pan in a warm place in cold weather, and cover closely with a clean bread-cloth. Make this sponge at bedtime. If the sponge is at all sour in the morning, dissolve a teaspoonful of soda in a little water and stir in; then work in as much flour as is needed to mold it easily, and knead it thoroughly. Make it into small loaves, and see that the pans are well buttered and warmed when used. Keep them in a warm place, and cover with a clean white bread-cloth. If properly cared for, it will be light in an hour, and ready for the oven, which must be well heated. In baking bread or cake, care should be taken that the top does not brown too soon, as that will prevent its rising up light, as it otherwise would. If this makes too many loaves, it is easy to make only half or one third the quantity.

To make Bread from Flour that runs.—Put what flour you need in your pan, and pour enough boiling water over to just wet all of it, but not to make it thin; sprinkle in a teaspoonful of salt and a spoonful of butter; stir it up with a large wooden spoon until sure that all the flour is scalded; then cover and let it stand till cool enough to add the yeast. So that the yeast is sweet and lively, you can use any kind you prefer, bakers’ or home-made. When the flour is sufficiently cool, clear to the bottom, add your yeast, and give the whole mass a faithful kneading, adding more tepid milk or water, if needed. Knead till the dough cleaves from your hand easily, then set it to rise. When very light, knead again, put into the pans, and leave it to rise once more; then bake as directed above.

By this method running flour can often be conquered, and bread thus scalded will be found uncommonly sweet and tender.

Bread by Scalding the Flour.—Pour enough boiling water on two quarts of flour to wet it thoroughly; add two even table-spoonfuls of butter; stir all well together, and let it stand till cool; then add a small cup of domestic yeast, or not quite a penny’s worth of bakers’ yeast; mold it fifteen minutes, then set by the fire to rise. When it begins to crack on top, put it on the molding-board, beat it with the rolling-pin, and chop and mold alternately for twenty minutes; then make into loaves, prick them on top, and set them by the fire to rise once more. As soon as light, bake. Bread made in this way is not quite so white, but is very sweet and light. If flour is at all inclined to “run,” the scalding will stop it.

To make Stale Bread fresh.—Put the loaf into a clean tin, and cover closely to exclude all water, and set into a steamer or a kettle of boiling water for half an hour; then remove it from the tin and it will look like fresh bread, and be really almost equal to a new loaf.

Graham Bread.—Two quarts of unbolted wheat, half a cent’s worth of bakers’ yeast, or half a teacup of home-made yeast; two table-spoonfuls of molasses, one even teaspoonful of salt, and warm water or milk and water enough to make a stiff dough. Beat this well, or, wetting your hands in water, mix it very thoroughly; cover closely, and let it rise light,—about six hours in warm weather, or in winter mix just before going to bed. When it is light, wet your hands in cold water and put it into well-buttered pans. Let it rise in the pans about an inch; an hour will generally be long enough. Bake an hour and a half, or until it is very well baked, but not scorched.

Or, take three small cups of the sponge from your wheat bread; when well risen add to it two spoonfuls of molasses, half a teacup of Indian meal, one teaspoonful of salt, and half a pint of warm milk and water; stir in enough Graham flour to make a stiff dough, and cover closely and set to rise. When light, fill your pans half full; let it rise once more, and bake carefully.

Or, pour boiling water over one quart of Graham flour; add a teaspoonful of salt, three table-spoonfuls of molasses. Let it stand till lukewarm; then add half a cup of home-made yeast, or part of a penny’s worth of bakers’ yeast; dip your hands in cold water, and mix it thoroughly. If too stiff, add more warm water. If too thin, mix in more flour. It should not be so stiff as for fine flour bread. Let it rise light; then put it into well-buttered pans to rise again. When light, bake one hour. It requires a hotter oven and needs to bake longer than other bread.

Or, one quart of flour, one teaspoonful of salt, three table-spoonfuls of molasses, and two table-spoonfuls of yeast; wet with warm water, or warm milk and water, till as thick as pound-cake. If wanted for breakfast, let it stand overnight. When ready to bake, add a well-beaten egg and a teaspoonful of soda; put into buttered pans and bake well.

Or, one quart of buttermilk or sour milk, soda enough to make it foam, and while foaming pour it on the Graham flour, stirring it together quickly. The flour should be all ready in the pan, and one teaspoonful of salt, and a scant half-teacup of molasses stirred into it before the soda is put to the buttermilk. Make it as thick as pound-cake; bake immediately one hour with a steady hot fire; add a well-beaten egg if in a hurry for your bread, as it will bake sooner, and we think be lighter for it.

Steamed Brown Bread.—One cup of Indian meal, two cups of rye, one cup of molasses, two cups of milk, a half-teaspoonful of soda, the same of salt. Stir well together and steam in some of the new “boilers” or “cookers” or “steamers” three hours; taking care that the water does not stop boiling. Add boiling water as the water boils away. If you wish it hot for breakfast, steam the day before, and in the morning set it in the oven for half an hour to form a good crust.

Corn Bread.—Sift two cups of Indian meal overnight; pour on it just enough really boiling water to moisten or wet it through; cover it up and let it stand till morning; then add one cup of flour in which an even teaspoonful of cream of tartar has been sifted. Dissolve half a teaspoonful of soda in one cup of sweet milk, and stir with the meal and flour; add half a small cup of sugar; beat two eggs—yelks and whites separately—and put in the last thing. Bake in a quick oven.

Rice Bread (Southern Receipt).—One pint of rice flour, half a pint of wheat flour, one pint of sour milk, two eggs, butter half the size of an egg, and one teaspoonful of soda. The rice flour must be very fine, and stirred in after the other ingredients are partly mixed. Bake as soon as possible after the whole is stirred together.

Bread is sometimes made of apple mixed with flour, by putting one third of stewed apple-pulp to two thirds of flour, and fermenting with yeast for twelve hours. This bread is said to be light and very palatable. It is much used in France.

BISCUIT.

Morning Biscuit.—One quart of flour, half a teaspoonful of salt, two table-spoonfuls of yeast, and one pint of sour milk, with half a teaspoonful of soda dissolved in it. Work this into a dough; then rub into the dough half a cup of butter. Knead well; cut off small bits; shape them into biscuits; lay them in the bake-pan, cover closely with a bread-cloth, and let them stand overnight in a warm place in winter and a cool place in summer. Bake in the morning for breakfast.

Tea Biscuit.—Peel and boil four potatoes of medium size. When done, mash and roll them smooth and perfectly free from lumps, sprinkling a table-spoonful of salt over them. Put to the potatoes a half-pint of the water in which they were boiled, a half-pint of milk, and a table-spoonful of sugar. Stir into this sufficient flour to make it a stiff batter. When cool, add half a penny’s worth of bakers’ yeast, or half a teacup of home-made yeast. Cover over with a bread-cloth and blanket. In cold weather leave this sponge in a warm place overnight to rise. In the summer, make it early in the morning. When this is risen until quite foamy, soften—but do not melt—two thirds of a teacupful of butter, and beat it into the sponge, together with two eggs, yelks and whites beaten separately; add flour to make it stiff enough to mold,—the softer it can be worked the better it will be. Knead it half an hour, then cover and set it to rise. When light, knead and chop the dough at least fifteen minutes. This done, return it to the bread-bowl, again cover closely, and set to rise. When light, repeat the kneading; let it rise the second time, when it should be worked down and set on the ice in the ice-box, until within an hour of tea-time; then it must be again molded, rolled out, cut into small biscuits, pricked on the top, put into a bake-pan, covered over, and set to rise on a bench, near the stove, twenty minutes or half an hour. When light, set the biscuits into an evenly heated oven, and bake quickly to a delicate brown. When done, cover over with a bread-cloth for a short time before removing from the pan, to soften the crust.

Soda Biscuit.—Put two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar into one quart of flour; sift both together and rub in thoroughly two great spoonfuls of butter. Put one teaspoonful of soda into a table-spoonful of cold water, and stir till all is dissolved, then put it into a pint of cold water and pour it on the flour. Stir together quickly; if it cannot be rolled out, add a little more flour, but just as little as it is possible to roll out the biscuits with. Cut in shape and bake immediately. The great secret of making good soda biscuit is to sift the soda with the flour, to have it thoroughly dissolved, the dough made as thin and as quickly as possible, and baked immediately.

Indian-Corn Biscuit.—One quart of corn meal, one pint of wheat flour, sifted together, and stirred into three pints of milk; add a teaspoonful of salt. Beat four eggs, the yelks and whites separately, as for sponge-cakes. First stir the yelks into the batter; then add the whites, and a small teaspoonful of soda, the last thing. Have ready buttered some cups or small pans; nearly fill them with the batter, and set into the hot oven immediately. Bake fast, turn from the cups as soon as done, and serve immediately. They should puff up so as to more than fill the cups.

Parker House Rolls.—Two quarts flour, one large spoonful of lard, small teaspoonful of salt, one pint boiled milk,—set aside till cold,—half cup sugar, half cup yeast. Make a hole in center of the flour, put in milk, etc., and let it rise overnight. In the morning knead it well, and let it rise till noon; then cut it into long, narrow rolls and let it rise till tea-time. Bake.

Rusk.—Three coffee-cups new milk, three eggs, one teacup butter, one teacup sugar, one of yeast, and flour enough for batter. When the batter has well risen, work in more flour, but mix it rather soft; let it rise once more, quite light, but be careful that it does not sour; then make it out into rolls or biscuits; let it stand again a short time, and bake in a moderately hot oven; fifteen or twenty minutes should cook them.

Sweet Potato Buns.—Boil and mash two good-sized potatoes; rub in as much flour as will make it like bread; add a little nutmeg and one table-spoonful of sugar, with a table-spoonful of good yeast. When it has risen, work in two table-spoonfuls of butter, and soften so as to be easily mixed thoroughly with the dough; then form into small rolls, and, when raised the second time, bake on tins a nice brown. Serve hot.

Potato Pone.—Pare and grate on a large grater sweet potatoes enough to make one quart of grated potato. Stir to this one pint of sweet milk, two eggs, two thirds of a cup of butter, and enough sugar to make it as sweet as plain cake; season with ginger. Bake till well done. Eat, hot or cold, with butter. If desired to be light colored, put the potatoes into cold water as soon as pared, and when ready grate into the milk. If dark-colored pone is preferred, sweeten with molasses and season with allspice. This is very rich made like pound-cake, using one and a half pounds of grated potato in place of flour.

Gems.—Break into a quart of milk four eggs (two will answer) without beating, stir in flour till as thick as waffles. Beat till smooth, and fill the “gem” pans half full. Bake quick in a hot oven. No salt, soda, or cream of tartar.

The “gem” pans should be well buttered, and set into the oven to get quite hot while the batter is being prepared, and when you are filling them, set the pan on the top of the range to keep it hot. When filled, set them immediately in the oven.

Gems, No. 2.—Drop four eggs, without beating, into a quart of milk; add two great spoonfuls of melted butter, and beat in flour until as thick as waffles. Pour into hot buttered gem pans, and bake like the first.

Graham Gems.—Drop one egg into a quart of milk or water. Stir in Graham flour until as stiff as waffles. Pour into hot, buttered gem pans, and bake quickly. Or add to the above one table-spoonful of melted butter; they will be tenderer.

In all measures the spoon, cup, or tin should never be heaped, but even full.

BREAKFAST AND TEA CAKES.

Corn Cakes.—Rub one table-spoonful of lard into four cups of corn meal. Stir the meal into four cups of sour milk, with a teaspoonful of salt. Beat two eggs very light, and put in one teaspoonful of soda, the last thing. Beat well, and bake in small gem irons, or light tin forms.

Another Way.—Three teacups of corn meal, one teacup of wheat flour, two teacups of milk, one teacup of cream, or a third of a teacup of butter, three table-spoonfuls of sugar, one egg,—beat yelk and white separately, and very light; one teaspoonful of salt, and half a teaspoonful of soda. Bake in small pans, with a brisk heat.

Another.—Sift two cups of meal, pour over it one teacup of boiling milk, stir it up well, and let it stand all night if intended for breakfast. The next morning add one cup of wheat flour, one of sugar, a half cup of butter, the well-beaten yelks of two eggs; add, if needed, more milk, so as to make it as thin as waffles. Take one scant teaspoonful of soda; the whites of the eggs, beaten stiff, to be added the last. Pour into a well-buttered pan and bake about twenty-five minutes, in a well-heated oven, but not scorching hot. If Jewell’s Prepared Flour is used, no soda need be added. If correctly prepared and well baked, this is excellent. If you have sweet apples, three or four chopped very fine, added, and two thirds of a cup of finely chopped suet, instead of butter, is a very great improvement.

Another.—One cupful of flour, two cupfuls of corn meal, two great spoonfuls of sugar, not quite half a cupful of butter, one cupful of milk, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar, sifted with the meal and flour, and a small teaspoonful of soda; two eggs, whites and yelks well beaten separately; the yelks mixed with the milk and meal, and the whites added, the last thing.

Steamed Johnny-Cake.—One pint of sour cream, one teaspoonful of soda, and one of salt. Stir in three table-spoonfuls of flour; then add corn meal enough to make a stiff batter. Beat one egg, and add to the batter; stir all carefully together, and pour into a well-buttered tin basin; set this into a bread-steamer, and keep the steam up for an hour, or more if the loaf is large. Serve with cream and sugar.

Corn-Meal Cake with Apples and Suet.—One pint scalded milk, or a half cup cream, or a pint of sour milk, one teacupful suet chopped fine, a table-spoonful sugar, a teaspoonful salt, six good-sized sweet apples chopped fine, three eggs well beaten, and a small teaspoonful of soda. Beat thoroughly, and bake in a shallow tin pan.

Muffins.—One pint of milk, one table-spoonful of butter, one pint of flour, a small teaspoonful of salt, three eggs, whites and yelks beaten separately and very stiff, a small even teaspoonful of soda; add the whites last, beat smartly and perfectly free from lumps. Butter the griddle, and bake in well-buttered rings. When the bottom is done, turn over the rings and bake the top, or put the rings on a well-buttered bake-pan and bake in a quick oven. We think them lighter and better so baked.

Another Way.—One quarter of a pound of butter, one teaspoonful salt, three eggs, one pint sweet milk, one quart flour, a heaping table-spoon of brewers’ yeast, or two of home-made yeast. Melt the butter and put into the milk, beat the eggs and put them also into the milk, then stir in flour and add the yeast. If for breakfast, set them to rise overnight. If at all sour, add half-teaspoonful of soda. Bake in well-buttered rings in a quick oven.

Cream Muffins.—One quart rich milk, or, if you can get it, half cream and half milk; one quart of flour heaping, six eggs, one table-spoonful of butter, one of lard; softened together. Beat whites and yelks separately very light; then add flour and shortening and a scant teaspoonful of salt, and stir in the flour the last thing, lightly as possible, and have the batter free from lumps. Half fill your well-buttered muffin-rings, and bake immediately in a hot oven, or your muffins will not be good. Send to table the moment they are done.

Another Way.—One teacup sour cream, two eggs, one half-teaspoonful of soda, thickened with flour about as stiff as waffles. Bake in a quick oven.

Raised Muffins.—One quart milk, a halfpenny’s worth of bakers’ yeast or half cup of home-made yeast, two table-spoonfuls white sugar, one of butter (lard will answer, but is not as good), one teaspoonful of salt, two eggs well beaten, and flour sufficient to make a stiff batter.

Make the batter overnight, leaving out the eggs. In the morning beat the eggs, yelks and whites separately, very light, and stir into the well-risen batter. Have the muffin-rings well greased, fill half full with the batter, and bake twenty minutes in a quick oven. Serve hot.

Hominy Muffins.—Wash a pint of small hominy through two or three waters, pour boiling water on it, cover, and let it soak for several hours. Then put it into a farina-kettle with half a pint of boiling water. Let it boil until soft enough to mash; drain it and mix it well with a pint of white corn meal or wheat flour, a little salt, and a pint and one half of milk in which two table-spoonfuls of butter have been melted. When nearly cold, add four table-spoonfuls of yeast; cover it, and set it in a warm place until very light, with the surface covered with bubbles. Butter some muffin-rings, set them on a hot griddle, pour into each a portion of the mixture, and bake them brown on both sides. Send them to table hot.

Quick Muffins.—Two teacups buttermilk, one of thick cream, or, if none, three even table-spoonfuls of melted butter, four eggs, half a teaspoonful of soda; thicken with prepared flour as thick as waffles.

Graham Flour Muffins.—One pint of sour milk, a small teaspoonful of soda, one table-spoonful of sugar, and Graham flour sufficient to make a thick batter. Bake in rings, or drop the batter in spoonfuls on a flat tin. Add a little salt before baking.

Raised Waffles.—One pint of sweet milk, a heaping teacup of butter, three eggs (yelks and whites beaten separately), a table-spoonful of thick brewers’ yeast or a halfpenny’s worth of bakers’, one quart of flour, one quarter of a teaspoonful of soda dissolved in one teacup of sweet milk; beat all together, and let it rise till very light, and then bake. Serve hot, with butter and sugar, or plain, according to taste.

Corn-Meal Waffles.—Pour over one pint of corn meal, twice sifted, one pint of boiling milk. Put in one table-spoonful of butter, one of flour, and a teaspoonful of salt. Let this stand till cold; then add half a teaspoonful of soda, dissolved in a little cold water; the yelks of two eggs well beaten, the whites whisked very light and stiff to be added the last thing, when just ready to bake.

Put a brown paper over bread, biscuit, or cake when first set into a hot oven, else the top will most likely brown and form a crust before they rise sufficiently, and thus make them tough or heavy.

Buckwheat Cakes.—One quart of buckwheat flour, mix with lukewarm water rather thicker than you will wish it when ready to bake. A cup of Graham meal added is, we think, an improvement. Stir in half a cup of family yeast, or a halfpenny’s worth of bakers’, and a teaspoonful of salt; mix in an earthen bowl or a large earthen pitcher,—the latter is the most convenient, as the batter can be poured from the lip of the pitcher more neatly than it can be dipped out of a bowl; set it where it will keep warm all night. The batter should be made early in the evening, as it takes fully ten hours in winter to rise; when ready to bake in the morning, beat half a teaspoonful of soda into a great spoonful of molasses, and stir into the batter, adding also enough lukewarm water to make it thin enough to fry; bake quick; the thinner the cakes can be baked the better they will be.

Rice Griddle-Cakes.—Half a teacupful of whole rice, three eggs, half a pint of rich milk, and half a teaspoonful of salt. Cook the rice till every grain is dissolved and like jelly. Warm the milk a little, and beat the rice in it till it is smoothly mixed. When the eggs are beaten very light, add to the rice and milk; then the salt. Bake on a hot, greased griddle till brown and light. If the batter does not adhere, add another egg, but no flour.

Sour-Milk Griddle-Cakes.—Stir into one quart of sour milk enough flour to make the batter as thick as waffles; add an even teaspoonful of salt and two well-beaten eggs. Dissolve an even teaspoonful of soda, and beat in when ready for frying. This is very good baked in waffle-irons.

Green-Corn Fritters.—One pint grated corn, one small cup butter, one egg, a teaspoonful salt, one table-spoonful flour, a little pepper. Drop on a buttered pan and bake or fry ten minutes.

Mock Oyster Fritters.—Grate one dozen raw ears of corn; after grating, scrape or wring all the milk from the cob; half a table-spoonful flour; season with pepper and salt; beat the yelks of three eggs very thick, and stir into the grated corn; whisk the whites to a stiff froth, and add the last thing. Drop a dessert-spoonful at a time on a hot, buttered griddle, and fry of a light brown on both sides.

Corn Oysters.—One quart grated corn, three eggs well beaten, one small teaspoonful salt, and a little pepper, with just flour enough to make the corn hold together. Drop from a spoon into hot butter, making cakes about the size of an oyster. Sour milk, with a half-teaspoonful of soda, will answer if eggs are not plenty.

Rice Cakes.—One cup cold boiled rice rubbed into a quart of milk, one pint of flour, a teaspoonful of salt, two eggs beaten very light. Beat all free from lumps. Bake as soon as made, on a well-greased griddle.

Rice or Hominy Cakes.—Warm one quart of sweet milk, and rub into it two cups of boiled rice or hominy; throw in a little salt, and add enough wheat flour to bind the rice, or to make the batter as thick as waffles. Beat two eggs and add to the batter, and half a teaspoonful of soda, unless you use the prepared flour. If you do, there will be no salt or soda needed.

Rosie’s Sally Lunn.—One spoonful of butter, one of sugar, one egg, one pint of milk, one quart of flour, with two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar sifted with the flour, and one teaspoonful of soda added the last thing. This is an excellent breakfast-cake, as well as tea-cake, and is sometimes varied by stirring in a pint of whortleberries.

Strawberry Shortcake.—Rub into a pint and a half of Jewell’s Prepared Flour one teacup of butter; beat one egg very light; add milk to make a soft dough; divide in three parts; roll out lightly, lay one portion on a pie-plate or tin, sprinkle a little flour on the top, then add the second cake, a little flour on the top of that, and cover with the third. Bake quickly, but not too brown. Let the berries stand with sugar sprinkled over them till the cake is baked, then pull the thin portions of cake apart; spread half of the berries over the bottom cake, adding more sugar and a little butter; lay the second over them, and put on the remainder of the berries with more sugar and butter, placing the top cake over all. Put it in the oven for a few minutes to heat through, and send to the table hot.

When wishing an extra nice strawberry cake for tea, beat the whites of two eggs with a cup of white sugar till stiff, and add to it half of a grated cocoa-nut, and spread over the cake. If you have no prepared flour, sift two small teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar with the flour; dissolve one small teaspoonful of soda in milk, and add the last thing before mixing the cake.

Cream Toast.—Put a pint of rich, sweet cream over the stove in the farina-kettle, and while heating toast thin slices of stale bread quickly on both sides, taking care that they do not scorch. Wet two table-spoonfuls of flour in cold milk; stir it smooth; add a teaspoonful of salt, and when the cream is scalding hot, put in the flour, stirring all the time till it thickens; then take the kettle from the fire. Have ready a dish of salt and water, hot, and dip each piece of the toasted bread into it, but only for a moment. Remove quickly to the toast-dish, and dip over it a liberal supply of the thickened cream; then cut more bread and lay into the dish, then more cream, till all is used, letting the cream be the last. If you have no cream, boil and thicken some sweet milk; put in an even teaspoonful of salt, two table-spoonfuls of butter, and, when done, add one or two well-beaten eggs the last thing; stir for a few minutes till well united with the boiling milk, and then pour over the bread.

SOUPS.

General Directions.—Before giving some receipts for soups, we wish first to remind our young housekeepers that it is important for them to bear in mind the necessity and economy of keeping good stock constantly on hand. The French stock-pot is always in readiness to receive every bone, coarse or refuse bit of meat not suitable to use for the main dish or for side-dishes. We understand that the French use earthenware for this purpose and also for “soup-digesters.” It would be a benefaction if our house-furnishing merchants would import some of these “soup-digesters” and “stock-pots,” as they are far better than metal. But until we can procure such, the stock, as fast as made, should be strained into a large stone pot, and when cold, all the grease that rises and hardens on top must be removed, clarified, and set aside for cooking purposes. Aside from the economy of using all refuse meat and bones for stock, and the convenience of having it always ready for use, the soup will be better if the stock is made at least the day before, because one can then easily remove all the grease,—an important item in preparing good soups.

Stock for Soups.—Buy a knuckle of beef or veal. Have the bone well cracked in small pieces. Put it in the soup-digester, or, if you have none, in a closely covered iron pot. For a medium-size piece, add five or six quarts of cold water (by using cold water you will secure all the juices, whereas in hot water half the juice is retained in the meat). Let it come to a boil before you add salt or pepper; then season it to suit your taste, and if agreeable put in a small bit of red pepper. Set the kettle on the back part of the stove after it once commences to boil, and keep it gently simmering all day; then strain it from the bones and meat, which are now worthless, into a pot kept for the purpose. Never throw away bones that are left from baked, boiled, or roast meat of any kind, or from steak, poultry, anything, (except those taken off the plates); dried or gristly bits of meat may also be used to prepare stock for soup; and in a large family sufficient can be gleaned that would otherwise be thrown into the swill to keep stock on hands for weeks, without buying a bone for that purpose alone. When the stock is strained off, set it in the cellar to cool. The next morning carefully remove all the grease that has risen to the top and hardened, and you will have a clear, rich stock ready for use. Clarify the grease removed from the stock by slicing a raw potato into it, and set it over the fire in a skillet till it boils; then strain it from the potato, and you have fine dripping for many purposes.

Tomato Soup.—Use stock from beef, ham, veal, or any other bones or refuse meat. Put two or three quarts into your soup-kettle,—the size of your family must determine the quantity,—cut in one carrot, one small onion, if agreeable, a little celery or fresh parsley; add salt, pepper, and herbs to suit the taste, and then make the stock thick with tomatoes,—fresh from the vine are much the best; a spoonful or two of star maccaroni is an improvement, or rice or pearl barley, if you have either at hand. Let it boil two hours.

Another.—Take bones or bits of meat left from any dish, and boil well to extract all nutriment, then strain; or, if you have none on hand, make a rich stock, put in cabbage, carrots, parsnips, or any other vegetables you like; boil till well done, then add the tomatoes,—a dozen fresh, or half a can of winter tomatoes; boil twenty minutes, then strain and serve hot.

A Vegetable Soup.—Peel and slice six large onions and four turnips; fry them in one quarter of a pound of butter, and then pour over them four quarts of boiling water. Toast a good-sized crust of bread hard and brown (but take care that it is not burned at all), and put into the soup, with a little celery; sweet herbs, salt, and pepper to suit your taste. Stew gently four hours, stirring often to prevent it from scorching; strain through a coarse cloth or strainer, when it has cooked the four hours. Have ready a little thinly sliced carrot, turnip, and celery,—a few slices of each will be sufficient,—put these into the soup after straining it; return to the fire and stew till these last vegetables are tender. A spoonful or two of tomato catsup will improve it for some people.

We have not tried this soup, but were told by an excellent housekeeper that it was capital. We demurred at the quantity of tomato and onion, but judge the long time given to cook the soup may combine and incorporate the different flavors so as to make it quite palatable.

Mock-Turtle Soup.—Take a calf’s head dressed with the skin on,—the fresher the better. Take out and lay aside the brains. After washing it several times in a plentiful supply of cold water, soak in cold spring water. Then put it into your soup-kettle or digester, adding two quarts more of cold water than is needed to cover it, and place over the stove or range. There should be about two gallons of water in all. As it begins to heat, a large amount of scum will rise to the top. Watch this carefully, and skim it off as fast as it rises. Let it boil one hour, or till the meat can be easily removed from the bone, when it should be taken from the liquor, and when nearly cold cut from the bones in neat pieces about an inch square. The tongue may be cut up in small pieces with the meat, or cut up and mixed with the brains for a side-dish. The skin of the head is the best part, and should be cut up carefully, leaving as much fat adhering to it as you can. As soon as the head is taken up, put to the broth in which it was boiled a five-pound knuckle of veal and the same amount of lean beef, adding all the bones and trimmings of the head; a half-dozen cloves, a quarter of an ounce of allspice, and the same of whole black pepper; boil five hours, skim well, and keep closely covered. Then strain and set aside till morning, when all the fat must be removed, and two quarts of this stock reserved. Now put in a large saucepan, over the fire, half a pound of good fresh butter, six ounces of onions, sliced, quarter of an ounce of green sage, chopped. Let these fry one hour slowly. Be careful that it does not scorch. Then rub in half a pound of flour by degrees, gradually adding the broth, till of the thickness of rich cream. Season with salt to your taste; half an ounce of lemon peel, grated. Let it simmer again gently an hour and a half, and strain through a hair-sieve or tamis. Don’t rub the soup through the sieve, it will make it muddy. If it does not run through easily, knock a wooden spoon against the side of the sieve; that will start it through without the sediment, which would go through if rubbed. Put the stock, when strained, into a clean stew-pot with the pieces of the head; and to each gallon of soup have a pint of nice claret, if you wish it dark, madeira or sherry, if you prefer it light (those who object to wine or brandy in mince-pies must be careful not to call for turtle or mock-turtle soup at restaurants), two table-spoonfuls of lemon-juice, and two of catsup, one of the essence of anchovy, a teaspoonful of curry powder, or quarter of a drachm of cayenne. Let it simmer till the meat is tender, taking care that it is not done too much, and by frequent stirring prevent its sticking. When the meat is quite tender, serve the soup with force-meat, brain, or egg-balls. This should have been reduced by boiling to four or five quarts.

Bean Soup.—Wash your beans and boil them with a piece of salt pork. When the beans are soft, take them out and press through a colander; then put them back in the water they were boiled in, together with four hard-boiled eggs quartered, and half a lemon sliced, a little pepper, if you like it. Boil up and serve. This is liked by some better than when made with rich beef stock, with tomatoes or catsup for flavor.

Soup with Eggs.—Make a good stock from a knuckle of veal and any bones which may be on hand from baked or broiled beef or mutton. Add one turnip, two carrots, one onion, a little lemon-juice, a small sprinkling of thyme, and a little celery. Let it boil five or six hours, then strain, set it to cool, and, when cold, remove all the grease. When needed, heat it, add a little thickening of rolled cracker or flour, and to three quarts of this stock add the yelks of five or six eggs, one gill of cream, and pepper and salt to taste. Drop the yelks in whole, and let them cook a few minutes. Some like to drop them in just as the soup is dished. We do not think it so nice, but that is a matter of taste.

Green Pea Soup.—Take two quarts of green peas, a quarter of a pound of butter, a quarter of a pound of ham cut very fine, two small onions, and a little parsley, and put it into a soup-digester or kettle; add just a little water, enough to allow it to stew slowly, stirring it well together, and cover closely. When quite tender, add two quarts of veal, beef, or mutton broth, a great spoonful of sugar, and pepper and salt to season it to your taste. Let it boil up once, then rub through a hair-sieve into another kettle, and pour to it one pint of boiling milk; boil five minutes and serve.

Turtle Bean Soup.—Pick free from dirt and imperfect beans a pint and a half of turtle beans; soak them overnight in a good quantity of cold water. In the morning drain off the water, and wash the beans in fresh water; drain and put in the soup-digester, with four quarts of good strong stock from which all the fat has been carefully removed. Set it where it will boil steadily but slowly till dinner-time,—four hours at least, six is better. We always have ours put on as soon as the fire is kindled in the morning before breakfast. One small onion, a carrot, and two or three of the outside stalks of celery cut into the stock is considered an improvement by most persons. Stir it occasionally till the beans begin to soften, to prevent their sticking and burning at the bottom. Two hours before dinner put in half a can of tomatoes, or, in the season, eight or ten fresh ones, and a coffee-cup of tomato catsup. When ready to dish, strain through a fine colander or coarse sieve, rubbing through enough of the pulp of the beans to make it as thick as rich cream. Taste to see if there is plenty of salt and pepper, and send to the table hot. If you have any hard-boiled eggs left over, chop fine and put into the soup, after straining it, or, if eggs are plenty, boil three hard and add, chopped fine.

Nursery Soup (to be prepared the day before needing it).—Two pounds of scrag of mutton, or of the knuckle, put into two quarts of cold water; add two or three sliced turnips, or two spoonfuls rice or pearl barley or star tapioca, whichever best suits the taste. Simmer slowly an hour and a half, then take out the meat and set aside; pour the soup into a large bowl, and leave to cool till next day. In the morning skim off all the fat that has risen on the stock. An hour before needed, turn the stock into a saucepan and bring it to a boil; cut the meat from the bones in fine mouthfuls. Mince very fine a small onion, a little parsley and celery; add a bit of butter the size of a nutmeg, one table-spoonful browned flour; burn an even table-spoonful of sugar in an iron spoon; pour a little boiling water over it and stir it into the browned flour, then stir both into the soup; add the other articles, and boil all together twenty minutes; serve hot, with small bits of carefully toasted bread. This is called nursery soup, but it is not to be scorned by the old folks.

Oyster and Clam Soup.—Fifty oysters, two bunches long clams; drain all the liquor from the oysters into a farina-kettle, add a pint of milk, one and a half table-spoonfuls of butter, pepper and salt to suit the taste; cut off the soft bodies of the clams and put with the oysters; chop the tough, gristly parts very fine and put into the liquor; when it boils, add the oysters and clams, with two table-spoonfuls of powdered cracker or the same of farina. Let all boil about five minutes, and send to table hot. This makes soup enough for six persons.

Potato Soup.—Boil and mash potatoes; about three pints when mashed, to three quarts of rich beef stock; ready boiling; add pepper and salt to taste; stir gradually into the boiling stock, then pass all through a sieve and return to the soup-kettle; simmer five minutes, and serve with fried bread; or, if liked, a half-pint of peas boiled soft, one onion, one head of celery, two spoonfuls of rice, may be put to the stock, well boiled, and the potatoes added when all are done; then pass through the sieve, return to soup-kettle, simmer five minutes, and serve.

FISH.

To boil Fresh Fish.—Clean, wash thoroughly, wipe dry, and then sew up in a cloth, kept solely for fish, and plunge at once into boiling water that has been first salted sufficiently. Sew the cloth up on the back of the fish. Take it out when done, cut the threads down the back of the fish, and cut the skin of the fish so that in taking off the cloth, the skin will come off with it, leaving the fish white and whole. Be careful not to break it, as it should come to the table in good condition. Eat with egg sauce or plain drawn butter. A fat shad is very nice boiled; but most people prefer cod, rock-fish, or bass.

Baked Salmon Trout, with Cream Gravy.—Wash and clean the fish carefully, wipe dry and lay in the bake-pan, with only enough water to keep from scorching. If very large, score the backbone a little, but do not cut the sides. Bake slowly, basting with butter and water, from three quarters of an hour to an hour, according to the size. Have ready a cup of rich cream, into which stir three or four table-spoonfuls of boiling water, else the cream will clot when heated. Into this stir gently two table-spoonfuls of melted butter and a little chopped parsley. Put this into a milk-boiler or farina-kettle, or any vessel that you can set into another, half filled with boiling water, to prevent the sauce from burning. Add to the cream and butter the gravy from the dripping-pan in which the fish was baked. Lay the trout on a hot platter and let the gravy boil up once, and then pour over the fish. Garnish with sprigs of parsley, arranged neatly. Use no spiced sauces and very little salt. Serve hot.

To fully appreciate the excellence of this fish with the cream sauce or gravy, one should be able to eat it a very short time after it is taken from the water, but the cream sauce is a great improvement to most baked fish.

Boiled Salmon Trout.—Wash and dry the fish after cleaning it nicely. Wrap in a clean fish-cloth, lay it in a fish-kettle, cover with cold, salted water, and boil slowly from half to three quarters of an hour, according to the size of the fish. When done, take off the cloth gently, so as not to break the trout; lay in a hot fish-platter and pour around it cream gravy like that used for baked salmon trout, and serve hot.

All fish, boiled or baked, are improved by cream gravy. If you cannot obtain cream, use rich milk, and thicken it a little.

Fried Halibut.—Have the slices seasoned some hours before frying, as it will be less liable to break in turning; when ready to fry, dip it in egg beaten up, and roll it in bread crumbs; then fry in hot lard, or have three or four slices of sweet salt pork fried till quite brown and crisp, and then fry the halibut in the hot lard which came from the pork. Dish it and lay the crisp brown pork around it.

Fish Chowder.—Haddock and striped bass are generally considered the best fish for chowder. Cut the fish in pieces about one inch thick and two inches square. Cut five or six good slices of the best salt pork, lay them in the bottom of an iron pot and fry till crisped, but do not scorch; take out the pork, leaving the fat; chop the pork in small pieces; put into the pot a layer of fish, a layer of split crackers and some of the chopped pork; a little red and black pepper; a little chopped onion; then another layer of fish, split crackers, and seasoning, and so on till all the fish is used. Then just cover all with water, and stew slowly till tender. Thicken the gravy with cracker crumbs and catsup if you like. Take out the fish, boil up the gravy once, squeeze in the juice of a lemon, and pour the gravy over the fish. Add salt if necessary.

To prepare and dress Cold Fish.—Cut cold boiled fish into pieces about an inch long. Do not chop it. Take the yelks of four eggs, hard boiled, and rub them to a smooth paste with a few spoonfuls of salad-oil or melted butter. Add a little salt, pepper, and mustard,—the exact amount must be decided by your own taste and knowledge of how highly seasoned your family like their food. Add two teaspoonfuls of white sugar; rub all in with the paste, and the last thing after getting the paste perfectly smooth put in six table-spoonfuls of vinegar. Beat the mixture till very light, and just before pouring it over the fish beat the whites of two eggs to a stiff froth and stir in with it. Stir half the dressing into the picked-up fish. Serve in a glass dish, and spread the other half of the dressing over the top. Garnish with delicate leaves of lettuce, to be eaten with it.

Newport Fish Pudding.—Pick any cold fish left from the dinner into fine bits, carefully removing all the bones. Thicken some boiling milk with flour, wet to a batter with cold milk, and stir the fish into it; season with pepper, butter, and salt. Put it into a pudding-dish, and spread cracker or bread crumbs thickly over the top to prevent the milk from scorching, and set into the oven to bake just long enough to brown nicely. A good way to use up cold fish, making a nice breakfast or a side-dish for dinner.

Fish-Balls.—Salt codfish is usually preferred for making fish-balls, although any fresh boiled fish left over from dinner is very nice. When the salt cod is used, it should be put in a damp place for a day or two before using, to soften. Early in the evening, before needed, it should be thoroughly washed in several waters, rubbing it well, then put to soak in a large quantity of lukewarm water. Just before bedtime pour off the first water, and add more lukewarm water; wash again in clean water in the morning, rubbing off all the salt crystal that may adhere, particularly on the under side, and place over the fire, in enough warm water to fully cover it. Let it come to the boiling point slowly, but don’t let it really boil; keep it simmering a half-hour. If the fish is very salt, turn off this water and cover again with boiling water, and let it simmer fifteen or twenty minutes, then drain and spread it out to cool; remove every bone and bit of skin, and when perfectly cold pick to pieces very fine with a fork. While the fish is cooling have nice mealy potatoes boiling over the fire; when done, mash smooth and light, and add to the picked-up fish a little more than its weight of potatoes, say a pound and a quarter of potatoes to a pound of fish. For a dozen balls add one well-beaten egg, or two if plenty, or two table-spoonfuls of rich cream, two spoonfuls of butter; beat all together and form into neat balls with your hands—which should be well floured—and drop them into a kettle or large saucepan of boiling lard or drippings, and fry a good clear brown. Plainer fish-balls may be made if desirable, omitting eggs and cream, and using less butter.

Codfish Balls.—Soak in warm water as much salt codfish as is needed, judging by the size of the family. Let it stand in the water all night. In the morning pick out all the bones, press out the water, and chop fine. Boil the potatoes in the skin. When done, peel and mash while hot twice as much potato as you have fish; mix well together and moisten with cream or a little new milk, with a great spoonful of butter. Have some well-clarified drippings or sweet lard ready in a saucepan. Let it get boiling hot, and then put in the fish-balls. They should be made a little more than half an inch thick. Fry a good, clear brown, taking care not to scorch them. One egg well beaten is an improvement.

Scalloped Crabs.—Wash the crabs and put into a kettle of boiling water, throw in a handful of salt. Boil from twenty minutes to half an hour. Take them from the water when done, and pick out all the meat; be careful and not break the shell. To a pint of meat put a little salt and pepper; we cannot give the exact amount, as tastes differ so widely; but taste, and if there is not enough add more, a little at a time till suited. Grate in a very little nutmeg, and add one spoonful cracker or bread crumbs, two eggs well beaten, and two table-spoonfuls of butter (even full); stir all well together; wash the shells clean and fill each shell full of the mixture; sprinkle crumbs over the top and set in the oven till of a nice brown; a few minutes will do it. Send to the table hot.

Oyster Pie.—Line a deep dish with good puff paste, not too rich. Roll out the upper crust, and lay on a plate just the size of the oyster-dish; set it on the top of the dish and put into the oven, as the crust must be nearly cooked before the oysters are put in, for they require less time than the crust. While the crust is baking, strain the liquor from the oysters; thicken it with the yelks of eggs, boiled hard and grated,—three eggs for seventy-five oysters; add two even table-spoonfuls of butter, and the same quantity of bread or cracker crumbs; season with pepper, salt, and mace or nutmeg,—a very little of either,—and by tasting, be sure that you do not season it too much; to add is very easy, but to take out seasoning in cooking is a difficult task. Let the liquor just boil; then slip in the oysters, and as soon as they come to a boil, stir well and remove the plate with top crust, and pour them and their gravy into the hot bake-dish; place the top crust over, and return to the oven for five minutes. Send to the table hot.

Oyster Fritters.—Drain off the liquor and wipe the oysters dry; season with a little pepper and salt, if not salt enough. Make a batter with a pint of milk and flour enough to mix not very stiff. Beat the yelks of three eggs thoroughly, and put to the batter, beating all a good deal. Whisk the whites to a stiff, dry froth, and stir in gently the last thing. Take up a spoonful of batter on a spoon, lay an oyster on top, and cover with a little more batter, and with a broad knife slip this off gently into a pan of boiling lard. When brown on both sides, drain on a perforated plate, and send to the table hot.

To Fry Oysters.—Take from the shells carefully so as not to tear or break them; dry in a clean fish-cloth; beat the yelks of eggs with thick cream,—one yelk to two table-spoonfuls of cream; rub together some bread or cracker crumbs, a little salt and cayenne pepper. Have half a pound of butter boiling hot in a skillet; dip each oyster in the beaten yelks and cream; then roll in the cracker crumbs, taking pains to have the crumbs adhere thickly to the oyster. Drop into the skillet, and fry of a light brown on each side. They should be crisp and light. Drain free from all grease, and serve hot.

Lobster Patties.—Boil two or three good lobsters; take out all the meat, and chop very fine; mash the coral smooth, and mix with the meat. Boil three or four eggs hard, and grate the yelks, mashing or rolling the whites to make them heavy and waxy. Season the whole with salt, cayenne, a very little pounded mace or nutmeg, and a small portion of lemon-rind, grated. Moisten the whole with cream, fresh butter, or salad-oil. (Be careful that you do not use too much of any of these seasonings. It will make the whole bitter. In all of these strong flavors, only just an intimation that they are present is necessary.) Put it into a stewpan, add a little water, put over the fire till it just comes to a boil; then remove from the fire. Make puff paste, and line deep patty-pans. Bake the paste before filling, while preparing the lobster. As soon as the lobster has been removed from the fire, and is partially cooled, take the crust from the oven and fill the patty-pans with the mixture to the top. Crabs or prawns may be made into patties in a similar manner.

Lobster Rissoles.—Boil the lobster, take out the meat, mince it fine; pound the coral smooth, and grate the yelks of three hard-boiled eggs for one lobster. Season with cayenne pepper, a little nutmeg, and salt. Make a batter of milk, flour, and well-beaten eggs,—two table-spoonfuls of milk and one of flour to each egg. Beat this batter well, and mix the lobster with it gradually, till it is stiff enough to roll into balls the size of a large plum. Fry in fresh butter, or the best salad-oil, and serve up either warm or cold. Similar rissoles may be made of raw oysters minced fine, or of boiled clams. These should be fried in lard.

Fish Sauce.—Four ounces of butter blended with three table-spoonfuls of flour; stir in gradually half a pint of boiling water, stirring all the time. When smooth, put it into a farina-kettle or milk-boiler, and let boil five minutes. If too thick, add a little more water. Beat two eggs to a foam, and stir in the last thing before removing it from the fire. A little parsley chopped fine added to this sauce, or an onion, is relished by some.

A good Breakfast Dish.—When any boiled fresh fish is left from dinner, take out all the bones carefully, and pick the fish up in small bits. Cover the bottom of a deep dish with some of the fish, and, if needed, a little pepper and salt, and a few spoonfuls of the fish sauce, if any was left from dinner; then sprinkle over some fine bread crumbs; then another layer of fish, with sauce; then bread crumbs, until the dish is full. If all the fish sauce is used without making the composition quite moist, beat two eggs very light, and add a cup of milk and pour over the whole; then cover with more bread crumbs, and set in the oven long enough to heat through and brown delicately. If no fish sauce is left over, take two great spoonfuls of butter, cut in little bits, and lay in alternately with the fish and crumbs; use four eggs instead of two, and a pint of milk.

Best Mode of Roasting Fish, Ducks, &c.—The very best way of cooking fish and fowl ever devised is familiar to woodmen, but unknown to city epicures. It is this: Take a large fish,—say a trout of three or four pounds, fresh from its gambols in the cool stream,—cut a small hole in the neck and abstract the intestines. Wash the inside clean, and season it with pepper and salt; or, if convenient, fill it with bread crumbs or crackers chopped up with meat. Make a fire outside the tent, and when it has burned down to embers, rake it open, put in the fish, and cover it with coals and hot ashes. Within an hour take it from its bed, peel off the skin from the clean flesh, and you will have a trout with all its original juices and flavors preserved within it,—a dish too good, as Izaak Walton would say, “for any but very honest men.”

Grouse, ducks, and various other fowls can be cooked deliciously in a similar way. The intestines of the bird should be taken out by a small hole at the vent, and the inside washed and stuffed as before. Then wet the feathers thoroughly, and cover with hot embers. When the cooking is finished, peel off the burnt feathers and skin, and you will find underneath a lump of nice juicy flesh, which, when once tasted, will never be forgotten. The peculiar advantage of this method of roasting is that the covering of embers prevents the escape of juices by evaporation. This comes from the “Trappers’ Guide,” and we know it is good.

MEATS.

BEEF.

Leicestershire Hunting Beef.—Take four ounces saltpetre or one of allspice. Rub it over a nice round of beef very thoroughly. Let it stand twenty-four hours, then rub it in as much common salt as will be needed to salt it to suit your taste. Keep it in a cool place twelve days, turning it every day, then put it into a deep pan and cover it, upper and under side, with three pounds of beef suet. Then cover with a thick paste, and bake slowly for six hours. It will keep for six months, and is highly spoken of by English people. We have never tried it, but by request give the receipt, which we have had for a long time in our possession.

Spiced Beef.—Boil a shin of ten or twelve pounds of beef until the meat readily falls from the bone. Pick the meat to pieces and mash the gristle very fine, rejecting all parts that are too hard to mash. Set the liquor in which it was boiled away till cool, then take off all the fat. Boil the liquor down to a pint and a half; then return the meat to the liquor, and, while hot, add any salt and pepper that may be needed, a half-teaspoonful of cloves, the same of cinnamon, a little nutmeg, a half-spoonful of parsley chopped fine, a very little sage and summer savory, if agreeable, not quite half a salt-spoonful. Let it boil up once, and put it into a mold or deep dish to cool. Cut in thin slices for breakfast or tea.

Curried Beef.—In reply to inquiries how to use “curry powder,” we give the following: Put in a saucepan over the fire two table-spoonfuls of butter, and, when hot, put in two small onions, sliced very thin; fry until brown; then add a table-spoonful and a half of curry powder, mixing all well together. Take three pounds of the best of a round of beef; cut in pieces an inch square; pour over it the milk of a cocoa-nut, and a quarter of the meat of the nut grated very fine and squeezed through muslin; moisten with a little water,—only enough to make it pass through the muslin easily. The cocoa-nut meat and milk soften the taste of the curry, and no curry is ever made in India without it. If this does not make liquor enough, add half a teacup boiling water, and let the whole simmer for thirty minutes. Serve hot, in a dish with sliced lemon, and a wall of mashed potatoes or boiled rice around it.

Meat Pie.—Cut up some pieces of good, tender raw beef or mutton, season with pepper, salt, and, if liked, one finely minced onion. Boil a half-dozen good-sized mealy potatoes, mash smooth and wet with enough milk to form a dough to make the crust; salt to please the taste; roll out full half an inch thick, and line a buttered dish large enough to hold the meat. Lay in the meat, add a teacup of water, or less if the pie is to be for a small family, then roll out a thick crust of the potato, covering the top of the pie at least an inch thick, and bake about an hour and a half.

Beef Collops.—Cut the fillet from the under part of a rump of beef into thin slices; broil quickly until nearly done, then put into a stewpan with a little beef stock; add two or three slices of lemon or pickled cucumber and two table-spoonfuls of catsup, and stew till tender. Half a pint of oysters added ten minutes before it is done is a great improvement.

To Cook a Beefsteak.—Put a frying-pan over the stove till it becomes quite hot. Have your steak well pounded or mangled,—a sirloin steak is very good for this purpose,—lay it on the hot, dry pan and cover it instantly as tightly as possible. When the meat touches the heated pan it will seethe and adhere to it, but in a few seconds it will become loosened and juicy; turn the steak every half-minute, but be careful to do it as quickly as possible, so that it may not be long uncovered. When nearly done, sprinkle on pepper and salt, lay a small piece of butter on the steak, and add a table-spoonful of strong coffee. This makes a delicious broiled steak. Or, if you wish much gravy, shake a little flour over the steak when just done, and pour in three or four table-spoonfuls of cream, let it just boil up, under cover, and when the meat is done, take the pan from the fire, remove the meat, stir in quickly the well-beaten yelk of an egg, and serve hot. If cream is used, omit the coffee. Mutton or ham may be cooked in the same way, only they should be over the fire longer than beef.

Rump Steak, with Oyster Sauce.—Broil the steak nicely; put four even table-spoonfuls of butter into a frying-pan, add pepper and salt to your taste; shake in a table-spoonful of flour, and add the juice of half a lemon; when it begins to boil up, put in as many oysters as can be used in this preparation; let them heat through and just boil up once, taking care to shake the pan and keep its contents stirring all the time it is over the fire. When the oysters are done,—a pint to one steak is about the right quantity,—pour all over the steak, and serve.

A French Broil.—Select a spider or saucepan with a smooth, clean bottom, set it over the range or stove till really hot, then lay on a good tenderloin or sirloin steak; keep the spider very hot, and turn the steak as often as every two minutes,—no longer; when half done, sprinkle over salt and pepper to suit the taste of those who are to eat it; continue to turn the steak often till sufficiently done; just as you are ready to take up and dish the steak, dust a little flour over it, spread on a table-spoonful of butter, or, if a large steak, a little more; turn it over, dust on more flour, and spread on the butter as on the first side; turn again, set the saucepan back from the hot fire, take the steak on to the platter, and set in a heater or oven to keep hot, but not to cook any more; shake more flour into the butter in the saucepan, set again over the fire, and as soon as the butter bubbles up through the flour, rub it smooth with a spoon and pour in a few spoonfuls of boiling water; stir constantly, and as soon as it thickens, pour over the steak, and serve hot.

Beefsteak Rolls.—Cut small, thin steaks from the round; fry them slightly; make a stuffing as for roast veal or turkey; spread it over the steaks, roll them up tightly, and sew or tie up neatly. Stew them in rich beef stock or brown gravy twenty minutes, and serve hot, with the gravy poured over. A half-teacup of rich cream added a few minutes before serving is a great improvement.

Beef Croquettes.—Chop cold roast beef or veal with one onion very fine; add a little sweet-marjoram, half a teaspoonful of powdered cloves, and as much salt and pepper as will be palatable. Moisten with a rich beef gravy, from which all the fat has cooled and been removed. Roll into balls, dip in beaten eggs, roll in flour, or bread or cracker crumbs, and fry in good, sweet lard.

Mock Duck.—Prepare a good dressing, such as you like for turkey or duck; take a round steak, pound it, but not very hard, spread the dressing over it, sprinkle in a little salt, pepper, and a few bits of butter, lap over the ends, roll the steak up tight and tie it closely; spread two great spoonfuls of butter over the steak after rolling it up, then wash with a well-beaten egg, put water in the bake-pan, lay in the steak so as not to touch the water, and bake as you would a duck, basting often. A half-hour in a brisk oven will cook it. Make a brown gravy, and send to table hot.

A Nice Breakfast Dish.—Grate some cold tongue or beef, put it into a stewpan with a little pepper and salt, and four table-spoonfuls of cream or milk; when quite hot, put in four well-beaten eggs; stir all the time till the mixture is quite thick; have ready some nicely toasted bread, well buttered, and spread the tongue or beef over it; send to table hot.

Mock Venison.—Cut a nice piece of corned beef in thin slices and soak three or four hours in tepid water, changing the water often. Be sure and have plenty of water to soak it in. When sufficiently freshened, drain, wipe dry, put on a hot gridiron, and broil quickly, turning often, only enough to be fully hot through. Make a gravy of drawn butter, add a little pepper, taste before adding salt; chop fine the yelk of an egg boiled hard, and, if agreeable, a little boiled onion, and pour over it; or simply butter, pepper, and a little salt, as for beefsteak. This is an excellent dish when so situated as to have little opportunity for fresh meat, but a fresh beefsteak thus seasoned is better.

To prepare Cold Roast Beef or Mutton.—Cut off the meat as thin as possible; dip each slice in flour; cover the bottom of a deep dish with a layer of meat thus prepared; dust over it a little pepper, salt, sage, and sweet-marjoram,—very little of each; add another layer of the meat dipped in flour and seasoned in the same way. Continue this till the dish is half full, then pour over it what gravy was left, being careful to remove every particle of fat. If not gravy enough, substitute water. Turn in half a teacup of catsup, or half a pint of tomatoes, adding a little clove or allspice. Add water enough to fill it nearly full, fit a plate tightly over it to keep in the flavor, and bake two hours. Boil some potatoes and mash them, adding a little salt, butter, and milk. Make it into a high wall around the edge of a well-heated platter; beat up an egg and brush over the potatoes, and when the meat is done, turn it into the platter; slip it again into the oven, to remain long enough to brown the potatoes a fine golden brown. The poorest and toughest parts of uncooked beef may be made deliciously tender if prepared in this manner, but it must be in the oven one hour longer.

Economical Breakfast Dish.—If you have a few bits of meat or two or three cold potatoes left over, put some “drippings” into a skillet; slice the potatoes thin, cut the meat up fine, and add salt and pepper to taste; then beat two or three eggs, according to the size of the dish to be prepared; stir them into a cup of cream or milk, and pour over the meat and potatoes. If eggs are not plenty, use fewer eggs and more milk or cream. If milk, add a half table-spoonful of butter. Keep it over the fire, stirring constantly, till the eggs are cooked. It takes but a few moments to prepare this; but do not leave it an instant till done, or the eggs will burn and ruin the whole.

A “Two Story.”—A genuine farmer’s dish, but fit to set before a king,—so we are assured by one who knows.

Peel and slice thin potatoes and onions (five potatoes to one small onion); cut half a pound of sweet salt pork in thin slices to a pound of beef, mutton, or veal; cut the meat in small pieces; take some nice bread dough and shorten a little, and line the bottom of the stewpan with slices of pork; then a layer of meat, potatoes, and onions; dust over a little pepper, and cover with a layer of crust; then more pork, meat, and vegetables; then more crust. Repeat this till the stew-pot is full,—the size of the pot will depend on the number of the family; pour in sufficient water to cover; finish with crust. Let it simmer till meat, vegetables, etc., are done, but do not let it boil hard. Serve hot.

MUTTON AND LAMB.

Shoulder of Mutton Boiled.—All mutton should hang in a cool place till quite tender before being used, but be careful that it does not hang long enough to acquire the least rust or taint. When the shoulder has hung till tender, bone it; rub a little salt over it, and let it lie in a deep dish for two days, turning it over each day and rubbing in a little more salt,—half a table-spoonful each time. Meat to boil requires more salt than for roasting. On the third day, sprinkle over the inside one teaspoonful of pepper and half a teaspoonful of powdered mace. Spread twenty oysters over the inside; roll the meat up tightly and tie securely; put it into the stewpan or boiler with just enough boiling water to cover it; throw in six peppercorns, or seeds of the red pepper, and one onion chopped; shut the cover over very closely, and stew; twenty minutes’ cooking for each pound of meat is the proper time. Stew twenty-four oysters in a pint of good stock or gravy; add a table-spoonful of butter and enough flour to thicken it. When the meat is done, lay it in a good-sized platter and pour the gravy over it.

Shoulder of Mutton Spiced.—Bone carefully a shoulder of mutton, after it has hung till tender. For every pound of meat mix two ounces of brown sugar, one salt-spoonful of cloves, one teaspoonful each of mace and pepper, and half a salt-spoonful of ginger; rub these spices thoroughly into the meat; lay it into a deep dish, and the next day rub in two teaspoonfuls of salt for every pound of meat, and add one pint and a half of good beef gravy for the whole joint. Turn the meat over; rub it well with this pickle every day for a week or ten days, letting it remain in the pickle all the time after each rubbing. At the end of the week or ten days, roll it up tightly, bind with a string, and stew gently in beef broth four hours. Serve hot in its own gravy, and eat with any piquant sauce or catsup.

Mutton Stew.—Take such scraps of mutton or lamb as are not fit for chops or cutlets; just cover with water; add a little onion and parsley, if not disagreeable, and season well with black and red pepper; boil two eggs hard, or, if making a good-sized stew, use more (two are plenty for five persons); mash or grate the yelks fine, and stir them into a table-spoonful of butter and the same amount of browned flour. Stir this into the stew just before dishing, to season and thicken the gravy. Let it boil up once after adding this, and serve as soon as it thickens.

Roasting a Leg of Lamb.—Slice salt pork very thin, cutting two slices down to the rind, leaving the rind on to make the piece as large as possible; make as many of these thin slices as will cover the whole leg; then wrap the whole in grape-leaves; pass a string round to keep them on, and roast. It is said the lamb will be exceedingly juicy and of delicious flavor. Never baste meat with butter, but with rich soup stock.

To use Cold Lamb.—When lamb or mutton is left in good shape,—and it is the fault of the carver if it is not always left neatly,—cut off some chops; trim off the greater portion of fat, and saw or cut off the end of the bone. Heat a platter, and pour into the centre some nicely cooked fresh green peas, or in winter canned peas. Heap them in the centre in the shape of a pyramid; brown the chops quickly over a bright fire, season in a hot plate with pepper, salt, and butter, and then arrange them around the peas, the small end laid upon the pyramid of peas. Garnish the edge of the dish with slices of hard-boiled eggs, each circled in a fringe of curled parsley. Serve hot.

Mint Sauce.—Three table-spoonfuls of fresh mint finely chopped, five table-spoonfuls of vinegar and two of sugar, dissolved in the vinegar. To be used with roast lamb or chops.

If so much vinegar is disagreeable, use one third water and a little more sugar.

VENISON.

Jerked Venison.—Take the haunches when the deer is first killed; rub in as much salt as you can; press and squeeze the meat hard with your hands to get out all the blood; then hang it up in some covered alley or shed, where the sun will not directly strike it, but where the dry breezes will sweep over it. If not quite salt enough the next day, rub more salt on; squeeze and press out all the blood which may still remain, and hang up again. Two or three days will dry it. When needed, cut off nice slices, rather thin; lay them in a dish of cold water a short time to soften a little, then broil, serving with pepper and salt. Or, fry a piece of bacon crisp; then lay the pieces of venison into the hot fat, and warm through quickly; shake a little flour over the meat, and when done salt and pepper; place the meat on a hot platter; sift a little more flour into the pan; let it boil up; add a few spoonfuls of boiling water; boil up again, and pour the brown gravy over the venison. It is very sweet and palatable.

In Florida, beef is also cured, or dried, so as to keep for several days. Cellars or ice houses not being common, it is necessary to resort to some means of keeping it. Take a fine round of beef, and cut in slices as large as your hand and about half an inch thick. String them on a strong cord, and hang up high in some place where the sun will not shine directly on it, but where a good breeze of hot air will pass over it. Build a fire of dry leaves or bits of paper, and place at one end of the place where the meat is hung, so that the wind will take the smoke under and over it; this will keep the flies away till the outside of the meat is too dry for them to injure it. A day or two in the dry breezes here will cure it, so that it may be put in paper bags and kept in a dark, dry place several days, to broil as it is needed. It is wonderfully sweet, probably because in drying all the juices of the meat are secured. Our Northern air is not so drying, but we see no reason why, in summer, those who have not smoke or ice houses could not hang meat under the trees, away from the sun, keeping up a smoke sufficient to drive away flies but not strong enough to heat the meat. It is an experiment well worth trying.

Venison Steaks.—Heat the gridiron, grease it well. Lay on the steak; broil quickly, without scorching, turning it two or three times; season with salt and pepper. Have the butter melted in a well-heated platter, into which the steak must be laid hot from the gridiron, turning it over two or three times in the butter, and send to table hot. It is well to set the platter into another in which you have some boiling water. Venison should not be overdone, and must be eaten hot.

COOKING IN A “RUMFORD BOILER.”

In one of our “talks” in Part First we said something of the Rumford Boiler. We subjoin here a few hints as to the use of it. Other similar “boilers” or “steamers” or “cookers” can also be advantageously used. The “Rumford” happens to be the one we have used and thoroughly like.

To Roast Beef or Mutton.—Have boiling water two or three inches deep in the lower part of the boiler, deep enough to just touch the bottom of the pan to be set over it. Place the meat in the inner pan without water, first seasoning it with salt and pepper, if agreeable. Put on the cover, fitting it in tightly.

When the water begins to boil, set the boiler back on the stove or range, where it will keep just at the boiling point, and let it remain cooking the usual time,—fifteen minutes for each pound is generally thought long enough. When done take it out, dredge with flour and put into a quick oven to brown, but not scorch.

It is usually estimated that one pint of gravy is lost when meat is boiled the usual way. Here you have it all saved in the dish, the pure juice of the meat making excellent gravy.

To Boil a Leg of Lamb or Mutton.—Keep in the boiler the ordinary length of time, with no water in the receiver or pan (which in all cases should be tightly closed), and send to the table without browning.

Corned Beef.—If very salt, the beef should be soaked in cold water three or four hours; then put it in the inner vessel with cold water enough to cover it. Keep the water in the bottom receiver boiling slowly till the beef is done. Salt meat needs to be cooked longer than fresh; fifteen minutes to a pound for fresh, and twenty minutes for salt, is the rule usually given, but we have not found the latter long enough. A piece weighing nine pounds should cook four hours, if without much bone, and three with bone. We think that better—more sure—than twenty minutes to a pound.

The water in which salt meat is thus cooked makes excellent stock for soup. If too salt (it should not be if the beef was properly freshened), add water sufficient to make it right.

To Cook a Ham.—Freshen the ham by soaking in cold water three or four hours, then scrape clean and wipe dry. Stick a few cloves into it, rub on a half cup of sugar, and put in the inner vessel without any water; cover closely, and set over the boiling water in the bottom of the boiler; bring to a boil, and then set back a little that it may cook slowly till tender, about four hours. This will be found very excellent in flavor, far surpassing ham boiled in the common way. If liked, when done, the ham may be set in a quick oven and delicately browned, like roast beef or mutton.

Fish.—Season a fresh fish with salt, pepper, and a table-spoonful of butter, and put in the receiver, or inner pan, without any water; cover closely, and cook for half an hour. Thicken the juices of the fish which will be found in the pan with a little flour, wet in cold water, and let it simmer a few minutes in the pan, closely covered. This makes an excellent sauce for the fish.

Steaks of cod, salmon, halibut, or any other fish, usually fried, are excellent cooked in this “Rumford Boiler,” and need no butter or sauce besides the juice which will be left in the vessel, and pepper and salt.

We have tried all these receipts since we possessed this excellent boiler, and can testify to the superiority of each dish over that cooked in the usual way.

We have cooked all our vegetables—corn, peas, beets, potatoes—in the pans that are made to fit over the first vessel with tight covers, and are greatly pleased with the improvement. It must be remembered that each vessel should be closely covered, and over all the cover for the whole boiler. Bread of all kinds and loaf cake are delicious cooked in a “Rumford,” and when done put into the oven to brown.

VEAL.

Meats for June.—It is more difficult to obtain good meats in June than any part of the year. Lamb is still quite expensive, and “broilers” or spring chickens are dear and very little of them. What you can manage to pick off is dry, stringy, and, we cannot but think, indigestible. Veal is the only meat within the reach of all classes; but be very sure that you obtain that which has been healthily fed, and butchered as humanely as is possible. It is well that we do not see or know all the barbarity of the butchers’ shops, or we should perforce become vegetarians. There are many ways of using the less desirable portions of veal, that when properly carried out make some very inviting breakfast or tea dishes.

Calf’s Head and Harslet.—The head to be split open, the grease screened off, and eyes taken out, before bringing from the butcher’s. Wash very carefully, and scrape thoroughly. Take out the brains and put into a bowl of cold water; also lay the head, when cleaned, into a large pan of water. Then see that the harslet is well cleaned; leave the windpipe on the lights, and let all soak in cold water, and plenty of it, for half an hour. Have a large pot of boiling water ready. Two hours before dinner put in the heart and lights, leaving the windpipe a little way out of the pot to carry off the scum that will rise while boiling. Put in salt, black and red pepper,—very little of the latter,—and a little thyme and parsley. One hour after put in the liver; skim often. When the brains have soaked till free from blood, pick out all the veins or fibers, roll half a cracker and put it with the brains and a little parsley into a clean bit of muslin, tie it up, and put into the kettle with the head, etc. Let it boil from ten to fifteen minutes; then take it up, add butter, pepper, and salt, and serve in a small dish by itself. The bones must all be removed from the head; when well done, they will slip out easily. Lay the meat in the center of the platter; skin the tongue, and place it with the meat; remove the windpipe, and lay lights, heart, and liver around. Make a gravy of drawn butter, with parsley, chopped fine, and two eggs beaten, and added just as the gravy comes to a boil. Send all to table hot.

Head and Harslet Hash.—Take what may be left from dinner of the calf’s head and harslet, chop very fine, use a few spoonfuls of the drawn butter, moisten with the water in which the meat was boiled, put over the fire till hot, then serve on nice slices of toasted bread, and you have a breakfast dish even better than the dinner.

The water in which calf’s head, etc., is boiled, should be carefully kept, and when cold it will be a stiff jelly. Take off the grease that will harden on top, and the jelly may be made into a fine mock-turtle soup. It is still better if, when boiling the head and harslet, you add two calf’s feet.

Veal Pie.—Take the neck of veal, joint it as small as you can, and stew, adding just enough boiling water to prevent it from burning. Season with pepper, salt, and, if liked, a very little onion cut up fine, and a little parsley or summer savory. Make a crust of two potatoes, boiled and mashed smooth and free from lumps, two table-spoonfuls suet chopped very fine, a little salt; stir it together with ice-cold water. Flour the board, roll out, and scatter over it thin shavings of hard butter right from the ice; shake over some flour; lap it together and roll out again. Then put on more butter, using, in all, four table-spoonfuls, not heaped. This done, sprinkle again with flour, roll it up and put on the ice till the veal is done, which should not cook over three quarters of an hour. When tender, pick the meat from most of the bones, leaving a few small ones to give shape to the pie; roll the meat in well-beaten eggs; three will suffice to wet it; then roll it in flour; cover the pie-dish with part of the paste, rolled about a quarter of an inch thick. Cut a strip of crust to place around the edge of the dish, and lay the meat in neatly, cutting in a few bits of butter, two table-spoonfuls will do, and pour over the meat the water in which it was cooked, which should have boiled down so as to leave only enough to make the pie juicy. Now roll out the rest of the paste for the upper crust, about three quarters of an inch thick, cover the pie, cut a slit in the top, and bake. Be careful not to scorch the crust.

Sweetbread Croquettes.—Trim the sweetbreads neatly; remove all the gristle; parboil and mince very fine; add grated bread seasoned with salt and pepper, and a very little mace, if agreeable; moisten with cream; stir all well together, and shape them by pressing firmly into a pear-shaped wineglass or small mold, or mold into little cones by rolling in your hands. Have ready a beaten egg and fine rolled and sifted bread or cracker crumbs. Dip each croquette into the egg and roll in the crumbs; stick a fruit-stem into the cone, to look like an apple or pear, and fry in butter. This is good for cold chicken, beef, or raw oysters.

Veal Patty.—Four pounds veal-steak, chopped while raw very fine; mix with it eight butter-crackers rolled, a piece of butter of the size of an egg, and two well-beaten eggs. Mix all thoroughly together, and season with pepper and salt. A little sage, thyme, or savory is thought an improvement by some. Mold into a loaf; put small bits of butter on top, and cover with grated bread crumbs. Judge of the quantity of butter necessary by your own taste. If not liked very rich, two table-spoonfuls of butter cut up and sprinkled over will be plenty. Bake two hours. When cold, cut off slices as from a loaf of bread, for tea or side-dishes.

Minced Veal.—Mince the veal very fine with a little ham, a table-spoonful of flour, three well-beaten eggs, one small onion scalded for five or ten minutes to remove the coarser flavor and then chopped fine; sweet herbs, pepper, and salt to suit the taste. Butter a deep pie-plate, set a small cup in the center, and fill the plate all around the cup with the mince-meat. Bake of a delicate brown; then remove the cup and fill its place with some nice sauce,—apple, cranberry, or jelly, or, if you please, some scalloped oysters. Beef, lamb, or chicken prepared in the same way is very good.

Veal Hash.—Boil a shin of veal which has about three pounds of meat on it in as small a quantity of water as you can, so that when done there shall be one quart of water left. Boil the day before needed, that it may be perfectly cold. When the meat is well done, lay it anywhere where it will be away from the air, but do not wrap it in a cloth. Save all the liquor in a separate dish. The next morning cut up all the meat; chop not quite so fine as for the “mince.” Half an hour before you send it to the table, put it over the fire in a covered stewpan with the liquor; have ready half a pint of hot-drawn butter and eight hard-boiled eggs; remove the shells, mince all but two, and add to the meat. As soon as it boils up, remove from the fire; season with salt, cayenne pepper, and a little black pepper. Cut the two eggs in slices, and when the meat is placed in a dish, lay them over the top neatly. Send to table hot.

Veal Loaf.—Three pounds of veal cutlet, a quarter of a pound salt pork chopped very fine. Three Boston crackers rolled fine, three well-beaten eggs, one wineglass claret or currant wine, half a cup of tomato catsup, five ripe tomatoes, if in season, or a teacup of canned tomatoes; one onion chopped fine, if not disagreeable; juice and chopped peel of one orange or lemon, whichever is the most palatable; one small teaspoonful each of pepper, cloves, sweet-marjoram, sage, and salt. Mix these very thoroughly with the meat, and mold into a loaf. Place in a dripping-pan, cover the top with cracker crumbs, and bake three hours. While baking, keep some butter and hot water on the side of range, and baste the loaf with it often and thoroughly. Let it stand in a cool place till the second day before cutting. Excellent as a relish for breakfast or tea.

Croquettes.—These are a sort of mince-meat dumpling. Take some cold veal, chicken, lobster, or tender cold beef, chopped fine. Put a half table-spoonful of butter in a saucepan on the fire. When melted, put in a piece of onion chopped fine; fry a little; add half a table-spoonful of flour. When it browns, put in the minced meat; stir it steadily till heated through, adding salt and pepper. Then add a gill and a half of broth, and set the pan a little off the fire to simmer. Chop three stalks of parsley fine, and mix it in on the fire, stirring all the time. Then break in two eggs, stirring faster; in two or three minutes take it from the fire and set it to cool. Thus far has occupied about ten minutes. When the meat is cold, sift some flour on the board; take a lump of the mince the size of an egg or larger, roll it in the fine flour, dip it in a cup of beaten egg, drain and roll it in bread crumbs; have a quantity of boiling suet or drippings in a frying-pan, and fry the croquettes in them for a couple of minutes, till brown. Put in a colander and let the fat drain off.

POULTRY AND GAME.

Steamed Turkey.—All poultry, after dressing, should remain in cold water from twenty minutes to half an hour to extract the blood and leave them white; then hang in a cool place for twenty-four hours, in winter even longer. They will be much sweeter and finer flavored for it.

When ready to cook a turkey, see that every pinfeather is taken out, rinse in cold water, and wipe dry with a cloth used for nothing but such purposes; rub inside with pepper and salt, and fill with oysters carefully washed in their own liquor to remove bits of shells; sew up the turkey, place in a large dish, and set it into a steamer over boiling water, or in a “Rumford Boiler”; lay a clean cloth over the steamer and shut the cover on tight, and steam till tender,—two and a half hours, or, if large, three hours; run a fork into the breast to see if done. If it seems tender, and no reddish juice flows out, it is ready to take up; strain the gravy and put into the oyster sauce, which should be ready while the turkey is cooking, made like stewed oysters and thickened with farina or butter and flour; let it just boil up, and add, if you like it white, a little boiled cream; pour this over the steamed turkey, and serve hot.

Or, if preferred, the turkey may be stuffed as for a common baked turkey and steamed; or it may be stuffed with good plump chestnuts after the skins are removed, and the gravy made with the giblets chopped fine, adding a little flour as you chop, and the gravy from the dish stirred to it, and set over the fire to boil up. While the gravy is being made, rub a little butter over and sprinkle the turkey with flour very slightly, and set in a hot oven to brown delicately. Many prefer this to sending to the table right from the steamer with white gravy poured on.

Broiled Chickens.—First boil the giblets, neck, and tips of the wings in just enough water to cover them; season with a little pepper and salt. When tender, pick off what little meat there is on the neck and wing-tips, and chop with the giblets, very fine, shaking over them, while chopping, enough flour to make the whole like a paste; then return it to the water it was boiled in, stirring all together, and leave it on the range to keep hot. This done, put the chicken on a well-heated gridiron over a clear fire, covering it closely with a cover made to fit the gridiron. Cook carefully, turning it often, and do not let it scorch. When done, it should be of a good, rich, clear brown, as uniform in color as possible. When partly cooked, sprinkle salt and pepper over it on both sides.

Put three great spoonfuls of butter on the platter you have ready to take the chickens up in; set it into the oven, leaving the door open lest you break the platter by too strong heat. When the chicken is well cooked, remove from the gridiron to this platter, turning it over several times in the melted butter; then pour over all the water in which the giblets have been put, which should have become a nice thick gravy; let the platter stand a few moments in the oven until all is thoroughly blended and heated, then send to the table hot.

If not in a hurry, it is well to melt butter in a deep kitchen-dish and put the chicken and gravy into the oven in that, and, when thoroughly heated through, remove to a hot china platter for the table. There is a risk of cracking the enamel on nice china or breaking the platter entirely, if set in the oven where a servant may forget and close the door.

To Bake a Chicken.—Choose full-grown, plump, well-fattened chickens; remove all the pinfeathers carefully and singe all the hairs off by holding a lighted paper under the chicken before opening; then open with care; see that the gall is not broken in taking out the entrails and giblets, and that none of the crop or windpipe is left in; then wash in plenty of cold water; put inside the gizzard, liver, and heart, when well cleaned and washed, and hang up to drain all night. If very warm weather, put in a piece of charcoal to keep it sweet. When ready the next morning to prepare for baking, cut off the neck and legs, and lay aside with the giblets for gravy; prepare a dressing, or stuffing, of dried bread rolled fine, with a little salt, pepper, sage, and summer savory,—the quantity of seasoning must be determined by the taste of the family; rub salt and pepper inside, fill with the dressing, putting enough into the neck or crop to give it a plump look; sew up and skewer. There should be a grate fitted to every meat-pan on which to lay meat or fowls, to keep them from becoming clammy by resting in the water; rub your fowls with a little butter and salt, place on this grate, pour boiling water into the pan, and put into the oven; let it cook about fifteen minutes, then baste with a little butter and salted water, kept in a bowl close by; dredge over some flour, and baste again; repeat the basting three or four times while the chickens are baking; turn them over every time; cook till a fork will enter the flesh easily, but taking care not to dry up the meat; then remove the skewers and thread with which they were sewed, put them on the platter and place in the heater, or where they will keep hot till the gravy is ready.

Gravy for Roast or Baked Poultry.—Put the giblets and neck into a small saucepan, sprinkle over a little salt and pepper, then cover them with boiling water and set on the back part of stove or range to cook slowly, as soon as you have put the poultry into the oven; dip the feet and legs into boiling water long enough to scald off all the leathery skin, and put them into the saucepan to boil with the giblets and neck. The feet and lower part of the leg, usually thrown away, contain a good deal of jelly, which gives a very desirable richness and body to the gravy, and when boiled tender many think them a great delicacy to be served whole. When the giblets are boiled tender, chop very fine, and while chopping dredge over flour till you have made them like a paste, then put back into the water they were boiled in to simmer till the chickens are done, stirring occasionally that the chopped giblets may not stick to the saucepan. After the fowls are taken up, set the meat-pan on the stove and shake some flour into the liquor at the bottom of the pan. By the time the poultry is cooked this should have been done to a brown gravy. After you have put in the flour, do not stir it until the liquor has boiled up over it, then rub it quite smooth, and little by little pour in the water in which the chopped giblets are; stir constantly until it thickens, and if properly managed you will have a smooth brown gravy of fine flavor.

Chicken Pot-Pie.—Cut up a chicken, or two if a large pie be required; lay the pieces neatly into the pot, and sprinkle over salt and pepper to your taste; rub one table-spoonful and a half of flour and two table-spoonfuls of butter (even full) together, and spread this paste over the chicken; then cover the whole with good new milk, or, better still, with cream, if you have it. Set the pot, covered closely with a tight-fitting cover, where it will not cook or boil rapidly, but stew or simmer, for three quarters of an hour. While this is stewing, make a crust of prepared flour, or, if you have none, with soda and cream of tartar, just as you would for light, tender biscuit; roll this out quite thick, and cover over the meat. If there be not enough gravy, add a little more milk boiling hot, or boiling water if milk be not plenty. Cut a slit in the top of the crust to let the steam escape. Boil half an hour after the crust is put on, bringing the pot over a hotter fire, that it may boil, not simmer. In taking it out, pass a knife around the sides of the pot to loosen the crust; then slip a long-handled skimmer, as nearly flat as you have, or a batter-cake turner, carefully under, and try to lift it out so as to break the crust as little as possible; but it will, if properly made and cooked, be so light that it will probably break a little. When lifted out, lay it on a dish and take out the chicken and gravy; then lay the crust together over it, and serve hot. Lean fresh pork or veal is very nice cooked in the same way.

Fried Chickens.—Cut up the chickens neatly; lay them in a large panful of cold water half an hour to extract the blood. Then drain and put into just enough boiling water to cover them; season with pepper and salt; parboil for twenty minutes. Fry crisp and brown some thin slices of salt pork. When the chicken is sufficiently parboiled, drain it from the water and lay each piece into the hot pork-fat. Dust over some flour, and fry the chicken a clear brown, turning each piece when sufficiently brown. When done on both sides, lay each piece on the platter neatly, and set where it will keep hot but not dry. When each piece is done and laid on the platter, shake from the dredge-box into the hot fat enough flour to absorb the fat. Do not stir it till all the flour is saturated; then with a spoon stir smooth and pour in, little by little, enough of the water in which the chicken was parboiled—which should be kept boiling—to make what gravy you need, stirring it all the time. When thickened and free from lumps, pour on the chicken, and serve hot.

To Cook an Old Fowl.—Dress and stuff as for roasting; then boil three hours in a covered pot, with one quart of water, to which add two table-spoonfuls of vinegar; then take it from the water, rub over with a little butter, sprinkle over some flour, and put the fowl into a bake-pan and bake in a hot oven one hour. Use the liquor in the pot for gravy and to baste with. The vinegar makes it very tender, but does not taste at all.

Roast Duck.—Select those that are fat and tender. Remove every pinfeather, and singe off all the hairs; stuff with bread chopped fine, seasoned with a little sage, summer savory, salt, and pepper; or, if agreeable, add two onions chopped fine, but unless sure that all who are to eat can use onions without injury, it is better not to risk them. Remove the two oil-sacks from the back, or the oil will impart a strong, disagreeable flavor. Roast carefully till of a nice brown, basting thoroughly. One hour is quite long enough, as, if too much cooked, a duck becomes very dry and tasteless. Remove all the fat from the gravy, and put in the giblets, which should have been cooked and chopped fine before the ducks were done. When chopping them, dust in flour, so as to make a paste; then stir it into the gravy; stir till all lumps have been broken and smoothed; let it cook a few minutes, then pour in part of the water in which the giblets were boiled; cook till it is thick and entirely free from lumps, then serve.

We have been told that a very excellent French cook opens and draws his poultry, but does not pluck them till they have hung a few days,—long enough for the substance in the end of the quill to absorb,—and thus they can be plucked clean leaving no pinfeathers. He then picks and stuffs them, and lets them hang a day or two longer, until the whole fowl is flavored with the dressing. We are assured poultry so prepared is very delicate and finely flavored. We will not vouch for this; but in part it sounds reasonable, and is well worth trying, only we think the feathers must impart a strong, oily flavor if left in so long.

To Roast a Goose.—Select a goose with clean, white skin, plump breast, and yellow feet. If the feet are red, the bird is old. Let it hang for a few days, if the weather will permit, as by so doing the flavor is greatly improved. In dressing, take great care in plucking, singeing, and drawing the goose, for if the oil-sack is broken over it, or the gall bladder broken inside, it will be more noticeable and less easy to remove in a goose than any other poultry. Cut off the neck close to the back, leaving the skin long enough to tie over. This can be done by drawing back the skin, while you sever the neck from the body. Cut off the feet at the first joint, and separate the pinions at the first joint also; beat the breastbone flat with potato-masher or rolling-pin. Put a skewer through the under part of each wing; draw up the legs closely and run a skewer into the middle of each, passing it quite through the body. Put another skewer into the small part of the leg, bring it close down to the side-bone, run it through, and proceed the same way with the other side. Cut off the vent, make a hole in the skin large enough to draw the rump through, so as to keep in the seasoning. Make a dressing of mealy potatoes, finely mashed, two boiled onions chopped very fine, one and a half teaspoonfuls of powdered sage, one of salt, and one of black pepper. Fill the body of the goose, and secure it firmly by tying the skin over the neck, and drawing the rump through the hole cut in the skin. Roast for two hours, if large, or bake the same length of time; but roasting is much nicer. Baste often, dredging a little flour over. Do not baste in the drippings from the goose; they are too strong; but prepare some basting by putting a little browned butter, salt, and pepper into part of a cup of boiling water. When half done, drain the fat from the roaster; the last drippings will not be so strong, and, with the basting water, will suffice for the gravy. Make a good gravy, in which the giblets finely chopped, and a little flour for thickening, have been boiled. Put the gravy into a tureen, and serve the goose with a dish of nice apple or gooseberry sauce.

Wild Goose.—A wild goose should be cooked rare. One hour’s roasting is quite sufficient. A cup of currant jelly and a glass of red wine should be added to the gravy, which is made the same as for a common goose. Serve hot.

To Roast a Green Goose.—Geese are called green till four months old. Dress and truss the same as a full-grown goose, but do not stuff the bird. Put into the body pepper and salt, and a little butter to moisten it. Roast for an hour; serve with gravy made like the first, and tomato or sorrel sauce.

To Boil a Goose.—Clean thoroughly, and soak for twelve hours in warm milk and water. Then dry, and stuff with sage and onions, as for roasting. Put it into cold water over the fire, and bring to a boil, then let it simmer gently for an hour and a quarter. Serve with onion sauce poured over it, and stewed cabbage around it.

A teaspoonful of made mustard, a salt-spoonful of salt, a few grains of cayenne, mixed with a glass of port wine, are sometimes poured into the goose, through a slit made in the apron when about half done, and by many persons considered a great delicacy.

Onions may be omitted, if injurious to any who are to partake of it. They make many persons quite ill, and it is a kindness to avoid using any seasoning that will disturb your guests. Whatever way a goose is to be cooked, it is well to soak it over night in milk poured over it boiling hot. In the morning wash off the milk and put the goose into a kettle of cold water, set it over the fire, and let it remain till almost boiling hot, not quite. This removes the strong taste of the oil, and you can then take it out, dry with a towel, and when cool stuff and cook as you wish,—either boiled, baked, or roasted.

To Stew a Goose.—Truss the goose as for boiling; cover with thin slices of bacon and tie it up. Cover the bottom of the saucepan also with bacon, sprinkle in a very little of sweet herbs powdered, a carrot cut in dice, and two bay leaves, if you can get them. Lay in the goose and giblets, cover with bacon, moisten with rich stock enough to cover the goose; set over the fire and let it boil up; then cover with buttered paper and a close-fitting cover; set it on a hot hearth with fire over it. Let it cook an hour and a half. Serve with onion or apple sauce.

Both geese and ducks if old, and we think turkeys and chickens also, are better for being parboiled before roasting. Put in just enough water to boil them; keep the vessel close covered. Let a tough goose gently simmer two hours; then dry, wipe clean, stuff, and roast; basting with a little bacon fat or butter.

To Stew Pigeons.—Pluck and clean the birds with great care. When drawn, leave them for about an hour to soak in cold water. This extracts the blood, leaving them white and sweet. This done, take them out, and tying the legs together, hang the birds up to drain. When dry, lay them in a deep dish and place on the ice or a cool place overnight.

The next morning prepare the stuffing of stale bread chopped very fine, and to it, for twelve pigeons, put one and a half table-spoonfuls of butter, two teaspoonfuls of salt, one of black pepper; a little sage, thyme, summer savory, or sweet-marjoram (only a very little,—the exact quantity cannot well be given more explicitly,—too much will spoil it; better err by using too little, and profit by the experience the next time). Rub a little salt and pepper outside and inside of each bird, then fill with the stuffing and sew them up, passing the thread through the legs and wings to make them lie close to the body; then rub a little butter over the birds, dredge with flour, put them into a bake-pan and place in a quick oven to brown. While this is being done, chop a little fresh parsley, making, when fine, half a table-spoonful, and put it to two table-spoonfuls of butter and the same of flour; beat all together till smooth. Brown the birds on both sides; twenty minutes should do it, if your oven is of the right heat. Lay a small saucer or plate on the bottom of a close-covered iron stew-kettle or into a soup-digester, and put the birds when browned into the kettle, packing them compactly as you can; spread over them the smoothly beaten flour, butter, and parsley, and pour in enough rich milk to cover the pigeons (cream is better, but that is a luxury belonging to the country chiefly). Set them on the stove or range where they will steadily simmer four hours. They must not boil hard; occasionally stir them from the bottom with a spoon, to prevent them from sticking, but do not break them. When done, take up and place them neatly on a large, deep platter, pour the gravy over the birds, trim the edges of the platter with a neat fringe of green parsley, and send to the table hot.

Wild Squabs.—After dressing the birds, let them soak in cold water a half-hour to extract the blood, then drain off the water, wipe dry on a clean meat-cloth, and set on the ice till needed. (They are better to be dressed one day and cooked the next.) Let the gridiron be bright and clean; set it over the fire till hot, then lay the birds on, being careful that the fire is not so hot as to scorch. Turn them over every minute or two; when half done sprinkle salt and pepper over them and finish. Have a thin slice of bread toasted and spread with butter to lay under each bird; place the birds on the bread, put butter on each and set in the oven a moment, and send to the table hot. It is well to have the bread toasted, buttered, and set in the oven to keep hot before the birds are put over the fire.

Chicken Pudding.—Joint a pair of small, tender chickens; season with salt and pepper; just cover with water, and stew with three thin slices of salt pork, that has been well washed in hot water. When tender, take from the liquor and set to cool. Make a batter of one quart of flour, one quart of milk, six eggs, and a teaspoonful of salt; or, if prepared flour, no salt is needed. When the meat is cold, cover the bottom of a large bake-dish with batter, then a layer of chicken, then another of batter, and so on till all is used, finishing off with batter. Bake to a light brown. Beat an egg and stir into the liquor that was set aside, and serve it hot with the pudding.

Chicken Jelly.—Cut up an old hen into quite small pieces; skin it, and pour over three pints of cold water; boil until the bones slip from the meat easily. Then take out all the meat; throw back the bones to boil in the liquor longer; chop the meat with the rind of one lemon, having squeezed the juice into the boiling liquor; put the meat, well seasoned, into a jelly-mold, and when the liquor is boiled down full one half strain it upon the meat in the mold; next morning turn it out of the mold and cut in slices. Do not throw away the feet of poultry, but pour boiling water over them to take off the skin, and then put the feet into the liquor to boil. There is a great deal of mucilage in their feet, and it is excellent both for this jelly and for enriching the gravy for poultry.

Chicken Patties.—Chop very fine all the dry, poorest bits left from baked chicken; season carefully with pepper, salt, and a little celery, cut in small bits; make a light puff paste, roll a quarter of an inch thick, cut with a neatly shaped paste-cutter; lay a narrow strip of the paste all round, then put some of the mince on the paste; cut another piece of the same size and lay over. Bake fifteen minutes. This makes a neat dish and is good.

To make Remnants of Meat, Chicken, etc., palatable.—When a boiled ham is nearly used up, there is considerable lean meat about the small part of the ham which may waste because no way can be contrived to use it. If you will grate all the hard dried bits, or, if too small to grate, pound them in a marble mortar to a paste, and pack it close in a stone pot, you will find it excellent for seasoning hashes, patties, or to sprinkle over dropped eggs laid on buttered toast.

Meat Croquettes.—Mince cold chicken very fine; moisten with rich gravy; season with pepper and salt. Shape them by pressing tightly into a jelly-glass or long, pear-shaped wineglass; brush over with beaten egg after they are shaped, roll in bread crumbs, and fry in lard. Drain, and send to table hot. Or, beat together one pint of cream and one pint of minced chicken, three even table-spoonfuls of butter, with salt and pepper. Fry in lard.

PORK AND HAM.

To Boil a Ham.—Boil it three or four hours, according to the size; then take up, skin the ham ready for the table, stick over it a dozen cloves, rub over half a small cupful of sugar, sprinkle thoroughly with pounded rusk or cracker crumbs, and set into a well-heated oven for half an hour.

Broiled Ham.—Cut thin slices from the middle of the ham, as true and uniform as possible, having the knife very sharp. But if by carelessness some parts are thicker than others, roll the thick part out, stoutly, with a rolling-pin. Soak an hour or two in warm water, unless the ham is quite fresh. Have the gridiron perfectly free from roughness, and well heated; then broil over a brisk fire, turning constantly that no part may be black. If cut thin enough, it will take but a few minutes to broil it. When done, butter and pepper to suit the taste. For breakfast, an omelet, or eggs cooked in some acceptable way, should always go with ham.

Ham Croquettes.—Bits of boiled ham, too much broken to slice neatly for the table, may be made into a very desirable breakfast dish.

To two cups finely chopped boiled ham, put two table-spoonfuls of flour, six eggs if plenty,—four will answer,—yelks and whites beaten separately. Stir all together, and make into balls, or shape in a wineglass. When in shape, roll them in bread crumbs, cracker dust, or flour; dip them into a little beaten egg, and fry in butter to a clear golden brown.

Ham and Toast.—Boil a pint of milk, wet a table-spoonful of flour with cold milk, and stir up smooth. When the milk comes to a boil, pour in the flour, stir carefully till it thickens smoothly, add a table-spoonful of butter and a little black pepper. Shave some good ham very thin, pour over it boiling water, and let it scald a minute, pour it off, add a little more, let it boil up once, then put it into the thickened milk, leaving it there while you toast carefully a few evenly cut slices of bread. Lay them into a deep dish, skim out the ham from the milk and lay neatly on the toast, and then pour over all the thickened milk. You can beat an egg and put to the milk if you like. It makes it richer, but is not necessary.

This is a very nice breakfast relish. We think it preferable to dried beef.

Ham Toast.—Soften slightly in a stewpan a small piece of butter; put in as much finely minced ham as will cover a large round of buttered toast, and add gravy enough to make it moist. When quite hot stir in quickly with a fork one egg. Place the mixture over the toast, which cut in pieces of any shape you may fancy.

To use Cold Boiled Ham.—When a ham has been long boiled and is becoming dry, cut some thin slices, dip in egg and bread crumbs, and fry quickly. Serve immediately.

Another Way.—Cut off all fat; mince the ham very fine; break into a spider a half-dozen fresh eggs; add a table-spoonful of cream, a little salt and pepper, and set over the fire; as soon as the eggs are set or nearly solid, spread one half thickly with the minced ham, and fold the other half over upon it; slip it carefully from the spider to the platter. Garnish with curled parsley. Serve hot.

Ham Ball.—Chop fine such small pieces of boiled ham as are usually thought too poor or small for use; add as many eggs as there will be people at the table; sprinkle in a little flour; beat together with chopped ham, and make into balls. Fry in hot butter or well-clarified drippings to a golden brown.

How a Pig was roasted on a Sugar Plantation.—The pig, having been carefully cleaned and dressed, was wiped dry, part of the liver and heart chopped fine, mixed with bread crumbs, savory herbs, salt, and pepper, and sewed up. While this was being prepared a fire was built outdoors, and when burned down so as to secure a bright, large bed of coals, a long, smooth stick was run through the pig lengthwise, and smaller ones skewered the legs to the body. A piece of nice fat pork was fastened on the stick where it entered the head. Thus firmly fixed, one of the servants held the long stick with the pig on it over the fire, slowly turning it round and round as it began to cook; or, if he was needed elsewhere, one end of the stick was driven into the ground, close to the coals, but only for a few minutes, when he returned to continue to turn it round over the huge bed of coals. In much less time than we need to cook a pig in our convenient kitchens, the dweller under the cocoa-nut trees was beautifully browned, crisp, and tender. In cooking, much of the fat from the pork filtered through, and having given juice and relish to the meat, had, with a good deal of fat from the pig, fallen into the ashes around the bed of coals, leaving the meat rich and of peculiar sweetness and delicacy, without being too greasy.

We had not the good fortune to partake of it, but this, with others cooked in a similar manner, was pronounced the most delicious meat ever tasted, and we found no difficulty in believing it. Some of our Northern cooks, with any amount of “modern improvements,” might try this experiment with great success.

Wild game, birds, rabbits, ducks, etc., are often cooked in a similar manner. All wild birds are apt to be very dry, and if a thin piece of pork is tied about them, while baking or roasting, till it becomes brown and crisp, then removed, and the bird allowed to brown delicately, it is a wonderful addition to the juiciness and flavor of the game.

Good Sausage Meat.—Take two thirds ham and one third fat pork, season well with nine teaspoonfuls of pepper, the same of salt, three of powdered sage, and one of thyme or summer savory to every five pounds of meat (not heaping teaspoonfuls, remember); warm the meat enough so that you can mix it well with the hands; then pack in jars. When needed, make up in small cakes and fry in a little butter, or simply alone. But they must not be covered over, or they will fall to pieces. Some like a little cinnamon added. Keep where it is cool, but not damp.

A Dutch Dish.—Pare and slice as many potatoes as are needed for the size of your family; put them into a deep dish; pour in as much milk or cream as will fill the dish and not boil over. Stir in a little salt and pepper; lay some slices of salt pork cut thin over the top; and bake two hours. Be careful and not put in too much salt, as the pork will season it almost enough.

SALADS AND OMELETS.

Chicken Salad.—Well-fattened chickens, of medium size, tender and delicate, make better salad than large, overgrown ones. Put them on to cook in the morning, and save the water they are boiled in for soup. When cold, remove the skin and cut the flesh in pieces, the size you prefer. Some like the meat very coarse, others choose it quite fine. This is entirely a matter of taste. When cut up, throw over the dish a towel slightly damped in cold water, to keep the meat from drying. Take the best celery you can get, and cut it of the size you wish. The “fancy cooks” cut both celery and chicken in bits about one inch long and half an inch thick, but we think the salad better cut finer. When the celery is cut, put it between clean cloths to dry perfectly, and then prepare the dressing. For dressing for two chickens, take three fourths of a bottle of the purest salad-oil or thick sweet cream, two scant table-spoonfuls of the best mustard, the yelks of two raw eggs and of twelve hard-boiled ones. Put the eggs to be boiled in a saucepan of cold water over a quick fire; bring to a boil, and let them boil hard ten minutes, then drop them into cold water. When cool, remove the shells. Break the raw eggs, and drop the yelks into a dish large enough to make all the dressing in; beat them, stirring the same way, for ten minutes; then slowly add the mustard, mix it with the eggs thoroughly, then add a teaspoonful of the best vinegar, and, when this is well mixed, add the oil, a drop at a time, stirring constantly and always the same way. Then rub the yelks of the hard-boiled eggs very smooth, and stir in as lightly as possible a teacup of vinegar; pour it slowly into the first mixture, stirring with a silver fork. Now season the chicken and celery with salt and pepper, and as soon as ready for use pour on the dressing. If set where it is too cold in cold weather, the dressing will curdle and be ruined.

Italian Chicken Salad.—Make a dressing in the proportion of the yelks of three hard-boiled eggs, rubbed fine, one salt-spoonful of salt, one of mustard, and one of cayenne pepper, one of white sugar, four table-spoonfuls of salad-oil, and two table-spoonfuls of vinegar. Simmer this dressing over the fire, but don’t let it boil. Stir constantly while over the fire. Then take a sufficient quantity of the white meat of cold chicken for this quantity of dressing, or increase in this proportion to the desired quantity; pull the white meat into small flakes, pile it up in a dish, and pour the dressing on it. Take two heads of fine, fresh lettuce that have been washed and laid in water, take out the best part, cut it up, and arrange in a heap around the chicken, heaped in the middle of the dish, and on the top of this ridge place the whites of eggs, cut in rings and laid in form of a chain. A portion of the lettuce to be helped with each plate of chicken.

Lobster Salad.—Boil the lobsters half an hour; when cold, take from the shell; remove the vein in the back, which is not good. Two heads of lettuce, one cup of melted butter, two table-spoonfuls of mustard mixed with a little vinegar, is sufficient for six pounds of lobster; after being taken from the shell, salt and pepper to your taste, remembering that more can be added if not enough; but if too much, it is not so easily rectified. Chop them together and put in the salad-dish. Beat six eggs with a teacup of vinegar, put it over the stove to thicken, stirring it all the time; when cold, spread over the lobster.

Potato Salad.—Cut ten or twelve cold boiled potatoes into slices from a quarter to half an inch thick; put into a salad-bowl with four table-spoonfuls of tarragon or plain vinegar, six table-spoonfuls of best salad-oil, one teaspoonful of minced parsley, and pepper and salt to taste; stir well that all be thoroughly mixed. It should be made two or three hours before needed on the table. Anchovies, olives, or any pickles may be added to this salad, as also slices of cold beef, chicken, or turkey, if desired.

Plain Omelet.—Put your omelet-pan on the stove with a spoonful of butter; keep it so hot that the butter will almost brown in it, but not quite; break six fresh eggs into a clean bowl; if fresh, the whites will be clear and the yelks quite round; add a teaspoonful of milk for every egg, and whip the whole as thoroughly as for sponge-cake. When light, put the whipped eggs and milk into the omelet-pan and set it directly over the fire. As it begins to cool, take a thin-bladed knife and run it carefully under the bottom of the egg, so as to let that which is not cooked run beneath. If the fire is right, the whole mass will instantly puff and swell and cook in a minute, but great care is needed that it does not burn on the bottom, as scorched egg is very disagreeable and would ruin the whole. It is not necessary to wait till the whole mass is solid, for its own heat will cook it after it has been taken up, but begin to clear it at one side at once and carefully.

Puff Omelet.—Take the yelks of six eggs and the whites of three; beat very light. Take a teacup of cream (milk will answer) and mix with it very smoothly one table-spoonful of flour; salt and pepper to suit your taste; pour this into the beaten eggs. Melt a great spoonful of butter in a pan, and when hot pour in the mixture and set the pan into a hot oven. When it thickens up, pour over it the other three whites that were saved out, which you must have all ready, beaten very light. Return to the oven just long enough for a delicate brown, then slip out on a dish so that the top part shall remain uppermost.

Oyster Omelet.—Beat four eggs very light; cut out the hard part, or eye, from a dozen oysters; wipe them dry and cut into small pieces; stir them into the beaten egg, and fry in hot butter. When the under side is a light brown, sprinkle a very little salt and pepper over the top, and fold one half of the omelet over the other. Never turn an omelet; it makes it heavy and ruins it.

Omelet with Jelly.—Beat separately the yelks and whites of four fresh eggs; add to the yelks sufficient sugar to sweeten to your taste, and an even dessert-spoonful of corn flour very smoothly beaten in a table-spoonful of cream. Beat this with the yelks till perfectly smooth, and stir in the well-beaten whites very gently, so as to break the froth as little as possible; pour the whole into a frying-pan in which some butter has been melted, but drain off the butter before adding the eggs, etc. Put it over the fire,—two or three minutes will cook the under side; hold the pan to the fire till the under side looks firm, then spread raspberry or strawberry jam over one half; turn the other over it, and serve immediately.

Baked Omelet.—Boil half a pint of milk; beat six eggs thoroughly, yelks and whites separately; put half a teaspoonful of salt and a piece of butter half as large as an egg to the boiling milk; stir it into the beaten eggs; pour all instantly into a deep dish and bake. If the oven is hot, five minutes will bake it; not quite so hot an oven and a little longer time will be better,—say ten minutes. It should be of a delicate brown on top, and eaten right from the oven.

Omelette Soufflee.—Beat the whites of four eggs to a stiff froth; then add the yelks well beaten, with three table-spoonfuls of powdered sugar and the rind and juice of one lemon. Beat all well together, and bake in a moderately hot oven five minutes; serve immediately.

EGGS.

Boiled Eggs.—Be sure and select fresh eggs for boiling, never more than a week old. Have the water just boiling; if boiling fiercely when the eggs are put in, it will crack the shell. Three minutes will boil an egg soft; five minutes will be necessary if you like them hard, and ten or twelve minutes if needed for salad; in the latter case they should be thrown into cold water the instant they are taken from the boiling water, else the white will be dark colored or clouded. When perfectly new, an egg requires about half a minute longer boiling than if four or five days old.

Fried Eggs.—The fat left after frying ham, or that which is left in the bake-pan after browning a ham, is better for frying eggs than lard or butter. See that it is boiling hot, but not discolored, and drop the eggs in one at a time. Let them cook half a minute, then dip up some of the boiling fat from the pan, and pour over them. Continue to do this till they are done, and it will not be necessary to turn them over, which endangers breaking the yelk. Two and a half minutes should cook them sufficiently. When dropping them in, hold the cup into which you break each one close to the pan, and let the egg slip in as easily as possible, so that it will not spread in a ragged surface over the pan.

Poached Eggs.—While boiling a pint of milk, beat six eggs to a froth. Just before the milk begins to boil, add half a table-spoonful of butter and a teaspoonful of salt, and stir into it; then pour in the eggs, stir without ceasing, but gently, till it thickens,—not more than two minutes. Take it from the stove or range, and continue to stir half a minute or so, and then pour it over two or three thin slices of toasted bread which has been spread with butter, and all prepared in a deep dish before the eggs are put into the milk. This is very nice for breakfast.

Hard Scrabbled.—Put two teaspoonfuls of butter into a frying-pan; beat six eggs; season with pepper and salt. When the butter is very hot, but not scorched, put in the eggs; stir until it thickens, and serve hot.

Fricasseed Eggs, or Egg Baskets.—Boil hard half a dozen eggs or more, according to the size of your family. When done, throw into cold water immediately. (This should always be done with hard-boiled eggs, else the yelk will turn black.) Cut the eggs in half after taking from the cold water. Rub the yelks in a marble or wedgewood mortar, or with a silver or wooden spoon, with some melted butter, pepper, and salt, to a smooth paste; and, if you know it will be agreeable to all, add a very little made mustard. Pound the finely minced meat of a cold fowl, or grind some cold tongue or ham, and having made it smooth, mix with the egg-paste, moistening as you proceed with a little gravy, or, if you have none to spare, with melted butter. Cut a thin slice from the bottom of the white of the egg, so that it will stand, and fill each of the hard whites with this paste. Place close together on a flat dish, and pour over the gravy left from the roast fowl yesterday, heated boiling hot, into which a few spoonfuls of cream or rich milk have been stirred. Cover closely with a hot cover, and let them stand a few minutes before sending to table. If liked, a little parsley, chopped fine, may be added, to the taste.

Excellent for breakfast when eggs are plenty.

Egg Toast.—Put some milk to boil in a farina-kettle; when it comes to a full boil, take from over the fire and break in your eggs; let them stand in the hot milk from eight to ten minutes, but not over the fire. Steam a light biscuit, or, if you prefer, some Graham bread till soft, or dip it into boiling milk and lay the egg on it, sprinkling over a little salt and pepper. If desired, after the biscuit is steamed or moistened in hot milk, you can spread a little butter over it before the egg is put on it. This is a pretty breakfast dish, and much more healthy than when the eggs are boiled, fried, or made into an omelet, as the albumen (or white of the egg), being only slightly cooked, is much more digestible. If careful not to scorch it, it is better to boil in an iron kettle rather than the farina-kettle, as iron will retain the heat longer than tin when taken from the fire. Cooked in boiling water rather than milk, eggs are said to be even more digestible, but they are not so palatable.

Scrambled Eggs.—Put into a spider enough butter just to oil the bottom; set it on the stove. Break the eggs into a dish, taking care not to break the yelks. As soon as the spider is heated, slip in the eggs, adding a piece of butter as large as a walnut for twelve eggs; season with very little salt and pepper. When the eggs harden a little, stir the eggs from the bottom of the spider until cooked to suit. The yelks and whites should be separate, though stirred together; not mixed, like beaten eggs.

Scrambled Eggs.—Melt a table-spoonful of butter in a saucepan; beat the yelks of six eggs a few minutes; then add to them six table-spoonfuls of milk and a teaspoonful of salt, beat a little longer, and pour them into the melted butter. When they thicken slightly, pour in the whites unbeaten, and mix them with the yelks carefully with a fork, and serve on pieces of toast in a hot dish, or if preferred omit the bread. The whites should not be beaten in hard, only stirred with the fork enough to mix in slightly with the rest.

Dropped Eggs.—Have ready a saucepan of boiling water. Throw in a little salt. Break fresh eggs into a cup, one by one, and gently drop each into the water so as not to break the yelk or have the white spread much. Dip the boiling water over the yelk with a large spoon until the white sets; then with an egg-slice take each egg out separately upon buttered toast. Dress the dish with sprigs of parsley; sprinkle over a little salt if not seasoned sufficiently by the salted water. It is safer to cook one egg at a time, keeping the dish covered into which they are placed after being cooked, or where it will keep hot.

Cottage Cheese.—Take half sour milk, when well thickened, before it has been stirred, and half buttermilk, at least twenty-four hours old; set the dishes containing the milk and buttermilk separately over kettles of hot water till the clear whey just begins to rise to the top. Do not let it get too hot, or the cheese will be hard and tasteless. When the whey has risen, pour both into a strainer-cloth or bag; tie it at the top, and hang it up to drain. If prepared for draining in the morning, by the middle of the afternoon it will be sufficiently free from whey. Then turn it out of the strainer and crumble all up fine; throw in a little salt and black pepper, rub in a table-spoonful of butter, and moisten with milk till soft enough to make into small pats or rolls for tea. If you have cream to wet it up with, use no butter. If you like it quite soft, add more milk or cream, and put the cheese into a deep dish, without attempting to make into balls.

Cheese Toast.—Without great care, there is danger of much waste after a rich cheese is cut, and part sent to the table daily. If servants are allowed to cut it, waste would seem inevitable; but if the mistress looks after the cheese, there are many nice relishes to be made from the crumbs and dried pieces.

Take five table-spoonfuls of rich cheese, grated (the “crumbles” and dry bits are as good as if cut for this purpose from the cheese), mix with it the yelk of one egg, four ounces of grated bread, and two table-spoonfuls of butter. Beat it all in a mortar,—a marble one if you have it,—adding a dessert-spoonful of mustard and a little salt and pepper. Toast some slices of bread, lay the paste upon them quite thick; put it into the oven a few minutes and send to the table hot.

VEGETABLES.

Much care in selecting vegetables is necessary, but still more in preparing them for the table. It is to be regretted that so little attention is given to this. Half the enjoyment that should be derived from the abundance of the best varieties which our farms and markets offer in every summer season is lost by unskillful cooking. So evident is this fact, that it appears quite important to call the particular attention of young housekeepers to this part of their duty. We are so much in earnest, and deem this part of their labors so worthy of extra care, that no doubt those who think us quite too particular and whimsical in our inculcations of extreme neatness in household management will find the same grounds for objection here. We would suggest that those who feel inclined to raise these objections should overlook everything and every place about their houses, and attend with their own hands to all that ought to be done for one month. We imagine that, should they do this, their experience of the beauty of great cleanliness, and the added luxury and pleasure of their table comforts, would justify our teachings.

Of course it is only those who raise vegetables themselves who can enjoy in the highest degree the pleasure of eating them. No luxury of this kind, peas, corn, beans, salads, etc., can ever be had in perfection when gathered overnight and brought to the market or the store, lying for hours it may be before they are used. But even after such exposure and waste of the finer flavors, they can be made more palatable by proper cooking.

Almost all vegetables are better steamed than boiled, as all the juices are secured by this method; particularly is this true in cooking corn and peas. A large kettle half filled with boiling water, a steamer fitting closely in the top of the kettle, and the cover fitting as closely to the steamer, answers very well when there is no better way. But there are now in market various kinds of steamers for cooking, which profess to make it a very convenient mode of preparing food. The “Peerless,” one of the best cooking-stoves we have ever known, has a large steamer of the size and shape of a wash-boiler, with two perforated compartments in which to put the various articles to be cooked, and we have found it exceedingly convenient for steaming all kinds of vegetables. We have elsewhere mentioned the “Rumford Boiler,” the “Warren Cooker,” etc. A large amount of corn—for those who can gather sweet corn right from the stalk are not likely to be satisfied with a small mess—can be placed in one part; peas in a dish, all seasoned, set beside the corn; potatoes, beets, cauliflower, each in separate dish, can find a place in this large steamer, and cooked without losing any of their richness, yet, all being in one large receptacle, less room is occupied on the stove than when each article is put in a separate kettle.

Corn.—Like peas and most summer produce, corn should be used as soon as plucked. Husk, silk, and put into boiling water as soon as possible after it is brought from the garden. Let it boil twenty minutes, or, if large kernels and cob, thirty.

The small early corn that will not cook in fifteen or twenty minutes is too old, or wholly worthless for cooking. As soon as the corn is done, put it on the plates with a napkin under, and send it to the table hot. If you prefer it cut from the cob, as soon as it is cooked cut it off, and to three pints of corn put one spoonful of butter, with pepper and salt to suit your taste; put in but a little at first and then taste (always remember that in seasoning you can add if needed, but cannot easily take away), add a cup and a half of good cream, or if you must use milk instead, put in half a spoonful more butter. Have boiling water in the under part of your farina-kettle, and pour your corn into the upper. Set over the fire till just ready to boil, then dish and send to the table hot.

Another Way.—With a thin, sharp knife, cut the corn from the cob before cooking, being careful not to cut so closely as to take the horny point that fastens the kernel to the cob. Put the corn into the farina-kettle as above directed, with a little salt, pepper, two cups cream, one spoonful butter, or two cups sweet milk and two great spoonfuls of butter. Be sure and scrape all the milk from the cob when you have cut off the kernels, or squeeze it out with your hand. It adds more to the richness of the dish than you would at first imagine. Set the kettle over the fire and let it boil fifteen minutes. It will take less time to cook than when boiled on the cob.

Boiling Potatoes.—To boil potatoes well requires more attention than is usually given. They should be well washed, and left standing in cold water an hour or two, to remove the black liquor with which they are impregnated, and a brackish taste they would otherwise have. They should not be pared before boiling; they lose much of the starch by so doing, and are made insipid. Put them into a kettle of clear cold water, with a little salt, cover closely and boil rapidly, using no more water than will just cover them, as they produce a considerable quantity of fluid themselves while boiling, and too much water will make them heavy. As soon as just done, instantly pour off the water, set them back on the range, and leave the cover off the saucepan till the steam has evaporated. They will then, if a good kind, be dry and mealy. This is an Irish receipt, and a good one.

Another Way.—Put them, with skins on, into a kettle of hot water; let them come just to the boiling point, and pour in a cup of cold water, and, as the Irish say, the boiling is “backed.” Repeat this till the potato is tender. The object is to keep the water just on the verge of boiling, but check it by a little cold water till the potato is done.

To Boil New Potatoes.—When fresh dug take the small potatoes not quite ripe, wash clean, then rub the skin off with the hand—never use a knife—and put them into boiling water with a little salt; boil quickly; when done, drain dry and lay into a dish, spreading a little butter over them, or boil some new milk, put in a great spoonful of butter, and thicken with a little flour wet smooth with milk. When the potatoes are cooked and laid in the dish pour this dip over them. This is very nice.

Mashed Potatoes.—Boil with skins on; when done, peel quickly, and put, as you peel, into a saucepan over the stove, but not hot enough to burn; mash free from lumps to a smooth paste; have ready, before peeling the potatoes, a piece of butter half the size of an egg, melted, and half a cup of sweet milk, with pepper and salt to taste; when the potatoes are mashed smooth, pour in the milk and butter, and work it quick and smooth, then dish; dress the top with a knife so as to be round and smooth, rub on a little beaten egg, and brown in the oven very delicately. Serve with fowls or roast meat.

Potato Croquettes.—Boil potatoes with just enough water to cover; when three quarters done pour off the water and let them steam to finish cooking; then press them through a wire sieve; this done, put them into a stewpan, adding one ounce butter to one quart potatoes, and the well-beaten yelks of two eggs; mix together thoroughly; then flour the paste-board, divide the potato paste into square parts and roll them on the board to any shape,—balls, pears, corks, or what you choose,—dip them in egg and bread crumbs, and fry in hot fat to a light brown.

Saratoga Fried Potatoes.—Wash the potatoes clean, slice with a potato-slicer very thin, throw into cold water long enough to take out some of the starch, then wipe dry and put into boiling lard, a few pieces at a time; be sure and keep the lard boiling; as soon as the potatoes are of a clear golden brown, skim out, drain in a colander or sieve, and serve hot.

Scalloped Potatoes.—Boil in the skins. Peel quickly, when done, and rub through a colander or coarse sieve, or mash smoothly; season highly with salt, pepper, and butter; add two or three hard-boiled eggs chopped fine. Four eggs to a quart of mashed potatoes are nice; but if eggs are not plenty, two will do. Fill a bake-dish with it, and bake long enough to form a delicately brown crust. Serve as soon as taken from the oven.

Snow Potatoes.—Boil till just done; peel and throw into a colander or coarse sieve; break them up a little; then sprinkle in a little salt; add as much butter as for common mashed potatoes, and enough milk to enable you to rub them easily through the colander. They will, if not too moist, come through in strings and fall in a light snowy mass into the vegetable-dish, which should be placed underneath. Do not stir it, but send to the table just as it falls into the dish.

Potato Cakes.—Grate one teacup of raw ham, mix it with a quart of finely mashed potatoes; beat and stir into this two eggs, add pepper, salt (not too much), and a little mustard,—a small teaspoonful is not too much if you like it highly seasoned,—roll in balls and fry a light brown. Sage and sweet-marjoram can be added if their taste is agreeable.

To Fry Sweet Potatoes.—Pare, slice thin, fry in hot lard, like fritters, and sprinkle with a little salt as they are taken from the lard.

Maccaroni.—Boil a quarter of a pound of maccaroni in clear water till tender. While boiling, thicken half a pint of boiling milk with enough flour to make it as stiff as thick cream; add half a table-spoonful of butter and two table-spoonfuls of cream, half a small teaspoonful of mustard, a little pepper (white if you have it, if not black will answer), a little salt, and a very little cayenne pepper. Stir into this a quarter of a pound of grated cheese. Boil this all together a few moments, stirring it constantly to prevent its burning, then drain the water from the maccaroni, and stir it into the thickened milk; let it boil up a few moments, and serve hot; or, if preferred, after dishing it, set the dish in the oven and let it brown. For variety, a little parsley chopped fine and stirred in before adding the maccaroni is considered an improvement.

Another very good way to prepare maccaroni is, boil it fifteen or twenty minutes in clear water, then drain it, and use chicken or veal broth instead of milk for the seasoning.

Another: Prepare as above or with milk, and just before it is done beat up two eggs and stir in.

Egg-Plant.—Take the fruit fully ripe; cut in slices not more than a quarter of an inch thick, and put it to soak in cold salted water for two hours. This removes a black, bitter property, said to be unhealthful, certainly disagreeable; then wipe the slices on a clean cloth, dip in the white of egg and fry in boiling hot butter till well browned, but be careful not to scorch them; serve hot.

Another Way.—Pare and quarter two or three egg-plants, according to the size of your family. Soak them in salt and water, as directed above, then boil till soft enough to mash like turnips. Mash them smooth, add a few bread crumbs soaked in milk, and one or two table-spoonfuls of butter, according to the quantity; a little chopped parsley, an onion boiled and mashed, and salt and pepper. Mix all thoroughly; pour into a baking-dish, cover the top with grated bread, and bake for a half-hour. Serve hot. For a fancy dish some boil the plant till soft, then cut in halves and scoop out the flesh, leaving the skin whole. Mash the inside smooth, and dress as above. Mix well, and stew half an hour, then put it back into the shell or skin; strew bread crumbs over, and brown slightly.

Cucumbers after they begin to turn yellow, and muskmelons that come on too late to ripen, may be sliced and fried like the egg-plant, and can scarcely be distinguished from it. Some think they are better.

Fricasseed Egg-plant.—Peel and slice the egg-plant; lay the slices in salt-water two hours, to remove the bitterness and the black which it would otherwise have; after soaking, drain off all the water; have enough boiling water in a clean, bright saucepan to cover the slices; throw in a table-spoonful of salt, and lay in the egg-plant; let them boil till thoroughly cooked; then drain off the water, pour in sufficient milk to cover the slices, and add two table-spoonfuls of butter, rolled in flour; let it simmer gently, shake the pan over the fire till the sauce is thick, and then stir in the beaten yelks of three eggs just before serving.

To Stew Tomatoes.—Pour boiling water over fair and fully ripe tomatoes, that you may peel them quickly; let the water remain only long enough to start the skin. When peeled, cut into an earthen pipkin or a porcelain-lined kettle, as tin or iron turns them dark and gives a bad taste. If onions are agreeable, cut one small one in with the tomatoes. Cover closely and set where they will gently simmer, but not boil hard. Stir them occasionally to prevent burning, and when they have cooked two hours add salt and pepper to suit your own taste, and to a quart of tomatoes add a table-spoonful and a half of sugar, and two and a half even spoonfuls of bread or cracker crumbs. After the crumbs are added stir often or they will stick to the bottom of the dish and soon burn. Twenty minutes before dinner beat two eggs, or if you have more than a quart of tomatoes increase the number in the proportion of two eggs to a quart; stir briskly and often after the eggs are added, and serve hot. If possible the tomatoes should be skinned and on the back part of the stove before breakfast, as the longer they simmer the better they will be. Three hours’ slow cooking at least, five is better. If prepared according to rule, they are thought very nice by tomato-lovers, and are better warmed over the second day than they were the first.

Baked Tomatoes.—Peel and slice good, firm, but ripe tomatoes; put them in a pudding-dish, season with pepper, salt, two great spoonfuls of sugar to a quart of tomatoes, and one spoonful of butter. Sprinkle some finely powdered bread crumbs over the top and bake slowly two hours.

To add two well-beaten eggs is thought by some to improve this dish.

Scalloped Tomatoes.—Peel as many large, ripe tomatoes as you wish to prepare; cut them in slices a quarter of an inch thick; pack in a pudding-dish first a layer of tomatoes, then a thick layer of bread crumbs, pepper, salt, a little white sugar, and a teaspoonful of butter; then a layer of tomatoes, then bread crumbs, etc., till the dish is nearly full, having tomatoes last. Now dust over pepper, a little sugar, and more butter; strew the top with bread crumbs, and bake, covered, half an hour; then remove the cover, and bake brown, but be careful not to scorch.

We have received from a South Carolina lady the two following receipts:—

Boiled Rice.—One pint of rice, as new as it can be had,—old rice has a dead taste,—to one quart of boiling water and one table-spoonful of salt. Boil briskly a few minutes, until the water seems absorbed; then, keeping it closely covered, set on one side of the stove, where it can be kept hot and steam itself done,—not become soft and mushy. In about half an hour it will be cooked sufficiently. Serve very hot with the meats, like potatoes. If cooked soft and watery, and stirred till gluey—as is so often done—it would not be thought eatable at the South. Never stir more than once, and then only when it first boils. Some prefer only one pint of water to one pint of rice.

Cooking Rice.—Pick over and wash a cup of rice; cover with cold water, and set where it will cook slowly. When the rice has absorbed all the water, pour in a cup of milk; stir often and cook slowly; in ten or fifteen minutes it will take up all the milk; then add another cup, and so on, till the rice is soft, then add a little salt, and dish. Eat with meat, or as dessert; if the latter, sweeten rich sweet cream and grate in nutmeg, and use as sauce to the pudding.

Peas.—To prepare any article of food in the best way should not be thought “too much trouble.” Many kinds of early peas are dry, almost tasteless, and if what sweetness there may be in the pod is not added to the peas to remedy this deficiency, they will be very insipid.

“Carter’s Full Crop” and the “Daniel O’Rourke” are among our earliest, but neither is a very sweet pea. To use these with any enjoyment, securing all the saccharine properties of the pod, is very essential. They are of the smooth, round kind, and these are never as sweet as the wrinkled peas,—that is, those that wrinkle in boiling or drying.

“The Little Gem” and the “Champion of England” are later, but among our best and sweetest peas. They do not need the juices of the pod so much in cooking, but we think are enough sweeter and richer for it to pay for the trouble. Some cooks throw in a little sugar to increase the flavor, as they use soda to make them tender; but don’t do it unless your taste is so deficient that you can be satisfied with simple sweetness and tenderness, without regard to rich, genuine flavor. For such, any tasteless thing, so that it is sweet and tender, is as good as peas.

Green Peas.—The first rule is to use the peas fresh from the vines, every hour’s delay in cooking after they are gathered destroys something of their finest flavor. Wash them before shelling, never after. Shell and pick over nicely. First put in the fresh pods. Press them down, leaving only water enough to cover them. Let them boil fifteen minutes, then skim out, and put in the peas. If there is more than enough water to cover the peas after the pods have been removed, pour it out. Let them boil fifteen or twenty minutes. Peas that require more than twenty minutes, or need soda to make them tender, are only fit for soup. When done, put what butter is needed into the dish, and pour the peas on it, adding a little pepper. Some prefer them dry, and drain them through a strainer, but we think some of the water in which they were boiled is a very great improvement. The amount of butter needed must be decided by the quantity of peas and the taste. Boiling the pods adds greatly to the sweetness and richness of the peas.

Beans.—The dwarf wax beans are among the best string-beans. The pod is very tender and white, almost transparent when cooked. The Valentine is also very good. Of the pole-beans the Horticultural and Lima are the best. If you cannot raise the Lima, the Saba is a good substitute, though by no means equal to it.

In cooking the wax bean, simply cut off the ends, and snap the pod in small bits. Put salt into boiling water and then put in the beans. If the salt is thrown in before the vegetables, they retain their color; but if salt is added after they are in hot water, they will be of a faded olive color when cooked, and not so well flavored. String-beans should cook a full hour unless very tender. When done put in your vegetable-dish some butter, allowing an even great spoonful to a pint of string-beans; add a little pepper and pour the beans upon it, with some of the water in which they were boiled. Like peas, some prefer them quite moist; those who do not can easily be suited by having theirs taken out free from the liquor. Lima beans are not good to use for string-beans, but the bean itself is delicious. It requires a full hour to boil. When ready to dish, season the same as peas or string-beans. Many consider cream an addition both for peas and beans, but we think much of the peculiar delicacy is lost by it. The more simple such articles can be prepared the more of the true flavor is retained.

Asparagus.—Wash it clean, but do not leave in water. Cut off all of the white ends that are woody and tough, and when ready to boil tie up the stalks in a neat bunch, lay them in the saucepan, sprinkle over as much salt as is needed to season, then just cover the bunch or bunches with boiling water. Cook twenty minutes. When done, take the asparagus out and with a sharp knife cut off any part that has not cooked tender and throw away. Then cut the stalks up into pieces half an inch long and put them back into the saucepan with two table-spoonfuls of butter to each good-sized bunch; a little pepper, one cup of good cream, and enough finely rolled bread crumbs to thicken it a little, say only two even table-spoonfuls. If there is enough water left after boiling to make the dish too liquid, pour off part of it before returning the asparagus, cream, and bread crumbs to the saucepan. Let it all boil up for two or three minutes, then dish and send to the table hot.

Spinach.—Pick and wash it with great care. Put into a saucepan that will just hold it; sprinkle in some salt, and pour over only one cup and a half of boiling water; cover close, set on the stove, and shake the pan often to prevent the spinach from burning. When done, beat it up with a little butter and pepper. It should come to the table quite dry. It looks nicely when pressed into a mold in the form of a leaf. Serve with poached eggs.

To Boil Cabbage.—Wash very thoroughly in cold water; look between the leaves, where insects and worms are very often secreted; then put into boiling water, some say without any salt; we prefer to add salt, when half done; boil quickly till tender; then take it out with a skimmer into a colander or sieve, and drain free from all water. Season with a little butter and pepper.

To Boil Cabbage with Meat.—Select small, white, firm heads; cut in quarters; examine carefully; then lay the quarters an hour in cold salted water, to drive out any insects that may have escaped your observation. Skim all the fat from the pot in which the pork or beef is boiling, and put in the cabbage while the water boils; cook till tender; then drain, and serve as whole and compact as possible. If the meat is to be used cold, take out some of the water in which it is boiling, and put in another kettle and boil the cabbage in that, as it gives a disagreeable taste to meat when cold.

Another Way.—After washing and examining the cabbage, put it into a kettle of fast-boiling water, into which you have put some salt and a small bit of soda. Press it down into the water, then let it boil quickly eight minutes; have on hand another kettle of fast-boiling water prepared as above, and transfer the cabbage to that; press it down into the water and let it boil twelve minutes more; meanwhile throw away the first water and prepare more like it; after the second boiling remove the cabbage once more to another water, and boil ten minutes if the cabbage is small, twenty if large; then take it up in a colander, lay a plate over, and drain well; dish on toasted bread that has been dipped in drawn butter, and pour a little over the cabbage.

Cabbage like Cauliflower.—Chop a good, solid head of cabbage fine, as if for cold slaw. Put it into boiling water. Boil till tender; then drain quite free from water; season with salt, pepper, and butter; add a cup of cream or milk, and simmer a few minutes. Send to table hot.

Cauliflower.—Soak the head two hours in salt and water, and boil until tender in milk and water, if you have plenty of milk, if not, boiling water will answer. Serve whole with drawn butter, or cut it up and season richly with butter, and a little pepper and salt. The first way is the most stylish, the last the most palatable. In either case it must be well drained.

Hot-Slaw.—Cut a firm white head of cabbage in thin shreds; put it into boiling water; cook till tender; only just cover with water, so that when done there may be hardly any remaining. Just before dishing, add to one good-sized head half a teacupful of good cider vinegar and a piece of butter half the size of an egg, with salt and pepper to suit your taste.

Cold Slaw.—Shave a firm head of cabbage fine; put a teaspoonful of salt, the same of sugar, and a little pepper into a small cup of vinegar, and pour over the cabbage.

To Cook Onions.—The strong, disagreeable taste and smell from onions may be in a large degree removed by leaving them to soak in cold salt and water an hour after the outside skin has been removed; then boil them in milk and water till thoroughly tender; lay into a deep dish, season with pepper and salt, and pour over them drawn butter.

CAKE.

GENERAL RULES.

First examine the range or stove. See that the ashes are shaken out, and sufficient coal added to keep the oven in working order till your cake is put together and baked; for fuel should never be added while bread or cake is baking. See if the dampers are all right, and ovens at the proper heat,—a slow, even heat for rich cake, a quick heat for plain cake.

The range being in proper condition, next collect all the ingredients to be used. Line the tins with buttered paper.

Sift the flour, then weigh or measure it and the sugar, butter, fruit, and milk. Baking-powder or cream of tartar should always be sifted in with the flour, which should then be covered up, and set near the fire to dry while you are getting other articles ready. If Jewell’s prepared flour is used, no salt, soda, or cream of tartar is needed for anything; and those ingredients may be omitted in using the following receipts.

Dissolve soda in a little cold water.

Put the eggs in cold water. They will beat easier and lighter. Beat yelks and whites separately.

Never mix sweet and sour milk.

When fruit is to be used, it is always better to pick it over, slice or stone, and, if need be, wash and dry it, the evening before, covering it over closely, to keep from the heat and air.

Everything being now in readiness, put the butter into a deep earthen dish. Stir it with a wooden spoon till soft, then add sugar, and beat until light and white, like thick cream. Next add the yelks of the eggs well beaten, then a little of the flour, and very gradually the milk, beating the batter steadily; then add spices, and the whites, well beaten to a very stiff foam, with the remainder of the flour, alternately. Now beat the batter till all is thoroughly combined, and you will be sure of light, fine-grained cake.

Fruit should be rolled in flour and added the last thing, or add it in alternate layers with the batter, as you fill it into the pans. Use some of the flour weighed out for the cake to dredge the fruit.

So far it is well; but quite as much depends on baking, as in the preparation of the cake, and if you have not the most trusty, reliable servants, your watch and care is not ended.

Unless a raised cake, it should be put into the oven as soon as you have put it into the pans, opening the oven door, after the cake is in, as seldom as consistent with proper oversight, as a draught of cold air passing through the oven will tend to make the cake heavy.

If the oven is too hot, cover the cake for a while with a piece of brown paper.

Whenever you buy a broom, break off a few of the splints; tie them up and lay away safely to use in trying cake. It is not pleasant to think of using a splint from a broom that has been used in sweeping a kitchen floor, or any other floor, however nicely kept. Try the cake with one of these clean splints, or a small knitting-needle. If it comes out quite free from any particle of batter, the cake is done.

Cake keeps fresher to be allowed to remain in the pan in which it was baked; but if necessary to remove it, place it on the top of a sieve until quite cold, when it may be frosted if desirable, and put into a large stone pot, or cake-safe, and covered with clean linen.

Steam stale cake, and eat with a nice hot sauce, and you have a very good pudding.

Loaf Cake.—Two cups sugar; two of milk; two of flour; one of yeast; make into a sponge overnight. In the morning, if this sponge is light, beat together two cups sugar, one of butter, and four eggs; add these to the sponge with enough more flour to make it quite stiff; add spice and fruit to suit the taste; a cup and a half of stoned raisins, well floured, and half a cup of citron cut thin and in small pieces. Raise till light, and bake in an even oven.

Mrs. Breedley’s Fruit Cake.—Five eggs; five cups of flour; two and a half cups of sugar; one and a half cups butter, and two cups sour milk; two cups raisins. Beat sugar and butter to a cream; add the egg-yelks and whites, beaten separately; then three cups of the flour and the milk; beat well and then add one gill wine, cloves and cinnamon to suit your taste, and the remainder of the flour; and last, one teaspoonful soda dissolved in a very little water. Bake as soon as put together.

Spices, in all receipts, may be increased or diminished to suit the taste. One nutmeg and a teaspoonful of other spices will be a medium allowance; cloves are generally undesirable, except in fruit cake.

Rosie’s Raised Cake.—Three cups bread dough, two cups sugar, one cup butter, or half cup butter and half cup lard, two eggs, nutmeg to suit the taste, one wineglass of wine, half a teaspoonful of soda, one pound of raisins chopped or stoned; beat all thoroughly together, and let it stand to rise till quite light. Always roll raisins in plenty of flour before putting into the dough, to prevent their sinking.

Fruit Cake.—Three cups sugar, half a pound butter, four cups flour, three eggs well beaten, one cup of milk, two nutmegs, two pounds of raisins stoned, one pound Zante currants, or half a pound of preserved orange peel sliced very thin and cut fine, one teaspoonful soda. Bake two hours and a half.

Farmer’s Fruit Cake.—Three cupfuls of sour dried-apples soaked overnight in warm water. In the morning drain off the water, chop not too fine, leaving the apple about as large as raisins, then simmer in two cupfuls of molasses two hours or until quite done, that is, until the apple has absorbed all the molasses; one and a half cupfuls of butter well beaten; one of sugar, four eggs, one cupful of sweet milk, one teaspoonful of cloves, one of cinnamon, one of nutmeg, one and a half teaspoonfuls of soda, one wineglass of wine, four and a half teacupfuls of flour; add one cup raisins or currants, if you please, but roll in flour before putting them to other ingredients; beat all together thoroughly; bake carefully in a well-heated oven. This is excellent to our taste, far better than the richer kind, and more easily digested.

Whortleberry Cake.—Prepare the batter just like Sally Lunn, then stir in one coffee-cup of whortleberries rolled in flour the last thing before putting into the oven. If the berries are not well floured, they will sink to the bottom of the cake and be worthless. Stir them in gently and quickly. Bake half an hour. Very good for breakfast or tea.

Olic Cake.—Three pounds of flour, five eggs, three quarters of a pound of butter, one and a half pints of milk, one pound of sugar, and one penny’s worth of bakers’ yeast; beat and knead well and put to rise; knead over every time it rises,—say three times a day for three days,—using as little flour as possible at each kneading. After the first rising, keep it in the cellar or a cool place. When ready for use, break off small bits, flatten with the hand, and lay a bit of citron on them; then roll into a ball and fry in boiling lard, like doughnuts. Roll in sugar after they are fried. This is a Dutch receipt, and, if properly made, very fine. We have never fried these cakes, but often make a large bowlful in cold weather, and keep it on the ice a fortnight at a time, using as we want it, kneading it every day an hour before tea, and using it for biscuits instead of cake. Let it stand a short time to rise, then bake. They are very light and tender.

Nice little Cakes.—Whites of six eggs left from Spanish cream, three and a half cups of flour, two cups sugar, one small cup butter, one cup milk, one teaspoonful soda, and two of cream of tartar. Flavor to taste.

Queen Charlotte’s Cake.—One pound of flour, one of sugar, one of raisins (Sultana or stoneless raisins are the best), one half-pound butter, four eggs, one gill brandy, one gill wine, one gill cream, half a nutmeg, half-teaspoonful each cloves and cinnamon. Bake in one loaf.

Lemon Cake.—Two cups of flour, two of sugar, six eggs, six table-spoonfuls of butter, four of milk, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar sifted with the flour, and one teaspoonful of soda. Beat all well together, and bake in two loaves. For the jelly to use with it, take three fourths of a pound of sugar, one fourth of a pound of butter, six eggs, the rind of three lemons grated, and their juice. Beat the sugar, butter, and eggs thoroughly together, and set in a dish of hot water until heated, then add the grated lemon and juice; stir till thick enough and quite smooth, then split the cake and put this jelly in while warm. It is very delicious.

Molasses Drop Cake.—One cup of molasses, half a cup of butter or lard, half a cup of water, three cups of flour, two teaspoonfuls of ginger, one teaspoonful of soda. Beat well together, and drop with a spoon on a buttered pan or in muffin-rings. Bake quickly.

Chicago Fruit Cake.—One and one fourth pound flour, six eggs, one pound sugar, half-pint of milk, three fourths pound butter, one pound raisins, two teaspoonfuls soda, half a gill molasses, three teaspoonfuls mace, one teaspoonful cloves, one of cinnamon, one of allspice, one of nutmeg. Beat the yelks and whites of eggs separately, and beat the cake well before baking.

Cider Cake.—Two pounds of flour, one pound of butter, one and a quarter-pound of sugar, one pound of raisins (stoned), five eggs, two teaspoonfuls of soda (only even full), a teaspoonful of cloves, cinnamon, and half a nutmeg, and one pint of cider. Put in the soda the last thing.

Snow-flake Cake.—Half a cup of butter, two cups of sugar, four of flour, one of sweet milk, three eggs well beaten, one table-spoonful cream of tartar, half a teaspoonful of soda; or, if you use prepared flour, use no soda or cream of tartar. Bake the cake in shallow jelly-cake pans; while baking, grate two fresh cocoa-nuts carefully, and spread over each cake, as it comes from the oven, a thin frosting, and then sprinkle thickly with the grated nut. Three layers of cake make one cake. This receipt will make two loaves.

Cocoa-nut Cake.—One coffee-cup butter, two and a half sugar, four and a half of flour, whites of nine eggs beaten stiff, half a cup of milk, two cocoa-nuts grated, one small teaspoonful soda, two of cream of tartar. Save out a saucer of grated cocoa-nut to sprinkle on the frosting after the cake is baked.

Macaroons.—One pound of sugar, whites of three eggs, one quarter-pound blanched and pounded almonds. Sprinkle sugar on paper and drop in little round cakes.

Delicate Cake.—When making cocoa-nut custard (see Puddings, etc.), use the whites of the eggs as follows: One cup white sugar, five table-spoonfuls of butter, whites of six eggs, one teacup of sweet milk, three cups of “prepared flour,” or to the same quantity of common flour, add one small teaspoonful of soda, and two of cream of tartar sifted in the flour. Flavor with orange, lemon, or vanilla.

Sponge Cake (very good).—Three eggs, one cup of sugar, one of flour, three table-spoonfuls of water, and one teaspoonful of yeast powder; flavor with lemon and nutmeg.

Pineapple Cake.—Make a cake as for jelly-cake; bake it in three or four jelly-pans; grate a large ripe pineapple in one bowl and a cocoa-nut in another. When the cakes are done, spread over one a layer of pineapple, and over that a layer of cocoa-nut; then place the second cake over this, and on that put another layer of pineapple and cocoa-nut, and so on till the last; cover that with the pineapple and grated cocoa-nut, and then beat the whites of two eggs to a stiff meringue; lay it over the top, and place the cake in the oven just a few minutes to stiffen.

Molasses Cup Cake (very good).—One cup each, sugar, molasses, and milk, three cups flour, half a cup butter, three eggs, one table-spoonful ginger, one small even teaspoonful of soda, half a teaspoonful of salt. Pour the milk to the flour, beat butter and sugar to a cream and add to it the salt and ginger, then the well-beaten yelks of the eggs; beat the soda into the molasses, and when it foams pour in with the rest, adding the whites of the eggs, beaten stiff, the last thing.

Loaf Cake.—One and a half pints of well-raised sponge, two and a half cups sugar, two thirds cup of butter, three eggs, yelks and whites beaten separately, half a pound stoned raisins well rolled in flour to prevent their sinking to the bottom, half-teaspoonful each cinnamon and cloves, one nutmeg. Beat into the sponge a half-teaspoonful soda before adding these ingredients, then stir all together thoroughly; let it stand till quite light, then stir up from the bottom with a wooden spoon to prevent raisins from settling, and bake slowly. If the sponge is very thin, add a little more flour.

Walnut Cake.—One pound of flour, one of sugar, three quarters of a pound of butter, one and a half pounds raisins stoned, the meats from two quarts of walnuts, one nutmeg, half a teaspoonful of cinnamon, half a cup of milk, one wineglassful of cider or wine, six eggs, whites and yelks beaten separately, half a teaspoonful of soda. Pick over the walnut-meats to see that no bits of shells remain; pour boiling water over to take off the skin, drain and rub dry, then mix with raisins, flour well, and stir into the batter. Bake in a quick oven, but not scorching hot.

Loaf Cake.—Two cups of sugar, two of milk, two of flour, one of yeast. Make into sponge overnight. In the morning rub together two cups of sugar, one of butter, and four eggs. Flour to make quite stiff; one nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves; if wished, one pound of fruit. Raise till light, and bake in an even oven.

Western Cake.—Four cups of flour, two and a half of sugar, one of butter, one of new milk, and five eggs, one teaspoonful of soda. Spice to taste.

Snowball Cake.—One cup of sugar, half a cup of butter, half a cup of sweet milk, two cups of flour, the whites of three eggs, half a teaspoonful of soda, one spoonful of cream of tartar sifted with the flour; beat butter and sugar thoroughly together; add the whites of eggs beaten to a stiff foam; then the flour, and milk and soda the last.

Molasses Cake.—Half a cup of molasses, half cup sugar, half cup sour milk, piece of butter size of an egg, one egg, two cups flour, spices, and a few chopped raisins. Spice with a little ginger, cloves, and cinnamon.

Corn-Starch Cake.—One cupful of butter, two of sugar; beat to a white foam; add four eggs beaten quite stiff, one cupful of corn-starch, one cupful of milk, two cupfuls of prepared flour, and flavor with one teaspoonful of bitter almonds. If you have no prepared flour, sift one teaspoonful of cream of tartar with the flour, and add half a teaspoonful of soda dissolved in a teaspoonful of milk, the last thing; beat thoroughly after the soda is added, and bake immediately.

Moss Cake.—Two cupfuls of sugar, half a cupful of butter, three eggs, one cupful of milk, three cupfuls of flour, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar sifted with the flour, and one teaspoonful of soda.

Jenny Lind Cake.—Half cup butter, one teacup of milk, two table-spoonfuls cream, two cups sugar, three eggs, one teaspoonful cream tartar, half-teaspoonful soda, and four cups flour. Any spice that is palatable.

Sugar Cookies.—One cup butter, two cups sugar, three eggs, five cups flour, two table-spoonfuls sour milk (or sweet milk, with two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar added), one small teaspoonful of soda; spice to suit your taste. Bake quickly.

Cookies.—Two cups of sugar, one of butter, one of sweet milk, one teaspoonful soda, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar, just flour enough to roll; rub butter and sugar into the dry flour, as if for pastry, and then wet up, using no eggs; spice to suit the taste; cream of tartar to be sifted in with the flour, soda added the last. Be careful not to use too much flour, more can easily be added if not stiff enough.

Another Way.—Three cups of flour, one cup of sugar a trifle heaped, half cup of butter, one third cup half cream and half sweet milk, two eggs, half-teaspoonful soda,—if you don’t use prepared flour; spice with cinnamon. Work butter and sugar to a smooth white cream, then add yelks of eggs, beat well, and then add milk and soda; whites beaten stiff, added the last thing before the flour; make as thin as they can be rolled, putting the hands to the dough as little as possible. Much handling makes them hard and tough.

Molasses Gingerbread.—Half a cupful of sugar, half a cupful molasses, half a cupful of milk, half a cupful of butter, three cupfuls of flour, two teaspoonfuls of ginger, and half a teaspoonful of soda. Beat the sugar, butter, and ginger together; then add the milk, then the flour; beat the soda into the molasses, and as soon as it foams, beat it in with the other ingredients. Better beat all together with the hand. Bake it either in a shallow pan or in little cups. This is very nice, if a teaspoonful of cinnamon, half a teaspoonful of cloves, and a teacupful of stoned raisins are added, and the whole baked in a loaf.

Plain Gingerbread.—One cupful of sugar, one of molasses, half a cupful of butter, half a cupful of milk, one cupful of raisins or currants, two teaspoonfuls of ginger, and one of yeast powder, with flour enough to make it as stiff as cup cake.

Excellent Ginger-Snaps.—Boil together one pint molasses, one cup butter, one table-spoonful of ginger. Let them only boil up once, then set aside to cool. When cold, roll two small teaspoonfuls of soda perfectly smooth, and beat into the molasses; while foaming pour it upon just as little flour as will make it possible to roll out very thin. Bake quick.

In measuring by spoonfuls, be careful that the spoon is even full, not heaped. Careless measurement spoils many good dishes.

PIES, PUDDINGS, AND DESSERTS.

Pastry.—One quart flour, half-pound butter; mix half the flour with ice-cold water, stiff enough to roll; put it on a well-floured paste-board, sprinkle flour over and roll half an inch thick. Divide the butter into three parts; shave one of the three portions quite thin and put it lightly over the paste, shake one third of the dry flour over it, fold the four ends inward, then double the sheet together and beat it with the rolling-pin till it is about half an inch thick; shave a second portion of the butter and put on the paste, flour, fold up and beat out as at first. Repeat this process for the third and last time, using up all the butter and flour, and put the paste on the ice for a half-hour. Then cut off a piece large enough to cover a plate, roll out,—always rolling from you,—and handle as little as possible; cover the plate, trim it by passing the knife round the plate, cutting upwards. (This should be borne in mind with all pastry. If cut round the edge of the plate upwards, it will be light; if downwards, it will cling to the plate and be heavy.) Cut a strip an inch wide and lay round the edge, fill in the fruit or whatever the contents are to be, and if it is to have an upper crust roll out, put it on and trim as above directed. Prick the top to let out steam and prevent the waste of the juice.

Puff Paste.—Half a pound of butter, half a pound of lard, one and a quarter pounds of flour; wet half the flour to a paste; mix the other half with the shortening, chopping it fine, but do not use your hand; stir together with a silver or wooden spoon. Roll the paste out on the board about a quarter of an inch thick, and add one third of the mixed flour and shortening; fold the four ends over it, and beat out with the rolling-pin till again a quarter of an inch thick; spread over it one third more of the shortening; fold over the ends; beat out thin again; add the remainder of the shortening; beat, roll out, and use.

Potato Pastry for Meat Pies.—Six good-sized potatoes, boiled and mashed mealy and white, one teacup of sweet cream, a teaspoonful of salt, and flour enough to make it stay together and roll out. Work and handle as little as possible, and roll thicker than common pastry.

Pumpkin Pies.—Cut the pumpkin into small pieces; take out the seeds and inside, but do not pare it. It must be a well-grown and thoroughly ripened pumpkin, and not watery. Put the pieces in a saucepan, with only a few spoonfuls of water, not more than four; cover close and let it cook gently, so as not to scorch, until the water has all evaporated, and the pumpkin has cooked quite dry and of a rich, dark orange color. While hot sift it through a coarse sieve. Season only as much as you are needing for the day. For one large pie, one egg, one table-spoonful of molasses, four table-spoonfuls of condensed milk, and enough of new milk to make it as thin as you wish, or if you have it, half milk and half cream, instead of condensed milk; sugar and spice to suit the taste. Ginger and cinnamon are very nice. Bake to a clear, rich brown, but do not blister or scorch.

Dried-Apple Pies.—Wash the apples in several waters, then put them into an earthen dish or stone pot, and pour on rather more water than will cover them; for if the apples are good, they will absorb a good deal of water and become twice as large by soaking. Never soak or cook fruit in tin or iron. A few hours should soak the apples sufficiently for cooking. If soaked overnight they become insipid. Put them into an earthen pipkin or porcelain kettle and cook in the water they are soaked in. If you like it, cut up a little dried orange or lemon peel and stew with the apples. Some use dried plums with apples, but they make it too sharp for our taste. Let them cook slowly, till very tender. When they rise up in the kettle, press them down gently, but never stir them. When perfectly tender, before taking from the fire, stir in a little butter—about one table-spoonful to a quart of cooked apples—and sugar to suit your taste. Season with very little nutmeg and cinnamon, if you do not use the orange or lemon peel,—nothing else is needed if you do. Bake with an upper and under crust, but do not make the pie very thick with apples. Half an inch deep is sufficient.

Dried plums and peaches may be prepared in the same way, but require no spice.

Pies of Canned Fruit.—Canned pears, peaches, and quinces usually will bear scalding in their own liquor before putting them in the pie-plate. When tender, skim out and lay on a dish to cool. Then add to the liquor enough sugar to make a syrup, more or less rich, according to the taste of those who are to eat them. When both fruit and liquor are cold, if the pears, peaches, or quinces are in halves, cut them in slices a quarter of an inch thick, and lay into the pie-plate; pour over as much of the syrup as it will hold, having first put on the under crust and laid an edge of crust around it. Fill the plate not quite an inch thick. This is more economical, and, to our taste, much nicer than to use the fruit in large pieces. Cut a few small bits of butter (half a table-spoonful in all) and lay the spice over; put on the upper crust and bake a rich brown, but be careful not to scorch the crust, as a little scorch spoils the best of pastry.

Plums must not be scalded before baking, as they come to pieces very easily, but prepare the liquor in which they are canned the same as for pears, peaches, and quinces.

Mince Pie.—Put a large-sized tongue into boiling water, with a little salt and pepper. A fresh tongue is better than one smoked and dried. Boil slowly till tender, then take out and dip for a minute in cold water; then peel it, beginning at the tip, as it peels easier. Cut off all the gristly parts and chop fine. Pare and chop enough of the best flavored sour apples to fill a three-pint bowl when chopped. The finer the meat and apples are chopped the better the pies will be. Pick over and rub clean one pound Sultana, or stoneless raisins, one pound Malaga, or bloom raisins, stoned and chopped, and one pound whole raisins. Slice thin half a pound citron and half a pound candied orange peel; chop and pick clean from skinny pieces three quarters of a pound of suet; add a table-spoonful salt, five grated nutmegs, one and a half table-spoonfuls ground cloves, the same of cinnamon, a pound of sugar, half a pint maple syrup, one pint cider, one of Madeira wine, one of brandy. Syrups from preserves, or small portions of jelly of any kind left over, and not sufficient to be put on the table again, are a great improvement to mince-meat for pies, beside finding an economical way of use. Put all these ingredients into a porcelain kettle, and set over the range to scald, not boil, one hour, stirring all the time; then pack in a stone jar and cover closely, ready for use.

Rice Pie.—Take cold rice, cooked with milk, add sufficient cream to make quite thin, mash it with a wooden or silver spoon till free from lumps. Beat up four eggs very light,—yelks and whites separately,—sweeten the rice to suit your taste, and pour in the egg,—the whites last; stir well, grate a little nutmeg over all; cover a deep custard or pumpkin pie-plate with pastry, pour in the rice, and bake, but not long enough to make the custard watery.

Apple Puffs.—Peel and core as many sour apples as will be needed, simmer with a little water till tender, then add a half-pound of sugar to a pound of apples, let it simmer till the apples become a kind of marmalade; take it up, and when cold put it into puff paste and bake quickly; when done ice it, return to the oven just long enough to turn the icing golden.

Marlborough Pie.—One cup stewed apples, sifted; one cup sugar, one cup cream or milk; one fourth cup butter if cream is used, if milk, one third; half a gill wine, three well-beaten eggs, whites whisked separately, and a little nutmeg; beat sugar, butter, and apple together, then add the wine, then milk or cream, nutmeg and yelks, adding the whites the last thing. No upper crust.

Chess Pie.—Four eggs, two cups sugar, one of cream, two thirds of a cup butter, one table-spoonful flour; flavor with nutmeg. When a delicate brown, try with a spoon as for a custard.

English Christmas Plum Pudding.—One pound of clean, dry currants, half a pound of the best raisins, stoned; mix these with one pound of bread crumbs, half a pound of fine flour, and one pound and a half of finely shred suet; add a quarter of a pound of sifted sugar, one grated nutmeg, a drachm of cinnamon, two drachms of cloves, half a dozen almonds, pounded, and an ounce each of candied orange and lemon, sliced thin; mix all these materials thoroughly together in a bowl, with a glass of brandy and one of sherry, then beat six eggs very light, and slowly stir them in till all is well blended; cover the bowl, and let this mixture stand for twelve hours; then pour it into a pudding-bag, and tie it not very tight, leaving room for it to swell; or fill a pudding-mold not quite two thirds full, lay a clean cloth over the top, and shut the cover over tightly to exclude all water; put the bag or mold into boiling water; keep it covered, and keep it boiling all the time, for six hours. Serve with sugar sifted over, and wine sauce. Brandy is usually sent in with a Christmas pudding, to be poured over the whole pudding, or over each slice, then lighted, and served while burning.

A Family Christmas Pudding.—Beat up four eggs very light (which always means yelks and whites beaten separately); add to the yelks, after beating, a quarter of a teaspoonful each of ginger, nutmeg, grated lemon peel, and salt; four ounces of sugar, half a pound of well-cleaned and dried currants, one pound of flour, half a pound of well-shred and chopped suet; beat this all up thoroughly, adding the whites of the eggs last. Wine or brandy, or both, may be added, if one has no scruples about using them in cooking; but the pudding will be good without this addition. Tie it in a cloth or pudding-bag, or put it into a mold, and boil six hours. Serve with any good sauce.

In boiling puddings of all kinds, the cloth should be dipped in hot water before the batter is put in, or the mold be well buttered. Any of these Christmas puddings may be kept for a month after boiling, if the cloth in which they are boiled be replaced by a clean one, and the pudding be hung up to the ceiling of a kitchen, or in a warm store-room. When wanted, they will require one hour’s boiling to heat them through, as all such puddings should be sent to the table hot.

A Simple Christmas Pudding.—Six ounces of finely chopped suet, six ounces of Malaga raisins, stoned and chopped; eight ounces of well-cleaned and dried currants, three ounces of fine bread crumbs, three ounces of flour, three well-beaten eggs, the sixth part of a nutmeg, grated; half a teaspoonful each of cinnamon, cloves, and mace; four ounces of sugar, half a teaspoonful of salt, half a pint of milk; one ounce of candied orange or lemon peel, and the same of citron, all sliced thin. Beat all together thoroughly; pour into a pudding-bag or mold; put into boiling water, and keep it boiling six hours. Serve with sauce to suit your taste.

Bread Pudding.—One quart fine bread crumbs, one cup of sugar, two table-spoonfuls of molasses, half-pound suet chopped fine, one coffee-cup raisins, half a rind of preserved orange peel or citron cut thin and fine, a very little nutmeg and cinnamon, two teaspoonfuls cream of tartar, one small teaspoonful soda, one teaspoonful of salt. Stir in milk enough to make it thick as pound-cake, beating all thoroughly together; put it into a buttered pudding-mold, and boil three hours. Be careful to keep the water boiling all the time.

Boiled Indian Pudding.—Two cupfuls of sour milk, two spoonfuls of molasses, one teaspoonful of soda, one of salt, half a cupful of sifted flour, mixed with enough corn meal to make a batter not very stiff; half a cupful of chopped suet, from which all the stringy substance has been removed; a cup and a half of chopped sweet apples, or huckleberries, dried or fresh, as you have on hand. Boil from two and a half to three hours.

Baked Indian Pudding.—Boil one quart of milk, and pour over a pint of sifted Indian meal; stir it well till the meal is thoroughly wet and scalded. Mix three table-spoonfuls of wheat flour with one pint of milk, and beat to a smooth batter, entirely free from lumps; then pour it in with the Indian batter, and beat well together. When the whole is lukewarm, beat three eggs and three table-spoonfuls of sugar, and mix with the batter, together with two table-spoonfuls of molasses; add two teaspoonfuls of salt, two of nutmeg, cinnamon, or ginger, as you prefer; two great spoonfuls of suet chopped fine, or the same of melted butter; let it bake a few minutes, and then add half a pound of raisins and half a pint of milk, which the raisins will soak up. Bake till the pudding is of a rich color, but do not let it whey.

Palmyra, or Date Pudding.—One pound of fresh dates, chopped fine and free from stones; one pound of suet, chopped fine; a quarter of a pound of moist sugar, and a pound of flour. Mix all well together; add a little salt and nutmeg, and make into a soft dough with milk. Beat three eggs very stiff, yelks and whites separately, and add the last thing. Boil in a pudding-dish three hours, or bake slowly two hours. Eat with liquid sauce.

Sponge-Cake Pudding.—Make a batter as for good sponge-cake. Bake on a flat, square pan, so as to be an inch thick, when done. When cold, cut it into pieces about three inches square; slice and butter them, and lay each slice together as it was before you split it. Make a custard with four eggs and a quart of new milk, flavor and sweeten as you like it. Almond in the cake, and lemon or vanilla in the custard, are very good. Put the buttered slices of cake in a baking-dish, so that when the custard is poured over them, the dish will be full. Bake half an hour; eat with or without sauce as you prefer.

Steamed Pudding.—Two eggs, two teacupfuls of sour milk, one teaspoonful of soda, a little salt, flour enough to make it quite thick, or it will be heavy. Beat this smooth. Add cherries, raspberries, currants, or any dried fruit you may have. Steam two hours, taking care that the water is kept over the pudding or bag all the time, and that it does not stop boiling. Eat with cream and sugar, hard sauce, or any liquid sauce you may prefer.

An Excellent Pudding.—One cup of sugar, one cup of milk, three eggs, beaten stiff; one table-spoonful of butter, a little clove and cinnamon, about half a teaspoonful of each; one cup of raisins, stoned; half a teaspoonful of salt, and three cups of prepared flour. Bake quick. Eat with liquid or hard sauce, according to taste. We think this would also be excellent steamed or boiled.

Apple and Tapioca Pudding.—Put a teacup of tapioca into a pint and a half of cold water overnight. Before breakfast the next morning set it where it will become quite warm, but not hot enough to cook. After breakfast pare six good-sized sour apples, or eight if not very large; quarter them and steam them in a dish till tender. Lay them into the pudding-dish, stir a cup and a half of sugar into the soaked tapioca, add a teacup of water and an even teaspoonful of salt, stir together and pour over the apple, slice a lemon very thin and lay over the top, bake slowly three hours; eat with butter, with wine sauce, or hard sauce, as you prefer.

Sweet-Apple Pudding.—One pint of scalded milk, half a pint of Indian meal, one teaspoonful of salt, six sweet apples cut in small pieces, one small teacupful of finely chopped suet, two great spoonfuls of molasses, half a teaspoonful of ginger, nutmeg, or cinnamon,—whichever is most desirable,—two eggs well beaten, and half a teaspoonful soda. Beat all well together, put into a pudding-mold, and boil two hours.

Fig Pudding.—Half a pound of the best figs, washed and chopped fine, two teacupfuls of grated bread, half a cupful of sweet cream, half a cupful of sugar, and one cupful of milk. Mix the bread and cream, add the figs, then the sugar, and lastly the milk. Pour the mixture into a mold, and boil three hours. Eat with wine or hard sauce.

Barley Cream for Invalids.—Boil two pounds of lean veal in one quart of water, add to it a quarter of a pound of pearl barley, and boil till it can be rubbed through a sieve. It should be about as thick as cream. Add a little salt.

Apple Float.—One pint stewed and well-mashed apples; whites of three eggs, and four large spoonfuls of sugar, beaten until stiff; then add the apples, and beat all together till stiff enough to stand alone. Fill a deep dish with rich cream, or boiled soft custard, and pile the float on top. This is excellent with other fruits in place of the apples.

Sago Pudding.—One dozen tart apples, one and a half cup of sago,—soak the sago in water till soft; peel and core the apples and place in a dish, fill the apples with sugar, a very little cinnamon and nutmeg, pour the sago over and bake until the apples are cooked. Eat with wine sauce or hard sauce.

Cocoa-nut Custard.—One pound grated cocoa-nut, one pint of rich milk, and six ounces of sugar. Beat the yelks of six eggs, and stir them into the milk with the nut and sugar. Put into a farina-kettle, or into a small pail which you can set into a kettle of boiling water; stir all the time till very smooth and thick; as soon as it comes to a hard boil, take off and pour into cups.

Apple Pudding.—One pint of stewed and sifted apples, three eggs well beaten, whites and yelks separate, sugar enough to make the apple quite sweet, one cup of stoned raisins rolled in flour; half-pint each of milk and cream or condensed milk, and a little salt and nutmeg.

Sauce.—One cup of sugar and half a cup of butter, rubbed to a cream; the white of one egg well beaten, a little nutmeg or orange, and when ready to serve, stir in two great spoonfuls of boiling water; if preferred, add half a gill of wine instead of orange juice.

Nice Cheap Pudding.—One quart of milk, four table-spoonfuls of flour, four eggs, six table-spoonfuls of sugar, nutmeg. Steam three fourths of an hour.

Orange Pudding.—Peel five oranges; cut in thin slices; take out all the seeds. Pour over them a large cupful of white sugar. Bring a pint of rich milk to a boil in a farina-kettle; wet a table-spoonful of corn-starch in a little cold milk; beat the yelks of three eggs and pour them into the boiling milk, stirring all the time. When it thickens a little, pour over the fruit. Beat the whites to a stiff foam; add a table-spoonful of white sugar, and pour over the top; set it in the oven a few minutes to harden, but do not brown it. Eaten hot or cold for dinner or tea. Substitute berries or peaches for oranges, if you prefer.

Custard without Eggs.—To one quart of new milk one teaspoonful of rennet wine, or a small piece of rennet, a little lemon, nutmeg, or vanilla, or any spice you prefer, and one table-spoonful of sugar to each quart of milk. If too sweet, the milk will not set firmly or quickly. Stir all together, and set by the stove or near the fire; cover closely. It should begin to stiffen in an hour. If it does not, add more wine, or rennet. When firm, before the whey separates, take out the piece of rennet if the skin was used, and set on ice till dinner. To be eaten with sugar and rich cream. Nutmeg is always an improvement, even if lemon or vanilla is used.

The wine rennet is nicer than simply the skin, and it is a good idea to keep a bottle of wine with a piece of rennet in always on hand, as it is often desirable to have it ready.

A Quick Pudding.—Bring a quart of milk to the boiling point in a farina-kettle or a pail set into boiling water; add a small teaspoonful of salt, two table-spoonfuls of rice or wheat flour, wet smooth with cold milk. Stir this in as soon as the milk boils. Stir it a few minutes till perfectly smooth, and let it remain in the outside vessel of boiling water half an hour. Be sure and keep the water in receiver or saucepan boiling hard around the inner one all the time. Eat with butter and sugar, or thick cream and sugar.

This is very healthful, especially in the summer, and invaluable for invalids, or children suffering with summer complaint. When used as a remedy or preventive, it should boil longer, say one hour.

Rice Meringue.—Pick over one teacup of rice, wash clean, and boil in water until it is soft. When done, drain all the water from it. Let it get cool and then add one quart of new milk, the well-beaten yelks of three eggs, three table-spoonfuls of white sugar, and a little nutmeg; pour into a baking-dish and bake half an hour. Let it get cold; then beat the whites stiff, add two great spoonfuls of sugar, flavor with lemon or vanilla, and spread it over the pudding, and slightly brown it in the oven. Be careful not to let it scorch.

Sago Pudding.—One dozen tart apples, one and a half cups of sago, soak the sago in water till soft; peel and core the apples and place in a dish; fill the apples with sugar, a very little cinnamon and nutmeg, pour the sago over, and bake until the apples are cooked. Eat with wine or hard sauce.

Lemon or Orange Honeycomb.—Sweeten the juice of two oranges or lemons. Beat the whites of two eggs into a quart of rich cream, and whisk it; as the froth rises, skim off and lay on the lemon or orange juice. Whisk until you have the whole frothed and laid on the juice. It makes a pretty and agreeable dish. It should be prepared the day before needed, and set in a cool place.

Apple Snow.—Stew fine flavored, sour apples; sweeten and flavor to suit your taste; strain, and to one quart of sifted apples allow the whites of four eggs. Whisk them to a stiff froth; then put the apple and whites together, and continue to whip until they are so stiff you can turn the dish upside down without the mass falling off. Eat with cream or with bread and milk.

Snow Pudding.—Dissolve one box Cox’s gelatine in one pint of boiling water; add two cups sugar and the juice of one lemon; strain when nearly cold; beat the whites of three eggs to a stiff froth, add them to the gelatine; beat all well together and put into a mold to shape it and let it get cold. Then take the yelks of three eggs, beat and add to a pint of rich milk, one teaspoonful corn-starch, flavor with vanilla, and boil in a farina-kettle. When you wish to serve, empty the mold of gelatine, etc. into the dish, and pour the custard over. In boiling the custard, be careful not to cook it too much; stir all the time, and the moment it begins to set or thicken remove it. If cooked too long it will whey.

Cocoa-nut Pudding or Pies.—Break the nut, save the milk; take out the meat and grate it very fine; take equal weight of sugar and cocoa-nut, and half the quantity of butter; rub the butter and sugar to a cream; take five eggs, whites and yelks beaten separately very stiff; one cup of milk and the milk of the cocoa-nut, and a little grated lemon. Line the dish with a nice paste, put in the pudding, and bake one hour. Cover the rim with paper to prevent burning. This receipt will answer equally as well for pies as for pudding. It will make three pies.

Bohemian Cream.—Four ounces of any fruit you choose, which has been steamed soft and sweetened. Pass the fruit through a sieve, and add one and a half ounces of melted or dissolved isinglass to a half-pint of fruit; mix it well together; then whip a pint of rich cream, and add the fruit and isinglass gradually to it. Then pour it all into a mold; set it on ice or in a cool place, and when hardened or set, dip the mold a moment in warm water, and turn it out on a dish, ready for the table.

Spanish Cream.—Dissolve three quarters of an ounce Cox’s gelatine in one half-pint of water; take one pint milk, one pint cream, the well-beaten yelks of five eggs, five table-spoonfuls of sugar. Sift all well together. Flavor with vanilla, lemon, or orange, or any flavor most agreeable. Put into a farina-kettle and boil till it just begins to turn. If done too much it will be watery, or wheyey, which spoils it. When thickened like a smooth rich cream, stir in the dissolved gelatine, pour into molds, and set in the refrigerator or a very cool place to harden. Beat up the whites of the eggs and pour over the top of the cream after you have removed it from the mold to the glass dish, for the table.

Rennet Wine.—Buy a dried rennet in market, or get a fresh one from the butcher’s and prepare and dry it yourself. When well dried and cured, cut it in pieces of one or two inches; put it into a large bottle and fill up with Madeira wine; for a good-sized rennet add from three pints to two quarts of wine. It will keep for a year or two.

Cold Custard.—Warm one quart of milk as warm as when just milked; sweeten and flavor to suit your taste; stir into it two table-spoonfuls of rennet wine, and turn it at once into the dish in which it is to be sent to table.

Baked Apples.—Core some Baldwin pippins, or any other fine-flavored tart apple. Sprinkle sugar on the bottom of a deep dish, and set the apples into the dish with two or three on top. Fill the holes with sugar; cover the lower apples with water, and bake one hour. A little cinnamon, nutmeg, or lemon will be an improvement for those who like fruit seasoned.

Apple Snow.—Stew some fine-flavored sour apples tender, sweeten to taste; strain them through a fine wire sieve, and break into one pint of strained apples the white of an egg; whisk the apple and egg very briskly, till quite stiff, and it will be as white as snow; eaten with a nice boiled custard, it makes a very desirable dessert.

Season with a very little nutmeg and cinnamon, add a little butter, and bake in good pastry, and you will have a very good apple pie.

PRESERVES AND JELLIES.

To Can Peaches.—We find the following mode of canning peaches in “Tilton’s Journal of Horticulture,” published in Boston. That journal is always so reliable, that we have no hesitation in giving these directions to our readers: “Take large ripe peaches,—not over-ripe,—halve and pare neatly and lay on a large meat-dish. To a three-peck basket of fruit allow four pounds of sifted sugar; sprinkle it over the fruit as you lay it in the dish; when done set it in a cool place overnight; the next morning fit each piece, one by one, nicely into the jar, draining them from the juice. When the jars are all filled put them close together in a kettle of cold water, putting a double towel or something of the kind under them, in the bottom of the kettle, to prevent their cracking, and set over the fire. Let the water heat gradually till it boils, while you prepare the syrup from the juice that has been formed from the peaches and sugar overnight, then fill up the jars with it, being careful to let the bubbles of air escape; they will be seen rising to the top; if any are in the lower part of the jar they will rush up on the insertion of a fork. When all are full begin to seal up, and have a large pan of hot water standing near to put the jars in as fast as sealed, where they can cool off gradually.

“Where one has glass jars or bottles, without tight-fitting covers, prepare a cement of one pound rosin to two pounds of mutton-suet, melted together and well mixed; have pieces of strong muslin cut large enough to tie over the mouths of the jars or bottles; lay the muslin on a board and with a spoon spread over a thick coating of cement; take up the muslin quickly, before it has time to cool, and put it on the jar with the cement side downward, pressing it closely over the sides. If the muslin is not very thick it is well to spread more cement on top of the first cover, and lay over that a second piece of muslin, then tie down with twine and finish with a good coat of cement over all. This is a good way to use up old jars whose covers have been broken or lost.”

Mixed Marmalade.—Apples or pears mixed with quince make very pleasant marmalade. They should be pared and cut in small pieces; just cover them with water, or boil the cores and skins first and use the liquor to boil the fruit in; stew the fruit till it can be mashed with a wooden spoon; when well mashed add the sugar, three fourths of a pound of sugar to a pound of fruit (of course the fruit is weighed before beginning to cook); let it cook slowly for two or three hours, the longer it cooks the more solid it will be when cold. Pear, quince, and apple marmalade are made in the same way. With pears, if very mild, many add the juice and grated rind of lemons, to suit the taste, to the sugar.

Jellies.—In making jellies of apricots, quinces, peaches, apples, or plums, peel, remove the stones or cores, cut in pieces, cover with water and boil gently till well cooked; then strain the juice gently through a jelly-bag, and add a half-pint of sugar to a pint of juice (for berries a pound of sugar to a pint of juice); boil till it ropes from the spoon, or from fifteen to twenty minutes. In making raspberry jelly, use one third currants and two thirds raspberries.

Peach Jelly.—Cut peaches in half, peel them, and take out the pits from the stones; make a clear syrup of a pound of white sugar to half a teacup of water. When made and boiling hot put in the peaches and part of the pits,—too many pits give a bitter flavor,—boil gently ten minutes, then put half of the peaches on a platter, and boil the other half ten minutes longer; mix with the liquor of the peaches the strained juice of three lemons or oranges, and one ounce of isinglass or Cox’s gelatine, that has been first dissolved and strained; fill the molds half full of jelly, let it stand till set, then add the rest of the peaches, and fill the molds with jelly. One dozen peaches will make a good-sized moldful. It is a very handsome table ornament, and very palatable.

Quince Jelly.—Boil the quince peelings, cores, and such of the fruit as you do not wish to can till soft, in just enough water to cover; then put into jelly-bags wrung out of hot water; hang the bags by strings on a stick laid across two chairs or benches, with a dish underneath, and let it drain without squeezing till the juice is all run out; then to every pint of juice weigh three quarters of a pound of sugar, put it into a large platter or a deep dish, and set in the oven to get hot, but not browned, while the juice in the preserving-kettle is brought to a boil; when it begins to boil skim clear, and then pour in the hot sugar, stir all well together, skim clear, boil fifteen minutes, and dip into hot jelly-glasses.

To Preserve Quinces.—Select the fairest quinces, pare, cut in half, and remove the core neatly; then weigh, using a quarter of a pound of sugar to one of fruit; boil the quinces until tender in enough water to cover them, and when done take carefully up on a platter. To make your syrup, use half a pint of the water in which the fruit was boiled to each pound of sugar. When skimmed clear, boil the quinces in the syrup five minutes; have the cans hot, and fill while the fruit and syrup are boiling hot; seal each can, or close the covers tightly, as fast as filled.

Candied Orange Peel.—Cut the fruit into quarters lengthwise, take out the pulp and put the peels in strong salt and water for two days, then take them out and soak for an hour in cold water, after which put them into a preserving-kettle with fresh cold water and boil till the peels are tender, when they should be put on a sieve to drain. Make a thin syrup of a quart of the water in which they were boiled and a pound of sugar, and simmer the peels in it for half an hour, when they will look clear; pour the peels and syrup into a bowl together, to stand till the next day, when you must make as much syrup as will cover them, of the proportion of a pound of sugar to a pint of water, boiling it till it will fall from the spoon in threads; put the peels into this syrup, boil half an hour, then take them out, drain on a sieve, and as the candy dries transfer them to a dish to finish in a warm place. When dry, store them for use. This receipt is useful for any lemon, orange, or citron peel, and perfectly wholesome.

Apple and Quince Sauce.—Pare, quarter, and core one peck of sweet apples and half a peck of quinces; then weigh both together; save all the cores and peels that are free from specks or worms; put these into a preserving-kettle, just cover with water, and boil twenty minutes; strain and pour the liquor over the quinces, cover closely, and let it boil till about half done, then add the apples; stir occasionally to prevent its burning, being careful to break the pieces as little as possible. When done so that a straw or knitting-needle will pass easily, add half a pound of sugar to every pound of fruit, stir it in gently, cover again closely, and leave it on the back part of the stove to simmer a short time, say twenty minutes, till the sugar is thoroughly incorporated with the fruit. Then pack in stone pots and cover closely. It is a very excellent substitute for apple-butter, and to most tastes more palatable.

Apple Sauce.—Take sweet cider, as soon as it comes from the cider-press, before it has passed through any change. Boil it down nearly half; then pare and quarter as many of the best sour apples as you wish to “do up”; cover them with the cider when boiling hot, and cook till well done; but not so as to lose their shape. Most of the cider will be absorbed by the apples. What remains can be bottled for future use. When done, put into jars, and cover or cement.

Or, if only needed for daily sauce, let the apples boil longer, stirring often, until it becomes like marmalade.

This makes not only a most delicious sauce, but is very healthful, as all the nourishment of the apples from which the cider is made is retained, and the stimulating or alcoholic properties are dispelled by boiling before fermentation takes place, and we lose the sharp, biting taste of the old apple-butter made from boiled cider.

Baked Pears.—Take ripe pears, juicy and of a good flavor,—not ripe enough to be very soft. Wipe them clean, put them into a stone jar, stems upward; when the bottom of the jar is covered, sprinkle over sugar (the nature of the pear must determine the quantity of sugar needed; some are so sweet that they require but little). Set in another layer of pears; add more sugar, and so on till the jar is full. Put in a pint and a half of water for every gallon that the jar contains; cover the top of the jar with a paste of simple flour and water, and bake in a slow oven two hours.

CHEESE.

Stilton Cheese is one of the richest kinds. The cream of one day’s milk is added to the warm new milk of the next. In England they are made in a deep hoop or vat containing from eight to ten pounds, and are not considered of proper age for the table till two years old. Little blue spots through the cheese, not at all like those on common moldy cheese, is the test of ripeness. We have seen them made in a two-quart hoop. They require very careful handling, and are very fine (we think more agreeable) at a year old than when left to the age that epicures love best in cheese.

The Cottenham Cheese is a variety of cream cheese manufactured in Cottenham, near Cambridgeshire, that is considered superior to the Stilton, as the herbage upon which the cows feed gives the milk a peculiar fragrance.

The Parmesan is made in several parts of Lombardy. It is quite celebrated. Many suppose it is made from goat’s milk, but it is simply from cow’s milk skimmed. The meadows of the Po are noted for extremely rich herbage, and the peculiarities of the Parmesan cheese are owing in part to this, together with the mode of manufacturing it. Half the milk to be used is allowed to stand sixteen hours, the other half but six. It is then heated and coagulated in a boiler, and broken up fine, without removing, by sticks with cross-wires; then scalded once more till the curd has separated from the whey and become quite firm. It is then taken out, drained, salted, and pressed. The best Parmesan cheese is kept four years before cutting.

The Cheddar is similar to the Parmesan; but very little of the best quality is now made, and that which is generally imported for it is inferior.

The Dunlop is one of the best Scottish cheeses, made only of new milk, but there is nothing peculiar in the mode of making it.

A peculiar kind of cheese in Lincolnshire is known in London as New Cheese. It is made wholly from cream, or sometimes morning’s milk, warm from the cow, is used, and the cream of the day before added to it. It is made quite thin, pressed gently two or three times, then left to cure for a few days, when it is ready to be sent to market for immediate use. It is greatly esteemed for eating with radish and salad. This cheese is easily made in any family when sufficient cream can be spared. Stir in a table-spoonful of rennet to a quart of warm cream; when the curd is “set,” spread a cloth over a sieve and lay the curd into it to stand for twenty-four hours, when it may be put into a small hoop, a wet cloth and a board laid on top, to press and drain it a little, and in a few hours it will be ready for use.

The Swiss Cheese has a peculiar flavor and richness, which can be gained only from the mountain pastures. Some varieties are mottled and highly flavored by the bruised leaves of the melilot.

In Sage or Green Cheese, the curd is colored and flavored by bruising the fresh green leaves of sage, marigold, parsley, or corn leaves, and mixing with the curd. Among the Romans it was customary to flavor with thyme and other sweet herbs.

Cream Cheese is simply cream dried sufficiently to be cut with a knife. Green rushes are plated or sewed together and laid on the bottom of the hoop, which must have holes all through it for the whey to run off freely. On these rushes a quantity of good thick cream is laid; another plait of rushes or Indian-corn leaves is put on top of the cheese, so that it may be turned without handling. The cheese should not be more than an inch to an inch and a half thick. The thinner it is made the sooner it ripens. It is now kept in a warm place for a few days to sweat or ripen, but it requires much care and good judgment, as too great heat or cold is injurious.

In Thuringia and Saxony a cheese is made of five pounds of the best potatoes, half steamed, pulverized and reduced to a pulp, and well beaten and mixed into ten pounds of sweet curd; a little salt is added, then it stands three or four days, and is again thoroughly broken up and kneaded, and then pressed into little baskets for the whey to drain off, then made into balls and dried in the shade. They keep well, and improve with age, and are said to excel in flavor the best cheeses made in Holland.

We are indebted for much information respecting foreign cheese to Webster’s “Encyclopedia of Domestic Economy,” a very useful and valuable work for all housekeepers.

Cheese Straus.—Quarter of a pound of puff paste, and a quarter of an ounce of good cheese, grated very fine, a little salt and cayenne pepper mixed with it. Sprinkle the cheese, salt, and pepper over the paste, and roll it out two or three times. Cut the paste into narrow strips about five inches long; bake in a slow oven, and serve very hot.

PICKLES.

Peach Pickles.—Select the finest and fairest fruit (we prefer Rareripes or Honest Johns to Morris Whites or Malacatoons, but that is a matter of taste), weigh the peaches, and for every pound of fruit take a full pound or slightly heaped quart of granulated sugar; put one gill of good cider vinegar and half a gill of water to every six pounds of sugar; put the vinegar and water into the preserving-kettle first, then add the sugar, set the kettle on the back part of the range or stove where it will dissolve gradually. While the sugar is melting prepare the peaches; pour boiling water over a few at a time, and then rub each one carefully with a soft towel to take off a thin skin without disfiguring the peach; as you peel throw them into cold water to prevent their turning black. When all are peeled, or if two are working at them, as one peels let the other stick a clove and two small pieces of cinnamon, or two or three cassia-buds into each peach, and occasionally put in two cloves, but not often, as too many cloves make them bitter. While preparing the sugar over the fire, and after waiting a suitable time, if you find it will not dissolve without more water, add some, but only a little at a time, say half a cupful. It is difficult to tell just how much water is needed, as some sugar melts more readily and with less water than others; for this reason it is wise to add the water by degrees, as for sweet peach pickles it is desirable to use just as little water as possible. Bring the syrup to a boil just as soon as possible after you have all the fruit prepared; skim as fast as the scum rises, and when clear put in as many peaches as will cover the surface of the syrup without crowding and bruising; let them boil up for three or four minutes, turn over carefully in syrup that both sides may be cooked evenly, and then remove into two-quart stone jars, with nicely fitting covers, taking care not to break the fruit; dip out a cup or two of syrup to each jar, cover over and set on the side of the range to keep hot for a little while, till you have others filled to take their place. Fill each jar full of fruit. When all the peaches have been thus cooked and removed to jars, pour in as much syrup as they will hold and allow the cover to fit closely. Put them aside for three or four days, then drain off all the syrup and heat it again; when boiling hot fill up the jars again, and cover up. Repeat the scalding again in a week’s time, unless you find the peaches were so ripe as to have cooked enough to endanger their falling to pieces. In that case another scalding would injure them. To seal up jars, cut a piece of old cotton or linen, large enough to cover over the top and come half an inch over the side, leaving it loose so the cover will fit in, dip the cloth in the white of egg to seal it down over the edge, place on the cover, then wet plaster of Paris quite soft and spread over the top and so far over the sides as to cover the cloth. The plaster hardens immediately, and you have a solid cover at once, and air-tight; wet only as much at a time as will be needed for one jar, as it stiffens so soon. Put on sufficient to entirely bury the stone cover.

Pickled Plums.—Prick the plums with a sharp needle, else they will fall to pieces badly when you put in hot syrup; tie the cloves and cassia-buds in a cloth, or throw loose into the syrup, instead of sticking them into the plums. Of course they are not thrown into boiling water like peaches, as it is desirable to preserve them as whole and perfect as possible. Except in these two particulars, proceed as with the peaches.

For extra rich pickles, when boiling the syrup the second time, add one third more sugar than was used to make the first syrup. This gives a very rich fine flavor; the small amount of vinegar used at first prevents its being too sweet.

Some prefer peaches, when pickled, quite sour. In that case a pint of vinegar and three pounds of sugar to every seven pounds of peaches is the common proportion, with cloves and cassia-buds or cinnamon, as in the first receipt; cassia-buds are milder and less woody in taste than cinnamon.

Pears and crab-apples, prepared like peaches, make a fine pickle.

Green Tomato Pickles.—Slice half a peck of full-grown tomatoes just ready to turn red. They are more crisp if you can secure them after there has been almost a frost, not enough to turn the vines black. Slice very thin, cut off the blossom and stem ends and throw away. For every gallon of sliced tomatoes take twelve large green peppers,—the bell pepper is the best. Put a layer of sliced tomatoes into an earthen or wooden dish, then a layer of peppers, sprinkle over a handful of salt, then more tomatoes and peppers, adding salt to each layer till all are put in. A pint of salt is sufficient for a gallon. Press this down and place a weight on the plate or wooden cover. A metal cover will not answer. Let it stand till morning, when it should be put in a sieve or hung up in a strainer to drain. Put three quarts of best cider vinegar over the fire to scald. Tie up in a cloth two cups of white mustard-seed, half a cup of sliced horse-radish, half an ounce of whole cloves, and the same of cinnamon and allspice, and throw into the vinegar. When the brine has all drained from the tomatoes, pack them closely in a stone pot and pour the boiling spice and vinegar over it. Lay over them a plate small enough to fit inside the pot, and put a smooth clean stone on the plate to keep the pickle under the vinegar. Let it stand a few days, and then scald again. Some like part of the spices sprinkled through the tomatoes rather than have all tied in a bag. Some prefer the spices ground, and many prefer the tomatoes and peppers chopped, not very fine, rather than sliced. Either way they make a fine pickle.

To Pickle Green Tomatoes.—Slice thin in separate plates green tomatoes and onions; allow half a dozen of large green peppers to one peck of tomatoes. Take a large earthen or wooden bowl and lay in a layer of tomatoes and a layer of onions, sprinkling in a table-spoonful of salt to each layer; continue this until you have packed together all you wish to pickle. Then turn a large plate or clean dry board over the tomatoes, and put some heavy weight, a stone, on top and let it stand till morning; then drain off all the salt and juice, and pour over boiling vinegar, strongly spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and very little allspice and ginger, which should be tied in a little bag, and removed when the vinegar is poured over; cover close and let them stand a week, when the vinegar should be poured off, the pickles thoroughly drained, and cold vinegar poured over the tomatoes. Some chop the onions pretty fine after they are drained from the salt.

Pickled Nasturtiums.—Gather the seed when green and not fully grown, and drop them into vinegar as you pick them. When you have a sufficient quantity scald the whole in vinegar, and bottle them or soak them twelve hours in brine; then drain and pour over boiling vinegar, with whole black peppers and allspice tied in a bag. They are often used as substitutes for capers, and the flowers and young seeds are used in salads.

Pickled Cauliflower.—Select the most perfect; break off the flowers, as they would naturally part. Put a layer of them in a jar and sprinkle over salt; then another layer of cauliflower; then salt, and so on. Let them soak two days; then wash off the salt and let them drain well; then pack in a jar or bottle, and pour over boiling spiced vinegar. In a few days, if necessary, heat the vinegar again, and pour over them, and cover or cork closely.

Tomato Pickles.—Slice half a peck of green tomatoes very thin; sprinkle over them half a pint of salt; slice half a dozen onions and three large peppers full grown, but before they have turned red; add these to the tomatoes; let them stand twenty-four hours, then drain them perfectly free of the liquor or brine; mix with them one table-spoonful of black pepper, one of allspice, one of mustard, half a table-spoonful of cloves, and the same of cinnamon all finely powdered; to this add a quarter-pound of whole mustard-seed; stir all well together and just cover with good cider vinegar. Boil this mixture until as thick as jam, stirring often to prevent its burning.

To Pickle Onions.—Choose all of a size; peel and pour on them boiling salt and water; cover close, and when cold drain the onions, and put them into jars or bottles. For white onions, fill up with hot distilled vinegar; for colored onions, use white wine vinegar; for both, add ginger, two or three blades of mace and whole pepper. If the onions are soaked in milk a little while after peeling, it will preserve their color.

Another way is to soak the onions in brine three or four days, then drain and pour on cold boiled vinegar, with spices. This will insure their being crisp.

To Pickle Red Cabbage.—Select the purple-red cabbage, take off the outside leaves, quarter, and take out the stalk, then shred the cabbage into a colander or small basket, and sprinkle with common salt. Let it remain a day or two, then drain and put into jars; fill up with boiling vinegar, spiced with ginger and black pepper, in the same proportions as for the cucumbers, and add a few slices of red beet-root; some add a few grains of powdered cochineal. If the vinegar is boiled, and then allowed to stand until cold before pouring over the cabbage, it will better insure its crispness, but will not keep so well as if put on boiling hot.

Cucumber Pickles.—The small long kind are the best for pickling, and those but half grown are nicer than the full grown. Let them be freshly gathered; pull off the blossom; but do not rub them; pour over them a strong brine boiling hot; cover close, and let them stand all night. The next day put your hand in the jar or tub and stir gently, to remove all sand; drain on a sieve, and then dry in a cloth. Make a pickle with the best cider vinegar, adding spice in the following proportions: To each quart of vinegar put half an ounce of whole black pepper, the same of ginger and allspice, and one ounce of mustard-seed. If the flavor is agreeable, add four shalots and two cloves of garlic to a gallon of vinegar. When this pickle boils up, throw in the cucumbers, and make them boil as quickly as possible three or four minutes. Put them in a jar with the boiling vinegar, and cover closely. When cold, put in a sprig of dill, the seed downward, if you like it. Made in this way they will be tender, crisp, and green. If the color is not quite clear enough, pour off the vinegar the next day; boil up, and pour over the cucumbers; cover perfectly tight.

To Pickle small Cucumbers and Gherkins.—Choose small perfect gherkins or cucumbers; spread on platters, mix a small bit of alum, pulverized, with salt, and cover them; let them lie in this a week. Then drain them, put them into a jar, cover with boiling vinegar, and cover it thick with grape-leaves. Set them near the fire. If they do not become tolerably green after an hour or so, pour the vinegar into another jar, set it on the hot range or hearth until too hot to bear your hand in it, but do not let it boil, then pour again over the pickles, cover with fresh leaves; repeat this till they are as green as you wish.

Tomato Catsup.—Wash and drain two bushels of fair, ripe tomatoes; cut out the stems and any imperfect spot; put the fruit into a kettle, giving each one a squeeze to break the skin as you throw them in (a brass kettle, scoured perfectly bright, is the best, as being less likely to burn on the bottom than the porcelain kettle). Cut up twelve ripe bell-peppers and as many onions, and put with the tomatoes. Set the kettle over the fire and let the fruit cook two hours, stirring often from the bottom to prevent the tomatoes sticking or burning. Then strain through a wire sieve, or better still a patent scoop and sieve combined, made of tin; with a crank or handle to turn the paddle, which easily presses the juice and meat through the strainer at the bottom, leaving seeds and skins inside. When strained, add a pint and a half of salt, a quart of vinegar, three table-spoonfuls of ground cinnamon, three of black pepper, two of cloves, two of allspice, two of mace, and one of ginger. Boil slowly twelve hours. Of course it cannot be finished in one day; but at night must be emptied from the kettle into large wooden or earthen bowls, covered over closely, and left to stand till morning. The brass kettle should be well cleaned and dried as soon as emptied, that no verdigris may form in or around it, and to be all ready for use the next day. In the morning put the catsup up into the kettle again, and boil slowly all day, or till as thick as rich cream, so that no clear liquid will rise to the top. Stir often from the bottom; as it thickens it will stick to the bottom if not carefully stirred, and scorch very easily. That will spoil the whole. It is well to turn a plate down on the bottom of the kettle, it will not burn so readily. People differ so in their ideas of seasoning—some like food very fiery and highly seasoned, while others like very little—that it is not possible to give the exact amount of spices. We have given a medium quantity which, by tasting, can be varied to suit your own taste. When cooked sufficiently the catsup should be put into strong bottles tightly corked and tied down. Very little danger of bursting the bottles or forcing the cork out. None that we have ever tried have done so. In hot weather, if kept too damp, it may sour; but we have now some made last summer as good as the new.

MISCELLANEOUS HINTS.

To Make Tea.—There is very little skill required in making tea, and yet very few have it well prepared. It is important that the water should be boiling, not simply scalding; if it is not, the tea will be worthless. For English breakfast tea it is best to allow two heaped teaspoonfuls for each person. Either put the tea into a perfectly dry pot, and set it on the corner of the range till heated through, before adding the water, or fill the teapot with boiling water and let it stand till thoroughly hot; and then empty it out and put in the tea. This done, pour on two cups of boiling, bubbling hot water, set it on a range or a trivet over a spirit lamp, and let it boil two minutes; then add a teacup of boiling water for every person, and let it boil again for three or four minutes. Put into the teacups sugar and milk according to the taste of those who are to use the tea, and fill up with the boiling tea. When the cups are once filled, put more boiling water to the tea in the same proportion, and again set the pot on the trivet to boil again three or four minutes. The last will be nearly if not quite as good as the first drawing, some prefer it; but in no case fail to have really boiling water.

In making oolong or green teas, less tea is needed, and much less boiling. In both cases it is well to put the tea into a perfectly dry teapot, and set it where it will get hot before the water is put in, or fill the teapot with boiling water, cover close till thoroughly heated, then pour out the water and put in the tea before the pot has time to cool, and then cover the tea with boiling water. Set it where it will simmer, not boil, five minutes before using.

The tea-tree, or shrub, commonly grows from three to six feet high; but in its wild or native state it is said to reach twenty-four feet. In China it is cultivated in numerous small plantations. It resembles the myrtle in the form of the leaf and general appearance. The blossoms are not unlike those of the wild rose, but smaller, white, and very fragrant. The blossoms are succeeded by soft green capsules, containing from one to three white seeds. These capsules are crushed for oil, which is in general use in China.

Substitute for Milk in Tea and Coffee.—Beat up one egg to every coffee-cupful of tea or coffee. Put it in a cup and pour over it very gradually the tea or coffee, very hot, stirring all the time to prevent the egg from curdling.

Bread Crumbs.—Be very careful that no piece of bread, that can be used, is wasted. Gather all waste or broken pieces, put them in a clean dish, and set into the “heater,” if you have one to your stove or range; if not, into the oven after the cooking for the day is done, leaving the door open that the pieces may not burn. When thoroughly dried roll them fine on a board, and with a rolling-pin kept expressly for the purpose, as it makes a pastry board and pin rough to roll any hard substance. Sift the crumbs through a colander, and keep them in a stone pot, in a dry place, covered closely, or put in a linen bag and hung up in a cool place. They are excellent to use in cooking many things, as well as for stuffing, and you cannot save too large a quantity. If well dried and properly aired, they will keep a year, and be as sweet as when first rolled, and, aside from the economy, are a great convenience.

GLEANINGS.

To Clean Kid Gloves.—Have ready a little new milk in one saucer, a piece of white soap in another, and a clean cloth folded two or three times. On the cloth spread out the glove smooth and neat. Take a piece of flannel, dip it in the milk, then rub off a good quantity of soap on the wetted flannel, and commence to rub the glove toward the fingers, holding it firmly with the left hand. Continue this process until the glove, if white, looks of a dingy yellow, though clean; if colored, till it looks dry and spoiled. Lay it to dry, and the operator will soon be gratified to see that the old glove looks nearly new. It will be soft, glossy, smooth, and elastic.

To Keep Grapes.—The Chinese have a curious method of preserving grapes, so as to have them at command during the entire year. It consists in cutting a circular piece out of a ripe pumpkin or gourd, making an aperture large enough to admit the hand. The interior is next completely cleaned out, the ripe grapes are placed inside, and the cover replaced and pressed in firmly. The pumpkins are then kept in a cool place, and the grapes will be found to retain their freshness for a very long time.

To Clean Oil-Cloths.—Do not use soap, or scour with a brush, but wash with soft flannel and lukewarm water; wipe perfectly dry. Then wring a clean cloth out of skimmed milk, and wipe the oil-cloth over, moving the cloth one way, straight across, not round in circles or waves, and finish with a clean, dry cloth. In this way you can keep the oil-cloth looking fresh and new, and it will last much longer than if washed with soap and scrubbed with a brush.

Fill your Lamps in the Morning.—Scarcely a week passes but we read accounts of frightful accidents from kerosene lamps exploding and killing or scarring for life men, women, and children. A simple knowledge of the inflammable nature of the liquid will probably put a stop to nearly all the accidents. As the oil burns down in the lamp, highly inflammable gas gathers over its surface, and as the oil decreases the gas increases. When the oil is nearly consumed, a slight jar will inflame the gas, and an explosion is sure to follow. A bombshell is no more to be dreaded. Now, if the lamp is not allowed to burn more than half-way down, such accidents are almost impossible. Always fill your lamp every morning, and then you need never fear an explosion.

Colored Silk.—Mix equal parts of soft soap, alcohol, and molasses. Cover a table with a clean cloth, spread the article to be cleansed on smooth, and, holding firmly with one hand, sponge it thoroughly with this mixture. If the silk is spotted with grease or stains, give the spots an extra sponging. When the silk has been well sponged, rinse in tepid water twice, and finish with a third rinsing in cold water. Have your irons hot, and iron the silk immediately as it is taken from the last water. Of course if a dress is to be cleansed, it will be first ripped apart and each piece sponged, rinsed, and ironed, before the next is touched. It is a great convenience when two persons can work together in doing this,—one to sponge, while the second rinses and irons. This compound for cleansing silk does not sound inviting, but try it. We have washed the most delicate colors,—blues, violets, etc.,—and unless the color is entirely taken out, or paint been transferred to the silk, it is surprising how like a new silk the dress can be made to look. Cashmeres or merinoes of the finest color can be thus cleansed and made to look like new; but they should be rinsed in hot water.

To Remove Fruit Stains.—A solution of chloride of soda will remove peach and all fruit or vegetable stains, and is also excellent in removing mildew; but for this it must be applied several times, and exposed to the sun, while fruit can be removed by it instantly. Of course it can only be used for white cotton or linen goods. It is perfectly harmless if well rinsed in clear water immediately after using.

Bee or Wasp Stings.—Wet some cut tobacco and lay it on the sting. In five minutes it will be cured. Always keep cut tobacco in the house for such emergencies. It is invaluable and sure.

To Preserve Brooms.—Wet the broom every week in boiling suds, and it will be toughened by it, will last much longer, will not cut the carpet, and will sweep as elastic as a new broom.

Glossy Starch.—Put two ounces of white gum-arabic powder into a pitcher; pour over it a pint of boiling water, stir well and cover it up; let it stand overnight. In the morning pour it from the dregs into a clean bottle, and keep for use. A table-spoonful of this stirred into a pint of starch made in the usual manner will give your lawns, either black or printed, a new look, which nothing else can give, after being once washed. Much diluted, it is excellent for thin white muslin.

Salt for Nuts.—Many people find nuts of all kinds injurious, and some are made seriously ill by them. It is said, and we think truly, if a little salt be used with them it will prevent any injury or inconvenience arising from their use.

To Take Ink Stains from Mahogany.—Put a few drops of nitre in a teaspoonful of water. Touch the ink-spot with a feather dipped in the mixture; and as soon as the ink disappears, rub it instantly with a cloth wet in cold water, or there will be a white mark left, which will be difficult to remove.

To Keep Quinces.—Gather the fruit at the usual time, then put carefully into barrels so as not to bruise, rejecting all but the perfectly sound; then fill with water, head up, and put in the cellar. They will keep all winter, retaining all the peculiar qualities and flavor of fresh quinces.

Fruit Stains.—When berries and fruits of all kinds are in season, the housekeeper will find it necessary to look carefully after the stains. They are easily removed if attended to at once, but if left to dry for a day or two it will be a more difficult work. Stretch the stained spot tightly over a deep bowl or pail, and pour over it boiling hot water, letting it filter through till the stain disappears. The water must be really boiling, not simply scalding. If the article has been thrown into suds before looking after the stains, the hot water will not destroy them. In that case wet the stain, and while wet spread over the spot some chloride of lime, lay the piece on the grass, or hang on the clothes-line where the sun will strike through for a few minutes, and then wash and boil immediately. This is sure, but should be used with care and judgment or it will eat the cloth; but with proper oversight it is safe and reliable. Chloride of lime is largely used in bleaching linen, cotton, and silk in the different manufactures. In former times chlorine, or oxygenated muriatic gas, was used in bleaching, but its effect on the lungs of the workmen was very injurious. Since chloride of lime has been used instead of chlorine, it is considered safe for those employed in factories, and harmless in its effects on the goods bleached. In pickling, paring, or preserving fruit, the hands get badly stained. Rub them in lemon-juice; wet your nail-brush in the juice and carefully brush your nails and hands; this will remove the stains effectually. A “bleaching liquid,” prepared from chloride of lime, is very effectual in removing all stains except those made by grease. Put four ounces of chloride of lime into a wide-mouthed quart bottle, add a little water and stir well with a stick, then fill the bottle nearly full with water, and let it stand corked for two weeks, that the chloride may dissolve. During this time some gas will be disengaged, and to prevent explosion or driving out the cork it will be well twice a day to remove the cork for an instant only, and as the gas has an extremely offensive smell it is important that care should be taken not to inhale it, as it is injurious to the lungs; when diffused through the apartment in small quantity it is not hurtful. After standing two weeks, the fluid portion should be poured off and kept in a bottle in a dark place, with paper wrapped around it, as light and air injure its properties. This fluid should be kept in every family, but servants ought not to be allowed to use it indiscreetly.

Ink Stains.—If ink is spilled on clothes or carpet, do not allow it to dry, but as speedily as possible get cotton batting, and, wetting it in sweet milk, soak the spot and rub with the cotton. Wring the cotton out and soak again with milk, and if used when the ink is fresh it will soon remove it. This done, wash in warm soapsuds and rinse in clear warm water.

Buying Furs.—In purchasing furs, a sure test of what dealers call a prime fur is the length and density of the down next to the skin. This can be readily determined by blowing a brisk current of air from the mouth against the set of the fur. If the fibers open readily, exposing the skin to view, reject the article; but if the down is so dense that the breath cannot penetrate it, or at most shows but a small portion of the skin, the article may be accepted.

Drying Umbrellas.—Most people dry their umbrellas handle upwards. This concentrates the moisture at the tip where it is close, rusts the wire which secures the stretchers, and rots the cloth. After the umbrella is drained, it is better to invert it, and dry it in that position.

A Tight Ring.—To remove a tightly fitting ring from a finger, without pain, pass the end of a portion of rather fine twine underneath the ring, and evenly encircle the finger from below upward (as whipmakers bind lashes on) with the remainder, as far as the centre of the finger, then unwind the string from above downward by taking hold of the end passed under the ring, and it will be found the ring will gradually pass along the twine toward the tip of the finger.

Scrubbing White Paint.—As little soap as possible should be used with this, and that in the water and not on the cloth. It not only makes the paint yellow, but, after a little while, removes it altogether. A noted housekeeper would never allow either soap or hot water to be used on paint, except in case of grease. Cold water and a scrubbing-brush were her weapons of offence in waging warfare with dirt. This makes hard work, but it gives a very fresh look to paint, and saves soap and fire, if one is inclined to try it. For greasy spots use a very little soda (carbonate) in the first water, to be immediately rinsed off and wiped dry.

How to Wash Graining.—Take clear warm water, a clean, white cloth, and wash a small place and wipe dry with another clean white cloth. Do not wet any more space than you can dry immediately with your cloth, as it must not be left to dry in the atmosphere; it must be rubbed dry, hence the necessity for clean white cloths. If the paint has been neglected until very much soiled with greasy fingers, or specked with a summer’s growth of flies, a very little hard soap may be put in the first water, and then rinsed off with clear water; but avoid soap if you possibly can, as it dulls the varnish, however carefully used. On no account must it be rubbed on with a cloth.

Codfish should be purchased in small quantities, as they are disagreeable to have in the house. Even the desiccated codfish, that comes in boxes, cannot be kept so tightly covered as to secure us from the unpleasant smell. If kept in a dry place they grow hard, if in a damp place they will spoil. They must be changed from garret to cellar often to keep them in proper condition, and therefore it is better to get them only as needed.

Zante currants and stoneless or sultana raisins should be washed and dried when first bought, and then packed into jars for use. It is well to look them over occasionally, to see that they do not become wormy. If there should be any appearance of mold or worms, empty from the jars and spread on a cloth or paper to dry, in the warm sun or by the fire. When dry, repack.

Keep cheese in a dry place. A cheese-box with perforated wire sides is the best thing to put it in, as the air will circulate through it. When the cheese is cut wrap a cloth tightly about it to prevent its drying.

Smoked beef should be kept in a bag and hung up. Hams, also, when cut, should be tied into a cloth or bag and hung up in a cool dry place.

If strawberries, pineapples, and all delicate preserves are kept in a box and filled in with sand, they will keep better and longer. Sawdust or tan-bark is not good to fill in around them, as it gathers moisture and molds the preserves.

Keep the flour-barrel well covered with a close-fitting wooden cover. Hang the sifter on a nail over it, but never leave it in the barrel. Besides being untidy, the accumulation of flour, dough, or moisture from your hands will soon coat the sieve so that it cannot be used with ease, and in a short time make the flour musty or sour. It should be well washed and dried after the baking for each day is finished. No flour should be use unsifted, both from cleanliness and because the food will be lighter.

Indian meal should be kept in a cool, dry place, in a barrel or wooden pail, and stirred from the bottom often, particularly in warm weather, as it will readily become sour or musty. Never use without sifting.

Coffee should be bought by the bag or barrel, as it grows better by age.

Tea is cheaper by the box, but take out a pound canister at a time, and replacing the tin foil, nail the box up again.

Keep the canister always shut, as air injures the tea badly.

Raisins and starch are cheaper by the box; but raisins must be kept from heat or air, or they dry up and become almost worthless; and the starch must be kept covered to protect it from dust.

Household Weights and Measures.—Wheat flour, one pound is one quart.

Indian meal, one pound two ounces is one quart.

Butter, when soft, one pound one ounce is one quart.

Loaf sugar, broken, one pound is one quart.

White sugar, powdered, one pound one ounce is one quart.

Best brown sugar, one pound two ounces is one quart.

Eggs, average size, ten are one pound.

Liquid measure, sixteen table-spoonfuls are half a pint.

To test Flour.—Place a little in the palm of the hand, rub gently with the finger; if the flour smooths down, feeling slippery, it is inferior flour and will never make good bread, but if it rubs rough in the palm, feeling like fine sand, and has an orange hue, you may purchase it confidently. It will not disappoint you.

THE END.

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The New York Times,

A journal well known the country over for high literary excellence and correct taste, says:—

“This very handsome volume differs from all collections of ‘elegant extracts,’ parlor books, and the like, which we have seen, in being arranged according to an intelligible and comprehensive plan, in containing selections which nearly cover the entire historical period over which English poetry extends, and in embracing matter suited to every conceivable taste and every variety of feeling and culture. We know of no similar collection in the English language which, in copiousness and felicity of selection and arrangement, can at all compare with it.... The volume is a model of typographical clearness.”

The Albany Evening Journal,

One of the oldest papers and highest literary standards in the country, says:—

“It is undoubtedly ‘the choicest and most complete general collection of poetry yet published.’ It will be deemed sufficient proof of the judicious character of the selections, and of their excellence, that ‘every poem has taken its place in the book only after passing the cultured criticism of Mr. William Cullen Bryant,’ whose portrait constitutes the fitting frontispiece of the volume. The work could have no higher indorsement. Mr. Bryant’s Introduction to the volume is a most beautiful and critical essay on poets and poetry, from the days of ‘the father of English poetry’ to the present time.... No other selection we know of is as varied and complete as this: and it must find its way into every library and household where poetry is read and appreciated.”

This book, supplying a real public need in an admirable manner, has constantly sold so fast that the publishers have had trouble to keep up their stock. It has won an INSTANT AND PERMANENT POPULARITY.

Terms liberal. Agents all like it, and buyers are more than pleased with it. ☞ Send for Circular and Terms to

J. B. FORD & CO., Publishers,
27 Park Place, New York.

BRANCH OFFICES: Boston, 11 Bromfield Street; Chicago, 75 West Washington Street; San Francisco, 339 Kearney Street.

A HOUSEHOLD BOOK.

NINE UNABRIDGED, WORLD-RENOWNED VOLUMES IN ONE.

AGENTS WANTED
FOR THE

Library of Famous Fiction,

EMBRACING THE

Nine Standard Masterpieces of Imaginative Literature

(UNABRIDGED),

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED

With 34 Full-page Engravings; executed by the best Artists in England
and America; with an Illuminated Title-Page, Biographical
Notice of each Author, etc.,—in one Elegant Large
Octavo Volume of nearly 1,100 pages, brilliantly
printed on fine paper, handsomely
and substantially bound.

In their present venture, the publishers congratulate themselves that the matter offered has been endorsed by the approval of the entire reading world for many generations. The remarkable success attending their Library of Poetry and Song, put forth under the auspices of that greatest American poet, William Cullen Bryant, naturally suggested the idea of a corresponding Library of Famous Fiction, to be guaranteed and set before the public by the most popular American writer of fiction known to this day,—Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Thus have been combined the nine great masterpieces of imaginative prose, embodying in a single convenient volume those Famous Fictions which have been admired and loved always, everywhere, and by all classes.

Their number is not large; their names rise spontaneously, and by common consent, in every mind: Pilgrim’s Progress; Robinson Crusoe; The Vicar of Wakefield; Gulliver’s Travels (revised); Paul and Virginia; Picciola; Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia; Undine; Vathek; and a Selection of Tales from the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. As Mrs. Stowe says in her Introduction, “not a single one could be spared from this group, in gathering those volumes of fiction which the world, without dissent, has made classic.”

☞ Sold only by Subscription through our Agents. ☜

TERMS LIBERAL. Send for full description and business circulars, to

J. B. FORD & CO., Publishers,
27 Park Place, New York.

BRANCH OFFICES: Boston, 11 Bromfield Street; Chicago, 75 West Washington Street; San Francisco, 339 Kearney Street.

SOLD ONLY BY AGENTS.

A BOOK FOR EVERYBODY!

The very remarkable success of this book is not strange, although it is having unprecedented sales.

THE LIFE
OF
JESUS THE CHRIST,
BY
HENRY WARD BEECHER.

From the Boston (Mass.) Traveller.

“This work has a deeper purpose to serve than that of mere ornament. It is the product of a life of thought and loving labor in study of the character and life of Jesus, and a remarkably successful career of presenting it to the popular mind in the ministry of the pulpit.

“The demand for this book will be great among the searchers after knowledge, and it will be a standard for Christian homes and libraries. It is destined to exert a tremendous influence, not only in this day and generation, but in all time.”

By the Rev. Joseph P. Thompson, LL. D., from an article in The Independent.

“That which first impresses one in Mr. Beecher’s book is the maturity of the work, both in its conception and in its execution. If any have expected to find in it rhetorical fancies struck out at extemporaneous heat, declamatory statements—‘the spontaneities of all his individual personal life’—projected from some fusing centre of philosophy within, but not welded into logical consistency, they have yet to know Mr. Beecher through this book, as working by method upon a well-ordered scheme of thought, and with a deep philosophic purpose toward one great, overmastering conception. He has neither thrown off his random thoughts nor strung together his best thoughts; but has brought all his powers, in the maturity of their strength, in the richness of their experience, and the largeness of their development, to produce a work that may fitly represent the labors and the results of his life.”

More Agents Wanted.

Intelligent men and women may obtain lucrative employment by taking an agency. Full descriptive Circulars mailed free. Very liberal terms to Canvassers. Apply to

J. B. FORD & CO.,

27 Park Place, New York; 11 Bromfield St., Boston, Mass.; 75 West Washington St., Chicago, Ill.; 339 Kearney St., San Francisco, Cal.

THE

CHRISTIAN UNION

IS AN UNSECTARIAN RELIGIOUS WEEKLY.

HENRY WARD BEECHER,

Editor.

This journal has had a very remarkable success, in two years attaining a circulation surpassing that of any other religious weekly in the world.

WHY IS IT?

Because, First, Henry Ward Beecher is its Editor, and his Editorials, Star Papers, and occasional Literary Reviews and Lecture-Room Talks are sought for by thousands, while the auxiliary editorial labor is in the hands of cultivated journalists; the CONTRIBUTORS being representative men and women of ALL Denominations.

Because, Secondly, ITS FORM, twenty-four pages, large quarto, SECURELY PASTED AT THE BACK AND CUT AT THE EDGES, is so convenient for reading, binding, and preservation, as to be a great and special merit in its favor.

Because, Thirdly, It is called “the most Interesting Religious Paper published,” being quoted from by the press of the entire country more extensively than any other. The critical Nation (N. Y.) says it is “Not only the ablest and best, but also, as we suppose, the most popular of American religious periodicals. At all events it is safe to predict that it will soon have, if it has not already, greater influence than any other religious paper in the country.”

Because, Fourthly, It has something for every Member of the Household: admirable contributed and editorial articles, discussing all timely topics, fresh information on unhackneyed subjects; reliable news of the Church and the world; Market and Financial Reports; an Agricultural Department; excerpts of Public Opinion from the press; careful Book Reviews, with Educational, Literary, Musical, and Art Notes; much matter of a high and pure religious tone; a Household Department; choice Poems; Household Stories; and Chat for the Little Ones.

Because, Fifthly, Every subscriber is presented with

TWO SUPERB OIL CHROMOS,

“WIDE AWAKE” AND “FAST ASLEEP,”

A pair,—no cheap colored prints, but splendid copies of Oil Paintings, by an eminent English artist. The selling price of the pair is ($10) Ten Dollars, at which price thousands have been sold in America, and still are selling and will be sold by the picture trade generally.

Or, if any should prefer it, the subscriber will be presented with our new, large, and

EXQUISITE OLEOGRAPH,
from a charming painting by Lobrichon (one of the most brilliant artists of the Parisian school), entitled

“LITTLE RUNAWAY AND HER PETS.”

The size (14½ × 21½ inches) makes it a very large picture, and it is an admirable and artistic centre-piece for “Wide Awake” and “Fast Asleep,” or a most delicate, attractive, and beautiful work of art in itself.

TERMS.

One Year’s Subscription | (including unmounted Pictures) | $3.00

Do. do.

(including Pictures mounted; the Chromos on card board, or the Oleograph on canvas, sized, varnished, and ready for framing)

3.25

Two do. do. | (including all the Pictures, sized, varnished, etc.) | 5.75
The Christian Union and Plymouth Pulpit mailed for one year to one address (including Chromos as above) for $5.00 or | 5.25

☞ In all cases, ten cents extra must be sent to defray the cost of wrapping and mailing the pictures to the subscriber’s address. ☜

☞ Canvassers allowed liberal Commissions.

An old agent who knows says: “I have never presented anything for sale that met with the approval of the entire reading community as nearly as does Henry Ward Beecher’s CHRISTIAN UNION. Sorry I did not work for it sooner. Think it the best business for canvassers ever offered by any firm, to my knowledge.”

J. B. FORD & CO., Publishers,
27 Park Place, New York City.

BRANCH OFFICES: Boston, 11 Bromfield Street; Chicago, 75 West Washington Street; San Francisco, 339 Kearney Street.

PLYMOUTH PULPIT

Is a weekly pamphlet Publication of Sermons preached by

HENRY WARD BEECHER,

Printed from Mr. T. J. Ellinwood’s careful, verbatim phonographic reports, taken down from the speaker’s lips. This issue is the only regularly authorized edition of them, the one endorsed by Mr. Beecher’s approval as correct, and sanctioned by his authority. It is well printed on good paper, in book form; it is suitable for binding and preservation, and it is cheap, within the reach of all. The publishers have also responded to the demand for a continued insertion of the Prayers before and after the Sermon, as among the most spiritually profitable of Mr. Beecher’s ministrations. Besides this, the Scriptural lesson and hymns sung (Plymouth Collection) are indicated, thus making a complete record of one service of Plymouth Church for each Sunday.

CRITICAL OPINIONS.

BRITISH.

“They are magnificent discourses. I have often taken occasion to say that Beecher is the greatest preacher that ever appeared in the world; this judgment is most soberly considered and most deliberately pronounced; his brilliant fancy, his deep knowledge of human nature, his affluent language, and the many-sidedness of his noble mind, conspire to place him at the head of all Christian speakers.”—Rev. Dr. Parker, in The Pulpit Analyst (Article “Ad Clerum”).

“These corrected Sermons of perhaps the greatest of living preachers,—a man whose heart is as warm and catholic as his abilities are great, and whose Sermons combine fidelity to Scriptural truth, great power, glorious imagination, fervid rhetoric, and vigorous reasoning, with intense human sympathy and robust common sense.”—British Quarterly Review.

“They are without equal among the published sermons of the day. Everywhere we find ourselves in the hands of a man of high and noble impulses, of thorough fearlessness, of broad and generous sympathies, who has consecrated all his wealth of intelligence and heart to the service of preaching the Gospel.”—Literary World, London.

AMERICAN.

“We certainly find in these sermons a great deal which we can conscientiously commend, and that amply justifies the exalted position which their author holds among American preachers. They are worthy of great praise for the freshness, vigor, and earnestness of their style; for the beauty and oftentimes surprising aptness of their illustrations; for the large amount of consolatory and stimulating thought embodied in them, and for the force and skill with which religious considerations are made to bear upon the most common transactions of life.”—Bibliotheca Sacra, Andover, Mass.

“In point of ability and eloquence he has scarcely a rival, while in the magnetism that arises from earnestness and deep, broad, humanity, he is absolutely unrivalled. No preacher of the present age exercises so wide and potent an influence. And he reaches a class that ordinary preachers fail to touch.”—Philadelphia Inquirer.

Mr. Beecher “by his genius, and without any direct effort, has more influence upon the ministerial profession than all the theological seminaries combined. The discourses are rich in all that makes religious literature valuable.”—Chicago Evening Journal.

Vol. I., No. 1, of Plymouth Pulpit was issued September 26, 1868. Each Volume contains twenty-six numbers, being one sermon each week for six months. This gives annually two volumes of nearly five hundred pages each.

TERMS.—Single numbers, ten cents. Yearly Subscription price, $3.00. Half yearly, $1.75. Subscriptions may begin with any number. Back numbers supplied.

CLUB RATES—five copies for $12.00.

THE CHRISTIAN UNION, together with the two charming French Oil Chromos, “Wide Awake” and “Fast Asleep,” ($3.00), and PLYMOUTH PULPIT ($3.00), will be sent to ONE ADDRESS for $5.00.

Postage on Plymouth Pulpit to subscribers in the United States is twenty cents per year, payable quarterly in advance, at the Post-Office to which the pamphlet is sent; and on single copies to England it is four cents.

J. B. FORD & CO., Publishers,
27 Park Place, New York.

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

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Table of Contents

MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS:

PUBLISHERS’ PREFACE.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

PART I. MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.

I. SYSTEM IN WORK.

II. MARCH.

III. SPRING LABOR.

IV. SUNSHINE AND FRESH AIR.

V. HOUSE-CLEANING.

VI. WASHING-DAY.

VII. PUTTING CLOTHES TO SOAK.

VIII. PATIENT CONTINUANCE IN WELL-DOING.

IX. PREPARING FOR THE COUNTRY.

X. HEEDLESSNESS.

XI. WASHING FLANNELS.

XII. JUNE CARES.

XIII. PURE AIR AND THOROUGH VENTILATION.

XIV. MILK AND BUTTER.

XV. MAKING CHEESE.

XVI. A TROUBLESOME QUESTION.

XVII. WOMAN’S KINGDOM.

XVIII. THE KITCHEN.

XIX. HOW MUCH IS A WIFE WORTH?

XX. TEACH LITTLE BOYS TO BE USEFUL.

XXI. BLEACHING, STARCHING, AND REMOVING STAINS.

XXII. TO IRON SHIRTS, VESTS, AND EMBROIDERIES.

XXIII. A TALK ABOUT BEDS.

XXIV. MARKETING.

XXV. TRUST YOUR CHILDREN.

XXVI. WHO INVENTED BREAD?

XXVII. HOW ABOUT THE LITTLE GIRLS?

XXVIII. STEALING SERVANTS.

XXIX. FALL CLEANING.

XXX. FASHIONABLE DRESS.

XXXI. LESSONS BY THE WAYSIDE.

XXXII. PAULINE PRY.

XXXIII. BUY YOUR CAGE BEFORE YOU CATCH YOUR BIRD.

XXXIV. CARE IN SELECTING A HOUSE.

XXXV. VISITING FOR ONE’S OWN CONVENIENCE.

XXXVI. WILL THEY BOARD, OR KEEP HOUSE?

XXXVII. CHOICE OF COLORS IN DRESS.

XXXVIII. HARMONIZING COLORS IN DRESS.

XXXIX. A WORD ABOUT MOTHS.

XL. WINTER BUTTER.

XLI. REPAIRS.

XLII. ACCURATE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES IN COOKING.

XLIII. TEACHING LITTLE GIRLS TO SEW.

XLIV. THE CARE OF POULTRY.

XLV. INSTITUTIONS FOR THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN.

XLVI. GREAT MISTAKES.

XLVII. STUDY TO MAKE HOME ATTRACTIVE.

XLVIII. THE CARE OF COOKING-STOVES AND RANGES.

XLIX. THE OLD WAYS AND THE NEW.

L. A FEW HINTS ON CARVING.

LI. PARENTAL EXAMPLE.

LII. TRUE TASTE MORE EFFECTIVE THAN MONEY.

LIII. COOKING BY STEAM.

LIV. VEGETABLES.

LV. CABBAGE.

LVI. PULSE.

LVII. POT-HERBS AND SALADS.

LVIII. MISTAKES IN COOKING VEGETABLES.

LIX. DIVIDED FAMILY GOVERNMENT.

LX. HOW CAN WE SECURE GOOD SERVANTS?

LXI. THE GUEST-CHAMBER.

LXII. THE CARE OF INFANTS.

LXIII. PERSONAL NEATNESS.

LXIV. ARE HOUSE-PLANTS INJURIOUS TO THE HEALTH?

LXV. BAD BUTTER.

LXVI. OCTOBER.

LXVII. THE SLAVERY OF FASHION.

LXVIII. PICKLING AND PRESERVING.

LXIX. WHAT HAS BECOME OF ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS?

LXX. PROCRASTINATION.

LXXI. THE SUREST REMEDY.

LXXII. A FEW LITTLE THINGS.

LXXIII. PLANNING FOR THE WEEK.

LXXIV. SHOPPING.

LXXV. DUSTING.

LXXVI. A CHAPTER ON SOUPS.

LXXVII. MORE ABOUT SOUPS.

LXXVIII. TESTING CHARACTER.

LXXIX. IF WE KNEW!

LXXX. IN SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOT.

LXXXI. GRUMBLING.

LXXXII. LITTLE FOXES SPOILING THE BELOVED VINE.

LXXXIII. WASTE NOT—WANT NOT.

LXXXIV. MAKING CAKE AND PASTRY.

LXXXV. AS THY DAY SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE.

LXXXVI. WHAT WE KNOW NOT NOW WE SHALL KNOW HEREAFTER.

LXXXVII. UNTIL DEATH DO US PART.

PART II. CHOICE FAMILY RECEIPTS.

- YEAST.

- BREAD.

- BISCUIT.

- BREAKFAST AND TEA CAKES.

- SOUPS.

- FISH.

- MEATS.

- BEEF.

- MUTTON AND LAMB.

- VENISON.

- COOKING IN A “RUMFORD BOILER.”

- VEAL.

- POULTRY AND GAME.

- PORK AND HAM.

- SALADS AND OMELETS.

- EGGS.

- VEGETABLES.

- CAKE.

- GENERAL RULES.

- PIES, PUDDINGS, AND DESSERTS.

- PRESERVES AND JELLIES.

- CHEESE.

- PICKLES.

- MISCELLANEOUS HINTS.

- GLEANINGS.

Transcriber’s Notes

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE