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.