We think the joys and the sorrows, the c_Motherly talks with young housekeepers embracing eighty-seven brief articles on topics of home interest, and about five hundred choice receipts for cooking, etc.

married life are about evenly balanced, and nothing will right all the

wrongs, and bring order out of the confusion of these vexed questions,

so surely as the shelter of a _true home, ruled by the true wife and

mother_.

XVIII.

THE KITCHEN.

UNFORTUNATELY, many ladies have not health or strength sufficient to

take such supervision as will secure a neat and well-arranged kitchen;

and, still more unfortunately, there are many, and we fear the number

is increasing, who have such repugnance to any care save the genteel

arrangement of their parlors, or the fashionable adornment of their

persons, that they shun their kitchens as they would the plague.

They will give occasional directions for some fancy dish, or the

more elaborate details, if preparing for company; and then, if their

husbands attend to the marketing, relieving them from all care, and the

cook and waiter have breakfast, dinner, and tea at the desired time and

in proper shape, they are content. If their parlors and chambers appear

neat and inviting, they ask no questions as to the condition of their

kitchens, and never inquire if the supply of utensils is adequate to

the amount and quality of the labor the cook is expected to perform,

or if they are of a kind to expedite or simplify her work. Indeed,

one would suppose that the kitchen was entirely out of the mistress’s

domains,--a region for which the cook only was responsible. If any are

content to eat what is set before them, “asking no questions,”--not

“for conscience’ sake,” but for the sake of their own indolent

self-indulgence,--that is their _right_, and we would in no wise

interfere with the full enjoyment of it.

But we know there are those who find no bliss in such ignorance, but

prefer to know when and in _what_ their food is prepared, and willingly

accept the care and, it may be, the annoyance which the knowledge

will bring. In many of the most palatial abodes, where comforts and

luxuries of every character abound, little attention is paid to any

comfort or convenience connected with the kitchen. Refusing to provide

_straw_, Pharaoh exacted the _full tale of brick_ from the Israelites

of old; and so some housekeepers exact the most elaborate meals,

without any thought of providing the conveniences which will best

enable the cook to gratify their wishes.

We once watched with a sick child belonging to _the rich_ family of

the town. The furniture, the silver and glass, were of the best. It

was necessary to prepare _wine whey_ for the little sufferer during

the night. The mother, exhausted with much watching and anxiety

for the child, was sleeping, and, unwilling to wake her, we left a

fellow-watcher in charge while we found our way to the kitchen,--if

the miserable room could be called by that name. The floor was made

of loose, rough boards, that sprang up with every step; an old,

dilapidated table, minus one leg, was propped up on the back of a

chair; broken dishes, worn-out saucepans,--in truth, we were at our

wits’ ends to make even the simple _wine whey_ in such utensils as

we found in that strange kitchen, and have often since marvelled by

what skill the excellent dinners and suppers we have partaken at that

house could ever have been manufactured in such a den and with such

“conveniencies.”

Whenever it is possible, a large, airy kitchen should be provided,

with every thing to expedite and simplify the labor, and with every

facility for perfect ventilation,--a most important point. In the homes

of the wealthy there is no reason why the kitchen should not be in all

respects so arranged and furnished that the cook must be inexcusable if

she does not keep it and its belongings in the most perfect order.

But for those who cannot command the means to build and furnish

a kitchen of this kind, the necessity for the greatest neatness

and order in that department is still stronger. The occupants of

second-class houses are often those who must themselves do or overlook

much of the heaviest labor of the family, and therefore have no time

to spend in the doubtful luxury of “clearing-up days.” Such days are

generally _wasted_ days. Those who find them a necessity are mostly a

class who, for five days in the week, never put anything in its proper

place, leaving all in disorder till Saturday. Then everything is hunted

out of its hiding-place, washed, scoured, polished, and put where it

really belongs. The improvement is so striking that one would suppose

the kitchen would never again be a scene of disorder and confusion; but

probably before Monday’s sun has set carelessness and misrule will have

again regained their empire, and taken unto themselves seven spirits

worse, if that be possible, than the first. And thus Saturday’s labor

will have been given in vain. There is not one servant in a hundred

who does not need the watchful eye of a methodical mistress to enforce

the necessity of order and neatness in the kitchen. If it is made and

furnished in the best manner, it should certainly be carefully kept;

but if it be small, inconvenient, and have a meagre supply of utensils,

neatness and order become an imperative necessity.

Jules Gouffe, a famous French cook, says: “The more inconvenient a

kitchen may be, the more need for cleanliness, carefulness, and for

plentiful and good utensils to simplify one’s work. Cleanliness!

Cleanliness!--the great essential in all cooking operations--should, I

maintain, at the risk of being thought over-particular, be written in

large capitals on the door of every kitchen, large or small. A kitchen

may be small, badly arranged and lighted, but it should never, on any

plea, be dirty. Failure in cooking is often attributable to want of

attention to cleanliness. Nothing more than a dirty saucepan is often

sufficient to spoil the effect of a whole dinner. All kitchen utensils

should be examined daily. Saucepans of all kinds cannot be kept too

carefully; they should be washed, scoured with fine sand, and well

rinsed each time they are used. The washing of many things in the same

water should be carefully avoided; the greasiness this engenders adds

much to the labor of cleaning. The brightness and cleanliness of the

outside is very commendable; but the cleanliness of the inside must not

be sacrificed to that.”

What would be Jules Gouffe’s sensations could he look into many of our

kitchens? What would our good housekeepers themselves say--those of

them that are not obliged to do the cooking for their families--if we

should tell them that the pans in which their bread is baked are seldom

washed out and dried, but are, unless thrown into the closet just as

the bread was taken from them, wiped with a wet, greasy dishcloth, and

bread baked in them over and over again, day after day, with no other

cleansing? Said a good lady, “What is the reason that the bottom crust

of my bread always tastes like rancid butter?” Examine your bread-pans,

and you will no doubt find the reason, to your great surprise and

vexation. How often, think you, is your molding-board set away without

being washed after molding bread or rolling pastry, and the dough left

to dry and sour on it, and the next batch molded on the same unwashed

board? “That can’t be possible. I saw it hanging up in the store-room

over the flour-barrel only this morning, and it was clean.” Turn it

over, under side up, before you speak with too much certainty. How

about the flour-sieve? Is it left in the flour-barrel,--thrown in with

the sponge, from the cook’s wet hands, upon it, or a piece of unused

pastry put in it? If so, when the barrel of flour is about half used,

you will find that it has suddenly become sour.

Is it not well to watch over these things daily?

XIX.

HOW MUCH IS A WIFE WORTH?

A FEW weeks since, a party sitting near us in the cars were speaking

of a young man, a wealthy farmer, who had just disturbed his friends

by venturing to marry a poor girl. We judged by the conversation that

he had been well educated, and for wealth and intelligence was quite

looked up to by his townsmen. But he had married for love, not money or

position, and these friends were liberally using friendship’s privilege

to make rather severe remarks about him in his absence.

First, it was _so_ foolish, after his fine education, instead of

entering into one of the “professions,” to return to the homestead, the

quaint old farm-house, and taking the care of his aged parents upon

himself, settle down to a farmer’s life. _So foolish!_

But that was a trivial offence compared to taking a poor girl for a

wife, with nothing but a common, practical education, good health, a

loving heart, and willing hands to recommend her. With his cultivated

and refined tastes, what happiness could he hope for in such

companionship? But then he _would_ be a farmer, and perhaps she would

be all that a farmer’s wife need be.

We have often thought of the tone of this conversation. For what do

men generally marry, and what estimate do they put upon their wives?

How many really good husbands ever realize how large a share of the

prosperity of their home, its comforts and success, they owe to their

wives. The husband earns the money, it may be, but does he ever make an

estimate, a fair business estimate of what it would cost, in dollars

and cents, to _buy_ the care and comforts that he receives through

his wife’s labors, whatever may be their standing in the community?

Particularly is this a pertinent question in regard to a farmer’s wife.

While this subject and the conversation just alluded to were fresh in

mind, we chanced to pick up a stray paper which spoke quite clearly on

some of the points in question. We subjoin a few sentences. They may

not come exactly under the head of “talks with young housekeepers,” but

they certainly belong to the “Household.” Besides, while we are on such

intimate terms with the wife, common courtesy demands that some little

attention should be paid to the husband.

“We will for the present leave out of sight all sentiment, all

reference to the little comforts and felicities that go to make up the

sum of domestic happiness, and come right to the practical question,

‘Does a young woman, who comes to her husband with little or no dowry,

but with willing heart and hands and a fair share of intelligence, who

takes care of him, of his house, and of his family as it increases,

often without any hired help, really earn anything more than her board

and clothing?’

“No man will deny that a good wife is a treasure. Her care and labor

certainly secure him many comforts; but how much would he consider them

worth in dollars and cents? It is a great comfort to a husband to have

his three meals a day properly cooked and prepared at hours that suit

his convenience. He can swallow a dinner in twenty or thirty minutes,

that it has taken most of the wife’s forenoon to prepare. He thinks it

a good dinner; but how high an estimate think you would he put upon the

labor of preparing it, if required to state the worth in money?

“With what astonishment and disgust would he look upon his table if set

with dishes that had not been washed since last used; but how high a

money value would he be willing to put upon the one unromantic item

of washing dishes, which, nevertheless, takes so large a share of a

woman’s time?

“With what satisfaction he puts on the clean, smoothly ironed shirt and

the nicely darned socks! They do not look much like the ones he pulls

off to throw into the wash.

“Some one had to rub pretty smartly to get the dirt all out; some one

strained over the hot flat-irons to make this shirt so glossy; some

one spent an hour, perhaps while he slept, to darn those unsightly

holes in the heels of these stockings. And if a farmer, it was his

wife most probably that did it all; and not this one week only, but

every week, as sure as the week comes round. Now, he does appreciate

cleanliness, notwithstanding his protestations against washing-days and

house-cleaning; but is he willing to own that it is worth anything _in

money_ if done by his wife?

“Then comes the case of the milk and butter. Every day it must be

attended to at the proper time, the cream churned, the butter made

and carefully worked and salted. He is proud that his wife makes good

butter, and quite happy to have customers tell him, ‘Your wife makes

better butter than any one round here.’ But then, are not the cows his?

Does he not furnish the food? does he not milk and take care of them?

Is her part really worth anything in dollars and cents?

“Then, again, her energies are taxed early and late in the care of the

children. She is, of course, an interested party here; but then she

don’t pretend to own but half a share. Is it really worth nothing to

soothe, amuse, correct, teach, and watch over _his_ half of the little

folks as well as her own? This is real brain-work. Where is the man

who will say that this care for their children does not require all

a woman’s wit and wisdom? But if asked to place a pecuniary value

upon this part of a wife’s and mother’s care and labor, to how high a

figure, think you, it would mount?

“A farmer’s wife, who really does her own work, or faithfully oversees

its being done, which is by far the most trying part, has no easy task;

but we would ask for her only what is justly her due. If there is any

standard by which her services can be rightly estimated, we would like

to know it. We wish to know whether there be any surplus in her favor;

whether, when she asks for a few dollars for some purpose not strictly

necessary (a book, for instance), she ought to feel that she is asking

for her husband’s hard-earned means, or whether she has a right to

feel that it is her due? How much must a wife credit to her husband’s

generosity; how much use with a free conscience as her own faithfully

earned portion of their joint labors?”

Young men will do wisely to give this matter a serious thought, lest

they make the mistake of taking a wife’s labor and attentions as a

matter of course, as a right, instead of feeling that in taking his

name, his wife claims, not only an equal right to his cares and labors,

joys and sorrows, but also an equal right to a proper use of the money

which she has done her part to earn or to save. A wife, a farmer’s wife

particularly, has too much toil and perpetual watchfulness to make her

life desirable, if with it all she is to be considered a beggar, a

recipient of charity, instead of a joint partner with her husband in

all that he has.

XX.

TEACH LITTLE BOYS TO BE USEFUL.

HOW often, when anything has been said of teaching little boys to be

useful, have we heard mothers exclaim, “What an idea! Teach _boys_

to be useful! I wish you would tell me how; for of all the restless,

awkward, mischievous, troublesome comforts on the face of the earth,

I do think boys are the most trying. I am sure I love my boys just as

much as I do my girls; but it is so much harder to manage them, to keep

them out of mischief, to know what to do with them. They were vexatious

enough when we were boarding; but now, when, with four children on

my hands, I am but just entering upon my novitiate as a housekeeper,

feeling my way step by step, they fret me woefully. They are under my

feet all the time. Too young to be sent to school more than a few hours

a day, or to be turned out unattended, to play with chance companions,

they hang about me, uneasy, restless, fractious, teasing for something

continually. I often think it would be a comfort could we put them on

a shelf to sleep through the unquiet, turbulent period of childhood,

to wake up full-grown men. My little girls can always find something

to do, but the boys--_make boys useful, indeed!_ It would be a true

benefactor who could teach mothers how to accomplish such a marvellous

thing!”

Well, I notice that you very wisely and skillfully combine instruction

with amusement in your management of your little girls. I watched with

much interest how pleasantly you were teaching them to be useful, while

they found work to be only amusement. “I wonder which of these little

girls would like to run and bring mamma a few apples”; and away, in

great glee, trotted little three-year-old Kitty, with her little basket.

“Would Mary like to help mamma pare this nice red apple? Which, think

you, can make the largest paring without breaking?” How happy the

little lady was to leave her play and make the trial! Why not make the

same effort to amuse and instruct your little boys?

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

try to work?”

Do you not believe they can be taught all this as easily as girls? We

hold that, in a large family, each one, boy or girl, should be taught

to be useful; to help their mother indoors and out, and, above all,

learn to help themselves. This they cannot do if allowed to be idle.

In the city, and in families that depend entirely on hired help, it is

more difficult to train children to be industrious and useful. It is

not well to let the young, imitative little ones be much with servants,

certainly not unless the mother is there also; and all instructions

of a practical nature should be given by her, and practised under her

eye. Wealth is by no means to be despised; but when it is so employed

as to remove all labor from us, or to so free us from care that we

do not teach our children how to make themselves serviceable, it is

no blessing, and may become a curse. Those who have begun life poor,

and worked their way to wealth by real hard labor, forget, when their

children start up around them, how much true, solid pleasure was in

their struggle for this well-earned prosperity, and as they relax their

exertions and begin to feel the enervating effects of wealth, they

remember only the hardship, forgetting the pleasure. Because there is

now no absolute necessity for it, they shrink from permitting their

children to follow in their early footsteps, and so cheat them out of

the strength and independence for which no amount of gold can in any

way compensate.

But we are neglecting the boys. We will give you an example which will

explain somewhat our idea of making children useful, boys and girls

alike.

We remember a large family in which there were seven boys. They were

not _driven_ to work, but from their earliest childhood were, little

by little, trained to understand and do all kinds of _outdoor_ work

pertaining to a large farm; but it was also understood that they

were to lend a helping hand _indoors_ whenever the mother or sisters

needed them. They knew they would only be called in when it was quite

necessary, but very early recognized the importance of knowing how

to do anything that came before them. If the mother or sisters were

sick or absent, they could so far fill up the gap as to keep things

comfortable till health was restored. They could dress the youngest,

make a bed, sweep a room, make a cup of tea or coffee, broil a steak,

or wash the dishes in a very satisfactory manner.

When quite little, not old enough to undertake heavy or rough work,

they were allowed any amount of play, but it was expected that all but

the baby must do something useful, something that was _work_, in the

course of each day. So, little by little, as they trotted about after

mother, they gathered up many things which, in mature life, were of

great value.

The family lived some miles from church, and as it was customary to

have preaching in both morning and afternoon, with Sabbath-school

between services, they took a slight lunch of crackers or gingerbread,

stayed through all, and returned in season for a late dinner and tea

united. Now it was a settled rule that the parents and part of the

children should go to church every Sunday, rain or shine; and the

oldest children, boys and girls, took turns in staying at home to get

dinner and take care of the baby.

They all took great pride in having everything in order, and a good

dinner all ready, when the church-goers returned; and the boys’

housekeeping was as creditable as the girls’. None felt it to be a

hardship; on the contrary, those who were too young to be left in

charge looked forward with great anxiety to the time when they should

be allowed to “take their turn” with the older and more favored ones.

When these boys left home for school or college, a box, with scissors,

needles, thread, and buttons, was always placed in each trunk; and the

lost buttons were replaced and the ever-recurring rents repaired by

their own hands; and with the stitches went many thanks daily to the

wise mother who had taught them to take care of themselves, as well as

be helpful to others.

Now, my dear young housekeeper and anxious mother, do you not think

your little sons would be less restless and fretful, and far more

happy, if you allowed them to “make b’lieve” that they were a most

important help to you, until, by a little patience and indulgence, you

succeeded in making the imaginary help a reality, which would repay

you in later years for all the slight inconvenience and annoyance you

experienced in teaching them, and insure comfort and independence to

your sons, under whatever circumstances they might be placed.

XXI.

BLEACHING, STARCHING, AND REMOVING STAINS.

A YOUNG housekeeper writes us: “Without the least knowledge of domestic

concerns, I passed from the school-room into the position of a farmer’s

wife. Together with other things of which I am ignorant, I need some

minute directions for starching, ironing, removing stains, etc. Any

hints on these points would be very acceptable to me, and I doubt not

to many others. I can now succeed very well in managing the cooking

and butter-making, but am sorely tried about my washing and ironing

sometimes. With cooking and butter-making, my sewing and babies,

I have enough to do, and feel like evading the care or oversight

of the washing and ironing, but cannot. There are so many kinds of

stains,--fruit, tea, and grass stains. Then if the girl succeeds in

doing the washing pretty well, she makes such work with the starching,

and _smuts_ the clothes so badly in ironing, that I am much troubled.

Whether not particular enough in cooking or straining the starch, I

don’t know.”

We judge from this letter that our friend is obliged to depend on

“hired help” for her washing and ironing. We think we can show her how

to succeed as well in this department as she seems to have done in

cooking and butter-making; but whether she can manage to secure the

observance of our directions by the girl in the laundry, is another

and very doubtful question. One of the hardest of the housekeeper’s

trials with the servants of the present day is their unwillingness to

receive any directions or counsels about the mode of doing their work;

yet they seem utterly without any capacity to plan or arrange their

labor for themselves, so that it may be performed in the best and

easiest manner. They will be an hour in doing that which with a little

forethought or method could have been done in one third of the time,

and in no one item of household labor do they manifest their total want

of system so strikingly as in the laundry; yet they will not be taught

a more excellent way.

With regard to stains, which are a grief of heart to all good

housekeepers, it is much surer and less troublesome to remove them when

fresh; and the eye of the mistress must watch over this, or they will

be left to dry, and most likely be overlooked when the washing is done.

Most, if not all, _fruit_ stains can be taken out if stretched over

a dish or pail, and _boiling_ water slowly poured over them. If the

stains have not been allowed to dry long, this will speedily remove

them. But if they have, unfortunately, been put into the wash, the

soapsuds will “set” the stains, and then, when discovered, they should

be dipped in “Javelle water” or “bleaching fluid.” They should remain

in this but a few moments, then be well rubbed and put at once into

the boiler, and, as a general thing, when the article is taken from

the boiler to rinse, the stain will have disappeared. If the stains

from tea or grass are fresh, “Javelle water,” or a little ammonia, will

easily remove them; but in either case, if done before the regular

washing, the article should be well washed and spread on the grass to

bleach and dry. Stains that have been long dried, or washed and boiled

in before they were noticed, are much more difficult to remove. Ink

stains can be taken out of linen as follows:--

Wash the spot in salt and water as soon after the ink is on as you can,

taking care that it is not put into suds before it has been well washed

in the salt and water, and then sponged with lemon-juice, else the soap

will instantly “set” the color, making it almost impossible ever to

remove the ink.

When ink is spilled on the carpet or on woolen goods, if attended to

instantly after the accident, it can be taken out entirely by sweet

milk. First, wipe off carefully all that can be soaked up by a handful

of cotton batting. Then have a dish of sweet milk ready, and dipping

the clean cotton batting in it, wash the spot, changing the batting for

a clean piece as soon as it gets black with the ink; and also get clean

milk, when the first becomes discolored. Continue this till the ink no

longer shows; then take a pad of hot suds and a clean cloth, and wash

as far as the milk has wet; rinse with clean warm water, and rub dry

with a clean cloth. We have never known this to fail.

Ink spots, paint, or grease can be removed from clothing by mixing four

table-spoonfuls of spirits of hartshorn, the same quantity of alcohol,

and one table-spoonful of table salt. Mix it well and apply with a

sponge or brush. Wash off with clear alcohol.

To remove ink stains from colored articles, drop hot tallow on the

spot; then soak and rub it with boiling milk. This will be found

effectual. Of course, the tallow and milk must be afterward washed off,

either with soapsuds or alcohol, else a grease spot will be left.

Your oil-cloth should never be scrubbed with a brush, and on no account

use soapsuds or hot water. It has a bad effect on the paint, and the

cloth will not last as long. After sweeping, wash with soft flannel

and lukewarm or cold water. Let the oil-cloth get thoroughly dry; then

prepare a small bit of bees-wax, softened with a little turpentine,

and rub the cloth well with this preparation, using for that purpose a

soft furniture polishing-brush. This need not be done every week, but

whenever the oil-cloth grows dingy. Cared for in this way, it will last

twice as long as with the ordinary scrubbing, and always look fresh

and new.

A less troublesome way, but not quite so effective, is to wash the

oil-cloth, after sweeping and washing with flannel and warm water, with

sweet skim-milk, and then rub very dry with a clean dry cloth. Wipe

straight one way of the cloth, not round and round, as that will give a

cloudy, unpleasant look to the cloth.

When clothes have become yellow or of a bad color from poor washing or

from lying unused some time, it is well to take them, after boiling,

from the first suds and spread on the grass to bleach, while another

boilerful is being washed. When the second is put on to boil, take

up those that have been bleaching on the grass and rinse faithfully

through two generous rinsing waters; the last water to be blued. Then

pass through the wringer, starching such as need it in hot starch,

unless you prefer to wait till you fold them, and hang up to dry. Then

take the second lot from the boiler, and leave on the grass to bleach,

while you get the coarser articles washed and on to boil. This done,

take up the second, rinse and hang out, and so on till all the white

clothes are on the line.

Most servants object to the bleaching, and they wash all the white

clothes and leave them wrung out in piles in the baskets till all are

washed, before they hang up anything. This is poor work. The clothes

become yellow and streaked by lying in coils as they come from the

wringer, and under such management it is impossible to make them look

clear and white. The sooner they are on the line after passing through

the last rinsing, the clearer the clothes will be, and if well snapped

as they are hung up, and pulled straight and evenly on the line,

one finds compensation for the little extra trouble--and it is very

little--in the greater ease with which they can be folded and ironed.

It is well to bleach clothes while washing, all through the pleasant

weeks of spring, summer, and fall, as it can be so much better done

than in winter. One hour on the clean grass before rinsing is long

enough. It is not well to leave clothes out overnight when it can be

helped, as they are liable to be trampled over by cats and dogs during

the night, or be spotted by the drip of the dew or fogs from the trees

or vines.

For _blueing_ there is nothing better than the “Nuremberg Ultramarine

Blue,” which comes in pretty little balls about the size of a small

cherry, at from fifty to seventy-five cents a box. One box with care,

in a medium-sized family, will last several months. The balls must be

tied into a blueing-bag, and used like common blueing.

A large fire-proof earthen saucepan or one of the yellow-ware pipkins

is better than tin or iron to make starch in; but if these are not to

be found, a tin kettle will do very well, if kept bright and clean, and

never used for any other purpose. When cooking it should be carefully

attended to, and then there is no danger of its scorching.

Two even teaspoonfuls of starch for each shirt, a salt-spoonful of

salt, a piece of sperm or white wax as large as a pea, or, if these are

not to be had, that much lard or butter, is a good rule. Use enough

cold water to wet the starch, so that it can be stirred free from lumps

and beaten perfectly smooth, then pour on boiling water. It is not easy

to give the quantity of water to this amount of starch, as the tastes

vary in regard to the stiffness of collars and bosoms. The starch must

be stirred often, and boil slowly from fifteen to twenty minutes. Skim

and strain while hot into a large wooden bowl or earthen dish; keep

a bag for straining starch, which should never be used for anything

else; but it is safe to keep close watch, or towels, napkins, etc.,

will be used for this purpose instead of the bag. It is not long since

we found one recommended as a _splendid_ laundress straining starch

through a _shirt-sleeve_, which was tied about the wrist with a fine

handkerchief. A good starch-bag was hanging not six feet off. “Never

mind, my lady, I’ll wash it all out.”

If you prefer to starch after the clothes are dried, wet the bosoms,

collars, and wristbands in hot water, wring very dry, and starch while

the cloth is yet warm. Rub the starch in faithfully, wring in a dry

towel to remove all starch that may adhere to the outside, spread the

garments out evenly, rub with a dry cloth, roll up tightly, and let

them remain two or three hours before ironing.

In cold weather it is safe to dampen and fold clothes at night, and

then it is desirable to have the starched clothes ironed first. In

warm weather starched clothes should never be dampened or folded till

morning, as there is danger of the starch becoming sour and mildewing;

and unless there is a cool, airy room to leave them in, it is not safe

to sprinkle and fold anything, for they may mildew in a warm room in a

night.

If any article needs mending, it is well to do it before ironing. When

ironed, fold and press each article neatly, and hang evenly on the

clothes-bars, leaving them there till perfectly dry. Fold shirts so

that the bosoms will not be bent in the drawer. Collars should be kept

in round boxes. Ladies’ undergarments should be folded so as to bring

the sleeves and necks outside. It is no more trouble, and it certainly

is pleasant to have a drawer look neat and attractive when one opens

it. It is what a good old grandmother used to call _sort o’ restful to

look at_. Skirts should be made not much stiffer than new cotton. The

noise of a very stiff skirt when one is walking is not the pleasantest

music. They should be either hung up in a deep wardrobe or folded

together lightly and laid on a broad shelf.

XXII.

TO IRON SHIRTS, VESTS, AND EMBROIDERIES.

SHIRTS cannot be ironed with ease and ironed well without a

bosom-board. It should be made of pine, well seasoned and entirely free

from gum; one and a half inches thick, one foot nine inches long, and

eighteen inches wide; very smooth and straight; rounded on one end, and

rubbed with sand-paper to remove all roughness. The square end must

also be smooth, and with a hole in the middle near the edge, to hang

it up by. Take two or three thicknesses of an old woolen blanket and

cover one side. Stretch it very smooth and tight, and fasten to the

board with tacks. Use the galvanized tacks, so that the clothes will

not be iron-rusted by coming in contact with them. When tacking on the

last side, be sure and draw both thicknesses of blanket very tight, so

that there may be no wrinkles. Over the blanket tack two thicknesses of

Canton flannel, the fleecy side up. Bring the edges of both blanket and

cotton over the sides, so that when nailed you can cut them even with

the other side of the board. Then turn it over and cover the other side

with thick flour paste, and stretch over it a piece of Canton flannel;

when this is quite dry, paste on another, and so on, as each becomes

perfectly dry, till you have four thicknesses of Canton flannel pasted

together on the board; the last one being trimmed so as to lap over

and be tacked on to the side of the board, thus making a neat finish

and covering up all rough edges. The soft side is to iron embroidery,

Marseilles vests, and other figured articles on; the hard side to be

used in giving a polish to shirt-bosoms, collars, etc.

The bosom-board being thus prepared, make cotton covers to slip over

all, fitting as tightly to the board as they can and yet allow of its

being readily removed without tearing. Be careful to have these covers

changed after each week’s use.

A skirt-board should also be kept in every house to iron skirts and

dresses. This must be six feet long, eighteen inches wide at the

bottom, one third narrower at the top, and one and a half inches thick.

The top should be rounded. Cover one side with two or three thicknesses

of an old blanket, as directed for the soft side of the bosom-board;

tack on smoothly; cover the other side with coarse cotton, and nail

over on to the edge of the board, so as to cover the raw edges of

the blanket. Have cotton cases also made for the skirt-boards, to be

changed and washed with each week’s use.

Covers for the holders will also pay for the trouble of making them,

as they insure, as far as possible, against smut on the clothes when

ironing. But to make this _pay_, the housekeeper must be put to the

slight inconvenience of seeing herself that these covers are changed,

and follow up this care by promptly demanding them, when each fresh

washing comes up, to be put away with the other clean things.

The ironing-table should be covered with a thick blanket, doubled, and

that with a cotton sheet. A coarse, thick, gray or white blanket, like

an “army blanket,” may be bought quite cheap; they come on purpose for

“ironing-blankets,” and answer just as well as a better quality.

_Flat-irons_ should be carefully kept from dampness, which soon rusts

them. Leave them standing on the end; they soon spoil if set on the

face. If they become rusty, scour with emery till quite smooth, or, if

past your skill, send to an emery factory and have them ground smooth.

Keep a piece of yellow bees-wax, wrapped in a cloth in the drawer of

your ironing-table, to rub the irons on in case they get coated with

starch. Have a clean cloth at hand to wipe them on before using, each

time you take a fresh one from the stove.

Having our ironing-table, bosom-board, and other implements now all

ready, we will attend to the ironing.

A perfectly clean sheet must be spread over the other ironing-sheet

before commencing to iron the starched clothes. In ironing a shirt,

begin with the binding at the neck; then fold the back in the middle

and iron; then iron the sleeves, and wristbands, if there are

wristbands on the shirt; fold the sleeve in neat plaits and press

them hard after ironing; then iron the plain part of the shirt and

the collar, if on the shirt, ironing the bosom last. Iron the bosom

and collar on the bosom-board; rub the bosom over lightly with a damp

cloth, and iron hard and quickly with a polishing-iron. If you have

none, you should get one if possible. They are found at all hardware

stores. They are rounded instead of being flat, like other irons,

without an edge, and very smooth, so that no mark of the iron is left

on the article ironed. This iron is very convenient to use for caps,

vests, and many small things.

In ironing a shirt-collar, pass the iron rapidly over the wrong side,

then iron the band, lastly the right side of the collar, which should

be well polished, and ironed till perfectly dry.

Gentlemen’s linen or duck pants should be ironed on a pants-board,

prepared like the soft side of a bosom-board, and as nearly the full

length as possible. The pockets must be turned outside before ironing,

that they may leave no crease on the pants. Hang pants to air by the

straps or the waistbands.

In ironing a skirt, slip the skirt-board through by the round

end. Have a clothes-basket or clean sheet on the floor under the

skirt-board, so that the skirt may fall on it as you iron.

Have a large piece of mosquito net over the clothes-bars to protect the

articles already ironed from flies, dust, etc.

Cake-napkins, doilies, or towels that are fringed, must be well snapped

while damp, to leave the fringe smooth and untangled. Some use a

fringe-comb. This is very well occasionally, but we think, if often

used, it tears the fringe, and soon gives a thin, worn-out, ragged look

to the article.

Muslin dresses need to be about as stiff as new muslin, the starch

being strained into the last rinsing water. White gum-arabic added to

the starch is very nice for muslin dresses; they iron easier, and look

newer. Dark muslins must be starched in rice-water or gum-arabic, as

common starch leaves white patches over the dark color after ironing.

Iron, as far as possible, on the wrong side.

To make good rice-starch, boil a pound of rice in four or five quarts

of water; let it boil until perfectly soft, adding boiling water as

fast as it boils out, so as to keep up the same quantity of water all

the time; stir frequently and break it up as much as possible while

boiling. When the rice is as soft as it will boil, pour the whole into

a gallon of water and strain through a thick cloth. It is said that

eighty drops of elixir of vitriol put into three gallons of clear

spring water and one of rice-water, thus prepared, is excellent to set

the color. We have never tried it. Ox gall _we know_ is good to fix the

color in calico or muslin, as well as to cleanse grease and dirt from

woolens. There is nothing better to clean broadcloths, coats, vests,

and pants. Get the butcher to fill a bottle with the gall, and put four

or five spoonfuls into about three quarts of hot soapsuds, and sponge

the garments with it, carefully rubbing every spot. When dirt and spots

are removed, sponge in clear hot water, and hang the garment up by

seams of the arm-holes of coats and vests, and waistbands of pants,

where they will dry quickly. Press on the wrong side when about half

dry. Woolen dresses may be cleaned in the same manner.

XXIII.

A TALK ABOUT BEDS.

AS we look around silently among the many young housekeepers, we think

we hear some of them say, or, if they don’t, they ought to, “I am

ashamed to ask any one into my chambers, for my beds are a perpetual

vexation to me. They look as if tossed up by a whirl-wind; the mattress

laid on unevenly, every inequality as visible as if the occupants had

just risen. The sheets and blankets never find their proper place, and

the pillows are as hard and knotty as if made of cotton batting. I try

to teach my girl how to do the work properly, but unfortunately am too

ignorant myself to speak with authority, and I have no doubt she is

aware of my deficiencies, so my words are idle breath to her.”

If you don’t know how to _tell_ a girl, go to the rooms with her and

_show_ her how you wish the work done. That will be the easiest mode

for you, and more likely to be remembered by the pupil.

“Alas! I don’t know how to make a bed neatly myself. I never attempted

it in my life, until I was married. Ah! if I ever have daughters, they

shall be taught how to care for their own rooms, and make their own

beds neatly, however rich we may become, or however many servants we

may employ.”

That is wise and right. Though riches may relieve one of much hard

labor, they should not enervate, or incapacitate for such an amount of

exercise as is necessary to secure a vigorous muscular development,

and also enable one, in an emergency, to step in and perform with ease

and independence whatever there is to be done. Riches cannot insure us

against a “hitch” in the domestic machinery now and then, and every

girl should be so taught that, in her father’s house or in her own, she

can bring “order out of confusion” by an independent use of her own

hands.

It is, as I have said in an earlier talk, important that once a week,

at least, everything should be removed from the bedsteads in order that

all the dust and lint, which will lodge about them, may be removed, and

occasionally they need a faithful washing, to rid them of the dust and

lint which will settle in the slats, about the joints, springs, and

moldings.

The mattress should be thrown up every morning for a good airing, and

when this is done turn it over, under side up, and then proceed to make

the bed.

Making beds is a very simple thing. Every housekeeper may have

some rules differing from her neighbor in this as well as in every

department of labor; but there are some that are common to all.

Having placed the mattress evenly on the springs or palliasse, beat

it hard to remove lumpy places, and next spread over the under sheet

_right side up_, with the wide hem at the top, and raising up the

mattress with the left hand, fold the sheet smoothly under at the top

and bottom; then fold under at each side, bringing the sheet very tight

and smooth across the mattress. By having a wide hem at the top and

a narrow one at the bottom, there is less danger that by any one’s

carelessness you may some time sleep with that part of the sheet to

your face which the night before covered your feet. Now spread over the

upper sheet, _right side down_; then as you put the finishing touch to

the bed, in turning the upper sheet down on the spread at the top, the

right side of the hem will be outside. In spreading on the upper sheet,

bring it well up to the head of the bed, that you may have a handsome,

generous width to turn down; lay it very smooth and straight, then put

on the blankets, folding both upper sheet and blankets nicely under at

the foot; but bring them only so far up at the head as will cover the

shoulders, and not turn down doubled across them.

The bed-spread comes next. It should be put on very evenly, the middle

fold of the spread coming just in the middle of the bed, drawing it up

toward the head about as high as the upper sheet, a full foot above

the blankets. Now lift the top of the blankets with one hand and fold

the spread smoothly under them, on one side of the bed, then pass to

the other side and proceed in like manner. By this mode, the spread

will prevent you from being annoyed with the rough blankets, should the

sheet get misplaced during the night. This done, turn the upper sheet

down over all, drawing it as smoothly as possible, and tuck all down at

the sides, between the bedstead and the mattress. When tucking under

the last side, draw the spread, blankets, and upper sheet as taut and

straight as possible, giving the sides of the bed as even and true a

line as you can. Now put on the _sheet tidy_, if you use them; and they

are desirable, even if made of cotton, and perfectly plain, as after

one night’s use the upper sheet becomes wrinkled and tumbled, and the

bed cannot be made to look as neat as one could wish. Then lay on the

bolster, well beaten up, in its clean, white case, placing the pillows,

which have also been faithfully beaten, above all, and dress them with

tidies, to match the sheet tidy.

Some prefer to have the bolster put on beneath the under-sheet, in

which case the sheet is drawn so high up as to allow plenty of room to

fold under the lower side of the bolster, before turning under the head

of the mattress.

A bed thus made will be smooth and level on the top, without a wrinkle,

and as square and straight at the sides as if boxed in wood.

This is all so very simple, after one becomes accustomed to it,

that the old ladies, who have all the mysteries of housekeeping as

familiar and entirely at their command as the alphabet, will shake

their heads and vote this a very stupid waste of time and space; but

they have forgotten how acceptable minute directions were in their

young days. So we will encourage ourselves by hoping that some tired

young housekeeper, who has groaned over ill-made beds, may find a few

crumbs of comfort here, which will remove a part, at least, of her many

annoyances.

XXIV.

MARKETING.

IT is very important that every lady should understand how to select

and purchase such stores as may be needed in her family. This knowledge

must be acquired in girlhood. Mothers should allow their daughters

to accompany them occasionally in their market expeditions, quietly

explaining, as they pass from one stall to another examining the

various articles needed, their reasons for rejecting or purchasing. We

are all inclined to put off, from day to day, this part of our domestic

instructions which our daughters greatly need; “we are too busy,” “in a

great hurry,” and “can’t be hindered,” by answering the thousand whys

and wherefores with which young children follow us. It is, to be sure,

something of an annoyance, but very trifling compared with the pleasure

our daughters will take in going with us through our daily rounds, if

we begin this training while they are small. Let them occasionally make

a few purchases themselves; give them their choice from among certain

unimportant articles, and then explain the rule by which they will know

how to select the best or reject the imperfect. Such lessons must begin

early, or, ere we are aware, our little girl has discarded her dolls

and stands by our side, a lovely woman; and before we realize this

bewildering change the voice of the charmer has awaked another love in

her heart, for which she leaves father and mother for a new home and

new cares. Happy for us, if we have so taught her that this new yoke

shall be easy and these new burdens light.

In marketing, we would not advise roaming from one store or market to

another, after one has become sufficiently acquainted in a city or

village to have a correct idea of the quality of the produce and the

character of the vender. Until this knowledge is well acquired, it

is important for one’s own security to make trial of many; but when

well assured that you have gained a fair estimate of both quality and

character, it is, we think, better to make most of the purchases at one

place. The grocer, butcher, fish and poultry dealer will take greater

interest in faithfully serving a regular customer, at reasonable rates,

than one who may not buy of him again for weeks; and it certainly is a

greater saving of time and trouble to purchase of one than of many. If

they cannot supply your present needs, it is for their interest to send

out and procure what you want; and we think they generally do this with

pleasure, and with a hearty wish to give you the best.

In buying _Beef_, remember that ox beef is the best. The animal should

be five or six years old before it is killed, if you would have the

best beef. If well fed it will be fine grained; the lean should be of

a bright red color, and well mingled with fat. If there is not a good

quantity of fat running through it, the beef will be tough and not

well flavored. The fat should be a rich clear white, just tinged with

yellow, and firm, and the suet also. Heifer or cow beef is paler than

ox beef, firmer grained, the fat a clear white, and the bones smaller,

but it is not as rich or juicy. When the animal is too old or badly

fed, it is of a dark red, the fat skinny and tough, and in very old

beef a horny substance will be found running through the ribs. When it

is pressed, if the meat rises quickly from the finger it is good; but

if the finger-dent rises slowly or not at all, do not buy it; it is

poor meat. The sirloin and the middle ribs are the best for roasting.

If you buy a sirloin, have it cut from the “chump end,” which has a

good undercut or fillet. The rump is often preferred by epicures, but

being too large to roast whole, a roast is usually cut from what is

called the “chump end.” Porter-house steak is the best for broiling,

but not the most economical. One rib is too small for baking; it dries

in cooking, and is not good economy, unless you take out the bone, roll

the meat and stuff it, when it makes a nice dish for a small family.

_Veal_ should be small and white, the kidney well covered with fat.

If the calf is over ten weeks old the meat will be coarse. The flesh

should be dry and white. If coarse-grained, moist, and clammy, have

nothing to do with it. The fillet, loin, and shoulder are the best

for roasting. The breast, well cut and jointed, makes a fine stew or

pot-pie, and is better economy than when baked or roasted. Veal is

excellent to make “stock” for soups; the knuckle or the poorer parts of

the neck are just as good for soup as the more expensive parts.

_Mutton_ should be dark colored, and have plenty of fat. The color

determines the age, and age is considered a mark of excellence in

mutton. It should be five or six years old to satisfy a lover of

mutton. All the joints may be roasted but the saddle, and next to that,

the haunch; the leg and loin undivided are the best; chops are cut from

the loin, cutlets from the leg, the best end of the neck, or thick end

of the loin. The leg and neck are often boiled.

_Lamb_ should be small, pale red, and fat. It is best roasted. The leg,

when the lamb attains a good size, is excellent boiled.

_Pork_ should never be bought except from a butcher whose honesty you

are sure of, and who knows where the pork was fattened. It is not

a very healthful meat at the best, and none should be used unless

corn-fed. There is much bad or diseased pork sold, and it is very

dangerous food. If the flesh feels flabby or clammy to the touch, it is

not good, and should not on any account be used. If there are kernels

in the fat, let it alone. The fat should be hard, the lean white and

fine in the grain, and the rind thin and smooth.

As soon as your meat of any kind is brought home from the butcher’s,

wipe it with a clean dry cloth. If in summer you find any “fly-blows,”

which is very common, cut them out at once, and no harm will be done.

In the loins a long pipe runs by the bone; that should be taken out

immediately, or in a few hours it will taint and spoil the whole joint.

If the meat is not to be used at once, dredge it with pepper. Powdered

charcoal dusted over meat will help to keep it sweet, or will remove

any taint already begun. It is wise to keep charcoal on hand during

warm weather; it is wonderfully efficacious in preserving meat, and,

if dusted over it while hanging, it can all be washed off when you

are ready to cook it. Most meat is more tender and easily digested

if kept hanging some time, and charcoal is a great and reliable aid

in preserving it. Lamb and veal cannot be kept as safely as beef and

mutton.

In choosing _Fowls_, bear in mind that the male bird, if young, will

have a smooth leg and a short spur, eyes bright and full, feet supple.

The hen may be judged by the same signs, and if these are not found, be

sure the birds are stale and old.

Ducks, geese, and pigeons should have pliable feet; if stiff, they are

old. In all the vent should be firm; if discolored or flabby, they are

stale. This last sign should be remembered in judging of all poultry or

game.

The eyes of _Fish_ should be bright, the gills clear red, body stiff,

and smell not unpleasant,--or rather, not stale, for we imagine that

fish can never be of a pleasant smell, however palatable it may be to

the taste.

As far as possible, buy all stores by the quantity; if nothing else,

you save the weight of paper, no small item in the course of a year;

but there is always some reduction when an article is purchased at

wholesale. You save the retail commission, if nothing more.

In warm weather, meats, of course, cannot be bought in large

quantities, unless for a large family who are in possession of a good

ice-house. Rice, tapioca, raisins, etc., are an exception to this

rule, for they should never be bought in large quantities, except for

boarding-houses or hotels, as they are very easily filled with insects.

A store-room should be very dry, and supplied with a good number of

shelves and drawers for stores of all kinds. A thick slab should be

placed across from one end to the other, so high that nothing suspended

from it will hit the head in passing through it. In this it is well

to have some strong hooks to hang hams, dried beef, tongues, baskets,

etc. A neat step-ladder should be kept in one corner, by which you can

easily reach whatever is needed. These hooks are a great convenience,

not only to put away your marketing, but so many things keep better

for being suspended where there can be free circulation of air; and

a store-room must be well ventilated. Eggs keep well hung up in a

basket, or in _nets_ made for that purpose. Buy your lemons in June

and July, when freshest, cheapest, and most plentiful, by the box, and

suspend them on these hooks in nets, and they will keep all summer.

XXV.

TRUST YOUR CHILDREN.

THERE is no lesson that so well repays the teacher as that by which

children are taught to feel that they are _trusted_; that father and

mother commit matters of importance to their care, with confidence that

they will not disappoint them. Begin this teaching while the child is

yet young. Of course you must gauge the importance of the trust by the

age of the child, taking care that you do not tax the little one beyond

its capacity, but being just as careful to have it understand that you

are in earnest. It is a great event in a child’s life when it first

feels that you look to it with loving confidence for the performance

of certain duties that you have trusted to its honor. The feeling of

responsibility which comes with this knowledge awakens self-respect,

and the care and faithfulness which the youngest sees must be necessary

to the satisfactory execution of the work will be good seed sown, which

in after years will bear fruit, amply repaying all the trouble it cost

to prepare the soil for its reception. That such teaching is not the

easiest duty one can accept, every mother knows full well, and would

much prefer to do the work herself, if conscience permitted, than be

subjected to the tediousness and annoyance of drilling a child to do

it. But this is a mother’s mission, which it is not wise to delegate to

another.

When a child has been repeatedly shown precisely how to do certain

things, begin to leave these little _chores_ for it to do alone when

you are not near. Let it be something trivial at first, of course. Say

to the little two-year-old, “Mamma must go out for a little while. I

am sorry to leave the nursery in such disorder; but Eddie is such a

helpful little man, he will put all the blocks and ‘Noah’s Ark’ up just

as I like to see them; and little Kitty, too, knows how I wish her to

fold the doll’s clothes and lay them in the drawer, when her play is

over; I am sure this room will look very nice when I return.”

If this kindly training is begun early, do you not know how proud

and happy these miniature men and women will feel when this work is

intrusted to their care,--a token of mother’s confidence in their

ability? Of course, it may be necessary to be a little _short-sighted_

when you return, and pass over for the time some few items that

will bear improvement; but let these wait. Appear pleased--_be

pleased_--with their efforts; give as much sweet praise as is

judicious, to gladden their little hearts. It will be time enough when

the next trial is made to say, “I think I would fold this little dress

so,” or, “Put those books here.” Gentle hints, interspersed with all

possible approval, will fix the lesson, so that you can soon feel safe

to put the play-room almost wholly in the care of quite young children,

except the sweeping or other work beyond their strength. But these

lessons, as we said before, must begin early, else the child will learn

to prefer being waited upon to doing the work itself.

As your child can bear it, add year by year to the trust and

responsibility. Accept the labor as a love-offering to save your time

and strength, and it will not be long before willing hands and happy

hearts will really lighten your labors, and save you many weary steps,

while at the same time they are learning a lesson that will do them

good through life. Vary the teaching, by sending the child, by and

by, out to do a little shopping,--some small thing, but such as will

call for the exercise of taste and a little judgment; nothing of much

importance, so that, should there chance to be a slight mistake, no

great harm will follow; yet so much that the child, by thus learning to

judge and discriminate in small things, will be preparing for greater

ones.

An expedition of this kind stands out among the brightest of our

childhood memories. It was in a season of severe sickness both at home

and in the vicinity. Our mother was ill, the older children either on

the sick list or absent. It was quite necessary to send to the _shire

town_, twelve miles distant, where, in those “long-ago” days, the most

important shopping was done, and the foreign groceries purchased.

Father had his buggy at the door just ready to start on this tour,

and was making a list of the last items, and directions from mother,

when he was summoned in great haste to a patient. Here was a dilemma!

The purchases _must_ be made; the patient _must_ be cared for. What

was to be done? We were sitting in the south hall-door, playing with

the baby, so near to the sick-room that we could not help hearing the

consultation. Father must go to his patient; but who was to go for

the articles so greatly needed? The “tailoress” would be on hand in

the morning, and the cloth must be had for her work; a tailoress was

an important character in those days, and if we lost _our turn_ there

would be weeks to wait before we could secure her again. That would

never do, for “the boys” must soon return to school, and their clothes

be ready, anyhow. What could be done? We heard the hurried talk, with

a kind of dreamy wonder as to how they would settle the troublesome

question; but, as one who could have no personal interest in the

solution, went on with our frolic with baby, when mother said, “Write

out a list, with full directions, and send E----.”

What a bound our heart gave! We nearly dropped the baby. _We_, not

twelve years old; and mother thought we could be trusted to do such a

big thing! We felt a half-head taller only to think that mother--bless

her!--thought us capable of it. Whether it was decided that we should

go or not was, just then, quite a secondary consideration, yet we were

“all ears” to catch father’s reply: “Send that child! What does she

know of buying anything? And this is a very important errand.”

Ah! here our heart collapsed; we didn’t quite want to go,--the work

seemed so great,--but we did want father to think us as trustworthy and

capable as mother did.

“If you think it safe for her to drive alone so far, I think you

may trust her to do the errand well, with suitable directions. The

merchants and grocers are old friends, and will not take advantage of

the child.”

“Well, it is the only thing we can do,” said father, with an anxious,

dissatisfied tone, and this great responsibility was committed to our

care.

How much we thought in that long twelve-miles ride to the town! What

anxious thoughts on the return ride, fearing that we had forgotten

something, or made some ill-advised purchase; but under it all there

was a dull pain to remember that father didn’t quite trust us, which

did not leave us until, safe at home, all the purchases laid out and

examined, he drew us to his knee, close by mother’s sick-bed, and

kissed us, with, “Well done, my brave girl! Hasn’t she done well,

mother?”

How much good that day’s work did us, giving us courage when duties

seemed too hard for us, we can never estimate; but the most precious

of all was our mother’s trust and father’s approbation. It is only by

love and gentleness that a child can be taught to find real enjoyment

in later or important cares. Exact it as a duty; sternly command,

watch, with constant suspicion and fault-finding, and labor is a

drudgery, and cares of any kind a terror to the young. The child either

becomes stubborn, or, if timid and loving, is so nervously fearful

of being blamed, that this very fear insures the dreaded results.

Ah, if young mothers could know how many hours of self-reproach the

grandmothers pass as they look to the time when their little ones were

around them, and see, too late, how many mistakes they made simply by

their own impatience, over-strictness, and want of confidence in their

children’s good intention and desire to do right, it might save them

from much regret, and their children from many temptations. But each

one must have an experience of her own. When young, we seldom are ready

to profit by the experience of the old, or think them of much more

importance than “old wives’ fables,” but when, after many mistakes, we

arrive at middle age, we are able to estimate their value.

XXVI.

WHO INVENTED BREAD?

AMONG the countless varieties of food, bread, in some form or other,

has been almost universally recognized as “the staff of life.” When it

became so truly a necessity, or who was the happy inventor, we know

not. How far before the creation wise men have pushed their researches

and discoveries, we have not the skill to ascertain. The first mention

of bread we remember is in the third chapter of Genesis, when Adam was

driven from Paradise and compelled “in the sweat of his face to eat

bread,” “because he hearkened to the voice of his wife.” Many of his

sons have, since their forefathers’ time, regained Paradise, because

they _did_ listen to their wives’ counsels. We wonder if men do not

sometimes forget this, and cherish a little spiteful vindictiveness,

because through the first mother their prototype fell, and he had to

“work for his living.” Perhaps it is this memory which makes them

so restive under the present efforts for a recognition of a broader

platform for “women’s rights.” How silly, brethren! Let bygones be

bygones. Did not the curse fall heavier on us for our first mother’s

folly, than on you for Adam’s very ready participation in it? Don’t

bear malice! Help us up,--not above you, for we do not belong there,

but close by your side,--where we may do good to you, as you do good to

us. If Adam had not been off on a council committee, public dinner, or

at a club house, but working and caring for his farm in Eden with his

wife, we don’t believe Eve would have been tempted, or, being tempted,

would have eaten that miserable apple. But we shall never learn how

bread was invented if we linger.

“Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.” The

production of grain for food has always been recognized as the sign of

an advanced stage of civilization. Like most of the early traces of

progress, the time when grain first began to be transformed into bread

is quite obscure. For a long period the grain was eaten, when green,

either raw, boiled, or roasted. The Greeks usually deified every new

thing. Ceres was supposed to have first brought husbandry into some

regular system; therefore they at once constituted her the goddess of

Agriculture; and Pan, according to their belief, invented bread, and

was forthwith exalted into a god; but long before Ceres or Pan were

worshipped, the Egyptians cultivated the earth and made bread from the

grain.

When the angels appeared on the plains of Mamre and foretold the birth

of a son, in Abraham’s old age, he hastened into a tent and said to

Sarah, “Make ready quickly three measures of meal, knead it, and make

cakes upon the hearth.”

Many modes of preparing grain, either in cakes or bread, are seen in

the paintings discovered in the tombs of the Egyptians; but doubtless

for many years the chief food was fish, flesh, or fruit. The Indians

used a kind of wild corn, when driven to it by the scarcity of game,

or if unsuccessful in hunting; but they never attempted to cultivate

it. They boiled it when green, or baked it on hot stones, or roasted it

by their fires, as we do the cultivated Indian-corn. Maize or Turkish

wheat and a kind of millet are still used, unground, among the poorer

classes in Egypt, boiled in milk or water, or roasted.

At a later period, rude stones were made to separate the husks from the

kernel; and not long since, it may be even now, in the remote parts

of Scotland, a large block of hard wood was dug out smoothly, and

after the grain had been well dried, the barley or oats was beaten in

it till the husk was removed. When sufficiently broken or bruised to

loosen the hull, it was scooped up into the hand, little by little, and

blown gently with the mouth to remove all the husk, and then made into

pottage or porridge. It now seems a small thing to have all our grain

ground and sifted by machinery worked by steam; but how tedious must

have been the ancient process! The _quern_ used in Scotland to remove

the husk and prepare the barley for use is supposed to have found its

way thither through the Romans, who always carried hand-mills in their

marches or raids upon other nations. It is very simple, and perhaps the

first kind of corn mill on record. “The quern was made of two stones,”

says Dr. Johnson, “a foot and a half in diameter; the lower stone a

little convex; to which the concavity of the upper stone was fitted. In

the middle of the upper one was a round hole, and on one side a long

handle. The grinder gradually shred the corn into this hole with one

hand, and worked the handle with the other. Thus the corn slid down

into the hollow of the lower stone, and by the motion of the upper was

ground in the passage.” The quern acts so much on the principle of our

mill-stones that our mills might be called querns, built on a larger

scale, and run by steam or machinery. The meal thus ground was made

into pottage or porridge, being boiled in milk or water, or “brose”

when it was roasted, and boiled up in water in which salt meat had been

cooked.

Who first conceived the idea of using yeast or leaven, or making bread

by any process of fermentation, or at what period it was first so made,

we do not learn. We know that the Israelites made leavened bread; so

did the Egyptians and Grecians; but who first invented yeast or leaven?

The Romans, it is thought, learned the art of bread-making, with many

other valuable lessons, during their war with Perseus, king of Macedon.

On the return of their armies from these wars, they brought Grecian

bakers with them into Italy. This was two hundred years before the

Christian era. Bakers were highly esteemed, and during the reign of

Augustus there were three hundred and twenty-nine public bake-houses in

Rome, chiefly under the management of Greeks, who were for many years

the only ones who could make good bread. They enjoyed many privileges,

and were put in charge of the public granaries.

The making of fermented bread then gradually found its way into Gaul;

but it was a long time before it was known in Northern Europe. In

the middle of the sixteenth century, unfermented cakes were the only

bread known in Sweden or Norway. It was not till near the end of the

sixteenth century that the use of yeast was much known in Northern

Europe. About that period yeast from Flanders was brought into Paris

as a substitute for leaven. This change greatly improved the bread; but

in 1688 the College of Physicians declared that bread made from yeast

was very injurious, and the government forbade its being used. But the

shrewd Flemish people put up yeast in sacks to allow the liquid part to

filter through, and privately sent it to Paris. The excellence of the

bread thus made became so evident, that the College of Physicians and

their wisdom were forgotten, and the government’s prohibition quietly

allowed to sink into oblivion. Very soon this new and improved method

of preparing bread extended into other countries.

Leaven is flour and water mixed to a paste and set in a warm

place--from 70° to 80°--till it ferments, first passing into the vinous

and then to the acetous state. Bread made from leaven differs from

that made from yeast by almost always having an acid taste. A piece of

dough, from well-raised bread, set aside on ice or in a cool place, and

worked into the next batch to be made, gives the best mode of making

leaven; and by working a little soda into it before setting the sponge,

will make very fine bread, without the acidity common to leavened

bread, if managed with care.

Wheat bread is now common in most countries. The best and whitest is

made from the flour of the first grinding. _Gluten_ is a very important

part of flour, and it is that which gives wheat the superiority over

all other grains, it being found only in small quantities in any other.

It is the gluten which helps to form the adhesive paste essential to

secure fermentation. It is common in the animal kingdom, but rare in

the vegetable, and therefore is sometimes called the _vegeto-animal

principle_. The more gluten the better and more nutritious the flour.

The loss of this principle, by sprouting, mildew, etc., destroys the

adhesive power so necessary to making good bread. The best qualities

of flour take up the largest quantity of moisture; the amount which

can be absorbed depends on the quantity of gluten. In dry weather,

flour requires more moisture than in wet, and long and faithful

kneading will add to the power of absorption, without making the bread

too thin. Common salt and alum are often used to give poor flour the

tenderness and whiteness of good brands. A little salt is good, but too

much is injurious, both to the bread and to the health,--alum still

more injurious. Liebig recommends lime-water in bread-making. A quarter

of a pound of slacked lime to a gallon of pure rain or distilled water,

kept in closely stopped bottles; two and a half pints of the lime-water

to nine pounds of flour, he says, will make a sweet, fine-grained,

elastic bread of exquisite flavor. The lime-water to be mixed with

the flour before the yeast is added. Of course, it will not be enough

moisture for that amount of flour, and as much more water is added as

is needed. Liebig claims that the lime will give the wheat a larger

amount of bone-making element, and therefore be more nutritious.

Rice flour, or potatoes combined with flour, help to take up moisture,

and keep bread from drying. Rye flour makes a dark-colored bread, but

is sweet and palatable, retaining moisture longer than wheat. Indian

meal, mixed with rye, and a spoonful or two of molasses added with

the yeast, makes the New England brown bread; but to have that in

perfection it should be baked in a brick oven, and remain all night;

then, warm and fresh for breakfast, it is unrivalled.

Graham bread is made from unbolted wheat, the bran not separated from

the flour. The coarse meal swells more in rising, and should not be

made so stiff as fine flour. It sours more quickly, requires a hotter

oven, and longer time to bake. Much kneading is essential to cement

together the starch, sugar, albumen, and gluten found in wheat. It is

not easy to knead bread sufficiently for a satisfactory result. Many

machines for this purpose have been invented, but we have yet to see

one that can be as fully depended upon as a strong arm and a skillful

hand. The _hand_ only can decide truly when every lump is dissolved,

and suitable combinations made. When the dough springs under the

touch, instead of clinging to the fingers, when the fist bears its

full impression in the dough, and none adheres to the hand, the cook

may cease from the labor. This labor may be lightened by pounding and

chopping at intervals, and with much benefit; but the hand is the chief

dependence.

If the yeast is bitter, pour on water, and let it stand a few hours;

then drain it off, and use the thick part which has settled at the

bottom. The water will absorb the bitterness, unless it is from age,

and not because of too many hops. In this case, a piece of charcoal

heated through, but not so hot as to kill the yeast, thrown into the

yeast jar, will correct it; but we should prefer to throw away the

yeast, and make new.

When all the rules for making good bread have been faithfully followed,

all will fail if not properly baked. We think nothing has yet been

found that is equal to the brick oven; but in whatever oven you bake,

one rule is common to all,--see that the heat is just right; from 350°

to 400° is the proper range for bread. If fresh flour or meal is thrown

on the bottom of the oven, and turns a clear brown at once, it is

right; if it becomes black the oven is too hot.

We have been greatly indebted to Webster’s “Encyclopædia of Domestic

Economy,” and Professor Youmans’ “Handbook of Domestic Science,” for

our information on bread.

XXVII.

HOW ABOUT THE LITTLE GIRLS?

“A SHORT time since you advocated ‘teaching little boys to be useful’

by training them to do, indoors or out, whatever, for the time being,

lay within the compass of their strength and ability. But now we wish

to ask, How about _little girls_? The boys say it isn’t fair to call

upon them to perform ‘girls’ work,’ unless the girls are made to

reciprocate the favor, and are willing to take their turn in doing

‘boys’ work’ when necessary.”

Bless your little hearts, dear boys! Who objects to that? Not the

little girls, certainly. Isn’t it just what many of the _big girls_ are

seeking to do, and the _big boys_--“children of a larger growth” than

you, my little man--are striving to prevent? Where is the girl, unless

she has by fashion and conventionalities been unnaturally biassed,

who would not gladly, once in a while, exchange sewing, sweeping,

and dusting for a run out into the free air and glad sunshine, to

take your place, and do your work,--feed the chickens, weed in the

garden, hoe the corn, milk the cows, or rake the hay,--though modern

improvements have of late cheated them of half such pleasures? Anything

that little boys can do, little girls would think “such fun,” if they

might occasionally have the privilege of doing it,--country girls,

we mean,--God help those whose home is in the city! There are so few

pleasures there that the young can enjoy in the open air. To walk on

hard, cold sidewalks, dressed like little ballet-dancers, or ride over

the rough pavements, with no free, untrammeled movement, or through the

dirty streets, with their vile, impure smells, can give no such joys

as our country damsels, with their larger inheritance and more abundant

blessings, are in daily possession of. There is nothing equal to the

pleasure our little folks may find, in any kind of outdoor employment,

that is suited to their age and strength. These simple labors prepare

them for larger and more important duties, and the knowledge will

bring abiding comfort and self-reliance as they advance in age and

intelligence.

“Will not such work make girls coarse, romping, and hoydenish? Rough,

noisy boys are bad enough; would you have our girls become like them?”

Is it the outdoor work that makes them so? Is it not rather the

overflow of animal spirits that can find no way of escape but by

boisterous, wild action? It is not very agreeable to the old and staid,

to be sure, and it certainly is less annoying outdoors than in; yet it

promotes health, and is only what we all did, or longed to do, in our

youth. Age will soon tame the wild spirits, or restrain a too exuberant

overflow, and nothing keeps them in check like pleasant labor. There

are, to be sure, sometimes unfortunate associations with really coarse,

rude natures, which are very objectionable. We would never allow girls

or boys to come under such influence if we could help it; but that

evil is to be found in every position,--as often in the house as in

the field,--and if not inherent in your child’s own character, the

influence will soon be discarded, the dross be separated, and the purer

nature rise dominant. You must go out of the world to insure safety

from such contact.

“But country girls are not often ladylike and graceful; and work

outdoors will tend to make them still more awkward. I couldn’t endure

to see my little girl brought up under such influences.”

We have never found in the city more graceful, ladylike, intelligent,

pure-minded girls than we have seen in the country; but we have

sometimes noticed that those who live nearest to the city, or

have spent much time there, too often acquire artificial habits,

affectation, coquetry, loud, bold speech, or a fondness for dress, too

stylish for a truly modest girl’s adorning, that is seldom seen in

real country life. We do not think that any kind or amount of labor

will make one less modest or ladylike. We believe that our girls

should know how to do, with their own hands, everything that they have

strength for, and thereby secure and establish vigor and capacity

for duties that, in after years, may fall to their lot. We do not

mean that outdoor labor should be their habitual employment. We wish

them to have the actual knowledge; but the heavier work, which more

appropriately belongs to boys and men, should be undertaken by girls

and women only on an emergency. Then love or will, or both united, can

make woman strong to do the hardest work, if she has the knowledge,

while the necessity lasts. It is because such calls may be made on

every one all through life, that we would have each one secure the

knowledge early; but in extreme cases, the overstrain on a woman’s

physical life, if long continued, will compel the payment of large

interest in later years, and therefore should be undertaken through

necessity only. God has not organized man and woman alike, physically;

nor, do we believe, mentally either. We hasten to add, lest we should

be arraigned for heresy, that we do not say they are not _equal_, but

only _different_; the question of equality we wait for their own works

to answer. Woman has sweeter, tenderer, dearer duties, demanding an

organization distinct from that which fits man for his rougher, harder,

more extended, more public, but not more noble work. We hear of women

who have cut down their timber, built their walls, ploughed their

fields, or done the blacksmithing for the neighborhood with their own

hands, from choice,--a kind of work which we could not do, and would

not if we could, unless driven to it by some pressing necessity; but

we should like to store up the knowledge how to do it against the time

of need. Still, we need not object if others take pleasure in it. Yet

will not their own bodies, when they leave youth behind and go down to

middle age, bear witness against the unnatural strain which they have

been subjected to? Those whose office it is “to replenish the earth”

cannot make these violent drafts upon their system with impunity. It is

not for a regular, daily occupation that we would desire to have girls

taught how to do their brothers’ work as well as their own, though

much that pertains to that will always be pleasant and attractive, and

light work in the open air will always furnish healthy exercise for

our girls; but we want to see every member of the family so educated

that there may never occur a vacancy about the home that some one, girl

or boy, man or woman, is not able and willing to step into and fill

satisfactorily. To this end, faithfully teach your little ones, girls

or boys, to put their hands to any work that is necessary.

“Next you will tell us to let our girls saw and split wood, milk the

cows, harness and unharness the horse, etc.”

Yes. Why not? They should know how to do all this, and do it well; and

try it often enough to feel at ease and without fear in the effort, and

that will be sufficient for the present. But suppose in a few years

your daughter marries, and goes from you to some distant settlement

where neighbors are scarce and “help” uncertain. Girls of wealth and

refinement have done such things. Let the monotony of frontier life

be occasionally enlivened by a real attack of chills and fever in

which all take a part. When husband and “help,” if your daughter is

so fortunate as to secure any, take their turn in _shaking_, will not

the wife look back to the time when brother Will and she had their

miniature saws and hatchets, and made much sport in preparing the

kindlings? Won’t she see that the knowledge how to do this, which was

simply amusement then, has been stored up for real service now? She

little thought when grandpa taught her to milk old Brindle without

fear of the gentle animal, how she would thank him for it in this

far-off home. Are you sure that your little girl will never be placed

in circumstances, for only a few hours perhaps, when she would be most

thankful to know how to do any one of these things? Can you not imagine

circumstances where it would be an incalculable blessing? We can, any

number of them, not at all beyond the bounds of possibility. We have

known cases where it was almost a matter of life or death, that a lady

should have skill and courage to harness a horse and hasten for help.

These cases may be rare; yet if they come but once in a lifetime, is

not the lesson worth the learning? If you were driving a team--a very

desirable accomplishment for any young lady--and the harness should

break or become unfastened, ought you not, for your own safety, to know

how to repair the mischief? Every girl should early learn how each part

of the harness must be adjusted, else the pleasure and independence of

being able to drive when older will be attended with much risk, and

often with fatal consequences. Youth--early childhood--is the time

to secure this knowledge, that you may be prepared to use it with

confidence and self-control when needed. Even if it is never needed in

later life, _knowing how_ will not injure any one.

XXVIII.

STEALING SERVANTS.

IN _The Christian Union_ a while ago, “Laicus” gives the history of a

transaction between two neighbors, in which he thinks the indignation

manifested by one of the parties was uncalled for, and her objection to

the proceeding of the other “but a relic of the old-time slave system.”

The case given was in this wise.

Mrs. Potiphar, it seems, “picks up a little girl in New York, and goes

through all the trouble, discomfort, and anxiety of teaching her, until

she becomes, at last, a very useful and efficient servant.” Those who

have undertaken the training of young girls, not their own, will agree

that Mrs. Potiphar’s task was not an enviable one, and that the girl

owed her a debt of gratitude, which faithful, willing service alone

could pay. As the child improved under this training, wages were given,

until after five years’ education she received ten dollars a month.

Mrs. Potiphar, appreciating the good qualities the girl had developed,

failed not to give her ample praise; said she was “worth her weight in

gold,” an expression very common, yet not usually taken literally; but

she did not increase her wages. It may have been that she gave all that

the work demanded of her was worth, or all that she could afford to

give; it matters not which; it is no evidence, however, that she wished

to defraud the girl of her just dues; it argues no injustice on Mrs.

Potiphar’s part. But good friends, kind neighbors, behind her back,

said it was a shame to pay Sophia so little; while to the lady’s face,

however, they gave smiles and congratulations “upon her good luck.”

Ah, what a pity that gossiping, meddling, and backbiting should be

found in this beautiful world of ours. How much trouble and mischief

these vices have caused! Much of the discomfort and disturbance in

our households springs from this evil spirit, making servants fickle

and unfaithful, and their mistresses’ life a burden. And it is all

so needless! There is little fear, even when not tampered with, that

girls will remain long on low wages, unless the privileges and kind

care bestowed upon them are of more value than larger pay, and they

have the good sense so to understand it. Every girl has a perfect right

to seek the highest remuneration, and so that she gives her present

employer reasonable notice, to enable her to secure other assistance,

or to offer her larger wages, however great the disappointment to the

lady may be, the girl has acted honorably and is worthy of no censure.

But in the case cited by “Laicus,” Mrs. Chessleburg’s course is so

repugnant, so foreign to all our ideas of honor, that we should hope

there was some mistake in print, did we not know such acts are of daily

occurrence.

Mrs. Potiphar has an excellent waiting-maid, just what Mrs. Chessleburg

wants. Mrs. Chessleburg is much exercised in her mind because Mrs.

Potiphar gives the poor girl such low wages.

“She is well worth fourteen dollars a month to me, if she is worth

a penny.” Four dollars extra would be quite an addition to Sophia’s

income. To be sure it would. So her nurse-girl goes confidentially

(_privately_ we presume that means) and tells Sophia that Mrs.

Chessleburg will give her fourteen dollars a month if she will leave

the lady, who, five years ago, “picked her up in New York,” and has

taught her, during these years, to be such a desirable servant. The

girl goes, of course. Mrs. Potiphar thinks it mean “to steal her girl

away in that style.” _So do we._ Is it strange that we think Mrs.

Chessleburg’s desire to right the girl’s supposed wrongs had its

origin less in real benevolence than in the selfish anxiety to secure

a valuable servant for herself? We certainly must, notwithstanding

“Laicus’s” perplexity, join with the ladies in thinking Mrs.

Chessleburg’s proceeding highly objectionable, and are confident

employees as well as employers will agree in this matter.

We read the article in question to the superintendent of our farm, and

said, “How does this strike you? How shall we answer this question? If

the girl’s work was worth more than ten dollars, was it not right that

she should have it?”

“Yes; but I shouldn’t think that was the right way for a lady to do?

Why didn’t she go to the girl’s mistress, instead of sending her

nurse-maid to the girl privately? I don’t think any lady would do such

a thing.”

“Well! I think you are right about house servants. But on the farm, in

your position, for instance, as foreman, there is some difference, is

there not? Supposing some gentleman should offer you more than we do,

what would you think of that?”

“That he was no gentleman. I don’t see the difference. If he wished to

make any such offer, he should go to my employer and state the case,

but not to me.”

“But you are not bound to stay with us. If you can better yourself, you

have a perfect right to do so. You are a free man.”

“Yes, I know that; but I think there should be some honor, if there is

no law, about such things; and I don’t think a gentleman acts honorably

who tempts a man with offers of higher wages to leave his employer’s

service. Let him go, like a man, to the proprietor of the work himself.”

“Maggie,” said we afterward, “if a lady should send one of her girls to

you with an offer for more wages than I give, what would you think of

it?”

“O, I’ve had that trick tried on me, ma’am! No _lady_ would do it,

and I’d not risk living with any one who would connive at such a mean

thing.”

“Why, what would you have her do?”

“Come right to yer, ma’am, or advertise. Sure the papers are open to

any one who chooses to advertise.”

Now, this subject appears too clear for any question of right or wrong,

liberty or slavery. The same course--open and above-board--should be

plain to both employer and employé. Among business men this law of

honor is fully understood. The amount of wages in all employments is

well defined. Custom fixes the prices for specified labor. It is those

who offer beyond the accepted rates who cause most of the trouble

experienced in all classes of labor.

A manufacturer engages a certain number of men to work in his mill.

He offers and they accept the regular rates of payment. A neighboring

manufacturer is short of hands, and privately goes to these men,

_bribing_ them, for it is nothing short of a bribe, with offers of

higher wages to leave their present work and come to him. If their

ideas of honor are no higher than his own, they will probably accept

the bribe, and their first employer’s mills must stand idle until

he can secure others to fill their places. Would you not call this

dishonorable? This is acceded to in the outdoor world, among merchants,

mechanics, manufacturers, and farmers. But how much more sacred, how

much stronger, should this code of honor be to us, in the family!

If we learn that a girl has “given warning” to her employer of her

intention to leave, we have a perfect right to try and secure her; but

to avoid the least appearance of evil, to do truly “as we would be

done by,” we should think it but wise and just to go first to the lady

and signify our wishes, making such inquiries as may be needed. In the

case given by “Laicus,” however, the nurse-maid is sent, and offers of

higher wages given through her. The girl is _bought_. We cannot think

it acting honorably by the mistress or kindly by the maid. If tempted

once to act secretly, she probably can be again, and from a useful,

reliable servant may become one on whom there can be no dependence.

If this mode of securing assistance is accepted as a correct and

honorable practice, no one is safe. In every department we shall be at

the mercy of the selfish and unscrupulous.

The laborer is evidently worthy of his hire, and in this country no

class of people are likely to remain long in ignorance of the price

they can command, or to estimate their ability at too low a rate.

We object to no one’s obtaining the full value for his work, but claim

that there should be no meddling, no underhand work to buy servants

or laborers from another, by the private offer of larger wages.

Advertising is open to all, and brings the needed help to you; but if

you do not choose that mode of supplying yourselves with laborers, then

let the employer be applied to, and if you can give his or her servants

better terms than they now receive, there are not many who will not

advise them to accept the offer. We do not think that ladies enact any

such law, as that “no servant shall be offered a better post than the

one now occupied, so long as he or she remains in it”; but we do claim

that the good old rule should be as fully recognized in dealing with a

neighbor’s servant as in everything else, namely, “Do unto others as ye

would that others should do unto you.”

XXIX.

FALL CLEANING.

THE summer is over and gone; cold nights and mornings have so

frightened and subdued the flies, that it is easy to hunt them from

the house, and by a little extra watchfulness prevent their gaining

possession again. The sun, still quite warm and summer-like in the

middle of the day, tempts them out from their hiding-places, and they

will swarm in at open doors and windows, if unprotected by wire and

net frames, in great numbers. Take care that these safeguards are

doing duty whenever windows or doors are opened for ventilation or

comfort, else the skillful little manœuvrers will soon gain access.

Drive them out toward night into the cool evening air. A few really

cold nights will free you from these vexatious intruders, and enable

you to commence fall cleaning in peace and safety. The danger always

is, that this part of fall labor will be undertaken too early. The

first ten or twelve days of September are usually raw and cold. The

flies, crawling into warm nooks and corners, pretend to be asleep. The

housekeeper, forgetting the experience of former years, hastens to get

out scrub-cloths, brushes, and all the implements of house-cleaning.

Those whose homes are in the city hurry back with the first puff of

cold air, believing that flies and heat have both alike departed for

the season. But they soon learn that this is a great mistake. These

chilly, cold days are usually followed by ten days or a fortnight as

warm as midsummer, and generally quite unhealthy. Nothing but real

necessity should tempt any to leave the country before they have

fully enjoyed the most perfect month of the whole year,--_October_.

But whether in city or country, those who attempt to do their fall

cleaning in September will have short-lived satisfaction compared with

the comfort derived from the same work in October. Flies, spiders, and

wasps, if not harmless then, are at least so far disabled as to be

easily conquered, and until that is accomplished, house-cleaning on a

large scale is wasted labor.

The first thing to be done, preparatory to house-cleaning, is to

have all the chimneys thoroughly swept, and the furnace, range, and

grate flues, not only perfectly cleaned from soot, but examined by a

competent workman; especially is this needful if the house has been

closed or only partially used during the summer. Before real winter

weather comes, everything of this kind should be in perfect order.

Have the furnace-grate examined, as it may have been corroded by rust

while unused, or so far burned out that, if neglected, some cold

morning when a bright glowing fire is most needed it may break down

and let your fire out. It will not be pleasant to sit shivering while

the old grate is being mended or a new one fitted. The range-grate and

fire-bricks must also be looked after and repaired for winter use. A

little attention now will save much expense and discomfort later in the

season.

If carpenters’ or masons’ work, whitewashing, painting, glazing,

or plumbing is needed, it should all be done before any cleaning

is attempted. If left till afterward, this kind of work is a great

terror to housekeepers. To secure seasonable attention to all these

matters, it is essential that the mechanics who are needed should be

engaged some weeks in advance; but remember that such workmen are,

unfortunately, not as good in _keeping_ promises as in _breaking_

them; therefore watch closely, and hold them to their agreement. This

habit of promising more than can be performed is a very pernicious

one, and in the end most unprofitable. Mechanics are tempted to this

dishonorable practice by anxiety to secure a good job. Knowing the

great demand for labor, they imagine if they promise to do your work at

a given time, come and do a little, then go to some one else, leaving

your work half finished, then back to you again for a while,--the

second party annoyed by the same vexatious delay,--that your necessity

compels you to endure silently if not patiently. You may submit for

this once, but never burn your fingers twice at the same fire. Let

it once be understood that employers of all kinds look upon a broken

promise as destroying all confidence, and that they will under no

circumstances give a _promise-breaker_ a second opportunity to beguile

them, and this great trial to grace and patience would soon be overcome.

While repairs are going on, bring down all the woolen garments,

blankets, furs, or pieces of carpeting that have been stored away for

the summer. Take them out on the grass-plat under your clothes-line,

before removing the wrappers, for the preparation in which they have

been put away is not very pleasant to the smell, particularly if it

is Poole’s powder, which we think the safest as well as the most

disagreeable. If it is a windy day, hang all on the clothes-line for a

good snapping before you attempt to brush them, and most of the powder

will blow off. After an hour or two in sun and wind, brush them well

with a nice whisk-broom, and, when done, the garments and blankets may

be put in their proper places and the pieces of carpeting sewed up in

bagging or canvas or put into a spare trunk. They will need no more

powder till spring, if carefully stored and occasionally aired through

the winter.

The coal, of course, you had put into the cellar last spring, as it

is usually cheaper about May than in the fall. The ashes and soot

having been removed, the flues, furnace, and grates all in order, the

house should now be swept from the attic to the cellar. Ingrain and

three-ply carpets ought to be taken up every year, unless in rooms but

little used, and after being well shaken or taken to the carpet-shaking

mill, they should be laid out of the way till the room from which they

were taken is cleaned. Brussels, Wiltons, Axministers, and all the

heavier carpets should not be raised oftener than every three years.

Very little dust sifts through such fabrics, and careful sweeping and

the use of a good “carpet-sweeper” will preserve them from all harm. In

sweeping, preparatory to cleaning, it is well to draw the tacks in the

corners and turn such heavy carpets back, so that with a whisk-broom

any dirt that may have settled there can be easily removed. It is but

little work, and the corners can be readily tacked down again.

When the sweeping is all done, a most thorough dusting is the next

operation, so that wood-work, walls, and gas-brackets may be free from

loose dirt before water is used. The paint is much easier cleaned after

this than if the dust were allowed to remain and be washed off. Some

recommend the latter to _save time_. We think it _wastes_ time.

The walls should be dusted with a long-handled feather duster, then

with a clean dry cloth pinned smoothly over a clean broom; wipe them

down evenly, beginning at the top and passing in a straight line, “by

a thread” as a seamstress would say, to the bottom, changing the cloth

as it becomes soiled. Next remove all chimneys and shades from the

chandeliers and gas-burners; wash clean, dry and polish with a soft

linen towel, and then with chamois-skin, and put them into a closet

till the room is cleaned. Now with a cloth, wrung from weak, hot suds,

wipe off the brackets and chandeliers, and rub dry with chamois-skin.

Draw a coarse linen thread, double, through the opening in the tip of

all the gas-burners to remove any dust that may have settled in them

while unused. This done, if you have two or three hands at work, the

cleaning may be so divided as to be done quite expeditiously; let

one wash the windows while another cleans the paint. The windows, if

long unused, need to be well washed in warm suds, into which a little

spirits of ammonia have been poured,--two teaspoonfuls to half a bucket

of suds; then well rinsed in clear water, wiped dry, and polished

with chamois-skin. This same proportion of suds and ammonia will

also clean paint very easily, and without injury to the hands. It is

good for cleaning marble slabs and mantles. The plated door-handles,

bell-pulls, etc., come next in order for cleaning; and here, if a piece

of oil-cloth is cut to slip over each, so that the walls may not be

tarnished, the hot suds and ammonia will prove very effective. A piece

of old carpet or drugget should be laid down as you clean windows,

paint, or plated ware, if the carpet is down, and moved from one spot

to another as you go on.

Now all is ready to put the last touch to the room. Wring a clean cloth

from some warm, clear water, in which a little alum or salt has been

dissolved, and wipe hard each breadth of the carpet, rubbing straight

down the nap. Wring out the cloth often, to rinse off all the dust,

and change the water if it looks very dingy. This brings up the nap

and gives a new and fresh look to carpets of all kinds; only be sure

that the cloth is not so wet as to drip. Leave the windows open when

the carpet is finished, and shut the doors till it is thoroughly dried

before bringing in what furniture was moved out to clean the room.

XXX.

FASHIONABLE DRESS.

WE are often asked why we do not speak out plainly, in the way of

counsel and reproof, about the absurdities of fashionable dress, now so

apparent? What good would it do? Almost every paper has spoken plainly,

or hinted--the worst kind of speaking, however unmistakable--on this

subject, and what is the result? Week by week the fashion-plates are

increasingly monstrous, until at last we are uncertain whether it is a

_bona fide_ fashion plate we are looking at or “Punch” and “The Budget

of Fun.” Neither could take greater liberties or more atrociously

caricature “the human form divine.” And, what would be very amusing

if the weakness did not excite so much pity, those who urge us to

contribute our mite toward a reform, a more Christian mode of dress,

are themselves marvellous structures,--a pile, composed of frizzed,

braided, curled, and puffed hair, under which a small, delicate face

appears; a dress fringed, flounced, puffed, and trailing, with hoops

and panniers protruding like a dromedary’s hump; and all this miserable

deformity borne about on high heels and the tips of the toes, the

discomfort and pain of such unnatural locomotion accepted and endured

because it is _the fashion_. Yet these fair inquirers appeared wholly

unconscious that their own disfigurement was a stronger appeal for aid

than any words could have been.

Why not begin this reform in your own dress? Brush your hair smoothly,

and give us the satisfaction of once more seeing what the head is, as

God made it; take off yards of silk, lace, and fringe, and show us your

natural, graceful figure. You who move in what is called fashionable

society can do more by such independence than all that can be written.

Try one season, and mark the change you would effect. “O, we couldn’t

think of such a thing! ‘As well be out of the world as out of fashion,’

you know. It would make us so very conspicuous by our singularity. We

think it would not be _modest_ to take such a stand. No one person can

effect the change: it must be simultaneous.”

Ah, had all reformers reasoned so, what would now be the condition

of the civilized world! But Fashion is a tyrant; and we fear volumes

written on the evils which she brings will do little good until women

have learned to defy her. A few in every age have done valiantly in

their attempts to dethrone her, but she changes so often, and so

abruptly and entirely, it is difficult to keep track of her. As far

back as we can search, the whirligig of fashion has been in perpetual

motion, unceasing in its changes. The advice and admonition of age and

experience have little influence towards checking this long-established

tyranny. The old look sadly upon the vagaries of the young; but if

they glance back to their own early days, would they not recall

equal absurdities in the fashions of that period, or on a moment’s

reflection, perhaps, even the dress and style to which they still

pertinaciously adhere may be liable to the same criticism?

We vividly remember the look of dissatisfaction on our grandmother’s

face (a dear little woman, nearly eighty years old), whose keen black

eyes flashed ominously as we came before her for inspection, dressed

for our first party. We stood, at fourteen, a full head the taller, but

were abashed at the dignified air of authority with which she descanted

on the ridiculousness of our attire. A very narrow skirt, with a few

gathers in the back, three small pleats on each side,--it took but six

or seven yards then for a dress,--a full waist, with a narrow band

round the neck like a baby’s slip, and the belt almost under the

arms; a large lace “Vandyke,” or cape, over the shoulders; the hair

combed high on the top of the head and tightly tied, and the length

twisted into a knot or bow, and kept in place by a big tortoise-shell

comb, the top of it full three inches high and six or seven inches

round; and this placed back of the hair. Our first high-topped comb!

What a wonderful work of art it was in our eyes! And the dress--our

_first_ silk--of changeable hues, like the silks which are now coming

again into fashion,--how stylish it did look! We thought every one

must recognize its elegance. Yet here was this “little grandma,”

whose judgment, next to our mother’s, was infallible, looking with

disdain upon it, and turning our whole outfit into ridicule! It was

heartbreaking! And for our first party! Fourteen was very young to

go to parties in those days, but, being tall for our age, we were

invited by mistake we presume. At the present time _young ladies_ of

three and four send out and receive their cards, and with gloves and

fans, frizzled hair, and flounced dresses, mimic the affectation and

absurdities of their elders. We have no sweet, simple childhood any

longer.

But how was our revered critic attired? The soft, white hair, still

quite abundant, was brushed straight over from the brow, not tied on

top, but rolled as tightly as it could be drawn over what was then

called a pillow,--now it would be, we presume, a _rat_,--and fastened

on the top of the head by two long silver pins with arrow-heads; a

spotless white mull cap with a very high crown and deep frill was put

on over this pillow and tied with a broad black satin ribbon in a bow

on top; a string of gold beads, a square of white lace folded over the

shoulders and crossed in pleats in front, under the dress of heavy

black satin; the waist of said dress made long down to the hips, with

a point before and behind, the skirt not trailed but immensely full;

very high-heeled slippers; and on her arm a large black satin bag, or

_reticule_, embroidered with white beads, in which was the ever-present

knitting-work, completed the costume. And this queerly dressed

little grandmother scoffed at our newer style as being the height of

absurdity. Her dress appeared appropriate to her, because we had never

seen her otherwise attired; but with all affectionate deference to

her superior wisdom, we thought it very ugly, and would have shrunk

in disgust from wearing it ourselves; and doubtless our new dress in

which we then rejoiced would strike our grandchildren now as equally

undesirable.

So fashion changes, and words of expostulation are wasted. But in this

age of improvement, when we turn our backs on the things of old while

something new is daily being developed or invented, the wonder is, that

in the realms of Fashion we see so little purely original. Like a poor

horse in a treadmill, she goes the same circuit, and about every fifty

years she finds the end, and is compelled to return and reproduce,

with some strange additions, but few improvements, the styles our

grandmothers and great-grandmothers wore. The high heels, hoops,

trains, and panniers of to-day are but the renewal of the fashions of a

semi-barbarous age, which, once buried, should never have been revived.

Addison, in many of his writings (see particularly papers 98 and 127

in the “Spectator”), severely criticises the prevailing fashions of

his day. Many of these same deformities our better instructed women

have for a year or two past foolishly reproduced. We may not quote

his words, because the homely language of that period would shock

our greater refinement, (although if it could be arranged for opera

or theatre, his wholesome counsels might be listened to _in public_

without a blush!).

There is much to be said, aside from the absurdity of the style, and

its destruction of all grace and beauty, of the great extravagance

which must attend the present fashions, breaking up many homes and

alienating true love; and the permanent injury done to health,

subjecting its devotees to long years, perhaps, of discomfort and

lingering sufferings or an early grave.

XXXI.

LESSONS BY THE WAYSIDE.

LOVE lightens labor, and crowns Care with rosy garlands which beautify

her rugged and repellant features. But when those whose presence makes

labor easy are absent, Care is more likely to become a hard taskmaster.

Our house being thus left unto us desolate, for a few days, we rebel,

and have run away.

Seated all alone in one of those cozy little rooms in the

“palace-cars,” on the banks of the Hudson, we will try for once how

it feels to be free from care, and give ourselves up to the full

enjoyment of the position. How beautiful is the scenery through which

we are passing! Each one thinks his own native land, his own mountains

and rivers, the finest in the world. This feeling often grows into a

ludicrous weakness; but we are confident that our noble Hudson must be

acknowledged by all as ranking among the first.

“Where will you find in foreign land

So sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”

In spring-time, when every bush and tree is tipped with delicate green,

from the banks of the river to the highest point that overlooks it,

we call it more lovely than at any other season of the year. But in

summer, when the grass is just ready for the scythe, and blossoms of

fruit hang from every bough, we say this surpasses the spring. In

the early fall, the orchards scattered all along the river-side,

laden with the ripening fruit, in each variety of green, red, gold,

or russet, and the woods on either side brilliant with every shade of

color, add another charm to the wondrous beauty of the scenery. And

now, in this later autumn, as we see the

“Leaves around us falling,

Dry and withered, to the ground,”--

the lights and shadows on the mountains, the golden hues exchanged

for deeper russet, the dark red of the Ampelopsis mingling with

the rich color of the evergreens that cover the banks,--all caught

by the flashing river, and thrown back in broken and fantastic

reflection,--call for increasing admiration; and mid-winter, when the

ground is white with snow, and the trees are strung with diamonds, will

only furnish stronger cords to hold us steadfast to our allegiance.

There is not “half a kiss to choose” between the seasons on the banks

of our glorious Hudson. We love it always and in all its varied changes.

And this _is_ rest for the weary! How beautifully quiet the pretty

villages, nested in among the mountains or scattered along the banks,

appear! Is it possible that sickness or sorrow, heartaches or envyings,

fierce passions or corroding cares, can find a harbor near this

tranquil river? It must be so, no doubt; but as we fly quickly past,

and cannot see it, what is it all to us? Why trouble ourselves with the

thought of sorrows which we can neither alleviate nor prevent?

Ah! we may leave what we call our cares far behind; but we cannot shut

our eyes to the fact that sin, and therefore sorrow, is all about us,

as truly in the restful solitude of the little niche we for a few hours

occupy, as in the weary round of busy life. Out of sight, but almost

within reach of our hand, there is a sick child. We hear its feeble

cry, and think, from the sound, it must be quite young, and nearly

worn out with suffering. The mother, no doubt, tenderly loves her

child, yet long days of watching and sleepless nights have taxed her

strength to the utmost, and exhausted her patience. Sharp and irritable

words are spoken, and as we hear the little one, through the slight

partition that separates us, turn restlessly from side to side, unable

to find an easy spot, yet constantly longing for change, we know that

it is not gently placed on a cooler pillow, or taken to the mother’s

arms,--gathered to her bosom, and soothed with loving words. But

instead we hear, “O dear! what a torment! I am tired to death! Can’t

you lie still one minute?” How these tones make our heart quiver! No

doubt she is very weary, and perhaps full of pain herself; but with

each peevish, complaining word uttered over that frail little blossom,

she is planting

“Thorns, _not_ roses, for her reaping, by and by.”

If she knew that in a few days, perhaps, her babe would be forever

hid from her eyes, would not the remaining hours of its short life be

soothed, regardless of her own pain, by the tenderest love, and each

word soft and sweet as the notes of the cushat-dove! And the father, in

full health and vigor, why does he not relieve the weary, overtasked

mother? Why does he not give her an hour’s rest, while the little one

finds in his strong arms a grateful change? for there is no cradle

so soft and soothing to a babe, sick or well, as a loving father’s

arms. Instead of bearing this yoke with his wife, we hear cross,

ungentlemanly, unsympathetic words of complaint addressed to her, and

harsh and peevish commands to the baby. We long to step across the

narrow passage that divides us, and, taking the little one into our

own arms, kindly tell the parents what seeds they are sowing; to say

to them, “If your child dies, each word will rise up in remembrance

against you, filling your hearts with anguish. If it lives, you are

sowing poisonous weeds, which will cause you life-long sorrow. The

child will imitate your example, practise the lessons it is this day

so early learning, and teach you how ‘the sins of the parents may be

visited upon the children.’ Your own sins and failings will rise up and

condemn you through your children.” Good-breeding and etiquette will

not permit us to go to them with such warning; yet that this lesson

may profit some one, we send it to the friends for whom we write,--the

young _home-makers_ as well as the young housekeepers. In thus shaping

your children’s future, we cannot but think that the father will be

as richly blessed for instilling correct principles, or as surely

condemned for wrong training and example, as the mother. We know this

is treason and heresy, if judged by the prevailing idea that the

mother, far more than the father, is responsible for the principles and

character with which the child takes its place among men and women.

We think this bad doctrine. The parents have an equal share in their

offspring, and should not hold a divided responsibility.

Motherly talks with young housekeepers embracing eighty-seven brief articles on topics of home interest, and about five hundred choice receipts for cooking, etc. · 第 4 / 11 章

We think the joys and the sorrows, the crosses and the crowns, in