26 



THE GENESEE FARMER. 



Jan. 



babies' CDtpartrntnt. 



We had designed to talk on various matters in this 

 department ; but we think the space is occupied to 

 good advantage as it is. In our next, and subsequent 

 numbers, we shall present thoughts and facts, impor- 

 tant to the health, comfort and happiness of our 

 fair readers. In this department we shall also have 

 the assistance of several female writers, whose ability 

 can but add interest and value to our paper. 



SALLY SLY AND JENNY McKEAN'S BtTTTER. 



Joe's wife was Sally Sly — when a small girl she 

 was sly — she would not half wash the milk pail and 

 sly it away and let it sour. She was sly at school 

 and did not half get her lessons, but would have her 

 book in sight when reciting; but as she grew older 

 she learned that to get well married she must appear 

 well, and so she bent all her cunning to get a super- 

 ficial education in every thing, from roasting a potato 

 to playing a piano. Poor Joe fell in love with her, 

 and "love has no eyes" — so he married ]iar. But 

 soon after she entered on housekeeping, hia eyesight 

 came, and he saw his fix that it was "for better or 

 for worse;" and- he thought it was all for worse. — 

 Like a true philosopher, he concluded to endure what 

 he could not avoid nor cure, and got along tolerably 

 well only when he came to her butter — for his moth- 

 er was a real butter-maker. Every time he saw or 

 tasted of Sally's butter he felt the horrors. Her 

 manner of making butter was something as follows: 

 she thinks it of no consequence whether the milk 

 pail is sweet or sour — sets the milk in a warm room, 

 because it is easier than to go in the cellar, and if 

 some dirt should blow into the pans she thinks every 

 man must " eat a peck of dirt," and no place will it 

 slip down easier than in butter — she lets the cream 

 pots be open, and when she churns forgets the poke; 

 leaves the cream nearly at blood heat that it may 

 come quick. When she takes it out of the churn 

 she picks out the bodies of all flies and spiders — the 

 legs and wings are so small they can be swallowed. 

 She works out half the buttermilk and sets it away 

 in a warm place for use. Poor Joe has seen so much 

 butter of this kind that he declares butter does not 

 agree with his health, and will not taste it. Yet his 

 wife wonders why he does not try it, and marvels 

 why he does not keep a dairy, and make butter for 

 marliet. 



Jonathan was a young brother of Joe, and he had 

 occasion to eat at his brother's enough to know why 

 he could not eat butter: and he declared he never 

 would marry without knowing what his bread would 

 be buttered with. Following the bent of his fancy, 

 he made several attempts at matrimony, and Julia 

 Juniper almost caught him, for there was always good 

 butter on the table at tea, but he was determined to 

 know who made it. On inquiry, she says, "Lame! 

 mother makes the butter: I lake lessons on the 

 piano." " W<>I!," says Tonathan, " I want a wife that 

 takes lessons on the churn — I shall look further." 

 After several unsuccessful attempts, and just ready 

 to despair, he started in pursuit of stray cattle, be- 

 fore breakfast, and wandered across the forest into 

 the corner of the next town, and weary and hungry 

 called at a decent looking house and asked for some 

 refreshments, which was most cordially granted, for 

 the family were what were called Scotch-Irish — in 

 religion, Presbyterian, and in hospitality boundless. 



Here he found the butter exactly right — though 

 the weather was hot, the butter kept its shape as 

 well as beeswax. He catechised the old lady about 

 her housewifery — for the bread was as right as the 

 butter. The old lady said her health was feeble — 

 she could do but little, and Jenny had the whole man- 

 agement. He made some round-about inquiries con- 

 cerning Jenny, and learned she was a hearty, black- 

 eyed lass, of about two and twenty: had never seen 

 a piano nor attended a ball — but knew' the Assem- 

 bly's catechism; could sing Old Hundred to a charm 

 — spin flax and darn stockings, and was then gone to 

 town with butter. He lingered, but she was delayed, 

 and when his excuses for staying were all exhausted 

 he started. He conld not get the good butter out of 

 his mind, and how it happened I know not, he soon 

 found his way there again, and the result of his ad- 

 venture was he made a wife of Jenny McKean. And 

 now one lump of his butter is worth m.ore than all 

 Joe's would make in a month. There's no trouble 

 in going to market — the keepers of genteel boarding 

 houses in the neighboring village send and take it at 

 the highest market price. 



Now the main difference in these two women 

 arises from the manner of training, though there is 

 no dilTerence in natural disposition. Old Madsm Sly 

 never looked on to see that Sally done up her work 

 right, but suffered her to sly off her work as she 

 chose, and though a good housekeeper herself, was 

 altogether too indulgent, and like some other moth- 

 ers, thought more of getting Sally well married than 

 of making her fit for a wife — while old madam 

 McKean was determined Jenny should be fit for any 

 man a wife, whether she got married or not. Per- 

 haps there is no more certain criterion by which to 

 judge of a woman's general character for neatness 

 and good house-keeping than by the quality of lior 

 butter. Find on the farmer's table a good, solid, 

 properly salted, well worked slice of butter, and you 

 need not fear to eat the pan-cakes or hash; but if 

 you see a splash of half-worked butter — salt in 

 lumps and a sprinkling of hair and flics' legs, you 

 may be sure, if you board there long, death will not 

 be obliged to wait for you to finish your psck of dirt. 



■'HOUSE AND HOME" 



What's a Houso ? You may buy it. or build it. or rent; 



It may be a mansion, a cotuin:e. n lent; 



Its furniture costly, or humble auil mean; 



High walls may surround it, or meadows of green. 



Tall servants in livery stand in the hall, 

 Or but one little maiden may wait on you all; 

 The tables may groan with rich viands and rare, 

 Or potatoes and thread be its costliest faro. 



The inmates may glitter in purple and gold. 



Or the raiment be homely and tattered and (dd; 



'Tis a house, and no more, which vile mtuicy may buy, 



It may ring with n laugh, or but echo a sigh. 



Rut a Home must he warmed with the embers of love: 

 Which .lone from its hearthstone may ever remove; 

 And be lighten'd at eve with a heat-kindled smile. 

 Which a breast, though m sorrow, of woe may beguile. 



A home must be " Home," for no words cjin express it, — 

 Unless you have known it. you never can guess it; 

 *Tis in vain to describe what it means to a heart 

 Which can live out its life on iho bubbles of art. 



It moy be n palace, it may be a cot. 

 It matters not which, and it matters not what; 

 'Tis a dwelling perfumed with the incense of love. 

 From which to its owner 'tis death remove. 



