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NEW ENGLAND FARIVIER. 



^Domestic jB^partnunt. 



In the social circle woman ranks high, even in the 

 ascendency ; and in the management of domestic 

 affaii's, in relation to the preservation and preparation 

 of the various productions of the earth, committed to 

 her care, and in the education of children, she has a 

 station of equal importance assigned her. In vain 

 the husband provides, if his helpmeet does not pre- 

 pare. Her place in the culinary department is no less 

 important, than his in the field, shop, office, or count- 

 ing-room. Competency, nor even wealth, should 

 excuse her from skill in domestic economy, and in 

 its general superintendence, and a constant active 

 part in training those under her charge in the way 

 they should go. 



Wives of Working Men. — Speaking of the 

 middle ranks of life, a good writer observed, " There 

 we behold a woman in all her glory ; not a doll to 

 carry silks and jewels ; not a puppet to be dandled by 

 fops, an idol of profane adoration, reverenced to-daj% 

 discarded to-morrow ; admired, but not resi^ectcd ; 

 desired, but not esteemed ; ruling by passion, not 

 affection ; imparting her weakness, not her constan- 

 cy, to the sex which she should exalt ; the source 

 and mirror of vanity. We see her, as a wife, partaking 

 the cares and guiding the labors of her husband, and 

 by her domestic diligence spreading cheerfulness all 

 around her ; for his sake sharing the decent refine- 

 ments of the world without being fond of them ; pla- 

 cing all her joy, all her happiness, in the merited 

 approbation of the man she loves. As a mother, we 

 find her the affectionate, the ardent instructress of the 

 children she has tended from their infancy ; training 

 them up to thought and vhtuc, to meditation and 

 benevolence ; addi-essing them as rational beings, 

 and preparing them to become men and women in 

 their turn. 



The Farmek's Daughter. — There's a world of 

 buxom beauty Hourishmg m the shades of the coun- 

 try. Farm-houses are dangerous places. As you 

 are thinking only of sheep or of curds, you may be 

 shot through by a pair of bright eyes, and melted 

 away in a bewitching smile that you never cbearat 

 of till the mischief was done. In towns and theatres, 

 and thronged assemblies of the rich and titled fair, 

 you are on your guard ; you know what you are 

 exposed to, and put on your breastplate, and pass 

 through the most deadly onslaught of beauty safe 

 and sound. But in those sylvan retreats, dreaming 

 of nightingales, and hearing only the lowing of oxen, 

 you are taken by surprise. Out steps a fail- creature 

 — crosses a glade — leaps a stile. You start — you 

 stand lost in wonder and astonished admiration ! 

 You take out your tablets to write a sonnet on the 

 return of the Nymphs and Dryads to earth, when up 

 comes John Thompkins, and says, " It's only the 

 farmer's daughter." What ! have farmers such 

 daughters now-a-days? Yes, I tell you they have 

 such daughters. Those farm-houses are dangerous 

 places. Let no man with a poetical imagination, 

 which is only another name for a verj' tender heart, 

 flatter himself with fancies of the calm delights of 

 the country ; with the serene idea of sitting with the 

 farmer in his old-fashioned chimney corner, and 

 hearing him. talk of corn and mutton; of joining him 

 in the pensive pleasure of a pipe and a jug of brown 

 October ; of listening to the gossip of the comfortable 

 farmer's wife, of the parson and his family, of his 

 sermons, and his pig ; over a fragrant cup of young 



hyson, or rapt in the delicious luxuries of custards 

 or whipped creams. In walks a fairy vision of won- 

 drous witchery, and with a curtesy" and a smile of 

 winning and mysterious magic, takes her scat jubt 

 opposite. It is the farmer's daughter, a living crea- 

 ture of eighteen ; fair as the lily, fresh as May dew, 

 rosy as the rose itself, graceful as the peacock perched 

 on the pales there by tlie window, sweet as a posy 

 of violets and clove giUivcrs, modest as early morn, 

 and amiable as your own imagination of Desdemona 

 or Gertrude of Wyoming. You are lost. It's all 

 over with you. I wouldn't give an empty filbert, or 

 a fi-og-bitten strawberry, for your peace of mind, if 

 that glittering creature be not as pitiful as she Ls 

 fair. And that comes of going into the country, out 

 of the way of vanity and temptation, and fancying 

 farm-houses nice old-fashioned places of old-estab- 

 lished contentment. — " The Hall and the Hamlet,'" by 

 William Howitt. 



Pork Cheese. — Take the heads, tongues, and feet 

 of young fresh pork, or any other pieces that are 

 convenient. Having removed the skin, boil them 

 till all the meat is quite tender, and can be easily 

 stripped from the bones. Then chop it small, and 

 season it with salt and black pejaper to yovu- taste, 

 and if you choose, some beaten cloves. Add sage 

 leaves and sweet majoram, mixed fine, or rubbed to 

 powder. MLx the whole very well together Avith 

 your hands. Put it into very deep pans, with 

 straight sides, (the shape of a cheese ;) press it down 

 hard, and closely with a plate that will lit the pan ; 

 putting the under side of the plate next to the meat, 

 and placing a heavy weight on it. In two or three 

 days it will be fit for use, and you may turn it out of 

 the pan. Send it to table cut in slices, and use 

 mustard and vinegar with it. It is generally eaten 

 at supper or breakfast. 



To CURE Hams in a Cheap Manner. — Lay j-our 

 hams in tubs, if convenient, flesh side up ; sprinkle 

 salt on the fleshy part ; let them drain twenty-four 

 hours ; then rub otf the salt, and lay them in a large 

 tub. Then prepare a brine bj^ dissolving one pound 

 of salt in one gallon of water, and to every six 

 pounds of salt three and a half ounces of saltpetre. 

 Make a suflicient quantity to cover the hams. Eoil 

 the brine, taking oif the scum, and while boiling-hot 

 pour it over the hams. Let them lie in the brine six 

 weeks, then take them out, drain them, and smoke 

 them. 



Smoking hams is done as follows : Make a smoke 

 with corn-cobs, if you have them — if not, with 

 sound, hard wood, with damp sawdust thrown over 

 the flre to prevent a blaze. Suspend jour hams 

 above this at a distance, to receive the most of the 

 smoke. When they are a good brown color, which 

 will be in about three weeks, they are smoked 

 sulhciently. 



They should then be di-icd. "\Mien dry, sew any 

 kind of cotton cloth over them, and whitcv/ash the 

 outside ; or if you have plenty of ashes in a dry 

 place, cover the hams with paper, and bury them in 

 ashes till Avanted for use. This preserves them from 

 bugs, and it is thought to improve their flaA'or. — 

 Emigi'aiit' s Hand- Book. 



Cooking Cranberries. — To each quart of berries, 

 very shortly after the cooking of them is commenced, 

 add a tcaspoonful of saleratus. This will so much 

 neutralize the acidiferous juice which they contain, 

 as to make it necessary to use only one fourth part as 

 much sugar as would have been requisite had they 

 been cooked without using saleratus. — Mich. Far. 



