1864. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



31 



LADIES' DEPARTMENT. 



THE SONG OF SEVEN. 



BT JEAN INQELOW. 



I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, 



Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ; 

 •'Now if thare be foot-steps, he comes, my one lover — 

 Hush nightingale— hush ! 0, sweet nightingale, wait 

 Till I listen and hear 

 If a step draweth near, 

 For my love he is late ! 



"The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, 



A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, 

 The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer ; 

 To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see ? 

 Let the star-clusters glow, 

 Let the sweet waters llow, 

 And cross quickly to me. 



■*'Tou night-moths that hover, where honey brims over 



From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep : 

 You glow-worms shine out and the pathway discover 

 To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. 

 O, my sailor, make haste, 

 For the time runs to waste. 

 And my love lieth deep — 



"Too deep for swift telling: and yet my one lover, 



I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night " 

 By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, 

 Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight. 

 But I'll love him more, more 

 Than e'er wife loved before, 

 Be the days dark or bright. 



For the New England Farmer. 



A SUBSTITUTE FOE PURE COFFEE. 



Coffee is now so expensive that most families 

 are seeking for some substitute. I find nothing 

 so much like the genuine article as a mixture of 

 the best coffee with barley in equal parts. We 

 buy this mixture for twenty-five cents a pound. 

 It is roasted together so that the barley is thor- 

 oughly impregnated with the -flavor of the coffee, 

 and the coffee thus made is better than much that 

 is made from pure coffee at forty-five cents a 

 pound. The patent roasters where the aroma is 

 preserved are a great improvement upon the old 

 way of browning, especially when it is important 

 to secure as much of the flavor as possible. I 

 have never known any who have tried this substi- 

 tute to be dissatisfied with it, and I give it for the 

 benefit of those who like coffee, but think they 

 cannot well afford to drink it. Anna HorE. 



THE LITTLE FOOTPRINT. 

 "What a beautiful place !" said I to myself, as 

 I walked out in the garden and grounds of my 

 friend. It was early in the morning, when the 

 dews were on the flowers, and the rays of the new 

 sun were just glinting through the trees, and the 

 birds were fluttering and singing in their gladness. 

 The walks were smooth and perfect, and if there 

 were fairies in those days, I felt -sure they would 

 love to dwell here. In the laying out of the 

 grounds and in the choice and cultivation of the 

 flowers, nothing was to be desired more perfect. 

 In one of the walks among the flowers, 1 noticed 

 a large flower pot, turned bottom upwards. It 

 seemed in the way, and out of place, and I won- 

 dered at the carelessness of the gardener who had 

 left it there. But perhaps there was a reason for 

 it. So I stooped down and carefully lifted it up, 

 and there in the soil, plain to be seen, was the 

 footprint of a little child! Then I understood it 

 all ! The little one, more precious than allthese 

 flower grounds, the only child, had lately been 



carried away by unseen hands ! It was among 

 the dead ; and the mother, in her walks, had 

 found the print of its little foot, and had careful- 

 ly (O, how carefully) covered it with this flower 

 pot. How often she had lifted it with tears, can 

 never be known. But I felt I had almost done a 

 wrong tp lift it up. It was not for my eye. 



0, mother ! who but He who created the heart 

 can know anything of the agony which thou hast 

 felt ? They call thee childless ! B^it it is not so ! 

 When in thy dreams thou stretchest out thy arms 

 for the little one, the heart feels it. When thou 

 sittest down, its beautiful face is in thy memory ; 

 and when thou walkest forth, its little footsteps 

 patter by thy side. It lives fresh and green in 

 thy memory, and will never cease to live there. 

 Other mothers will have all their children grown 

 up and passed out of childhood, but thou wilt 

 never be without a little child ! Thou mayest 

 live and grow old it may be, but the child will 

 five O, 'child still, just as it drooped and withered 

 in thy arms— *a child still, till thou meetest it in 

 heaven. These bright and early dead, how we love 

 them ! The golden tresses of childhood seem to 

 wave before our eyes, and the tones and echoes 

 of their voices seem to ring in our ears, so long 

 as we live ! — Itcv. John Todd. 



A Dark House. — A dark house is always an 

 unhealthy house, always an ill-aired house, always 

 a dirty house. Want of light stops growth, and 

 promotes scrofula, rickets, &c., among children. 

 People lose their health in a dark house, and if they 

 get ill they cannot get well again in it. Three out 

 of many negligences and ignorances in managing 

 the health of houses generally I will here mention 

 as specimens. First, that the female head in 

 charge of any building does not think it necessary 

 to visit every hole and coiner of it every day. 

 How can she expect that those under her will be 

 more careful to maintain her house in a healthy 

 condition than she who is in charge of it ? Second, 

 that it is not considered essential to air, to sun and 

 clean rooms Avhile uninhabited ; which is simply 

 ignoring the first elementary notion of sanitary 

 things, and laying the ground for all kinds of dis- 

 eases. Third, that one window is considered 

 enough to air a room. Don't imagine that if you 

 who are in charge don't look to all these things 

 yourself, those under you will be more careful than 

 you are. It appears as if the part of the mistress 

 was to complain of her servants and to accept their 

 excuse — not to show them how there need be 

 neither complaints nor excuses made. — Florence 

 Nightingale. 



Delicacy in Conversation — A maxim of 

 Bruyere's is going the rounds of the English 

 newspapers; It will do for any locality : 



'•There is speaking well, speaking easily, speak- 

 ing justly and speaking seasonably. It is offend- 

 ing against the last to'speak of entertainments be- 

 fore the indigent ; of houses and lands before one 

 who has not so much as a dwelling ; in a word, 

 to speak of your prosperity before the miserable. 

 This conversation is cruel, and the comparison 

 which naturally arises in them betwixt their con- 

 dition and vours is excruciating." 



Show can easily be purchased ; but. happiness 

 is always a home-made article. 



