Society  or  Club  Work. 
SPEAKING  of  pronunciation:  “We  can  just  as  well 
be  correct  in  such  matters  as  our  daughters  or 
sons  in  college,”  says  a  contributor  to  a  recent  brief 
symposium  on  Literary  Clubs.  So,  no  doubt,  thought 
that  mother  mentioned  in  a  late  issue  of  The  R.  N.-Y., 
who  has  lately  entered  college  with  her  two  sons. 
But  to  those  to  whom  college  is  an  impossibility,  the 
uniting  of  effort  in  societies  of  some  sort  offers  a  cumu¬ 
lative  help  not  to  be  gained  by  the  isolated,  individual 
worker.  *  *  * 
The  method  of  carrying  on  such  clubs,  or  societies, 
whatever  their  purpose,  seems  to  be  the  greatest 
stumbling  block.  A  certain  Chautauqua  Circle  one 
year  elected  three  of  its  best  members  as  a  continuous 
programme  committee,  and  supposed  it  had. solved  the 
problem  of  having  successful  meetings.  Yet  the  fol¬ 
lowing  year  the  programme  committee  was  changed 
every  third  week,  so  that  each  member  was  obliged 
to  act  during  the  year.  By  judicious  appointing  of 
one  strong  member  always  on  the  committee  of  three, 
the  work  was  as  well  done  as  before,  and  was  evenly 
distributed — perhaps  gave  even  better  general  satis¬ 
faction.  *  *  * 
In  the  symposium  above  mentioned,  at  least  two  con¬ 
tributors  emphasize  this  point :  “  Every  one  must 
work,”  and  this  is  the  only  fair  way  ;  let  each  work 
according  to  the  measure  of  his  ability,  and  how  quick¬ 
ly  will  that  ability  be  increased  ! 
One  programme  committee  arranges  a  programme 
by  first  assigning  to  several  members  a  subject  on 
which  to  write  or  to  speak  ;  it  also  selects  some  sub¬ 
ject  for  discussion  or  debate  ;  music  in  variety  relieves 
the  heavier  portion  of  the  programme.  This  is  the 
work  of  a  country  club,  which  has  been  so  successful 
as  to  get  together  <»r>  members,  part  of  whom,  proving 
drones,  were  afterward  dropped. 
*  *  * 
In  another  of  these  clubs  each  member  in  turn  is 
held  responsible  for  the  work  of  one  session,  a  higher 
power,  programme  committee  or  president,  assigning 
topics.  Each  is  expected  to  study  up  as  well  as  possible 
all  the  topics,  but  is  responsible  only  for  her  own. 
Still  another  method  is  for  the  leader  to  outline  all  the 
work,  distributing  at  each  meeting  topics  for  the  next, 
to  those  who  must  take  part.  The  whole  subject  may 
be  arranged  for  discussion. 
*  *  * 
One  general  rule  may  perhaps  be  laid  down,  that 
will  apply  to  all  societies  if  certain  conditions  are 
present.  This  is,  that  discussion  and  debate  are  both 
the  most  profitable  and  the  most  interesting  form  of 
putting  any  subject  before  the  company.  But — and 
this  must  always  be  noted — members  must  have 
natural  ability  for  this  discussion  or  debate,  or  they 
must  have  access  to  material  through  which  they  may 
absorb  the  ideas  of  others.  Even  if  they  have  the 
natural  ability  they  may  often  need  books  of  reference 
in  order  to  get  facts  beyond  their  knowledge  ;  hence 
it  seems  that  a  good  library  for  reference  is  a  real 
necessity.  With  a  good  leader,  who  can  encourage 
and  assist  timid  workers,  many  who  never  suspected 
themselves  of  having  a  talent  may  become  helpful 
members  and  independent  thinkers. 
About  the  Songs  Which  Won’t  Sing. 
I  WAS  visiting  my  friend  E.,  and  we  sat  one  evening 
in  the  twilight.  For  a  little  time  there  had  been 
silence,  and  then  E.  said  : 
I  often  think  that  if  I  could  put  into  words  the 
beautiful  things  which  come  to  me,  people  would  be 
glad  to  read  them.” 
“  Why  don’t  you  try  ?  ”  I  asked. 
“Oh,  I  haven’t  the  least  gift  that  way,”  was  the 
answer. 
The  next  day  I  was  sitting  in  her  large,  pleasant 
kitchen,  writing  a  letter.  She  was  busy  with  her 
work.  Looking  up,  I  noticed  the  peculiarly  happy  ex¬ 
pression  of  her  face,  and  knew  that  some  of  her  beau¬ 
tiful  fancies  were  with  her.  Just  then  her  youngest 
child  ran  up  to  her,  wishing  his  jacket  buttoned  and 
his  scarf  tied. 
“  What  are  you  looking  so  happy  about,  mamma?” 
said  he. 
“  I  am  not  looking  happy,  am  I  ?”  asked  she. 
“  Yes,  you  are,  and  you  do  look  happy  lots  of  times. 
But  Fay  Brown’s  mamma  doesn’t.  She  looks  so  sorry 
all  the  while,”  and  with  these  words  the  child  ran  off 
to  his  play. 
This  occurred  years  ago.  To-day  E.  is  the  mother 
of  six  children.  Her  oldest  girl  is  married  to  an  intel¬ 
ligent,  educated  man  and  has  three  exceptionally 
bright  children.  Her  eldest  son  is  a  progressive,  stir¬ 
ring  farmer — an  honor  to  the  calling.  Three  wide¬ 
awake  girls  come  next,  all  teachers,  and  all  command¬ 
ing  the  best  wages  given  in  the  vicinity.  Her  younger 
son  is  a  manly,  studious  boy,  yet  in  school. 
When  I  consider  the  home  she  has  made,  and  the  in¬ 
fluence  she  has  exerted  over  six  other  homes,  I  think 
she  has  had  a  gift  of  using  the  beautiful  and  uplifting 
thoughts  which  have  come  to  her  in  doing  more  good 
in  the  world  than  they  would  have  done  had  she  been 
able  to  weave  them  into  pleasing  poems  or  instructive 
stories.  She  need  not  mourn  because  her  song  wouldn’t 
sing,  for  she  has  used  them  in  building  her  home — a 
structure  which  towers  heavenward  and  whose  founda¬ 
tions  are  love,  and  truth,  and  purity,  and  progress. 
MRS.  LEVI  H.  NII.ES. 
Things  Material. 
A  GENTLEWOMAN  of  original,  but  alsoof  refresh¬ 
ingly  eccentric  character,  and  one  who  made  a 
lasting  impression  on  my  memory  when  I  was  a  very 
young  girl,  once  said  to  me,  as  she  looked  at  her 
shapely  hands  crossed  in  her  lap. 
“  I  never  cared  a  straw  whether  I  had  a  pretty  face 
or  not,  so  long  as  I  had  pretty  hands,  for  my  face  I 
only  saw  when  I  looked  in  the  glass,  while  my  hands 
were  always  in  my  sight.” 
There  is  something  of  this  “being  always  in  one’s 
sight”  in  one’s  dress,  that  is  the  most  exasperating  or 
satisfactory  part  of  it.  That  human  existence  is 
necessarily  so  material,  requiring  the  larger  part  of 
one’s  time  and  energy  to  make  both  ends  of  the  year 
meet  in  merely  providing  for  the  wants  of  the  body, 
sets  many  a  one  thinking  whether  there  is  no  way  out 
of  the  difficulty.  We  are  a  very  clever  people  in  inven¬ 
tion.  We  have  no  end  of  labor-saving  machines,  and 
the  more  we  invent  and  contrive  “conveniences,”  the 
less  time  we  have  for  what  we  are  pleased  to  call 
“  higher  and  better  things.”  We  like  to  be  well  and 
simply  dressed,  not  from  vanity,  but  because  we  have 
more  mental  freedom  when  not  annoyed  by  our  cloth¬ 
ing,  and  it  is  desirable  to  accomplish  this  with  the 
smallest  possible  outlay  of  time  and  money.  To  be 
obliged  to  spend  all  one’s  leisure  (leisure  from  other 
work)  in  making,  changing  and  repairing  one’s  gar¬ 
ments,  is  enough  to  drive  one  into  insanity  or  imbecility! 
And  when  one  contemplates  the  enormous  mass  of 
printing  in  journals  concerning  what  we  shall  eat,  and 
drink  and  wherewithal  we  shall  be  clothed — fashions 
in  this  and  fashions  in  that — is  it  not  quite  enough 
to  make  One  cry  out  for  a  lodge  in  some  wilderness, 
where  fashion  and  cooking  publications  may  not  follow 
and  stare  at  us  like  diabolical  furies,  as  if  a  new  gown 
and  a  new  way  to  make  an  omelet  were  the  most 
important  things  in  the  world  ! 
As  long  ago  as  1550,  Lord  Thomas  Vaux  wrote  : 
When  all  Is  done  and  said, 
In  the  end  this  shall  yon  And; 
He  most  of  all  doth  bathe  In  bliss 
That  hath  a  quiet  mind. 
And  clear  from  worldly  cares 
To  deem  can  be  content 
The  sweetest  time  In  all  his  life 
In  thinking  to  be  spent. 
To  be  thinking  forever  about  trivialities  (when  we 
reach  the  mountain  top,  or  the  end  »f  life  we  will 
see  that  they  are  trivialities)  breeds  neither  mental 
development,  nor  mental  strength.  It  is  like  feeding 
the  body  on  weak  broth — it  keeps  it  simply  alive. 
And  does  it  ever  occur  to  you  how  few  people  there 
are  who  clearly  betray  the  fact  that  the  mental  and 
spiritual  lives  are  theirs  more  than  the  material  ?  I 
meet  a  hundred  men  and  women  so  utterly  common¬ 
place,  so  hedged  in  by  conventionalities  as  never  to  be 
quite  natural — and  some  people  were  born  unnatural — 
so  swallowed  up  in  surface  things,  that  there  seems 
to  be  nothing  in  them  to  survive  this  life;  and  then 
comes  one  at  long  intervals  so  aglow  with  spirituality, 
intelligence,  radiancy  of  mind,  fervor,  big  thoughts 
and  feelings,  that  I  say,  “  Here  is  something  that  can¬ 
not  die — a  soul  too  large  to  slip  through  a  crack  in  the 
floor  of  eternity  and  never  be  missed.”  But  the  women 
who  are  all  bonnets  and  gowns,  or  houses  and  servants 
and  dinners,  and  the  men  who  are  all  office  and  shop, 
or  barn  and  stable,  or  both,  who  are  ailing,  or 
were  last  year,  and  absorbed  with  pains  and  plasters, 
bah!  wherein  are  they  more  than  talking  animals  ! 
To  illustrate  to  yourself  how  barren  you  are  in  men¬ 
tal  furniture,  try  just  for  one  day  to  entertain  your 
family  at  table  with  talk  on  purely  intellectual  themes, 
and  find  what  you  have  to  say.  No  vice  is  more  gen¬ 
eral  and  persistent  than  that  of  talking  literally  to 
tatters  your  own  small  affairs  until  you  can  talk 
of  nothing  else,  so  vitiated  and  belittled  the  mind  be¬ 
comes.  A  great  many  every-day  affairs  have  to  be 
discussed;  but  why  not  get  through  with  them,  and 
dismiss  them,  instead  of  turning  them  over  for  per¬ 
petual  mental  mastication,  much  as  some  vile  people 
chew  gum,  turning  it  over,  and  working  their  jaws. 
as  if  propelled  by  a  windmill?  The  great  value  of  talk — 
written  or  spoken — lies  in  diverting  one’s  mind  from 
its  every-day  grooves,  and  opening  another  side  of  it 
to  the  air  and  light. 
“  Don’t  tell  me  about  the  grippe  and  the  measles 
and  your  trials  with  the  ‘  hired  girl  ’  and  the  dress¬ 
maker.  I’ve  had  them  all  in  the  house.  But  let  me 
know  about  your  plants  and  your  chickens,”  said  a 
lady  to  a  visitor.  The  visitor  laughed,  and  talked  of 
her  Daphne  in  full  bloom,  until  her  hostess  fairly 
smelt  its  sweetness,  and  of  her  poultry  until  the  feaHi- 
ered  beauties  filled  her  ears  with  their  cackle.  If  not 
“  highly  intellectual,”  the  talk  stimulated  her  fancy, 
and  led  her  thoughts  from  the  routine  of  the  day.  It 
was  better  than  an  account  of  how  she  had  changed  the 
trimming  on  her  Sunday  gown,  or  how  many  eggs  she 
allowed  for  a  custard. 
And  here  1  find  myself  at  the  end  of  ray  “  limit,” 
without  having  ventured  a  a  word  on  the  topic  with 
which  I  was  possessed  at  the  beginning,  how  to  com¬ 
pass  a  suitable  appearance  on  the  smallest  allowance 
of  money  and  time — placing  the  words  as  French 
writers  do,  the  most  important  one  last.  But  like  the 
soldier  who  runs  away,  I  may  live  to  “  write  ”  another 
day.  MARY  WAGER-FISHER. 
Is  it  all  Fancy  ? 
THERE  are  so  many  ways  of  doing  things,  and 
each  housekeeper  who  writes,  is  so  sure  that  her 
way  is  by  all  odds  the  very  best,  that  sometimes  one  is 
quite  confused,  as  frequently  the  methods  conflict 
with  each  other. 
For  instance,  there  is  the  simple  cup  of  coffee.  I 
was  taught  to  grind  the  berry  rather  fine,  put  it  into  a 
clean  coffee-pot,  pour  on  a  cupful  or  more  of  boiling 
water  and  put  it  on  the  stove  to  boil  for  at  least  five 
minutes  ;  then  to  fill  up  with  more  boiling  water  and 
take  to  the  table.  By  the  time  the  family  were  seated, 
the  grounds  would  be  settled,  and  the  coffee  of  a  clear 
amber  hue  ;  and  when  well  seasoned  with  real  cream 
and  loaf  sugar  I  thought  there  was  nothing  else  so 
delicious,  and  I  have  not  changed  my  mind  since. 
But  when  I  read  of  a  more  excellent  way  of  doing 
any  work,  I  like  to  try  it,  and  if  I  find  it  is  in  any 
manner  better  than  the  one  I  have  been  accustomed 
to,  I  accept  it  at  once.  So  I  have  been  trying  some 
experiments  with  coffee. 
Some  writers  declare  that  coffee  is  spoiled  by  boil¬ 
ing;  and  recommend  grinding  the  berry  very  fine  and 
then  pouring  on  hot  water,  letting  the  coffee  pot  stand 
where  it  will  keep  hot  for  10,  15  or  20  minutes.  When 
I  made  it  according  to  such  directions,  I  expected  to 
hear  our  coffee  tasters  cry  out  at  the  unusual  delicious¬ 
ness  of  the  beverage;  but  not  a  single  remark  was 
made.  Finally,  just  before  the  meal  was  over,  I  asked 
how  they  liked  the  coffee;  why  it  was  all  right;  it  was 
always  good.  But  why  did  I  ask  ?  When  told  the 
reason,  they  could  see  no  difference. 
At  another  time  I  tried  grinding  it  very  coarse,  ac¬ 
cording  to  direction,  and  soaking  overnight  in  cold 
water,  heating  but  not  boiling,  when  wanted.  The 
coffee  needed  straining,  for  the  coarse  part  of  the  grains 
would  float;  but  the  flavor  was  the  same. 
I  always  liked  to  pour  the  coffee  on  the  cream  and 
sugar,  fancying  that  doing  so  added  a  good  deal  to  the 
fine  flavor.  But  the  other  day  that  method  was  dis¬ 
cussed  in  the  presence  of  a  guest,  and  he  said  that  his 
wife  had  that  notion,  but  he  could  never  taste  any 
difference,  whether  the  seasoning  went  into  the  cup 
first  or  last,  and  the  rest  were  like  him.  Hence,  I 
concluded  that  the  delicious  quality  of  coffee  was  more 
in  the  variety  of  berry  used  than  in  the  manner  of 
steeping  or  seasoning.  may  maple. 
It  is  better  to  take  Scott’s  Emulsion  of 
cod-liver  oil  when  that  decline  in  health 
begins — the  decline  which  precedes  con¬ 
sumption — rather  than  wait  for  the  germ 
to  begin  to  grow  in  our  lungs. 
“  Prevention  is  better  than  cure  and 
surer.  The  saying  never  was  truer  than 
here. 
What  is  it  to  prevent  consumption? 
Let  us  send  you  a  book  on  careful 
living  ;  free. 
SCOTT  &  BOWNE,  Chemists,  132  South  5tb  Avenue,  New  York. 
Your  druggist  keeps  Scott’s  Emulsion  of  cod-liver  oil— all  druggists 
everywhere  do.  II. 
