Several  New  Ideas. 
A  Novel  Fashion. 
LaTE  cut  of  a  bridesmaid’s  attire  shows  her  with 
a  veil  depending'  from  the  Greek  coiffure.  This 
is  an  English  fashion  that  has  not  yet  found  favor 
here,  and  which  looks  decidedly  odd  to  American  eyes. 
It  would  he  a  pity  to  mistake  one  of  the  maids  for  the 
bride. 
Something  Unique. — The  management  of  Ar¬ 
thur’s  Home  Magazine  is  carrying  out  a  unique  idea, 
which  is,  in  essence,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
public  literary  bureau  This  it  calls  its  “  School  of 
Fiction.’’  Its  method  consists  in  the  open  criticism, 
in  the  pages  of  the  magazine,  of  articles  sent  to  it  by 
writers  who  have  passed  the  “A  B  C  of  learning,”  but 
who  still  need  aid.  A  difficulty  that  meets  those  who 
are  trying  to  make  this  plan  a  feature  of  the  publica¬ 
tion  lies  in  the  fact  that  in  order  to  make  any  criticism 
interesting  to  others  than  the  writer  of  the  article, 
there  must  be  much  quotation  and  explanation.  But 
since  an  occasional  article  submitted  in  this  way  is 
found  good  enough  to  publish  complete  in  the  body  of 
the  magazine,  and  to  pay  for  at  a  greater  or  less  rate, 
no  doubt  it  is  a  distinct  help  to  some  of  its  patrons. 
Sugar-Coated  Expressions. — A  colored  table¬ 
cloth  is,  under  any  and  all  conditions,  a  detestable 
invention,  says  one;  and  proceeds:  “Let  the  table 
therefore,  be  graced  by  a  fair,  linen  cloth,  tenderly 
coaxed  into  a  satin  shimmer  by  the  laundress.”  Pretty 
forms  of  expressing  common-place  facts  seem  to  be 
especially  sought  after  by  household  writers.  If  one 
has  a  laundress  who  is  paid  for  doing  the  work,  this 
“  tenderly  coaxed  into  a  satin  shimmer’’  may  fill  the 
need  for  elegance  of  expression  with  exactness.  But 
if  the  house-mother  be  her  own  laundress,  she  knows 
only  too  well  that  this  tender  coaxing  is  really  a 
severe  output  of  strength  ;  she  revolts  at  having  the 
pill  so  heavily  coated  that  it  becomes  nauseating,  and 
also  blesses  the  inventor  of  those  despicable  red  table- 
covers.  For  neither  the  satin  shimmer  of  fair  linen, 
nor  other  nicety  of  expression  fills  her  greatest  need 
in  housekeeping  lines. 
The  Real  Secret  of  Rapid  Progress.— The 
marvelous  progress  in  attainments  of  blind  Helen  Kel¬ 
ler  is  causing  educational  workers  to  make  earnest  in¬ 
quiry  into  the  causes  which  have  contributed  thereto. 
Defining  that  progress  in  a  striking  way,  Edward 
Everett  Hale  says  :  “  In  March,  1887,  she  was  an  ani¬ 
mal  who  could  not  see  or  hear.  In  July,  1887,  she 
wrote  an  intelligible  letter.  *  *  In  the  months  be¬ 
tween  she  had  become  seven  years  old.”  Mr.  Hale 
asserts  that  such  advance  is  unheard  of  among  children 
who  see,  but  concludes  :  “  The  real  advantage  which 
Helen  has  had  is  that,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  her 
whole  attention  is  given  to  her  teacher.  *  *  To  poor 
little  Helen  there  were  no  temptations”  from  children, 
cats  and  street  organs.  He  affirms  that  many  grown 
people  have  never  in  their  lives  given  to  any  matter 
such  attention  as  Helen,  perforce,  gives  to  the  simplest 
thing.  From  this  a  lesson  is  drawn  for  parents  in  the 
line  of  educating  children  to  habits  of  strict  attention. 
Attention  to  the  individual  and  by  the  individual  are 
two  vital  factors  of  success. 
Surface  Water. — One  thoughtful  friend,  who  is  a 
regular  contributor,  writes:  “The  results  of  the 
competition  have  interested  me  not  a  little.  I  see  how 
it  is  :  hundreds  of  us  can  write  just  about  so  well,  but 
none  of  us  ever  rise  above  the  average.  We  may 
have  the  facility  of  expression,  but  the  springs  of 
thought  are  only  pools  of  surface  water  trickling  in 
from  the  general  deluge  of  light  literature.  I  thought 
1  did  not  know’  enough  on  any  of  the  prescribed  topics 
to  compete,  but  now’  it  seems  as  if  I  might  have  writ¬ 
ten  any  of  the  articles.”  No  one  need  laugh,  even  at 
the  last  sentence  ;  the  writer  was  too  honestly  groping 
after  facts  to  intend  any  detraction  of  the  prize  arti¬ 
cles,  or  to  have  any  of  the  spirit  of  the  man  at  the 
fairs  who  always  has  better  things  at  home.  And  she 
has  well  expressed  a  truth  as  regards  the  springs  of 
thought,  which  we  have  not  before  seen  in  print,  one 
which  w’e  all  will  do  well  to  ponder  over  that  we  may 
profit  thereby. 
Nice  Treatment  of  tlie  Staples. 
BREAD,  we  are  told,  is  the  staff  of  life,  but  in  how 
many  of  our  homes  when  we  ask  for  it  do  w’e  get 
a  stone  in  the  guise  of  white  flour  bread,  made  from 
grain  which  has  been  robbed  of  nearly  all  its  nutritive 
qualities,  tasteless  and  indigestible?  T  wish  every 
housekeeper  in  our  land  could  read  an  article  on  the 
subject  of  bread,  which  appeared  in  the  North  Ameri¬ 
can  Review  for  February  ;  1  think  it  would  open  their 
eyes  and  set  them  thinking,  showing  as  it  does  how 
pernicious  is  our  practice  of  using  so  much  w’hite  flour. 
Let  us  use  whole  wheat,  rye,  Indian  meal,  oatmeal  and 
buckwheat,  and  let  us  cook  it  not  only  in  loaves,  but 
as  biscuit,  muffins,  gems  and  griddle  cakes. 
If  there  is  on  the  table  each  day  some  form  of  good 
bread,  meat  of  some  kind,  one  or  two  vegetables  and 
an  abundance  of  fruit,  all  different,  or  differently  pre¬ 
pared  from  what  they  were  the  day  before  or  for  sev¬ 
eral  days  before,  the  absence  of  pie,  cake  or  pudding 
will  hardly  be  noticed.  These  can  be  reserved  for 
Sunday  dinners  and  lunches,  for  birthdays  and  holi¬ 
days,  or  the  occasions  when  time  is  money. 
I  do  not  believe  that  daintiness  is  compatible  with 
greasiness,  or  excessive  spiciness,  or  cloying  sweet¬ 
ness,  or  overdoneness  or  underdoneness.  I  think  the 
commonest  article  of  diet  is  susceptible  of  nice  treat¬ 
ment.  Brown  bread,  for  instance,  when  properly 
made,  will  be  light  all  through,  moist  and  tender,  with 
no  raw  taste  of  either  Indian  or  l’ye,  no  hint  of  musti¬ 
ness  or  saleratus,  and,  withal,  of  a  pleasing  color.  Take 
bread  like  this  just  before  it  gets  cold,  and  break  it 
into  sweet  milk,  or  cover  with  cream,  or  slice  thin  and 
butter  it,  and,  when  it  is  cold,  make  it  into  toast  with 
thickened  dip.  or  into  brewis,  and  you  have  tooth¬ 
someness  and  variety  in  brown  bread. 
Many  women  will  say  “  I  know  it  would  be  better 
for  them,  but  my  folks  will  not  eat  this,”  or  “thev  do 
not  like  that.”  Nine  times  out  of  ten  is  it  not  the 
housekeeper’s  fault?  She  should  prepare  the  food, 
cook  and  serve  it  so  well,  that  they  cannot  but  like  it. 
If  certain  food  is  good  for  them,  why  not  try  to  find 
the  very  best  ways  of  preparing  it,  and  gradually 
educate  the  taste  of  the  family  up  to  it  ?  But  unfor¬ 
tunately,  most  women  arc  conservative.  They  are 
adverse  to  ti’ying  new’  things  or  new  methods,  and  are 
easily  discouraged. 
I  have  found  even  an  inferior  cook  book  a  great  help 
in  stimulating  new  ideas,  and  a  standard  work  on  the 
sxibject  is  a  priceless  treasure. 
I  think  if  there  could  be  thorough  appreciation  of 
the  fact  that  food  is  primarily  for  the  nourishment  of 
the  body  and  not  merely  to  please  the  palate  ;  and 
that  the  preparation  of  food  is  a  science  and  l-equires 
thoughtful  study,  there  would  be  a  greater  variety  of 
healthful  food,  less  time  wasted  on  pastry,  and  as  a 
result  healthier  bodies,  clearer  minds,  happier  hearts, 
and  fewer  doctors’  bills.  lizzie  bobbins. 
A  Nice  Little  Lady. 
PRINCE  CURLY-HA1R  has  been  sick.  He  has 
lain  around  limp  and  silent  on  the  lounge,  and 
wouldn’t  even  smile  at  me.  He  said  he  had  a  “  sore 
pain  ”  and  I  couldn’t  help  thinking  of  the  three  pickles 
he  had  eaten  the  night  before  at  our  seven  o’clock 
dinner. 
I  am  glad  I  was  brought  up  by  a  sensible  mother. 
I  was  given  good,  wholesome  food  to  eat,  and  I  wasn’t 
asked  if  I  liked  this,  and  that.  If  it  was  good  for  me 
it  xvas  taken  for  granted  that  I  liked  it.  My  little 
whims  and  fancies  were  not  catered  to.  Tf  I  said  I 
wanted  a  pickle  and  a  piece  of  pie  instead  of  my  bowl 
of  delicious  bread  and  milk,  I  didn’t  get  them.  In  con¬ 
sequence  of  this,  there  is  nothing  in  a  civilized  bill  of 
fare  that  is  not  palatable  to  me. 
There  isn’t  any  better  drink  for  the  little  folks  than 
milk.  Cocoa  is  harmless  enough,  but  coffee  and  tea 
should  be  left  for  the  grown-ups  who  are  ali’eady  in 
the  toils  and  can’t  help  themselves.  Let  the  little 
folks  have  plenty  of  simple  food,  let  them  play  out  in 
the  fresh  air  and  wind  and  sunshine,  and  go  to  their 
nests  early  with  a  little  prayer  and  a  good-night  kiss. 
It  seems  to  me  that  simplicity  in  all  things  is  one 
great  essential  in  a  child’s  life.  Too  many  childi’en 
grow  up  in  a  fever  of  excitement.  They  are  like 
flowers,  that  are  continually  tossed  and  tormented  and 
twisted  by  the  wind;  they  have  no  calm,  sunny,  quiet 
hours  in  which  to  grow.  Their  little  nerves  are  shat¬ 
tered  before  they  get  their  growth. 
I  remember  one  day  a  little  girl  came  to  the  farm 
with  her  mamma.  She  wore  the  daintiest  of  pale  blue 
frocks,  trimmed  in  ruffles  and  lace,  and  a  bit  of  a  bon¬ 
net  of  pale  blue  satin.  Somebody  said: 
“  What  a  nice  little  lady  !  ” 
I  stood  by  in  my  plain  calico  dress  and  my  bare  feet, 
with  my  sun  bonnet  pushed  off  my  wind-tumbled  hair, 
and  I  wondered  why  I  couldn’t  be  a  nice  little  lady  too. 
Bxxt  I  wonder  now  which  was  the  happier,  after  all  ! 
I  made  mud  pies  in  my  dear  old  playhouse  under  the 
apple  trees,  and  kept  my  bits  of  broken  china  in  a 
cupboard  made  of  barrel  staves  with  bricks  between 
the  ends.  I  had  my  one  faithful  old  dolly,  who  staid 
by  me  tliroxigh  rain  and  shine.  She  had  a  stui’dy 
china  head,  and  calico  frocks  that  could  be  put  off 
and  on,  washed  whenever  I  pleased  and  ironed  with 
my  own  little  flat  iron.  The  little  lady  pi-obably  had 
a  dolly  of  frail  health  whose  nei-ves  were  too  delicate 
to  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  every  day,  so  she  lived 
in  fine  and  solitary  state  in  the  bureau  drawer,  to  be 
looked  at  now  and  then,  and  on  rare  occasions  lifted 
out  and  talked  about  with  hushed  voices.  Since  that 
day  I  have  grown  considerably  wiser,  and  a  great 
deal  older,  and  T  long  ago  concluded  that  after  all,  1 
was  the  one  to  be  envied . 
Oh,  these  warm  spring  days,  these  bursting  buds, 
these  joyful  birds!  Every  morning  is  full  of  new  joy, 
new  life,  new  hope.  The  heart  within  us  leaps  up  with 
answering  gladness;  we  go  out  among  tse  busy  men 
and  women  of  the  world  with  the  morning  joy  in  our 
hearts  and  faces. 
It  makes  such  a  difference  how  you  begin  a  day. 
Just  a  two  minutes’  quiet  before  you  plunge  in — half 
a  dozen  long  breaths  of  the  dewy  air  that  rolls  up  from 
the  blossoming  orchards;  a  glimpse  at  the  rosy  drifts 
of  the  spring  sunrise;  a  harking  to  the  rapturous  bird 
singing  all  by  himself  among  green  branches — then 
you  can  go  down  and  fry  potatoes  and  make  coffee 
and  strain  milk,  and  all  day  that  blessed  bird  will  go 
on  singing  his  morning  song  in  your  heart,  and  when 
night  comes  you  will  find  yourself  not  half  so  tired. 
No,  I  don’t  always  find  the  two  minutes  myself,  be¬ 
cause  that  blessed  train  that  comes  thundering  into 
Austin  every  morning  is  as  relentless  as.  fate;  but  if 
you  will  try  my  medicine  you  will  find  it  very  pleasant 
to  take.  DOROTHY  DEANE. 
Wasting  Among  Farmers. 
FARMERS  waste  more  than  any  other  class  of  busi¬ 
ness  men.  Why  is  it  ?  Farmer  C.  is  going  to 
market  with  40  pounds  of  butter  to-day.  Will  he  carry 
anything  else?  No,  he  can’t  bother  to-day.  To  be 
sure,  there  is  more  pie-plant  and  asparagus  than  the 
family  can  eat;  they  might  bring  $1.50  to  $2,  but  he 
doesn’t  care  to  fuss  for  that.  Then,  a  little  later  come 
strawberries,  but  he  can  give  away  what  the  family 
doesn’t  want,  if  the  neighbors  will  pick  them  them¬ 
selves.  As  for  early  peas,  there  are  hardly  enough  to 
pay  for  fussing  with  them.  He  might  pick  three  pecks 
at  45  cents,  but  they  soon  spoil  or  the  birds  carry  them 
off.  The  grocer  tells  him  he  will  take  all  the  sweet 
corn  he  will  bring,  and  pay  for  what  he  sells,  while  he 
can  take  the  remainder  home  to  feed  to  the  pigs.  There 
are  a  dollar  or  two  extra,  and  he  can  carry  it  as  well 
as  not  when  he  goes  to  market  with  butter  and  eggs  ; 
but  it’s  a  bother,  anyway.  It  is  the  same  at  harvest 
time.  If  he  cannot  spare  more  than  a  couple  of  bar¬ 
rels  of  apples,  or  five  bushels  of  potatoes,  or  two 
dozen  cabbages,  squashes,  etc.,  he  does  not  bother  to 
find  a  market  for  so  small  a  quantity  ;  and  perhaps  he 
puts  several  dollars’  worth  of  vegetables  that  he  has 
no  use  for  into  the  cellar  simply  because  he  doesn’t  take 
the  trouble  to  sell  them. 
Now,  I  fancy  I  hear  some  man  say,  “  The  potatoes, 
etc.,  are  worth  something  to  feed  to  live  stock  in  win¬ 
ter.”  Does  he  feed  them  ?  Generally  they  remain  in 
the  cellar  until  February  or  March,  when  he  carries 
out  decayed  cabbages,  apples,  etc. ;  and  the  potatoes 
have  shriveled  until  he  thinks  he’ll  let  them  go  until 
planting  time,  for  he  may  need  most  of  them. 
A  merchant  often  spends  more  time  in  selling  50  or 
even  25  cents’  worth  of  his  stock,  than  in  selling  a  $15 
dress  pattern.  We  say  that  is  his  business.  It  is  a 
farmer’s  business  to  try  to  sell  all  his  stock  instead  of 
letting  it  waste.  A  penny  saved  in  farming  is  worth 
as  much  as  in  any  other  business.  In  the  largest  busi¬ 
ness  establishments  if  a  book-keeper’s  accounts  fall 
short  a  few  cents,  he  often  spends  hours  of  valuable 
time  trying  to  find  out  where  the  error  lies.  A  fai’mer 
needs  to  calculate  as  closely  as  any  other  businessman 
in  order  to  be  sxxccessful.  But  does  he  alsvays  do  it  ? 
ALICE  E.  PINNEY. 
For  Convalescents. 
AMONG  others,  the  following  dishes  for  convales¬ 
cing  invalids  are  given  in  Harper’s  Bazar.  But 
the  commonsense  of  many  must  revolt  at  the  idea  of 
allowing  one  who  is  yet  almost  an  invalid  a  dish  in 
which  four  tablespoon fuls  of  butter,  with  curry  pow¬ 
der,  strive  for  the  mastery  with  three  tablespoonfuls 
of  the  chicken  supposed  to  be  the  main  ingredient. 
Celeried  Chicken.— Take  a  few  pieces  of  cold  roast 
or  boiled  chicken  or  turkey,  such  as  remain  after  the 
portion  presentable  in  slices  has  been  removed  ; 
chop  them  very  fine.  To  each  tablespoonful  of  meat 
allow  a  table-spoonful  of  cream:  season  with  pepper, 
salt,  a  little  nutmeg,  and  celery  seed,  or  celery  salt. 
Put  the  cream  and  seasoning  in  a  saucepan,  and  let 
it  come  to  a  boil.  Stir  in  the  chicken,  remove  from  the 
fire,  and  beat  till  frothy.  Pile  strips  of  toast  in  a  hol¬ 
low  square  on  a  hot  plate,  and  fill  the  center  with 
the  celeried  chicken. 
