1892 
563 
THE  RURAL  NEW-YORKER. 
What  Open  Eyes  See. 
As  the  tender  green  corn  comes 
on,  and  the  family  begins  to  tire  of  it 
cooked  in  standard  ways,  do  not  let  the 
corn  fritters  he  forgotten.  It  is  fash¬ 
ionable  to  consider  them  nicer  if  the 
corn  is  grated;  but  they  are  thus  far  more 
likely  to  be  clammy  and  heavy  than  when 
the  rows  of  corn  are  cut  lengthwise  and 
the  pulp  scraped  out. 
A  Man’s  Idea  of  Woman. — A  woman 
must  be  a  fool  indeed  who  can  really  be¬ 
lieve  that  her  person  is  that  of  a  grace, 
her  smile  the  smile  of  Venus,  her  beauty 
surpassing  that  of  Helen,  and  her  under¬ 
standing  that  of  Sappho.  She  knows 
better  ;  she  knows  that  her  wit  is  small 
and  petty  beside  the  wit  of  a  man  ;  her 
wisdom  nothing  but  to  learn  a  little  of 
what  men  have  said  ;  her  very  beauty,  of 
which  so  much  is  said,  but  a  flower  of  a 
few  years,  whereas  the  beauty  of  man¬ 
hood  lasts  all  a  life.  So  writes  Walter 
Besant.  Dare  we  women  believe  him  ? 
A  Hot  Day  in  July. — The  thermome¬ 
ter  indicates  94  degrees  in  the  shade  ;  the 
men  have  come  in  for  dinner.  A  cool 
kitchen  greets  them — one  room  serves  for 
kitchen  and  dining-room  as  a  rule  in  the 
West.  The  blinds  are  closed  to  keep  out  the 
hot  sun.  There  is  clean,  white  table  linen, 
with  fresh  doilies  at  the  men’s  plates  to 
keep  the  tablecloth  clean.  White,  spongy 
bread,  a  golden  ball  of  butter — hard,  just 
up  from  the  cistern — a  head  of  crisp, 
curled  lettuce,  with  dressing  of  cream 
and  sugar,  or  vinegar  and  sugar,  as  one 
prefers,  boiled  eggs — with  the  shells  re¬ 
moved,  in  a  nest  of  lettuce  leaves — a  glass 
of  fresh  onions,  a  plate  of  sliced  beef 
from  the  staples.  For  dessert,  corn-starch 
pudding  with  cream,  and  a  dish  of  cur¬ 
rants,  together  with  a  pitcher  of  cool 
milk  right  from  the  creamery,  refresh 
the  partakers  thereof. 
“  How  much  nicer  this  cool  dinner  than 
a  hot  one,”  remarks  one  of  the  men. 
MRS.  FRED.  C.  .JOHNSON. 
Can  the  Head  “Save  the  Heels?” — 
Having  much  to  do  on  different  floors,  my 
knees,  always  weak,  began  to  fail;  so  I 
procured  a  basket  that  I  might  carry  all 
I  could  each  way.  Soon  my  arms  and 
wrists  became  so  lame  that  I  could 
scarcely  use  them  at  all.  I  now  bandage 
one  and  lubricate  the  others.  Recently 
I  began  on  all  possible  occasions  to 
bend  the  back  instead  of  the  knee.  Now 
I  have  a  new  difficulty,  trouble  with  the 
spine.  What  may  be  learned  from  my 
experience  ?  1st.  That  we  cannot  save 
one  organ  of  the  body  at  the  expense  of 
another;  for  the  one  called  to  do  double 
duty  will  revolt  and  demand  a  hearing 
through  the  language  of  pain  and  suf¬ 
fering.  2nd.  That  if  we  would  use  the 
improvements,  hints  and  suggestions 
given  us,  to  lighten  our  work  or  do  it 
better  instead  of  doing  more  work,  we 
would  derive  from  them  vastly  more  ben¬ 
efit  than  we  now  do.  3rd.  No  amount  of 
order  or  system  can  enable  one  person  to 
do  everything  without  breaking  down, 
for  “  there  is  always  somewhere  a 
weakest  spot.” 
“  mrs.  pettes.”  (Number  Six) 
Making  Americans. — During  an  en¬ 
tertainment  given  by  a  certain  ward 
school  in  New  York  city,  at  a  certain 
place  in  the  programme  each  child  arose, 
holding  in  his  or  her  hands  two  flags. 
One  was  the  American  flag,  the  other  the 
flag  of  the  nation  from  which  the  father 
had  come.  The  visitors  recognized  half 
a  dozen  flags  well  known.  Then  they 
saw  nearly  a  dozen  others,  recognizable 
as  the  banners  of  countries  known  to  us 
in  a  vague  way  as  heathen.  When  these 
children,  none  being  under  five  years  of 
When  Baby  was  Bick,  we  gave  her  Castorla, 
When  she  was  a  Child,  she  cried  for  Castorla, 
When  she  became  Miss,  she  clung  to  Castorla, 
When  she  had  Children,  she  gave  them  Castorla 
age,  first  come  to  this  school,  they  are 
foreigners  to  the  very  core.  They  speak 
the  language  of  their  fathers,  and  per¬ 
haps  have  never  even  heard  the  sound 
of  an  English  word.  They  enter  the  pri¬ 
mary  department.  And  here  it  may  be 
said  that  although  the  youngest  are  five 
years  old,  the  ages  of  many  extend  up¬ 
ward  toward  18  and  20  years.  The  prob¬ 
lem  is  to  teach  these  children  the  English 
language,  and  then  to  make  American 
children  out  of  them.  Go  into  the  school 
at  the  beginning  of  the  school  year,  and 
you  will  think  the  task  hopeless,  impos¬ 
sible.  Come  back  at  the  end  of  six 
months,  and  if  you  close  your  eyes  and 
listen  to  the  reading  exercises,  you  will 
not  be  able  to  distinguish  Chinese  child 
or  Arab  child  or  Tunisian  child  from  the 
few  pure-blooded  Americans  who  form 
the  curiosities  of  the  school.  This  seems 
beyond  belief,  yet  it  is  Harper’s  Weekly 
that  vouches  for  its  truth. 
Mother  and  Child. — “Please,  dear 
mamma,  could  you  not  spare  time  to  go 
to  the  woods  with  brother  and  me  this 
afternoon?  You  might  take  a  book  or 
some  sewing.  All  we  desire  is  to  have 
you  with  us.  You  used  to  take  time ; 
why  can’t  you  now  ?  ” 
These  were  the  words  of  a  little  pen¬ 
cilled  note  I  found  on  my  table  one  busy 
morning.  The  last  clause  struck  home 
and  aroused  me  as  to  whither  I  was  drift¬ 
ing.  Hours  spent  in  superfluous  work  in 
cooking  and  on  the  children's  clothing 
could  be  given  to  them  with  better 
results  in  other  ways.  As  a  consequence 
there  was  always  a  worn-out,  tired  feel¬ 
ing,  leaving  me  unable  to  enjoy  even 
their  merry  prattle.  Yet  when  my  little 
girl  came  for  her  answer,  I  put  her  off 
with  the  old  excuse,  “No  time  to-day,” 
intending  to  go  with  her  in  the  near  fu¬ 
ture.  Other  work  crowded  on,  however, 
and  my  intention  was  forgotten  until 
sickness  came  to  her,  and,  burning  with 
fever,  in  her  delirium,  she  begged  of  me 
to  go  to  the  woods,  where  it  would  be 
nice  and  cool.  It  was  then  I  realized 
how  gladly  would  I  have  given  up  every¬ 
thing  to  be  able  to  grant  her  request. 
II.  MAC  DONALD. 
A  New  Sort  of  Vacation. — Two 
summers  ago,  my  holiday  consisted  of  a 
nine  days’  drive  through  northern  Onta¬ 
rio.  We  drove  225  miles,  but  the  steep 
and  rough  roads  limited  our  speed  to 
three  miles  an  hour.  My  husband 
walked  about  half  the  distance,  while  I 
was  Jehu.  One  steep  hill  we  descended 
was  three-quarters  of  a  mile  long  ;  and 
the  corduroy  roads  and  bridges  !  I  be¬ 
came  so  acrobatic  that  as  long  as  I  held 
on  to  the  reins,  I  felt  pretty  sure  of  fall¬ 
ing  back  into  the  conveyance  again  after 
each  bump. 
Bears  were  numerous  in  the  woods  we 
passed.  One  forest  was  13  miles  long 
without  a  settler’s  clearing.  The  scenery 
along  our  route  was  grand  and  af¬ 
forded  a  magnificent  dining-room  when 
we  halted  each  noon,  started  our  own 
camp  fire,  made  coffee  and  toasted  ham  ; 
but  any  farm  house  will  give  a  lodging 
and  meals  for  a  modest  sum.  Wild  rasp¬ 
berries  were  abundant.  This  is  a  sports¬ 
man's  paradise,  rich  in  partridge,  deer, 
and  even  moose ;  we  passed  a  brook 
where,  the  day  before,  two  fishermen 
had  caught  over  12  dozen  brook  trout. 
Our  expenses,  for  feeding  horses  and 
all,  were  not  over  $14,  and  I  am  ready  to 
go  again  when  “  invited.”  G.  A.  r.  h. 
More  on  an  Unsavory  Subject. — 
I  lay  down  my  last  Rural  full  of  sympa¬ 
thy  for  the  one  who  asks  for  a  remedy 
for  bed  bugs.  Despair  no  longer ;  a 
v  ord  to  the  wise  is  sufficient ;  the  word 
is  quicksilver.  For  Iowa  bugs  it  is  sure 
death.  I  found  my  house  overrun  with 
them,  from  the  great  and  crafty  down  to 
the  third  and  fourth  generation.  In  dis¬ 
may,  I  took  my  beds  to  pieces,  accom¬ 
panying  the  work  with  tears  of  mortifi¬ 
cation  and  wrath.  But  I  conquered,  and 
my  neighbors  use  my  remedy  with  equal 
success. 
Take  a  tablespoonful  of  quicksilver  and 
the  whites  of  two  egg s.  Beat  the  eggs 
as  for  frosting;  when  stiff,  add  the  quick¬ 
silver  and  beat  again.  The  “silver”  will 
appear  in  tiny  globules  all  through  the 
froth.  With  a  feather  touch  every  crack 
and  corner  of  the  bedsteads,  also  around 
the  base  boards  and  other  lurking  places 
in  the  room.  A  few  days  will  tell  the 
story.  Keep  the  mixture  always  on  the 
inside  of  the  bedsteads  so  that  you  can 
see  the  little  silver  globules,  and  the 
dreaded  enemy  will  pass  you  by.  One 
application  will  last  six  months  or  more. 
ICAN. 
[This  remedy  can  hardly  be  called  new, 
unless  it  be  so  old  that  it  has  become 
new  by  virtue  of  being  forgotten.  It 
was  the  first  remedy  for  Cltnex  to  which 
the  leader  of  “Open  Eyes”  was  intro¬ 
duced,  years  since.  We  fancy  “the  word” 
is  “  every  crack  and  corner  and  lurking 
place,”  rather  than  “  quicksilver”  espec¬ 
ially. — Eds.  ] 
A  Visit  from  Helen  Keller. — She 
stood  with  her  arm  about  Miss  Sullivan's 
neck,  a  tall  child  for  her  age,  with  a  very 
bright  and  smiling  face. 
As  the  different  girls  came  up  to  meet 
her,  Miss  Sullivan  repeated  their  names 
to  Helen  by  means  of  the  deaf-and-dumb 
alphabet,  and  Helen  spoke  to  them. 
You  ask  how  can  that  be  ? 
One  of  the  most  marvelous  things  of 
all  is,  that  she  has  learned  to  articulate. 
Think  of  it  !  She  has  never  heard  a 
human  voice  in  her  life.  Of  course,  her 
articulation  is  very  imperfect ;  but  when 
she  speaks  slowly,  one  can  understand 
quite  well  what  she  says.  Her  teachers 
think  that  in  a  year  or  two  her  utterance 
will  be  perfectly  distinct.  Her  voice  is 
necesssarily  peculiar. 
About  30  girls  were  introduced  to  her, 
for  each  of  whom  she  had  a  pleasant 
word.  I  think  in  no  one  case  did  she 
forget  a  name.  *  *  *  In  telling  us  of 
Tommy,  she  said,  “  When  he  was  a  litt  e 
baby,  his  dear  mamma  died,  and  then  he 
was  sick,  and  then  the  light  went  out  of 
his  eyes,  and  the  hearing  from  his  ears. 
Now  he  has  come  to  be  educated.  And 
by  and  by,”  she  added,  “  when  he  knows 
more  words,  he  will  understand  what  a 
wonderful  thing  language  is,  and  how 
education  brings  music  and  love  to  body 
and  soul.”  St.  Nicholas  tells  the  story. 
If  you  name  The  R.  N.-Y.  to  our  advertisers  you 
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✓ 
