i4 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
CAMP LIFE IN A FARM HOUSE. 
MARY WAGER-FISHER. 
III. 
The two farmers, Oarl and Jones, although brothers, 
were very unlike, physically and mentally. Both were 
highly respected in the neighborhood where they had 
lived all their lives, and as it was an eminently Quaker 
region, they said “thee” Instead of “you,” in conversa¬ 
tion. Carl was a bachelor, and lived alone with his aged 
father (the mother had quite recently died) in a cottage 
but a little way off. He was of splendid physique, a hand¬ 
some face, black as tar, and moved with great quickness 
and energy. Jones was small, married, and although 
vivacious, as little people often are. seemed less efficient 
than Carl. His wife, Martha, and four children, the 
eldest a girl of 13 years, named Hattie, were all intelligent 
and attractive. They occupied the tenant house on the 
opposite side of the road, and were quite within calling. 
The “ spring house ” and mill were also on that side, and 
the farmers had the former for their milk. The mill had 
not yet been put into operation by its new owner. The 
nearest white neighbor was nearly half a mile distant. 
When Jones, who had gone for our luggage, returned, I 
went into the house to select rooms for our sleeping 
quarters, and for an indoor sitting-room in rainy weather. 
Wilfrid pulled me along in his eager guidance, naming 
the rooms, showing me porticos and porches, and stairs, 
no end of closets and “cubby holes,” but it was nearly a 
week before I had fully explored the rambling old house. 
Its stone door sills in the older part were worn hollow 
from years of use. 
The kitchen evidently, with its enormous fireplace, had 
been the original building, maybe two centuries old. One 
needed a step ladder to reach its high mantel shelf and 
closets, It was a dark, damp room, evidently cheerful 
enough when a great log roared in the chimney. On the 
rear of the kitchen a laundry, or outer kitchen, had been 
built, and into this a pipe from somewhere brought a 
slender stream of water, which fell into a large, 
stone basin, supplied with a drain. From the 
other end of the kitchen, the dwelling had been 
repeatedly enlarged. The dining-room, wedged in between 
thick walls, and with piazza roofs covering both win¬ 
dows, admitted never a ray of sunshine and having been 
closed for several months, was damp and musty. An end 
room to the south, with a bay window, and exposed to 
the sun, was chosen for the indoor living-room. Upstairs 
three large and contiguous rooms, one full of sunshine 
and with an open fireplace, were selected for sleeping and 
bath rooms. Two down-stairs rooms had open grates. 
But to the four rooms alluded to and the large piazza we 
chiefly confined ourselves. Martha was speedily engaged 
for the house-cleaning, at ten cents an hour—the washing 
she would take home to do. Hattie could do the sweep¬ 
ing at five cents an hour, bo here at the very outset my 
domestic service problem was solved by non-resident 
labor—a long-time pet theory of mine which I had never 
before been able to carry into effect. 
Upon inquiry, we learned that three times a week a 
“bakery wagon” passed our way, and would leave us fresh 
bread, and, strange as it seemed, in this farming, dairy 
region, where everything needed by the population in the 
way of food could be produced by every one for himself, 
not only bakers, but hucksters and butchers had their 
regular routes and patrons among the farmers. There 
was no gainsaying the convenience of it, neither the out¬ 
come—farms mortgaged and the hard-pressed proprietors 
dolefully declaring that farming didn’t pay. Under such 
circumstances it could not pay, for one of the great results 
of tilling the soil should be a generous subsistence for the 
farmer, whose constant aim shouid be to have more and 
more to sell, and less and less to be bought. A hamper 
of edibles brought from home formed a sufficient supp) y for 
a day or two, until we could avail ourselves of local re¬ 
sources. But the oil stove, with its tin oven and mounted 
upon the box in which it had been packed, was imme¬ 
diately brought into use, and this, with the adjunct of a 
Wanzer lamp, with its fixture for the coffee pot, remained 
to the end our sole cooking stove—a convenience no 
little family can afford to do without in the summer time 
in a region where coal oil Is not dear. With all my ex¬ 
perience with an oil stove, however, I have never arrived at 
such a degree of perfection in its management as never to 
have cooking utensils blackened with smoke from the 
wicks. All rules for the care of the burners, etc., were 
carefully observed, but rarely a day passed when some un¬ 
even bit in a wick, or a jar on the stove, or the action of 
the heat itself would not send up a jet of flame just enough 
to soil the surface of whatever was exposed to it. But no 
great harm was ever done. A supply of paper in an open 
bag hung near the stove, and a swab or basin of soft soap 
in the stOHe basin where the water ran lukewarm, quickly 
put all wrongs to rights. As our need for certain articles 
of furniture became emphasized, Wilfrid’s deft carpentry 
quickly changed dry goods boxes ordered for a few cents 
from the nearest “store” into tables, cupboards, benches 
and stools. 
Our most valued contrivance was what went by the name 
of “ iefrigerator.” For the frame-work a large, clean, light 
box that had once held starch was used, and was sus¬ 
pended at each end by wire from hooks in the ceiling of 
the piazza. The frame had a close top, slats formed the 
bottom, and four small upright pieces the corner posts. 
The whole thing was covered with mosquito netting: one 
side let down for a door. In this arrangement, exposed on 
all sides but the top to the free circulation of air, our milk 
and cooked foods were kept, and no day was so warm that 
a basin of milk drawn in the morning and then cooled in 
a pan of spring water, did not keep sweet until night. This 
insect-proof affair, so serviceable, simple, economical and 
convenient was a great comfert, and a little experience 
proved that whatever was housed in it came out of it 
sweeter and fresher and free from a certain mustiness that 
invaded both the spring and the cellar in a wet time, and 
which often taints food kept in ice- boxes. 
THREE RULES FOR OUR GIVING. 
“ He that gives to the poor lends to the Lord,” who will 
surely and most liberally repay. But let us be sure when 
giving that our gift is such that God Himself would ac¬ 
cept. We cannot “lend” to him by giving money to the 
vicious beggar who will spend it for strong drink, tobacco, 
or other vile trash. In this holiday time we express our 
regard for others by the giving of gifts. We give to our 
own loved ones for the pleasure of giving. We feel con¬ 
strained to give also to the stranger and the undeserving 
as an expression of gratitude to the Giver of all good for 
His unspeakable gift to us. 
But to God directly we dare offer only our very best; 
well, really, no less than our most precious, because least 
plentiful,treasure, Love, will fill rightly the divine meas¬ 
ure of our giving to the poor. 
Of what avail are the rich man’s millions to the poor ex¬ 
cept as divinely taught and wrought Charity transmutes 
them into hospitals, orphan asylums, industrial schools 
and free gospel teaching ? Well does the apostle say, 
"Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor * * * 
and have not Charity, it profiteth me nothing.” Why? 
God, who is Love, accepts not an unwilling or an unlov¬ 
ing loan. 
Thence, rule third : Let us give to the filthy, wicked, 
degraded poor the same loving compassion that we might 
feel for an own child in that condition. We may give 
nothing less, because nothing less is acceptable ; nothing 
less is acceptable because nothing less will at all answer 
the need of a prodigal. That is why God himself gave His 
dearest and best and most precious for us. 
_ E. S. LINCOLN. 
NOW AND THEN. 
Among the New England hills was an old farm house 
that I always liked to visit. Grandma Deane was a very 
interesting old lady, and I never tired of hearing her tell 
about “ years ago.” “ I don’t know what the children, or 
men and women either, of these days if they were sud¬ 
denly moved back to 50 years ago, would do,” said she. 
“ In my childhood I was called in at five o’clock Saturday 
afternoon, washed, given a supper and then told to sit 
still till bed-time, and I was always very glad to have 
that time arrive. We were up early Sunday morning, 
started for church at 9 o’clock, and after a three 
miles’ walk were willing to go through the exercises from 
10 till 1 o’clock ; then came half an hour’s recess, and we 
generally ate our lunch among the graves back of the 
meeting house. Afternoon meeting lasted till nearly 4 
o’clock. Then came an impatient waiting till 6, for at 
that time our Sabbath was over for the week, and mother 
could cook us a hot dinner. But my grandma lived in 
our house, then, and she used td shake her head over the 
worldly ways of us children, and tell us about her own 
childhood. The Sabbath in her day must have been a 
hard one. Before 6 struck on Saturday afternoon her 
house was in perfect order. Clean clothes for each one 
were laid out, the table was set, and all the food that was 
to be eaten next day was put on it. The kitchen fire was 
not lit on Sabbath morning, not a plate was taken from 
the table or washed, and not even the beds were made. A 
silence like death was over the house from 0 o’clock Satur¬ 
day until 6 o’clock Sunday evening. ‘One day,’ said my 
grandma, ‘ my sister Clarissa walked out into the garden, 
and seeing the ripe currants, picked a few and ate them. 
Her mother caught her in the act. She was told that her 
sin was almost unpardonable, and was made to take off 
her clothes and go to bed, and stay there that beautiful 
summer day, and the next morning was.soundly whipped.’ 
“ I can remember,” said my grandma, “when there were 
no stoves in the meeting-house, and on very cold days we 
could hardly see the preacher, owing to the denseness of 
the breaths from so many mouths. The very luxurious 
used to take foot stoves to meeting. These were tin boxes 
with holes all over them, and the hot coals were placed 
inside. I should like to have the ladies in these days, with 
their furs and heavy coats, worshipping in their warm and 
luxurious churches on cushioned seats, try a three hours’ 
sitting in an old meeting-house, 100 years ago, sitting on 
the soft side of a pine board, hands and feet tingling, and 
watching the breaths out of their mouths floating towards 
the rafters. And in those days, people were fined if they 
stayed from meeting, without a good reason.” 
SISTER GRACIOUS. 
Concerning the cattle in a once famous ox-growing 
State (Maine), Director W. H. Jordan writes : “ I am not 
aware that dishorning is practiced to any extent in this 
State. The Jerseys are most numerous amoug our dairy 
cattle and the Herefords and Short-horns among beef 
cattle. The production of beef has diminished to such an 
extent, owing to the low prices, that it can hardly be said 
that any breed of animals is gaining in favor for that pur¬ 
pose. I judge from what I hear from the farmers in dif¬ 
ferent parts of the State that if any one dairy breed is 
gaining in favor more rapidly than others it is the Jerseys. 
Dishorning will pay in Maine. 
BECAUSE Peter Henderson or any other man has done 
well on a farm, it does not follow that a poor man can. Let 
the man who wants to try it, however, by all means do so; 
but, first, let him ask his wife if she is willing. Then, 
again, will he make a better mechanic than farmer ? Can 
he learn the practical part of the business before he invests 
money in it ? I paid more to learn gardening than my 
brother paid to obtain a diploma as an M. D. and I have 
lots to learn yet. Twelve acres are enough. Did the man 
ever live who could crop one acre to its fullest capacity? 
Connecticut. w. A. saunders. 
JAN. 3 
Womans Work 
A STRIKE. 
HAVE read the occasional effusions of “Penny Wise” for 
some time with a considerable degree of interest, and 
she has expressed my own ideas so often that I naturally 
concluded that she was a very sensible woman. But I hold 
up my hands in holy horror when she tells the list of her 
day’s doings, and unless she stops milking and hoeing in 
the vegetable garden, I shall use the other part of the 
proverb when I think of her and pronounce her “ pound 
foolish.” No woman who skims and strains the milk 
and churnsand works the butter should be obliged to milk 
the cows also. A woman should fix a line beyond which 
she will not go except in case of sickness or dire calamity, 
and the mere wish to “get on” should not be sufficient ex¬ 
cuse for crossing that line. 
I live on a farm where three hired men are kept through¬ 
out the working months. Ours is mixed farming and the 
care of from six to ten cows and of quantities of 
fruit is mixed with the other work. Of course I 
am obliged to keep help In the house (though I 
have kept the household wheel in motion alone when ne¬ 
cessity demanded), and neither my girl nor I ever think 
of milking. There are a great many kinds of out-of-door 
work which I do and enjoy, but the men have just as 
much time after supper as the women, and they will milk 
and carry the heavy pails to the milk room with half the 
fatigue that women must endure in the process. With 
washing and ironing, sweeping and cleaning, gathering 
fruit and vegetables and preparing them for immediate 
use or for winter’s store, baking, milk work and-but 
why enumerate the ceaseless round? Every woman knows 
what it means to “ keep house,” and if she intends to be 
anything above a household drudge, she must confine her¬ 
self to the work which is rightly hers and not permit her¬ 
self to do that which “the men and boys cannot or will not 
do.” 
“Glad she isn’t my wife,” I hear some shiftless, careless 
husband saying. And well he may be; for there are a few 
branches of farm labor which I will not do, except under 
very unusual circumstances, and milking is one of them. 
I thoroughly believe that a woman should have time to 
put on a clean calico dress, if nothing prettier, every after¬ 
noon and by the help of little half sleeves to draw on 
the arms and an apron which will cover the whole skirt, 
she may do all the work which outfit to be required of 
her at that time of day without serious disfigurement to 
her apparel. The little sleeves should be long enough to 
reach above the elbow, and the handiest way is to have 
elastics run through the hem at the top and bottom to hold 
them in place Put them in the apron pocket when not in 
use, and hang the apron in some convenient place in the 
kitchen or pantry, so that it may be always at hand when 
wanted. Lastly, let me urge all women to take thought 
of their health. Better not “ get on ” so fast than live a 
helpless invalid, a victim to the Moloch Overwork. 
ONE WIIO HAS STRUCK. 
Try it on your Lamp Chimney.—A correspondent of 
the Manufacturer and Builder lately asked: “ Has the ten 
dency of hardened glass to break spontaneously yet been 
overcome?” The reply to the inquiry states that this 
great difficulty with hardened glass has been overcome by 
Frederick Siemens, by placing the hardened cold plates in 
boiling water, and allowing them to cool very slowly: and 
that he has made some very interesting experiments before 
the Berlin Polytechnic Society, showing the power of re¬ 
sistance of such plates. A plate about eight inches square, 
and more than an inch thick, was supported at its corners, 
and on it was dropped a weight of more than eight pounds, 
from different heights, up to six feet, without its breaking. 
A second and a third test were made, the third plate break¬ 
ing under a weight of one pound six ounces, falling 11)4 
feet, while the same weight falling two feet broke an ordi¬ 
nary plate of the same dimensions. 
In applying this principle of toughening the glass to 
lamp chimneys, we shouid prefer to place them at first in 
cold, rather than boiling water. If the water is heated 
slowly to the boiling point, kept there for some time, and 
then cooled as above, cheap chimneys can be used for 
months, or until some accident befalls them. We can tes¬ 
tify from experience that the plan is a successful one. 
gtlisrcUuumtis; 
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