94 
TAN. 31 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
plan of his mill-dog was stolen from him just as it was 
nearly completed and patented by another person, who 
made a profit of $70,000 out of it. His invention of the 
jeweler’s tool was stolen from him just as it was finished, 
while he was at dinner. Before his attack of insanity he 
stated that an assignment of all his rights in the road-cart, 
which was being manufactured by thousands, was ob¬ 
tained from him by fraud, he supposing that he was 
signing a receipt for a trifling sum that was due him as 
royalty. Seven thousand dollars in royalties due him 
were never received in consequence of this fraudulent trick. 
His Inventions and labors were undertaken with a view to 
enabling him to help a widowed mother who was bravely 
struggling with poverty. What wonder that his repeated 
disappointments drove him to insanity and death 1 Some 
may laugh at the guileless and trustful nature of such 
a character that exposed him to such misfortunes; but, 
after all, such pathetic occurrences suggest to every fair- 
minded person the question whether society that profits to 
such an extent by the advent of such geniuses, does not 
owe to them a better protection than it now affords against 
the parasites that dog the heels of the inventor with the 
purpose of preying upon him. 
In view of the above experience, it appears to me that we 
ought to to make a distinction between the real inventor 
and the strong or cunning party who in various ways gets 
possession of his invention. Perhaps if the intent of the 
patent law—namely, the encouragement of invention in 
the service of the public—were carried out in all cases, 
there would not be so much injustice about it after all. 
Ontario, Canada. SEYMOUR. 
PARNY-ANN’S GARDEN SASS. 
About three years ago Uncle Polycarpus died, and in his 
last will and testament left to me, his “ beloved niece 
Parny-Ann,” his nice cottage and farm, his live critters, 
big and little, and about $3,000 in the bank. The house 
was all furnished complete, and I tell you I did feel rich. 
I was sorry to have old Uncle go, but then he was pretty 
old, 92, with hardly a hair to his head and not a tooth to 
his mouth, just about blind, and dreadfully deaf—all his 
faculties failin’, as it ware. 
I ain’t what you’d call a real old maid, still I ain’t no 
spring chicken, by no manner o’ means. 
Ever since I can remember—and I don’t mind sayin’ I 
had some size before the war—I have worked hard for a 
livin’, sewed bunnits to home as long as folks put ’em 
out. After that I worked in the straw shop; always earned 
fair to middlin’ wages and boarded to pretty good places, 
but I kinder longed for a home of my own the last years, 
and so often I used to hanker for some real good garden 
sass, none of your wilted green stuff sent out from the city; 
but real, genuine garden sass, straight from a garden, 
which hain’t had no time to wilt, being carted hither and 
yon, and lyin’ days at a time in the sun in the meat-man’s 
winder, the kind of sass we used to have to home when I 
was a gal, and men worked their farms, and didn’t leave 
’em to grow up to sorrel and blackberry vines, while they 
shoe-maked it. So when I got Uncle Polycarpus’s legacy 
I sez to myself: “ Parny-Ann, now’s your time,” and 
biddin’ farewell to my shopmates, I moved bag and bag¬ 
gage into the old place and set up to keep ‘‘old maid’s 
hall.” 
As soon as ’twas any ways possible I started out with 
my gardenin’. The neigbors warn’t used to seein’ a woman 
farmin’, and they did stare well I can tell you; but I didn’t 
care for that; no, not I. I was bound for garden sass, and 
as my old uncle used to say, I was a “ ’tarnal determined 
critter” and garden sass I was sot on havin’ and raisin’ it 
myself, too. 
Wall, I won’t enter into all the details of manurin’ and 
plowin’ the laud; that was men’s work and I let ’em do it, 
and held my say, but I did think they was pretty slow 
about it, and might have plowed deeper. 
The men wern’t fairly out ©’ sight goin’ home before I 
begun operations. 
The last time I druv to the village, three miles off, with 
Old Spotty harnessed to the shay that once belonged to 
Daniel Webster, I bought a whole kit of garden tools, for 
I wanted new, shiny ones, light enough for a woman to 
handle. I got ’em, and they stuck out fore and aft that 
old shay in a real pert and surprisin’ manner. Wall, as I 
said before, I begun, and how I did hoe to get that ground 
smooth as I wanted it. It had been “furrowed out ” but 
the furrows warn’t accordin’ to my idee, so I hoed and 
hoed; it was mighty hard work tew; but I made a powerful 
lot of holes and planted two quarts of the best sweet corn 
that afternoon. I put one good handful to each hill, for I 
wanted to raise a good mess, for I was always partial fond 
of green corn. 
Wall, I got that corn in before night, but I was too tired 
to get or eat any supper and went straight to bed. I was 
thankful I had sold all the live stock except Old Spotty, 
and he was in the orchard and could get his own supper. 
The next morning I riz at sun-up and ete my breakfast 
and went out to my plantin’ again. Wall, I worked 
lickerty-split all that day, hardly stoppin’ to take a snack 
of victuals. When night came I was just about tuckered- 
out, but I was set for that air garden sass. In about a 
week I had the whole half acre planted. I had bought 
every kind of vegetable seed I ever heard tell on and some 
I ha’in’t heard of at all, only I seed the names in a catalogue 
—they all went into that garden spot. 
The neighbors often used to stop and pass the time of 
day, kinder give advice, tew, which I didn’t care for. When 
I was a plantin’ my peas one man haw-hawed right out 
when he see the trench over a foot deep I had dug for ’em. 
“ Them peas are in tew deep,” ses he. 
“None tew deep for me,” ses I. 
“Almighty thick, tew,” ses he. 
“ None tew thick for me,” ses I, in a coolish tone, not 
givin’ him a look out of my slat-sunbunnit; he tee heed a 
little more, and went along. That night after dark I went 
out and took about six inches of dirt off them peas, but I 
said nothin’ to nobody about it. The small boys used to 
giggle as they went by and call out, kinder low, “ How’s 
farmin’, Captain Parny-Ann ?” 
“Tip-top, bub,” says I, never stoppin’ work, How them 
young ones did laugh at my short dress and thick brogans; 
I portended not to hear ’em, howsumever, for I didn’t want 
no quarrel With my neighbors, great or small. 
I sorter guv out all at once at the end of the week after 
my seed was all in, and took to my bed for some days. 
The women in the neighborhood was real good to me and 
come over and did for me.^ind after a spell I chirked up 
and began work agin. I hoed and hoed as before, but 
now I was tryin’ to keep the weeds down ; as fast as I got 
one end of the lot hoed the other would be all growed up 
to weeds agin’. It was the beatenest work I ever did, but 
I kept on ; them peas took about forever and a day to 
come up, but I got a mess at last, not very good ones ; the 
first ones were hard and soft, all mixed; the next mess 
burned down while I ran to chase a cow outer the garden ; 
but the next mess was fust-rate and I ete my fill. The corn 
come up in a regular sod, and I had to pull about 50 spears 
outer each hill. 
When I undertook to set some bean poles I had a funny 
time, but I got them sot, good and firm, too; but I had to 
work quite a spell at it, but I’m nothin’ if not perserverin’. 
A few men hung over the fence to watch the “ woman- 
farmer” and cracked their jokes, pretty poor ones, I can 
tell you. They offered to help me, but I thanked them 
and said I could get on all right without ’em and that 
"gardenin’ was my business and I felt like tending to it.” 
It was pretty evident they hadn’t no business to tend to 
by the way they stuck there. 
All summer long I wrastled with that air garden, always 
somethin’ to do in it. I’ve heern tell of women longin’ 
for occupation; let’m just try gardenin’ if all they want’s 
stiddy work; it’s stiddy enough, land knows 1 I never sat 
down in the afternoon to rest a bit but I had to jump and 
run; hens, pigs, cows or dogs were a-damagln’ my 
produce. 
It was truly surprisin’ to see what an amazin’ lot of stuff I 
did have after all, when I thought what that garden had been 
through. I never had no idea before they was half so many 
bugs in the whole world as come to my place that summer. 
I killed quarts and quarts of all kinds in various and 
sundry ways. I hated worst of all ketching squash bugs 
under the shingles, and then rubbin’ ’em together. 
Wall, I had all the garden sass I wanted that summer. I 
lived on it for weeks. One day I had 15 different vege¬ 
table for dinner, and livin’ outdoors, as I did, I was pretty 
hearty, so I e te some of all kinds, and that night I thought 
my last hour had come for certain. I rang my bell outer 
the winder and my nearest neighbor, Mrs. Smith, come 
over, and her husband tackled up Old Spotty and went off 
as fast as he could for the doctor. I like to a died before he 
got back with him, and I was about as sick a critter as 
you’d want to see fur goin’ on two weeks. But I had good 
care and came out all right, but I thought I’d try a little 
change of victuals for a spell, so I began to eat some meat 
once more. 
As soon as I felt tough enough I begun to work out 
agin. The garden was a sight; heaps of things spiled, 
weeds all over everythin’; they was lots of a kind of yel- 
ler-headed weed, never seen before in those parts, that the 
men folks blamed me for; said I got them into the land 
with my new-fangled seed. Airly in the fall I filled four 
barrels ram-jam-full of that air tassel flower, poured in 
kerosene, and one night had a proper big bonfire and I 
think I killed a good man y, but the neighbors did say 1 
come near burning “all creation.” Wall, the house and 
barn did ketch a few times and the men, for lazy folks, 
worked pretty spry getting water outer the well and brook 
and putting it on the burnin’ spots. 
I guv away a good lot of garden sass all the season, and 
the women folks was glad to get it, fur they had no gar¬ 
dens—men off to the shops all day and the women had 
too much housework and tendin’ children to do to raise 
anythin’ more’n a few stalks of pie plant, which growed 
themselves. But they was lots of waste; it made me feel 
real sad to see over 100 noble great yeller cucumbers rot¬ 
ting on the ground, and other things likewise. 
Well, November came and I got all my crops harvested 
—did it myself, too. Wish I had counted how many 
wheelbarrow loads I took into the suller and barn. Ground 
all cleared nice and neat, and I sot down to settle with my¬ 
self as to whether raisin’ garden sass had paid or whether 
it hadn’t. 
“ Now, Parny Ann,” seys I to myself, “ be honest, don’t 
keep back anythin’ ” and I hain’t. 
I counted up tools, seed, manure, hirin’ of men to plow— 
not very big items—then hirin’ nurses, and payin’ of doc¬ 
tor’s bills—pretty big items them was. I looked at myself 
in the glass, all tanned yeller and brown, but I felt at my 
age that I didn’t count for much; my hands was rough 
and pretty lame; jints awful stiff; but ’twan’t no ways 
likely but what they’d limber out in time. Them was all 
the outs I could think on. 
Then I took a good fair square look at t’other side. What 
a store I had set all summer by that garden I When I 
hain’t worked too hard or been sick in bed I hadn’t felt so 
smart fur years. How pleased I’d been for months watch- 
in’ the plants grow ever sence they fust stuck up them 
little green heads outer the sile, so kinder sassy like. 
Another thing: I’d at last had my own way, raised 
garden sass, and ete all I wanted of it once in may life. So I 
come to the conclusion that things was about even, or 
would be when I finished the rest of the garden sass I had 
laid up for winter ; but I feel free to confess that I hain’t 
never worked so hard in all my born days as I did that 
summer. L. R. 
IVonians IVork. 
LISTEN, HOUSEWIVES I 
$10 CASH! 
For information which you can give. The Chief Cook 
wants to know, 
HOW YOU ECONOMIZE: 
IN TIME: IN STEPS; IN FRICTION ; 
IN MATERIALS OR MONEY; 
And so do the other Housewives. 
The Chief Cook is so anxious to know all about this, 
that The R. N.-Y. will pay for the information. To the 
hous ewife who will best describe her economies in an 
article of 800 words or less, we will give a prize of $5. 
To the second best article, a prize of $3. 
To the third best article, a prize of 82. 
Ideas will count first; but if the ideas in two articles 
are of equal value, grammatical excellence, neatness, etc., 
will aid in determining the winner. Somebody will win ; 
shall it be your No article will be returned; we shall 
publish the best of them, but will give no names but those 
of the winners, if so desired. 
We will allow you about a month in which to get your 
ideas together and on paper. Competition will close 
February 15, 1891, and is limited to su bscribers and their 
families only. Articles of more than 800 words will not 
be considered as competing. Letters should be marked 
“ PRIZE COMPETITION,” and addressed to “ Woman’s 
Work.” 
SEASONABLE ARTICLES. 
N OTES from two friends this week furnish an added 
commentary on our words about unseasonable arti¬ 
cles in last week’s number, although both were written 
before that number was in the hands of our readers. 
“ Prudence Primrose,” in her diary, speaks of the fact 
that suggestions for Christmas work so often come too 
late for use; she will find that even her diary, hurried 
in at the earliest possible moment after Its receipt, will be 
almost a “ back number,” as the telling expression of the 
times has it—this, too, in spite of the fact that it was be¬ 
gun before the old year closed, in the effort to be season¬ 
able. 
It is The R. N.-Y.’s constant effort to keep not only 
abreast with the times, but just ahead of them, if possible, 
and no doubt its readers have less reason to complain on 
this score than those of many other periodicals. How 
much of an effort this requires can hardly be realized by 
those who are not familiar with the routine of a news¬ 
paper publishing office. Regular contributors often have 
to be admonished to be seaf onable, by the return of their 
manuscripts which reach the office too late to be of use, 
and our friends who send us occasional notes often fall 
into the same error through not realizing that we must 
have “ time to turn round.” 
A subscriber, in a private letter to the editor of “ Wo¬ 
man’s Work,” speaks thus about unseasonable matter: 
“ I do not care for a recipe for pickles and directions for 
cleaning house in midwinter (as last week in another 
paper), neither do I desire a recipe for cooking asparagus, 
for instance, in September, although I would welcome 
either just in advance of the right season.” This is sound 
sense; but to show how little realizing sense outsiders 
have of the time required for matter to reach our readers, 
we may say that this very same friend sent with her letter 
some good notes which we shall have to hold a year, or 
else put in a little too late to be really “seasonable.” 
Thus it may be seen that we are sometimes in a strait, 
and scarcely know what to do between our desire to use 
the hints which our friends have taken the trouble to send 
us, on the one hand, and our limitations on the other. 
* * * 
Owing to limited space in the household department, 
very little fancy work has been allowed a place in our 
columns. But as we have some inquiries for directions for 
such work we shall, as a special treat, give a few patterns 
during the next two months ; for we know that then, if 
ever, the busy farm housewife can find time for a few 
“may-bes” without the fear of being crushed by the ever- 
pushing “must-bes.” 
In writing to advertisers, please mention The R. N.-Y. 
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“A Delightful Bnlsuinic Cleanser.” 
