Women Make the 
Woman And The Home. 
Homes Make the 
Nation. 
T he A. T. Stewart scheme of providing homes for 
women who are earning their own living, is about 
to be tried over again in a somewhat different, and, it is 
hoped, more feasible form. Certainly capitalists could 
hardly be found to advance the needed sum, $400,000, did 
it not appear a safe Investment; indeed the women at its 
head are to guarantee that it shall be so. 
Mrs. Candace Wheeler, of the Associated Artists, Miss 
Jeanette Gilder, Mrs. Ellzibeth Custer, Mrs. Margaret E. 
Sangster, Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, Mrs. Croly and other 
well-known women of this city are interested in this move¬ 
ment. Mrs. Wheeler says that it promises finely, and by 
fall the plan may materialize. With the promised $400,- 
000, a building could be erected with 200 single rooms, a 
number of suites, restaurants and club-rooms. The mon¬ 
ey will be lent as soon as Mrs. Wheeler and her colleagues 
can furnish a list of prospective tenants sufficiently large 
to guarantee a profitable return for the investment. Mrs. 
Wheeler estimates that at $3 a week for the single rooms 
alone the income from the yearly rental of the building 
would be $30,000. Support is asked, through circulars, 
from educated, self-supporting women to whom such a 
home would be welcome. 
CHICKEN FOR THE SUMMER BOARDER. 
S chickens are just getting large enough to be de¬ 
pended on to furnish a welcome change from the 
pork and codfish which are the summer staples for meat 
in so many farm households, it is well to stndv different 
methods of cooking them. To be sure we do not, get them 
often enough yet to tire of them, but later we may want 
more variety in cooking and it is well to be prepared in ad¬ 
vance. Every family has “summer boarders” either tem¬ 
porary or permanent. 
We were a large family in my girlhood, and we all said 
that chicken never tasted so good as when mother cooked 
it; we say so still, for none of us can equal mother in this 
line, though she says it is because we do not “hold the 
butter-plate over the kettle long enough,” an old fashion¬ 
ed way of saying that we are too economical with the but¬ 
ter to have a first-class dish of chicken. Perhaps that is 
true, for mother always treats us like honored guests now- 
a-days when we get home for a visit, and of course, we at 
home, cannot afford “company dinners” for every day. 
But here is 
“ Mother’s Way.” —After making the chicken ready 
for the kettle, fry the pieces in butter until of a light, 
golden-brown color; then add salt, pepper, two to four 
ounces of butter, and sufficient boiling water to nearly 
cover the meat. Three-quarters of an hour to an hour 
and a quarter is her time rule for cooking young chickens, 
for she says they are never perfect unless well done. If 
the water boils down so that the meat browns, and a little 
more has to be added, eo much the better. With a large 
chicken there should be a half pint of rich, brown gravy 
when done. The chicken is removed to a hot plate, while 
the cook prepares a 
Milk Gravy.—A large tablespoonful of flour is mixed 
smooth with a little milk, and thinned with a half pint 
more milk. This is added to the brown gravy, boiled 
until it does not taste in the least pasty; and it is also 
made just right as to seasoning, if more is needed, it 
cream biscuits can also be served with this gravy, the 
whole is fit for a king—at least, as we think fit for that 
king of broad acres, the independent farmer 
Smothered Chicken may be prepared in the oven, if the 
top of the stove happens to be in use. The bird is 
first cut open up the back, salted, and placed flatly 
in a dripping pan with enough water to cover the bottom 
well. Cook in a quick oven, basting frequently with but¬ 
ter and adding more water as needed. In an hour take 
up the chicken and make the gravy by stirring in the 
thickening and allowing it to boll up once. Chop the gib¬ 
lets, add pepper and a plentiful supply of butter. Pour a 
little of the gravy over the fowl and put the rest in a 
bowl. 
Chicken Fricasse is cooked much as in the first recipe, 
except that it is not browned so much or made so rich. 
After the gravy is made, the chicken is returned to the 
kettle and boiled up in the gravy, when all is served to¬ 
gether on a large platter—layered with slices of bread, if 
desired. 
Southern Fried Chicken.— For this, a chicken^not yet 
cooled, is cut into eight pieces, making two of the breast. 
It is salted, rolled in flour, and fried in hot lard. Halves 
of biscuit or cold bread cut in slices may be fried to go 
with this, serving both on the same platter. 
Remnants of Chicken.— These may be served in a va¬ 
riety of ways, but unless you are fond of herbs with 
which you can flavor it, do not, I beg, make left-over 
chicken into soup. It never has a pleasant flavor. Try 
rather some of the following : 
Hollandaise Chicken is but a variation of croquettes, 
with a more aristocratic name. A tablespoonful of 
minced onion is fried until yellow in two tablespoonfuls 
of melted butter. A heaping teaspoonful of cornstarch 
and a pint of chicken broth are added when it begins to 
thicken (if broth be lacking water will do.) The juice of 
half a lemon, half a cupful of chopped celery, one-half 
teaspoonful of salt, a bit of pepper, and one pint of chick¬ 
en are stirred into the semi-liquid. When these are well 
heated, the beaten yolks of two eggs complete the dish, 
which is cooked one minute more, and served with but¬ 
tered toast, preferably Graham. White meat is best for 
this, if enough is on hand. 
Chicken Croquettes —Put on to boil one cup of milk 
with a piece of butter the size of an egg; when boiling 
add one tablespoonful of flour dissolved in a little cold 
milk and boil for two or three minutes: then add one pint 
of finely chopped cooked chicken, one tablespoonful of 
salt, half a teaspoonful of pepper, and a small teaspoon¬ 
ful of chopped parsley ; boil all together for two minutes, 
then set away to cool; when cold shape the mixture into 
balls, then roll lightly in cracker crumb3; when all are 
rolled, dip into beaten eggs, then roll again In crumbs ; 
cook in boiling fat until a rich brown. 
Potted Chicken with Ham.— Chop fine all the meat re¬ 
maining from a roast chicken; mix it with one quarter 
pound of ham, and pound all together thoroughly, adding 
one-quarter pound of melted butter, a teaspoonful of salt, 
a dash of pepper and a bit of nutmeg, if liked. The “ pat¬ 
ent” potted goods all have nutmeg in them, but some do 
not like it at all. This mixture may be packed closely in 
small jars like marmalade jars, covered with a layer of 
melted butter, and tied up with several thicknesses of 
paper. It will keep in a dry, dark place for some time. 
A Chicken Lunch Dish. —Served with tomato salad a 
chicken sandwich is very nice for lunch and there is no bet¬ 
ter way to use a small remnant. Mince the chicken quite 
fine, season with salt and a dash of both white and Cay¬ 
enne pepper, and rub in enough butter to make it spread 
nicely. Cut the crust from thin slices of bread, spread 
with butter and the mince, lay two together and cut into 
three triangles. A sharp knife is a necessity in cutting 
sandwiches. 
Chicken Pot pie.— Marmaduke—that’s my other half- 
thinks there is no chicken (?) equal to one a year or two 
old, served as a pot-pie. For this I flour the pieces lightly, 
and fry them in butter, then fill the kettle with boiling 
water and cook the fowl from two to three hours, season¬ 
ing well with salt, pepper and a bit of onion (not fried). I 
then make a crust with one heaping teaspoonful of baking- 
powder, sifted twice with one pint of flour, and j ust enough 
milk or water to moisten it so it will make into balls. Put 
these balls on top of the chicken, not letting the water 
stop boiling, and your pot-pie will be what Marmaduke 
calls “very fillin’ for the price,” otherwise most satisfac¬ 
tory and delightful. We never need anything else but 
potatoes when we have this, so it is a rather easy dinner, 
after all. If the fowl Is very fat, most of the fat should be 
removed, as it injures the flavor. It can be used to fry 
potatoes, and, I have lately read, for the finest cake. I 
shall try this last when I have opportunity. 
Chicken Cheese.— This is sometimes called presssed 
chicken also. Boil a chicken tender in salt and water; skin 
it and take the meat from the bones, skim the fat from the 
water, squeeze in the juice of a lemon and boil until it 
jellies. Chop the meat fine, mix well and turn into molds. 
A richer cheese is made by cooking a yearling fowl—(which 
is better than a chicken for this purpose) as in the first 
recipe given. It is boiled until it will drop from the bones, 
then chopped or picked into shreds, and packed in the 
brown gravy which is cooked almost to a jelly. This 
makes a delightful picnic dish, and a pint bowl will thus 
carry a whole fowl. 
I am sure this is variety enough to make even the sum¬ 
mer boarder content. myra v. nory'S. 
A WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 
HEN the sun was well up on the morning of the 
last fourth of January, Janet asked Anthony how 
long it seemed to him since their wedding day. 
“A day or so ago, or a month may be ” he replied. “How 
long does it seem to you?” 
“ About a week ” replied Janet. “ But In point of fact 
it was just 15 years ago to-day.” 
“ Christopher Columbus! ” In accents of astonishment, 
“ Sailed over the sea so blue so blue. 
In fourteen hundreu and ninety-two;” 
came from the adjoining room, as the quick ears of their 
thirteen-year-old boy heard the name of Chiistopher Co¬ 
lumbus used with unusual and startling emphasis. The 
snatch of song was quickly followed by the boy himself 
loaded with a volley of questions. 
“ Why what’s the matter, popsy? you and mamma mar¬ 
ried 15 years ago to-day? And what kind of a day was it? 
Perfectly lovely, with the sun and moon both shining ? 
And have things turned out as you thought they would? 
Not at all ? And will you wear your wedding gown at 
dinner as you do every year, mamma? And you have never 
altered it in any way? It must look very old fashioned? ” 
And it did 1 when Anthony looked it over, he remarked 
that it didn’t seem to fit very well! “ Was it really always 
like that? ” with a musing smile. 
“ And do you feel older than you did then?” he went on. 
“ No, only when I look in the glass ! but I feel dif¬ 
ferently ? ” 
“ How differently? ” pursued Anthony. 
“ I ftel that I am less of an individual and more one of 
the atoms of humanity than I did then; that happiness 
comes from very unexpected sources, and not in the ways 
thought of; that things may turn out quite differently 
from what one has planned and yet fill one with content; 
that married life is not at all like what a girl dreams it 
will be. Such dreams and hopes and plans! How they 
fade away, simply because they cannot in human nature 
be realized. As I look upon life now, if our united lives 
had proceeded as in my pre-marital musings they should 
proceed, I think everything would have been Intolerably 
stupid. Still, it is well perhaps that young people ste the 
future mapped out in their minds’ eye in colors to suit their 
fancy. As Schbpenhauer says 4 it is Nature’s way of fool¬ 
ing the sexes.’ ” 
“I wish you wouldn’t quote Schopenhauer, Janet!” 
said Anthony a little snappishly, as he looked gravely in 
hisshaving glass. “The thing that startles me is that 
we actually belong to a past generation, and it wont be 
long before the youngsters of now will regard us as old 
people, while I only begin to feel that my work as a man 
has begun ! Somehow, I’ve drifted along feeling that my life 
was all before me, and now I am awakened to the stagger¬ 
ing fact that its best half has probably escaped me 1 I 
wonder how it stems to be 80 years old and know that you 
cannot possibly live much longer ? The trouble with life is 
that it isn’t half long enough. Wouldn’t you like to be set 
back to 20 ? ” 
“ Ye 3 , but not to live over what is past. There are very 
few things, after all, that would bear repeating. The best 
thing in life, I believe, is that two days can never be quite 
alike; and this varying quality gives existence its fresh 
ness and variety. Do you feel older than on our wedding 
day, Anthony ? ” 
“No? I feel more mature, and better equipped for 
work.” 
“ And don’t you wish you had married that other girl, 
the one with so much money and such a sweet temper ? 
Only to think of 15 years of unalloyed sweetness! Bah! 
I’d rather live with a March blizzard like me than for¬ 
ever and forever with a California summer 1 You know our 
old friends, the Kays ?—been married 45 years, and on each 
recurring anniversary Mr. Kay writes a letter to his wife, 
which he seals with wax, putting the date on the outside, 
and these letters she is to open and read only after he is 
dead ! Think of being left a widow, with may be 50 differ¬ 
ent opinions of your wifeliness from a departed husband ! 
Isn’t it romantic ? ” 
“ What if she dies firot ? ” 
“ Oh, I don’t know, only she won’t! She has always 
been ailing, you know! I imagine that those precious 
missives are crammed full of reflections upon her unwaver¬ 
ing goodness. Now, if you had written to me every anni¬ 
versary like that, in regard to my shortcomings and long- 
comings, I can imagine something in every one of them 
about my sharp tongue and—and the trouble my disposi¬ 
tion to worry you when you didn’t reach home on time, 
had given you—and—and—what else ? ” 
“ I shall have to think ! ” laughed Anthony. “ The list is 
too long and life is too short I But, really the true way to 
live is to go ahead as if you expected to live forever. That’s 
the way Mr. Dayton does ! He is 74, and when in my 
office the other day he was telling me about a new bank of 
which he has just been made president, and two new trust 
companies in which he is director. He seems as strong 
and clear-headed as a man of 40, and apparently has no 
expectation of dying for years to come. That is the way 
I would like to move on to the very end, an t then go off 
like a flash, as Blake did the other day in the street, with¬ 
out a moment’s illness. Prolonged death is a thing much 
more to pray to be delivered from than sudden death. 
But what are you thinking of Janet ? ” 
“ Of something frivolous as usual,” she smiled In reply, 
thinking that we ought to be photographed, like the bridal 
couples at Niagara Falls ! The laddie has a dry plate or 
two left in his camera. Let him take the pictures—it will 
be dreadful of course—15 years of woe.” 
“ We’ll smash the plates, mamma!” laughed the child. 
As he adjusted the machine his father gravely watched the 
tall, sturdy boy and then turning suddenly to Janet said. 
“What has become of that dear little chap we had a 
while ago, who could stand upright under the table ?” 
“Swallowed up in these 15 years,” was the mother’s 
mournful reply. “ I’ve not a scrap of him left, but four 
little white teeth in a box and some glorious rings of shin¬ 
ing yellow hair. Ah me 1” MARY wager fisher. 
Pennsylvania. 
THE WELCOME GUEST, 
he household papers are usually lavish in advice to 
entertainers, but they seldom lay down any rules 
as to what should be done by guests. The hostess is in¬ 
formed that the guest chamber must be well warmed and 
lighted in winter and equally well cooled and darkened in 
summer. The room, we are told, must be provided with 
all the appliances of the toilet, not forgetting needles, 
pins, scissors, spools of different kinds of thread and silk, 
shoe buttoners and buttons and a host of trifles, all of 
which makes one wonder that the woman who cannot af¬ 
ford to keep a fashionable dressmaker at command to 
change or replenish her guest’s toilet, when needed, dare 
to attempt to entertain her friends. 
Possibly it may not be amiss to mention some of the 
things which a guest may do to render an invitation to a 
second visit certain and its acceptance agreeable. In vis¬ 
iting any home where no more than one helper Is kept, 
care should be taken to make the least trouble possible. 
You are given a bed chamber which is “ spick and span” 
in all respects; it is no more than your duty to keep it so. 
Throw the bed open when you leave it in the morning and 
open the windows when you go to breakfast. Return to 
your room soon after breakfast, make your bed care¬ 
fully, dust and arrange your room and leave it in per¬ 
fect order. If your visit is long enough to make sweep- 
