OUR OUTING. 
E spoke of our contemplated trip to Summer¬ 
ville as an “ outing,” and tried to think of our¬ 
selves as well, as our own city cousins, you know, who 
would greatly enjoy a boat ride and a day at a sum¬ 
mer resort. Be it understood that steamers are run 
for the accommodation of excursionists, and that 
islanders have to “ rustle” in order to get anywhere. 
Mrs. B. said she never made many plans when she trav¬ 
eled, but trusted to luck, and things usually came her 
way. Sue and I adopted her point of view. We decided 
to take the 5 A. m. steamer, and I went to stay all night 
with Sue in order that we might all start together 
bright and early in the morning. Did I say “ bright 
and early ? ” Ah, me ! it is hard to start early, but to 
be briyht and early is harder. Most people are awfully 
stupid looking before sun-up ; and surly—oh, my ! I 
found Sue busy cutting strips of tin to roll her hair 
on. She said she wouldn’t have time to curl it on an 
iron in the morning, and thought it would stay in bet¬ 
ter any w y if done up overnight. See what a lot of 
forethought a girl has to take before she goes on an 
outing. I have known ppople who would rather take 
“ blue pills*”—not exceptional people, either. Uneasy 
lies the head that knows it must get its owner up at 
four in the morning. And so, when away along in the 
dead waist and middle o’ the night, I became aware 
by the rattling of the shutters that the wind was 
blowing pretty fresh, I said: 
“ Sue—oh, Sue! ” 
“ We-11 ? ” sleepily. 
“ Will you go if it’s stormy?” For I felt that it would 
be comfortable to give up the trip and, instead of go¬ 
ing to Summerville, go to sleep. 
“ Why, not if it’s very stormy,” said Sue, “but it 
may not be windy at all by morning, you know.” And 
then I knew that I must keep half awake and get up 
on time. 
After awhile : 
“ Sue, S u-e ! ” 
“We-11?” 
“ Well, 1 can’t sleep, Sue, for thinking of some cauli¬ 
flower pickles I made to-day that got too soft; really, 
it is so aggravating, every time I close my eyes I see 
those mushy pickles ! ” 
“ Oh, you poor thing ! ” 
After a long pause, Sue gave a start. “ Well, I be¬ 
lieve it’s nearly time to get up ; have you got your 
watch ? ” 
“ Yes, where are the matches ? ” 
“ On the little rocking chair.” 
I felt around for the rocking chair and, wonderful 
to relate, did not hit my ankles on the rocker, and did 
not find the matches, which was not wonderful at all. 
I knew I wouldn’t, but kept on feeling around; and 
then I felt a basket of bottles tip over, and felt that 
my fingers were wet, and the room was filled from 
ceiling to floor with the sweet odor of violets. Still no 
matches. Then Sue got up and found some in another 
room and, lighting one, lo! we beheld the little pile 
of matches of the first part on a chair right by the 
bedside. 
It was just half-past-three then, so we got,into bed 
and lirgered there till four. The sunrise was beauti¬ 
ful. It seemed almost worth while to have gotten up 
for that. The sunrise was also red, but we never 
thought of the line, “ red in the morning a sailor’s 
warning.” We found Mrs. B. at the dock asking ques¬ 
tions of the dockmaster. Did he think we could catch 
a boat at the Bay for Summerville ? He didn’t know 
of any going from the Bay to-day ; some days one 
went, but guessed she was a goin’ down to C. to-day. 
The idea ! Going to C. when we wanted to go to 
Summerville, a likely story wasn’t it ? Mrs. B. looked 
anxious, but I said, “ Oh, never mind Mrs. B., don’t pin 
your faitb to a dockmaster ; if you were to ask him if 
the steamer yonder would land at this dock he wouldn’t 
say ‘ yes,’ he would say, 1 Well, now she seems to be 
a-headin’ this way, don’t she ?’ ” 
When we got aboard the steamer we asked the cap¬ 
tain about getting to Summerville. 
“ Why, what do you want to go there for ?” 
“ Oh, just for fun ; we are taking an outing.” 
“ Oh that’s it, well you can get there, but I don’t see 
how you can get back to-day ; you may find a tug 10 
miles farther on at Kline Island going to Summer¬ 
ville.” 
Mrs. B. and I were happy now, and she said she was 
perfectly resigned and accordingly wore a resigned 
expression—one she is right fond of wearing—and not 
unbecoming to her style. Some people look interest¬ 
ing when they are a little “ blue.” One is uncertain 
whether they are going to brighten up after a bit or 
whether they are going to plunge into a fit of the 
“ blues.” The uncertainty is fascinating ; one makes 
little experimental remarks and watches their effect 
on the resigned one. 
The captain came around again and asked us what 
we were going to Summerville for, then begging our 
pardon instantly, he said he had n o intention to make 
fun of people who went there, he believed they went 
for culture, and culture was a very good thing to 
have. “ Cultured people,” said he, “ get along better 
with their neighbors than people who are not cultured ; 
for instance, if a cultured person sees his neighbor’s 
chickens scratching in his garden, he won’t get mad 
about it and go and have a row with his neighbor, 
he’ll keep his temper and—a dog in the future. Why, 
cultured people can live in adjoining houses year in 
and year out and never have a word to say to one 
another.” Here he stopped to go aloft and blow the 
whistle for Kline Island. 
No tug there for Summerville so we steamed on 10 
miles farther to A. where we were certain to catch the 
regular steamer for Summerville. It was eight o’clock, 
and having some time to wait we went to a restaurant 
for breakfast. They gave us beefsteak and eggs, 
potatoes and apple sauce, huckleberries and coffee. I 
am not fond of huckleberries, but once heard of a man 
who used to say they were “ powerful good.” After 
breakfast we shopped, that is Mrs. B. and Sue did, I 
gave advice—always like to do the easiest thing. 
We boarded the steamer for Summerville at 9:30, and, 
after having asked the clerk a lot of questions and 
finding out a lot of uncertainties, we settled down and 
looked at our fellow passengers. Mrs. B. remarked 
that the people aboard all seemed to have a certain 
peculiar expression in common, a sort of listening, at¬ 
tentive look. After some discussion, we came to the 
conclusion that they probably had a certain line of 
thought in common—the Summervlle line—and we 
wondered if we would reflect something of this in our 
faces after spending the day there, and if our friends 
would notice it when we got home and say they could 
tell we had been to Summerville by our expression. 
We had a very limited amount of time to spend at 
the resort, but, remembering about the “culture,” 
we chose the most improvin’ way to spend it, and went 
to the Auditorium. The lecture—but there I’ll skip 
the lecture. 
When it was over, we found the wind blowing a 
gale, white caps flying, and the steamer whistling to 
leave. We hurried to the dock, and found we could 
take the tug “ Osceola ” for Kline Island an hour later, 
meet a steamer there for home, and cut off 10 miles of 
rolling on a rough sea. 
But, oh, me ! how that little “Osceola ” did oscillate 
on the way to Kline Island. We were the most miser, 
able people aboard—no one having come with us but 
the cap rain and engineer. It rained. Sue took refuge 
near the engine room to save her white flannel gown. 
Mrs. B. and I clung to the railing. I was in a per¬ 
fectly indescribable state of misery—always do get 
that way when it’s rough. When we landed it rained 
in torrents. I rushed to the nearest hotel, not knowing 
or caring whether Mrs. B. and Sue were following or 
not, got a room, hung my clothes on the back of a 
chair, and crawled into bed determined to be comfort¬ 
able or die. I slept. Sue found me. 
“ Why, the idea, in bed ! ” 
“ Yes ; couldn’t do without my afternoon nap. Get 
in, Sue ; I’m awfully comfortable.” 
“On, no, thank you, I’ll just fix my hair a little,” 
with a rueful glance in the glass. 
Mrs. B. had gone to see some one she once knew who 
had been kind to her. Two hours later we all boarded 
the steamer for home, and our day’s outing was o’er. 
Are we going to Summerville again ? Never, never 
more. pocia dykens. 
BE CAREFUL HOW YOU CLEAN. 
CONTRIBUTOR'S method for “removing fly 
specks from brass,” given in a recent Rubai., 
reminds me of an experience of my own, with the dif¬ 
ference that my efforts at restoration came near prov¬ 
ing an egregious failure. The case was exactly the 
same, a brass hanging lamp upon which white dots 
showed where flies had meandered over. My efforts at 
renewal took a milder form that R.’s hot salt and vin¬ 
egar bath, for I merely ventured to apply whiting on 
a flannel dampened with alcohol; I fortunately dis¬ 
covered my mistake before the lamp was ruined. All 
lamps may not be finished as ours is ; it is one of Brad¬ 
ley & Hubbard’s make, and has the metal protected 
by a transparent finish that prevents its becoming dis- 
c'.lored, as ordinary brasswork does, from mare ex¬ 
posure. That the alcohol was taking off this enamel 
one or two rubs with the flannel showed. Now, when¬ 
ever my eyes fall upon than discolored place, I am re¬ 
minded of the state my lamp would have been in had 
I persisted in my improving process. I think the 
whole framework would have been no better than the 
kitchen faucets or grandma’s candlesticks, needing 
ealt-and-vinegar applications every four days, had I 
removed the protective finish. 
Possibly R.’s lamp was not injured by the shining up 
it received, but I beg others to be sure of what they do 
when cleaning nice brasswork. When our own lamp 
becomes conspicuously disfigured, I intend to make 
inquiries about having it redressed at the factory. 
PRUDENCE p. 
LITTLE THINGS THAT COUNTED. 
W HEN shopping in the city, train time was near ; 
and the items listed were all stricken off but 
one dozen “dry plates,” as their place of purchase was 
farthest away. 
Now, these were promised as a reward to one of the 
children for remaining at the head of her classes, 
and the question arose: Should I go home without 
them, or get them and risk missing the train ? I chose 
the latter, for if I did not get them, she would have to 
be a long time without any. Finally, with them safely 
put away, a car was taken and I arrived at the depot 
two minutes late. Then how tired I was—but not 
until then. 
The great, noisy, smoky city was all bustle and in¬ 
difference. After waiting for three cars to no avail, 
I started on foot, to be almost bobbed against at every 
step. Every one seemed to express the same thought 
—home. 
The boardings were all gay with “ The Power of 
the Press” and even the diversion of those few words 
meant rest. At last a car would stop ; it, too, adver¬ 
tised the same play. A four-mile ride brought a weary 
woman to the home of a fond uncle, who is glad of 
even visits of convenience. Oh ! what a comfort to be 
in from the rush. 
The young folks stayed at home that evening to tell 
“Coz.” the news. Talk timed to advertisements, 
which brought up a pretty little story of a crippled 
girl who was made happy by one of the dailies print¬ 
ing coupons, money prizes being offered for the largest 
collections. This child and her mother were terribly 
poor, the mother supporting them by washing. The 
little invalid, left alone all day, thought if she only 
had an invalid chair, she would be content. 
When she read the offers for coupons, the thought 
came: “If I only had the ungathered ones in this 
city perhaps they would buy a chair.” So she sent an 
advertisement to the paper, stating her case and say¬ 
ing how grateful she would be if persons not using 
the coupons would send them to her address. 
Those few lines won her the first prize, $250 for 
17,000 coupons collected by her new friends. Many 
of them brought other useful presents. Some, still 
faithful, sent her small monthly sums of 25 cents to 
$1. This work was done mostly by children. It re¬ 
minded me of the Faith Soup. 
Tne Press, instrumentally, brought a child and 
mother money for comforts; and who can estimate 
the happiness of the mauy little givers ? The notes 
of thanks received by them showed the child who had 
been their care to be, like many in such circumstances, 
superior to her home. chatterbox. 
One cent will buy a postal card on which to send us 
your friend’s name for a sample copy of The R. N.-Y., 
if you wish to preserve your copy 
Baking- 
^JPowder 
Jlhsotalely 
Pure 
A cream of tartar baking powder.' 
Highest of all in leavening strength. 
—Latest United States Government 
Report. 
Royal Baking Powder Co., 
106 Wall Street, New York. 
