HOUSE PLANTS IN SUMMER AND WINTER. 
I TAKE most interest in my winter plants. With us, 
away at one side of the great, busy city, there is a 
charm in plant life in winter which I can hardly ex¬ 
plain. My plants are a source of enjoyment, not only 
to me, but the whole family is eager to watch the un¬ 
folding of a lily bud, and hails with interest the de¬ 
velopment of something new and unusual in a plant. 
In the summer time, one grows accustomed to bud and 
blossom, and though still loving and caring for them, 
the companionship is not so close or the plants so de¬ 
pendent upon us for care. 
For varieties, I have kept through the winter sev¬ 
eral geraniums, upon which there are always some 
blossoms. I think no flower more cheerful, and 
know of none that will stand adversity better. I put 
cuttings of all that I wish for winter in old tomato 
cans—painted, of course, some neutral tint—when I 
bed out my old ones, and keep them growing through 
the summer. By January or February, they are ready 
for business, and how they do bloom I There seems 
to be an affinity between an old tin can and a gera¬ 
nium ; for me they never do so well in pots. This is 
my first attempt with primulas, but I shall surely have 
more another winter, as they have been a mass of 
bloom since Christmas. They do well in partial shade, 
and need lots of water, the only care being not to 
wet the foliage often, which causes the leaves to rot 
and drop off. 
My calla, up to date, has borne six blossoms, and an 
amaryllis, which is its neighbor, has its fourth bud 
stalk. Neither of these has been disturbed since a year 
ago last fall, but are in large pots, and have a weekly 
dose of weak ammonia water to keep them growing. 
I have also a fine pelargonium just commencing to 
bloom, which I started from a cutting in July. This 
needs to be cramped into a small pot, for, being a 
rank grower, it will go to leaves with never a bud if 
given too much space. Mine has seven clusters of 
buds, and is quite a small plant. Two fine double 
petunias are paying their board with no extra care, 
the only objection being that “ they want the earth ” 
to grow and blossom in. 
A begonia family in one west window—seven of 
them—is thrifty and much admired. An ivy-leaved 
geranium on a frame 18 inches high, is covered with 
fuzzy buds ; a beauty, but not a good winter bloomer. 
In my outdoor garden I want pansies, sweet peas, 
asters, gladiolus, and oh! everything in the cata¬ 
logues, but as I have very little space, shall have to 
content myself with what I already have and a tew 
good annuals. aunt jemima. 
WHAT IS “PROPER” WOMAN^S WORK? 
I HAVE been somewhat amused while reading the 
various sentiments expressed in recent issues of 
The R. N.-Y., regarding the questions, what is “pro¬ 
per” work for men, and what “ proper ” for women 
on farms and in farm homes ? I can easily imagine 
the conditions in the homes of the several writers, 
and that their opinions are the resul'i of the influence 
such conditions exerted upon their minds. One thinks 
poultry should be cared for by the women because 
not one man in a dozen can handle a hen properly, 
but milking and the feeding of calves and pigs should 
be done by men, because that is “ man’s work.” 
One says that no woman should labor in the garden 
or drive horses on a mower, reaper or rake, because 
these are “man’s work,” but she may drive the horses 
to the blacksmith’s and help do the thrashing if 
needed. Another thinks it is “suitable” for men to 
build fifes and get in the wood in winter when they 
have leisure. Altogether, there are many excellent 
sentiments expressed, showing that the writers and 
their partners are willing, “on the pinch,” to step 
out of their usual paths to help one another. 
But the one thought constantly uppermost in my 
mind as I read the different letters was, who is the 
authority that can say to any man or woman, this is, 
or is not, proper work for you to do just on account 
of your sex ? Can one person, or any number of per¬ 
sons, lay down rules for others to abide by in such 
matters ? Must I ask anybody if it is proper for me 
to help my wife wash on Mondays ? I have done it 
all alone in case of illness and thought I was commit¬ 
ting no sin. I have made tons of butter at a time 
when butter-making was not considered “ man’s 
work.” Indeed, I cannot think of any kind of house¬ 
work that I have not done at times. Nor has my wife 
been afraid to help in the field or in the hay loft when 
occasion seemed to require. Possibly some neighbor 
may have thought we were out of our proper spheres. 
A great many people have believed things that were 
not true, and a great many have had to learn that 
not all wisdom was carried beneath their hats or 
bonnets. 
Not very many years ago, I am told, a New York 
lawyer with an educated wife, desired to have her oc¬ 
cupy a place in his office as clerk or assistant, but did 
not dare to have her appear there till he had obtained 
permission of the landlord, fearing that the other 
lawyers occupying offices in the same building would 
raise objections, and perhaps throw up their leases to 
the injury of the property owner. If office writing 
by women is proper now, why was it not then ? Sim¬ 
ply because public sentiment has changed. I contend 
that any work is proper for any one to do if the doer 
likes to do it and can do it well. I have seen hus¬ 
band and wife working at shoemaking, and the wife 
was the smarter of the two. I have known a father 
that cut and made his own clothes and those of his 
children, and made them well. I know women who 
are managing large farms and excelling most of their 
neighbors. I know of men in city restaurants who 
would be hard to beat as cooks, and I see a constantly 
increasing number of women in almost all sorts of 
industry who are doing their work even better than 
average men would do it. Who shall say that any of 
these are not properly employed, so long as the choice 
is voluntary on their part ? If people were securely 
tied to old ideas, how could there be any progress ? 
This age is outgrowing some of the old ideas. Were 
St. Paul living to-day, and should he attempt to intro¬ 
duce in the modern Grange some of the rules he laid 
down for a woman’s guidance in obtaining knowledge, 
they would be voted down on the first ballot. The 
people of this age are rapidly learning that humanity 
includes woman as well as man, and that human rights 
are not greatly modified by sex. 
I have just been reading a new book entitled “Wo¬ 
man, Church and State,” by Mrs. Matilda Joslyn 
Gage, published by Charles fl. Kerr & Co., Chicago, 
that ought to be read by every one who imagines that 
natural superiority or inferiority is controlled by 
sex. Women have not had quite a fair chance at all 
times in the world’s history, and Mrs. Gage shows how 
public sentiment came to be what it has been in this 
regard. I hope all the patrons of The R. N.-Y. who 
think that an occupation that Is proper for a man 
might be improper for a woman, or who recognize a 
separate code of morals for the sexes, will procure a 
copy and read it. Then lend it and talk about it till 
those old notions about what is proper and suitable in 
the way of useful labor for men and women shall have 
been relegated to the past. a. w. cheeveb. 
A VISIT TO A MODEL HOME. 
I FOUND cousin Ned and Emily in their easy chairs 
in the sitting-room ; a cool breeze keeping the 
room comfortable, while the sun outside—whew 1 
After we had chatted a half hour, Emily went into 
the kitchen, and in about eight minutes announced 
supper. We were soon seated at a table set for 14 ; 
and the supper 1—Emily said: “The children take a 
lunch for their dinners”—green peas, string beans, 
new potatoes, radishes, gooseberry sauce, etc. In one 
corner of the room, I saw a little glimmering blaze, 
gasoline. 
The children home from school, their supper eaten, 
I follow the little maid Elizabeth down a lane and 
notice that her collie doesn’t follow her farther than 
the stable, which is dark within. As she passes it she 
unlatches the door, then unlatches a gate at the end 
of the lane, and calls “cu-sha, cu-sha, cu-sha,” and 20 
sleek cows hurry by us to the stable. The collie lets 
in one at a time, Ned fastens them, and sets fire to a 
little pile of straw at the other end, “to drive out the 
flies that came in with them,” he says. Then he 
closes a screen door where the cows came in, and 
opens a number of other doors, all screened with wire 
netting. Looking up, I see six milk pails and Ned, 
Emily, and four other milkers. The eight-year-old is 
down to her cow first; she milks one, the ten-year-old 
three, etc. Looking toward the house, I see smoke 
and steam issuing from a small building. I follow the 
pails of milk and as Ned has finished his cows, he car¬ 
ries the milk while Emily tends the separator run by 
steam. Soon a crank and pulley .turned by steam 
draw from the well a large tin pail and the cream is 
poured in, stirred thoroughly, and lowered again to 
be churned in the morning. 
Now I hear a great noise in a small building. See¬ 
ing my look of inquiry, Ned says, “ That is the wash 
room; come and see.” There is a large vat full of 
water heating, and another empty. “That,” says 
Ned, “ is the men’s bath tub. You will see them go 
to supper as clean as goslings after a shower. Look 
at those towels, two for each of tHem, Turkish, they 
call them; big washing ? Oh, the steam doesn’t 
care—steam does the washing every night, turns the 
wringer and all. The collie hauls the clothes basket, 
the children have a frolic hi nging out the clothes and 
the breeze irons most of them. There hang the three 
suits for the men ; they have them clean every night. 
Emily just looks them over as she hangs them up. 
There is her box of buttons. In rainy weather the 
steam dries them by means of heated registers. 
“Here come the teams ; I will go and hang the har¬ 
ness. I like to look it all over at night to find weak 
places. I have 12 horses, and harness costs a great 
deal here.” Here little maid Elizabeth joins me. 
“Come and see my chickens; they’ve all gone to bed.” 
“Do you take care of the chickens?” “Only at 
night; mamma and collie take care of them when I’m 
at school.” “You go to school?” “Yes, we little 
ones have a room all to ourselves, and when we sleep 
in our cots, our teacher goes to school and Minnie 
Bartrow takes care of us; then when we get up we 
go to our own grove, in our yard, to play ; and Jennie 
Jolly plays with us and Minnie goes to school. I’d 
like to help mamma more, but it’s awful nice at 
school, and mamma says I do enough if I help collie 
with the chickens and cows. Mary Jane washes the 
dishes. She’s a crank ; come and see her.” “ Does 
the steam turn that?” “No, the motor does that. 
The motor runs the sewing machine, too; I can 
make my dresses when mamma lets me. All of us 
can run the machine.” mbs. b. m. wabd. 
Kansas. 
SUNSHINE IN THE KITCHEN. 
“Y X r HAT a sunny room !” I exclaimed, entering a 
VV neighbor’s kitchen for the first time. “You 
must have the sunshine all day.” 
“Indeed, I do,” was the response; “and it nearly 
drives me crazy in summer. We ought to have shut¬ 
ters.” 
I thought so, too, but this was a winter day and one 
never gets too much sunshine in winter, and this 
kitchen was so exactly what I admired and longed 
for that I was resolved no word of disparagement 
should be uttered in my presence. I had come in 
from the east, and near the door was a good-sized 
window. Opposite, upon the west side, was another 
door and window, while two large windows upon the 
south completed this pleasant arrangement. 
“ When I build a house I shall have it all glass,” I 
exclaimed ; at which my host and hostess smiled, the 
former remarking quietly, “ You will not be able to 
throw stones then.” But I felt quite willing to deny 
myself this doubtful pleasure for the sake of plenty 
of sunshine. Like my neighbor, I avoid the sunshine 
in summer, but in winter can never get enough of it. 
Perhaps the precise housekeepers will look askance 
at me when I tell them that in winter I often discard 
curtains entirely upon the sunny side of the house. 
With the exception of a vine or two, I leave my win¬ 
dows curtainless, that not one ray of the blessed sun¬ 
shine shall be denied admittance. In no other room 
in the house do we need so much of the heart sun¬ 
shine which brightens work. Here we meet both suc¬ 
cesses and failures, the latter sometimes so disheart¬ 
ening that all our strength and fortitude are needed 
to bear them, trivial as they might seem to others. 
How well I remember a certain trial of my early 
married life, which, repeated each week, became a 
real patience tester. Let me try as I would, my hus¬ 
band’s shirt bosoms always lacked that nice finish so 
desirable. One time, when he was about to go away 
Mso/ateJy 
Pure 
A cream-of-tartar baking powder. 
Highest of all in leavening strength.— 
Latest U. S. Government Food Report. 
Royal Baking Powder Co., 
106 Wall St., N. Y. 
