MARCH 27 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
206 
.far 8$orara. 
CONDUCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
MY MOTHER DIED TO-DAY. 
J08FPH A. FARRELL. 
You ask what alls this heart of mine, 
That I'm not gay and bright; 
You ask me why I cannot sing 
A. little song to-night. 
I’ll tell you, friends, the reason why: 
My souI’b not light and gay, 
Because a thing of bitter grief 
Has taken place to-day. 
You ask what alls this Ueart of mine. 
That I’m SO sad and drear ; 
You ask mo why adowu my cheek 
There steals a sparkling tear. 
I’ll tell you, friends, I cannot drive 
This mo urn fairies.'' away, 
Because a thing of hitter grief 
Has taken place to-day. 
You ask what aila this heart of mine, 
That I gaze uj? on high 
And sadly watch each gorgeous thing 
In yonder starry sky. 
I’ll tell you friends, why I look up 
At Hoavou, so far away— 
I seek to find an angel form 
That, left our home to-day. 
You ask what ails this heart of mine, 
That I, for pleasure born, 
Should bo to-night so very changed, 
So wretched and forloru. 
You beg me sing for you a song, 
And drive dull care away; 
Excuso me, friends, I cannot sing— 
My mother died to-day ! 
A CHAPTER ON CLEANING FLOORS. 
A clean kitchen floor, la a very nice thing in a 
family, and every house keeper aspires to a tidy 
floor, as a criterion of her skill. But some of the 
good ladles make a sad mistake In their praise¬ 
worthy efforts, aDd make work for themselves, as 
well as Injure their floors, aud keep them looking 
gray and dirty. 
One day, I saw a young housewife, take her dish 
of soil soap, and spread it over her floor, which 
had been newly painted only a few weeks before; 
then down sho went, on her knees, and com¬ 
menced scrubbing with a brush and hand mop. 
Oh, how she did woik 1 and how tired she looked I 
and how her back ached 1 I watched her till I 
could stand it no longer. 
I said: “ Don’t you like your painted floor, the 
reason you are scrubbing the paint all off ?” 
“ I want to keep It bright and clean; paint wears 
off too quick, It hardly pays to get It painted, any 
way.” 
“ I should think not, at the rate you take It off. 
You Just spoil your paint, and floor too.” 
“ Why so; I don’t understand what you mean 7” 
“ Now, look here, there la nothing that will take 
off paint like soap, where your soap lies, your 
paint will all bo off before a week. You should 
never use paint In that way. I supposed you 
were trying to get It off; there Is no quicker way 
to do It.” 
“ Well, 1 wish I had known It before; my hus¬ 
band says be never saw such poor paint.” ' 
“I expect the paint Is good enough, it is the 
way you maunge It. Now this room was all 
grained and varnished very nicely Just before you 
came here, you could see your face In the doors, 
they were so bright. You ought to have kept It 
so for half a dozen years. Now see how It looks, 
half of the paint Is rubbed off and not a bit of 
Bhlno to be seen.” 
“ Oh, grandmother 1 do you think I Old It on 
purpose 7” 
Bless you, child, no I You knew no better, so 
I thought I would tell you; you are ruining the 
looks of your neat kitchen, and also killing your¬ 
self all for nothing 1” 
She looked so sober, I was real sorry for her, and 
told her to take a long-handled mop, aDd wash 
her soap all off , and men I would show her how 
to mop her floor. 
So 1 lucked up my dress and rinsed all tho suds 
out of the pall and mop, and took some clear, hot 
water, ana washed up the other half of the floor 
and then took some more clear water, and wiped 
It up dry. Well she had to own that the half I 
washed was ever so much cleaner than her part. 
Afterward we sat down and talked about It; sho 
was a real nice, little woman and did Just as well, 
as she knew how, and spared neither strength or 
time to keep things neat and tidy. I expect there 
are plenty more young women, who waste their 
health, strength, soap aud time, Just as foolishly 
as she did. 
If you have a painted floor, keep soap and soap¬ 
suds off of It for it, spoils the brightness of the 
paint, makes It sort and then It peels off, leaving 
the floor looking worse, than If It had not been 
painted. 
If your floor has not been painted, keep soap off 
i lit, lor It gives It a dirty, grliny look, aud keeps 
growing worse all the time. Just, take clean, hot 
water, put In a teaspoonful of spirits of ammonia 
Into a three gallon pall of water, stir it, and with 
a clean, long handled mop, rub the floor all over, 
then wipe it off with clean water, it will take a little 
while to get the gray out of the boards, but, It will 
come out, after a time, aud you will And It far 
easier to keep your floor white and nice, thau It 
was when cleaned wltli soap or suds, 
Another thing, when you get your floor all 
washed, If you would ring your mop out of the 
clean water, and go around tho room and wipe 
the drips all off the base boards, aud take a part 
of tho mop, and wipe out the crevices, you would 
save a great deal of hard work, and back-ache 
too. 
“ Oh, grandmother 1 I am so glad you have told 
me how to do It easier and hotter; I do want to be 
a nice housekeeper, and bo economical, but It 
seems so hard, when one does not know how to 
do It; and, I get cross sometimes, about the dirt 
tracks that mark It, all over. It Is discouraging 
to have a floor all tracked up before It has time 
to dry. Don t you think so 7” 
“Yes, I know all about It: but It is nothing to 
what It would be, If the boots were hung away In 
the closet, and tho feet that use them were laid 
under the green grass. There, don’t feel bad; 
there are worse troubles than to have your clean 
floors tracked up, and fretting, never did any good 
to any one.” Grandmother. 
-♦ ♦ ♦- 
TERMS AND MATERIALS USED IN 
NEEDLE-WORK. 
Tabaret.— A stout satln-strlped silk used for 
furniture. 
TABBrNET.—A name for poplin of rich character, 
the warp of silk, weft of wool. So called because 
the surface Is “ tabbied” or watered. Sometimes 
a pattern Is Introduced Into It.. It Is chiefly used 
for window curtains and other upholstery pur¬ 
poses. 
Tabby.— A coarse kind of taffeta, thick, glossy, 
and watered. In silk this kind of material would 
be called “moire,” 
Tacking.- (From the Italian Attacare). —A term 
In needlework to designate small stitches taken 
through two pieces of material at, wide and regu¬ 
lar Intervals. 11 Is most securely effected by work¬ 
ing from left to right. Designed to keep the two 
portions of stuff In place preparatory to their 
being permanently sewn logethtr. 
Tailor’s Twist.— A coarse silk thread made ot 
several together, wound on reels, of two ounces 
each. The numbers used by tailors run from one 
to eight. There are small reels contal nl ng a single 
thread of 18 yards, equivalent to one yard of 12 
threads. By this plan dealers can keep a larger 
supply of shades at a smaller cost. 
Tamis.— A worsted cloth, expressly made for 
straining sauces, and sold at oil shops. 
Tambour Cotton, made up In skeins, is sold in 
half bundles of fl ve pound each, and used by tailors 
for basting. It Is to be had In balls also. TUe 
numbers are 12,14, io, 13, 80, 24, 30, 30, and 40. 
Tambours.— Sprigged and spotted needlework 
muslins, of widths from 2T Inches to 30 Inches, and 
In lengths of 12 yards They are semi-transparent. 
The needle has a small hook. Tambours are some¬ 
times embroidered with gold thread. 
Tambour Stitch (otherwise known as “Chain 
Stitch.’)—The work executed In this stitch Is a 
very old style of embroidery, of which fine speci¬ 
mens are to be seen. The modern method of 
working differs from the ancient; the latter style 
was to draw the thread through the material 
from the wrong side by means of a hook, and so 
looping it. 
Tammibs.—T hese stuffs, like buntings, are made 
or worsted; yet, unlike the latter, they are plain, 
highly glazed, and chiefly used for upholstery. 
They are a kind of Scotch camlet, and are others 
wise called "durants.” They are twilled, with 
single warp3, are usually coarser than twilled bom* 
bazets. Their width varies from 12 Inches to 3f> 
inches, and are mostly used for women’s petti¬ 
coats. 
Tapestry.— Embroidery with colored worsteds, 
silks, and sometimes enriched with gold thread; 
anciently worked by hand with a needle, and in 
later times by the loom. 
Tapestry stitch.— The ancient “ Opus plumarl- 
um,” otherwise called “ feather stitch.” They lie 
lengthwise close together, and overlap one an¬ 
other, two threads of the material being crossed 
in the length of the stuff, and one In the width. 
Tarlatan. —A thin gauze-like muslin, much 
stiffened; so called irom Tarare, In France, the 
chief center of the manufacture, it Is much 
stiffened, and may be had In various colors. It is 
much used for evening dresses. 
Taktarium.—A fine cloth made in T irtary, and 
Is mentioned In the wardrobe accounts of Edward 
III., aud often named amongst the expenses ot 
tournaments. 
Tatting.— This work (otherwise called fi'tmltte) 
Is done with flue crochet cotton, aud by means ot 
a small shuttle, and a strong pin, attached by a 
chain to a ring, which 1s worn on the left thumb, 
the shuttle being held In the right hand. The 
thread Is passed round the extended Ungers of tho 
left hand, and brought again between the thumb 
and linger of the thumb and tlrst finger, the shut¬ 
tle slipped under the thread between the first and 
seeoud Angers, drawn out quickly, being kept in a 
horizontal lino with the lett hand. While tho 
thread 1 b held streiehcd by the shuttle, the second 
linger of left hand should lot the loop under it 
slip, thus securing the cotton; and when a num¬ 
ber of stitches are Unished, they should be drawn 
together closely and so form a loop, which latter 
are united one to the other by the little plcots in¬ 
troduced to form the purl-edge, round each loop. 
These are made by twisting tho cotton round the 
pin, and holding It wbllo forming a stitch. These 
loops ore joined by maklug the plcot lathe first 
loop, where the connection should be made, and 
on reaching the corresponding place In the second 
loop the worker must draw tho thread through the 
first plcot, and pass the shuttle through the loop 
Just made. 
-♦ - ♦- 
WHIFFS FROM OILDOM. 
To my mind there are no ornaments we can put 
In our homes quite as homelike and attractive as 
those furnished by mother nature; especially It 
the house la not overstocked. 
A few years ago we added a wing to our house, 
for kitchen and woodshed. This was Joined to the 
old house in such a position that two windows 
from tho former sitting-room and a door from tho 
former kitchen which was converted Into a sitting- 
room—opened into the kitchen. We decided to 
make a dining-room of the old sitting room, and 
had one window cut down and a door hung, hut 
the other window, what should wo do with that 7 
The casing was left and boards fitted Ln where the 
sashes had been, then papered over, but that did 
not suit us. It looked patched. 
One day when out ridlDg over our hills, T spied 
clinging to the side of a huge rock, the loveliest 
moss; great scales of gray Mosaics, overlapping 
each other, with here and there patches of emer¬ 
ald, I soon secured all that was easily removed 
and carried my treasure home. 
The first question that met me there was: “ O, 
mamma, what are you going to do with that 7 
Can’t I have It to make a playhouse 7” I must 
admit the answer to the first was rather Indefinite 
as I had not decided what to use It for; but the 
last question received a decided negative. 
KntertDg the dining-room soon after, that bare 
window place stared me ln the face and Immedi¬ 
ately an Inspiration seized me; that eye-sore 
should be made a thing of beauty. 
Accordingly the first leisure was employed with 
glue, tacks and moss. We left a space in the 
centre about 11 by is inebes, only covering It with 
brown paper for future adornment. The remain¬ 
der was all coveied with moss. The casing was 
covered with running pine and tree moss for a 
frame. The center was afterwards converted Into 
a very pretty fruit medley, by taking the pictures 
from fruit cans cutting them out close to the fruit 
and arranging them In order, then adding varnish. 
To make the picture more complete we took one 
of the large shelf-ltke fungi which grow on old 
logs and trees, or which we had several, used as 
door rests. We nailed this, Inverted Just below 
tbe chromo (?) forming a bracket, according to 
Jessie Seabrlghts’ recommendation. We also 
made some mottoes of moss, by cutting the letters 
out or pasteboard, the desired size, then glued the 
moss on and tacked them In place. For the dining, 
room we have, “Eat, DrlDk and be Thankful.” 
(Considering thankful more apppropriate for a 
Christian family than merry.) Over the front door 
made ln the same manner, Is “ welcome.” In the 
the kitchen, “ Whatsoever ye do, do It heartily ” 
Cornelia E. J. 
-»■» ♦- 
PLAYING VISIT. 
who of us—women folk—have not happy recol¬ 
lections of our childhood playtimes, the happiest 
of which are not of playing hide and seek or Kitty, 
kitty comer, but of personating grown up people 
and visiting, keeping house, teaching school, or 
being a doctor, a gtpsy, or a peddler? And what 
a charm lingers around the memory of the mol her, 
sister, or teacher who entered Into these very ear¬ 
nest make-believes, and so made us really happy. 
Every day, and often many times a day, a soft 
little rap on door or chair or couch announces a 
demure little maiden of four with generally a doll, 
and always a parasol. Although a dozen steps will 
bring her to ray door, she never ventures out ln 
any sort ot weather without that parasol. 
She sits dow u and wo talk about her Imaginary 
large family and mine; about her journey to the 
city, the chlckenB and the kittens, the news and 
the neighbors. When she rises to go away she 
wishes me always to say, “ What makes you In 
such a hurry 7” to which sho answers, “ O, I must 
get dinner for the boys,” or ** I must wash my 
dishes ” or “ milk my cows.” and adds politely, “ I 
should be happy—I should like to have you come 
over,” or “ I should be obliged If you would come 
and see me." After visiting 1 b somewhat •• played 
out ” we play school, aud have little lessons ln 
letters and manners and music, and about our 
curious bodies. Then sho Is my physician, and 
brings me leaves enough for the healing of a na¬ 
tion—almost, and again she Is my own sweet, 
thoughtful daughter, or my man-of-all-work. Tom. 
How marvelously a disagreeable child Is trans¬ 
formed Into a winning womanly visitor by being 
treated courteously as one! Must we Infer that 
the disagreeableness Is caused by the general lack 
of such treatment? Can any one allege reason 
why Innocent children thrown Into our midst, 
without even their own consent, should not be 
treated with the respect and forbearance given to 
Btrangers—that Is, so far as compatible with their 
best training 7 So poor, weary mothers, cousins, 
sisters and aunts, puzzled to know what direc¬ 
tion to turn the Irrepressible activities around you, 
play with the children, calling them grown people, 
and see. how suddenly they become tame and even 
Interesting, while you get glimpses of the man or 
woman surely to be developed lu them it they 
live, and begin to regret the precious childishness 
to bo lost In the process. The dear little things 
are so accommodating that they will excuse you 
for going on with your work, if you only ask them 
to do so, and may be they will be neighborly and 
help you, or even be your servant, and do with a 
good will what would otherwise be a task. Very 
important lessons lu good breeding, treatment ot 
visitors, and behavior before company may be 
given ln these plays by a judicious person Prob¬ 
ably you will have to beg off after a while or turn 
their attention to something else, for girls espe¬ 
cially never seem to weary of this amusement if 
they And kindliness and a little Imagination ln It; 
and this InexhamttOleness Is perhaps the greatest 
charm of playing with children as If they were 
grown folks. Zena Clay borne. 
--- 
ABOUT WOMEN. 
Mrs. Elizabeth Comstock, ot Michigan, the wide¬ 
ly known Quaker missionary, has visited 115,000 
prisoners, aud of this number she finds that 
105,000 were brought to prison through strong 
drink. 
Miss Mary McHenry, of Philadelphia, has made 
a singular contribution to the Lincoln relics. On 
August 13, 1804, John Wilkes Booth was a guest at 
the McHenry House, Meadvllle, Pennsylvania, and 
with his diamond he made this inscription upon 
a window pane: “ Abe Lincoln, departed this life 
August 13, 1804, by the effects of poison.” Five 
separate lines wore made of this, after the manner 
of tombstone lettering. A few days afterwards 
the proprietor or the hotel removed the pane from 
the window, and framing It along with the auto¬ 
graph of Booth, which he cut from the hotel reg¬ 
ister, sent it to Miss McHenry. 
Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson, of New York, has 
given $ano to the Auxiliary Sanitary Association of 
New Orleans. 
The Empress of Austria is ln Ireland again this 
year. She Is still the sensation In hunting, pos¬ 
sessing great strength and endurance. She spends 
many hours ln the saddle and rides fast. 
Miss Kate Field, of New York, contemplates es¬ 
tablishing a Woman’s Co-operative Dress associa¬ 
tion. A store is one of the features of the enter¬ 
prise. 
Ittfrarg HUsdlann. 
A SUMMER VACATION. 
One summer I was looking forward with more 
than usual Impatience for my annual seaside hol¬ 
iday. When I say that I was a medical man, with 
a very large but not lucrative practice in a town, 
where an epidemic had been raging for some 
months, the reader will quite understand my 
strong desire for change of air and scene. 
In plain but homely phraseology I was knocked 
up; the strain upon my energies had been Im¬ 
mense. On many nights 1 had no other sleep than 
occasional dozes ln an urm chair. 
But the insidious disease bad been conquered at 
last; there had been no new cases for several 
days still i chafed, for there seemed no chance of 
getting away for some weeks longer at least. 
It was at tilts Juncture that I received an unex¬ 
pected visit from an old friend of mine. We had 
been medical students together, but 1 had lost 
sight of him for some time. He was a young fel¬ 
low of great abilities, and passed his examination 
with flying colors; but unfortunately for him, he 
was without the means which were requisite to 
enable him to stand a chance of getting on ln his 
profession. 
80 he was condemned to the hard work and 
scanty pay which fall to the lot of a doctor’s as¬ 
sistant. 
But Bven this occupation had failed, when, as I 
have Just said, he made a call upon me. Knowing 
his abilities, and finding that he bad had a large 
amount of experience, I lost no time tn suggesting 
that he should take my place for a month or so, 
while 1 took the holiday of which I was so much 
In need. 
He was well pleased of course, and as soon as 
the necessary arrangements were complete, I was 
on my way, 
It was here that T always spent my seaside holi¬ 
day—not because I ihought It the most delightful 
watering-place, but because some one very dear to 
me happened to be living there. 
This was no other than my old nurse, Mrs- 
Chamberlain. To me she had been all but a par- 
rent, for my mother dying In my Infancy, I had 
been left wholly to her care, and It was only nat¬ 
ural I should continue to feel for her the warmest 
attachment. 
My father, too, was dead. I had no brothers or 
sisters—Indeed, so far as 1 knew, 1 had notaslngle 
relative alive. I was unmarried, too—so ln this 
somewhat forlorn condition It Is Dot wonderf 
that my affections should still cling to my o 
nurse; and worried and worn out. as I was. I ha 
teued to her with iheold childish instinct whin 
used to prompt me to hurry to her side when any 
thing ailed me. 
My old nurse had, during her years of servlc 
managed to save a little money, and with this 
took and furnished a pleasant, seaside reslden 
caUed Mclcombe cottage, and by letting the chi 
apartments during the season made a comfortab. 
addition to her Income. 
On former occasions the good old lady had al¬ 
ways contrived to have her rooms vacant at the 
time of my visit, and 1 had been In the habit of 
living there Just as If it had been my own home 
and she my mother. 
The abruptness with which I made my appear 
ance at this time had interfered whli her arrange¬ 
ments lu this respect, and on my arrival I found 
that the best bedroom had been tot to a young 
lady, who had announced her Intention of living 
quietly there for some months. She had elected 
to board with my nurse, who now found herself In 
a difficulty. 
This l proposed to solve by taking up my quar¬ 
ters elsewhere. Mrs. Chamberlain had thought of 
this, but could not bring her mind to It at all; and a 
few hours before my arrival she had laid the whole 
ot the facts before her fall’ lodger, whose name I 
was Informed was Lluwood. 
TUe result was that Miss I.lnwood had stated 
that sho should be sorry indeed to Interfere with 
Mrs. Chamberlain's arrangements, and that she 
would be quite willing to allow the circumstance 
of my arrival to make no difference to her; she 
would board with my old nurse the same as usual, 
provided I had no objection. 
Without knowing auythlng at all about Miss 
Lluwood, 1 felt I had an objection—though under 
the circumstances It would have been ungracious 
of me to express it—I could not help regretting 
the presence of a third party. In my low and 
worried condition 1 wanted perfect quiet along 
with nurse. 
But when l was Introduced to Miss Unwood all 
my disinclination vanished, and instead, I con¬ 
gratulated myself upon the good fortune which 
had brought me Into companionship with so 
charming a specimen of nature’s fairest handi¬ 
work. 
I divined at once, from her manner and general 
appearance, that she was far above me ln social 
rank. There was something quite Indescribable 
about her, which showed clearly enough that she 
could with perfect right lay claim to the much- 
abused title ot lady. Her first greeting was so 
kind and gentle, that 1 at once felt at perfect ease 
In her society, and to accomplish this, Ih, to my 
thi nkin g, the perfection of good breeding. 
