MARCH 15 
IT A 
THE RURAL WEW-YORKER. 
ers I found an excellent article that was made 
with comparatively little trouble—that seem¬ 
ed, in fact, in some measure almost to make 
itself. The difference did not lie with the 
uteusils, with the rooms, with the ventilation, 
or with the degree of cleanliness which pre¬ 
vailed, but simply with the employment of 
acidity. In every instance where I found 
cheese of superior quality, a portion of yester¬ 
day’s acid curd was mixed with the fresh curd 
of to-day. Other thing equal, this I found 
was the salient cause of the disparity in the 
quality and character of different dairies of 
cheese; and the whole secret of the matter lay 
in keeping one-fourth of to day’s curd, nnxalt- 
ed and impressed, to mix with the fresh curd 
of to-morrow, and so on, one day after anoth¬ 
er. Those who made iuferior cheese, made it 
from sweet curd wholly, and they were not a 
little dismayed when 1 told them that was the 
secret of their failure. The idea of using sour 
curd appeared to them monstrous, and some of 
them would briug themselves with great diffi¬ 
culty to give it a trial. The curd of to day, 
kept without salt till to-morrow, and in a tol- 
eiably warm room, becomes distinctly acid in 
twenty-four hours; aud it is to the employ¬ 
ment of this acidity, in one way or another, 
that, as 1 shall have occasion to demonstrate 
in future articles, the success or failure of 
cheese-making mainly depends. 
for Women. 
CONDUCTED BY MISC RAY CLARK. 
SKETCHES OF GERMAN LIFE. 
BERTHA A. ZEDX WINKLER. 
A RURAL WEDDING. 
PART I. 
This realization of a lover’s dream, mark¬ 
ing the first epoch in the life of manhood and 
womanhood, is conducted with a ceremonious¬ 
ness worthy of the occasion. Were we to 
dwell upon the preliminaries necessary for its 
undisturbed completion, such as obtaining 
parental sanction, godrather’s blessings, and 
the village oracle's favorable prediction, or 
enumerate the official quills that are started 
scratching governmental permission after 
examining records, witnesses aud certificates 
of birth, as if the applicant’s presence were 
not sufficient evidence of that event, our 
readers would think that the weddiug could 
never take place, and wonder at our audacity 
in presenting them with a chapter of anticipa¬ 
tions. So we let our pen glide past this 
tedium, to picture scenes beautified by time- 
honored customs, aud jot incidents mem¬ 
orized by those “two hearts that beat as one,”*, 
until the silver sheen of the honeymoon is on 
the wane. 
The first movement of the bridegroom is to 
send the village-crier on horse back into ad¬ 
joining villages to iuvite friends aud relatives 
to the weddiug. The crier—generally a wag, 
whose diversity of talents aud occupation 
makes him familiar to people of surrounding 
regions, and therefore indispensable for so 
apt a task—decorated by t ie bride with rib¬ 
bons, a huge bouquet in one hand, and a cow¬ 
hide iu the other, is sure to be in his holiday 
humor as he gallops into the villages aud 
hamlets heralded by a crowd of shouting 
children, and saluted from every threshold 
and window by busy bodies eager to know who 
the invited guests and who the happy couple. 
The gay, swift-footed advertisement is out- 
sped by the wiugod skirts and trousers of 
curiosity, for, ere he slackens his horse's speed 
preparatory to halting, a mature gathering 
has already presumed his destination and put 
the prospective “ guest” on the alert by sur¬ 
rounding his house iu eager expectancy of the 
coming revelation. It comes, preceded by 
resounding summons of the air-lashing cow¬ 
hide, in the best doggerel rhyme such a ver¬ 
satile genius as a crier can improvise for the 
occasion. Here is a specimen: 
Hail to thee, host, and attend: 
The good wife your best rig must mend. 
And double *Mteh round at the waist. 
To belt all the good things you'll taste 
Next Wednesday, 'twlxt sunrise and set. 
At the wedding of Hans and Balibel. 
At this juncture, before the business part of 
the announcement verges into sentimental, 
congratulating, eulogizing bombast, the poet- 
crier shrewdly allows himself that conse¬ 
quential pause, during which the invited 
guest signifies his acceptance with a piece of 
money, the weight of which determines the 
tone of the crier’s closing effusion. His may 
be a battering perambulation over the bridal 
connection into the sixth generation, past 
and to come, or something not so flattering, 
as the coin may plead the case. This inspira¬ 
tion is drawn from a solid basis, aud happy 
the “guest” whose shortcomings are not fel t in 
the crier’s receptive palm. For just how such 
a public aud privileged character may pro 
clditu the virtues of ones friends aud connec¬ 
tions to a listening crowd is always a matter 
of solicitude. On the other hand, a crier is 
not without the usual discrimination and 
sense of justice. While he has been known 
to fling a miser’s copper coin in disdain to 
the bystanders, many a poor “invited guest” 
has his siiver offering slipped back into his 
own palm, aud feels himself none the less the 
blushing subject of his generous eloquence. 
The date of the happy event thus fixed and 
published is the signal for a geueral stir of 
activity. Hands prepare, tongues wag. 
hearts palpitate or envy, and the intervening 
days in the bride’s native village are to its in¬ 
habitants what “school’s out!” is to boys. 
These weddings are not the American half- 
hour incidents, so unimpressive and blunting 
to sentiment, so f ruitful of divorces aud so 
encouraging to bigamy. They are events 
which, alter being fully recorded by bureau¬ 
cratic insatiables, are chronicled by cronies, 
stereotyped upon hundreds of eager, holiday 
faces, aud celebrated by days of feasting. 
The opening ceremony Is probably the 
most beautiful in its broad, generous 
inclusiveness. Amoug the very wealthy, 
and more exclusively in cities, where so¬ 
ciety in its wider sphere is already on its 
graded stilts, handsful of small coin are 
thrown from the window of the bri e’s home 
upon the grasping, struggling crowd below, 
for free passage to the church—any interrup¬ 
tion or importunity on the wav being consider¬ 
ed an ill omen. But in villages, where every¬ 
body is saluted by their Christian name, the 
bride herself appears to plead her "right of 
way” iu a manner quite irresistible. Let us 
stand under the windows of her house and ob¬ 
serve the motley gathering waiting for her 
appearance. All classes are represented, from 
the burgomaster’s daughter to the pauper's 
child. A hundred shtuiug faces, reflecting an¬ 
ticipation in a hundred characteristic ways, 
are directed to the garlanded threshold of the 
bride’s house. The door opens, aud its move¬ 
ment starts an electric current through a 
thousand veins. A burst of acclamation greets 
the appearance of the blushing bride arrayed 
in the national costume of low, silver-buckled 
shoes, short satin gosvn, long white apron, 
red silver-laced bodice, and a neat little silver 
embroidered bonnet on her head. On her arm 
she carries a basket, and around her staud a 
half-dozen more, all filled with generous slices 
of cake. This is the "bride-cake,” so-called 
because she has baked it with her own hands, 
a public sample of her housekeeper’s skill, and 
because, iu tie kueading, she has introduced 
those pieces of money, the chance recipients 
of w hich are considered destined also to cele¬ 
brate their wedding. This naturally enhances 
the importance of the cake to a degree far be¬ 
yond its mere palatableuess. Happily, its dis¬ 
tribution is to be more generous and indis¬ 
criminate thau our daintily-boxod crumbs of 
weddiug cake. The whole village is ou this 
occasion regarded as but a large family 
which, because it cannot find room within, 
must, nevertheless participate in the festi> ities 
and be served first. 
ONE OF THE FINE ARTS. 
Louise and Belle were talking over the pic¬ 
nic to be held the next day, aud which both 
expected to atteud. I have no doubt you 
would each guess correctly if I were to ask 
what you supposed was the first question they 
asked each other. It was, “What ure you 
going to wear?” 
" I should wear my pretty brown and white 
cambric,” said Louise, “if it was only done 
up. But, as it is, I suppose I shall have to 
wear my blue gingham. It is not half so pretty, 
and theu it is so old 1 am tired of it.” 
“ Why don’t you do up the cambric? You 
have a good, lung. Summer day before you.” 
“Oh. you don't know our Sarah. She 
would not do up a dress for the President's 
wife out of her regular wash-day.” 
“ But what is there to hinder your doing it 
up yourself?” 
“ You don’t believe 1 could?” 
“ I am sure of it, if you will only try. You 
can if I can. How do you like the looks of 
my pink lawn?” aud the young lady waltzed 
away across the room to give her friend a 
chauce to take a critical survey of her airy, 
ruffled gown. 
“ You do not tell me. Belle, that 1 see a spe¬ 
cimen of your lauudryiug? You, who do no¬ 
thing but fauey work and dusting with a fea¬ 
ther duster for bard work.” 
“Yon under-rate my accomplishments, l 
assure you. Ever since mother said I could 
wear as many white aud luwu dresses in the 
Summer as 1 chose to do up, I have taken 
pains to quulify myself in this line. Its very 
easy, and really a fine art. You would be 
surprised to see Ituvv you will enjoy it when 
once you get your baud in, especially the re- 
sults. 1 1 is ever so much neater and pleasanter 
work than making wax flowers, atid 1 do not 
kuow but it adds quite as much to the home 
comfort. Suppose you try your hand on your 
cambric, just by way of experiment. Your 
mother would let you, I suppose? ” 
“Ves, indeed, she would be too willing. 
But I am really afraid, Belle, to begin.” 
“Afraid of what?" 
“That I shall spoil the dress in some way.” 
“Nonsense, you oau't, such a substantial 
dress, with fast colors! Let us go out into 
your back porch and have the field all to our¬ 
selves. I’ll help.” 
Thus encouraged, inexperienced Louise ac¬ 
tually undertook the wonderful task, and un¬ 
der her friend’s direction soon had the pretty 
dress nicely washed and thoroughly rinsed iu 
three waters, then lightly starched and flutter¬ 
ing on the clothes line. It bail not been much 
of a task after all, aud she looked forward 
hopefully to its conclusion Dinner time 
found it dried, and it was sprinkled down to 
lieuntil the dinner work was well over. With 
some assistance from her friend, the ironing 
was neatly done, and even the ruffles fluted. 
“Belle, you are a fairy,” said her frieud en¬ 
thusiastically, “1 will take pattern from you 
and not wait aud fret when I wish a thing 
done. I will take hold and do it. I’ll take 
some comfort out of that dress now I know 
how to do ft up and wear it whenever I please. 
It makes cue feel quite independent, doesn’t 
it, to be able to do such things one’s self?" 
“Indeed it does, Louise: aud you will feel 
still more independent when you can take the 
material aud cut and make up the dress all 
yourself, without waiting for a dressmaker’s 
convenience." „ J. E. M. C. 
COUNTRY SOCIETY. 
When the Wi liter king hushes the song birds, 
stills the running brooks aud robes the forest 
trees with icy mantles, the lamps of home 
gleam brighter. W hen the woods aud fields 
no longor claim the busy laborer, when rocks 
aud flowers uo longer entice the student to 
long rambles, we pile high theblaziug fire and 
surround the table heaped with books aud 
magazines. The lovers of literature ask uo 
higher enjoyment than to withdraw from out¬ 
door care and revel id the world of authors. 
And right here is the greatest point of danger 
to the social advantages of country homes. 
The members of various families "settle 
down” for the Winter, and seem to forget 
that they have any neighbors just over the 
hill. A cozy room, a warm fire, a cheerful 
compauion and an entertaining book bid us 
seek uo further for sociability. Such a pro¬ 
gramme answers well for awhile, but ere 
Spring sunshine uulocksour prison doors wo 
would begin to yawn aud long for something 
to break the monotony. Of course the child¬ 
ren have their games and the young people 
an occasional sleigh-ride, but there is nothing 
to call out the real social talent of both old 
and young. 
Mothers should not overlook the fact that 
there is a culture iu good company and good 
conversation which nothing else can supply 
for their children. In every neighborhood 
there are families from which much can be 
gained iu the way of social relations. If only 
two or three families unite iu a weekly read¬ 
ing club, it is better than to sit alone by one’s 
own fireside seven evenings in each week. 
By this means all could have a sleigh-ride, the 
young people could join in musical practice, 
aud vie with each other iu literary work, aud 
older minds might streugtlieu their powers iu 
discussion. When the programme of assigned 
readings and speeches is finished, an hour 
speut in social conversation would be profit- 
ble, while the little folks engage hi play. No 
training iu manners is so effective as that 
given by example, and we hope our rural sis¬ 
ters will make it their earuest aud happy dutv 
to awaken and sustain a healthful social life 
iu their several communities. 
EMMA C. STOUT. 
Domestic Cconorn^ 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
A REPLY TO CH\RITY SWEETHEART'S 
REVERIES. 
Charity Sweetheart has my warmest 
sympathy. She says that she is mother, sis¬ 
ter and wife to the household. I wonder if 
they realize what she is to their home; or if 
they think how kind and thoughtful they 
should be to the one that has such a weight 
of responsibility resting upon her? in regard 
to the farmer’s wish that all writers would 
teach farmers' girls to be contented with their 
lot, I would reverse it, and wish all writers 
would teach farmers to beautify their homes 
and moke home so attractive that their sons 
and daughters cannot help being contented 
with their lot. There can be uo possible rea¬ 
son why farmers’ sous aud daughters should 
be ignorant and uncouth. “ Plain Talk’s’’ 
theory is good; but when we come to the prac¬ 
tical part it is not so easy. The writer gives 
good advice when she says we can cultivate 
a sunny spirit, and in trying to make others 
happy we are made to feel more cheerful our¬ 
selves. Just here 1 would refer " Charity” to 
that beautiful stanza iu Longfellow’s poem, 
“ The Rainy Day:” 
" Be still. sad heart and cease renining: 
Behind the clouds Is the sun still shining; 
Thy fate Is the common fate of all. 
Into ench life some rain must rail. 
Some days must lie dark and dreary." 
I think that poem grand aud applicable to 
all of us. I have spent all my days on a farm, 
aud .yet I don’t feel that 1 ought, to grumble, 
1 have to work, but 1 don’t dislike it. 1 think 
I feel better than I should if I did uot work at 
all ; aud then those blessed loug Winter even- 
iugs, they are a rest to the body, and u feast 
to the rniud to those who love books and can 
get them to read. That reminds me that I 
have something to say to parents in general, 
and that is. that they should study the charac¬ 
ters aud capacities of their children, if they 
wish to store their minds with knowledge. 
Get them good and useful books. If they have 
a talent for any one thing help them to culti¬ 
vate it. Parents should bring so much sun¬ 
shine into their homes that they will be the 
bright, particular spots in the memory of their 
children. And when these children go out from 
ihe home shelter to mingle with the world's 
people, they will carry with them sweet memo¬ 
ries of their homes, and these memories will 
t»e a guiding star to keep their feet in the 
straight and narrow way. 
A READER OF THE RURAL. 
FROM A FARMER’S DAUGHTER. 
There has been considerable written about 
boys and their duty when in the house. I 
agree with Adeline E. Story iu her article iu 
Rural (page 100,) that they should not be 
pounced upon to run innumerable errands as 
they come in from work. I like to see boys 
neat ami handy, and careful not to make more 
work for the women. I have seeu boys (and 
men, too, for that matter) who on entering the 
house would not take any pains to clean their 
feet at the door, aud would throw their hats 
and coats down in the corner or lay them 
across a chair for some woman to hang up for 
them, aud the person who has to do this is 
generally that older sister who is such a nui¬ 
sance. 
I should not like to see boys make beds, 
wash dishes, sweep or mop the floor (unless to 
wipe up their tracks); for that is certainly 
women's work, but they should keep their 
rooms tidy by hanging up their clothes when 
taken off, and they should not empty their 
pockets of strings, uuils, fish-hooks, etc., on 
the staud or table. It certainly would not 
hurt them to kuow a little ulKi.it house-work, 
so that in a case of necessity they could make 
themselves useful. When Mrs. Story writes 
of farmers’ boys having so much to do while 
the girls ure resting, I do not agree with her. I 
am a farmer’s daughter and l am proud of the 
fact, but T never found much time to loll on 
the sofa or ride the horses if my brother had 
been sent after them. minnie. 
DOMESTIC RECIPES. 
HINTS. 
A correspondent asks about baking powders. 
Tartaric acid aud hi carbonate of soda are by 
far better than any so-callecl powders. Get 
them of a reliable druggist, aud keep each in 
a separate box. When wanted, pulverize a 
sufficient quantity of each on the cake-board 
with a knife blade. Three-fourths of a tea¬ 
spoonful of acid to one of soda is the propor¬ 
tion. 
Another one says grease the chest and 
back well for a cold. Very well, so far; but 
if to this grease you add grated nutmeg till it 
