422 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
JUNE 28 
0 
At one place where I worked, one of th' 
boys, lfi years old, made it a business to pester 
me in every conceivable manner during the 
half hour I was allowed to rest after dinner. 
I mentioned the matter to his father, who 
ordered him to let me alone. The following 
day he began to annoy me as usual, and to 
bring matters to a crisis I gave him a good 
trouncing, lie went to the house blubbering, 
and in a few momenta about half of the family 
came out to “interview” me. After some 
mutual recriminations. J packed up and left. 
The man owed me $85 for work, swore ha 
wouldn’t pay me, and dared tun to sue for it. 
A good lawyer advised me to let the matter 
drop, and quietly leave the town before an 
action was brought against me, and J did so. 
At another place there were three grown girls 
and an only son—a spoiled pet 14 years old. 
The girls informed me that whenever I was 
about when any gentlemen called, I should 
take their horses and properly care for them, 
and the young man expressed his desire to 
have me take especial euro of his pony and 
buggy. I never would leave a situation if I 
could possibly avoid it, and 1 stayed there my 
full time—seven months. To show what was 
expected of me 1 give a sample summer day: 
Rise at 4 a m. Feed and curry four horses 
and the pony, and clean stable; milk two 
cows and turn cattle on to the pasture; feed 
25 hogs; fill three large troughs with water; 
breakfast; harness team and pony; water 
pony, hitch him to buggy, tie him in shed, and 
feed hay; hitch up and plow corn until 11 80; 
care for my horses; unhitch pony; unharness, 
water and feed; fill cattle and hog troughs 
with water; carry three buckets of slop 190 
yards to hogs; dine; rub pony down, harness, 
hitch to buggy, and tie in shed; plow till 0.80 
p. M. ; care for horses and pony; yard cattle; 
milk two cows; feed hogs; carry away 
three pails slop; gather eggs; supper; cut 
kindling for morning; mow grass for pony; 
carry off two more buckets of slop; 
Two eveningsn week mow off croquet grounds. 
An average of three evenings a week hitch up 
pouy for girls to go to town, two miles dis¬ 
tant. Care for him when they returned at 
9:30. Four evenings a week take callers’ 
horses down to shod and tie. From 9.80 to 11 
answer barn bell, and drive callers’ team to 
house. Wages, $10 per month. Thanks, (X)! 
for Women. 
CONDUCTED BY MIS.'. RAY CLARK. 
MARGARET FULLER-OSSOLI FROM A 
MAN’S STANDPOINT. 
MARY WAGER-KISHER. 
Although the name of Margaret Fuller is 
a familiar one to every Amei-icau familiar 
with the history of the dawning literature of 
our country—the time when Emerson, Theo¬ 
dore Parker, Alcott, Horace Greeley, and 
other New England men were forming a liter¬ 
ary period, the most important to us as a 
nation as yet reached, still, her personality aud 
lior work have appeared to the generation 
which has succeeded her death 30 years ago, 
as too vague and indefinite to be in any de¬ 
gree sat isfactory or comprehensible in com 
parisou with the high estimate placed upon 
her by her contemporaries. All this vague 
ness has been removed, and Margaret. Fuller, 
as a woman, philosopher and writer, has been 
placed in a light. SO Clear and distinct, by the 
memoir recently written by her friend, Col. 
Higginsou. that the book cannot fail to per¬ 
form u mission of exceeding interest and use¬ 
fulness. Col. Higginsou says at the outset 
that he had long wanted to write a memoir of 
Margaret Fuller, for various reasons: but 
chiefly because be regarded her career as more 
interesting than that of any other American 
of her sex, ** a w oman whose aims were high, 
aud whose services great; one whose intellect 
was uncommon, whose activity incessant, 
whose life varied, and whose death drama¬ 
tic.” As this memoir forms the sixth volume 
of the “ American Men of Letters” scries, 
especial attention is necessarily directed to the 
literary career of the subject. But. although 
it is quite possible to separate the professional 
worth of a man from his social or domestic 
life, it is nearly if not always impossible to do 
so in the case of a woman whoso heart usually 
beats in unison with her brain, and she puts 
not only herself but her entire family rela¬ 
tions at least indirectly into her work. 
Margaret Fuller was born in 1810, and she 
was drowned with her husband and child on 
Fire Island beach, when in sight of her native 
shores, after u voyage from Italy, July 19, 
1850. Bhe had lived but 40 jears, aud had 
achieved work of such high character as to 
endow her name with world wide distinction, 
but with a mind so furnished that her career, 
had her life been spared, would probably have 
been regarded as scarcely more than begun. 
She came of an educated ancestry, her 
grandfather os well as her father having 
graduated from Harvard, and her own educa¬ 
tion was remarkable, as well for its excellence 
as for its defects. She vraa born in Cambridge, 
Mass., and in some ways had the best instruc¬ 
tion a college town could offer. From her 
early childhood her father took charge of her 
education, placing her at the study of Latin 
at six years of age. and she was pushed on 
from that time the same as if she had been a 
boy, who expected to be admitted to college at 
19 years. Her father was a lawyer and a 
statesman, and she had to recite her lessons to 
him at all sorts of odd hours, often late in the 
evening. At 13 she was as advanced as most 
girls at 18 or 90, and what made matters 
worse, she went like them into society, enter¬ 
tained at borne, and laced her dresses to most 
atrocious tightness, in accordance with the 
fashion of the time; for her mother, although 
the "sweetest woman that ever lived,’’ seemed 
to live and move and have her being entirely 
in her husband, Timothy Fuller, who, with all 
his erudition, was utterly devoid of common 
sense in regard to how his wonderful Marga¬ 
ret should lake care of her body. Of course 
she lived to “enjoy” shattered health, and to 
bitterly lament the tight lacing and the late 
hours, 
What girl who reads this can measure her 
methods of study with Margaret Fuller's when 
she was 15 years old? Her life was always 
busy. She rose before five in Summer, walked 
an hour, praetioed an hour on the piano, 
breakfasted at seven, read Lismondi’s “Euro¬ 
pean Literature” in French until night, then 
Brown's “Philosophy” till half-past nine, then 
went to school for Greek at 12, then practiced 
ugaiu till dinner. After the early dinner she 
read two hours in Italian, then walked or 
rode; and in the evening played, sang, and 
retired at 11 to write In her diary. She 
abounded iu gayety, loved to lend children in 
their plays, and was a girl of such Yaukee 
"faculty,” that it was currently reported she 
could rock the cradle (she was the eldest of 
eight children), read a book, eat an apple and 
knit a stocking all at the same time. At 15 
she began to write poetry, and at 17 produced 
verses worthy of preservation—which Is say¬ 
ing much! When S3 she removed with her 
family to Groton, a town 40 miles from Bos¬ 
ton—no railroad connection there—and cut off 
from books and other literary associations. 
She had the “young Fullers” to teach, the 
sewing to do for four children. She had occa¬ 
sionally pupils outside of her family (her 
father had been unfortunate financially), her 
mother was often ill and often without a do¬ 
mestic, aud yet this brave girl, with all her 
cares, managed to borrow books, aud to read 
them at a rat© like Gibbon’s, as Mr. Emerson 
said. And what books she read! All of 
Goethe (40 volumes), U bland, N oval is, Tieck. 
Richter. Eiehhorn and Jahn in the original, 
Schiller, Heine, Alfieri, Bacon, Madame 
de Stael. Wadsworth, Southey, Carlyle, Euro- 
pean and American history, including all 
Jefferson's Letters. 
No man or woman ever yet lived and rose 
to intellectual greatness and worth whose 
early reading was not solid. My advice to 
an ambitious girl would be never to look at a 
novel before 21. Two years later Margaret’s 
father died from Asiatic cholera, and his em¬ 
barrassed property, under the best of manage¬ 
ment, yielded but $2.00(1 to each of the child¬ 
ren. Margaret being the oldest, became 
thenceforth the adviser, and, in a sense, pro¬ 
tector of the family. She fought heroically 
for the education of her sister, and her’letters 
to her brothers showed how brave, light¬ 
hearted and self-denying she was. She her¬ 
self turned to teaching, always writing more 
or less, often sick, and finally she became 
editor of a quarterly publication called the 
Dial, which, at that lime, represented the 
highest intellectual expression of America— 
and of course it was all New Euglaud. Later 
she went to New York at the invitation of 
Horace Greeley, aud wrote for the Tribune, 
writing literary criticisms, and doing much 
other work. In everything she did she 
showed great originality aud independence of 
mind, remarkable analytical powers, and from 
her years of study she brought to her tasks a 
mental culture altogether exceptional. At 
length, after long desire, she was enabled to 
go to Europe, writing newspaper letters home, 
seeing and enjoying much, and finally set¬ 
tling herself in Rome, and living there in the 
midst of the Italian Revolution, her whole 
heart in it aud with Mazzini—home after 17 
years of exile. She went to the hospitals 
where she nursed the wounded and consoled 
the dying, and helping all possible in the 
cause of Italian liberty. Meanwhile she 
had married the Marquis Ossoli, her baby boy, 
the beautiful Angelo, was hidden away in the 
eouutry with a nurse; for, because of family 
matters, her marriage she had to keep secret 
at fearful cost to herself, and torn m 
mind and heart, her husband an officer 
in the Italian anuy, flic labored at her 
book on the Roman Republic, and after 
it was concluded, she resolved to return 
to the United Htates for its publication. What 
she had endured and experienced during 
her three years in Rome, seems incredible— 
but the memoirs faithfully depict it. She was 
37 when her child wan boro, and her husband, 
who was seven years younger than herself, 
loved her with a devotion altogether extraor¬ 
dinary; for although site was an intellectual 
queen, she was plain of face, poor in purse, 
and of English tongue, while he spoke iio 
English, and her great pow ers of conversation 
could hard I v have found adequate expression 
in Italian, but so far as her married life went 
she was unquestionably snpiemely happy. Of 
her voyage home, she had great and painful 
distrust, and felt with the prophet ic eye of a 
seer, that a great calamity was in store for 
her, fearing most for her boy. "I could not, 
I think,” she wrote, “survive the loss of mv 
child: 1 wonder daily how it can be done:” 
aud again, "I shall embark, praying, indeed 
fervently, that it may not be my lot to lose 
ray babe at sea. either by unsolaced sickness 
or amid the howling waves. Or, that if I 
should, it may be brief anguish, and Oasoli, 
he and I go together.” And so it happened— 
only the body of the baby being recovered 
from the water. Her writings are comprised 
in four volumes—her book on Italy being lost 
iu the shipwreck. But as her biographer says, 
her life was a triumph withal. “She shared 
in great deeds. She was the counselor of 
great men. She had a husband who was a 
lover, and she had a child. They loved each 
other in their lives and in their death they 
were not divided. Was not that enough?” 
-- 
MY SUMMERS WORK. 
WHAT ONE WOMAN DID IN THE GARDEN. 
There is so much to tell about it I scarcely 
know where to begiu. First, let me bless the 
inventor of umbrellas; without one I never 
could have done what 1 did this Summer. My 
amateur gardening sub-umbrella has proved 
so successful that I am anxious to give my 
experience for the benefit of my sex. Man is 
supposed to be wise enough; so, knowing my 
own needs of practical knowledge at the start, 
and the dearth of information for beginners, I 
shall try to make my hints so plain that (s)he 
who runs may read. 1 am infatuated with 
delving in Mother Earth—(is it a connecting 
link with mud pie days, or the final “earth to 
earth, ashes to ashes” 7) —the days are all too 
short for t he accomplishment of half the plans 
for out door work edged in between indoor du¬ 
ties. 
My mind last Summer was like a sponge. 
Not having any work on gardening, I 
gleaned from all quarters—a seed catalogue, a 
news item on agriculture, a chance remark, 
etc., and by scores of questions to those who 
seemed delighted to air their knowledge for 
my benefit. Let ms whisper, try for your¬ 
self, then “muko a note and a> an old 
farmer remarked, “as the hymn says, ‘ef at 
fust you don’t succeed, try, try, try, try r 
agin’ 1” 
In an old local weekly, picked up the other 
day, my eye lighted on, “If you can get the 
use of tin old blind mule aud two acres of laud, 
do not come to New York.” The advice was 
to discontented country youths. The writer 
was wise; one does not know till lie speculates 
in ground tillage, how remunerative is Mother 
Earth. How for every cent invested he aver¬ 
ages a dollar. Horace Greeley, heedless of 
the adage, "he that goes further tares worse,” 
said to a young man, * Go West,” adding 
what he kne w about farming as capital. Can 
auv one tell me, why maids and matrons sel¬ 
dom or never receive such practical advice, or 
are given such a wide field for work? Does it 
not almost always savor of cooking, tight 
lacing aud good temper? Can one hover over 
a hot stove six. or even sev»n. days in a week, 
and keep up a perpetual grin >. or keep good 
health, no matter how loose the lacing? J 
cannot. Give me fresh air and sunshine a 
portion of each day. under an umbrella, hoe 
in hand, or plucking weeds, for Old Sol s 
direct ruys on my spinal column wilts me 
like cut clover. 
Taken in moderation it has eased many a 
bodily ache, and 1 may add, mental pain. 
Unfortunately women’s work is too much in¬ 
doors; a constant repetition day after day is 
depressing to the spirit.-,, and this enervates 
the body. How many at their very back 
doors have a remedy for this evil. No mat¬ 
ter how small the plot is—mark this—there 
is not a foot of ground on which God’s 
sun shines that cannot be made to grow some¬ 
thing useful. 
You have uo time for gardening ? Harr 
you the inclination f Then take time, it 
pays. To-day for dinner we had sugar corn, 
string beans, turnips, tomatoes, beets, cab¬ 
bage and potatoes. All except the latter I’ve 
planted with my own hands. 
A woman's outfit for garden work should 
consist of overshoes for damp weather, leather 
gauntlets, a sun bonnet and an umbrella. The 
latter is only needed in the very warm days. 
Dear women, get to work as soon as Spring 
opens on your little patch of ground; not 
with flowers only, unless you can afford them 
alone, but with vegetables that keep your 
Wood healthy aud your table comfortably 
supplied the Summer through. From time to 
time I'll give you hints what to plant, when 
to plant, aud Ame to plant You shall become 
initiated in the mysteries of hills, rows, drills, 
soiling, draining, etc., etc., as I understand 
theni; and who knows, some day we may De¬ 
bt tiding meetings aud talking very big ot silos 
and ensilage and subsoils, etc. 
You have nothing to begin with ? / had 
next to nothing to begin with; say, a ten cent 
package of onion seed; a remarkably short- 
handled hoe; an indifferent spade, that means 
it had a piece out of the top; a fraction of 
rake, two points with a handle ! aud a goodly 
j piece of ground sloping to the southward, 
I covered with weeds deadened to sticks; a 
I worn out straw berry-bed iu one corner, in the 
other a growth of seedling maples. And I 
am only a woman I v. T. 
Domestic (i'ccmoim) 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
KITCHEN GARDEN WORK. 
ANNIE L. JACK. 
Until a late number of the Rural made 
the fact a complaint, I never saw, in print, 
what every farmer’s wife “ponders in her 
heart,” if she is at all inclined to refinement, 
or of delicate stomach, i e., that men coming 
into meals reeking with perspiration, and the 
odor of the barnyard, are not always the 
sweetest companions to sit with at table. 
We see in tin- rural newspapers a great deal 
about the tidiness of women during their 
working hours, and I arn sure all will recog¬ 
nize the comfortable feeling that takes posses¬ 
sion of us all when able to change our cloth¬ 
ing for the mid-day meal, and I have often 
thought that if the men of the household tried 
the plan of changing their uuder-wear at noon, 
they would find the consequent comfort amply 
repay for the few minutes expended. Then, 
again, as to slippers: why not take off the 
boots and rest the tired feet during dinner 
time and the rest after the meal? Farmers 
live as if the; belonged to a fire-engine sta¬ 
tion, and had to be ready at a moment’s call; 
whereas, in reality, they have more leisure 
than uuy one can have in occupations that are 
regulated by clock work and business hours; 
for, except in cases of extreme hurry, a farm¬ 
er’s time is his own, aud it will repay him a 
hundred fold to give his men ample rest dur¬ 
ing the heated term, at noon. 
1 often think it strange that, as a rule, a 
farmer is kinder to his horse than he is to him¬ 
self. If he take* out his roadster, how careful 
he is, on returning, to groom the animal till 
perfectly clean, to see that water is not given 
till the animal has cooled; yet bo will go 
straight to the well and drink, often without 
sense or reason; and, without heeding the 
perspiration that streams from the pores, 
which are dogged by dust, he sits down 
to dinner, satisfied if hunds and face 
are clean, A change of under wear would 
not occupy five minutes, and any w ife who 
thinks about, these things, will place the gar¬ 
ments where they can bo eusily reached, for 
man is an impatient being, aud must have 
what he wants right there, before his eyes. 
Leather slippers do not absorb moisture, and 
are therefore best; and nothing refreshes the 
feet more than a regular washing in tepid 
water, mid clean socks. Aud it is easier to 
wash six pairs of socks that are only slightly 
soiled than one or two pairs in which the dust 
and sweat of the feet have become ft mud in¬ 
grained iu the yarn, and reeking with ill odor. 
Yet, we all kuow of those who neglect these 
things, aud that their doing so is not the re¬ 
sult of a love for dirt, but simple carelessness, 
and oftentimes the consequence of that over¬ 
tiredness that is the curse of ft farmer’s life. 
For as a class they work too hard, and live un- 
enjoymg amid everything that goes to make 
' life beautiful, simply because they have too 
much to do, and must not be idle. This is 
true, especially in northern countries, where 
the season is so short that plauting, and hay¬ 
ing, and harvesting, aud preparing for next 
year’s crop, follow one another in such quick 
succession, that by the time a man reaches 
the prime of life, he looks back only ou a 
tread-mill of toil aud a life passed without re¬ 
creation. or a time for anything but earning 
his daily bread, and that ift why, seeing this, 
the souths seek the city in the hope of finding 
something easier to dofor a living. Butif the 
farmer, with his labor-saving implements, 
could have more leisure, could give a little 
more time to himself and his fuinily, could 
now and then take a holiday in summer time, 
and trust more to Providence ami to the work 
his rested body could perform, how different 
would be his lot, and as cleanliness is rated so 
high among the virtues, as to be “uext” to the 
highest, it is easy to see that it would have 
more thau a moral effect, if persevered in, and 
more highly valued. 
I know plenty of farmers who would resent 
a dressing-gowu, yet it is a great comfort, and 
loose shirts for night-wear, that are roomy at 
| neck and wrists, are very restful, besides 
keeping us free of the effete matter which 
would be absorbed by the body if the clothes 
worn iu the day-time were kept on all night. 
Let the boys of a household be taught the 
great, neeesssity of these things; let bathing 
and wearing slippers be part of their daily 
routine, and they will soon find such thiugs 
indispensable, Man;' a man and boy spends 
more time whittling, or in some other inane 
occupation, than would be occupied in chang¬ 
ing clothes or shoes, when necessary, and 
while I do not advocate unnecessary finery 
in either sex, 1 thiuk it is due to one’s self- 
respect, either as man or woman, girl or boy, 
to keep the body pure and clean, thereby in¬ 
suring, not only physical health, but the 
