802 THE RURAL WEW-YORKER. «©V 29 
consigned to the rubbish heap for want of 
such knowledge. The almighty dollar has 
absorbed all their attention. Their houses 
are under lock and key, and they have not ev¬ 
en the politeness of a New Zealander to a 
stranger from a foreign land. 
Perhaps I am rather severe, but having 
gone through just what the Rural states it 
has experienced, I think it is the duty of every 
liberal scieutiflc journal to ventilate such 
notions of a past age. 
(The American Garden and Vick's Magazine 
have especially presented the Rural adver¬ 
tisement with very liberal and flattering 
Editorial comments. EPS.] 
£ox lUontnt. 
CONDUCTED BY MIS! RAY CLARK. 
BITTER SWEET. 
Years ago on my father’s farm, in Central 
New York, there was a large orchard of natu¬ 
ral fruit. Many varieties there were among 
them, sweet and sour, mellow, and hard as 
granite; but among them all that which ex¬ 
cited the most curiosity was one in the corner 
by the stone wall, which was called the bitter¬ 
sweet. The fruit was what its name indicated, 
bitter-sweet; the apples, though they were al¬ 
ways abundant and fair to look upon, were a 
disappointment when tasted. But it was 
found that when they were kept several 
months they lost their bitter flavor, and when 
other fruit had decayed or been consumed, 
they were excellent. May and June often saw 
us with a few bushels of what had once l>een 
the despised bitter-sweet apples, now eagerly 
sought after and enjoyed. 
I have sometimes, when recalling this pecu¬ 
liar fruit, thought that life affected some peo¬ 
ple as time did the bitter-sweet apples. Such 
in their prime would be sour,sarcastic,or mali¬ 
cious in manifesting their feelings to their 
relatives or daily companions. No sweet 
words were heard from them without an ill- 
natured flavor was left by them. The weary 
or unfortunute were comforted in such a 
coarse way that, it brought no relief to their 
sore hearts. Sensitive spirits shunned them, 
in dread of their sarcastic tongues, which, 
in spito of their real kindness of heart, would 
wound them with bitter speech. But I have 
seen some of these same disagreeable persons 
become in their last dayB pleasant and com¬ 
panionable. Ago sometimes seemed, in pity 
to them, to have eradicated from their souls 
the root of bitterness which had mude them 
disliked and avoided bv those w T bo would 
otherwise have sought their society. Whether 
the world’s hard experience removes these de¬ 
fect*, and brings a better state of feeling, or 
whether it is merely the natural growth that, 
comes from living long, I cannot tell. 
Happy are they who do not number among 
their acquaintances some one to whom the 
name of Bitter-sweet might be truthfully ap¬ 
plied. B. C. D. 
MUSINGS OP A QUIET LIFE. 
NUMBER IV. 
Tnis perfect June day makes me think of a 
sweet girl-poet, a school mate, who died long 
ago, and wrote the verses beginning 
“June to-duy has been unbinding 
All the beauty of her hair." 
I do not believe it is true that, the good always 
die first, but 1 can sympathize with the feel¬ 
ing of Bayard Taylor expressed in the poem 
“I He In the summer meadows." 
Over all this beauty the shadow of a great 
sorrow lies. Thank God that, with nil his 
eloquence no Ingersoll can make us believe, 
as, if wo can trust bis feelings at the grave of 
his brother, he cannot make himself believe, 
that it is a hopeless sorrow. 
The house which I sit in is an old house built 
little by little perhaps, as different owners felt 
the need of more room. Yet 1 am not sure I 
would liken bay-window pushedoutto the east 
the whole sitting-room extending southward 
and a bay-window iu that too, I like with qual¬ 
ifications what Gail Hamilton says, “Iu build* 
inga house, in founding a home, there are two 
things whereiu it is not well to economize—light 
and heat. It is not how little you can be com¬ 
fortable with, but how much you can secure.” 
I would like a west, piazza, with ivy—that 
would bo like my old home, and an east one, 
where a prairie rose might climb with a honey¬ 
suckle. Then the kitchen needs enlarging, 
and to have a west door for the cool breeze to 
come in, and a porch where the morning sun 
will not shine while weehurn and wash dish¬ 
es, and where we can set the dinner table on 
hot days. A grape vine is already planted iu 
anticipation of such a porch. A wood-house 
too, is a necessity; it is always a necessity in 
the country, and if the farmer wants good, 
prompt meals and a sweet-tempered wife, he 
may as well make up his mind to that at once. 
Another necessity in every farm-house, is 
water. If I could picture to the husband the 
miseries of a wife who has to let the house go 
untidy, wash dishes in greasy water, and do 
some other things that is not according to 
her wisheB, because she cannot bring water 
from a spring, or some one else’* well a quar¬ 
ter of a mile away. If he loves her as he 
should, be would do his twist to have water 
handy. Love does not fly out of the window 
at the approach of wuut, half so quickly as 
when carelessness comes iu at the door. 
"For ob! the heart, too keenly feels 
The anguish of neglect." 
Our rooms are low—in the lower story only 
about seven feet high. I do not find them so 
very unpleasant, though accustomed to those 
much higher. They warm more easily, and I 
can reach the ceiling so readily to whitewash 
or sweep down dust. Then when the time 
comes to p>apor, it saves considerably in 
the number of rolls, and there is not so 
much bard climbing and reaching. I do 
not think I quite prefer the walls so low, but 
it is a fine thing to see blessings in our discom 
forts, if we can. Mr*. Stowe speaks of brood¬ 
ing rooms—ours hrood like a mother hen. An¬ 
other thing; you don’t get the pictures hung 
so high that they are not companionable. 
There is my boy’s face looking out of its 
frame, so low that I can look right into bis 
eyes, and wonder if be was really unhappy 
when the picture was taken, it makes him 
look so sorrowful. 
That large painting, too, is low enough to 
be enjoyed, aud the foreground, the water, 
and the mountains have all become part of 
my possessions. The morning-glories, on the 
other side of the room, look a* fresh as if they 
had just Opened, though they have hung on 
my walls for years. Emerson says, “ All 
great actions have l>ecii simple ones: and all 
great pictures are.” I know that, some of the 
little ones, too, are charming, and just suited 
to the means, circumstances and culture of 
people in rural hemes; especially one in illus¬ 
tration of the first lines of "Gray’s Elegy,” 
which is a beautiful representation of rural 
life. A few such pictures will transfigure a 
plain room, and opeu windows for eyes to 
look out of perhaps into a far away aud pleas¬ 
ant past. 
WOMAN’S USEFULNESS. 
How queer things are in this world! I 
really believe there is an extra twist that 
kinks things out of shape terribly. Talk 
about woman’s sphere! Just as if there was 
something new foe them to do! Why cannot 
they be contented to do what God designed 
them to do without making such an everlast¬ 
ing “bullabelloo” about it? I take it that a 
woman’s mission is pretty much the same as 
it was ftO or a 100 years ago. 1 admit the 
times are changed; one can see that with one 
eye open, but I am uot sure that the women 
of 1884 are one bit more contented or happier 
than their grandmother's were in their day. 
They did with their might what their hands 
found to do, and wore happy in doing it. Big 
families were the fashion then, and the girls 
were just as useful as the boys. Nobody 
sighed over the future of the poor thing when 
a baby girl was born, and groaned because 
another girl was added to the flock. No. the 
eighth girl was just as welcome as the first 
and made just as comfortable. Yea, the times 
are changed, and babies are not looked upon, 
uor do they meet with the same feelings of 
welcome that thej r used to do. “Such a care! 
so much work!” Just as if tbo poor forlorn 
duckling had no sort of business to enter this 
world, and there was no place for it made 
ready. 
One thing is certain, and there is no dodg¬ 
ing it: babies will be born and some of them 
will live and grow up to womanhood, ns well 
as manhood, and there is a place for them, 
and there is work euough for them to do, too, 
if they will only see it. There is no ueed of 
hunting around to find a mission, for every 
liviug person has a mission prepared ready 
for them if they will accept of it. It may be 
just a common place, everyday duty. If such 
duties are well performed, it is just as honor¬ 
able and praiseworthy as if she had gone on¬ 
to the platform as a public speaker, or entered 
the bar as a lawyer. There is no station in 
life in which a person cannot be useful if they 
have the desire to be so. There is a discon¬ 
tented restlessness that makes people out of 
sorts with common duties. Girls are not 
suited with quiet vocations; they are anxious 
to make their mark in the world. They want 
to lie “celebrated.” They are uot content to be 
ordinary. It is not enough to bear their sen¬ 
tence, “She hath done what she could;” they 
want something grandiloquent pronounced 
over them; to have their names and memory 
immortalized! Now this is all nonsense! If 
you are to do something wonderful and good 
the opportunity will present itself without 
running after it, or folding up the bands aud 
waiting for it. Not one woman iu a thousand 
(or man either) does anything so magnificent 
as to immortalize their memory through pos¬ 
terity. If they can embalm it in loving 
hearts it is all they ought to hope for or ex¬ 
pect, and is enough. To be useful and happy 
in the station in which God has pleased to 
place them, is what they in bounden duty 
ought to be, and if more is desired it will only 
make them unhappy. It is not for a woman 
to hew out paths from rocky places; but to 
walk quietly iu the path before her, whether 
it leads her to dark places or up the higbts 
of immortality, for in the path of duty one 
very seldom stumbles. GRANDMOTHER. 
THE POEM AND ITS MISSION. 
The poem “Over the Hills to the Poor 
House” has traveled up and down all over 
our land. Mr. Carlton was once asked if the 
story was founded on any real incident. He 
said that when in school he was fond of visit¬ 
ing the almshouse and chatting with the in¬ 
mates. He made the acquaintance there of 
a very worthy couple, whose children had 
cast them off in their old age and feebleness, 
and his sympathies were warmly stirred for 
them. The circumstances wrought into his 
poem were different, but tbe sentiment was 
the same. 
It would make a wonderful book if tbe in¬ 
fluence that simple story in verse has exerted 
could be written out. The author has fre¬ 
quently had pleasing evidence given him of 
tbe value it has been to the sufferers from 
similar unkind ness. One business man, after 
he had read it., immediately sent a check for 
$100 to his aged parents whom ho felt he had 
too much neglected. A number of cases have 
come to his knowledge where penitent chil¬ 
dren have sent to the poorhouse and taken 
home aged parents after reading his story. 
A poor old pauper in Cleveland, who died 
in the almshouse, had a copy of the verses 
carefully folded away among his few pos¬ 
sessions. It had been road by him with a 
mournful interest, which those in happier 
circumstances could never appreciate. 
Many negligent children, who have not 
gone so far as to shove off an aged parent, 
have yet had their conscience touched by this 
.sad poem, and have fretted less over the 
“trouble old folks make.” Old people must be 
cared for by somebody, and who so appro¬ 
priate as those for whom they cared all 
through the helpless years of childhood? 
He who made one of His 10 great com¬ 
mands “Honor tliy father and thy mother,” 
will not bless undutiful children. Even in 
temporal things we have over and over seen 
marked judgments fall upon those who dis¬ 
obeyed this law. Often the stroke has fallen 
on the heart as well as the estate. 
Cherish tenderly the aged ones under your 
roof tree, and bear patiently with their in¬ 
firmities, us they did with your feebleness 
and many wayward moods iu early life. 
There are precious promises for even this life 
to those who thus honor father aod mother. 
J. E. s. 
Beecher asks: “Suppose a man has a wife 
that weighs 100 pounds and he loves her with 
his whole heart, would he love her twice as 
much if she weighed 300 pounds?” We ans¬ 
wer: We cannot say as to his loving her 
twice as much, but we know he would love 
twice as much of her. J. 8. W, 
Dr Hammond says there is no better test 
of a woman’s health and beauty, and he might 
have added good nature, than her appearance 
at an early breakfast. 
■ - 
Miss Emma Larson and her young sister, 
who rode on horseback from their borne iu 
Wisconsin to San Francisco, made the jour¬ 
ney in safety without being once molested. 
Domestic (Economy 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
KITCHEN HINTS. 
ANNIE L. JACK. 
“Nothing but eorn-starch for pudding.” 
Tbe Amateur Cook st udied a minute, and I left 
her to her own devices, quite sure that some¬ 
thing palatable would result. It was only 
corn-starch, but so nice that. I said, “How did 
you make it?” Hhe told me it was only three 
large tablespoonfuIs of the starch mixed with 
cold milk to a very smooth paste. Then have 
a pint and a half of milk at the boiling point, 
and stir it in very slowly. Add tbe rind of a 
lemon and four outlet's of loaf sugar. Let it 
stand awhile to extract tbo flavor from the 
lemon and strain all through a colander. 
Add essence of lemon and boil up again while 
you wet a mold in cold water. Set on ice or 
id a cold place, aod when turned out, garnish 
the dish with raspberry jam to be served 
with it. 
Pears have been plentiful this season, and 
we all preferred them stewed to baked. Taking 
generally a dozen large ones, pare, cut in 
halves, leaving on the stem, core with the 
point of a knife, and place in a saucepan, cov¬ 
er closely and add a pound of loaf sugar to a 
pint and a half of soft water. Stew for six 
hours, and serve cold. 
Now that the season for lemons and oranges 
is near, it is as well to rememlier that the 
peel of either is very good for flavoring other 
things, if simply dried in a cool oven, and 
crumbled fine. I have often regretted tbe 
waste there is about this part of tbe fruit in 
the orange season, and if dried and saved in a 
wide-mouthed bottle, it is very useful in 
many ways. 
Pickles and preserves are at last all finished 
for this year, the last put up being some of 
the new Russian watermelons that ripened 
perfectly with us this season, aod made a 
rich, clear confection, that resembled citron, 
but with a finer flavor. 
There is nothing more tryiog to a house¬ 
keeper’s soul than spots on the carpet, stains 
on linen or ink spilled; but 1 think that fruit 
stain* on table-cloths and napkins have a 
peculiarly irritating effect. Stains of tea or 
coffee can often be taken out by placing the 
discolored part over a bowl and pouring a 
stream of hoiliug water over the spot. Hold 
the kettle high up and pour until there is a 
gradual fading of the stain. This must t>e 
done before going into the suds, as *uap sets 
all stain*—whether on hands or linen If this 
treatment does uot suffice, hold over the 
fumes of burning sulphur after wetting in 
chloride of lime water, which must be weak 
or it will burn the fubrle. 
Ink can bo removed from a carpet by wet¬ 
ting in milk, if it is done at once. Soak up 
the ink first with old, soft cloths, then wet 
fresh cloths in milk and repeut till it disap¬ 
pears. Oil-of-turpentine will remove paint 
from any garment, and alcohol is of use in 
removing grease spots. These are, however, 
often as easily managed by placing brown 
paper over the spot aud pressing with a warm 
iron. This latter method is particularly good 
in removing spots of sperm or stearine can¬ 
dles, which have lately become so fashion¬ 
able. Stains on marble are removed by a 
mixture of chalk and soda, rubbed in till they 
disappear. If of iron rust, they can be taken 
out by lemon juice. 
RAMBLINGS. 
How I should like to meet some of the la¬ 
dies who write to the dear old Rural! In the 
number for October 25, one who signs herself 
“Kay” so exactly expresses my sentiments 
throughout her article, that I know 1 should 
like her. This incessant cleaning, sweeping, 
and dusting, accompanied, as it generally is, 
with a never ceasing flow of talk on the sub¬ 
ject, is. to say thu least, annoying. A lady 
near us with a family of three grown persons 
and a hired girl, fairly wears herself out with 
the everlastiug round of weekly (and in some 
rooms daily) BW’eepiug of every corner of the 
bouse, and some rooms In the house are never 
entered except to sweep aud dust them. My 
daughter was telling her how I was interrupt¬ 
ed, aud had tostop in the middle of sweepiug, 
by friends from the city, who came to spend 
the day. She said she “would not have stop¬ 
ped ; no, not for the Queen of Sheba.” But I 
think too highly of my friends to treat them 
thus. 
I do not pretend to sweep my sleeping rooms 
thoroughly every week; none of us use them 
as sitting-rooms; they are aired well every 
day, aud kept in order, and when they need 
it, that is, once in two or three weeks, they are 
well swept, I think sweeping about the 
hardest work a woman can do, and though I 
am strong, I could not endure to do as much 
of it as some of these over-neat, or, as I heard 
it expressed the other day, “too pisen neat,” 
