FEB 24 
“What’s the use, Jabez, of putting off your 
miserable jokes on me?” 
“Well, what d’ye ask me for, when any 
durn fool can see what I’m doin. You’re no 
better than them “patterns” as come to the 
creamery. They get their money and come 
o\ or here jingling their gold and silver in their 
pockets and they ask me just the same ques¬ 
tions; an 1 say I'm diggin muck.” 
“Well, he sez, you’ll piseu the laud with that 
wet. sour, cold stuff, that’s good for nutliin.” 
“Mobile, sez I; and mebbe not. Nmv you 
folks don’t know anything about muck, You 
dig a bit now and then, and put it on your 
madders, and it lies there kicking about for 10 
years, and yon rake the lumps up in the hay, 
and the cows chuck it out and think to them¬ 
selves ‘ what kind of stuff is this the old man’s 
givin us.’ And then you say the stuff's no 
good, because you don't know how to use it.” 
“Now then, sez 1, look here: you see this 
grass, and that rye and that corn—when there’s 
any corn to see—all that’s muck and nuthin 
else. You know what this land was when 
we came here first; not enough to feed a 
dozen cons on the hull farm. And now in five 
years we’ve morn oil. An it’s muck hez done 
it. You sec this stuff is just as these fellows 
say. wet and sour and cold. But what duru 
fools they are to use it that way.” 
“Now Josh, you know about as much about 
this ez a baby I reckon.” 
“Not as much Jabez.” 
“Well, that’s a fact anyhow. Now let me 
tell you; Supposin’ you hed a mess of raw 
oats give yer for breakfast. You’d think that 
hard board, wouldn’t yon '?” 
“ I know you would. But if the oats were 
ground into meal and Mary made you a nice 
mess of mush or gruel, with some ginger and 
sugar, and a little Medford rum, in it, you’d 
find it better, wouldn’t yer V 
" Of course you would. Now, that’s what I 
do with this stuff. It’s w et, you see. Well, I 
put it out here and dry it. That trouble’s got 
rid of. It’s sour as tartar, too. But I put 
some lime in it and then it’s sweet. And that 
trouble’s got rid of too. Then I cook it.” 
“ Cook it r 
“ Yes, cook it. Stew it. Bake it in the hot 
manure pile. I put it under the cows and in 
the cellar; and two feet deRp in the yard ami 
the pig pens and fill the pits at the slaughter 
house with it; jest ns much as two men 
can dig out every day for half the year. 
You see this ground’s no good as it is and the 
mucks worth settlin' considerable; so we'll 
make a pond here for ire and put. trout in it. 
Now, when this 'ere muck gets warmed up in 
the manure you see it aint cold any more, and 
so that trouble’s got rid of too. And then 
there’s nutliin’ wrong with it; an’ it must be 
all right and it just is, you bet. Josiah.” 
“See them hlaek piles all over? I hauled 
them out last Winter There goes a load of it 
out now for the fodder corn field. You kin 
smell it here. That’s niter-gin; so the young 
square calls it, and that stuff puts the sperrit 
in it. An when this wet, sour, cold, raw stuff 
is dry an sweet, an warm an cooked, its 
like your mush; good food; and you should 
see the coni eat it an the early potatoes. 
That’s what the young square says, and I 
guess he’s uiore'n half right. Poor stuff 1 It’s 
them as thinks so is poor stuff, I guess.” 
“ I have no doubt you a re quite right, Jaliez.” 
“Sartinly, I am; an 1 fillers am. I was 
right wheu I told sister- Susan as you’d come 
b ack rich one of these days. All them west¬ 
ern folks get rich.” 
“ How would you like to go out there, Jabez? 
I’ll give you a farm if you wish.” 
“It’s very good of you, brother Josh, but 
I’m fixed here you see. I’m goiu’ to see this 
thing through. I’ve lived through the poor 
days here in this valley, and now the Stony 
Brook Farm is all oncogen, and in good hands, 
and this farm is coinin’ out all right, and as 
long as the young square wants me to stay 
here, why, here I’ll stay, Josiah. Why the 
hidl things my idee; I planned it all; an the 
young square hed sense enough to fall in, an I 
guess he’s satisfied. An Miss Emly sez she, 
‘George, let Jabez hev his way, his head’s 
level anyhow.’ An now I'm third boss here, 
Miss Emly she’s first and the young square’s 
second, and 1 come next, and 1 don’t want 
to leave.”—[To lie continued.] 
POND DOTED BV MISS KAV CLARK. 
YIP-YAPS. 
1 am a sufferer from the yip-yaps—and I am 
not alone in my affliction. I am convinced 
that. I am but one of a noble army of martyrs; 
and am also conscious that the name I have 
applied to the evil is not in Webster or Wor¬ 
cester. Possibly not in any medical book, and 
yet I believe that as J shall outer into details, 
on the right and on the left people will exclaim 
a 
“ I know- it!” “I have seen it!” I have felt 
it”—“ It is the—yip-yaps.” Itisthcsufferingiir 
flieted by prim, precise, over-nice, over-criti¬ 
cal superior human beiugs on those more 
jovially, less carefully constituted. 
The one who afflicts has the disease but is 
wholly unconscious of it.; the one who bears 
it is the victim whose only revenge is to escape 
one side and chuckle over the newly found 
cognomen. 
This disease develops in nearly as many 
forms, varying from slight to malignant as 
there are types of human character. 
I think t he patients themselves labor under 
the delusion that they are the balance wheels 
of creation. 
Granted that they are, of what earthly use 
is a balance wheel unless all other wheels are 
in motion. A case of genuinely developed 
yip-yaps always, on principle, negatives in¬ 
stantly all propositions of action. If you per¬ 
severe in doing what you think is feasible and 
right it must, be in the teeth of the awful “ 1 
told von so”-and if it fails woe be unto 
you. The greatest fault that I have to find 
with the yip-yaps is, their intensely con¬ 
servative influence on human affairs and the 
slow sapping and mining by which they de¬ 
stroy other people’s confidence in their own 
ability, and weaken independent, self reli¬ 
ant action especially in the youth of the house¬ 
hold. 
Some of the worst cases gradually drift into 
our Insane Asylums—but. I daresay carefully 
prepared statistics would demonstrate that a 
far greater percentage of the victims of this 
disease are the near relatives who hurry 
into retreats to escape the eternal nudg¬ 
ing, goading, guiding, expostulat ing, remons¬ 
trating, w inking, grimacing, sullen, aggrieved, 
superior yip-yaps themselves, 
But to be specific. Case number one stands 
prominent in my memory as one of unparal¬ 
leled cmelty. A man, a broad-shouldered 
handsome specimen of humanity successful in 
business and proud of his family, married at 
a suitable age the woman of his choice, a 
veritable rosebud of beauty. 
A quaint old saying that every one, some¬ 
time in life must eat their brown loaf, was em¬ 
phasized in the ease of Mr. Goldeneomh. He 
lives in a palace; fortune has smiled upon him, 
but he is growiug old prematurely for his wife 
has the yip-yaps. He eanuot carve the turkey 
to suit her fastidious taste, nor wait upon his 
guests, nor eat his own dinner, nor converse 
with a friend without feeling the chill of hor¬ 
ror down his spine, because he knows that if 
he raises his eyes he will encounter Mrs. Gold- 
encouib’s frigid reproving gaze. Fixed and 
reproving because, possibly he called the dress¬ 
ing, stulting, or served some condiment in a 
fashion she has hitherto prohibited. A lapse 
of forgetfulness, or some provincialism of 
speech, is productive of a stinging or sarcastic re¬ 
proof, and as the man is a gentleman and 
promised before God to cherish and protect 
this woman, and feels in his heart that despite 
this brmv-beating he is the head of the family 
and stands between her and the world, he rarely 
retorts, but goes away baffled, unhappy, 
gloomy, from his own generously spread board. 
And then Mrs. Goldeucomb, beautifully dressed 
and feeling that she has done her duty, and 
what a superior woman she is, aud how un¬ 
fortunately mated to a man of so little refine¬ 
ment and culture, takes her dessert leisurely, 
and rarely observes in her self-righteous frame 
of mind that the little Goldencombs are often 
choked with grief—for they all dearly love 
Papa. 
It, is only the strong, noble, generous natures 
that endure the yip-yaps in silence. The little 
high-strung, nervous 1 icings break into open 
revolt, and then come our quarrels, separations 
and divorces, the disgrace of the Nineteenth 
Century civilization. 
Alas! the World is teeming with sorrow. The 
hewers of wood and drawers of water have 
ever their burden awaiting them. And now 
one word in behalf of the liberal education 
of women. 
The worst eases of yip-yaps that I have ever 
know n, wore in women of limited education, 
who rarely read and whose time like Martha’s 
of old is not only spent in serving but in 
worrying while they serve; doing good to their 
friends and their church, dispensing liberally 
to the jioor from table and wardrobe, but goad¬ 
ing their own meanwhile to the brink of des¬ 
peration. Handsome women they are. who 
dress to perfection, and who know that they 
are nt >t < inly beloved but that their word carries 
weight at home and abroad; but whose mini Is 
revolve in a limited orbit about which ever 
hangs a veil of distrust, of worry aud of 
carping care. 
llail then the Chautauqua circle or any 
kindred institution that can rouse our faithful 
ones who serve—but serving, scold—to spend 
some portion of their time in contemplation of 
things of Nature aud of Art, whereby they 
may develop those traits of mind which shall 
strengthen the whole character. 
Whoever you are, conscious now of your 
failing, who perceive ever so faintly that you 
mar the peace and pleasure of your home, 
won’t you resolve to watch yourself arid curb 
this habit? Do you think that the world will 
all go wrong when once your warning voice is 
hushed? What will your life be iu the be¬ 
yond, when with your nearest and dearest 
here, it is only fault-finding and remonstrance? 
You know better, you mean better, but little 
by little the habit, grew upon you. Struggle 
hard to break the bonds, and to realize the 
extent of influence, of each word and act, for— 
the yip-yaps are terrible, Jane Gareev. 
♦ ♦ ♦ 
SCRAP BASKET. BABY'S BIB. 
These cuts represent two very useful articles, 
not both in the same line perhaps, yet both are 
of service. (hie, Fig, HO is a sera]) basket, which 
should occupy a corner in every well-ordered 
sitting-room. You may have an old one, that 
has become dusty iu the using, or is broken in 
places, and therefore somewhat unsightly. 
Such a one can be pniuted aud varnished 
where it is exposed to view, and t rimmed like 
the one show u incut, which is covered with 
Scrap Basket—Fig. 89. 
dark blue velveteen; on the panels or side 
pieces, a re embroidered heraldic ornaments, al¬ 
though the selection can bn made according to 
one’s taste. To cover the raw edges (for these 
pieces are cut the same shape as the basket,) 
silk the same color as the velvet used is put on 
like puffings and separated—about every three 
inches—either by a bow of ribbon, or a small 
cord and tassel. If one chooses, some woolen 
material can be used, and a handsome article 
will be the result. 
And we would not forget the monarchs of 
the household—the babies. Every one who 
has had a baby hi their home knows they 
rule every one and do not stop at grandpa 
either, but completely win even him over to 
their side, it is highly satisfactory to put the 
baby in its high chair with a table cloth all 
its own before it, and a silver plate and cup 
with which it can do just as it pleases, and 
give it its first uieaL Ail are watching its 
motions, wondering what is the next thing 
it will do, until their own soup has become 
cold. Such u baby must have a bib, so we 
give Fig. 90 of the latest style in shape. The 
material l’or it is left to one’s taste. It can 
be damask. Turkish toweling or canvas, 
aud either a fringe made by drawing the 
threads, or trimmed with a knotted cotton 
fringe. The name of the little one in bright 
crewels, as a border, or uu appropriate motto 
furnishes this necessary addition to ti baby’s 
wardrobe. 
Domestic Ccnonnj 
conducted nv emily dl >le 
HOUSEKEEPING EXPERIENCE OF A 
CITY GIRL WHO MARRIED 
A FARMER. 
ANNIE L. JACK. 
Kindergarten, “a garden of children,” 
the method of Nature in the treatment of 
children. I studied the books of Froebel and 
Miss Peabody, and became convinced that it 
was necessary to study the nature of each little 
one, to understand the treatment if required, 
as a gardener who loves and cures for his 
plants knows their individual needs, and 
places them under proper conditions of soil 
and atmosphere to favor their best growth. 1 
procured the “ First Gift,” consisting of six 
soft balls of the three primary and three sec¬ 
ondary colors, aud read many times the little 
manual that accompanied it. At the begin¬ 
ning it said: “Tending babies is ail art, and 
every art is founded on a science of observa¬ 
tions, for love is not wisdom, but love must 
act according to wisdom in order to succeed.” 
I soon discovered that in Summer children were 
happier, less given to outburts of ill-temper or 
peevishness than when closely confined in the 
uarrow Limits of two or three rooms. By the 
time my first baby was able, to creep out and 
pick the tops off of my choicest plants, another 
baby filled my arms, and but for the free and 
happy out-of-door life we led I do not think I 
could have reared my children to any degree 
of health or contentment. I made a garden 
for each baby, planted it with all sorts of 
flowers, some from the woods, with a few gay 
geraniums or verbenas, and as soon as my boy 
could talk he would proudly drag visitors out 
to see “Mincgardy.” aud plant there a po¬ 
tato, a few beans, or whatever took his way¬ 
ward fancy, pulling them up the next day, 
perhaps. Now and then a bean or pea evaded 
being scratched up and grew, This was a 
constant delight, and by watching, as a child 
will, the sprouting of a seed, a lesson of botany 
was learned amid the play. As the children 
grew older they delighted in housekeeping 
among the trees iu front of the house, and 
with a rude table and seats often prepared 
their own ton and washed their toy dishes, en¬ 
joying the fun, and at the same time helping me. 
I found moral culture u difficult process. 
My eldest boy had « strong, determined will 
and great courage. He feared no punishment, 
but was easily won through his sensibilities. I 
made it a nile never to punish a child that 
confessed a fault, and having once applied a 
soft cloth with soapsuds to a mouth that said 
a foul word, I had no occasion to repeat the 
operation. If a child feels that you repose 
confidence, and give your reason- for the right, 
and wrong of whatever you advise—that your 
teaching is not all theory—you will soon find 
him tractable. Common sense is a great 
teacher, and children do not like to bo treated 
like babies or dolls. Oh! how happy country 
children are, if they only knew the privileges 
they enjoy—if they ■ mly appreciated the de 
light of living among trees and flowers, fields 
and hills, and birds and brooks. When J have 
visited the city in the heat of a Summer’s day 
and felt the scorch and glare, with only a piti¬ 
ful bit of sky between tall chimneys, J have 
wondered that I could ever have prefered it. 
For the happy country hoy, 
“ He lias his own free bookless lore, 
The lessons Nature taught him. 
The wisdom which the woods and hills 
And toiling men have brought him.” 
Blessed country, where otic can live his oi¬ 
lier own life and be happy with plenty of sun¬ 
shine, pure water and air, ifnd freedom from 
many ills that haunt the city! 1 felt this as 
the children grew and reveled in the out-door 
life, and as they began to help me 1 made a 
little routine of work that became an every¬ 
day affair, anil after a while lightened my 
own labors, for I determined that, my little 
girls should have an opportunity to experi¬ 
ment in housekeeping—to begin young and 
make its duties light, by thorough practice and 
knowledge. Though frills and tucks were the 
fashion, l only dressed my children plainly, 
for I saw many women around whose eyesight 
had failed at forty from martyrdom to their 
children’s frills, and 1 determined to avoid that 
stumbling-block. And to this day I would 
rather buy good material and make it up 
simply than to have cheap goods, as is too 
often the case, w ith the extra money put into 
yards of flounces and frills. llow useful 
the little hands soon became and the willing 
feet to help “father" and “mother.” I remeui- 
lior a little six-year-old who delighted to’cut 
grapes and fill baskets till they became too 
heavy for her to lift, and after every storm 
the toddlers went with the “help” to pick up 
fallen apples, and enjoyed the pleasant labor. 
We gave them ground wherein to grow what 
ever they chose for profit, and they learned 
by this means the necessary experience of 
