238 
THE RURAL WEW-'YORiElR. 
A FFU f« 
hacl expected her to be, Mattie found it hard 
work to live and dress herself iu the finery she 
loved on her small income. A rich husband 
was her object, and Evan Ware had been so 
desperately in love with her that it. was hardly 
likely that he could be quite indifferent now. 
“I’m sure I’m handsome enough yet,” 
thought Mattie, as she looked in the glass; 
“and if he is resentful about the way I 
answered him, I’ll manage that somehow. It’s 
too good a chance to lose.” 
Therefore, from that moment, Evan became 
the victim of sundry machinations, which 
were supposed to be of fatal effect, and was 
dressed at and smiled at in a manner which 
made the fact that “Mattie Fay was trying to 
catch Evan Ware” patent to all Farmiugdale. 
By this time, however, the said Evan Ware 
was absolutely in love with Lizzie Gale. She, 
at least, did not court his money, aud that was 
something to so rich a man. 
He forced himself upon her little by little, 
till he made his way. 
It. was Spring; a lovely May. fresh and 
beautiful as May could be, and according to 
custom, a grand picnic was on the tapis. At 
that picnic Evan Ware had resolved to try his 
late foi the second aud last time, for should 
Lizzie Gale refuse him, he would never offer 
his hand to another woman. And ignorant of 
this, at that same picnic, Mattie Fay had re¬ 
solved to bring her old admirer to the point. 
"It’s only pique, l know, that keeps him 
from speaking,” she said, as she looked at 
herself in the glass; “and I’ll go all lengths to 
cure that.” 
The day appointed arrived. Evan Ware 
manoeuvered with success, aud found himself 
at the outset just, where he wished to be—in a 
little vehicle only capable of holding two, 
with Lizzie Gale by his side. The ride was a 
long one, and there were plenty of chances for 
tender speeches and soft glances. Lizzie was 
yielding slowly, and when, iu the quietest part 
of the road, and after all the other vehicles 
had passed them, Evan paused entirely, and 
looking down into her eyes, said, “Lizzie, it 
remains with you to decide my fate—you can 
send me hack to China or keep me here,” her 
eyes drooped, and she made no pretence of 
misunderstanding him. 
The next moment, he had said, “Will you be 
my wife, Lizzie?” aud had taken her hand aud 
pressed it to his lips; aud then finding no denial 
had kissed her out and out. 
It was a quiet sort of thing, but the} - were 
quiet people both of them. So quiet that 
by the time they alighted Lizzie had 
begged Evan “not to set people talking’’ 
by devoting himself too entirely to her 
just yet; and Evan had promised. Conse¬ 
quently, Mistress Mattie, arrayed m pink for 
the occasion, and looking certainly very young 
and pretty, found the rich merchant, at her 
mercy, and took possession of him. 
She walked him around a romantic pond, 
aud down into a charming green meadow, and 
talked of “the days that were past” in a very 
sentimental manner. 
“We are so foolish when we are young, Mi - . 
Ware.” 
“Indeed we are.” 
“And so repent our folly—I do, I know. 
I’m sure I don’t know how to approach the 
subject, but you remember how rude I was on 
the bridge—how ridiculous. You never can 
have forgiven me?” 
“ Indeed I have, Mrs. Fay.” 
“ Eutirely ?” 
“ Entirely,” he replied. 
“You know it wasn’t from the heart. Girls 
are so singular. The moment you had gone I 
wanted to call after you. If you had asked 
me the question a second time, I should have 
answered differently.” 
“ Men are generally too proud to repeat 
such questions,” said Evan. “ 1 am.” 
But the lady was not to be baffled. 
“ In matters of the heart pride shotdd have 
no place,” she whispered, “For my part, I’m 
ready to throw mine aside and say-” 
But Evan Ware was thoroughly frightened. 
" Don’t say anything either of us might re¬ 
gret,” he said, “ because I, this very morning, 
put that, question to another lady, and was 
answered favorably.” 
Mattie stared at him; she could not believe 
her senses. But a sense of shame and anger 
gradually broke upon her,and putting her hand¬ 
kerchief to her eyes, she sobbed out, “ You’re 
a heartless flirt, sir!” and flounced away. 
Evan Ware sat down upon a bank and mused. 
“ Life is a queer thing,” he said to himself. 
“ What, should I have said to nuy one who had 
told me, ten yearn ago, that 1 should come 
back to Farmiugdale to refuse Mattie Burt ?” 
It was a good hour before he rejoined the 
company, and then Mattie Fay had taken her¬ 
self home on a plea of illness. 
Before many weeks were over, not only 
Mattie, but all Fariningdalo, knew whom 
Evan had chosen; and it. is a pitiable truth 
that, sweet, tempered Lizzie has one enemy on 
earth, and that individual resides at Farming 
d«l«y ami is named Mattie Fay, 
for Women 
JONDUCTED BY ,'IISS KAY CLARK. 
MRS. LEE’S JOURNAL. 
RY MAHORE RITE. 
Aunt Belinda dropped iu this morning 
while I was seated iu my easy chair looking 
through my “bag book.” Gertie waited ou her, 
placing the little rocker near the fire for her. 
“Bag No. 7—place right-hand shell' in west 
room closet,” I repeated aloud. “Excuse me 
a moment,” l said, aud 1 soon returned with 
some pieces of red flannel I had use for. 
“There!” I exclaimed triumphantly, “I often 
realize how many hours are saved by a little 
forethought!” 
“Yes,” said Aunt Belinda, “a little fore¬ 
thought with thrift and system are money to 
the business man, and great comfort, happi¬ 
ness and rest to the housekeeper.” 
“Please tell me, Aunt Belinda, just what 
you mean by ‘thrift.”' 
“It is saving of force to get as much work 
accomplished with the least possible expendi¬ 
ture of power and time and the least wear and 
tear,” she answered. 
“The secret of success is in the amouut of 
thrift one possesses, I suppose,” I said. 
“Yes. Now tell me what you mean by your 
bag book,” she said, eyeing my little leather- 
covered book I still held. 
“1 will,” 1 answered, “but 1 believe I’ll call 
it my ‘thrift book’ from this on. You know 
how things accumulate in a house, and then 
cannot, be found when wanted. I’ve always 
had a dread of trash accumulating, and still 
there is nothing hardly that is trash to a 
housekeeper. Everything, most, is of some 
use if one can only tell where to put their hand 
on it at the proper moment. Our house beiug 
small for our family I have to lie systematic, 
else I could not get along comfortably. Be¬ 
fore house-cleaning I commence with the clos¬ 
ets, taking everything out of them aud rolling 
up every garment that is out ol' season and 
putting in pajm - sacks.” 
“What kind do you use?” she asked. 
“1 use the paper fluur-sack. A friend told 
me once that, there were sacks made on pur¬ 
pose for packing dresses in, and I suppose I got 
my idea then, I used to write the contents ou 
a slip and pin onto the bag aud place up high 
in closet . I thought the plan excellent, aud it 
was greatly superior to put ting all iu a trunk or 
drawer, for mice and moths to work among; 
but. sometimes the slip w ould drop off or I would 
forget where the bag was, and last Spring 1 
determined on an improved method. After 
careful study I got this memorandum and l iega u 
with my name and duto, and bag number one. 
Then the items in it, written in book, aud the 
place it was put, fastening up the end securely 
first, and numbering it on its prominent side 
to correspond. Then I commenced on number 
two, and so on until everything was banned 
that was in closets and drawers, only what 
was in immediate use. 
All the garments to lie made over for another 
member of the family I write down, aud for 
the purpose intended. I go easily and quickly 
and get what 1 want, placing a check mark 
before the item in my hook to show it, has been 
removed, just as I did now wit h the flannel. 
When going to the city I buy what I know 
we need, and sometimes I do not get material 
used for a long time. Once I took myself 
to account for my extravagance and resolved 
not to buy unless I knew 1 would use it, but 
the consequence was 1 had to spend a day, aud 
a dollar going after what 1 might as well have 
had. All new material l keep now in a bag 
with memorandum of it, and by referring to it 
can have ahasty inventory of my stock.” 
“I keep a chest and a trunk for packing 
away,” Alint Belinda said. 
“And don’t, you have Often to move forty 
things to find one?” I asked. 
“Yes and hunt for things hours and some¬ 
times rack my bra ins days trying to remember.’’ 
“My vmy best things are placed in bags and 
then packed in my Saratoga, I can there 
get just what I want without disturbing much 
else.” 
“Your plan is good; I am not overfond of 
writing but 1 would rather do it than lose 
and hunt.” 
I felt as elated as one would over a glass of 
wine when I saw by her countenance that, I 
was rising in her estimation. “Oh I have four 
more bags not mentioned, plus two.” 
“Why, bless me, what more.” 
“Almost the best plan ol' all,” I said leading 
her to my closet where lutng four bags made 
of cloth with a string drawn in each to hang 
it by. “This one is for silk pieces and ribbons. 
The second for yarn uud zephyr, the third for 
patterns; the fourth for pieces left from gar¬ 
ments; each kind rolled by itself for patches. 
The fifth hangs in sitting-room aud is em 
broidered; we use for waste paper. The last 
is a darning bag with its handy pockets.” 
“You will move into your new bouse Indore 
Easter” she said; and you will have mauy 
rooms aud closets; but hold on to your “thrift 
book, it is a good plan.” 
GOOD TIMES WE HAVE HAD. 
It was a theoiy of Sydney Smith that man¬ 
kind are always happier for having been hap¬ 
py once. So t hat if you inn ke one happy now 
you make him happy -() years hence by the 
memory of it. The thought bears strongly ou 
the matter of making childhood a happy sea¬ 
son. it need not be a pampered childhood, 
nor one devoid of many hardships which so 
develop mind and muscle; but it should lie a 
loving, cheery season even if passed under the 
humblest, cabin roof. I have no doubt James 
Garfield's toiling, early years were as full of 
happiness as they were of privations. He 
would never have loved his mother as he did, 
if she had not known lu>w to make her little 
pioneer home a place brim-full of simple 
enjoyments w hen the hard day's w ork was over. 
I can imagine the pleasant chat by the evening 
fireside, as her over-busy hands toiled for those 
boys, and the many aspirations and f< mil hopes 
they all indulged Iu for the flower of their flock. 
The joy they all felt at little successes, tbal 
seemed to further the ends they had in view. 
1 wonder if in all their fondest anticipations a 
prophetic vision of the glorious reality ever 
dawned upon them' i “If coming events east 
their shadows before” in their case ( No doubt 
there were a thousand thoughts of his future 
success which the mother, like Mary, “hid hi 
her heart,” and which influenced her every 
hour of her life. What were hardships and 
toil far beyond a woman’s seeming strength, 
when compared w ith the future good of those 
growing boys ? And other mothers are toiling 
just as bravely, though often in a different 
line, to take their boys through college or fit 
them for business life. 
But,, with it all, let us never forget that 
home sunshine is brighter than gold. Mother- 
love, that shows itself in little words and deeds 
every day of a child’s life, are durable riches 
treasured up by him as future capital, though 
uow he so little suspects their value. Mother- 
love, that is hidden beneath a forbidding, 
fault-finding exterior, is often little realized by 
a child. The ea rly surroundings, too. are deep¬ 
ly impressed upon the mind, and the older we 
grow the clearer the outlines seem to come out 
against the western sky of life. 
Many times in the little pauses of everyday 
duties, or in my busiest horn's, memory flits 
back over fort}- years to the old farm-home of 
my childhood—“The orchard, the meadow, the 
deep, tangled wildwood,” all come up so dear¬ 
ly to view, and the memory is restful and 
cheering. One who has lost, t he father of the 
household, and been reduced to much priva¬ 
tions, still could cheer his heart by tin- thought, 
“Troubles cannot take away from us the 
memory of the good times we have had.” 
IA?t the children have good times, though your 
home may lie the lowliest, and the memory 
will lie a talisman to them all their lives. 
Olive. 
Domestic (irconoim^ 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
A PHILADELPHIA SCHOOL OF COOK¬ 
ERY. 
MARY WAGER-FISHER. 
I was admitted one morning recently to 
Mrs. Rorer’s school of cookery, which occu¬ 
pies rooms in the building of the New Century 
Club (a woman's dub), and for which reason 
tin* school is known as the New Century Cook¬ 
ing School. It, has been inexistence, 1 believe, 
about three years, and has been personally 
conducted by Mrs. Rorcr, who belongs to one 
of the beet old Philadelphia families. Just 
how she came to be enlisted in such a work 1 
do not, know, but at- all events, she is exactly 
fitted for it., not only understanding the work 
she has in hand, but she has a ladylike gift in 
teaching her pupils, and a deftness in manipu¬ 
lating the utensils of cooker}- that are very 
charming to witness. Imagine a long room 
with skylight, very clean, a shining stove in 
which a brisk coal fire is burning—a long table 
well filled with cooking untousils, a blackboard, 
on which is written recipes; Clipboards for 
materials, rows of skillets hung up, a basin 
and faucet for running water; six or seven 
young women, from as many wealthy families, 
wearing large, white aprons over their frocks; 
then there is the pretty blonde teacher, wear¬ 
ing a dainty white cap, and for waiting-maid 
is a darn young girl wearing a cap with a red 
ribbon, and you may form some idea of the 
place w herein aristocratic young women learn 
the fine art, of cookery. 
When I entered the pupils were engaged in 
larding u AM of beef for roasting. It was a 
long, narrow piece of lief. I'm* fum line 
uud the top of it was oval or peaked like a 
roof, aud through the base of this ridge the 
larding needle was put at close inter¬ 
vals. When the strips of pork (the larding 
material), were all put through evenly aud 
the ends nicely cut off, the pupils called it an 
animal, from its resemblance to something 
alive. It was put iu a long dripping-pan and 
three large spoonfuls of stock and some salt 
and pepper were put iu the bottom of the pan, 
when the hour came for placing it in a hot 
oven. Then followed two lessons in making 
soup, one with stock ami one without stock. 
For the first a can of tomatoes was opened, 
some onion and parsley were put, on to cook, 
and a thin slice of stale broad, buttered, and 
the butter pressed in the bread, the whole then 
cut into tiny squares, was put on a tin and set 
iu the oven to brown. When the tomatoes 
had boiled, a little bi-carbonate of soda—a 
quarter of a teaspoonful, maybe—was stirred 
in to remove the acidity; I think also a spoon¬ 
ful nf sugar was added. When all were 
thoroughly cooked ami the stock heated and 
sufficient water added, the tomato, onion and 
parsley were put through a wire sieve and 
mixed with the stock. To further enrich the 
soup and to give it fat without making it 
greasy, a piece of butter as large as a walnut 
was mixed with a large spoonful of cornstarch 
(flour could be used instead) and stirred into 
the soup for a brief aud final boil. Meantime 
the squares of bread bad been carefully 
watched and came out from the oven beauti¬ 
fully brown, aud wore turned at the last mo¬ 
ment into the soup. In the preparation of 
this soup, which was excellent; the pupils 
were particularly enlightened as to the use of 
a very little soda in toinato.the unusual amount 
of salt tomato requires, and that stirring 
cornstarch or flour into butter the butter is 
held in suspension all through the soup in 
small particles and does uot float on top like 
grease. The soup was beautifully clear and 
free of eoiu*se from seeds and shreds of the 
vegetables used. The soup made without 
stock was called “Mock Bisque.” and Miss 
1‘m loa gives a good recipe for this in her New 
Cook Book; but ber method is somewhat dif¬ 
ferent from Mrs. Rorer’s, and ►prefer that 
of the latter. For a quart of tomato use three 
pints of milk, a large sjKionful of flour, but¬ 
ter the size of an egg, a scant teaspoon of soda, 
a blade of mace, and one bay leaf; pepper and 
salt to taste. Put milk ou to boil iu one vessel, 
tomato in another; put the bay leaf and mace 
in the milk; mb butter and flour together. 
After the tomato boils put it through a wire 
sieve and stir in the soda. When t.be milk 
boils stir iu the butter, boil up; pour through 
the sieve into the hot tomato, when it is ready 
to serve. After the milk and tomato are 
mixed it must not boil. Parloa says mix the 
flour into half a cup of the milk, and she dis¬ 
penses with the mace and bay leaf. I made 
the soup to-day, using half the quantities 
given, ground mace—no bay leaf—amf the 
household extravagantly pronounced it the 
“best soup ever made.” It is a very nice soup, 
and the beauty of it is that it is very quickly 
made, and if one has milk and tomatoes it 
it can l>e quickly whisked together, without 
meat stock. The only convenient sieve for 
straining soup vegetables through aud for 
use in many other culinary purposes, is the 
wire sieve in the shape of a half globe—a 
large, round wire spoon—to lie had of the 
tin-ware man. 
As the roasting ol' the larded meat went on. 
it was often basted, and when done a mush¬ 
room sauce was prepared for it—the French 
canned mushrooms being added. A lesson was 
given in making biscuits with baking powder, 
but the most difficult part, of the morning was 
in making the pudding—a mold lined with 
“lady fingers” and filled with flavored whip¬ 
ped cream, Of everything that morning pre¬ 
pared, 1 ate, and everything was most delic¬ 
ious. Mrs. Rorer discards lard entirely for 
cooking, using instead beef and mutton fats 
and “olive butter.” One course of lessons ex¬ 
tends over t welve weeks—one morning, from 
ton to ime o’clock, once a week, and there’s a 
different class each morning of the week. 
What is cooked at each lesson the pupils diue 
on at the end of the lesson, receiving instruc¬ 
tions in carving and serving. What materi¬ 
als are used in the conking t he pupils pay for 
at the end of the course, in addition to their 
instruction fee. It is flu* Cushion with the 
classes after graduation to give a series of 
dinners, for which everything is prepared by 
themselves. Of course, especial attention is 
given to the preparation of the commoner ar¬ 
ticles of food, us bread, and the cooking of po¬ 
tatoes, which 1 heard Mrs. Rorer remark was 
very important and not well understood. She 
uses granite ware for her cooking utensils 
instead of i*oj>|>ei-, which graduates from Eng¬ 
lish cookery schools use. i’liysicinns come to 
her to be instructed in the preparation of food 
for their patients. With such an art as 
she possesses, any lady of ability could com¬ 
mand a liberal salary iu almost any town in 
the country. Food prepared iu this fashion 
becomes uu intellectual feast as well asa ph}s 
ii al cue; health is greatly pic n oted, enm. ni} 
<practiced for there’s a u>»w for all odds uud 
