APRIL 28 
270 
flitted across lier fair face as she lightly placed 
her jeweled hand upon the Senator’s arm and 
began a promenade through the conservatory, 
saying: 
“Oh. your family will be easily satisfied 
with a box of presents, and you must stay 
here and enjoy the superb holiday entertain¬ 
ments. After working so devotedly through 
the past session, you deserve it. You surely 
fiud more to enjoy here than in the undevel¬ 
oped society of Western frontiers.’’ 
As they sauntered on past rare flowers, tink¬ 
ling fountains and lovely women, Senator 
Martin could not avoid contrasting the scene 
with the plain parlor of his unpretentious farm 
house, his homely wife and his children. True, 
Mary and Jennie were rather pretty girls, but 
they made their own dresses, and how com¬ 
monplace everybody and everything would 
look. It would be a tiresome week. Yes, he 
would like to see John, his only boy, who 
would now be at home from college, but then 
it would cost considerable to go home and he 
would be with them all next Slimmer; what 
reason was there in being so sentimental ? He’d 
just write “mother” a note and tell her that he 
was not coming home. Home! there was 
very little in that word for him. For years 
he had represented his district in the Missouri 
capital, and now he was spending his first 
Winter as United States Senator, and was ap¬ 
parently making a favorable impression upon 
his colleagues. He was now an aspirant for 
fame and fortune. The public uaturally 
picked him up and carried him along; he 
smiled upon it, flattered it and won his re¬ 
ward. He was its ol»edient servant, giving no 
thought to home affaira, for Rachel would 
“tend to things.” 
And Rachel had tended to things for the 
past 15 years. The girls had scarcely missed a 
day of public school, and Jobu was now work¬ 
ing his way through college, though the eighty- 
acre farm barely gave them enough surplus 
for his expenses. Mrs. Martin worried along 
with the hired men the best she could, but it 
was impossible to make the farm yield as much 
as if some good farmer had planned the work. 
She sold eggs, butter, pickles and poultry, and 
managed to buy John’s clothes and books, 
while she wore the girl’s cast-off clothing and 
made them turn and remodel theirs until they 
were ashamed to wear them longer. In the 
Fall the hired men were dismissed and through¬ 
out the Winter she waded the snowdrifts and 
muddy lanes, milking the cows and feeding 
the stock. How patiently she plodded on! 
for Samuel was putting his money in the bank 
and in a few years more he would have enough 
to build them a nice house in town. Then the 
girls would go to school and she would have a 
hired girl to do the housework. Oh! what a 
rest she would have. She would sit by the 
fire and keep Samuel's socks darned and shirts 
mended, and she could afford to wear a nice 
calico dr-ess every day, with lace at collar and 
wrist, for she would not have so much dirty 
work to do. And maybe Samuel would kiss 
her sometimes as he used to do when blue-eyed 
John, their first baby, laughed and crowed in 
his little cradle. No, that was hoping too 
much. She had grown old and—ugly. How 
hard for a woman who was once praised for 
her beauty to acknowledge this fact. Her 
soft, brown curls were now- harsh and grey 
and her hail 1 was worn twisted in a knot at 
the back of her head; her plump, white hands 
were seamed and brown; the rose and lily 
complexion of the fair country bride was lost 
long ago and the sunken eyes, sallow- cheeks 
and wrinkled forehead showed how severe had 
been her toil. But in one thing she was un¬ 
changed, that was her love for her husband; 
for weeks she had been enjoying the planning 
of his Christmas dinner. She would have Iris 
favorite chicken pie, roast turkey and sausage, 
snowy yeast biscuit, ginger cake and ]>eaeh 
preserves. 
But the Hon. 8. S. Murtiu had no kind 
thought for the self denial practiced in his 
home. He accepted it as a matter of course. 
Once he had noticed when his girl-wife grew 
tired or sad; now he looked upon her as a 
coarse, hard-working woman, a clog to his up¬ 
ward course. He had been living in the midst 
of men and newspapers; she, in the kitchen 
and dairy. They had grown apari. Ho an he 
bade charming Miss Chaniptou good-night ho 
said, smilingly: 
“Perhaps I may reverse my decision about 
going home, everything is so congenial here, 
and 1 hope you will not despise me for saying 
it, I want to be near you." 
The eyelidsdrooped modestly, a lovely blush 
played over the fair cheeks and she murmured 
something about Ids words making her - very 
happy, while she mentally soliloquized: 
“Success again! I’ll get a hold on his pocket- 
book suie. Mamma and I will have another 
Winter in Washington yet.” 
II. 
A few days before Christmas a little boy 
rushed breathlessly Into the big kitchen where 
Mrs. Martin was dressing poultry and in¬ 
specting herbs and spices. He flourished a 
yellow euvelojie from the "Telegraph,” nesaid. 
THE RURAL 
“Tain’t for me. It’s for somebody in town, 
I reckon,” said the busy woman as she sur¬ 
veyed the high-sounding title, “Mrs. Hon. S. 
8. Martin.” 
‘Why, yes, it is for yoir, mother,” said rosy- 
cheeked Jennie; “they’ve used your name 
w ith father’s instead of plain ‘RachelMartin.’” 
“Read it then, quick. It aint Samuel’s 
haud-wTitin’.” said she, beginning to believe 
that the letter really belonged to her. 
It read; 
“ Your husband dangerously ill. Brain fe¬ 
ver.” 
“Oh—h!” exclaimed jioor Mi’s. Martin as she 
sank into the nearest chair; “I never knew 
anybody to git well o’ that. I must go right 
away.” 
“How can you go, alone, mother?” asked 
Mary; “John will be here to-morrow—let him 
go.” 
“No, 1 must go right away,” said the pale 
w oman, rising wearily. 
Love bids defiance to time and distance, and 
in a few - hours she was speeding on her way to 
the distant city. 
(Concluded next week.) 
for lUumm 
CONDUCTED BY MISS KAY CLARK. 
THE OLD FARM. 
Out In the meadows the farm house lies. 
Old and gray, and fronting the west, 
Many a swallow thither flies 
Twittering under the evening skies, 
In the old chimney builds her nest. 
Ah ! how the sounds make our old hearts swell. 
Send them again on an eager uucst; 
Bid the sweet winds of heaven tell, 
Those we have loved so long and well, 
Come again home to lhe dear old nest. 
When the gray evening, (tool and still. 
Hushes the bruin »nd heart to rest, 
Memory comes with a Joyous thrill, 
Brings the young children back nt will, 
Calls them all home to the gray old nest. 
Patient we wait till the golden morn 
Rises on our weariness half-confessed; 
Till, with the chill and darkness gone, 
Hope shall arise with another dawn, 
And a new day to the sad old nest. 
Soon shall we see all the eager East, 
Bright with the Day-Star, at Heaven's behest, 
Soon, from the bondage of clay released. 
Rise to the Palace, the King's own feast. 
Birds of flight from the lust year’s nest. 
—Christian Union. 
-- 
A CONFIDENTIAL TALK. 
Oh ! here you are in the barn. This big door¬ 
way makes a good place for a man to sit and 
w hittle on a rainy day. Everything is glum 
and disagreeable in the family room, of course. 
A rainy da}- in April is about the worst in the 
year for mud and misery, in the kitchen of an 
inconvenient old farm-house like yours. This 
is an especially had time. ’Tis baking day and 
churning day, aud what not; and the children 
are runuing out aud in through the rain; and 
you felt, and perhaps said, that if you were the 
woman of the house you’d keep things in better 
order, if you didn’t do anything else. That 
was a hard remark, teg*, that, you made about 
being in bedlam as you left the house. 
Truly, things were in a bad pickle. The 
room looked as though it hadn’t been swept 
for a week. Somebody had spilled some water 
on the floor; one of the little girls was clear¬ 
ing off the breakfast table; the next, one was 
rocking the baby and singing to keep it, still, 
while its mother skimmed the milk. The two 
little boys were whittling on the floor, and the 
chairs were standing round just os it happened, 
with wet coats and blankets hanging on them; 
the fire was almost out of the stove, and the 
rain out doors was pouring, pouring down, 
when the ground didn’t need it at all. 
Your wife came out of the pantry with a 
pail of milk and set it on the stove, asking you 
if you couldn’t split up something dry to make 
the fire burn. Then you made a fuss. You 
said you never did sec such disorderly work. 
You thought it was a great pity it a man 
couldn’t come into the house without being 
called on for something. Then you told Jim¬ 
my to get some kindling; he is ten years old 
but lie didn't know what to get, so his mother 
had to go lor it after ail, while you strode 
across the room, kicking along as you w ent, in 
one place and another, tw» f#tirs of your own 
boots aiwj a jiair of rubbers, covered with mud. 
You had left them there yourself, just where 
you pulled them off last night, and this morn¬ 
ing, when you were stepping into the little 
front room, which lias a carpet, your wife 
asked you if wouldn’t pull off your boots to 
save the mud. Then you said if you couldn’t 
have a decent place in the house you’d go to 
the barn. So here you are, and 1 know you 
feel mean, though you don’t consider more than 
half the truth. Yon know your wood-house 
leaks aud everything was wet this morning, 
and your wife w r as not feeling well for the 
baby was sick in the night, and it seemed as 
though she never conld get breakfast ready. 
Now, you ate an honest, upright man. You 
w - ord is good, aud your uarne is good on paper; 
you push your business along in season, and 
those who have to do with you know what to 
depend upon. There arc a great many admir¬ 
able things about you; but your wife has a 
hard time of it. I repeat it, she has a hard 
time, harder than the wives of many of your 
neighbors, whom you, with reason, despise. 
When you begun housekeeping don’t you 
remember how snug and nice aud clean the 
rooms were ? They were never mussed up, on 
wushing days or rainy days. You could al¬ 
ways find quiet, cosy places by the fire in the 
stormiest times. But you never took any pains 
to keep things clean yourself. How much mud 
aud manure you always carried iu on your 
boots in spite of your wife’s corn-husk mats. 
How much she has cleaned after you. Long 
ago, she used to ask you to scrape the mud off 
a little before you got fairly up to the door, 
but you growled and said you “ guessed a man 
who did as much work as you did, had’nt time 
to stop and dig and scrape at his boots auhour 
every time ho came into the house.” So site 
gave that up. Now - she is not strong, and just 
think how many little children she has to make 
litter and confusion. How much she has to do 
for them, w hile none are yet large enough to 
depend on for help. They must all have a 
mother’s care, besides the cooking, washing 
and sew - ing, which some one else might do, but 
which she does to save your money, for you 
know it doesn’t go into her hands. She lets 
the children whittle and play with chairs to 
keep them safe under her eye. Would you 
rather she would scold and storm and drive 
them aw - ay into mischief somewhere to keep 
them, and their dirt, out of the kitchen ? Ah! 
you little understand the heart-sinking, des¬ 
pairing thoughts that come over her when you 
“ free your mind” as you did this morning. 
When a rainy day comes you have some rest. 
You look over the newspapers and nap a little 
maybe. This is right; but if you only could 
be angelic enough w-ouldn’t it lie a 1 ilessed 
thing if you would help your wife a little ? If 
you only could be angelic enough to speak 
pleasantly, and not find fault; to make up a 
good fire and see that there is dry wood; to 
put away your own clothes and hang the 
wet ones to dry; how much pleasanter it 
would be than to have you go growling around 
and your wife trembliug when she sees you 
coming for fear of the reproaches you will pile 
ou her shoulders ou account of the disorder. 
She feels it, I tell you she feels it; but she don’t 
love you the more for it, and your children 
love you the less. Persie Yere. 
-- 
FARMERS, THEIR PERSONAL AP¬ 
PEARANCE. 
We have a few things we wish tQ say to the 
readers of the Rural, but are not sure they 
belong to the Woman s Department. Presum¬ 
ing that anything about women and home- 
life will find a welcome there we venture to 
offer our little talk. We were in the city on 
the day for electing officei-s in the Fanners’ 
Mutual Insurance Company. At first we did 
not think of what was going ou and wondered 
why there were so many men mopiug along 
with heads down and hands thrust into the pock¬ 
ets of their pantaloons, looking like turkeys 
hunting buckwheat. When we romembered 
what was going on we were provoked beyond 
measure. What is there about farmiug to make 
aman look so much like distress as many of our 
farmers do when away from home? We can’t 
see why a good, honest farmer should be 
ashamed of himself or his occupation, and yet 
the crowd we saw on that, day had many in it 
who looked as though they might have been 
caught stealing and were on their way to 
prison. Why a farmer can’t have respectable 
clothes made to fit him, aud why he eau’t put 
them on right, and why he can’t keep his hands 
out of his pockets aud hold up liis head and 
look as though he felt he was a man among 
men, is more than we can tell. Yet we know 
lots of them do not. Many an intelligent man 
that would be really good-looking if lie had 
his hair cut a proper length, his whiskers 
trimmed aud himself j>ut in good shape; but, 
as he goes, might be mistaken for a laborer. 
Our father was a farmer, our husband is a 
farmer, and for this class we have great love 
and respect, because we know their worth; 
and our blood ffcirly boils when we hear brain¬ 
less fops saying: “See the buckwheat’s boots.” 
We do wish fanners would have a little more 
regard for their own appearance as well as 
that of their families. We should lx* very 
sorry to advocate extravagance, but it wout 
cost much to keep your hair well brushed, 
your whiskers becomingly trimmed, your 
hands out of your pockets and to hold up your 
head. As for clothes, the most economical 
farmer w e ever knew , or one of the most ecou 
omical, has been many times taken for a min¬ 
ister. He gets new clothes but seldom, ami 
when he does, he is very particular about 
their quality and fit, is very careful to keep 
them clean and neat; his collar and necktie 
are always right. These are little things, but 
go a gi-eat way towards making a good ap- 
pearauce. Care about small matters make 
the gentleman; disregard of them the clown. 
We don’t intend to hint, that nil farm¬ 
ers are so careless, but there are far too many 
wbo are so both in dress and manners. Moth¬ 
ers, take care of your boys and make them 
keep their hands out of their pockets, their 
hair nicely brushed, teeth clean, nails pared 
and clean, and have a care for their appear¬ 
ance generally; so that when they become 
men they will not fail of showing themselves 
to l>e such; aud there is no reason why farmers 
should not be gentlemauly. t. m. 
WORK OF A FARMERESS. 
In the Spring of 1882, April 27, one cow 
gave me a handsome but small calf; within 
the next ten days two other calves were given 
me to care for, which were all I could expect 
from three little sentbs, as 1 suppose they 
would be called, as they have no pedigree— 
I would rather have them without a pedi¬ 
gree, than to have their pedigree without 
them. The youngest cow - was four years old, 
the next was five, July 20th last; the oldest was 
seven that Spring. When one calf was be 
tween five and six weeks old, I had it dressed, 
sold all the veal except the neck, and got for 
it, 80,67. When the oldest was 10 weeks old, I 
sold it with the youngest one for 814. They 
wore all fed sweet skimmed milk. 
In the Winter of ’81 and ’82, I wintered l(i 
sheep, among 12 of them w - ere 15 lambs; two of 
the mothers could take care of only one lamb 
apiece, which left to me a 11 the care of two to 
be brought up on cow’s milk. That I did, and I 
helped also a little mother take care of her 
lamb for two months. 1 sold one of those I 
raised for $8; one of them I now have; it is 
worth 85 at least. 
About the middle of June, I got two pigs, 
six weeks old, aud fed them on milk until the 
potatoes were dug; then gave them boiled 
potatoes, about all they could eat, with the 
milk until 1 had used over a ban-elful of small 
ones, which brought the pigs to the first day 
of November; then I commenced to feed corn 
meal with their milk, increasing it until I fed 
them all they could cat. Then I “crowded” 
them until the 18th of December. They were 
dressed that day and judged to weigh very 
nearly 500 pounds. 
Now as to the butter made from the three 
cows: 1 did not keep an account of how much 
was used at home, but 1 sold 480 pounds, having 
churned the last time Feb. 1st. All my short¬ 
ening was butter or cream, as I like it best, 
aud make but few pies. I would rather be 
reading the Rural than to be making and 
eating pies. 
I hire my hay-making by the acre. Never 
let it out on shares, as it does not pay. It will 
not take one-third to pay for cutting and put¬ 
ting in the barn. 
I had 80 hens last Summer. Some of them 
were rather old for profit. I used all the eggs 
I wanted in my family, sold 108 dozen and four, 
which brought $82.70, nearly all cash. This is 
the experience ot but, a few months with the 
lambs, pigs, calves and hens. Farmeress. 
- 
CROCHETED RUGS. 
Rugs are a very comfortable articie of fur¬ 
niture, and very convenient too. I have made 
them various wuys, but 1 saw a new style for 
making them the Other day, that is very 
pretty, eusy to make, aud I should judge 
might lx* very durable too. The rugs 
are made of rags which are torn in strips 
nearly an Inch w ide, according to the t hick¬ 
ness of the material, then sewed and wound 
into balls as for a rag caipet. Bright reds 
and greens are desirable, as well as grays, 
black or brown as they look brighter 
and more lively. Take a strong crochet 
hook, and with a ball of dark color cast < n 
a chain hall a yard long, then proceed to 
crochet just the same stitch us you use iu table 
mats .or the worsted caps for children that are 
so fashionable just now. Keep the web 
smooth and widen at the ends. When the 
centre is about four times round il;auge tl.e 
color and put iu a bright shade of colottd 
