302 
MAY <2 
CitiTsmi. 
OUE DAIEY-MAID ELIZABETH. 
Elizabeth, or, as she was called, “Liz- 
but.h” Webber was our dairymaid in Devon¬ 
shire when I was a child, 1 fancy I can see 
her now. strong and well made, with pretty, 
rippling hair, parted and combed down on 
either side of her fresh, hearty face, and with 
honest kindly, blue eyes, and a large but 
pleasant, mouth. She must have been about 
six-aud tnirty when I first, remember her in 
the old child-days, w hen I used to slip away 
and run up to the cowshed on Saturday after, 
noons in the Spring, and would try to milk 
Blossom, the quietest cow, iuto the cover of 
the milk-pail, or would climb up iuto the 
warm, scented hay and watch Lizbuth at her 
work. Through the open door 1 could see the 
sof red mud trodden down by the cows, the 
green slope sprinkled w ith Daisies, and the 
brown Beech hedge, with its jmle fringe of 
Primroses, and beyond that the tall Fir-trees 
tapering off against the blue sky. Lizbuth 
used to bring me large bunches of Daffodils 
and faint Periwinkles which would never re¬ 
vive in water, in spite of all iny efforts, and 
houghs of Silver Blackthorn, and spikes of 
reddish-brown Wallflower, which in those days 
we called "Bloody Warriors.” 1 loved to lis¬ 
ten to the sharp sound of the milk dripping 
into the pails, and to the voice of the wild 
birds in the woods without, each with a differ¬ 
ent song iu its throat, aud full of that ineffable 
liojHifulness which makes young people so 
happy in Spring, and older people so sad. 
Sometimes an inquisitive little pig, smelling 
the sweet, warm milk, would stick in his 
inquiring snout at the door, aud when Lizbuth 
waved her apron at him, would rush off squeal¬ 
ing as though he were half murdered; or a 
tiny Robin-redbreast would hop on the thresh¬ 
old and put his dainty head on one side and 
peer at us out of his round eyes. 
When our Summer holidays began, we used 
to make Lizbuth call us at half-past five in the 
morning, and go with her across the. dewy field 
to fetch the cows, aud after having "helped’ 
her to milk them w T e would come home in 
triumph with the brimming pails to ihe dairy, 
where Lizbuth scalded the cream and made 
the butter according to the Devonshire custom. 
She stirred round the clotted cream in a 
wooden bowl, with a wooden mallet, from left 
to right, following the cours of the sun, For 
if it were stirred from right to left it would 
turn into oil, and not into butter. So Lizbuth 
told us. 
"Have you ever Seen it turn to oil?” we asked 
with awe-struck faces. 
"No,” Lizbuth would answer; it was a very 
wicked thing to try to do, and always brought 
ill-luck, but she had “heard tell on some wan 
as did,” and "t’was tnr-ble” (terrible). 
On cold mornings when the butter “would 
not come,” Lizbuth used to let us turn up our 
sleeves, and use our hands instead of the mal¬ 
let; a process w r e dearly 1 ->ved. Then we could 
feel the soft rich cream thickening, and thick¬ 
ening, until the sweet butter-milk oozed out, 
acd the butter itself stood upright, a pale yel¬ 
low' heap in the center of the tub. 
Lizbuth had a store of tales about cows and 
chickens, of which we never wearied. She 
could also tell (although very reluctantly, for 
it was not right to talk of such things) won¬ 
derful stories of white witches, of cattle that 
were "overlooked,” i. e. bewitched; and of a 
poor child "down to Simmunses” that was 
"wisht” and was pining uway. Jt. was from 
Lizbuth that I gleaned the valuable informa¬ 
tion that a Robin “w'eeting or chirping at the 
window foretells a death in the house, and that 
to have luck with your Teas and Beaus, you 
should sow them on Good Friday.” She used to 
charm a way our wails by rubbing them three 
times with a beau, which she then buried in 
the earth. As the bean decayed in the ground, 
so w’ould the w art dwindle away. 
There -was a story of Lizbuth’s childhood 
which we dearly loved: how, when Lizbuth 
was a little girl, there was the deepest fall of 
snow ever known in Devonshire, aud how for 
weeks and weeks the roads were impassable. 
Men and w omen and children, besides scores 
of wretched animals, were lost in that snow, 
and never heard of again. There was a farin- 
la borer in Lizbuth’s village, who was missing 
on the first day of the snow, and his wife and 
children sought him in vain. But when the 
thaw came, he was found dead in a ditch. 
Lizbuth was a constant attendant at the 
village chapel, and might, be seen every Bun- 
day morning, dressed in a certain purple-shot 
liusey gown which we had given her, a black 
bonnet, with a criuisou rose and a large three- 
cornered shawl, tramping steadily over the 
big, rough stones. Blie had a fresh, sweet 
voice, although it was somewhat nasal, aud she 
used to sing "Happy Land” and "Beyond, be¬ 
yond the river,” iu a way that had a peculiar 
vihnj.ni for me. To my mind theta is some¬ 
thing strangely sw'eet and stirring in that school 
of hymns—something that I miss in the more 
cultivated verses, that 1 seek for in vain in the 
modern hymns, but yet which I find in some 
of Faber’s, and one or two others. Keble’s 
lines fail to tou h me; they are not hymns, 
but rather devotiona poems, the outcome of 
a peculiarly refined, sensitive mind; but 
they have not in them them the intensely hu¬ 
man cry from the depths of the heart for the 
God who is God and Man; none of the yearn¬ 
ing for, and personal fellowship with, Him 
who w as desp'sed and rejected, a Man of sor¬ 
rows, and acquainted with grief; none of that 
passion of hope, which bears up men and 
w'omen through joyless lives of want aud mis¬ 
ery. Such hymns as "Jesus, lover of my soul,” 
"Paradise, oh, Paradise!” and the “Sweet By- 
and-by,” are hymns of the people. They ap¬ 
peal to them directly, and, like the melodies 
to w'hich these woras are set, can be under¬ 
stood by any child. 
(Concluded next week.) 
-» - 
BOOKS AND MAGAZINES. 
Our Lost Explorers; or, the Jeannette 
Arctic Expedition. American Publishing 
Co., Hartford, Conn. Published by subscrip¬ 
tion only. This book, composed as it is of the 
narratives of the survivors of the ill fated 
Jeannette, besides containing the last records 
of the unfortunate De Long, especially recom¬ 
ends itself to the public as being as complete 
and accurate an account of this expedition as 
can well be conceived of. Coupled with these 
narratives is given a description of the country 
and inhabitants through which the Jeaunette 
passed, with also an account of the several ex¬ 
peditions sent out for the relief of this unfor¬ 
tunate vessel. The painful fate of the Jean¬ 
nette and part of her crew, with the terrible 
sufferings of the survivors, present* to our 
minds a singularly fitting illustration of the 
foolishness of sacrificing human life in the 
promotion of such useless work. 
The Man of the House, by Pansy, D. La- 
throp & Co., Boston, Publishers. Price, $1.5(1. 
This is one of the most fascinating stories 
Pansy has written. Reuben Stone is the son 
of a poor widow. He is a faithful, honest boy, 
always in search of a job, because he is "the 
man of the house, and has a mother and sister 
deluding on his earnings.” It is very inter¬ 
esting to follow’ him through several years of 
his life, and pleasant to leave him where he 
has become a Christian, is in a good situation, 
has a comfortable home for his little family’ 
and is helping those who are as poor as he 
once was. 
St Nicholas has a Chalk Talk, by Frank 
Beard; Among the Polly Dancers, Lucy Lar- 
eorn; A Fable for Boys, Charles Barnard; 
Story of Robin Hood, Maurice Thompson; 
The Tinkliam Brothers’ Tide Mill, Chapter 20, 
J. T. Trowbridge; A Kansas Nursery, Alice 
Wellington Hollins; all of which, with many 
others, are profusely and handsomely illus 
trated. 
The Century contains among the many 
good articles, Father Junipero and his work, by 
H, H ; My Adventimes in Zulu, Part 8. Frank 
H. Cushing; The Christian League of Connec¬ 
ticut, Washington Gladden; De Maurier and 
Loudon Society, Henry James, Jr.; Salviui’s 
"King Lear,” Emma Lazarus; The Aborigenes 
aud the Colonists, Edward Eggleston 
Harper’s Magazine has an article on Ban 
Francisco by W. H Bishop, for an opening- 
followed by The Treaty of Peace and Inde¬ 
pendence, by George Tioknor Curtis, with 
seven portraits. The Singer, a poem, Herl»ert 
E. Clarke; Nehemiab’s Plan, Kate W. Hamil¬ 
ton; A Castle in Spain, a novel; Brooklyn 
Bridge, W. C. Conant, with many other 
articles and poems. 
The magazines for May are, as usual, filled 
with the best of reuding matter. The subjects 
are so various, that the most casual reader 
could not fail to be interested, w’hilo the 
thinking reader can find the highest type of 
mental food in them. 
for Women 
'JONDDOTED BY .HISS RAY CLARK. 
“ THE BLUES.” 
Heaven help the wife whose husband has 
the blues. Oh! the torture of it, the burden 
of it, which seems to bow you to the very 
earth ! Here is just one morning out of 
hundreds. You rise, although feeling not one 
bit rested, for baby was restless, and after he 
had beeu coaxed into sleeping well, long past 
midnight, you wore so nervous aud tired you 
wooed sleep iu vain, until time to get up, when 
a nap seemed like the greatest, luxury you 
could desire. You prepare breakfast, while 
your husbaud robes the toddler, and you think 
while dishing potatoes aud frying meat that 
you feel pretty well, after all; the morning 
seems like Spring, the south wind blows a little 
mellow, and away up on the hillside a Blue¬ 
bird trills his lute in liquid melody. The eggs 
are cooked to a turn; your husband likes them 
and, although these are all trivial things, they 
make or mar a woman’s life. You gather 
about the board, quite strengthened for the 
day’s duties, when you think a slight frown 
sits on your husband’s brow; “Did you not 
sleep well, dear!” "Yes, well enough.” Baby 
says something so cunning that,you look eager¬ 
ly into "papa's” face for the usual answering, 
approving glauee, but the dear face is a blank, 
just a stolid blank, and your heart goes down to 
zero like a flash. Then the torment begins. 
Wliat, have you done, or what have you said ? 
have you not, treated his folks well! and with 
this thought comes a queer little ache at your 
heart; would he frown at them if they pained 
you? But, defiantly, you put down this thought, 
you know ho is loving, loyal and true, al¬ 
though he may not, look at everything as you 
do. What have you said? You can think of 
nothing; besides, you know he never blames 
you. Study as you may, only one thing you 
are positive of, and that is that he has the 
"blues,” and you have no heart for your day’s 
work or energy to help you. The morning is 
dark, after all, and you doubt if you can get 
baby’s dress out of that remnant; it seemed easy 
when your heart was light and you wanted to 
bo just as saving ns possible on account of that 
"little bill” he says must be met; you had con¬ 
cluded to do without a no what the next Bum¬ 
mer. aud sundry other tilings you need so 
much. But just now the rebellious feelings 
come uppermost. Why should you deny your¬ 
self such necessaries? you work ten times 
harder than when you were taking care of 
yourself, with plenty of pocket-money to keep 
you in apparel that made you look so well in 
your lover’s eyes. Now that the lover is your 
husband (lover still, although he will have the 
“blues”), do you care less for his appreciation! 
No, never in the courting days did you so 
crave his love and tenderness. You know 
that the roses have faded somewhat in your 
cheeks, your form has lost some of its round¬ 
ness; there are circles under your eyes, for 
you have worked hard and the sleepless nights 
have weaned you so much. Did not "his 
mother” tell you when you lay weak and ill 
with your three weeks’ old baby iu your arms, 
that "she always dismissed her hired girl when 
her babies were as old as that.” Y r ou got up 
then and you will never get over it. Yuu 
w’ant to look so well iu his eyes aud you almost 
decide to have some new articles after all. 
There are work-folks coming to dinner to-day, 
and after the morning's baking, you clean the 
pantry until dinner-time, soothing and feed¬ 
ing baby at intervals. Well, evening has 
come at last; you could not tell how tired you 
were, aud baby was long in going to sleep; it 
seemed as if your shoulders would give out 
with holding the precious form so long. But 
your heart grows light as air when your hus¬ 
baud comes in, for the “blues” buve disap¬ 
peared like magic, and some loving word 
makes all bright and hopeful once more. 
How dependent we women are on a look, a 
w’ord, for our lianpiness!-Just here 1 took 
up a late Rural and read an article by "M 
W. F.” It comes like an invigorating moun¬ 
tain breeze. But 1 do not think the malady 
we have beeu talking about is confined to men. 
1 know there are just as many women with 
cross "spells” and discontented minds; women 
that seem to be forever spreading a wet blanket 
over every sunny, helpful word a kind hus¬ 
band may gi ve. (Present company alw’ays ex¬ 
cepted, dear reader). Do let us try, all of us, 
to exterminate effectually that < 1 read, torment¬ 
ing malady, the "blues.” Eva Ames. 
-» ♦ » -- 
In the next issue we shall announce the win¬ 
ners of the prizes. The delay has lieen one of 
necessity. — [Eds. 
Domestic Ccoboiiu) 
CONDUCTED BY KMII-Y MAPLE. 
HAPPINESS. 
M. B. M’L. 
The whole human family seem to be in pur¬ 
suit of happiness, but it is possible there are no 
two readers of this column who would demand 
the same boon, were the angels permitted to 
fling at our l’eet any favor we might ask; nei¬ 
ther would many of us, and probably not any, 
be perfectly content after receiving that boon. 
How few people are satisfied with a new gar¬ 
ment, u piece of machinery, a bargain made, 
or a building erected; after perhaps laboring 
years to briug about a certain improvement, iu 
their condition, they express a hope for some¬ 
thing better. But if It were not for hope the 
heart would sink. There would be no ambi¬ 
tion, no labor aud no energy. It is right that 
our aspirations are always for something bet¬ 
ter and higher, else ( lie top of the ladder would 
never be reached and wonderful discoveries 
would never be made. We do not have to 
look very far in any neighborhood, to find that 
the people who have the least are the most con¬ 
tented. But for all this we cannot honestly 
say, " Blessed be uotbiug.” Still there ought 
to be a happy medium some where that all 
might, comparatively speaking, enjoy life. I 
believe our ancestors, as a people, were more 
content than we of to-day. And why was it! 
We could hardly expect their troubles brought 
them happiness, aud still of all their surround¬ 
ings trouble seemed to be the predominant 
feature. ’Tvvas not because of their pleasant 
environment, certainly; for the wolf, the bear 
and the Indian caused them many pangs of 
fear. And it could not have been their com¬ 
forts of life, for, brought into comparison with 
' our advantages, they were as nothing. It was 
not because of tlieir freedom from care, for 
they all labored hard. But they had a pur¬ 
pose in view and something to work for, which 
will help to stimulate nuy one. Take away 
from man or woman all physical and mental 
labor for a great length of time aud you de¬ 
prive them of all chance for enjoyment. 
We can see this illustrated in many business 
men who attempt to retire from cares. How 
uneasy they are and how quickly they will 
find something to occupy their minds or fill 
their hands. Or perhaps, not being wise 
enough to know svhat t he trouble ts, they wan¬ 
der aimlessly about nut it stricken wit h "hypo,” 
and call a physician to prescribe for they 
know not what. The free aud social way of 
living in olden times was very conducive to 
happiness. Isolated as they were, people 
would go miles to care for the sick, and when 
neighbors went visiting they went for all day; 
were received as members of the family, and 
when the hours arrived for the usual meals 
some extra plates were put on the bare table, 
perhaps a larger dish of pork aud beans and 
an extra loaf of hoe-cake. The custom was to 
sit down to whatever the family were accus¬ 
tomed for tlieir every-day fare—no need of a 
long, laborious day spent in cooking a dinner 
which might leave its ill effects upon the stoni- 
achs of the guests as well as on the physical 
strength of the laborer. When immigrants 
arrived at the then strange lands, there was 
not any spirit of selfishness shown, but wiiolo 
families who, perhaps, were strangers before, 
were taken in, wanned, sheltered and fed, un¬ 
til rested sufficiently to pursue their journey , 
or commence erecting for themselves a home. 
We of to-day need more chainty for one an¬ 
other, and less spirit of criticism, less pride 
an<l more independence as to what Mrs. Fash¬ 
ion may say of our scantily-prepared table aud 
our old clothes, adhering to the principle of 
not buying until we can sec a w ay to pay for 
the good clothes. (Though it’s not l ight for us 
farmors to buy themselv es land-poor, thus de¬ 
priving us of privileges during the best part 
of our lives.) Each individual farmer is aide 
to make his own sanitary laws, has his provi¬ 
sions fresh, aud can know whether liis butter 
is made from lard, tallow or cream. The 
farmer’s wife gets the necessary out-door ex¬ 
ercise, working iu the garden, caring for 
jKiultry, etc., which is a very important ad¬ 
vantage, compared with the sedentary habits 
and necessarily stilled breath of the city. The 
farm paid for, one has a piece of property 
that can never be stolen, burned or destroyed, 
and that is more than can lie said of any oth¬ 
er. For food the family need pav 1 out very 
little—the farm cau furnish nearly all the 
necessaries and many luxuries. In short, 
there are no people on the globe whose ehauces 
for enjoyment or happiness are equal to those 
of the fanners. In fact, the idea of bringing 
up a family of children in town, and doing it 
successfully, seems like an impossibility to us 
who have always lieen aeeustouiod to choose 
the associates for our children. Considering 
that old age with helplessness may come, aud 
perhaps sickness before old age, I take it for 
granted you all admit that happiness must 
in a measure depend upon money or the 
means at one’s command. And certainly the 
farmer can be the most independent. If sick, 
visiting or asleep, liis stock and crops will 
grow. The lawyer, merchant, professor aud 
mecliunic have, none of them, a certainty that 
their riches will not take wings and fly uway. 
It was decided on the part of the men at our 
lust “Farmers’ Union,” to let the calves do the 
milking, and if we women cun t get out of so 
much work any other way, let. the men get 
their own dinners, and when the “better-half’ 
rides to town, church, social, singing-school or 
on business, let. the wife get in aud go too, for 
nothing will make a woman insane quicker 
than to be shut up iu tlie bouse day after day, 
with the monotonous cook, cook, cook. The 
men will visit, if they have to “happen” out by 
the front gate when a neighbor goes by, with 
a “Halloo! what’s the news!” 
- — 
KITCHENS. 
The weekly visit of the Rural is looked 
forward to in our family with a great deal of 
interest. 1 enjoy Annie L, Jack’s contribu¬ 
tions very much. The description of her 
kitchen is good. She certainly has a very 
pleasant one. My own is pleasant also, though 
