MAY 
DUTCHMAN’S BREECHES. 
(Dicentra Cucullaria.) 
ROSE TERRY COOKE. 
“Oh! Mamma! Mamma! What do you think?” 
Cried out my merry May, 
“As sure as you live and breathe and wink, 
It’s the fairies’ washing day. 
“I’ve been in the woods with Bell and Grace, 
And I know what I talk about, 
For under the trees in every place. 
Their elothea were hanging out. 
“Tiny breeches, as white as snow, 
Hung on the stems to dry. 
Swinging and dancing, row on row. 
Whenever a wind goes by. 
“Just as cunning as clothes ean be. 
Puckered around the band; 
But never a falr.v could we see. 
Not even a little baud. 
“But, Mamma, they hung no aprons there, 
Though we watched and made no noise. 
And oh! I’m afraid—and It isn't fair— 
That the fairies all are boys!” 
OUR DAIRY- MAID ELIZABETH. 
Sometimes, on Sunday evenings in the Sum¬ 
mer, there would lie an out-of-door meeting 
at Broadbury. and the members of the little 
chapel would sing hymns in the open air. I 
used to stand 011 the edge of the tir-plantation 
and listen, hidden behind a white fir stem, to 
the far-off sound of voices, singing in unison 
songs of the dearly-loved country, as the tones, 
full of longing and pathos, rose and fell on 
the fluttering wings of the faint evening wind- 
So the days and years crept on in my quiet 
life, until 1 grew up. aud theu came a great 
change. Batl harvests, losses of money, fail¬ 
ure of county bauks followed closely upon each 
other, and bit by bit our plans rcluctautly re¬ 
solved themselves; the dear old place must be 
sold, aui we must live abroad, traveling like 
genteel vagrants from one cheap towu to an¬ 
other for two years or more, when we 
would finally settle in Loudon. Our first care 
was to fiud places for the old servants in other 
households. And accordingly for Lizbuth, 
with some difficulty, a situation in a family 
living in Loudon was heard of. We did not 
feel satisfied with the place, and my heart 
sank when I thought of Lizbuth, who had 
dwelt all her days in the fresh air, among the 
quiet fields, being suddenly plunged into the 
smoke aud turmoil of a great city. But we 
had no choice, and Lizbuth bravely made up 
her miuil to lace the change. “They zay,” 
she said speaking choerfudy, but yet with the 
tears unbidden rising to her eyes, “that t’e 
alters in London like to Broadbury to market 
days; t’es the liveliest place was ever or¬ 
dained !” 
I remember well the last morning we spent 
at our old home. It was a still day in the be¬ 
ginning of November. The woods on the round 
swelling hills were soft gray and piukish 
brown, like the breast of a dove. Great bead¬ 
ed drops were hanging in the moist hedge¬ 
rows. A wet breeze from the southwest was 
stirring the trees; I could just hear the sough 
of the fir-branches, aud the gentle w«il of the 
wind lifting the ivy leaves on the walls. A 
man was plowing the narrow fields on the up¬ 
lands, and the air was full of th- smell of the 
newly-turned sod. The rapid river was dim 
and swollen with la t. night’s rain, and there 
was a line of wet blue distance on the edge of 
the sober sky. There were a few Autumn Vio¬ 
lets aud some pink aud white Chrysanthemums 
in the garden, aud all along one angle of the 
house a Winter Jasmine was flowering, like a 
tree of the Primroses children paint, starry 
little blots of vivid yellow. I was pick¬ 
ing. sadly enough, my last nosegay, when I 
heard my name called, and turning round I 
saw Lizbuth, dressed in her Sunday clothes, 
and clasping in her arms u huge cotton um¬ 
brella, which was literally enjoying a green 
old age, having once upon a time iu its youth 
set up preclusions to being black. She was 
not crying, but there was a harassed look iu 
her eyes, and iu spite ol' all of her courage her 
ips were trembling piteously. 
“’Tea to zay 'gude-bye,’ my dear, dear young 
lady: and may God bless you, and bring jam 
zalc home once more." Theu we parted, and 
1 stood watching her down the lull until the 
three-cornered shawl and .he black bonnet 
could be seen uo more. But the thought of 
her haunted me long after. 1 could not bear 
to think of the poor old woman in the bustling 
streets: and yet I fancied continually 1 could see 
her, helpless and jostled by the throng, stand¬ 
ing squarely with her lag market basket aui 
her uiubiella, so as to block at least hall’the 
pavement iu her innocent ignorance, and 
looking out of bewildered eyes at the sea of 
unknown faces. She could not write hei self 
but once, about a month after she left Broad’ 
bury, she sent ns a message by a former fel¬ 
low servant, to say that she was “doing toler¬ 
able,” though she missed us “ciuelbad.” We 
went abroad, and beard uo mere tidings of 
her, though from time to time we used to 
write to her. 
There is this strange mockery in life, that 
when we are given what we most ardently de¬ 
sired, it often becomes a burden, a very mill¬ 
stone round our necks. I who had longed all 
my life to travel, uow hated it. I turned 
from the bright colore and the brilliant sun¬ 
shine of Southern life, and pined for the 
“ misty-moisty " days and the soft dim weather 
of the dear West country, i was latterly 
home-sick. Once in a foreign town, as I was 
buying a bunch of magnificent yellow Roses 
and Heliotrope (from a ragged girl, with a 
brown oval face, aud deep pathetic eyes), I 
heard behind me. “Maister Jan, Malster Jau ! 
Com’ back, I tell ’ee,” aud I saw an English 
woman, a West-country woman, as I knew by 
her accent, endeavoring to catch her runaway 
charge, an unmistakably English child, dressed 
iu unmistakably English clothes. 1 threw 
down the Roses aud Heliotrope, and dashed 
towards them just as the maid had captured 
“Maister Jan.” “Are you a West-country 
woman (" I cried breathlessly, She eagerly 
welcomed a fellow country-woman: and as 
she stood talking in her homely voice, 1 could 
almost fancy, after a blind, self-deluding 
fashion, that I was “ home to Broadbury ’’ 
once more. 
It was a relief to be iu smoky Loudon. I 
did my best to find Lisbuth, but to my dismay 
she had left her old situation about six months 
before my return, aud nobody knew anything 
about her. 
‘ * She was too ill to do the work when she 
left.” said the parlor-maid, of whom I was 
making my inquiries. “ I wrote for her to 
the ladies as she used to live with, but I don’t 
think as how 1 rightly directed the letter—for 
there come no answer.” 
I turned away sick at heart, at a loss to 
know what to do. I had not the smallest clue 
to finding her, aud gave up the search after 
many futile efforts. 
One day, in Spring, when even the dull 
streets look cheerful, and when the plane-trees 
in the parks and squares are puttiug forth pale 
green buds, I went to pay a visit to a large 
hospital, taking with me some Bluebells aud 
Primroses aud Crab-apple blossom that a kind 
friend had sent me from Devonshire. 1 tied 
up the flowers into little nosegays, and edged 
them with tender Ferns, My friend had sent 
me a thousand of those little green odds and 
ends that grow in sheltered lanes, anil that, 
somehow or other, do not generally come up 
to town—the delicate fringe of the eartbmit, 
Celandine leaves, spotted like a snake’s skin ? 
and dainty blades of grass. 
I went first to the children’s wards. They 
were old friends of mine. There was the little 
boy who had suffered all his little life, and who 
did not know how to smile; yet when you 
asked him to smile he would do his best to 
please you, by lifting up his patient white face 
to be kissed. There was the sporting baby, 
in bed with a broken leg, whose great pleasure 
lay iu a headless, tailless “ gee-gee,” which 
was made to “ gallop” over his bed, taking the 
wrinkles in the bed-clothes as fences And by 
his side was the little wasted creature who al¬ 
ways had a sweet pleasant look to greet, you 
with as he lay wearily back on his pillow, too 
tired to talk, but likiug, iu his sad quiet way, 
to see the fresh flowers. 1 found 1 had still 
some to spare, and the matron asked me 
whether 1 would care to go to the women's 
wards. 1 followed her into a large cheerful 
room. It was the day on which friends of 
patients were admitted, and almost every bod 
had a little group around it. I saw, however 
one lonely bed at the far end of the room, aud 
drew near, with some flowers in my baud. 
Was it my fancy ? could it be Lizbuthf or was 
it the ghost of her former self < The woman, 
whoever she was, lifted her sad eyes, which 
had lieen patiently gazing into space, and 
looked at me. Then I knew she was Lizbuth, 
and I ran to the bedside with both my bauds 
out. Her worn face lit up, and she made an 
effort to sit up: “My dear, dear lady, she 
said, “ I never thought I should see you. I 
knelt down by her and we talked in little 
broken sentences. She took up the Devon¬ 
shire flowers, in her wrinkled hands, aud I saw 
a great tear splash down on them. 1 knew 
how homesick she must have been though she 
told me nothing about it in words. Ah ! did I 
not know myself the unutterable longing, the 
weariness, the heartache of it alii 
The time slipped away unheeded by us both, 
aud the matron came to tell me that I must 
go. I promised that 1 would come on the 
morrow. Lizbuth smiled faintlyMay be 
you mightn’t viud mo here, a be ve nigh to 
the Laud’s End.” 
My voice failed me, but at the door of the 
ward I turned round to take a last look. Her 
face wore an air of unspeakable peace, aud her 
tired hands were folded, resting on the bunch 
of flowers. 
That was the last time I saw her ali ve. When 
I came again, she had left the ‘ Land’s End’ 
far, far behind her, and had reached the homo 
she had so loved aud longed for where she 
could live forever, Anne Fellows, 
for IVomrit 
CONDUCTED BY MISS KAY CLARK. 
THE FAMILY PURSE. 
I cannot help thinking that a recent writer 
iu your columns, quite misapprehended Mrs. 
Fisher’s intent in her remarks upon buying 
what you wanted. To my view they did not 
advocate extravagance, but only a wise dis¬ 
crimination in outlay. Perhaps she feels with 
many other's, that the time has come when all 
the economizing, aud pinching, aud “doing 
without” should not bo borae by one side of 
the house. When a woman should no more 
be asked to carry on her department of work 
with worn out. dilapidated tools, any more 
than her husband should work with broken 
handled hoes, rakes with halt' the teeth gone, 
and tied up plow handles. In doing the buy¬ 
ing for the now campaign, there should be 
some diseriminntiou and evening around of 
outlay. Women have been urged so many 
generations to deny themselves and get. along 
somehow and do without, and have been so 
praised as thrifty and capable aud ingenious 
when they could accomplish so much with 
nothing to work with, that many have come 
to think it the bight Of merit if not of piety- 
Now Ls it not a question whether encouraging 
selfishness in others, aud a wi keil disregard of 
the rights aud health auil convenience of a 
wife, is not asm.' Do we perfonu good service 
when we permit this notion of oue-sided 
economy to take root unrebuked, and with not 
even a protest towards checking it' I think the 
young women setting out in life ought to be 
wiser than their mothers were before them. 
They should have a cool, dispassionate under¬ 
standing on these points to begi a with. The 
young man should understand from the outset 
that the spending of what money he can spare 
for her uses aud for domestic purposes,should bo 
entirely committed to her charge. I believe 
this law, strictly followed, would do more to 
bring peace and good will in many working 
homes than even to have women vote. I have 
tried it for 25 years and 1 know it works well, 
and my husband can tell you what a world of 
bother it has saved him. If 1 made a jioor 
bargain I must abide by it and learn better 
next time. There is a wonderful amount of 
latent business talent iu womankind that only 
needs waking up, and I urn convinced that her 
economy is better than a man’s in nine eases 
out of ten. Women should disburse the homo 
funds be they little or much, and this very 
fact will teach her wisdom and thrift, and be 
the means, by diligence, of increasing her re¬ 
sources. There is too much of * ‘muzzling the 
ox that treadeth out the corn” kind of policy 
going on in our rural districts. I don’t believe 
the Lord, who took pains even to make a law- 
tor the good of oxen likes this “withholding” 
any 1 letter. It is in that way that many * ‘roots 
of bitterness” spring up to mar the peace of 
households. 
I always felt a sympathy for one of our poor 
soldiers who lay in a hospital, and asked a 
frieud for the “ loan of a quarter.” He tried 
to get out of him what he wished to byy that 
they did not supply them. “Nothing.” he said; 
“he had everything he wished.” Being still 
pressed, he answered: 
“ It is because a fellow feels so mean with¬ 
out a cent iu his pocket.” 
It was given to him quickly, and a kind 
gentleman iu Philadelphia sent them a large 
package of “ fractional currency” to give to 
poor fellows who felt the same way without a 
cent iu their pockets. 
Do you think, John, that Mary, who works 
on with a slave’s diligence year after year, 
feels any better when four-fifths of the time 
she hasn’t a cent in her pocket? If she doesn’t 
earn it, you might give her a little in charity, 
just for “ relation’s sake,” If she were laid 
up a-wliilo and you had a hired girl iu her 
place, you might begin to think that she did 
earn something iu the establishment. 
It is idle to say “of course all miue is hers,” 
tor you know it is not. You would almost 
look up with surprise if she took some of it, 
unknown to you, ou tkut basis. 
Economy is au excellent thiug iu a house¬ 
hold, and no young couple with their way to 
make can get on without, it. But it should lie 
an even pull, not all the draft on one side. 
It is au idle thing, too, just to pinch and 
save and grind along, only “ to buy more land, 
to raise more corn, to feed more hogs; so that 
you can buy still more land, to raise more 
corn, to feed more hogs," and so on, ad infin¬ 
itum. Take comfort as you go along. Buy a 
sweet picture to I rang even on a white-washed 
wall, to relieve its dreary monotony. It will 
do you more good than costly carpets and rich 
carving will in the cold winter of life. It was 
Thackeray who said, “ Iu my childhood I 
wanted taffy. It was a shilling, and I did not 
have it. Now I have the shilling, but I do uot 
want the taffy.” j 
Make a motto out of this aud hang it on I 
your wall—“ Take comfort as you go along.” 
Yes, all that you can take without neglecting 
duty. Buy little comforts and conveniencies 
that are within your means, year after year, 
and let them become a part of your children’s 
home memories. Just from this standpoint 
they are worth having. 1 have uot Mrs, Fish¬ 
er's article with me, but I well remember the 
impression it left on me as being most whole¬ 
some doctrine, and one calculated to make 
home brighter and happier for all parties. 
Olive. 
--- 
SCRA P BA SKET. 
Now that house-cleaning time is about at its 
bight and everything has to bp put snugly 
away that has a future, while all that are use¬ 
less are destroyed, we suggest this model of a 
Scrap Basket.— Fig. 202. 
basket that, can find a place in any sitting- 
room, and be trimmed according to the own¬ 
er’s taste. For a house where there are several 
little ones, who consider that they, too, have a 
share in its use, and so will put dolly, or a di¬ 
lapidated Jumbo iu it at least a dozen times 
each day, we would suggest tor the trimming 
ladies’ cloth, or burlap. Either of these will 
wear well and look fresh a long time. Em¬ 
broider a large, showy pattern, with shades of 
scarlet anil orange, or those of purple, with 
black, finishing with tassels or balls made of 
worsteds of contrasting colors, or of those 
used in the embroidery. But put a goodly 
number of them on where t hey are needed. 
These are more serviceable than ribbon, 
though not so rich looking or showy. 
THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD. 
“How dear to my heart are the scenes of my child, 
hood, 
When fond recollections present them to view. 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep, tangled wild- 
wood. 
And every loved spot, which my Infaucy knew." 
Yes. they are dear, those happy scenes of 
my childhood; I seem to see them now, the 
same as of old. There is the farm-house where 
I was born, with its side facing the highway, 
its front and gables thickly set with windows 
in the old fashioned way; the Rose that climbs 
near the front door, in its season hanging so 
lull of crimson dusters; and there are the tall 
Lilacs on either side underneath which 1 often 
played with dolly and watched the birds as 
they flitted back and forth building their nests 
aud tending their little onas. About half way 
down the yard, which is large and descending 
gently toward t he l oad, is the great tall Locust 
tree towering far above the house. Hero 
many a happy frolic I have had trying to 
catch the leaves of a tree beyond as 1 swung 
to and fro. There at the right is the old well 
with 
“The old oukeu bucket, the Iron bouud bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which hangs In the well.” 
At the left is the well-kept garden with 
thrifty vegetables and delicious melons, good 
enough to tempt even a prince. At the rear 
of the house the orchard covers a hillside 
which terminates at the top iu a flat, over¬ 
grown with forest trees and underbrush. 
Hero the wild grape-vine twines itself around 
the old tree trunks clothing the tall trees in a 
mantle of green from root to hratu-h. Iu the 
old wood-shade the busy hammer of the wood¬ 
pecker keeps time with the chipjjer of the 
squirrel as it glides among the branches. It 
is here the wild flowers usher in the early 
Spring, while in Autumn the dropping nuts 
toll the knell of Summer’s departing beauty. 
From the kitchen-door a winding path leads 
down to the old spring-house and over t he lit¬ 
tle foot-bridge that, spans the creek where I 
used to watch the ducks and sail my little po¬ 
tato boats. Winding in a struightor course 
the path posses the Mulberry-tree and finally 
reaches the barn. But bret. of all Ls a shad) 
nook in the center of a meadow far removed 
from the house where I often wandered to lose 
myself iu thought, dreaming of the distant 
future. Ah ! it is a lovely spot, just the place 
for day-dreams, in the center a clump of 
tall trees spread their branches forming a 
thick canopy above, while beneath moss as 
soft as the softest, velvet, forms a carpeting ex¬ 
tending down n gentle slope several feet from 
the trunks of the trees. Around this mossy 
bed a luxuriant growth of Eglantine encircles 
the whole, filling the air with its sweet per¬ 
fume. It seems to me the gardeu of Eden in 
