rowfully, for I was decidedly glad of a little 
responsibility. Hadn’t my mother and sisters 
washed for me, ironed for me, sewed for me, 
baked, churned, cleaned house and done every 
speck of the work about the place which was 
my home too ? Not that they did it grudging¬ 
ly, not a bit! That would have given me the 
contraries and I should have said, “I don’t 
care ” I didn't do very much, but I enjoyed 
cleaning the bed-rooms, and the sitting-room, 
and was no place more in my element than 
with broom and dust-pan in hand, iu the midst 
of a living room as cluttered as eight people 
could make it. 
I liked to pick peas and get other vegetables 
for dinner, especially when big black Fido 
would come rollicking along with me, carry 
the basket, and almost wag his shaggy tail off 
in bis attempts at sociability 
We had ever so many (lowers in the yard, 
Pansies, Sweet Peas. Mignonette, Geraniums 
and the dear knows what else which required 
care, but gave gi eat pleasure as payment. This 
care naturally fell upon us and I can tell you 
the flower beds were in tip-top order, more 
thanks to my sisters than to myself. 
My special pride in the household depart¬ 
ment was bread making. I began the fust 
week school was out and didn't make a single 
failure for mother and the girls gave me the 
best instructions. My greatest trouble was 
getting up in time to make the bread out in 
the morning. The folks let me sleep just as 
late as 1 wished while I was iu school—wasn’t 
it good of them: and I still found it dread¬ 
fully hard bo wake up iu the morning with 
anything short of an earthquake, But ray 
bread was so precious to me that I managed 
to wake up every time—though I confess, 1 
overslept a good many mornings when bread 
wasn’t on hand. 
The small responsibilities which I took up¬ 
on myself didn’t burden me a bit too much, 
and they gave me more relish for the pleas¬ 
ures which each day brought. 
The work wasn’t all either. We had jolly 
times among ourselves, and during the Sum¬ 
mer, had some of the best picnics that ever 
were. We girls and one or two best friends 
would put up a substantial lunch and take a 
day for explorations, fossil-hunting, botani¬ 
cal researches, and best of all, genuiue fun. 
Another of tin pleasures was, having my 
classmates visit me, while I played hostess, 
and we talked over our school-girl plans. 
I had fully intended to study all Summer 
but it was hot, and besides, my sensible friends 
advised me not to; so my reading was mostly 
of an easy style, with one or two or Miss Al- 
cott’s charming stories for spice. 
Occasionally I did too much reading or 
romping (seldom too much work) and then I 
thought everything horrid, shut my eyes to the 
dear homely hills, and made myself generally 
disagreeable; but these spells never lasted very 
long, and even while they lasted I saw my 
folly. 
I am sure that I received as much education 
that year as though I had been in school, and 
was started in some of tiie most useful lessons 
of life. Some of the school girls pitied me for 
the prosaic life which I seemed to be leading, 
but for my part I always did like plain, 
straightforward prose. Bkrtha Knowlton. 
fjDf Women 
JONDDCTED BY MISS HA V CLARK. 
THE LITTLE GRAY HOUSE. 
The walks, are of pravel and the hedge Is ever-green, 
And the vines are as pretty as ever was seen; 
With a lawn nicely cut and with shrubs that are rare 
And garden neatly kept with flowers that are fair: 
You may say what you wish and may go where you 
will, 
Give uh that little gray house that stands on the bill. 
There are the Elms and Maples aud “ Ladles of the 
Wood," 
With their green and their purple so shady and 
good; 
There is a Palm In the vase that stands by the door. 
And a Bittersweet too that Is just creeping o’er; 
And you may say what you wisli and go where you 
will, 
Give us that little gray house that stands on the hill. 
And there Is the Spruce so stately and fair. 
With wide-spreading branches of shadow and shade, 
where 
From a chair in the nook of the evergreen’s bough, 
We sit and we read—'tis just the place, I vow! 
So you may say what you wish or go where you will 
Give us the little gray house that stands ou the hill. 
And there’s the well with life-giving water so sweet 
In its neat latticed honse the thirsty to greet: 
And as cups with this sweet, sparkling water you 
All. 
As clear and as bright as from the swift-running rill: 
You may think what you wish and go where you 
will. 
Give us the Utile gray house that stands on the hill. 
And there Is one thing more that we must not forget, 
The “Pride of the Nation" and the children’s fond 
pet; 
It is "Sam.” the old eagle, In his cage close by. 
With a word of his welcome to each passer-by 
And seems to say: ".Say vvhai you wish or go where 
you will, 
Cure i,a this little gray house that stands on the hill, ” 
J: MiHtt# 
A CABIN HOME IN KENTUCKY. 
MRS. M. L. SANDERS. 
When I embarked on the sea of matrimony 
and left the port home it was my lot to an¬ 
chor in the wild woods, our haven being a 
log cabin and as I carried with me my love 
for the beautiful it led me to searc h the woods 
and to try to contrive things beautiful out of 
the natural tesources around us and it was 
not iu vain that I sought to make our 
home resemble in refinement and taste, the 
one I had left and now in memory, like Lot’s 
wife, cast many looks behind. 
But having been accustomed to “ town ways” 
all my life of course this way of liviug as 
well as country was a new experience to me; 
aud it was nothing but happiness to ride over 
the worst of roads and come home 1 aliened 
with ferns, Sumac leaves, the brier vine, green 
moss and all the lovely trifles that I could 
gather and carefully treasure them until ready 
for use: though sometimes, sad to tell the 
cows would find the open window where they 
lay and soon they were no more or some of the 
uninitiated persons would throw “the trash” 
into the open fire, but after many ups and 
downs it is a very sweet room that I sit 
down in to write about. 
A white matting covers the floor: in the 
center lies a blue rug made by sewing two 
widths of blue carpet together with blue 
fringe all around the edges. At the window 
hang curtains of delicate blue calico one 
width on each side and looped hick with a 
gay stripe of cretonne, above which hangs a 
lambrequin of drab worsted (once having 
done service as a dress) with a pretty border 
of wild roses and blue leaves appliqudd with 
button-hole stitch of darker shade. The 
little pieces of flannel of which the applique 
was made, were from a bundle of bright odds 
and ends that had been given me by a friend 
who said “take them and make something 
pretty of them, you will, but I never can.” 
And sure enough out of them with an old 
dress for foundation came a lambrequin for 
my window and one for the mantle piece 
which was the admiration of all womankind 
who have seen them. The bed has three 
widths of the same paie blue calico sewed 
into a ‘ ‘ spread and with nicely trimmed covers 
for pillows and bolster, looks sweet enough to 
tempt any tired body to forget its aches in 
delightful dreams. Having a strip of blue 
calico left, I bordered the ends with a stripe 
of cretonne, hemmed the edges aud laid it 
with pride over the top of the wash stand. 
All the blue calico was gone and still the 
bureau needed something to “ blue” it and 
make things complete. Bo I searched my 
scrap basket and found a piece of blue cretonne 
covered with gay flowers, just big enough for 
a pin cushion aud catch all; the cushion was 
finished off with a border of lace field full, 
aud the catch all with balls and cords of blue 
zephyr. Then the vases w r ere filled with 
grasses dried during the Summer; aud on a 
bracket hangs an egg laid by u favorite hen, 
one that excelled herself. 1 had shaken out 
the contents aud ornamented it with a pretty 
picture, bung it there ns a memento of what 
large things a hen could do when she tried. 
All about the walls hang little treasures—a 
cross made of grasses, a tiny bunch of red 
berries and ferns with knots of blue ribbon, 
Iu one corner hangs a symmetrical hornet’s 
nest brought to me by a boy who said by way 
of apology for his offering, “yon seem to 
love al! sorts of rubbish.” I gave it my 
warmest comer hung by a bl ight cord aud 
filled with dried grasses and Autumn leaves 
to touch up the grey; eveu the doubting donor 
pronounced it “real pretty,” when he next 
sa%v it. 
We gathered the limbs of fallen trees that 
were covered with a pale green moss and 
twisted them in and out to hide the plainness 
of a poplar stand, now and then placing 
terns or laurel in the little opening, to make 
the illusion more complete, covered the top 
with a mat of big pressed fern leaves, with a 
vase iu the. center filled with a bunch of wax 
tea roses. 
The tail of a pheasant was pressed open the 
wings laid ou either 3ide, and some of the 
prettiest downy feathers put between; it is very 
unique. For a paper holder I made a form of 
paste board and took the soft inner husks of 
com cut them four inches long then with a 
comb made a fringe in the center doubled and 
sowed on iu rows one above the other finishing 
the top with a row of points lined the inside 
with silk aud fastened to the wall. Now it is 
nobly holding its own, full of papers that 
brighten our lives with news of the world be¬ 
yond. There are rough snarled limbs that 
I’ve placed over a low closet door and about, it 
a brier vine with branches of dark berries, 
brightening the deudness with red Burnac 
leaves. 
Of course there are pictures, but as they 
vrre born of otb°r brains—not I’ll not 
tell of their beauties or of the little red bird I 
stuffed that seems to flutter just above a tiny 
nest resting comfortably on a little branch of 
thorns, with four little blue eggs as if just laid. 
Or how a red fox seems ever ready for a 
“ spring” a trophy of a night hunt by one of 
the chase loving kind; but will hope the pic¬ 
ture from my pen, of our Cabin Home will be 
so bright aud cheery that it will induce other 
rural sisters to greater efforts to make home 
even the cabin home a place to cherish fond 
memories of its simple joys and beauties. 
CORRESPONDENTS’ COLUMN. 
Have any of the Rural readers dyed feath¬ 
ers? And will they please tell me how it was 
done? And oblige Mrs. D. Salmon. 
I Want to knit a scarf for my boy; can 1 
get the directions for so doing from any lady 
readers of the Rural? Mary E. Cole. 
Will some one skilled in crocheting, give 
directions for making a hood? 
Emma Cheswell. 
Mary Ann. —To our friend using the above 
name, and who asks advice as to marrying a 
young man whose one great fault seems to be 
“lack of self-respect.” and thereby is growing 
“crooked” because he does not care to “stand 
straight.” We would say; If she loves him 
as she can no one else, and if he will love her 
enough in return to act and do someth mgs she 
wishes, him to, isuch as increasing his manly 
pride;) if she is sure of her own heart, that it 
will not regret marrying a crooked man when 
she might have had one who was ffrect as a 
Hercules! If he is the one companion above 
all others in whose company she has the most 
enjoyment,—take him if he’s straight other¬ 
wise. If she is a sensible woman she will 
not long see the “crook.” 
A PARLOR ORNAMENT. 
There is nothing more elegant as a piece of 
ornamental furniture in large parlors than an 
easel, on which rests a choice painting or may 
be the portrait of a loved friend. When the 
easel is made of ebony having tracings of 
gilt, some prefer it undraped, yet all we think 
Fig. 422. 
will acknowledge how much its beauty is in¬ 
creased by draping it with a scarf made of 
plush or velvet, trimmed with a fringe of 
chenille or tasselled silk fringe, using a satin 
cord for a heading. The color ot the scarf 
must correspond with that of the parlor 
furnishings. 
WOMAN’S WORK. 
Many of the writers in the Rural have 
spoken of the possibilities for women in hor¬ 
ticulture. Undoubtedly, women may aud can 
do something iu this profession, that is, work¬ 
ing ou their own account, and uot for an em¬ 
ployer. A prominent grower of small fruits 
told me that when he wanted a thing done by 
main strebatr. S* employed when fid 
AUG H 
wanted anything done which required pains¬ 
taking fidelity aud care rather than strength, 
he employed women. He employed a large 
number of German aud Italian women at 
such work as planting, weeding and picking 
berries. They were very willing to work for 
•iO cents a day at the first named employ¬ 
ments, the berry picking being paid for by 
measure, but he could not find American 
women who would be satisfied either with the 
work or wages 
I know of several women who successfully 
manage florists’ or nurserymen’s establish¬ 
ments, but in all such cases they have been 
almost, born aud bred in the business, having 
studied it under the care of husband or father, 
until they were competent to manage for 
themselves. I think the trouble with many 
working women who complain of difficulty in 
earning a livelihood may be laid to two causes, 
overcrowding of some particular field of labor, 
and incompetency. Skilled labor bas a mar¬ 
ket value all the world over, but it is subject 
to the same laws of demand aud supply as 
the work it produces. Take the two most 
popular branches of female labor—sehool- 
teaebiug and domestic service—both are over¬ 
crowded; both eon tain a large proportion of 
incompetents, yet both are constantly recruit¬ 
ing their ranks. There are plenty of other 
fields open to women, but the great trouble is, 
as I said before, incompetency or want of 
thoroughness. A large proportion of work¬ 
ing women look on the employment as a 
merely temporary occupation, u makeshift 
until they marry, aud this feeling is not likely 
to be conducive to thoroughness in anything. 
I do not mean by this that a woman should 
uot look to marriage as her most fitting des¬ 
tiny. Vi ifehood aud motherhood is her noblest 
sphere, but it should not be her only object iu 
life. Every woman should be an efficient 
worker in some field, and it depends on the 
worker herself whether it shall be a noble or 
an ignoble one. I do not speak only of those 
who must work for their daily bread; to those 
who have no need of this I may recall the 
Laureate’s words: 
“Clara, Clara Vere de Vere 
If time be heavy on your hands, 
Are there no beggars at your gate. 
Nor any poor about your lands?” 
Emily L. Taplin. 
Maywood, Bergen Co., N. J. 
«»» 
We have now published the last of the prize 
articles. There are many very good ones on 
these subjects yet in hand which we shall pre¬ 
sent to our readers each week through the 
year. They contain some of the best practical 
thoughts, and are of great interest. We iu- 
vite special attention to these articles as we 
are confident that no one can read them 
without being profited by so doing. Eds. 
Domestic Cconomi) 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
HOT WEATHER WORK. 
MARY WAGER-FISHER. 
While “A Farmer’s Wife” is pausing for a 
reply as to what shall be done for the “masses 
of our farmer's wives who have no servant— 
who do their own work, cooking and washing, 
milking, aud a thousand and one other things 
—babies to dress, hired men sauntering around 
doing the chores, waiting for breakfast, and 
the wife with a head-ache to boot,” I am 
“moved” to say a word or two. That there are 
many women so circumstanced 1 very well 
know. I admit also, that there are circumstan¬ 
ces which make it one’s duty to commit suicide 
by over-exertion. I often laugh at a friend’s 
account of how she aud her daughter did 
their housework while waiting to secure a ser- 
vaut. The result was that at the expiration 
of three days they both drank out of one glass, 
ate off one plate, until as the mother declared, 
she thought that if they had been obliged to 
wash dishes one day longer, they would have 
eaten thei r beefsteak ou the broiler. A lady 
was at my elbow when I looked over that, 
copy of the Rural containing the letter from 
“A Farmer’s Wife” from which 1 have quoted, 
and 1 put the question to her “What would 
you do if so circumstanced?” And l should 
explaiu that the lady was reared on a farm 
lives on a farm, knows all about all kinds of 
farm life : but she is what would generally be 
regarded as a rich woman. She has every 
thing necessary for her happiness—a busy, 
bright, energetic person who would find her 
way out of every difficulty—aud she has 
frequently so done—and she is greatly be¬ 
loved by her family. 
“What would I do?” she repeated. “Oh! I 
know very well what 1 would do. First aud 
foremost, I would make my work the smallest 
possible, especially during the months of July 
August and September To begin with the 
man 1 f VbhlH bohrfl hhhiiefl tnhh hh 
