336 
IMY46 
importance. The flowers last, comparatively, 
a short time, while the foliage constitutes the 
real garment of the plant. 
Before concluding I should at least note 
briefly the value of climbing or creeping vines 
for the ornamentation of burial plots. Honey¬ 
suckles are most valuable; because most har¬ 
dy, and planted as frames of picturesque 
growth on the boundaries of cemetery lots, 
nothing can be made more charming and 
successful, provided a little pruning is done 
to prevent the vines from running over every¬ 
thing. Tossing tendrils and irregular, piled- 
up masses of shining green make far more 
charming and excellent fences for such places 
than the old iron and stone ones. Ivy used 
in the same way as a border on the ground is 
specially successful, being less exposed when 
grown in this manner than when trained on 
the walls of buildings. Periwinkle (Vinca 
minor) is generally effective used in the same 
manner. 
Burial plots properly arranged, should 
have few plants of any kind in them except 
bordering honej T suckle or ivy. A dozen, and 
even in some cases, half-a-dozen shrubs of the 
kinds 1 have mentioned, would be generally a 
sufficiently larce enough number in connec¬ 
tion with hordering honeysuckle or ivy. The 
sense of repose in “God’s Acre” is what we 
instinctively seek, and for that we require 
plenty of simple, unbroken greensward, with 
a few bits of modest color, Lilies-of-the Valley 
perhaps, and violets, nestling on the bosom of 
the grave. 
for Women. 
CONDUCTED BY MISC KAY CLARK. 
A PLEA FOR PIN MONEY. 
“[ wish I had half a dollar,” said Ellen 
Gordon, as she brushed her hair before the 
small looking-glass in the sitting room. 
“What would you do with it?’ said her 
mother, who was sewing by the table. 
”1 could use it easy enougli. I could get 
some hair pins, some rubber cord, some need¬ 
les, and half a yard of ribbon, and a whole 
handkerchief;” and she flirted a ragged one 
contemptuously. 
“You might ask your father for some 
money. ” 
“I will never ask him for another cent while 
I live: When I asked for some new boots, 
what did he say ? and was cross a wholv week 
to pay.” 
“He has a great mauy uses for money, 
Ellen! and such a large family to support”— 
and the poor woman sighed, as if she thought 
she might be blamed some way for the ex¬ 
penditures of the family. 
“1 earn my own bread and butter, and 
clothes too; and I have nothing fit to wear 
away from home! If father was a poor man, 
1 could be patient, but when a mau can pay 
$500 for a cow, and $300 more for a sheep, 
there is no need of his wife and children going 
shabby. 1 do not want to be extravagant, 
but I do want to dress neatly, and like other 
people, so as not to attract notice,” she hotly 
said. 
“Be patient, my dear; your father is pecu¬ 
liar about some things; but he loves his 
children,” she said. 
“I confess he has a peculiar way of showing 
his love!" and she tied on her hood with a little 
jerk, and wrapped a faded shawl over her 
shoulders. “I shall call for Jennie Wells to 
go with me. Good night, mother;” and she 
kissed her cheek, and went off to singing 
school. 
Mr. Gordon was one of the wealthiest farm¬ 
ers iu Sheffield; had to pay as heavy taxes as 
any man iu town. He was rich in lands, in 
flocks and herds, and everything he undertook 
was prosperous. But he was poor in his house, 
and as bis daughter had said, his family, him¬ 
self included, went shabby. His motto was 
always; “Take care of the cents, and the dol¬ 
lars will take care of themselves;" and be did 
take care of the cents, and grudged every one 
that had to be spent for the comfort or actual 
necessities of his family. Of course, as the 
children grew up, they felt keenly the differ¬ 
ence iu their surroundings from those of their 
companions. Their mother’s wedding outfit 
had been eked out by cheap dishes bought at 
auction, and broken chairs spliced up by the 
legs filled the kitchen and sitting room. It 
really was not nice. Had it not been for the 
loving mother’s influence, that kind of glor- 
fied home, there would have been no attraction 
to keep the children there. When the oldest 
sons arrived at manhood, they left the farm, 
and went to work elsewhere, where they 
could receive pay for tbeir labor. Their father 
grumbled at their ingratitude in deserting 
him, but as he could not help himself, had to 
do the best he could without them. 
Ellen was the eldest daughter, and had just 
passed her 18th birth-day. She was smart and 
healthy, and her mother had trained her up 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
in neat and house-wifely ways, and it was no 
wonder that she thought she ought to be 
clothed respectably. Not a paper or book was 
ever taken or purchased, aud all the reading 
the children had, they borrowed from their 
companions. Even school books were grum¬ 
bled over. No wonder then, that a high- 
spirited, handsome girl, like Ellen, chafed at 
the needless thraldom. She had never been 
allowed a cent of mouey to expend for her¬ 
self. She bad never had a pretty bit of rib¬ 
bon to brighteu up her dress, and the last 
piece of her mother’s wedding bonnet strings < 
had been colored, till they were actually past 
regeneration. 
Her mother had tried pursuasion with her 
husband, but the spirit of greed was so en¬ 
grafted in his nature, that she could effect no 
change, and she could only endure iu silent 
patience. But Ellen had borne her privations 
as long as she could, and when she came home 
from singing school that night, she announced 
to her mother, in the presence of her father, 
that in the morning, 3he was going to Dr. 
Mahew’s to work for the rest of the Winter, 
Her eyes sparkled. 
“What does he pay you, Ellen? And what 
shall I do?” said her mother, as she clasped her 
hands. 
“He gives me three dollars a week, and I 
have my eveniugs to myself. Father is able to 
hire help, and I must, and will have money to 
clothe myself! I am sorry to leave you, ' 
mother dear, but I cannot live so,” she said. 
The tears stole down the mother’s cheek, but 
Ellen kissed them off. “I will come home 
often to see you, aud I will buy you a nice 
dress, too, mother.” 
“I can clothe your mother,” growled the old 
man. 
“It will be more Mian you ever have done 
since my remembrance. We have none of us 
had clothes or auything else to make us com¬ 
fortable or decent; you never gave me a dime 
in my life, and mother has to beg like a pau¬ 
per to get a quarter of a dollar Sae nor I 
could not sell every rag of clothing that we 
have for five dollars; and you are one of the 
richest men in town! It is a shame!” 
“You have said euough, girl! You would 
like to have every dollar I own for nicknacks, 
I suppose!” he growled. 
“No, I only want enough to be clothed de¬ 
cently, I do not aspire to velvets or satins for 
mother or myself, and I want comfortable 
furniture in the house where I five; we are 
poorer than the poorest French family in 
town; besides, being the laughing stock of the 
whole neighborhood for your stinginess 1” she 
said. 
“Oh Ellen! don’t talk so!” sobbed her mother. 
“It is the truth, mother; and you know it! 
When did yon ever have a new pair of shoes, 
till you had been barefoot for days; and then 
was grumbledat for extravagance? When did 
you ever have a dollar in money of your own? 
and you have worked and saved for twenty- 
five years, to earn money for him to hoard up, 
while you have gone destitute of the comforts 
of life. Ask the boys how they fared. They 
worked like slaves, and never a cent to call 
their own, aud they went away with only the 
clothes they wore, aud their father got $50,- 
000 in the banks, and over $10,000 worth of 
five stock in his barns and pastures, and his 
house bare of everything to make home pleas¬ 
ant or decent. No, mother! much as we love 
you, we cannot stand it. You had good things 
when you were married, aud you have had 
nothing since. Your furniture has been worn 
out; your money that your father left you is 
put into the farm, and you have never had a 
cent of the interest, not to say a word of the 
principal, and there never was a poorer person 
than you are. Mother, 1 am sorry for you!” 
Mr. Gordou rose, lit a candle, aud went to 
bed. His wife, with a frightened look, ex¬ 
claimed, “Oh Ellen! you have made your 
father dreadful angry.” 
“1 cannot help it, I had to say it.—1 may 
never have another chauce! Dr. Mahew told 
me that you had $5,000 that your father left 
you. Just think, the iuterest of that money 
would have made things so nice!" 
The next morning. Mr. Gordon gave his 
check for $300, sayiug, “Wife, Ellen told the 
truth last night; you ought to have had the 
interest. Tell her to stay at home, and I will 
pay her as much as Dr. Mahew, and give her 
pin-money besides. s. h. r. 
AFfER. GRADUATING, WHAT ARE 
YOUR PLANS? 
The hurry and excitement are all over. 
You have stood with flushed cheeks and pal¬ 
pitating heart before your kind friend and 
teacher, and listened as in a dream, to his 
heartfelt words of council and commendation, 
as he presented you with your diploma. The 
tender good byes’ have all been said; aud now 
when you are on your homeward journey, 
you realize for the first time that the pleasaui 
school life is oyer, and you are going home 
for good. You are beginning to dread the 
dull farm fife before you, with only an occa¬ 
sional guest, and you are vexed with mother, 
because she bad not been with the rest to hear 
your carefully prepared essay. You wrote 
her to “be sure and come.” 
She received your letter, aud all aglow with 
mother love, sat down to enjoy its contents. 
Presently she read, “For mercy sake don’t 
wear tbatold silk, Ishould be ashamed of you I” 
It bad never occurred to her that her child 
could be ashamed—of her! She could not 
wear the old dress now, and she could not af¬ 
ford a new one, so with a silent tear, she quietly 
gave up going. You did not think, did you 
when you penned those careless words, that 
money was not plenty at home; that mother 
had planned and saved, denyiug herself in 
many ways, that you might be stylishly and 
becomingly dressed? You forgot how she had 
taken the burden of work much too heavy for 
her. toiling on uncomplainingly, that father 
might think she could spare you from home. 
She has done all this and more. She has car¬ 
ried your name to the Throne of Grace, nieht 
and morn, earnestly asking for you every good 
and perfect thing. 
She has looked forward—only God and her 
own heart know how much—to the time when 
you should finish your school life and come 
home to be a comfort to her, bringing your 
strong, young arms aud youthful vigor, to 
bear on the burdens that have well-nigh proved 
too great for her failing strength. She longs 
for your love, your companionship, your 
sympathy, aud it seems to her that your bright, 
young face and merry laugh, about the house, 
would do more for her than any tonic. 
And now, are you going home to that 
mother with a feeling of superiority in your 
heart because she cannot speak French and 
lead German? To sit with pensive air in the 
“best room,” and tell her how dull it is and 
how you miss the “dear girls’’? Wouldn’t it 
be better to kiss the tired wriubles all out of 
the poor pale face and don your gingham 
apron, with the determination to help her to 
find the time to be interested in what inter¬ 
ests you? Remove the pressure of overwork, 
and you will find her as much a lover of birds 
and flowers as you ever can be. She is older 
than you and wiser—in many, mauy thiugs— 
and you may well sit at her feet aud learn of 
her in all humility. 
God cun give ua but one mother. 
Gift xnoit precious, most complete! 
Prize oh prize, this priceless treasure. 
Smooth the path for her dear feet. 
MHS. J. F. R. 
Domestic Cconomi) 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
“For every evil under the sun, there Is a remedy, or 
there's none; 
If there Is, be sure you find It, If there Isn’t, never 
mind It,” 
KITCHEN TALKS. 
ANNIE L. JACK. 
tea is allowed for each person — there is no 
need of the proverbial “one for the pot”—and 
unless it is Japan, it does not require more 
than three minntes’ steeping. The different 
properties of water also make a difference 
in the taste of the beverage. An urn is said 
to be the best appliance for tea-making, for 
who does not remember Cowper’s lines, 
"While the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
Throws up a steaming column, and the cup 
That cheers but not Inebriates waits on each 
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.” 
-» » ♦ 
A WORD FOR THE CHILDREN. 
MRS. S. B. EATON. 
"Do to-day's duty. Look not on. 
Work while there’s strength and light.. 
The day’s toll Is euough to bear, 
And then therecomcth night," 
The above is the motto on the black board 
in our pleasaut kitchen, and while busy with 
my work, the words cheer aud comfort me. 
“Only a day at a time!” Each duty faithfully 
performed in that, aud we need uot worry for 
the future. I find the black-board a very 
handy article on the kitchen wall. 
Sometimes when the little ones worry for 
something they may not have, I seize the 
chalk and draw fnuny images. These, of 
course, they must try to copy, and thus em¬ 
ployed, I can leave them happy, while I go on 
with my more important, though none the less 
arduous, labor. So much depends iu the 
happy home on having the little ones made 
contented. It is so much better to take time 
to attend to their wishes, if at all reasonable, 
before they get into a fretting or teazing way. 
My heart always aches for the children who 
are told grviflly, “to get along out of the way.” 
Sometimes we forget, amid life’s cares, that 
we are only “children of a larger growth,” 
and so are apt to treat their requests with but 
slight attention. 
We have good reason to know that when 
children are trusted and confided in, they 
prove not only true to the confidence placed in 
them, but are also a great help and comfort. 
The warm, time love of their young hearts is 
no slight thing to hold, and. weary mothers 
toiling on in life’s battle, when you are tried 
and oft-times discouraged, call the little ones 
about you, enter into their joys and sorrows, 
and you will be surprised to find how much 
they can do towards making life rich aud full, 
and complete. Never let them feel thut 
mother is too old to enter into their little 
plans, and so they will learn to share fife’s 
burdens with you as they grow older. 
EXTRACTS. 
The passing fancy is for yellow flowers for 
dinner table decoration. 
Ambitious housekeepers! pray leave up at 
Pi.sccUancaujs gitlvcrtteittg. 
“What a difference there is in tea!” The 
kettle was boiling briskly on the stove, sending 
forth as much steam as would have been 
worthy the notice of on investigating Watt, 
and the tea was in the brown stone teapot 
ready to be steeped. “There is more difference 
in the making,” I answered, and suggested 
that this loDg-boiling water be emptied into 
the back reservoir of the stove, and some fresh 
from the well be brought in aud used directly 
it boiled. “That will make more difference 
than anything else” I argued. “ But,” said 
the Amateur Cook, “there is a great variety 
of tea.” “Aud I don't like black tea,” said 
the Florist, who was busy training a Passion- 
vine over a glass door so as to catch the morn¬ 
ing sun. 
“I’m glad I’m not a Jap” said the Student, 
“to have to drink their tea.” “What is it 
like?” asked the Idler lazily. “Well, you 
know they grind it into powder as we do 
coffee. The cups are then filled with warm 
water aud as much powder as will lie on the 
point of u knife is thrown into each cup and 
stirred till the liquid begins to ferraeut. They 
drink it three times a day without milk or 
sugar, and it is one of their offerings to their 
gods.” “It must be horrid” said the Florist. 
“Not auy worse tbun we have it sometimes,” 
I answered, “when stale water is used, and 
an over supply of tea is put in, and it is then 
stewed half an hour.” In Bummer tea a la 
liusse is good in the afternoon. I know of 
one house where it is kept in that form for 
cullera. It should be mixed black and green, 
or Japan, and cuu be what is loft from lunch¬ 
eon or a noon dinner. Strain the tea into a 
crockery-tea pot that can be set in the refrig¬ 
erator till wanted. When used, it needs a lit¬ 
tle more sugar than hot tea. and mauy prefer 
it without cream. Some people pass round 
sliced lemon with it. 
To make our regular tea, the pot must be 
rinsed with hot water, and a teaspoonful of 
“A direct, practical 
“experiment in a laun¬ 
dry has proved to 
“me that the “Ivory,” 
“ tested against a cer- 
“tain wel 1-known 
“brand of laundry 
“soap, has the same 
“amount of cleansing 
“power and one a?id 
“ two-thirds the last - 
“ ing capacity. That 
“ is, the Iv o ry Soap 
“ will do one and fwo- 
“ thirds times the work 
“of the soap against 
“which it was tested. 
“I therefore consider 
“the Ivory a very 
“good laundry soap.” 
JOHN W. LANGLEY, 
Trofcnnor of Chemistry, 
University of Michigan. 
Tree of charge. A full size cake of Ivory Soap will he 
I sent to any one who can not got It of their grocer. If 
I six two-cent stamps, to pay postage, are sent to Proctor 
“ CltieluuuU, Please uientiou this paper. 
