434 
JUNE 29 
THE BUBAL NEW 
a 
Actual frying is not at all objectionable, 
nor aspecially indigestible when rightly done. 
In such case the pan should not be used, but a 
saucepan, and the article fried should be put 
into boiling fat, like doughnuts. If there is 
not enough fat for the food to float in, or if it 
is not at the boiling point, the result will be 
unsatisfactory. Fish-balls, croquettes, rissoles 
and fritters are all best when cooked in this 
way. It is not an extravagance, for the fat 
can be used over several times—so long, in 
fact, as it is sweet. One should keep in sepa¬ 
rate vessels the fat used for frying fish, meat 
or fritters. 
♦ * * 
Somehow, we can’t help thinking that 
many tired housewives tire themselves chiefly 
with works of supererogation. There is so 
much unnecessary work, on which depends 
little real comfort. Take, for example, the 
subject of pie. Pie-making is not easy work 
—there is all the tedious standing while mix¬ 
ing and rolling crust, and the trouble of pre¬ 
paring the fruit. It is a decided bother all 
round, and yet so many seem to think that 
fruit has but one mission in life, and that is 
to fill pies. We find that fresh or stewed 
fruit, with some sort of nice crackers, makes 
a far better dessert than pie. There can be 
no question of its greater wholesomeness, and 
it is liked into the bargain. 
* * 
If we could only find out the real truth, 
we should discover that many a woman does 
more than she ought—more than she is fit for 
—merely because she is afraid to give in. 
[She fears being accused of not being as smart 
as her neighbors. We certainly ought not to 
mind what the world thinks, but we usually 
do. It is a thousand pities that any one, 
knowing her own duty, and doing it should 
fear lest it should not be plain to her friends. 
It is so easy to be misjudged, but after all, 
that is an imaginary evil when compared 
with the real evils of pain and weariness that 
follow over-work. 
OUTINGS IN NEW ENGLAND. 
XI. 
MARY WAGER FISHER. 
O UR first halt, after leaving Oswego for 
the New England sea coast, was at 
North Adams, in Massachusetts. The laddie 
desired to see the Hoosack Tunnel, and so, in 
mapping out our route of travel, we arranged 
to go by the railroad which takes its name 
from this tunnel and passes through it, and 
no one day’s ride by rail could well be love¬ 
lier, than that between Oswego and any point 
in the charming Deerfield Valley in the Old 
Bay State. One feature of the East that in¬ 
variably surprises a Westerner, i3the amount 
of uncultivated land. The man who has been 
born and reared in the West naturally thinks 
of the East as being crowded with people,and 
having every inch of land cultivated to the 
highest degree. What else so reasonably ex¬ 
plains the large and constant migration to 
the West ? But all throughout New York 
State, even, there is yet much uncultivated 
land and much that is poorly tilled. From 
Oswego on to Syracuse the farming was or¬ 
dinary, although the country itself is beauti¬ 
fully rolling and everywhere glorified by 
elm trees. One of the pretty little lakes that 
we passed, is called Como, and another, which 
was better named, is called Onondaga. 
For some time we followed the slender 
stream of the Mohawk, with its willow- 
planted shore, and lying on a friendly level 
with the surrounding land, and the lines of a 
song I heard in my childhood came into my 
mind, “Ob sweet is the vale where the Mo¬ 
hawk gently glides,” etc. We noted s‘one as 
well as stump fences, both of which have a 
picturesque and substantial look of their own, 
that is a relief to the trim airiness of the fences 
of wire. Whatever objections may be raised 
against fences, they give a certain boundary 
and outline to the country, that are restful to 
the eye, and to the mind, and when they are 
built of material native to the region, as of 
stones or rails, they add to, rather than de¬ 
tract from, the general landscape effect. So 
much can be done with stones, that people 
who live where the soil is free from them, lose 
one of the most satisfactory resources in na¬ 
ture, and I kno w of no other one thing, that 
is not to be counted among the necessities, that 
can be made to yield more pleasure than a 
garden wall with a sunny exposure. So many 
things can be trained on it, and the spring 
time is fully a fortnight earlier in its sunny 
warmth, and better than elsewhere. The 
walled gardens of Europe, while they shut out 
public view, are within, veritable paradises. 
A home, with its grounds, well fenced in 
looks far more home-like, secure, and private, 
than any fenceless abode can be made to look, 
&Dd tbe copwaiouest fence of rough, unpaiijted 
boards can be made with running roses and 
vines, an inclosure fit for a king. 
Eastward from Troy the fields were better 
tilled, many were sowed with buckwheat, 
and in bloom—there is rarely a lovelier sight. 
It is a curious fact that so many country peo¬ 
ple who easily enough recognize a field of 
buckwheat in bloom, fail to recognize an iso¬ 
lated blossom. I once had a flower-stand at 
a fair, and as Anaximander had a quantity 
of buckwheat in bloom I cut of it plentifully, 
using the flowers in bouquets and in vases. 
Every one commented on them, asking what 
the rare flower wa», and when the reply in¬ 
variably came “ Fagopyrum,” nobody seem¬ 
ed any the wiser. By and by we began to 
catch glimpses of the Hudson, and having an 
hour or two to wait at Albany, Anaximander 
went to see the Capitol, and returned much 
disappointed, finding no end of fault with the 
shabby construction of a building upon which 
such lavish expenditure had been made. In 
getting into Massachusetts we passed through 
a corner of Vermont, and the laddie thought 
if the States were of different colors, as they 
are on the maps in the Atlas, it would be 
very convenient for travelers. North Adams 
itself is not far from the Vermont line, a town 
high up in the mountains with mountains all 
around it and the spreading city climbing up 
their sides. One of tne favorite drives led to 
a point not far from the town which was said 
to be the highest point in the State, and from 
which five States could be seen. One mem¬ 
ber of our little party became slightly ill, and 
for a remedy Anaximander asked at a drug 
store for blackberry brandy, and he had 
quite a history in getting some because of the 
regulations imposed upon apothecaries in 
Massachusetts in regard to selling “ intoxicat¬ 
ing beverages.” After considerable red tape, 
his name, residence, the amount purchased, 
and the purpose for'which it was intended by 
the buyer, were written in a book, and he 
was required to put his signature to the state¬ 
ment. 
We were greatly pleased with the hotel in 
which we were for several days lodged. All 
the dining-room waiters were young women, 
very neat in their dress, hair and petticoats, 
both worn short, plain skirts, erect figures, 
light in step, and no clatter of dishes. Tho 
landlord said that he made it a special fea¬ 
ture of his hotel that the dining-room service 
should be as expeditious and noiselefs as pos¬ 
sible. The town is characteristically New 
England—handsome churches, a public li¬ 
brary, green grass a-plenty, and well cared for 
trees. TheTladdie was not content with the 
prospect before him of riding through the 
tunnel, but he must walk a little way in it, 
but when he found that it was the longest 
driven railway tunnel in the country, being 
four miles more or less in length, he lost his 
appetite tor a longer promenade. The en¬ 
trance to it is very pretty, but the 10 minutes 
required to pass through it by rail seemed al¬ 
most interminable and intolerable. It was a 
great piece of engineering to dig from op¬ 
posite sides of the mountain in such a way 
that the two tunnels should lead directly into 
each other. A graphic account of the con¬ 
struction of this tunnel through the Hoosac 
mountains published in the Atlantic Monthly 
several years ago, had made such an impres¬ 
sion upon tho laddie’s mind that he had never 
forgotten it, and it was this that endowed the 
tunnel with so much interest to us. All 
through the Deerfield and Connecticut valleys 
the scenery was enchanting, rivers, water¬ 
falls, mountains, the beautiful trees, the lichen 
on fences and walls, the prim, clean-looking 
white houses, the old-fashioned lumbering 
stage coaches—a glorious ride, which, how¬ 
ever, landed us in Boston in a pouring rain* 
We went to a near-at-baud, palatial-looking 
hotel, where we ordered a room away from 
the street in order to secure quiet, and were 
kept awake nearly the whole night through, 
by the clatter of servants in the court. The 
atmosphere after the rain was of extreme 
sultriness, which seemed to have bred in¬ 
numerable mosquitoes, which swarmed 
through our open windows and their buzzing 
and biting, completed the pandemonium. 
The morning, however, dawned fine and 
clear, and we took an early train for the 
north shore. 
THE DEMON OF DISCONTENT. 
REV. CHARLES T. WHITE. 
T HERE is a kind of discontent, which 
works our good in the end. It is the 
handmaid of ambition, and prudent ambition 
is always praiseworthy. We are egch in duty 
bound to make the most of ourselves, and our 
abilities. To confine our aotivities within a 
narrow circle, when a little effort on our part 
opens before us an ever-wideniDg circle of 
success and usefulness is traitorous to our 
Creator, J.t i*> tfie oW story repeg ted of bury¬ 
ing in the earth the talent which God has 
given us. It is well-nigh criminal to withold 
from our fellowmen the benefits we might 
have conferred upon them. 
The great ones of earth have risen from ob¬ 
scurity to honor and fame by reason of this 
spirit of discontent. There is need of caution 
here, however, lest an overestimate of our 
own abilities, or a wrong estimate of our 
fitness for some untried task lead us into ser¬ 
ious error. There is no end to the measuring 
line of our fond self-conceit. Put the youth 
in his teens through a year’s academic school¬ 
ing. let him weigh his petty acquirements in 
balances of his own construction, and if he be 
of hopeful temperament, he straightway im¬ 
agines himself an embryo Shakespeare, or 
perchance an Edison in roundabouts. 
The young miss at boarding school rattles 
off sentimental crudities, and in view thereof, 
deems herself an apt pupil of the immortal 
nine. These youthful conceits are not with¬ 
out purpose. Despise not the roseate tints of 
the morning sky, though they fane into more 
sombre hues after! They have a brightness all 
their own, and gladden the eyes and heart for 
a season. The ideal, which the imagination 
creates in cold outline, the work of a lifetime 
sometimes endows with life and beauty. 
Oftener we gaze too long, idly upon what 
must ever be unreal, and the imagined gran¬ 
deur of what we might have been pursues us 
through life like an avenging Nemesis, steal¬ 
ing the gladness out of our lives, and making 
us to be dreamers rather than willing work¬ 
ers. Alas, how much of this restless, aimless 
discontent there is in the human heart! How 
many of vain wishes and desires are contin¬ 
ually welling up from the hidden depths of 
the soul, only to be dissipated into nothing¬ 
ness, like the air bubbles, which buret upon 
the tranquil s irface of the water! We leave 
the rank weeds growing in the corn- field,and 
wish we might have been princes We dab¬ 
ble our hands languidly in greasy dishwater, 
and envy the lady of wealth, whose “coach 
and four” swept past the kitchen window. 
We drop the needle from tired fingers, and 
see in retrospect the shapely hand, which 
might have wielded a poet’s pen or an artist’s 
brush. Ah, and “ what fools we mortals be!” 
Is there not enough of the bitter in life al¬ 
ready, that we must needs import from no 
man’s land fresh supplies of worm-wood and 
gall, therewith to make Marah, like the sweet 
draughts of nectar, which we might else drink 
unalloyed? Thinknot yourself alone the im¬ 
agined victim of a bard fate! This foul folly of 
discontent is widespread as the race. No doubt 
the crowned king in his weariness of court 
bustle, and political intrigue is longing this 
moment for the plow boy’s Hoontide siesta 
under the grateful shade of the spreading 
maDle, and perchance the jewel-bedecked 
heiress of a kingdom would not scruple to ex¬ 
change her hateful finery for tho torn calico 
gown and the bare brown feet of the country 
maiden, who picks whortleberries on the hill¬ 
side. The farmer, broiling in a July sun, 
pauses a moment in his tfil to watch the vil¬ 
lage doctor driving by in his carriage, and 
mutters something about a “mighty easy 
time.” The physician roused at midnight, 
rides six miles in a driving storm, with the 
thermometer dropping into the twenties, and 
vows between his chattering teeth that the 
life of a dog is preferable. And so the story 
goes from one end of the world to the other. 
The clerk envies the employer’s capital and 
the employer envies the clerk’s exemption 
from the harassing cares of business. The 
tired student gazes from the windows of his 
musty attic upon the merry hay-makers, and 
would fain exchange a page of hard-acquired 
Greek for on hour of freedom, and care-free 
toil in the fragrant meadows. The farmer- 
lad driving home the cows from pasture at 
milking time meets the high-school professor 
on a solitary ramble, and remembers with 
shame-facedness that his trousers are ragged 
and his last summer straw hat sadly battered. 
Surely could some mighty magician wave 
his wand over the heads of ns poor grumbling 
mortals, and cry to all Presto change, ah 
theD, how would smiles, for tne moment at 
least, transform the faces of men! But not 
for long. In a month, we would be seeking 
the magical power, which might change us 
back to our old selves, and restore to us the 
old familiar surroundings, in which before¬ 
time the demon of discontent permitted us so 
little pleasure. I wonder sometimes, when I 
hear women talk about the future emancipa¬ 
tion of their sex, if they rightly realize the 
nature of the coming slavery. Emancipation 
indeed! Some of our farmers’wives, and 
daughters even have caught the infection, and 
loathing the daisies, and the buttercups, and 
the lilac’s perfume, and the music of birds and 
bees, and the home duties, and tl}e home 
peace, are loogiug for liberty. Liberty for¬ 
sooth, and where will you find it, i? not in the 
heart of God’s beautiful nature, and under the 
&tar-lit sky, aud iu the genial radiance of tlje 
fireside? Man, (and woman too,) is nearest 
ideal freedom, as he is nearest the place where 
God places him, and the dwelling place of sin¬ 
less man, let us remember, was a garden. To 
be sure there were no thorns and thistles 
there, no bard, grinding toil, no weariness 
and weakness, no trembling hands and ach¬ 
ing hearts, but despite all, there is yet some¬ 
thing of the Eden freshness upon the face of 
nature, and the soul is stronger and purer for 
its constant contact with these reminders of 
its innocence. There are thousands of men 
doubtless, who would gladly better their 
coveted “ rights ” for a few hours of sweet, un¬ 
disturbed repose upon the breast of nature. 
The demon of discontent, fair ladies, invades 
the heart of even that creature of rare opt or- 
tunities—man. Feminine aspirants.despair not 
to seat yourselves upon the Judicial bench, to 
throng the halls of assembly, and to besiege 
the presidential chair for appointments! 
Come, and welcome to the stifling court-room, 
and dingy office, while we lawyers, senators, 
judges will scuttle away iu haste to the coun¬ 
try home for a breath of pure air, and a drink 
of cold water from the “old oaken bucket,” 
and a sight of the grand old mountains, and 
the fresh green fields. 
GOLDEN GRAINS. 
T he Atlanta Constitution reminds its 
readers that genius is a dazzling thing, 
but it won’t plod. Talent is forced to plod or 
get left, and so, with the instinct of self-pres¬ 
ervation, it generally plods. Genius starts 
out a petted darling, and ends by dodging the 
bailiffs and dying in the poorhouse, while 
talent raises a monument in its honor aud 
pays the bill out of its well-filled pocket. 
Shall I ever forget my early home? asks 
Talmage. Yes, when the flower forgets the 
sun that warmed it; yes, when the mariner 
forgets the star that guided him; yes, when 
love has gone out on the heart’s altar, and 
memory has emptied its urn into forgetful¬ 
ness—then, home of my childhood, will I for¬ 
get thee... 
It was Faber who said let us serve God in 
the sunshine, while He makes the sun shine. 
We shall then serve Him all the better in the 
dark when He sends the darkness. The dark¬ 
ness is sure to come. Only let our light be 
God’s light, and our darkness G'd’s darkness 
and we shall be safe at home when the great 
nightfall comes. 
Cotton Mather pays: “The ability to 
do good in any case imposes an obligation to 
doit.” The apostle James says: “Therefore 
to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth 
it not, to him it is sin.” Paul says: “As we 
have therefore opportunity, let us do good un¬ 
to all men, especially unto them who are of 
the household of faith.” The Independent 
adds not to do good, a® and when we have the 
opportunity, is sin. There is a large amount 
of this form of sinning among men. 
A. P. Gorden says that sorrow is only one 
of the lower notes in the oratorio of our 
blessedness.... 
In matters of conscience first thoughts are 
nest; iu matters of prudence last thoughts are 
best, says Dr. Hall. 
Dear lies of mutual succor bind 
The children of our feeble race: 
And If our brethren were not kind, 
This earth were but a weary place. 
—Bryant. 
Ruskin says that though you may have 
known clever men who were indolent, you 
never knew a great man who was so; and 
when ho heare a young man spoken of as giving 
promise of great genius, the first question he 
asks about him is always: “Does he work?”.. 
CONDUCTED BY MRS. AGNES E. M. CARMAN. 
HOW. 
H O VV some people manage to concoct the 
“messes” they make from good ma¬ 
terials is a standing mystery tome! Take 
pijsrfUaurflUtf 
When Baby was sick, we gave her Castarok 
When she was a Child, she cried forCastorla, 
When she became Miss, sho clung to Castor la. 
When she had Children, sho g»vo tbeaiOastoria 
