498 
JULY 27 
THE RURAL MEW-YOB'IER. 
coaid only keep serene and happy, whether 
everything is done just so or notl 
* * * 
There is no doubt that we do a good deal 
of unnecessary coonifcg in the summer. Of 
course, where there are men doing heavy 
work it is manifestly impossible for them to 
live on fruits, vegetables and cereals—we 
believe that a certain amount of meat is abso¬ 
lutely necessary. But there is no reason why 
all the fruit should be cooked up into pies and 
puddings—give it to them in its natural state, 
or stewed. Stewed fruit, with good bread 
and butter, is, in many cases, more whole¬ 
some than pies, and certainly it does not 
cause the 6ame amount of back-breaking 
work. We do like pie, but not when it adds 
excessive weight to the burden of work, al¬ 
ready heavy. Such fruits as blackberries or 
raspberries are often more wholesome stewed 
than raw—the seeds are very irritating to 
many digestions. They are not very desirable 
for little children. 
* * * 
A Really wholesome dessert for the time 
of harvest apples is the old-fashioned Brown 
Betty. It is made in various ways, but we 
like the English mode. The apples, peeled 
and cored, are stewed until quite soft with 
very little water and a bit of lemon peel; 
when done, they are beaten to a pulp, a little 
butter and sugar mixed in and then put aside 
to cool. When cool, two eggs are beaten 
light, and mixed with the apple; then an 
equal quantity of bread crumbs. A buttered 
mold is thickly sprinkled with browned-bread 
crumbs, this is filled with the mixture, and a 
layer of crumbs put over it. Bake in a slow 
oven, then turn out and eat with cream. 
OUTINGS IN NEW ENGLAND. 
XIV. 
MARY WAGER FISHER. 
T HE meagerness of the soil and the abun • 
dance of rocks about Marblehead, 
would seem to make the burial of the dead in 
the ground a difficult operation, as it evi¬ 
dently was in the olden times, as many of the 
graves were dug in the slender valley between 
the rocks. It is a custom borrowed from 
England, to bury about the meeting-house or 
church, but it is a custom to be deprecated in 
all localities where dwelling-houses are likely 
to be built near-by, as I believe it is an estab¬ 
lished fact that wells drain the land from half 
a mile around, and it is not pleasant to think 
of drinking water that has percolated through 
the remains of our ancestors. 
The date of death on the oldest stone in the 
Marblehead grave-yard is 1681. Quite a num¬ 
ber of Congregational preachers were buried 
there, and it is curious that, next to New 
England, the stronghold of Congregational¬ 
ism is on the Pacific coast. A white marble 
monument commemorates a sad event for the 
little town, when the entire crews of 10 fishing 
boats, consistmg of 65 men and boys, perished 
on the Grand Banks ot Newfoundland. Not 
many negroes who were slaves in New Eng¬ 
land had their graves marked by tombstones, 
but there is one in this old graveyard, and 
the Inscription on it is a curiosity. 
Agnes, Negro 
Woman Servant 
To Samuel 
Russel, Aged About 
43 years, Dec’d 
July Ye 12, 1718. 
Another stone to the memory of Mrs. Mir¬ 
iam Grose, testifies to the fact that she left, 
in the 81st year of her age, “ 180 children, 
grandchildren and great-grandchildren ”—an 
appalling progeny 1 However much it may 
be considered out of taste to tell tales on 
tombstones, a loquacious graveyard is, never¬ 
theless, a valuable contributor to history and 
a great source of entertainment to visitors 
who feel a mournful interest in that kind of 
literature. The most conspicuous building in 
Marblehead is Abbott Hall, named from Ben¬ 
jamin Abbott who bequeathed $100,000 to his 
native town, and part of the bequest was used 
in the construction of this building which has 
a lofty tower, 160 feet and one inch high, and 
which gives the finishing touch to the pictorial 
view of Marblehead, as seen from the water. 
There is a fine reading-room in the hall, a 
public library and several fine paintings, one 
of which is Willard’s famous “ Yankee Doo¬ 
dle,” which was shown at the Centennial in 
Philadelphia. 
When the time came for ns to leave Marble¬ 
head, we went up into New Hampshire to 
visit triends in Nashua. It had been many a 
year since 1 had seen them, and it was with a 
sense of pleasure at being recognized at once 
—it seemed indeed but a short time, but with 
a tall lad at one’s side, one cannot help feel¬ 
ing that the years have rolled away in stern 
reality, and carried with them a sorely be¬ 
grudged portion of the freshness of youth. 
Nashua is full of Canadian French spindles 
and factory girls, but its environs are charm¬ 
ing. The trees were in superb autumnal col¬ 
oring and to see the New England landscape 
in its glory, is to see it in late September. In 
our drives, into the adjoining country I saw 
what I have never elsewhere seen, a lonely 
building in a lonely field, labeled “Small-pox 
Hospital.” 
To see French-Canadian or any other class 
of laboring foreigners, is to be impressed with 
the superiority of the good looks of Ameri¬ 
cans. I never yet saw in even the commonest 
American—an American of two or three gen¬ 
erations—the pitiful lack of intelligent ex¬ 
pression, of mental alertness, that so often 
characterizes the physiognomy of the low¬ 
bred European. The consciousness that 
one has a chance to better his condition very 
quickly acts upon the countenance, and I be¬ 
lieve that one could form a very accurate es¬ 
timate of the government of a country, by 
simply seeing the faces of the people. 
We returned home by way of Worcester, 
Hartford, New Haven and New York to Phil¬ 
adelphia, the entire route in New England 
being one long panorama of gorgeous color, 
reflected in numberless lakes, rivers and 
smaller waters. Birches grow in great 
abundance along the streams, and lean for¬ 
ward in lovely clumps as if to catch a glimpse 
of their pretty bodies. The Capitol Building 
at Hartford makes a brave show, and at New 
Haven the Soldiers’ Monument forms a strik¬ 
ing shaft against the sky. Hartford in the 
earlier days In Connecticut, was the literary 
center of the State—Lemuel Hopkins, Trum¬ 
bull, Theodore Dwight, Mr3. Sigourney, and 
Noah Webster lived there. Mrs. Stowe has 
made it her home also, living there with her 
twin daughters. But so great has been the 
clock-making glory of Connecticut, that in 
riding through the State one half expects to 
hear everything vibrating with the “ tick- 
tock” of time-keeping machinery. Wooden 
clocks of the high old pattern were made at 
Waterbury 200 years ago; but in -821 the 
manufacture of brass clocks was begun, and 
in less than 20 years the State produced clocks 
to the value of more than a million dollars 
annually, and for years the world has been 
supplied with Connecticut clocks and watches. 
The Connecticut Yankee has a strong natural 
bent for mechanical pursuits, and his ever¬ 
present idea is, not to work but invent some 
machine that will do the work for him. Eng¬ 
lish visitors to work-shops of New England 
are surprised at the intelligence of the me¬ 
chanics, and their use of tools and methods, 
that are so exceptional in the shops of 
England. When Dr. Howe of New York in¬ 
vented his machine for making pins at one 
operation, he could find the kind of workmen 
he required only among the Connecticut 
brass-clock workers, and so it came about 
that the manufacture of pins was established 
in Connecticut, and to make pins, brass wire 
mills had to be established; in such wise Yan¬ 
kee cleverness has turned New England into a 
vast manufacturing center. It doesn’t pay to 
farm, the men say; for they can’t compete 
with Western products. But if the “surplus 
women” were to turn their attention to horti¬ 
culture, they would undoubedly give to the 
soil a new value. Some one has said that the 
Pilgrim Father had an amazing faculty for 
settling on the most unpromising localities to 
be found in the new world—which is in a way 
true. The Yankee of to-day hasa thousand 
times his shrewdness—he would have “ gone 
West” at the beginning! But with all the 
money-making possiblities of the West and 
South, there is a charm about New England 
that appeals to the mind and heart as no 
other section of our country does. It is to 
the nation much what one’s birth-place is to 
the individual, and people from every State 
in the Union come in the summer outing sea¬ 
son to her rock-bound shores. 
A PICK-UP DINNER. 
COTTAGE MAID. 
A N oft-recurring spasm of economy was 
chiefly responsible for Mrs. Brown’s 
determination to make a dinner without any 
extra marketing, and she went through ice¬ 
box and pantry, fully resolved that stie would 
make their contents do, whether scanty or the 
reverse. A family of three was to be provid¬ 
ed for—a task often more difficult, as far as 
economy is concerned, than where there are 
more. Young Mrs. Brown took the various 
“ left-overs ” from her ice-box and surveyed 
them with critical disapproval. 
“One scrag of beef-steak and two cups of 
gravy—that means soup,” and the fragments 
were soon simmering, to the surprise of her 
school friend, who regarded such things as a 
legacy for the ash-barrel. A bowl of stewed 
tomato from yesterday’s dinner next appear¬ 
ed, so it was decided that the simmering com¬ 
pound should become tomato soup. A little 
dish of cauliflower in white sauce, a few cold 
potatoes, and part of a cold roast chicken 
were severally revealed. 
“The chicken is too much dismembered to 
be eaten cold, so it becomes a mince,” observ¬ 
ed the housekeeper. The dressing was re¬ 
moved and put aside, while the fowl was 
separated and put on to stew slowly until the 
flesh parted readily from the bones. This 
took about an hour and a half. When thus 
cooked, the bones and meat were removed 
from the gravy. Skin and bone being put 
aside, the meat was minced and returned to 
the gravy together with the dressing which 
gave an agreeable flavor to the whole. This 
simmered for half an hour; 15 minutes before 
it was served it was thickened with a tea¬ 
spoonful of flour smoothly dissolved in milk. 
Half an hour before dinner-time the soup, in 
which a spray of parsley and bit of celery had 
been simmering, was strained, and returned 
to the stove. The tomato was warmed and 
then strained through a sieve before being 
added to the stock, and seasoned. Fifteen 
minutes before dinner, it was slightly thick¬ 
ened with a tea-spoonful of cornstarch dis¬ 
solved in milk; after boiling five minutes it 
was lifted to the back of the stove. 
“ How much tomato do you use in a dish of 
soup? ’’inquired Mrs. Brown’s schoolmate. 
“ I cut my coat according to my cloth,” 
said that culinary artist with a laugh. 
“ Really, 1 think the proportions are nearly 
equal of stock and strained tomato, but I use 
just what I happen to have, without refer¬ 
ence to exact proportions.” 
“ What becomes of the cold potatoes?” 
“ Why, a salad. Here is half a lettuoe, 
dish of cold potatoes, and a few pickled beets, 
—and a bit of parsley—we will have a fine 
salad. Here is one forlorn poached egg left 
from breakfast, which we will boil hard, and 
use in the dressing.” 
Mrs. Brown took her oval glass salad-boat, 
and put a border of crisp lettuce leaves all 
around it, with Here and there a slice of crim¬ 
son beet nestling in the soft green. The cold 
potatoes were sliced as if for frying, sprinkled 
with chopped parsley, and piled in the center 
of the dish. Over all a dressing was poured, 
made as follows: The yelk of one egg, boiled 
hard, was rubbed into a smooth paste. To 
this was added one salt-spoonful of salt, half 
a salt-spoonful of pepper, and a little mus¬ 
tard. Two table-spoonfuls of olive oil were 
slowly stirred in, until thoroughly mixed, 
and to this were added two table-spoonfuls of 
vinegar. A few drops of onion juice are by 
many considered an improvement. In the 
meantime some smooth, well-scrubbed pota¬ 
toes were baking, while the left-over cauli¬ 
flower in its sauce, was warming in the double 
boiler. 
For dessert, Mrs. Brown made an old-fash 
ioned Brown Betty, after an English recipe, 
as follows: Stew half a dozen cored and peel¬ 
ed apples until quite tender, with a piece of 
lemon rind, a little water, and sugar to taste. 
When reduced quite to a pulp, mix in a piece 
of butter, and let it stand till cold. Beat a 
couple of eggs, and mix them and the apples 
together with an equal quantity of grated 
bread. Have ready a buttered mold, sprinkle 
it very thickly with baked bread crumbs, fill 
up with the apple, etc., and then add a layer 
of crumbs. Bake in a slow oven, turn out 
carefully, and serve with cream. 
When dinner-time came, pieces of toasted 
bread were laid in a tureen, and the soup was 
poured over them, a bit of the bread being 
served in each plate. The minced chicken 
was garnished with triangular pieces of toast, 
and the baked potatoes, cracked open on 
leaving the oven, to avoid soddeDing, were 
brought to the table wropped in a napkin, 
The toast garnishes and the Brown Betty 
made a tasty and economical means of using 
stale bread. The table was prettily set, and 
the dinner, being carefully cooked and well 
served, gave no idea of being a “left-over,” 
but, then, careful cooking and tasteful serv¬ 
ing will make the plainest meal appetizing. 
GOLDEN GRAINS. 
Lyman Abbot compares doctrines with trel¬ 
lises, to which vines may cling if the vines 
be living. 
Ruskin says if you want knowledge you 
must toil for it: if food, you must toil for it; 
and if pleasure you must toil for it. Toil is 
the law. Pleasure comes through toil, and 
not by self-indulgence or indolence. When 
one gets to love work his life is a happy one.. 
Carlyle buid .that when L he_ gazed into.the 
stars, they looked down upon him with pity 
from their serene and silent space, like eyes 
glistening with tears, over the little lot of man. 
Thousands of generations, all as noisy as our 
own, have been swallowed up by time and 
there remains no record of them any more; 
yet Arcturus and Orion, ISirius and the Ple¬ 
iades are still shining in their courses, clear 
and young as when the shepherds first noticed 
them in the plains of Shinar!. 
Marion Harland talks to mothers in a 
motherly way when she says that she who 
would be the mother of heroes, must bear her¬ 
self heroically in their sight. Our little tem¬ 
pers, polite prevarications, lapses from the 
right, line of honor, or of Christian charity, 
our faults which are many, and our foibles 
which are legion—these tell for us upon our 
clear-eyed babies tenfold more powerfully 
than do the neat didacticisms we reckon as 
precept upon precept, the strong measures 
we classify as line upon line. 
The Germans have this good proverb, that 
thefts never enrich; alms never impoverish; 
nor prayers hinder work. 
It is said that the greatest pleasure is to do 
good by stealth and have it found out by acci¬ 
dent... 
Beecher said that ho loved little people. It 
is no slight thing when they who are so fresh 
from God love us.... . 
The reason, why so few men are made on a 
large pattern is that it is not safe to trust a 
man out in the world with large brains. There 
is a great economy therefore in that direction! 
Colton says that, to look back to antiquity 
is one thing, to go back to it another. If we 
look back to it, it should be as those who are 
running a race, only to press forward the 
faster, and to leave the beaten still further 
behind.... 
Pomfstic 0C0n0imj 
CONDUCTED BY MRS. AGNES E. M. CARMAN. 
Ah, many a one is longing 
For words that are never said ; 
And many a heart goes hungry 
For something better than bread. 
—JOSEPHINE POLLARD. 
EXTRACTS FROM SUNDAY EVENING 
TALKS AT THE RURAL GROUNDS. 
“ Flow is the accepted time," not to-mor¬ 
row, not next week, not any time but now, 
and that means the present moment. 
Accepted time—what is it? The time to be 
taken—for what? 
For whatever we have to do. If “ procras¬ 
tination is the thief of time,” then now is the 
bolt that will prevent it from stealing the best 
from our lives. The Spanish “ manana ” 
“ manana ”— to-morrow, to-morrow,— ex¬ 
presses too often the unconscious thought that 
influences what we do, until, without realiz¬ 
ing that we are doing so, we live out the mot¬ 
to—“ Never do to-day what can be put off till 
to-morrow.” ADd then we wonder how so 
much work could have accumulated. 
There is no time but the present. Now is 
all we have. Yesterday was now then. To¬ 
morrow will be now when we come to it. 
But this moment is the now that should be 
the accepted time if we would have the best 
and most from life; and secure successful re¬ 
sults in whatever we undertake. 
Wheu I was a girl, I found that procrastina¬ 
tion and I were becoming too good friends for 
my good. I procrastinated in the most dan¬ 
gerous way—that of thought. Whatever I 
had to do or to learn, the unconscious ten¬ 
dency of my thought was this: next time I 
will do it better—next time I will learn it per¬ 
fectly. But gradually I awoke within my¬ 
self to realize that the next time never came 
for what had been neglected: other things de¬ 
manded the now and unless I made that the 
accepted time for doing thoroughly whut was 
ray duty, my life would be a tangle of 
imperfections. Of course, I could not 
realize the importance of now as I 
£Ui;&'rflhiumt0 guhimteiufl. 
'When Baby was sick, we gave ner Casuxn*, 
When she was a Child, she cried for Castorla, 
When she became Miss, she clung to Castorla, 
When she had Children, she gave then? Castor « 
i 
