1900 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
8o7 
An Exempted Conscience. 
Part I. 
“Seems to me, Janet, you’re growin’ 
to look more and more peaked every 
day,” remarked Mrs. Adoniram Platt, 
surveying her sister-in-law with disap¬ 
proving eyes. Mrs. Platt herself weighed 
195 pounds, and had little charity for 
those whom relentless heredity or the 
vicissitudes of life denied a reasonable 
measure of plumpness. “What are you 
doin’ to make yourself so thin and 
chalky lookin’?” she continued. “I 
thought at first it might be William's 
death that preyed on your spirits, but 
here it is—let’s see, goin’ on a year and 
seven months, ain’t it? sence he was 
took from us, and resignation to the will 
of Providence, to say nothin’ of the lapse 
of time, ought to be softenin’ that af¬ 
fliction to the flesh, ef not 10 the sperit.” 
Janet Perry made no reply to the stric¬ 
tures of her sister-in-law. She had 
learned that silence, as a rule, was the 
best way to neutralize Mrs. Platt’s ha¬ 
bitually critical mood. She could not 
remember the time when her sister-in- 
law had called upon ner and had not 
discovered something to find fault with. 
So, on the present occasion, she con 
tinued her household duties with an air 
of even more than wonted preoccupa¬ 
tion—an air that might have offended 
one less accustomed to it than Mrs. Ad¬ 
oniram Platt. Suddenly, however, she 
stopped short in the middle of the kitch¬ 
en floor, clapped her hand to her fore¬ 
head, and looked up at the time-stained 
face of the old clock on the wall. “I 
declare!” she exclaimed, ‘ A I haven’t 
gone twenty-five minutes past the time 
for takin’ my bicarbonate of sodium, 
and there’s more of that left over than 
anything else. I’ll never get it used up, 
at this rate.” 
“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Adoniram 
Platt. The pallid little woman, swaying 
to and fro in her uncertainty, started at 
the exclamation, and looked half-sheep- 
ishly and half-defiantly at her sister-in- 
law. “I’m usin’ up William’s old stock 
of medicine, what was left over after he 
died,” she explained. “There’s a cup¬ 
board full of it, yet, and I’m ured of see- 
in’ it set there. But ’t was awfully ex¬ 
pensive stuff, and I can t bear to throw 
away anything that cost so much money 
so I’m usin’ it up myself to save it.” 
Mrs. Platt threw herself back in her 
chair with an exclamation compounded 
of amusement and scorn. “Well!” she 
exclaimed. “No need of my rackin’ my 
brain any longer to find out why you 
look as if you was in the last stages of 
consumption! The wonder is that you 
ain’t dead a’ready. But I might have 
known it; it’s jest like you. I declare, 
i never did see any woman, or man 
either, for that matter, quite so far gone 
on the subject of economy as you be! 
Well, well! What will Adoniram say? 
I guess he’ll come over here quick 
enough, and clear out that cupboard for 
you.” 
“I guess he won’t—not unless he pays 
full price for all there is left in it!” cried 
Mrs. Perry, hastening to the cupboard 
with spoon and glass in hand. “There!” 
she exclaimed, a moment later, with a 
wry face. “I took a dose and a half that 
time, to make up for bein’ so absent- 
minded. Now, Susan, ef you set here 
till ’leven, I want you to be sure and re¬ 
mind me to take a dose of salal. ’Leven 
o’clock’s my hour for that. Then at 
half-past ’leven I take my peptonized ar¬ 
senic, and jest before dinner a cactina 
pellet. Cactina’s strong medicine, but I 
think my dinner helps to carry it off.” 
“And I suppose you take somethin’ 
else every half hour durin’ the after- 
ternoon?” queried the wholesome-look¬ 
ing woman in the kitchen rocker. 
Mrs. Perry nodded her head. 
“Well, I shan’t set here till ’leven, nor 
a minute longer!” cried Mrs. Adoniram 
Platt, rising with a jerk. “I won’t be 
a witness to any such suicidal foolish¬ 
ness, to say nothin’ of encouragin’ you 
in it. I’m goin’ home, and I’m goin’ to 
tell Adoniiam first thing. Perhaps it 
ain’t too late to save you yet.” 
“ ’T won’t do any good for you to 
try,” replied little Mrs. Perry, doggedly, 
as she went to the door with her sister- 
in-law. “I’ve set out to save that medi¬ 
cine, and I’m agoin’ to do it, ef it kills 
me. You can tell Adoniram so. He’s 
known me considerably longer’n you 
have, and I guess he’ll understand that 
it won’t be any use to interfere.” 
As Mrs. Adoniram Platt departed 
with purposeful haste, the lonely, child¬ 
less widow sat down in the still vibrat¬ 
ing rocker and burst into tears. “They 
don’t any of ’em know the real trouble 
that’s eatin’ the heart out of me,” she 
moaned. “Oh, if William had only told 
me before he died that he had gone and 
mortgaged his own grave—for that’s 
just what it is—and Emma’s and Char¬ 
ley’s, too! It breaks my heart to think 
of it—it jest breaks my heart.” 
She went to the window and looked 
out through her flooding tears at the lit¬ 
tle private burial-ground on the other 
side of the fence—a bit of knoll, set 
about with cedars and inclosed by a 
slight paling, whose white paint had 
long ago faded to dingy gray. It was 
just such a neglected but precious burial 
ground as one may see on many a lonely 
farm throughout New England, far from 
the little village cemetery. Convenience 
and sentiment unite in its founding. It 
seems so much better to the loving heart 
to commit one’s dead to soil hallowed 
by long family ownership and by dear 
associations; to have them near at hand 
in Summer’s heat and Winter’s cold; to 
see the white stones glimmering over 
them in the dark, and through rain and 
snow. The village “yard” is miles 
away, small, desolate and over-crowded. 
So a grave is dug on the neighboring 
hillside, and then another, and another, 
until the family burying-ground is fair¬ 
ly established. And after that only 
those whose kindred have mingled with 
its dust can know how dear it is. 
As Mrs. Perry stood looking through 
her tears at the little inclosure, which 
her improvident husband had mortgaged 
with other land, before he died, she saw 
a strange, fanciful figure beyond it, 
tramping across the rocky hillside—the 
figure of a young woman in short skirts 
and plaid jacket, and high boots, who 
carried a shining, slender stick in her 
hand, and stopped every now and then 
to whirl it through ihe air, and, seem¬ 
ingly, strike off the head of a weed or 
flower. Mrs. Perry, in spite of her grief, 
could not help gazing at this jaunty fig¬ 
ure—it seemed so strange and out of 
place. She had never seen a young wo¬ 
man dressed in that way before; much 
less had she ever seen the game of golf 
or any of its picturesque accessories. She 
stood wondering, until the girl passed 
from sight over the top of the ridge— 
and then turned quickly towards the 
clock, only to discover that the dose of 
salal was sadly belated, and must, con¬ 
scientiously, be increased in quantity.— 
New York Evening Post. 
Cooking Belgian Hares. 
The R. N.-Y. has offered a good deal 
of information about the care of Bel¬ 
gian hares, but has said little about 
cooking them. The following recipes, 
from the Belgian Hare Journal, will 
prove useful: 
If you broil see that the hares are 
young, under four or five months, and 
therefore tender. After a brief soaking 
in water into which no soda or salt has 
been put (if the hares are young they 
have no unpalatable flavor and conse¬ 
quently great care must be taken to 
preserve their natural delicacy), dry 
well with a clean cloth, and gash them 
down the back through the thickest por¬ 
tion; then flatten each, place it on a 
gridiron, and broil it over a bed of 
coals, turning often. Or you may lay 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use“Mrs.Wins- 
low's Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best— Adv. 
them smooth on the bottom of a drip¬ 
ping pan and cook in a hot oven with¬ 
out basting; oil the pan slightly with a 
little sweet dripping, or a bit of fresh 
butter; they should be done in half an 
hour. 
Stewed.—Cut the hares into joints, 
drop into a pot and cover with boiling 
water; then slice in an onion and a bit 
of bacon, and stew slowly one hour or 
until tender. As old hares are best 
stewed, it will do no harm to put in a 
young chicken, stewing all together. At 
the end of half an hour add a few po¬ 
tatoes, peeled, and cut in quarters, and, 
if liked, some small bits of light paste, 
after the potatoes get fairly boiling. 
When all are done, stir in a little cream 
thickened with white flour, boil up a 
moment and dish for the table. 
Fried.—Disjoint, cut uniform pieces, 
cover with boilng water, and let it 
simmer until quite tender. Then re¬ 
move carefully to a dry dish. Dredge 
well with flour, and drop into very hot 
butter to brown. Serve with gravy 
made from the liquor in which it was 
boiled and cream. Two tablespoonfuls 
of vinegar added while boiling are an 
improvement. 
Roast Hare.—Make a dressing of fine 
dry bread crumbs; part graham is best. 
Add to the crumbs a small lump of 
fresh butter, a little dry sage (or other 
herb, if preferred), and moisten well 
with tepid water, stirring well as you 
add it. Do not put in too much water; 
have the dressing light and flaky, not 
wet and heavy. The large and delicious 
liver of the hare, having been thorough¬ 
ly steamed win add an unwonted zest if 
chopped into bits and put into the stuf¬ 
fing. Fill the hares with this, leaving 
plenty of room for the dressing to swell, 
sew up, put the hares into a dripping 
pan, add a cupful of boiling water, and 
roast as slowly as possible during the 
first half hour. Baste every 15 or 20 
minutes, turning as needed, and if any 
part browns too fast, cover it with a 
clean napkin wet in warm water and 
folded two or three times. Allow from 
one to two hours for roasting; test with 
a fork to ascertain when the hares are 
done; take them out of the pan and 
make the gravy, drain the grease all off 
and set the pan on the stove; then put 
in any tid-bits (as the liver, etc.), and 
the liquor in which they are boiled; 
thicken with a little browned flour wet 
with milk or water, and boil up a mo¬ 
ment. 
A GOOD START 
IN LIFE 
A farmer’s 
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We keep our religion too much in¬ 
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Christianity.—Christian Herald. 
UNITARIAN 
PUBLICATIONS sent 
f ree Address 
MISSIONS, 150 Holland St., Syracuse,’ N. Y. 
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