482 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
June 18, 
From Day to Day. 
AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA. 
He who died at Azan sends 
This to comfort faithful friends— 
Faithful friends! it lies, I know, 
Pale and white and cold as snow; 
And ye say, “Abdullah dead !” 
Weeping at my feet and head, 
I can see your cries and prayers, 
Yet I smile and whisper this: 
“I am not that thing you kiss; 
Cease your tears and let it lie; 
It was mine, it is not I.” 
Sweet friends! what the women lave 
For Its last bed in the grave 
Is a tent which I am quitting, 
Is a garment no more fitting, 
Is a cage from which at last 
Like a hawk my soul hath passed. 
Love the inmate, not the room ; 
The wearer, not the garb; the plume 
Of the falcon, not the bars 
Which kept him from the splendid stars. 
Loving friends ! be wise, and dry 
Straightway every weeping eye. 
What ye lift upon the bier 
Is not worth a wistful tear. 
’Tis an empty sea-shell, one 
Out of which the pearl is gone. 
The shell is broken, it lies there; 
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. 
’Tis an earthen jar whose lid 
Allah sealed, the while it hid 
That treasure of his treasury, 
A mind which loved him ; let it lie! 
Let the shard be earth’s once more, 
Since the gold shines in his store! 
Allah Mu’hid, Allah most good ! 
Now thy grace is understood. 
******* 
Now the long, long darkness ends, 
Yet we wail, my foolish friends, 
While the man whom ye call “dead," 
In unbroken bliss instead 
Lives, and loves 3 T ou, lost, ’tis true 
By any light that shines for you; 
But in light we cannot see 
Of unfulfilled felicity, 
And enlarging Paradise, 
Lives the life that never dies. 
Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell; 
Where I am ye, too, shall dwell. 
I am gone before your face 
A heart-beat’s time, a gray ant’s pace. . 
When ye come where I have stepped, 
Ye will marvel why ye wept; 
Ye will know, by true love taught, 
That here is all, and there is naught. 
—Sir Edwin Arnold (1832-1904). 
* 
The Postoffice Department at Wash¬ 
ington has recently issued fraud orders 
against seven lace-making companies, 
which advertised for persons to work at 
their homes, and required as a condition 
of employment the purchase of a lace¬ 
making machine. It is simply another 
variation of the old, familiar easy-work- 
at-home fraud. These companies will now 
be unable to use the mails, but they have 
doubtless reaped an abundant harvest dur¬ 
ing their period of operation. As usual, 
the persons swindled by them will be those 
least able to bear the loss. 
* 
A correspondent of the Woman’s 
Home Companion says it does not seem 
to be generally known that some fruits are 
particularly delicious if baked for can¬ 
ning, instead of stewed. Apples prepared 
in this way are superior to any ordinary 
canned apple. Select good tart cooking 
apples; wash, remove the blossom end, 
but do not peel. Arrange in a baking pan 
with hot water to half fill the pan. Sprin¬ 
kle with sugar, bits of sweet butter, and a 
dash of any spice if desired, and bake 
until tender. Can while hot, using the 
juice in which they were baked. Stand 
the jar in hot water 30 minutes before 
wanted for use, and you will have perfect 
baked apples for breakfast. Pears canned 
the same way are fine, or pears with thin¬ 
ly sliced quince scattered among them. 
* 
A doctor’s prescription which was curi¬ 
ously translated is thus described by the 
Philadelphia Ledger: A little colored girl 
entered a downtown drug store the other 
day. “Please, suh, ah wants some dye.” 
“Dye, eh? What kind of dye?” asked the 
clerk. “De mos’ fashernable kind.” “The 
most fashionable kind? Do you want it 
for the hair?” “No, suh.” “Eggs?” “No, 
suh.” “What color do you want?” “My 
maw done tole me foh to git de mos’ fash¬ 
ernable kind.” “Well, what do you want 
it for?” “Sick stummick.” “Sick stom¬ 
ach? I never heard of such a thing. I 
guess you’ve made a mistake. You surely 
don’t want dye.” “Yes, suh. You see, 
suh, my maw done git sick to her stum¬ 
mick, an’ de doctah tole her she have to 
diet!” 
* 
If the array of small fruits is not so 
large as usual, after the severe Winter, 
try mixing rhubarb with strawberries, 
raspberries or gooseberries for preserve, 
either one-third or one-half the quantity 
being berries. The result is richer in 
flavor and handsomer in color than rhu¬ 
barb alone. Another combination we like 
is red currant and raspberry. Our rhubarb 
is usually made into marmalade, after an 
old English recipe, as follows : Wash the 
rhubarb, do not peel it; cut into inch 
boarders who had eaten the sodden bis¬ 
cuits of other tables wrote for copies of 
the bulletin for their landladies. The 
circulation of this masterpiece of domes¬ 
tic literature leaped from 10 a week to 75. 
When the last copy was sent out the de¬ 
mand had not stopped. Secretary Wilson 
has thus become the greatest teacher of 
cooking in the world. There are those, 
however, who think that the question of 
breadmaking belongs to the Department 
of the Interion_ 
A City Drying Ground. 
Close by The R. N.-Y. office is an old 
graveyard, hemmed in by tall tenement 
houses. It is a noisy resting place for 
the long-forgotten dead, with the incessant 
traffic of a great thoroughfare, and the 
perpetual clangor of the Elevated trains, 
and the air is forever laden with smoke 
and dust. However, it is the only open 
space where the tenement dwellers may 
dry their wash, excepting the roofs, so 
pulley lines are run across the little ceme¬ 
tery, and flapping garments hang there 
every day in the week. Fig. 209 gives a 
view of it from the street. The grave¬ 
yard is so old that no one in the neigh¬ 
borhood seems to know anything about it, 
but we believe it belongs to a Jewish con- 
A CITY DRYING GROUND. Fig. 209. 
lengths. Weigh, and to each pound of 
rhubarb allow three-fourths pound of 
sugar. Put the rhubarb into a bowl, put 
the sugar over it, and allow it to stand all 
night. A roomy bowl is needed, or the 
juice will overflow. Put all in a preserv¬ 
ing kettle, bring* slowly to a boil, then 
boil for an hour, stirring frequently and 
removing the scum from the surface. Fif¬ 
teen minutes before removing from the 
fire 'Jdd for each quart of preserve the 
juice and rind of one lemon, the latter 
being peeled off thin, and then chopped. 
Seal while hot in jars or jelly glasses. 
* 
This is a government of the people, 
says the New York Evening Post, and it 
interests itself in the least daily business 
of the humblest citizen. Secretary Wil- 
soi* and his Department of Agriculture 
may be called the governmental mother 
or aunt. Their investigations and reports 
are of immediate value in the home, like 
a cook book or a good almanac. A short 
time ago a Representative from Iowa 
found in his mail this letter: 
Dear Sir : I have been looking over the list 
of bulletins issued by the Agriculture Depart¬ 
ment. I am not a married man, but live in 
a boarding house kept by Mrs. -. Will 
you please send her a copy of Secretary 
Wilson’s pamphlet on bread-making? 
The pamphlet was sent, the boarding 
house bread improved, and news of 'the 
wonder-working bulletin spread. Other 
gregation. Of course the health ordi¬ 
nances do not permit interments in such 
cemeteries now, but there are a number 
of tiny Jewish burial places tucked away 
in congested parts of the city, where every 
foot of ground has enormous value. Vis¬ 
itors to one big dry-goods store on Sixth 
Avenue sometimes notice, from the stair¬ 
way, an array of quaint Oriental tomb¬ 
stones in an adjoining shut-in plot; though 
enormous prices have been offered for it 
as a building site, Hebrew sentiment will 
not permit the disturbance of the dead, 
and this silent reminder of mortality con¬ 
tinues to hold its place among the hurry¬ 
ing shoppers. In London a numbex of 
old graveyards in the congested districts 
have been turned into small pai’ks or 
breathing places, among them several im¬ 
mortalized by Dickens, and this function 
is held in New York by the enclosures 
around Trinity Church and St. Paul’s 
Chapel, which, in warm weather, are al¬ 
ways full of resting workers during the 
noon hour. _ 
Coffee Bread. —Two cupfuls bread 
sponge, one cupful of water or milk, 
one cupful sugar, one cupful butter, 
one cupful raisins, teas"oonful ground 
cinnamon, salt. Stir stiff as possible with 
a spoon, raise in a du , then grease a 
bread-pan, put in the c ugh and let rise 
again, and bake. Put some butter, sugar 
and cinnamon on top. aunt rachel. 
A WOMAN’S STRENUOUS DAY. 
Cheerful Help Given. 
I have read with interest the article on 
page 301, and also the comments upon it. 
Common sense would teach us that a 
continuation of such hard labor would be 
a strain which no woman, however physi¬ 
cally strong could endure. I believe, if 
truth be known, it is one of the unusual 
days which come to us all, man or wo¬ 
man, and as it made a good story, was 
written without any intention of convey¬ 
ing the idea that this woman is a phe¬ 
nomenon. Certain am I that no such 
“slavery” is required of any woman in 
the farming section of New York in which 
we live, and while I have often raked 
hay or some such work beside doing my 
housework, and know of many neighbors 
who do the same, I believe there is not 
one woman who was forced to do so, 
or who was not better satisfied with her¬ 
self for having done what she could to 
help at a time when it is strenuous work 
for all. I have lived in three farming 
counties of New York, also for two years 
in a city, and the ixitelligence, industry 
and honesty of the farmers, I believe, is 
fully equal to that of any town resident, 
and any resident of other States. This is 
largely due to the wide distribution of ex¬ 
cellent farm papers, among them The R. 
R--Y., to the influence of farm associa¬ 
tions, institutes, Granges, etc.; to our 
splendid free school system, and mostly 
to those farmers themselves who have 
succeeded in making two blades of grass 
grow where but one grew before, and 
who deserve the rewards thereof. 
M. B. K. 
The Wife’s Earnings. 
“A Woman’s Strenuous Day” is, as 
some one has suggested, all too common 
to bring forth much comment. But that 
is not the worst of it, for most wives and 
mothers, in the country at least, expect 
to work, and work hard. This they are 
willing to do; at least it seems so, for 
they do it all too uncomplainingly. But 
when it is all done, and the busy hands 
and tired feet find such rest as they never 
knew in life, whose is the property that 
the woman has helped to accumulate? 
Has she had any claim upon it what¬ 
ever? No. Not even could she bequeath 
to her children her rightful share in her 
husband’s estate, for he owns it, every 
bit, while the second wife can step in and 
reap the benefits of the first wife’s toil 
and saving. So many instances are in 
mind where the husband and wife have 
mutually worked to accumulate property, 
but no voice regarding this property is 
allowed the wife. She can go on saving 
and drudging to the end of her days with¬ 
out a word of appreciation from the hus¬ 
band, or enough of what should be the 
common purse to keep her decently clad 
and comfortable. Yet the man has all 
that money can buy; he does not deny him¬ 
self that his family may be more com¬ 
fortable, not he. What? Do without to¬ 
bacco? Certainly not, why should he? 
A small lad belonging to a large and 
needy family said to his mother not long 
since: “Mamma, don’t you wish you 
could have all the money papa has spent 
for tobacco?” The answer was, “Yes, 
indeed;” while the lad continued: “Well, 
if you did you would have a lot, wouldn’t 
you?” This mother and children had to 
pi-actice the strictest self-denial; money 
was too scarce to employ good or sufficient 
help, or even to clothe them properly, but 
the man could spend, while the woman 
could save and drudge. Is this right? 
Yet how common this state of affairs. 
Another picture from life presents itself. 
A family consisted of a man and his wife 
with two children. Together they laid up 
a goodly amount of this world’s goods. 
After a while the wife died, and in his 
second childhood the man married again 
—a woman who controlled the man, whose 
mind had failed, and his money as well, 
while the children were allowed what she 
thought best. These children were justly 
entitled to the amount that should have 
been their mother’s, while no law should 
have upheld the second wife in controll¬ 
ing this property. But in this case the 
first wife died, the husband lost his mind, 
and the second wife was “the whole 
