1901 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
363 
A Balsam Pillow. 
Part I. 
Now that fir needles and hemlock nee¬ 
dles have become recognized articles of 
commerce, and every other shop now 
boasts its row of fragrant cushions, with 
their inevitable motto, “Give Me of Thy 
Balm, 0 Fir Tree,” I am reminded of 
the first pillow of the sort that I ever 
saw, and of what it meant to the girl 
who made it. I should like to tell you 
the little story, simple as it is. It be¬ 
longs to the time, eight or nine years 
since, before pine pillows became popu¬ 
lar. Perhaps Chateaubriand Dorset may 
be said, for once in her life, to have set 
a fashion. Yes, that was really her 
name. Her mother met with it in a 
newspaper, and, without the least idea 
as to whether it appertained to man or 
woman, adopted it for her baby. The 
many syllables fascinated her, 1 suppose, 
and there was, besides, that odd joy in 
a piece of extravagance that costs noth¬ 
ing, which appeals to the thi-ifty New- 
England nature, and is one of its wnole- 
some outlets and indulgences. 
So the Methodist elder baptized the 
child “Chateaubriand Aramintha,” mak¬ 
ing very queer work of the unfamiliar 
accents, and then, so far as practical 
purposes are concerned, the name ceased 
10 be. How can a busy household, with 
milk to set, and milk to skim, and pans 
to scald, and butter to make, and pigs to 
feed, find time for a name like that? 
“Baby,” the little girl was called till she 
was well settled on her feet and in the 
use of her little tongue. ‘Then she be¬ 
came “Brie,” and Brie Dorset she re¬ 
mained to the end. Few people recol¬ 
lected that she possessed any other 
name, unless the marriage, birth and 
death pages of the family Bible happen- 
e(i to be under discussion. 
The Dorsets’ was one of those pictur¬ 
esque, lonely, outlying farms, past 
which people drive in the Summer, say¬ 
ing, “How retired! how peaceful!” but 
past which almost no one drives in 
Winter. It stood, with its environment 
of red barns and apple orchards, at the 
foot of a low granite cliff whose top was 
crowned with a fir wood, and two enor¬ 
mous elm trees met over its roof and 
made a checkerwork of light and shade 
on its closely blinded front. No sign of 
life appeared to the city people who 
drew their horses in to admire the situa¬ 
tion, except, perhaps, a hen scratching 
in tlie vegetable beds, or a lazy cat bask¬ 
ing on the doorstep, and they would 
drive on, unconscious that behind the 
slats of the green blinds above a pair 
of eyes watched them go and a hungry 
young heart contrasted their lot with 
its own. 
Hungry! There never was anything 
like the starvation which goes on some¬ 
times in those shut-up farm houses. 
Boys and girls feel it alike, but the boys 
are less to the pitied, for they can 
usually devise means to get away. 
How could Brie get away? She was 
the only child. Her pai-ents had not 
married young. When she v/as lb they 
seemed almost elderly people, so badly 
does life on a bleak New England farm 
deal with human beings. Her mother, 
a frail little woman, grew year by year 
less fit for hard labor. The farm was 
not productive. Poverty, pinch, the in¬ 
evitable recurrence of the same things 
to be done day after day, month after 
month, the same needs followed by the 
same fatigues—all these Brie had to 
bear, and all the while the child had 
that love and longing for the beautiful 
which is part of the artist’s equipment 
and the deprivation of which is keen 
suffering. Sweet sights, sounds, smells 
—all these she craved and could get only 
in such measure as her daily work en¬ 
abled her to get them from that world 
of nature which is the satisfaction of 
eager hearts to whom all other plea¬ 
sures are.denied. 
The fir wood on the upper hill was the 
temple where she worshiped. There she 
went with her Bible on Sunday after¬ 
noons, with her patching and stocking¬ 
mending on other days. There she 
dreamed her dreams and prayed her 
prayers, and while there she was con¬ 
tent. But all too soon would come the 
sound of the horn blown from below, 
or a call from the house, “Brie, Brie, 
the men are coming to supper; make 
haste!” and she would be forced to 
hurry back to the Workaday world. 
Harder times followed. When she 
was just 20, her father fell from his 
loaded hay wagon and fractured his 
thigh. There was no cure for the hurt, 
and after six months of hopeless tend¬ 
ance he died. Brie and her mother were 
left together on the lonely farm, with 
the added burden of a large bill for doc¬ 
toring and medicines, which pressed like 
a heavy weight on their honorable 
hearts. 
The hired man, Reuben Hall, was well 
disposed and honest, but before Mr. Dor¬ 
set’s death he had begun to talk of go¬ 
ing to the West, and Brie foreboded that 
he might not be willing to stay with 
them. Mrs. Dorset, broken down by 
nursing and sorrow, had become an in¬ 
valid, unable to assist save in the light¬ 
est ways. The burden was sore for one 
pair of young shoulders to bear. Brie 
kept up a brave face by day, but at 
night, horrors of helplessness seemed as 
brass, against which her feeble prayers 
beat in vain, the future was barred, as 
it were, with an impassible gate. What 
could they do? Sell the farm? That 
would take time, for no one in par¬ 
ticular wanted to buy it. If Reuben 
would stand by them, they might be able 
to fight it out for another year, and, 
what with butter and eggs and the corn 
crop, make enough for his wages and a 
bare living. But would Reuben stay? 
Our virtues sometimes treat us as in¬ 
vestments do, and return a dividend 
when we least expect it. It was at this 
hard crisis that certain good deeds of 
Brie’s in the past stood her friend. She 
had always been good to Reuben and 
her sweet ways and consideration for 
his comfort had gradually won a pas¬ 
sage into his rather stolid affections. 
Now, seeing the emergency she was in, 
and the courage with which she met it, 
he could not quite find the heart to 
“leave uie little gal to make out by her¬ 
self.” Fully purporting to go, he stayed, 
putting off the idea of departure from 
month to month, and though, true to 
his idea of proper caution, he kept his 
good intentions to himself, so that re¬ 
lief of having him there was constantly 
tempered by the dread lest he might go 
at any time, still it was relief.—Susan 
Coolidge in Coloi-ado Weekly Times. 
Rhubarb Recipes. 
Rhubarb is one of the most wholesome 
products of the home garden at this sea¬ 
son, and some of the following recipes 
may be new to those tired of the stalks 
when stewed or made into pies: 
Baked Rhubarb.—This requires less 
sugar than stewing. Peel the stalks, 
selecting red rhubarb. Cut into inch 
lengths and place in a stone crock. Add 
one part of sugar to two parts of the 
fruit, unless you like it very sweet, then 
add nearly half and half; arrange the 
fruit and sugar in layers; use no water. 
Stand the crock in a pan of hot water, 
cover and set in the oven and bake until 
the pieces are clear. This may be used 
for a meringue by filling a shell of good 
light pastry, covering the top of the 
fruit with a meringue and coloring a 
delicate brown in the oven. 
Rhubarb Compote.—Cut red rhubarb 
into pieces three inches long. Cover 
with cold water and set over a moderate 
fire where it will very slowly come to 
the boiling point, but do not allow it to 
boil. Drain the water off carefully, or 
take the rhubarb up on a fork, keeping 
the pieces whole. Measure the water 
and to each pint add a pound of granu¬ 
lated sugar. Boil until it becomes a 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use “Mrs. Wins¬ 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best.— Adv. 
syrup, then pour over the rhubarb. This 
is nice served with plain boiled rice for 
a simple dessert. 
Rhubarb Sherbet.—Wash the stalks 
and cut into pieces one inch long. To a 
dozen stalks add three pints of cold 
water. Cook in a double boiler until 
tender. Flavor with grated lemon or 
orange peel, and sweeten to taste. Let 
stand in a cool place for several hours, 
then strain and chill. Add shaved ice. 
Rhubarb Cream Pie.—One cupful of 
rhubarb chopped fine or grated, one cup¬ 
ful of sugar, a pinch of salt, a grating 
of nutmeg or lemon peel. Moisten a 
tablespoonful of cornstarch with a table¬ 
spoonful of cold water; then fill the cup 
up with boiling water, stirring until 
clear. Beat the yolks of three eggs un¬ 
til light, and add them with the corn¬ 
starch to the other materials. Line a 
pieplate with good light paste, fill with 
the mixture and bake in a moderately 
hot oven until custard is set. When 
done and cooled, cover with a meringue 
made with the whites of the eggs and 
half a cupful of confectioner’s sugar. 
Brown delicately in the oven. 
Rhubarb Fritters.—Select the smaller 
stalks of tender, fresh rhubarb. Cut in¬ 
to pieces two inches long; cover with 
cold water and steam until tender; drain 
and spread on a platter. Make a syrup 
of sugar and water, flavor with a little 
lemon. Pour this over the rhubarb and 
let stand until perfectly cold. Drain off 
the syrup, dust the rhubarb thickly with 
granulated sugar. Make a fritter batter 
in usual way, dip the pieces of rhubarb 
in the batter and fry in deep hot fat. 
Rhubarb Souffld.—Pare and cut the 
rhubarb into small pieces, add enough 
water to keep from burning, and a 
pound of sugar to each quart of rhu¬ 
barb. Stew until tender, then press 
through a sieve. Measure your rhubarb, 
and to each pint take three eggs; separ¬ 
ate and beat the yolks very, very light, 
and add to the rhubarb. Mix well, then 
whip the whites to a stiff froth and fold 
into the mixture. Throw into a well- 
buttered dish and bake in a quick oven 
about half an hour. When it cracks 
open on top it is done. 
Rhubarb Cobbler.—Pill a deep, butter¬ 
ed, earthenware pie dish with rhubarb 
cut into pieces an inch long. Make a 
batter of eggs, flour, milk and salt, al¬ 
lowing a large tablespoonful of flour to 
each egg and milk enough to make a 
hatter thick as for fritter batter. Pour 
this over the rhubarb and bake until 
the pudding is light and nicely browned. 
Rhubarb Tapioca.—Prepare the rhu¬ 
barb as for stewing; place in a deep bak¬ 
ing dish and add sugar enough to sweet¬ 
en well, a little shredded orange peel, 
salt and dot with bits of butter. Add 
one quart of water to half a cupful of 
fine tapioca. Add a pinch of salt and 
cook in a double boiler for 15 minutes. 
Then pour over the rhubarb, cover the 
dish and bake half an hour. Serve witn 
sweetened whipped cream. 
The power which comes from trying is 
more than worth the effort.—Adelaide 
Keen. 
A THING is worth precisely what it can 
do for you, not what you choose to pay 
for it.—Ruskin. 
He who can be true to his best and 
secret nature, who can by faith and pa¬ 
tience conquer the struggling world 
within, is most likely to send forth a 
blessed power to vanquish the world 
without.—Martineau. 
You are never quite conscious of how 
many disagreeable lodgers there are in 
that many-chambered mansion you call 
your “self” until anger or envy or 1 ate 
knocks at the door—and presto! out 
come trooping such a lot of unhappy 
creatures—rancor and uncharitableness, 
and suspicion, and all unkindness, a per¬ 
fect army of enemies to peace and hap¬ 
piness.—Helen Watterson Moody. 
Afteu all we must come back to the 
old truism: that men and women are 
like water; they always find their true 
level. And where you live happiest, 
that is your level. There’s polluted 
v/ater, and there’s clear water. But one 
law is inexorable: the closer you get to 
Nature, the truest and simplest thing 
there is because it is closest to God, the 
clearer always will you find the water.— 
Ladies’ Home Journal. 
The circumstances that surround us 
at any given time are transitory, but 
they are the occasions of modes of life, 
thought and feeling, which are not per¬ 
ishing, the mortal mothers of immortal 
children. The immortality of a thought, 
a word, a deed! We can trace them back 
sometimes to the limits of memory. We 
are what they have made us. . . We 
forget the details, we feel the result. 
Suppose a plant endowed with con¬ 
sciousness, it is conscious of itself; it 
may not remember every ray that has 
warmed, every frost that has wounded 
it, yet each and all have contributed to 
make it just what it is, no more, no less, 
and of that whole it is conscious.—Eliza 
T. Clapp. 
When you write advertisers mention The 
R. N.-Y. and you will get a quick reply and 
“a square deal.’’ See our guarantee 8th page. 
Babbitt’s 
'rhe best of their class — always reliable, always 
the same — highest quality — sold on their intrin¬ 
sic merits — appreciated by folks who want their 
full money’s worth of purity and quality. 
Babbitt's Best Soap 
Babbitt's 
1776 Soap Powder 
Babbitt's Pure Potash or Lye 
Babbitt's Best Baking Powder 
Made by B. T. Babbitt, New York 
With the Procession. 
Know that strength is yours in pro¬ 
portion to your progress, enough for 
each day, be it mental, physical or 
spiritual. Realize that there is a reward 
for every labor, rest after every t sk, 
and rise for every faculty developed. 
Your reward may not be what you ex¬ 
pect; probably it will be much better. 
$10 Carriage for $5.48 
„ Send Us $S.48 Si *'-I 
^ ^ ^ where one of these Rattan Babjr Car- 
^ ria^es with full rattan roll, bicycle 
wlieels, Bessemer steel running^ gear, 
automatic brake, upiiolstered in tapestry 
with plush roll, and with ruthed parasol 
to match. These carriages 
retail everywhere for $10.00. 
For $0.48 we ship you the 
same carriage, upholstered in 
silk plush, damask or velour, 
as clesired. Send for Free 
Baby Carriage Supplement. 
Our Lithuirrnidied (’iitMlogiie 
shows carpets, wall paper, 
draperies, rugs, blankets, com¬ 
forts. framed nictures, sewing 
machines and specialties ia 
upholstered furniture In their real colors. He avw rurpets free, 
furiilnh waddetl lining without ehnrfre, und prepay freight on hII 
gnoilM in thU h<K>k. There Is nutlnng you buy that w’e do not 
sell at wholesale prices to consumer. Write us your wants. 
}Vrit< for free tvnll fafer samples. Address this way : 
JULIUS HINES & SON, Baltimore, Md., Dept. ; ‘.U 
vxm^^ittx/nA 
Cocoa 
Nutritive, Refreshing, Economical in use. A breakfast- 
cupful of this delicious Cocoa costs less than one cent. 
Sold at all grocery stores—order it next time. 
