WHEN IS A WOMAN OLD ? 
This query on my mirror hung: 
“ When is a woman old 1 ” 
It clings to me, and long has clung— 
The answer must be told ! 
Ah, some are old before half way, 
And some are never old; 
For these but laugh life’s cares away, 
While those both fret and scold ! 
And yet it is no easy task. 
However well controlled. 
To answer one, if she should ask— 
“ When is a woman old ? ” 
The young ones never ask you, sir, 
The answer to unfold— 
The old ones only ask you, sir, 
“ When is a woman old ? ” 
Conceited ones are never so— 
Unhappy ones too soon; 
But wise ones love life’s morning glow, 
And prize its afternoon. 
The graceful old ones are still young, 
And those alone are old 
Who try to make themselves look young 
When age has taken hold. 
The old in years who live among 
Those younger in their hearts, 
Will find themselves remaining young 
Long after youth departs— 
As long as women cling to youth, 
And disregard their age, 
Thev never can be old, forsooth— 
Their youth fills up the page. 
Yes, some are old before their time— 
Old age usurps their youth; 
And some are young beyond their prime— 
Unless they hide the truth. 
— Washington Post. 
We have received no answer, as yet, 
to our question regarding the prepara¬ 
tion of cardoon for the table, and in 
place of something more definite, we 
give this bit of information gleaned from 
a catalogue : “ Treat in the same man¬ 
ner as celery. Grown for the midrib of 
the leaf, which is blanched like celery.” 
That would seem to indicate that it is 
served as a salad. 
* 
An absent-minded or preoccupied per¬ 
son cannot be as courteous and polite as 
he should be, no matter how good his 
intentions maybe ; for real and effective 
politeness is the outcome and expression 
of our thoughtfulness for others, and 
with the mind already absorbed in some 
foreign subject, one cannot be mindful 
of his surroundings, and think of the 
right thing just at the right time. Let 
us avoid absent-mindedness, and over¬ 
look the shortcomings of others when 
they arise from a habit which so often 
completely overshadows a charming per¬ 
sonality. _ 
BEING NEIGHBORLY. 
OE came in the other day, and said, 
“John’s sick, Maria ; he’s threatened 
with a fever. Don’t you think that we 
would better go over and offer our ser¬ 
vices ? ” 
“No,” I answered calmly, “I don’t 
think we would;” for I remembered 
John’s and Sarah’s experience of two 
years ago when he was threatened with 
typhoid. Joe came in as to-day, and pro¬ 
posed our going over. I was a little 
doubtful whether we could do any good, 
but as Joe said that it seemed more 
neighborly to go, we went. But I de¬ 
cided then that neighborliness was not 
always the best thing for a person 
threatened with a fever. We found 
Sarah’s brother, Simon, and his wife 
there, and John’s father and mother, 
and Mrs. Doolittle, their next-door neigh¬ 
bor, and, of course, they all had to go 
in to see him for a few minutes (they 
would never have got over it if they had 
been refused, and he was not danger¬ 
ously ill then). With so many going 
and coming and sympathizing, Sarah 
could stay with him hardly long enough 
to give him the medicine which the doc¬ 
tor had ordered. 
It is needless to say that John’s threat¬ 
ened fever rapidly developed into a real 
one ; and when the doctor came, about 
dark, he found him in a raging fever of 
the worst kind. And you ought to have 
seen the look he gave us (for we all 
waited to hear what he thought of John, 
and Sarah would go and get supper for 
us all, although she was clear tired out.) 
when he said, “ No one must go into 
John’s room at present, but his wife ; 
that is her place now, and no one must 
keep her from it. And he must have 
rest and be kept absolutely quiet.” 
You could have knocked me down 
with a feather ; but Joe spoke up and 
said, “ But wouldn’t some of us better 
stay to-night ? It doesn’t seem hardly 
safe or neighborly to leave Sarah alone 
with John sick in the house.” 
“ I will stay awhile until he gets 
quiet,” the doctor replied, “and Jimmy 
here can run over after one of the neigh¬ 
bors if any one is needed, which I don’t 
think they will be,” he added sarcastic¬ 
ally. 
We accepted our dismissal, and got off 
as quickly and quietly as possible ; but 
I decided then that personal neighborli¬ 
ness in times of sickness, was not always 
desirable. I knew that, if Joe got over 
there, they would talk cattle, and horse, 
and crops, lawsuits, and religion, until 
John would be all tired out. Then I put 
myself in Sarah’s place (figuratively 
speaking) and thought how, if Joe were 
sick, I would want to be with him every 
minute I could spare, instead of enter¬ 
taining the neighbors. So 1 told Joe 
that I would pack up a basket, as 1 was 
baking that day; perhaps it would save 
Sarah’s baking ; and I put in some of 
my prettiest flowers and a bottle of my 
dandelion wine for John, and wrote a 
note to Sarah offering to come over if 
she needed us. We sent it along by the 
boy when he went to mill that afternoon. 
Joe rather wanted to carry it over him¬ 
self, but I knew that, if he went over, 
he would go in and visit. 
A few days later, Sarah drove over to 
bring back the basket, and said that it 
was a great help and comfort to them. 
It gave her so much more time to take 
care of John, that he had got along finely, 
and escaped the fever after all, and 
would be as well as ever in a few days. 
She and John agreed that the basket 
was the best neighbor they ever had. 
ALICE E. PINNEY. 
THE LATEST IN PINCUSHIONS . 
HE Narcissus pincushion is a novelty 
both useful and ornamental, and 
a charming adjunct to the toilet table. 
Suspended beside the mirror, it is a 
friend in need, and a thing of delight. 
The calyx of the flower is formed from 
a round piece of orange-colored velvet, 
four inches in diameter. Gather the 
edge of this circular piece and draw it 
in, not entirely to the middle, thus form¬ 
ing the cup-like center. To be true to 
the original, the rim of this cup is painted 
red, or chain-stitched in scarlet silk. 
Each of the five petals is cut of white 
velvet, after the pattern indicated at a 
(Fig. 188.) The velvet is folded along 
the dotted lines, the two edges, x and y 
are sewed together, and the edge, z, is 
gathered and sewed to the orange center. 
Three leaves are cut of green velvet, 
as shown at b. A lining of crinoline 
allows the leaf to be naturally bent. A 
12-inch reed or round stick, wound with 
green and orange ribbons, forms the 
support for this dainty affair. To the 
upper end, securely sew the flower. At 
the proper distance below, tie the three 
leaves, with a full bow of green, orange 
and white ribbons. To the lower end of 
the stick, with a similar tri-colored bow, 
tie a cushion six inches square. This 
cushion is of green and orange velvet, 
with green, white and orange silk 
pompons at each of the three free corners. 
The large cushion is used for stick and 
fancy pins, the center of the flower, for 
ordinary pins. Fashioned of velvet, this 
cushion is extremely rich. It is quite as 
pretty and less expensive, made of shim¬ 
mering satin. Often a pin is wanted in 
the parlor ; it is not convenient to trip 
to the sewing basket, neither is it ap¬ 
propriate to have a pincushion in the 
parlor. The want is charmingly sup¬ 
plied by an English fad- floral pin¬ 
cushions nestling within the folds of 
draperies, or peeping forth from behind 
a picture or bric-a-brac. 
These floral cushions are true to nature 
in size, form and color. They are made 
of velvet and satin ; the center, which 
serves as the cushion proper, is filled 
with cotton. anna hinkichs 
THE ELDEST DAUGHTER. 
FTER the approaching wedding of 
my older sister, I shall be “the 
eldest daughter ; ” so I put my elbows 
on the table and my head in my hands, 
to think about this matter : 
Her Relation to the Home. —Why, 
home wouldn’t be home without me ! 
Who would run to get papa’s slippers 
when he comes in tired ; who’d smooth 
mamma’s headache away ; who’d see that 
Tom’s necktie is straight; who’d always 
see that there were pretty flowers upon 
the tables, or who’d be sunshiny when 
every one else feels “blue,” if it were 
not for me ? 
Her Influence. —That depends, as 
does everything else, upon herself. It 
should be felt in, at least, one way—in 
keeping the boys at home. She must 
make the home so thoroughly pleasant 
and “ homey ” that the boys would 
rather be there than anywhere else. 
Her Authority. —Ah ! That’s the best 
part of it all ! No important decision 
will be made without first finding out 
what “sister” thinks about it. If Tom 
comes into the kitchen with his boots 
all covered with mud, some one is sure 
to say, “Oh, Tom! Do brush off your 
boots before you come into the kitchen 
that Mary has just swept so nicely.” 
Then, too, it needs an eldest daughter 
to see that mother does not work too 
hard, and get all tired out; and that 
servants do not impose upon her. 
Her Duties. —She must take all the 
responsibility that she can. She must 
have regular duties which must be per¬ 
formed every day. To brush up and dust 
the rooms ; to set the table ; to make the 
beds, and to do all the little things that 
come up every day, such as threading 
needles for grandma, and running up 
and down stairs for mother, are some of 
these duties. 
Her Privileges. —She knows that Tom 
would be delighted to take her to con¬ 
certs and sociables. He knows where 
there is the best skating, and he would 
enjoy taking her there. If he is going 
to the lake on business, he is sure to call, 
“ Say, Mary ! Put on your hat and come 
with me!” If there has been a heavy 
snowfall, the call would be “Polly! 
Want a sleigh ride?” Ah, yes, I will 
cheerfully take the duties with the 
privileges. filiola. 
BED-MAKING. 
HERE is a popular notion to the 
effect that anybody can make a 
bed, says Harper’s Bazar. To the fallacy 
of this belief, let those who have tossed 
through the long hours of the night upon 
wrinkled sheets and under uneven blan¬ 
kets testify. While good springs and a 
firm hair mattress are the starting points 
of a comfortable bed, even they are of 
no avail unless properly dressed by mis¬ 
tress or maid. 
Over the mattress is smoothly laid a 
pad made of heavy muslin with an inter¬ 
lining of cotton batting. Then comes the 
sheet. This should always be drawn as 
tight as strong hands can pull it, and 
tucked in firmly at top, bottom, and 
sides. This is a sine qua non of a good 
bed. Then the upper sheet is laid over 
this, and it, with the blankets, must be 
turned under the foot of the mattress to 
prevent all danger of the covers slipping 
up at night and leaving the feet uncov¬ 
ered. The average servant will never, 
of her own will, fasten the clothes down 
firmly at the foot of the bed, and it takes 
a saint to bear patiently the feeling of 
general coolness and discomfort caused 
by the coverings creeping up from the 
feet. Neither does a domestic compre¬ 
hend that double blankets should be put 
on with the open end at the top, so that 
one thickness may be thrown back if 
necessary. Next the blanket comes, of 
course, the counterpane, over the hem 
of which the upper hem of the sheet is 
neatly folded. Then the plump bolster 
and pillows are put in place. A light 
but warm duvet is laid across the foot of 
the bed, and behold a couch towards 
which the weary man or woman looks 
with a sigh of longing, and in which he 
or she finds complete rest in deep sleep ! 
The bed-furnishings may be elaborate 
or simple, as the housewife’s means and 
taste dictate, but hem-stitching, em¬ 
broidery, antique lace and satin count 
as hollow shams if the bed they adorn is 
not properly, and, therefore, comfort¬ 
ably, made up, from the mattress out. 
AN ACCOMPLISHED CHIMPANZEE. 
R. R. L. GARNER, the man who 
went to Africa to study the mon¬ 
key language, tells, in Harper’s Round 
Table, of the cleverness of some of his 
monkey acquaintances. We select the 
following: 
One of the most intelligent and quite 
the best educated chimpanzee that 1 
have ever seen, is Consul II. He is an 
inmate of the Bellevue Gardens at Man¬ 
chester, England. He is the most hu¬ 
manlike in his manners of any of his 
kind that have ever been known in cap¬ 
tivity. The many clever feats done by 
this ape would fill a small volume ; he 
has not been trained to perform them 
as tricks, simply to amuse or entertain 
visitors, but many of them he has taken 
up of his own accord, having seen others 
do so. 
The feat that impressed me most was 
his skill in riding a tricycle, and his 
taste for that sport. He often takes his 
machine without being told, and rides 
all about the place ; if he finds it lying 
on its side, he sets it upright, adjusts 
the handle-bar, mounts it, and takes a 
ride. He propels it with ease and guides 
it with dexterity. No boy of his own 
age can handle it with more skill. He 
rides all about the place, around the 
