558 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
July 14, 
[ Woman and Home \ 
From Day to Day. 
THE IRISH PIPES. 
I heard the piper playing:. 
The piper old and blind. 
And knew its secret saying— 
The voice of tlie Summer wind. 
I heard clear waters falling. 
Lapping from stone to stone, 
The wood dove crying and calling, 
Ever alone, alone. 
I heard the bells of the heather 
Ring In the Summer breeze. 
Soft stir of fur and feather 
And quiet hum of bees. 
The piper drew me yearning 
Into the dim gray lands 
Where there is no returning, 
Although I wring my hands. 
There to the piper’s crooning 
I saw my dead again. 
All in a happy nooning 
Of golden sun and rain. 
You piper, kind and hoary, 
Your pipes upon your knee. 
If I should tell my story. 
The things you piped for me. 
The folk would leave their selling, 
And bid their buying go, 
If I could but be telling 
The things you let me know. 
— Katharine Tynan, in London Spectator. 
• 
One of the novelties in washing belts 
noted this Summer is stout white linen 
embroidered with college pennants in the 
colors of the respective flags. The em¬ 
blems are worked in the middle of the 
belt in washing silk or mercerized cotton, 
and the belt is finished with a pearl 
buckle. 
* 
Who can tell us something about pic¬ 
kled Jerusalem artichokes? We are told 
that these roots are made into a very 
crisp and delicious sweet pickle in the 
South. As the waste corners of our 
garden have been overrun with these sun¬ 
flowers for many years, we have a never- 
failing crop, and should like to utilize 
them. We hope some of our readers can 
supply this recipe. 
* 
The following is offered by the Atchi¬ 
son Globe as an old-fashioned item—a 
cure for gossip: Take one pound of 
gum still tongue, one pound of root called 
think twice, one pound of speak once 
weed, and sprig of let alone other peo¬ 
ple’s business. Add sufficiently of fluid 
extract of discretion, steep the whole in 
a pot of modesty, and it is ready for use. 
Dose: One teaspoonful before visiting 
your neighbor. It works like a charm, 
and can be had at old Peacemaker’s, or 
at Madam Soft Speeches. 
* 
One of our friends makes rose pil¬ 
lows for bureau drawers every Summer 
as follows: Dry rose petals in the sun; 
sprinkle them with salt, a tiny dash of 
pepper (this keeps away insects), ground 
cloves, cinnamon and allspice. Make nar¬ 
row bags, just the length of a bureau 
drawer, of pink or blue lawn, fill with the 
spiced petals, and then put on a fancy 
cover of flowered organdy, dimity or Swiss 
frilled or trimmed in any way desired. 
Our friend slips the petals into the lawn 
bag, and then packs them away care¬ 
fully wrapped, until she has leisure to 
trim the sachets. Rose pillows are made 
in the same way. 
* 
A recent popular novel makes Lady 
Baltimore its heroine, and we learn that 
the title does not designate a lady, but a 
toothsome southern cake. Here is a re¬ 
cipe for it, given by the Chicago Record- 
Herald : One cupful of butter, two cup¬ 
fuls of sugar, three and one-half cupfuls 
of flour, one cupful sweet milk, the whites 
of six eggs two level teaspoonfuls of 
baking powder and a teaspoonful of rose 
water. Mix as directed for white cakes 
and bake in three layers, with this fill¬ 
ing: Dissolve three cupfuls of granu¬ 
lated sugar in one cupful of boiling water, 
cook until it threads, then pour gradu¬ 
ally over the stiffly-beaten whites of three 
eggs, stirring constantly. Add to this 
icing one cupful of chopped raisins, one 
cupful of chopped nut meats (pecans pre¬ 
ferred), and five figs cut in very thin 
strips. Ice and emboss top and sides of 
cake. 
* 
These are the days when many a wom¬ 
an, condemned to solitary confinement 
with the kitchen stove, thinks enviously 
of the men at work in, the fields. Can¬ 
ning, preserving, cooking and ironing are 
all heaviest in the Summer, when even 
the airiest kitchen becomes superheated. 
But as the country housewife straightens 
up her tired back for a moment she can 
look out into fields or garden and contrast 
her workroom with the following res¬ 
taurant kitchen in New York’s East Side, 
described by a writer in the Evening 
Post: 
Picture to yourself an underground hole 
not quite as large as the poorest hall bed¬ 
room of a very poor boarding house. Im¬ 
agine a stove in one corner of that hole, 
and then let your fancy fill it up with 
shelves and boxes until there is an unoc¬ 
cupied space of about two feet by three 
left in front of the stove. Remember that 
there is no ventilation of any kind, and 
that cooking goes on from dawn to long 
after nightfall—hours of the revolving day 
that are known to the two workers im¬ 
mured in that hole only by the nature of 
the orders shouted down to them, or. per¬ 
haps. by the slow turning of the hands on 
an old alarm clock. At the first meeting 
held by those who started an organization 
to better conditions, one of the workers re¬ 
marked in that tone of mixed resentment and 
jest that so often characterizes the utter¬ 
ances of men and women doomed to all but 
unendurable conditions: 
“Well, we don't exactly sit on the stove, 
but if we should stumble and fall, there is 
no other place to drop on.” 
In those holes, located as a rule In the 
cellar under the restaurant and accessible 
only by means of a narrow, ladder-like stair, 
the women worked all the way from 12 to 
18 hours, sometimes with a couple of hours 
off in i he middle of the day, and sometimes 
without any pause at all. They had to be 
on their feet, almost uninterruptedly from 
morning till night, even if there was a place 
to sit down, and much of the time they were 
working as hard as any human being could 
be made to work. in. the midst of a suffo¬ 
cating fog of steam and smoke and heat. 
These cooks are employed in Jewish 
restaurants and under these wretched 
conditions they get from $8 to $12 a 
week; their helpers $6 to $ 8 . Let us hope 
that the organization formed to better 
their condition will succeed. 
Charity Sweetheart’s Letters. 
It does one good to go away from home 
sometimes, and find out how other peo¬ 
ple liye. I have been spending a week in 
a distant city, though loath to start, for 
I didn’t see how the garden could get 
along without me, or how Minty would 
manage with the housework and canning 
the strawberries. But she looked very 
happy and well when I got back and had 
managed to keep house famously, though 
telling me she was glad I was there to 
can the raspberries. In some way the dis¬ 
tant view gave me new ideas, and I won¬ 
dered if I had not underestimated my sis¬ 
ter-in-law. I have so often felt and com¬ 
plained that she was an interloper into 
our family, while she must have under¬ 
stood that she never had any of the pri¬ 
vacy of early married life. Useful as I 
have been no doubt, I was always in evi¬ 
dence from the first home-coming, taken 
up with my own trials, and feeling her a 
usurper. I did not realize all along that 
Minty was missing the experience of 
standing by her husband’s side and feel¬ 
ing that she was everything to him, for 
he had always depended upon me, and 
I looked upon it as a right. I fancy I 
hear some reader saying: “What has 
opened Charity’s eyes? Is she in love?” 
Nothing of the sort; she is yet “in maiden 
meditation, fancy free,” but with a flash¬ 
light of experience seeing life from an¬ 
other standpoint. 
When in the city I was invited to see 
a beautiful garden that impressed me with 
its individuality, but ranked among the 
impossible things to imitate. The house 
was built on the side of a foothill, and 
the garden was protected from the bitter 
Winter blasts, and had in it many plants 
that are considered too tender for north¬ 
ern localities. There were shrubs and 
trees from many lands, and great brilliant 
pasonies marvelous in texture and variety. 
How beautiful larkspurs are when the 
perennial varieties are grown in clumps 
and have shades of tender and of intense 
blue. The garden was divided into ter¬ 
races, first the shrubs and perennials, then 
the annuals and below that the vegetable 
garden. Along the roadway a thicket of 
shrubs and small trees protected the in¬ 
mates from the street, and made the gar¬ 
den as secluded as a country house. There 
was luxurious comfort everywhere, ideal 
in being the happy medium of what wealth 
and Nature judiciously combined can give 
to those who seek, if only they seek right. 
But T came back to the little home con¬ 
tented, for the noise and tall buildings, 
with elevators and automobiles at every 
step, soon tired me, and I was glad I did 
not have to live in such a whirl all the 
time, though a little of it may be good for 
us slow-going plodders. So I came home 
satisfied with the country and the weeds, 
the daily round of duties and the com¬ 
pany of friends and books. 
How the weeds had grown in that 
week, though the boys fought valiantly 
for the right of way in the garden, and 
attempted a grand clearing up the day be¬ 
fore my return! “Isn’t it fine?” asked 
Grant, looking at a patch of celery he 
had transplanted during my absence, and 
Sherman added: “You’d think the weeds 
grewed on purpose because you was away. 
Aunt Charity”—not giving credit to the 
showers to help, or to my sharp hoe. It 
was lovely to go out in the early morn¬ 
ing and enjoy the birds and flowers in 
quiet content. They, too had “grewed,” 
and the waft of an old-time, fragrance 
took me to the mignonette border. O 
the witchery of this little simple flower! 
Tts intangible perfume always reminds 
me of Mother, for she gathered a bunch 
of it fresh every morning during its sea¬ 
son, and brought it in to her sewing table 
when she came in from looking after the 
chickens. How these little things form a 
part of life for us. and sometimes the 
memory of past jovs that never can re¬ 
turn are harder to bear than its sor¬ 
rows. But the duties of a workaday 
world will keep me busy for a while, 
leaving no time for idle thoughts, or vain 
regrets. charity sweetheart. 
Novelties in the Garden. 
It is interesting to note the novelties 
in fruits and flowers pictured in the year¬ 
ly garden catalogues, and it breaks the 
monotony of farm work now and then to 
try something new in bulb or seed. We 
have grown sweet potatoes, peanuts, husk 
strawberries, Italian peas, and marrows, 
various herbs and this season our inter¬ 
est centers on Italian sweet peppers and 
Florence fennel. Working for a number 
of years in the Italian mission for men in 
our city, at Christmas time we were often 
given baskets of fruits and nuts, figs 
(strung on strings as our grandmothers 
dried apples), and various preserved 
foreign fruits, so that we became ambi¬ 
tious to try some of the seeds furnished 
with our gifts for ourselves. We failed 
in many trials, owing to our short sea¬ 
sons, but the sweet peppers and fennel 
and some of the herbs have become really 
necessary to achieve success in culinary 
matters. The fennel we use uncooked, 
eaten with salt as we do celery. Tn time 
we may learn to enjoy its use as flavoring 
for fish dishes or in soup. The peppers 
are delicious stuffed and baked, fried with 
tomatoes, shredded for salad; indeed, 
their use is as varied as the wholesome, 
odorous onion. s. b. bowerman. 
A Money 
Making Business 
for Women 
Young women should 
be independent. They 
should neither be tied to 
the hard work and long 
hours of office, store or 
factory. Neither should 
they be compelled to 
marry for a home and 
support. 
Hundreds of free, in¬ 
telligent, self-respecting 
women, young and of 
middle age, are to-day 
all over this country, 
making independent and 
well-paid livelihoods 
selling yearly subscrip¬ 
tions for The Ladies* 
Home Journal and The 
Saturday Evening Post. 
These women work 
for themselves. They 
make their own hours. 
They direct their own 
movements. They rest 
when they need it. They 
work when fitted for it. 
No one says “come” or 
“go” to them. 
Their earnings in 
commissions, rebates and 
prizes commonly run up 
to $1200 a year. 
Write if you want in¬ 
dependence. 
The Curtis Publishing Company 
3986 -E Cherry St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
THE THOUSAND 
ISLANDS 
are more attractive than ever this 
season. The New York Central Lines 
Four-Track Series No. 10, “The St. 
Lawrence River from the Thousand 
Islands to the Saguenay” contains the 
finest map ever made of this region. 
Copy will be sent free, postpaid, on 
receipt of a two-cent stamp by George 
H. Daniels, Manager, General Adver¬ 
tising Department, Room 21G, Grand 
Central Station, New York. The 
“AMERICA’S GREATEST RAILROAD” 
REACH THE THOUSAND 
ISLANDS FROM EVERY 
DIRECTION 
C. F. DALY, Passenger Traffic Mgr., New York. 
Monarch 
Hydraulic 
Cider Press 
Great strength and ca¬ 
pacity; all sizes; also 
gasoline engines, 
8 tea in engines, 
saw mills, tbresh- 
w ers. Catalog free. 
Monarch ■achlniry Co., Room 1 61,39 Cortland! St„ Nib York. 
