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A CHAT WITH HOUSEKEEPERS. 
Lovely autumn days, why cannot they he with us 
longer? Already the wind whistles among the trees, 
flinging their bright leaves to the ground, and remind¬ 
ing us that winter will soon be here. Gather these 
treasures, and fashion them into wreath and garland 
gay. Take small branches, press between boards with 
heavy weights, then hang on the nail from which pic¬ 
tures are suspended. There are so many ways of 
arranging dried flowers, grasses and ferns, and they all 
brighten our homes during the winter. 
These housekeepers have many cares and troubles, 
too; and the more fresh air and sunshine they can get 
during the day the better they will feel, and I know of 
no better way to obtain these than by cultivating flow¬ 
ers. They will repay you a hundred fold with their 
beauty and fragrance. I always find a little time every 
day to work among my flowers, and never miss it. 
But I could hardly do without the dear flowers. 
Very often we hear housekeepers complain that they 
are so tired. There is much tiresome work in the 
kitchen, but in many cases might not the fatigue be 
made less by a suitable work-dress? Have the dress 
made short, so that it will clear the ground, and it wall 
be found to be much more comfortable than the long 
skirts which have to be held up with one hand every 
time one goes up stairs. What sport we would make 
of a man who, while at work, wore a coat that he was 
constantly obliged to raise with one hand to keep it 
out of the way. Let each housekeeper adopt a system 
at her work, and she will be surprised at the difference 
it will make in the course of a week. 
I saw something pretty at a fair a short time since; 
a wreath, picked with a needle on bristol-board. I 
cannot describe it, but the flowers, leaves and buds 
were all there—pure white — and when enclosed in a 
heavy, dark frame, the effect was beautiful. I saw 
also some specimens of spatter-work. It was pretty, 
and I want to tell how to make it, so that some of the 
housekeepers who read this can make some for them¬ 
selves. Bristol-board, India ink, a fine comb and 
some ferns are all that is needed. Arrange the ferns 
in any form on the board, fasten with needles stuck 
through each piece, take a little ink on an old tooth¬ 
brush, and draw the comb gently over it, letting the 
spatter fall on the work; after the board is blackened 
evenly, put away until perfectly dry; remove the ferns, 
and it is ready for a frame. Mottoes, crosses, anchors, 
etc., are a few of the many ways for arranging the 
ferns. 
Many cannot afford to buy frames for pictures. Take 
old wood frames, and fasten to them with putty, acorns, 
now and then a bright leaf, with whatever cones or 
other articles you may have, with a row of popped- 
corn on each edge — varnish, and it is pretty. 
To those who think soap-making a trial, I would 
tell my way. Take the soap grease, boil and cleanse 
with white lye, removing all the bones. Pour this 
grease in the barrel where you wish the soap; pour 
over it, a pailfull at a time, strong lye; stir often, and 
that is all there is of it. Any person can tell when it 
is thick enough. The lye will eat all the grease. 
Let me tell my sisters how to wash calico so that it 
will not fade. When the garment is soiled, dip in 
strong salt water, and dry; then wash after the usual 
way, putting salt in the rinsing water. This need be 
done but once, the first time the garment is washed. 
It is not known by every one that horse-radish root 
cut lengthwise and placed on the top of your pickles 
will give them a pleasant taste, and also preserve the 
vinegar from mold. 
It is rather late in the season to talk green corn, but 
this receipt will keep till next year, and none will be 
sorry who try it instead of drying their corn for winter. 
Cook the corn, cut from the cob, mix with as much salt 
as you can (there is no danger of too much), pack in 
a crock. It will keep a year, and I know not how 
much longer. When wanted for cooking, freshen a 
long time, changing the water often, then cook as 
usual, adding milk, butter and pepper when it is done. 
I often have compliments for my corn, and the ques- 
tion always follows: “How do you keep it?” 
Let us not forget in our housekeeping that we should 
be hornekeepers. Let us make our homes the dearest 
spot on earth, and the bright spot toward which the 
absent one will turn with longing. Let us make our 
homes cosy, and warm, and bright. There are so 
many little things that-contribute toward the beauty 
of a room which are not costly, more than that they 
take time for construction. Those who sigh for costly 
furniture, tapestry and carpets rare, with lace and jew¬ 
els, find too often that it is not in them that most com¬ 
fort may be found. Then lot us have flowers, vines 
and hanging-baskets; and, with snowy curtains at the 
windows, bright rugs on the much-used spots of the 
carpet, books on the table, a couch and rocking-chairs, 
with a bright fire, could we-not spend a pleasant even¬ 
ing? Of course we would have pictures. Costly oil 
paintings would be out of place in this sitting-room: 
but nice engravings, a chromo or two to brighten up 
the wall, and the sweetest picture will be contentment 
written on every face. Mrs. G. T. Clark. 
VARIOUS THINGS. 
Alas! for the vanity of earthly expectations! I 
spent a short Lime with a friend in the country last 
week. She said, one day: “Do tell me how you make 
a brown stew.” “ There is nothing easier to do,” I 
replied. We drove in town the next day, and while 
we ladies held the reins, the husband of my friend ran 
into a shop for a piece of beef. “What kind shall I 
get?” he asked. “0! anything will do; get it with 
some fat, and as little bone as possible,” I answered. 
But anything will not do, I found to my sorrow, par¬ 
ticularly the piece known as brisket, which the gentle¬ 
man bought. A thick piece, that will cut down nicely 
when cold, is best. To go on with my story. The 
brown stew was to be for dinner. At nine A. M. (mis¬ 
take No. 1), I washed the meat, put it in a pot with a 
loose lid (mistake No. 2), and covered it with boiling- 
water. 
It is needless to add that the brown stew was a fail¬ 
ure. I saw my friend mentally exclaim: “Humph! 
that is what she calls brown stew: city folks do not 
know how to cook as well as country folks, after all.” 
To make this dish a success, have a piece of beef such 
as before mentioned. It Seed apt be off the round. I 
have gotten nice pieces as low as fourteen cents per 
pound, which, for a place where sirloin steaks and rib 
roasts sell for thirty cents, is quite reasonable. Put 
your meat on four hours before needed. Be sure and 
pour boiling water on it. Understand me, I do not 
say put the meat on in boiling water — it makes all the 
difference in the world which you do. Have a lid that 
fits your pot perfectly. After the water boils away — 
you cover it with water at the first—only add enough 
from time to time to keep it from burning. Our object 
is to brown the meat; consequently, if all the water 
boils away after the meat has cooked tender, so much 
the better, for the fat will allow the meat to brown 
without burning; provided, of course, you have a slow 
fire. Add salt during the first half hour of cooking. 
For a dish of cold meat for supper there is nothing 
nicer than this same brown stew. Cut in thin slices—• 
not in wedges big enough to knock a body down—and 
garnished with parsley, its looks would tempt the most 
fastidious. It is far preferable to roast beef, in our 
estimation; for roast beef is often beyond one’s con¬ 
trol. “ It mought be tender, and then again it 
moughtn’t.” Cooked in the way I have described, 
you have it under your thumb and finger. If needed 
for tea, put it on soon after breakfast; set it aside to 
cool in the pot in which it was boiled, with the lid on 
as nearly tight as can be without having it entirely so. 
Do not laugh at the minuteness of detail. Should 
this article find its way into print, and be carried into 
execution by some good housewife, all excepting the 
boiling water, for instance, what a host of denuncia¬ 
tions would fall on my devoted head; for, instead of 
something eatable, you would simply have a tasteless 
lump of fibrous matter. 
There is nothing nicer in the bread line than Gra¬ 
ham biscuits. I fancy they are not as indigestible as 
hot white biscuit; still they may be. I never found 
out till last summer, and then only after a series-of 
experiments, that it was as easy to have Graham bis¬ 
cuit as white for breakfast. I take one quart of water, 
or milk if you have it, butter the size of an egg, three 
tablespoonfuls of sugar,- two of baker’s yeast, and a 
pinch of salt. I take enough white flour to use up the 
water, making it of the consistency of batter-cakes. 
Add the rest of the ingredients, and as much Graham 
flour as you can stir in with a spoon. Set it away 
with your bread sponge till morning. In the morning, 
grease your tin well, flour your hands ditto. Take a 
lump of dough the size of a large egg; roll lightly 
between the palms of your hands. Let them raise 
twenty minutes, and bake in a tolerably hot oven. 
Grape jelly. I know of no nicer way for making- 
jelly than that given by Marion Harland, in her “ Com¬ 
mon Sense in the Household.” I do not follow her 
directions verbatim, for I find it will do just as well 
without heating the sugar as she directs. For my 
table jellies — those I want to be extra—for example, 
take grape jelly, green or ripe, and either is delicious. 
I cover the fruit with water; let it boil slowly till thor¬ 
oughly soft; then turn into a heavy muslin bag, and 
hang in the cellar over night. My husband — Mouse, 
I call him—fully appreciates that part. Many a night 
he has suspended for me a bag of “ to be jelly,” while 
I held the candle. In the morning, take the juice that 
has dripped into the bowl, which we suppose to have 
been placed under the bag on the preceding night, and 
proceed as usual. The juice still left in the bag can 
be squeezed out; though not so clear as the drippings, 
it is still most excellent for cake. I used last summer 
five pounds of sugar to seven pints of juice—not pound 
to pint as receipt-books say:—boiled the juice twenty 
minutes, added the sugar and boiled five minutes 
longer. 
Ellie Morgan. 
It is said that lining the walls, ceiling and win¬ 
dows of a cellar with four or five thicknesses of old 
newspapers, pasted on with strong size, will prevent 
roots and other articles stored therein from freez¬ 
ing. 
To Remove Old Paint, cover with a wash of 
three parts quick stone lime, slaked in water, to which 
one part pearlash is added. Allow the coating to 
remain sixteen hours, when the paint may be easily 
scraped off. 
