I

DETROIT, NOVEMBER 142:, 1887. ,

THE HoUsEHOLD-F-Suppremem.

 

 

WHY IS ['1' S0.”

 

Some find work where some find rest,
And so the weary world goes on;
I sometimes wonder what is best ‘.
The answer comes when life is gone.
Some eyes sleep when some eyes wake.
And so the dreary hours go:
Some hearts beat where some hearts break.
I often wonder why 'tis so.

Some hands fold where other hands
Are lifted bravely in the strife:

And so through ages and through lands
Move on the two extremes of life.

Some feet halt while some feet tread
In tireless march. 91 thorny way;

Some struggle on where some have fled,
Some seek where others shun the fray.

Some sleep on while others keep
The vigils of the true and brave:
They will not rest till roses creep
Around their names above the grave.
——F'allmr Ryan.

._.___”—————
A VALUABLE SCRAP-BOOK.

1 had the pleasure recently of inSpecting
some work done by a young lady of this
city, pupil in the High School, in connec-
tion with her study of English literature,
and was so well pleased with it that I wish
todescribe her methods for the pleasure
and profit of our Horst-21101.1» readers.

The readings of the class had. as is cus-
tomary. included selections from the writ-
ingsof standard English authors of both
prose and poetry. What additional infor-
mation had been furnished in class of
course I am not able to say. But in a
series of blank books this young student
had collected and arranged all the particu-
lars which had come in her way, respecting
these. writers. I admired particularly the
precision of arrangement, and also the ex-
quisite neatness of the books, with not a
blot, nor an erasure. At the top of a page
was written, in red ink, the author’s name.
'1 hen followed, in clear, easily read penman-
ship, and black ink, a sketch of his life,
more or less complete according to matere
ials at hand. A list of his works followed,
those for which he was most famous being
underlined with red. Then comments or
criticisms on these followed. sometime orig-
inal, sometimes newspaper clippings neat—
ly arranged. The names of contemporary
authors were given; and in many instances,
engravings or wood cuts of the author, his
home, or scenes he had made famous, were
added. Selections or choice bits from his
works came next, with usually a. blank
page for results of later study or research.

These blank books, which no doubt cost

thought. are yet worth all they cost. Not
alone in the discipline of mind and study
which went into their compilation, but also
in their value as books of reference, to
refresh memory or prove a fact. The mak-
ing of such books for future use would add
pleasant rest to many “reading clubs” or
one alone, without the stimulus of com-
panionship, might take a great deal of pride
and find profitable employment for idle

hours, in such work. Brtarmx.
————-——¢w—-—-—-
SMALL BOYS’ CLOTHES.

Harper’s Bazaar is standard authority on
the subject of fashions. From a late issue
we take the following instructions in re-
ference to dressing the irrepressible small
boy, which we are sure will be of service to
mothers:

“The first short dresses put on baby boys
are nainsook yoke slips precisely like those
made for girls, and these are worn until the
child is two years old, when he is put in
more boyish—looking dresses of white pique
cut all in one piece, yet simulating a jacket
with pleated vest and pleated skirt. These
pique one-piece dresses may be worn until
he is five years old, if the mother chooses,
but many mothers prefer to put colored
dresses on their boys when three years old,
especially in the autumn, when warm
woolens are to be used. Cashmere and
camel‘s-hair in Gobelin blue, terra cotta,
and golden brown shades are then made up
in one-piece frocks (lined only as far as the
hips), with the vest of three box pleats
fastening under a revers on the left side,
the back either plain or pleated, and the
skirt sewed on in box pleats. Rows of
black braid are the trimming. Asquare
sailor collar of the material may be. added,
or else the child wears a wide round linen
collar, or one of embroidery in open designs
finished with a scalloped frill, scantily
gathered. At three years of age well-grown
boys also wear a gathered or pleated skirt of
cashmere attached to a Silesia waist, and
above this a short square~cornered jacket
matching the skirt, with a wide vest of a
contrasting color. This is pretty in blue
cashmere with a Suede-colored vest, and
either brown or black braid in curled or

straight rows around the jacket. It is also
liked in red cashmere with a black vest of
pleated cashmere, and with black soutache
braiding. Black or brown buttoned shoes
without heels, and stockings of the color
of the shoes, are worn by these Small boys.

At four years of age the kilt suit is donned
in all its varieties of materials—cashmere,

colors, checks, stripes, or plaids. For gen—
eral wear dark blue serges or the new striped
twills are made with wide kilt pleats and
the broad flat front, on which braiding may
be set down the sides and at the foot in
curled design or in fence rows. The short
jacket slopes open ’ from the throat to show
avest cut in one or two points, and has a.
narrow braiding border. The Louis Quinze
blouses of white muslin are also worn with
a similar jacket and the kilt skirt (instead
of a vest). The Rob Roy plaids in small-
blocks of black with red nuke pretty kilt
suits for boys of five or six years, while
more quiet colors are given in the striped
twills and fancy plaids where brown pre-
vaile, with some threads of blue and crim-
son. For dress are black velvet or velve—
teen kilt suits. and the English fancy is to
add a spotted vest of bright scarlet- or blue
velvet with white or black dots wrought in
silk. Caps and overcoats are chosen. to
match in color.

“ The baby boys wear white outside gar—
ments. the cap of cloth or silk in close bon—
net shape like a girl's cap. or else a turban
of the soft embroidered felt forming a
Scotch crown pointed highest on the left
side, with a brim of velvet and perhaps a
ruche of lace next the face. The walking
coat is of white cloth. pleated down the
middle of the front and back. with a deep
collar and belt of plush or fur. which may
be either white ' r brown. Boys two and a
half or three years old wear Turkish caps
or turbans of dark cloth or velvet, with the
crown dropping over on one side, to be
finished there with a tassel. To wear with
these are great~coats of cloth, red, blue, or
brown, edged with Astrakhan or beaver,
and with brandebourgs across the front,
also long brown ulsters of plaid rough cloth,
with wide collar, capes, or a hood.”

—————-—...———-——

HOW TO MAKE A SPECTACLE CASE.

 

Cut an oval piece of cardboard a little
longer than the glasses when shut: then an—
other piece an inch narrower and one-third
longer; at the lower edge of this piece cut
three slits one and a halt inches long,
and trim to fit the bottom of the other
piece, which forms the back of the case. If
perforated paper is used, a pair of glasses
can be embroidered in outline. or “For
Grandpa” lettered on; but if pasteboard is
used, cover the pieces with silk, velvet.
Chamois skin or java canvas. ornamented
with floss silk, beads or embroid. ry. Sew
the two pieces together, and sew a line silk
cord over the seams and round the edges.

 

 

their owner a good deal of labor and

serge, cloth, velveteen, or velvet, in plain

The front piece being curving will stand

  


 

THE HOUSEHOLD.

 

out just enough to allow the glasses to slide
in and out easily. The case can be hung
bya cord near grmdfather’s chair, or sus-
pended by a ribbon loop from the belt if
grandmother wishes to have her spectacles
always convenient. PUELLA.

Rocxwoon.
———-¢oo————-

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGI~
MENT."

I have never yet been quite able to make
up my mind which i really prefer, opera or
the drama. When I see a fine presentation
of a grand play. like Julius Omar with
Booth as Brutus and Barrett as the lean
and hungry Cassius, I quite make up my
mind there is nothing so much to my taste
as the drama, with its spirited dialogue and
rapid action. But then when the ears are
pierced by the accord of sweet sounds,
and eyes observant of the action and by-
play which accompanies the presentation of
a play set to music, I rather waver in my
allegiance. Either is a great temptation;
both are delightful.

The first week of the month was one of
light opera at the Detroit Opera House, by
the famous Boston Ideal company, reorgan—
ized for the season.

“ La Fille du Regiment” was given four
of the six evenings, each time to a crowded
house, with Mademoiselle Zelie de Lussan in

the title role; and as the opera is a very pretty-

one, and Mademoiselle has the reputation
of being not only an accomplished soprano
but also a bewitching actress, I thought it
was an opportunity not to be neglected.
The curtain rises upon a group of
Tyrolean peasants, who are beseeching de-
liverance from a threatened invasion of the
French army. The music is soft and
solemn, and the quaint costumes and
artistic groupings make a pretty picture as
the frightened villagers chant their invoca-
tion. News comes that the French have
passed another .way, and the Countess of
Berkenfeldt and her servant Bruno enter
and discuss the propriety of proceeding
upon their journey to the chateau of the
Countess, not far distant, to which her
ladyship is returning. They decide it will
be best to remain over night at the little inn
in the town; and the Countess, who is “a
symphony in grey,’ ’ being dressed in a long
grey travelling dress, a gray poke bonnet of
such lordly proportions that it would seem
she could not travel far in the small cantons
without getting beyond the bounds of her
native country, and a grey wig, decides to
remain and enters the inn. Then Bruno,
who like many another warrior, is bravest
when the battle is farthest away, struts
about the stage, telling how gallantly he
would defend his mistress if danger threat-
ened, and how he has no fear of the “ rascal
Frenchmen.” While he thus sings and
struts a French soldier enters unobserved,
and watches Bruno's antics with amused
disdain till the latter comes within reach,
when he claps his hand on his shoulder. in
a rather ungentle fashion. Bruno, for allhis
boasted bravery, is paralyzed by fear, and
is sent about his business by the peremptory
“frog-eater” so snnmarily that he quite
forgets about his mistress and her possible
danger. Sergeant Sulpice is thus left
monarch of the stage and to him enters

Marie, the de Lussah of the playbill, the
“ Daughter of the Regiment,” in her gay
vivandiere dress, a scarlet skirt with mili-
tary trimmings and a jaunty jacket with
scarlet facings and white waistcoat. The
famous soprano is not pretty, but she is
piquahtly coquettish and full of French
diablerie; her face is very expressive, and
she has a fine voice. Sergeant Sulpice, a
commanding basso six feet in height and
carrying his showy uniform with true mili—
tary erectness, grey-haired and with fierce
grey moustache, seems on terms of affec-
tionate fondness with Marie, who con-
gratulates herself that though she has no
mother, she has eight hundred fathers, and
that as the regiment is always kept full,
there is no prospect that the number will
grow less. Then the sergeant tells her
once more the familiar story 'of her life.
how he found her sixteen years before, on
that very spot, after a battle, climbing over
the dead bodies of a young officer and a
peasant woman, and absolutely no clue to
her identity except a blood stained letter on
the person of the young ofiicer, which was
unintelligible to all except the one by
whom it was written; how he picked her up,
and calling his men about him, showed
them the you 1g hostage of Fate, and how
the regiment at once adopted her. He re-
minds her of her pledge to marry only a
member of the regiment; she confesses her
heart has already strayed out of her keep-
ing to astranger who had the fortune to
save her life, audlis upbraided by the ser-
geant, who believes a man not asoldier no
good on earth. They are interrupted by the
entrance of adetachment of soldiers, who
have made prisoner one Tonio, whom they
suspect to be aspy, in whom Marie recog-
nizes her lover, the stranger who rescued
her. This fact stands him in good stead,
for he is released when Marie pleads for
him, begging his life because he saved hers.
Then Tonic presses his suit; she refers him
to “Father Sulpice” and to one after
another of the regiment. “What! two
fathers?” quoth Tonic; and when she tells
him she has eight hundred fathers, to use
the classic phrase of the day,” it breaks
him all up.” He wants to marry her. and
recounts the attractions of his peasant born 3:
he has pigs and a donkey, and chickens
and a cow. She tells him of her vow to
marry only one of the regiment, and like
any true lover, he forth with announces his
intention to enlist at once, and with the
soldiers, departs for that purpose.

The Countess of Berken feldt now appears
upon the scene and requests of Sergeant
Sulpice an escort to attend her to her
chateau. As it chances so often in plays
and stories, the conversation is so directed
as to introduce the story of the finding of
Marie; and the countess discovers that the
little waif was her sister's child, who had
been taken by the nurse to its father, the
young ofiicer in camp, that he might see
and bid adieu to his babe. Father and
nurse were killed, and the child was sup-
posed by all its relatives to be dead also.
Proofs are forthcoming and Marie ascertain-
ed to be the heir to the name and estates of
Berkenfeldt. Marie is introduced to her
aunt, who is scandalized by her unconven-

 

tional ways, though the Sergeant had

assured her that Marie has been brought up
“a perfect lady;” and poor Marie is chilled
by her aunt’s primness and reserve. And
Tonic, entering with the tri-color of France
attached to his peasant’s hat in token of his
enlistment, when. he finds Marie is to be a
great lady, and that as Countess of Berken-
feldtshe is as far above a soldier as the
“ Daughter of the Regiment” was above a
Tyrolese peasant, is very much inclined to
repudiate the enlistment and tears off the
ribbon in passionate disgust, but the sol-
diers will not lose their new comrade thus
and they hurry him off, while Marie is
taken in charge by her aunt.

Next, we have Babette, a pretty little
waiting-maid, in dialogue with Bruno in the
reception room of the Berkenfeldt chateau,
the latter having quite recovered his fear of
the French, and rather inclined toput on
airs over Babette. The Duke of Arens-
burg and his mother are expected, but the
visit is put off for a day because the Duke
has the toothache. He comes as a suitor to
Marie, much to Babette’s disgust, who says
he is old and ugly, and handy-legged and
lame, no match for the beautiful Marie.
But Bruno reminds her autocratically that
it is a fair bargain, the Duke has high
rank and position and Marie has beauty and
wealth; and when the fastidious Babette
again reverts to the unfortunate condition
of the Duke’s legs, Bruno gives voice to a
bit of worldly philosophy worthy the cynical
Carlyle: “Nobody looks at a duke’s legs;
his rank obscures them.” Sergeant Sulpice
is an inmate of the chateau, for the war is
over, and he loves to be near his little pro-
tege, the child of the Twentieth Cuasseurs,
but he rebels at the prim decorum and
restraint of the chateau, and at the discipline
which transforms the jolly, lively Marie
into a fine lady. She presently enters,
sweeping in in a dress with a prodigious
train and yet more prodigious bustle.
feathers in her hair, and acomical little
moue of disgust at it all, and in the old
military fashion issaes her orders: “ Com-
pany, attention!” and the sergeant
straightens himself into an attitude of
soldierly rigidity. “Salute!” and she extends
to him one gloved hand which he fpresses to
his lips. “Prepare for inspection, company
front!" “ parade rest!” and she passes be-
f ire him as if he were the commander-in-
chief reviewing a battalion; she minces and
wriggles, as she has been taught by her new
masters, throwing her train about, and then,
abandoning her fun. confesses how tired
she is of it‘all, and how she longs for the
freedom of her old life as the pet of the
regiment. Enter the aunt, grimmer and
primmer than ever, and poor Marie gets a
long lecture on the etiquette proper for a
lady of rank, and which she must observe
when'her intended husband arrives. Ser-
geant Sulpice does not relish hearing his
protege lectured. and remonstrates with
theaunt, saying Marie “can’t march with
all those petticoats around her ankles,”
shocking the Countess almost into spasms,
though she finds breath to tell him never to
dare to mention in her presence again “ that
portion of the—the-figure which you just
mentioned,” meaning ankles. Then Marie
is made to make a grand curtsey, which is

 

asawkward as well can’be: and to sing,

 

 

 


’4‘ p.
L:

 

 

 

dr-

 

THE HOUSEHOL D.

 

while the noble countess presides at the
.piano, and she mimics the amateur singer to
perfection in tone and faulty method as
well as airs and graces, while she mischiev-
ously picks at the loose curls of her aunt’s
elaborate wig, and tickles her neck as she
does so; but the refrain of the music has a
martial ring that reminds her of drums and
bugles, and to the astonishment and horror
-of the grande dame, she breaks into an old
soldiers’ song and with the Sargeant in-
dulges in the merry abandon of a dance un-
known to courts.

Now Tonic, who. making a virtue of his
enlistment, has won glory and advance—
ment to high military rank, returns with
some of Marie’s numerous fathers and
«comes to the chateau. The soldiers are
immensely amused at Marie’s gorgeous
toilette of maize and blue satin with its
fleecy tulle drapery, and with smiles and
gestures convey their ideas that she is a
very fine countess-in-prospect. Tonic
comes asshe is welcoming her “fathers:”
she loves him, he loves her; but the old
countess absolutely refuses to consider even
fora moment his proposal. But Sergeant
.Sulpice has not lived in vain; he invites
the aunt to a private interview, considerate-
ly provides her with a chair, and then tells
her he knows that Marie is her daughter,
not her niece. and that if she does not wish
to have some disagreeable family skeletons
nncoiiined, she must send the handy-
.legged duke about his business and let
Marie wed Tonio. He converts her to his
view, and she unites their hands with the
usual stage “ Bless you, my children!"
Sergeant Suipice is overjoyed; the unex-
pected acquiescence of the countess quite
overpowers his awe of her, and in his
delight he dances amut, partly behind and
at her side, rubbing his hands and making
many queer feints, his face alight witha
«comical mixture of mischief, triumph.
hesitancy and daring, but not until the big
curtain has begun its descent for the last
time does he carry his audacious scheme into
execution, and in token of his intense
gratitude at her consent, imprint a chaste
salute upon the 'rouged check of the middle-
aged countess.

Such, briefly outlined, is the plot of the
opera. Set this to rhyme and the rhyme to
music, a succession of dues, tries and
choruses, add the brilliant costumes, the
nnrching soldiers, the scenery that sets
them off, the orchestra of twenty pieces in
itself a good entertainment, and you
can faintly imagine the charm of the pre-
sentation of a good opera by a good com

pany. BEATRIX.‘
———-—-—QO.-————

CROCHETED SHOULDER CAPE.

 

The materials are four ounces of Shet—
land wool of any desired shade, and one—
half pound ice silk; or the cape may be
made entirely of the wool. Use a bone
crochet hook, No. 8. Commence at the
neck with 56 chain, work three trebles in
the sixth chain from the hook, *, miss 1
chain, 3 trebles, crochet in the * and repeat
from * to * to end of row; there should be
26 groups of 3 trebles. Take a thread of
white or colored cotton and tie on the foun-

dation chain in the middle of the piece of

work, tie another thread at each quarter to

 

mark for the increasings, or widening.
2d row, 1 chain, turn, 3 treble, crochet be-
tween the second last treble crochet of pre~
vious row, then 3 treble between every
group of 3 trebles of previous rows till you
have 6 groups and come to the first cotton
tie, and above that work an extra group of
3 treble to give an increase for the shoulder;
work on, doing 3 treble between every
group of 3 treble, you have done 7 more
groups and come to the next cotton tie,
which is the middle of the back: make an-
other increase of 3 treble there, proceed with
7 more groups, when increase 3 treble again;
then 6 more groups of 3 treble will finish the
row. 3d row, 1 chain, turn, 3 treble be-
tween the second last treble of previous
row, then 3 trebles between every group of
3 trebles of previous row, all along the row,
no increase. 4th row, 1 chain, turn, 3
treble between the second last treble of pre-
vious row, then 3 treble in every space till
you come to one space before the increase
made in the second row at the conton tie,
increase here and again in the space on the
other side of the cotton tie, no increase in
the back, but the same increase as before
on the other shoulder.

Fifth row, like 3d row. Sixth row, one
chain, turn, 3 treble between the two last
treble of previous row, then group of 3
treble as far as directly above the cotton tie;
increase here: continue as before till you
come to the tie in the centre of the backv
where increase again,and make still another
increase above the tie on the other shoulder.
Seventh row, like 3d row. Elghth row,
like 4th row. Ninth row. like 3d row.
Tenth row, like 6th row. Eleventh row,
like 3d row. Twelfth row, like 4th row.
Thirteenth ro v. like 33 row. Fourteenth
row, like 6th row. Fifteenth row, like 3d
row. Sixteenth row, like 4th. Seventeenth
and eighteenth rows, like 31 row. Nine-
teenth row, like 6th row. Twentieth and
twenty-first rows, like 3d. Twenty-second
row, like 45h row. T wenty-third, twenty-
fourth and twenty-fifth rows, like 3d row.
Twenty-sixth row, like 6th row. Twenty-
seventh, twenty—eighth, twenty—ninth ro we,
like 32.1 row. Thirtieth row, like 4th row.
Thirty—first, thirty—second and thirty—third
rows, like 3d row.

For the feathered flakes. with the ice silk,
com nencing on the first row of the cape
and working loosely, insert the hook so as
to take up the '31 treble stitch at the begin~
ning of the row, draw the wool through,
work a double crochet stitch, then * 18
chain very loosely. and a double crochet in
the middle treble of the next group of three
trebles, * and repeat from * to * to end of
row; work 18 chain, turn, and a double cro-
chet in the middle of the lst group of trebles
in the second row of the cape, and continue
in this manner, always working 18 chains
and one double crochet in the centre treble
of the group till the cape is entirely covered
with chain work, which will resemble
flakes; this is called the “dike pattern.”
Strengthen the neck with a. rov of double
crochet, and fasten the cape with three
pretty ribbon bows.

LACEY. MILL MIMIE. >

——90

To REMOVE the “wooden taste” from

pails or butter firkins, soak them in hot
brine.

 

HOME TALKS.

N0. VII.

Now that the breakfast table is cleared
the bread is ready to mould into the tins;
three double loaves this morning. Into the
remainder of the dough rub a lump of lard
the size of a hen’s egg, and two table-
spoonfuls of sugar, replace the dough in
the pan and cover up to rise a second time;
these will be raised biscuit and while the
bread is rising you can make scream pie
for dinner. Make the cake after the Dor-
chester sponge cake recipe and bake it in
four shallow tins, like layer cakes, then
turn them out on a towel to cool while you
make the custard for them. Put a dipper-
ful of hot water into the cooker, and set in
the two quart pail in which you have turned
two coffee cups of new milk; while that is
heating measure one teacupful of sugar and
rub in the yolks of three eggs and a heaping
tablespoon of flour. You will need a little
milk to moisten it. Rub it until it is all
smooth, pour slowly into the boiling milk,
and stir slowly until it thickens. then take
out of the water and flavor with lemon, put
the cake on two plates, two cakes together
with custard between, and pour the re-
mainder over the top. This is delicious for
dinner, and is convenient too, for it can be
made in the morning. Cut it like apie,
when you serve it. For dinner we will
have meat pie, boiled potatoes, asparagus,
lettuce and boiled onions; and as this is
about the last time we shall cut the aspar-
agus we will have ambushed asparagus,
Take nine of these stale rusks, cut off the
tops carefully then pick out the inside, so
as to leave the outside whole and set them
in the oven to dry until the bread gees in.
1 will cut the asparagus, and get the lettuce
and onions ready While you put the biscuit
in the tins.’ Make them up in shape as you
did the rusks, ten in a tin; they will be
white as snow and flaky. In just twenty
minutes, put your bread in the oven and
set that roast of beef in the heating closet
to warm through for the meat pic: that must
go in the oven by quarter past eleven. The
aSparagus we will cut in pieces an inch or
so long and cook tender in salted water.
When it is nearly done make a dressing for
it as follows: A coffee cupful of milk, a
tablespoonful of flour, and a liberal piece of
butter; rub the flour and butter smooth and
stir into the boiling milk, a little salt and
pepper, drain the water from the asparagus,
and put into the dressing. When dinner
is ready arrange the shells in a platter and
fill with the mixture, then lay the tops on
and serve. The bread is done now and the
biscuits ready for the oven, and you can
slice the meat and lay in one of these small
pans; have it one-third full, add a te tcupt‘ul
of the brown gravy. a little pepper and
salt, anda few bits of butter. Make the
crust as you did for the baking powder bis—
cuit, three cups of flour, and mix it as soft
as you can roll it; make it to just fit the
pan, no side crust, and cut a leaf in the
center, now stick bits of butter around on
the dough, and as soon as the biscuit come
out set it in to bake. The onions and
potatoes are boiling; the gravy you must
set to warm and serve the lettuce plain to-
da .

There are enough black raspberries ripe

 


      
    
   
     
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
    
 
   
  
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
   
 
 
   
 
    
   
     

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THE HOUSEHOLD.

 

for supper tonight. We will take care of
the gooseberries this week, and make the
current jelly. I do not want them dead
ripe for that purpose. The jelly is made
precisely like the strawberry, with this ex-
ception. we will squeeze the eurrants in a
cloth, without boiling. it is tiresome for the
wrists; I think every year I will have a
jelly press. I sent for a circular list year,
they cost only one dollar, but I have neglect-
ed buying one. When we make the rasp-
berry jam, I shall add a little currant juice.
1think it improves the jam. The current
jam will nwd one pound of raisins to every
three of currents, and is made with a pound
of sugar to each pound of fruit; this is very
rich. The gooseberries we will can, using a
third more sugar than forother fruit, as they
are quite sour. Yes, we shall use them
green. I ate some gooseberry marmalade
once that was made in Illinois; it was a dark
brown and seemed quite flat in flavor; it
was made from ripe berries; I did not like
it at all. After slicing the best of the roast
for supper chop all the rest fine and make a
regent for breakfast, fried potatoes and eat-
meal, or rolled oats I should say; what an
improvement they are on the old fashion'ed
oats. I steam them always, there is no
kettle then to dig out. I should hardly
know how to cook without my cooker. I
have used it ten years now, it is the
Guernsey cooker; has three sections. Yes,
it is a little the worse for wear, for a good
many have used it who have allowed it to
boil dry; in that way the handles have been
unsoldered lots of times. So many think
they can put anything over to cook, and
run oi! at something else, and let it take
care of itself; it is no way to adopt—this
hep-hazard, shiftless way.

No woman will ever become a proficient
in cooking without giving her attention to
it. It is a much pleasanter reflection for a
housewife, that year after year she has
been improving in household science, than
that she has never left the plane of being
careless and slack, and no manager or cook.
I have known housekeepers who took no
thought for the next meal, ate everythingat
one time instead of judiciously equalizing
the food, so that several meals should be
good. I Went visiting once to. our next
neighbor’s, and I did not think it necessary
to send word. Mrs. seemed glad to see
me and we had a pleasant visit, but when
she called me out totea she made a thousand
excuses, she had some tea and bread and
butter and green current pie; it seems she
supposed there were several kinds of cake
in the cellar, but the children had been
planning their own dinners to take to
school, and had taken the last remnant of
cake that day. It was laughable certainly,
but showed a weak point in management. I
have always noticed that you give children
an inch—in cake—and they will take an ell.

Well, here it is Thursday; I declare, time
is flying. Father wants some corned beef
boiled to-day; those early cabbages are
large enough to use, and the summer squash.
You put the meat over to boil; it is half
past eight, fill the kettle two-thirds full of
water, put the beef in before it gets hot and
have the teakettle full of hot water, for we
must change the water on the beef at ten

 

by itself in salted water; cook that an hour

and a quarter, steam the squash in one sec—

tion and we will steam some rice to eat
with cream and sugar for dessert; mash the
potatoes and cook enough for a bash for
breakfast. When the cabbage is done,

press the water out of it and season with
butter, press the squash also and season
liberally with butter, all there is to that is
the seasoning, salt and pepper also. After
mashing the potato add a lump of butters

and some salt and a coffee cup of rich
cream, then beat it like cake batter, until it
is white and foamy, then pile it into the
tureen, do not mash it down; scoop a hol-

low in the top and lay in a lump of butter,

Take a coffee eupful of the rice, wash it
and salt, then add a quart of boiling water
and set tosteam, that will leave sufficient for
some rice cakes for breakfast to be made
as follows: One quart sweet milk, and a
eofiee cupful or more of cold rice; stir it well
and add the well beaten yolks of four eggs;
a teaspoonful salt; three heaped teaspoons
of baking powder, flour to make a stifi bat-
ter; and last the well beaten whites. Bake
like the common griddle cakes; let each one
butter for himself and eat with honey.
Pick the cold beef free from gristle for the
hash, chop ita little coarse and take two-
thirds meat and one-third chopped potato,
mix it thoroughly; season with pepper, a
little salt and bits of butter; prepare this
to-night and rut it in the little dripping pen,
in the morning set it in the oven and
bake it, instead of cooking in the frying
pan; pour over sweet milk to half cover it,
or rather to moisten it good; dredge with a
little flour, stir it up once while it is
baking, spread a little butter on top and let
brown nicely; the flour makes a sort of
brown crust, which stirred through the
hash is delicious. Pick a- dish of rasp-
berries tonight and set in the refrigerator-
ready for breakfast. Pare the potatoes and
let them stand in water ready to slieeto
fry; you see your breakfast is so easily pre-
pared when you plan a little the night be-
fore. The weather is growing warmer, one
wants something to coax the appetite a lit-
tle and you are doing finely, with but few
failures, and the best of cooks have those
sometimes. EV’ANGELINE.

Benn: CREEK.
__.__...———

SOWING GOOD SEED.

 

In sowing seeds it is of the utmost im—
portance they should be of the best kind
and quality. No farmer—good one—is
willing to sow bad seed on any soil. Well
he knows that he must reap what he has
sown. First, then, he chooses his seed
with care.

He must now sow or plant it in its time ;
not neglecting it until seeding time it past ;
until the spring rains have come and gone,
and the soil has become hardened by the
sun’s warm rays. Does he wait until foul
weeds and grasses get a start? No! he
sows in time. He sows seed enough. Not
one here and another there, but many; still
remembering as he sows he must reap. Then
leaving all in His bands who careth for the
little and great, he believes he will be re-
warded for his trial by reaping a bountiful
harvest.

Aye, well we remember the seeds sown by'
loving hands in our early childhood’s days.

Seeds of kindness, of gentleness, of untir-

ing patience, and many, many more. Seeds

of the best kind and quality, too. And as

time went on and we went step by step up

the ladder of life, seeds were sown and in

their time. We were not taught how to

walk when we were in long robes ; neither

did we learn in our teens. No, seeds were

sown just when there was “ faith in the

seed, that the germs of a future harvest

were there.”

“Strike the iron when it is hot.” 80 all

through life must we be constantly on the

lookout that we may know when the soil of

the many minds, with which we come in

contact day by day, is in a fit condition for

good seed ! Be ever on the watch that the

seed is pure, untarnished, that we are about

to sow.

When is our time for sowing? Always;

ever are We sowing seeds; but how few of
the sewers cast out the “ thorns and chaff.”

Before thought is taken of the harvest, the

“wheat and roses, thorns and chaff” are

together sown in the soil of the minds of

our daily companions, and but few contain
moisture enough to sustain both weeds and
wheat. Hence, what is the harvest in their

characters and lives?

“ Oh! those little ice-cold fingers,
How they point our memory back

To the hasty words and actions
Strewn a oug our back ward track!

How those little hands remind us,
as in snowy grace they lie,

Not to scatter thorns—but roses—
For our reaping by and by.”

“ As the sun dispenses light, so can the
soul give of its good and knowledge."
Every hour affords opportunity to add some--
thing tothe good influences that are operating
in the soil of the mind, to give them greater
truitfulness in the higher and better things
of the inner life.

“ We cannot all have large fields of labor,
nor all be great workers, but all around us-
'is some one to smile at; a gift of a book, a
flower; the turning of a window blind, a
word; these little opportunities fill our
time.

“And when it is all over, and our feet
will run no more, and our hands are help-
less, and we have scarcely strength to
murmur a last prayer, then we shall see
that instead of needing a larger field, we
have left untilled many corners of our

single acre, and that none are filled as they
might have been had we seen them as they
were.” LILLIAN.
SALINE.
__—..'_
Useful Recipes.

 

CORN Genera—Two cups granulated corn
meal; two even teaspoonfuls salt; two tea-
spoonfuls sugar; two cups boiling water; two
teaspoonfuls butter; two eggs, broken into
the batter and beaten thoroughly. Mix in
the order given and spread very thin in but-
tered pans and bake half an hour. Nice for
breakfast.

 

BEEF Lrveu.—~Cut the liver in slices three-
fourths of an inch in thickness, salt and roll
in flour. Put two tablespoonfuls of lard in a
skillet; when hot put in the liver, then pour

n hot water enough to cover. Let boil until
1he liver is quite tender, fry until very brown
on both sides. It makes a nice dish for
breakfast. Serve while hot for it becomes

 

 

o’clock. Cut the cabbage coarse and boil

All seeds are not sown in the ground.

hard when cool.

.211?le

.2. ....,-.-

n m.....-. 7. _.

 

 

 

 

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