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11.1990.

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD-"Supplement.

 

 

0 UTGBO WN.

 

Nay, you wrong her, my friend, she‘s not fickle;
her love she has simply outgrown;

One can read the whole in utter, trans‘ating her
heart by the light of one’s own.

Can you hear me to talk to you frankly? Th re
is much that my heart would say;

And you know we were children together, and
quarrelled and “ made up" in play.

And so, for the sake of old friendship, I venture
to tell you the truth,-

As plainly perhaps, and as bluntly. as I might
in our earlier youth.

Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you
stood on the self- same plane,

Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming
your souls Could be parted again.

She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom
of her li'e‘s early May;

And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does
not love you to-day.

Nature never stands still, nor souls either; they
ever go up or go down;

And hers has been steadily soaring—but how
has it been with your own?

She has struggled and yearned and aspired,
grown purer and wiser each year;

The stars are not farther above you in yon lumi-
nous atmosphere l

For she whom you crowned with fresh roses,
down yonder. five summers ago,

Has learned that the first of our cuties to God
and ourselves is to grow.

Her eyes they are sweeter and calmer; but their
vision is clearer as well;

Her voice has a tenderer cadence, but is pure as
a silver b . l1.

Her face has a look worn by those who with God
and his angels have talked;

The white robes she wears are less white than
the spirits with whom she has walked.

And you? Have you aimed at the highest? Have
you, too, aspired and prayed?

Have you looked upon evil unsullied? Have you
conquered it undismayed?

Have you, too, grown ‘purer and wiser, as the
m0nths and the years have rolled on?

Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the
triumph of victory won?

Nay, hear in el The truth cannot harm you.
When to day in her presence you stood,

Was the hand that you gave her as white and
clean as that of her womanhood?

Go, measure yourself by her standard; look back
on the years that have fled;

Then ask, if you need. why she tells you that the
love of her girlhood is dead. '

She cannot look down to her lover; her love like
her soul aspires;

He must stand by her side, or above her, who
would kindle its holy fires.

Now farewell! For the sake of old friendsh'p I
have ventured to tell you the truth,
As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might
in our earlier youth
Julia 0. B. Dorr.

 

CHILDREN’S FASHIONS.

 

The fashions for girls from four to
twelve years of 'age are simple and sensi-
ble. Their dresses are made with full
bodices and plain straight skirts which are
gathered to the corded edge of the waist,
or pleated in front and gathered at the
back. The sleeves are mutton leg in
shape, made quite full, and set to puff
high on the shoulders. A hem five inches
deep isa favorite finish for the skirt, and if
the goods is reversible, it is turned up on
the right side and stitched twice, or a nar-
row piping of velvet is set in. Skirts are
of medium length, to the tops of the high
boots usually. They are often trimmed
with narrow black velvet ribbons, put on
in graduated rows or in diamonds; black
being used on any color; many are per~
fectly plain.

For more dressy wear, waists are shirred
on thick cords to form a yoke and the full-
ness gathered in pleats at the bottom of the
waist. Other have bretelles of velvet rib-
bon tied in shoulder knots, and with long
bows and ends at t he back. Corselets of
velvet, laced front and back, are also liked.
A pretty way to make a waist for a girl of
thirteen or fifteen is to form a plastrou with
shirtlike pleats of black surah, over which
the bias folds of the wool bodice meet
under a pointed silk belt. This is pretty
in plaid goods, which are very popular this
fall, and should be cut bias. A stylish
model has jacket fronts, over a waist
gathered full at neck and belt; the back
round, with a sash of the material tied in a
large bow. Dresses entirely of plaid, cut
bias, have shallow velvet yokes, deep velvet
cuffs on the full sleeves, and velvet collars.
Four widths of cashmere are not too much
to allow for these plain skirts for girls of
fifteen. For girls eight years old, two and
three-quarters yards are rtquired. For
party dresses, yellow is a favori e color,
combined with black velvet. A “ real
sweet” yet quite simple dress for a girl of
fourteen years is of plaid wool, gathered
to a corselet of the same which is so cut
that :he most prominent lines of the plaid
have an upward slope. The plaids must
exactly match entirely around the Waist,
the slope being given in the arrangement
of the separate pieces for cutting. The
corselet is closed behind with small flat
gilt bottoms, and the skirt sewed in with a
large velvet cord. The shirt waist worn
under this corselet has narrow tucks for a
finger length from the neck, with a box
pleat in the centre under which the waist

 

is closed; the fullness is gathered to a belt
or Shirred on a cord to be tied round the
waist, and the sleeves are full, high on the
shoulders and slightly gathered to a two
inch wristband. The waist, may be of
surah, of nainsook, or of fine plain wool
goods. Younger girls wear guimpe
dresses, the nainsook guimpes being
gathered full round the neck. Velvet is
often used in place of the nainsook, made
plain.

Last year’s cloaks for misses can he
modernized by putting in sleeves and
collar of Astrachan cloth. If worn on the
fronts, they can be bound or faced with
Astrachan. Square pocket flaps are set
on below the hips, and four large buttons
on the back below the waist line. The
new coats fit the back (:10?er and are
straight in front. Shoulder capes of
Astrachan and Persian lamb are much
worn by misses. They have high Medici
collars, which however they may set off a
pretty face for a front view, give a rather
peculiar aspect on the back. Jackets are
worn, and have bindings and rolling collars
of Astrachan.

Colored cashmere dresses for the two and
three year old girls have round baby waists
finely tucked in clusters and with feather-
stitching in the space between; skirts are
full, straight and plain. Cloaks are of
lambs’ wool cloth and lined with white
canton flannel; they are made with round
waist, large sleeves and gathered skirt.
Gray is the favorite color for boys.

For the “wee ones,” black coats and
bonnets are still worn. Made of velvet or
velveteen, they are trimmed with a narrow
edge of fur, or have collar and cuffs of
fur. Little black bonnets with flaring
fronts showing a yellow silk facing are
trimmed with rosettes of black and yellow
and have black strings. The wide felt
hat above the diminutive figure makes
the wearer look like an exaggerated mush-
room in black. These hats are trimmed
with a profusion of ostrich tips or full
rosettes of black velvet ribbon in which a
little yellow is sometimes mingled.

___....__._.

Fruit fer jellies, scraps from lard, or any
other squeezable articles may be easily
managed by a home made‘ squeezer made
as follows. Two pieces of hard wood are
chosen as long as desired, abo it four inches
wide and an inch thick. One end of each

is tapered to a hand‘e, the others united by
a piece of stout leather or a wrought iron
hinge. The scraps, fruit, etc. are put in a
bag, and this little implement enables them
to be squeezed dry.

 


 

THE HOUSEHOLD.

 

GOING TO MARKET.

 

I went into the meat market yesterday
for a roast or beef—by the way, sister
“ farmeresses,” do you know you can get
a. good kettle-roast for five cents a pound?
Of course you can get better for eight and
ten. This is rather a recent discovery to
me, and since we have to depend on the
market for the most of our meat, 1 think
it qui'e a valuable one. To my taste,
there is no way meat can be cooked that
makes it so sweet and tender as roasting
down in the kettle. What is left is just as
nice cold for tea, and the fattest portion I
put in the spider with the gravy left and
heat it thoroughly (adding water to re-
place what boils away), and it is good for
breakfast next morning.

This is not what I started to tell you,
but I thought it might be useful to some
one. .When I went into the market there
stood a young lady and the market man
was trymg to find out what she wanted;
he was calling over all the different names
for the various pieces in a beef animal;
and the poor girl was so embarrassed I
pitied her; she said no or nothing to every
thing. Finally the man asked her what
she wanted to do with it. She said she
wanted a piece to fry; he told then she
should get a piece of steak. Then he in
quired how much she needed; she said
half a pound, so I concluded she was one
of the many young ladies who have come
to town to attend school and are boarding
themselves. When she had gone out the
gentleman—do not smile, for he is such
according to our American standard,
though not by the English, there gentle-
men ”toil not, neither do they spin” ex-
cept long winded Speeches in Parliament
or long stories over their wine at dinner—-
“ If the mothers of this country don’t have
something to answer for I do not know;
the ignorance of the girls is astonishing.”
AndI thought I would just say to the
mothers, if you cannot instruct your girls

how to market properly, tell them to go to
the market man .and tell him how they
wish to cook the pieces and he will tell
them in a moment what is the thing for
them; and they will soon learn to know
just what they wish; and this simple
method saves all that painful embarrass-
ment Our market men as a rule are very

obliging and honorable in their dealings.
ALBION. M. E. B.

“GOING A VISITING.”

“ Good bye. Now, do come up! All
of you, come up and make us a good long
visit; now do; good bye;” and repeating
the hearty “Do come ups” all through
the little hitches and kinks of loading up,
straightening out the robes and starting up
the team, my neighbors guests drive off
into the darkness; .and I, from the shadow
of the willow where I am seeking a few
breaths of fresh air, and a moment of rest,
listen and rejoice that there are people
still living who enjoy this visiting, and
wonder why I have ceased to do so. Is it
because I'have grown so disagreeable that
no one wants to see me; because I am

 

light, or because it has taken me half a
century to learn to see them as they are?
Of this I am at least certain; with no con~
tagious disease of body, and as few blots
as the average on morals and name, i can
count upon the digits of one hand those
places where, whenever the spirit moveth
me to seek it, I am sure of finding a wel-
come; where, though the carpet hangs
on the fence and the parlor furniture de
corates the front porch, though the cup-
board chance to be as bare as Mother Hub-
bard’s or sickness prevail, making all
anxiety and confusion, I feel sure they
will be glad to see" me.
Oh, those chills! How they creep over
us from soul to sole, when, after making
extra effort to reach her, and anticipating
all sorts of rest and helps from the visit,
we are greeted with the subtle assurance
that our friend would have been better
pleased had we staid at home. Her house
was never so dirty before; she is covered
with confusion. She is half sick; she has
had company until she is tired out; shehad
planned to color carpet rags, or to go to
town. She may tell us of these or she may
not, but before we have taken the profier-
ed seat we begin to wish ourselves well out
of the house and driving toward home.
As this is out of the question, we brace
up and try to create the welcome we ex-
pected to find ready made. We thaw out
the cold spots and perhaps have a nice
time and drive off, when it is over, with a
fair s‘are of the “ Do come ups;” but,
after all the chill remains the most vivid
point in memory, and renders less and
less inviting the idea of visiting. Every
body is so busy, and so tired! The
standard of housekeeping has reached such
a point that friendship must be sacrificed
upon its altar. If we send word we are
coming, we imagine all the extra work
our hostess will feel called upon todo; and
the many things which are likely to pre-
vent us from keeping the appointment;
while the freshness and impromptu feeling
is missing any way; so we conclude to stay
at home. The primeval forest, the log
house, the great ox sleds loaded with neigh-
bors “going visiting” are things of the
past, and the hearty welcome and friendship
which cheered their hearts as they sat upon
benches or bed and partook of the rudest
of fare, is rapidly following.
UNGR serous. ,
“00—:—
MY FIRST SHORT-CAKE.
By this I do not mean the first short-cake
Iever ate, for that was 65 years ago last
Ma_ , when we first landed at our home in
the township of Plymouth, then a howling
wilderness; 1i erally howling of wolves by
night, where the bee and the beaver were
the only representatives of labor, and the
painted savages the only type of manhood.
We arrived at our destination just at the
close of a tedious day’s travel through the
Woods, where roads had to he cut to allow
the teams to pass; and the first thing I re-
member seeing was my brother baking
what he called a short cake, made of flour

 

soured and'Vsee'thing‘s' * in an unnatura

 

beforea blazing fire. .It seems to me no

and water, in a long handled frying-pan

meal. ever tasted half so delicious as some
of that short-cake in a bowl of milk. It is
quite another sort of short-cake, of my own
making, I am going to describe.

Being tired of baker's bread, 1 determin-
ed to make myself a. short cake. Get'ing
the materials together, I put into my flour

posing it was baking powder. I fancied
the dough was terribly sticky, but I
managed to get it into a tin and into the
oven. But that cake didn’t rise “ worth a.
cent.” It blistered all up like a great
warty toad, and turned blue as though it.
was badly mortified. I was a little sus-
picious of it, and so a piece was given to
the dog, which caused him to rise right up
and howl, which was the only rising the
cake did. Experience has taught me to
make very good short-cakes, on which I
rather pride myself. Should this find
favor in the columns of the HOUSEHOLD,
I may give my experience in making my

first pie. GRANDPA.
MUSKEGON.
——-.O.———

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

 

A young lady asks if a royal blue silk
can be satisfactorily dyed some less con-
spicuous color. It can be dyed, certainly,
but we are not so sure that she will be
pleased with the result. A dyed silk ad.
vertises its ignominy by loss of lustre and
pliability. Much depends upon the kind
of silk. A soft silk, like surah, can be
colored with better results than grosgrain
or the ordinary glow silk (such as we pre-
sume this royal blue to be) which comes
from the dye stiff and lustreless, and de-
cidedly unsatisfactory. We should prefer
to utilize the silk in its present condition
if at all possible, and dye as a demier re-
sort. It is too showy for street wear, but
why not use it in the composition of a tea-
gow.n or house dress, in combination with
darker wool and velvet? Careful selection.
of tints would produce a harmonious re-
sult, in which the full front of the gown
should be of the silk, shirred or finely
tucked perpendicularly at the throat, and
shirred in a broad V-shape at the waist
line or confined under ribbons. A pleated
width could be inserted on each side of the
centre of the back of the skirt, and on the
sides in fan shape, narrowing to a’ point
on the hips. The sleeves might be of silk
with deep velvet cufl’s; or of wool with
velvet cuffs and silk shoulder puffs. Velvet
revers' should turn back from the full front
from shoulder to foot, narrowing at the
waist line and widening again below it, and
should be lined with the silk. 0: a Medici
collar faced with silk could be made, with
velvet folds or bands down the sides of the
silk front. Instead of inserting the pleated
breadths in the skirt the silk could be used
to make a full p‘eated, pinked ruche for
the foot of the skirt, except across the silk
front. Such a dress would be suitable for
home wear at company teas, or when one
receives a few friends informally in the
evening.

Viniagrettes are small flat ornamental
bottles, filled with aromatic salts or wheat

 

 

ammonia, supposed to relieve headache,

a heaping tablespoonful of starch, sup-a

   
  
   
  

 

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faintness, etc. They are worn attached to
chatelaines, at theend of “ Queen” chains,
or attached to slender chains to fasten in
buttonhole and tuck inside the dress. They
are made of cut and pressed glass, oxydized
silver, silver and gold, sometimes set with
jewels, and are of various prices. The
oxydized silver at $1 and $1 25 are quite
neat and pretty. The fancy for wearing
them is over, and only a few are kept in
stock by dealers in fancy goods. The
possession of a very handsome specimen
would justify a person in carrying it and
having occasional “faint spells,” but
don’t buy one unless you are nervous and
“hysteric-ky ” and absolutely require
something pungent and penetrating as a
bracer. BEATRIX.

THE WIFE‘S MIND.

There is a story, “Her Heart’s Desire,”
in the September number of Harper‘s My,"
azine, which I wish it were possible for all
husbands to read, and give heed to. It,
recalled again to my mind a thought which
often comes—How little even those who
live together in closest companionship
actually know bf the feelings and real,
inner, heart life of their companions,
whether wife, husband, parent or child.
We sit side by side with other people,

- think we know them intimately, believe
we measure them according to what they
are and know the hidden springs of con-
duct, yet all the while they are behind an
impenetrable veil which shrouds their
souls from ours. We pass long hours to-
gether, perhaps the hours lengthen into a
lifetime, yet the heart of each has its
closed portals behind which no other in-
telligence passes; it has its bitterness
cherished in secret, its joy too holy to be
shared. There are depths we cannot dis-
close if we would; and this knowledge of
the inviolableness of the ego gives us some-
times an almost overwhelming sense of the
awful isolation of every human soul.

In “The Minister's Black Veil,” one of
the sketches which make up his ”Twice
Told Tales,” Hawthorne makes the Rev-
erend Mr. Hooper, pastor of a New Eng-
land congregation, appear before his people
with a. veil over his face, a veil never from
that moment lifted, not even upon his
death bed, where he tells those who would
have removed it that the piece of black
crape but obscurelv typifies a mystery, the
veil behind which every human soul retires,
shrouding hidden thought and secret sin,
and keeping each heart solitary and apart
from all others.

But the story, briefly summarized, is

this: Honor Kent, a wife of three years’
standing, finds herself and her husband
growing apart. There is a baby which
keeps her at home and leaves him free; and
he has fallen into a habit of going “ down
town a little while," and staying till bed-
time. The wife has thus a lonely evening
as well as a lonely day while he is away in
the city at business; she seldom goes out
hasfew acquaintances, and grows home:
sick for her father's house and the bright,
social,.loving life she knew befor

 

e she was

THE HOUSEHOLD.

to her, oh no! He is always courteous,
fairly generous of money though “ giving”
it only when asked, with an exhorte-
tion to economy of course. “ He seemed
to think rigid ecOnomy in his wife’s ex
penditure more necessary than in his own.”
He loved her, of course—wasn’t she his
wife? But he never told her so, never
called her the old pet names of courtship,
seldom took her out “ on account of the
baby," but never seemed to feel that the
fact she could not go was any reason why
he should stay at home. And this foolish
little woman, who loved her husband with
al! her heart, forgot ‘hat ‘
“ ~..- oftlove‘s coldness lies
In naught but its repression,”

and believed her husband’s indifference a
sign he had ceased to love her. She did
not regard her mar-iage as a failure—
there was the baby! and if she had not
married she should have thought all her
life she had missed something.

But, hardly without knowing it, or in-
tending to do so, she met her husband
when he came home in the evening after
she had entertained these sad, lonely
thoughts, and had contrasted her present
life with her girlhood and the days when
her husband was courting her and come
to the conclusion that he no longer loved
her, with an indifference which astonished
and dismayed him. She spoke in the
careless tone of a s‘ranger; she omitted the
good night kiss; she was as solicitous as
ever about his comfort and convenience,
but built about herself a wall of cool re-
serve which he could not penetrate.
When he asked her why she had not kissed
him good night she quoted a speech of his
own, “Married folks shouldn‘t be silly;”
when he asked her if at e would kiss him,
she said with steadfast eyes but pale face,
“ I think not. I do not think I love you
any more. ”

Now, as the story-teller says: “A wo-
man’s life is made up of trifies, and this
conduct of lionor’s was the outcome .f
three years’ practical solitude and brooding
over trifies; and these trifles, piled one upon
another, had grown into a great mountain.
It was not that she had been left alone that
particular rainy night; it was not that the
day before she had asked for money for
household expenses and been cautione! to
spend it wisely; it was not that he had been
careless of her feelings, forgetful of her
wishes once or twice—it was simply a
repetition of these things until suddenly,
perhaps unreasonably, she had conc uded
he did not love her as in the early days of
their marriage; and knowing herself in
every way as worthy of his love her whole
nature rose up in indignant protest at his
injustice,” and she felt, at the time, what
she said, that she did not love him any
more; that feeling he no longer cared for
her as he used to do, the knowledge had
slain her affection for him.

Mr. Kent was stunned at first. He was
satisfied with his married life, and, man-
like, concluded his wife must also be con-
tent. TJ his astonishment succeeded anger.
His wife’s extraordinary assertion absorbed

 

married. Not that her husband is unkind

his thoughts during the day. By nightfall

    

8

proper penitence. B-lt she did not. His
dinner was beyond criticism, the house in
faultless order; the baby ” sweet as a
peach;” Honor herself as good humored1
as talkative. as courteous and kind as ever,
yet with it all there was something miss~
ing-something between them like a
granite wall. You know a woman can be
perfectly kind and courteous, irreproach-
able in manner, and yet in some indefinv
able, intangible manner, keep you at arms’
length and let you know she is doing it,
too. There is nothing you can find fault
with, nothing you can seize upon as
offensive, but she gives you to understand
that in some way she has separated her-
self from you and you cannot fathom her
motives nor guess at her thoughts; she is
as illusive as a mist, as tantalizing as a
sphinx, which looks as if it might speak if
it pleased. Thus it was for many even~
ings; evenings John Kent took to spending
at home studying his wife, who showed
no signs of anger, of temper, of unkind-
ness, only a curious indifference which
puzzled and piqued him. When he
thought he had lost his wife’s love it began
to seem the most desirable thing in the
world to possess.

Very probably the condition of affairs
might have continued indefinitely had not
the husband finaliy told the story to an old
lawyer, a friend of his father’s, whose
friendly catechism opened his eyes to the
selfishness, want of consideration and
other “ trifles” which had brought about
the alienation. It was brought home to
his consciousness that, in order that he
might drop in to his club for an evening
game of billiards, he confined his wife to a
steam-heated flat when he might as cheaply
and conveniently have given her a cottage
in the suburbs; that he compelled her to-
ask for money, then never failed to cmnsel
economy though admitting she was “a
splendid manager,” and more saving than
himself; that he took her from alarge circle
of friends to the city where she had no
acquaintances, and though she was a cul~
tivated woman. secured no society for her,
nor yet gave her his own. In short, the
arraignment was so complete that, self-
convicted of selfish negligence and know»
ing more of a woman’s heart than ever be-
fore, John Kent set himself the task,
humbly and sincerely, of winning his
wife’s love again, which, it is needless to
say, he was able to do, just as soon as he
comprehended that he, not she, was in
fault and “ turned over a new leaf.”

The old lawyer’s advice had one sound
nugget of truth it might be well for all
men to heed: “The lessamarried man
ssparates his wife from his pleasures the
happier his married life will be.”

There are many married couples who
are like John and Honor Kent, the hus-
band thoughtlessly negligent of his wife’s
claims upon his society, forgetful of the
fact that he swore to love her as well as
maintain her, and that there is a world of
strength and comfort to her in his verbal
assurances of his continued, growing affec-
tion. And then the money question!
Probably no man ever had a fair concep-

 

he had decided to forgive her if she showed

tion of what it costs a sensitive woman to

 


4.

THE HOUSEHOLD.

 

 

ask for the money she knows her husband
knows is necessary to meet the expenses of
their common home. Why must she ask
for it and have it “given” when it is to
he spent to meet the obligations her hus
Band voluntarily assumed when he married
her? Why the eternal injunction to econo-
my when her ” extravaganc s” for a
month do not equal htl‘ husband’s cigar
bill for a week? and when he will freely
acknowledge she is the more economical
of the two?

The anguish which visits the wife’s soul
when she first admits to herself her belief
that her husband no longer loves her is
perhaps the keenest she ever experiences
fir her married life. In the knowledge are
profound depths of humiliation and de-
spair. How did she lose his love, how
can she regain it, are questions she puts to
herself in an agony of wounded affection.
Perhaps, like hmor, she resents the loss,
beling herself more worthy of love than
ever before; perhaps the knowledge
hardens her and makes her resolve to no
longer give what is not valued. And by
her side may stand her husband, totally
unconscious in his obtuseness cf the con-
flict in her heart and her passionate longing
for the old words of love and tenderness
so freely' bestowed before marriage. She is
his; he loves her; she “ought to know it,”
he will say, but he has no conception of
the glow of affection ready to kindle and
flame in her heart, which would lighten
her tasks and release her burdens, would
he but put into words the sentiment he
cherishes in his heart. Women, men tell
us, are emotional creatures, yet they forget
flint emotional natures must be fed with

* fire wine of encouragement.

It is dreadfully matter-of-fact, but there
is a homely moral in the old story of a
wife who reproached her husband with a
lapse of his affection, reminding him of all
the ‘ tender phrases and endearments of
courtship, the pains taken to secure her
society, his jealousy (f rival aspirants for
her favor, now all merged into the usual
marital indifference. Quote this prosaic
man: “ My dear, did you ever see a man
trying to catch a street car? He runs
after it pulling and panting, and makes
great exertions until he has caught it.
Then he takes a seat and reads his news-
paper, perfectly satisfied and contented.
When I was courting you 1 was running
after the car; as soon as we were married—”
here the wife burst into tears and exclaim-
ing “Oh you bruteil” rushed from the
room, leaving the husband to solace him-
self with the reflection that “ there‘s never
any knowing what will please a woman,

anyhow.” Bnarnrx.
H—-——

UP THE COLUMBIA RIVER.

When we left the Queen at Tacoma, we
Wentto the Massasoit house, and getting
the same room we had occupied before
going to Alaska, we felt quite at
home. Early the next morning we
left by rail for Portland, and crossing
the Columbia river at K-tlama, arrived
at Portland about four p. m. Portland
its beautiful city, more resembling our

 

cities than any we had seen on the Pacific
slope. Grateful to our sight were the
shade trees that line its streets, and the
yards of beautiful flowers. It is a paradise
of fruits and flowers. Think of roses in
profusion, growing out doors from May to
J anuaryt The air was filled with perfume.
Were I obliged to select a residence on this
coast this city would be my choice, as f ar
ahead of any other we have seen. We
went by cable cars up on the “ Heights,”
where elegant residences and beautiful
grounds speak of wealth and cultured
taste. Electric cars take you out to Ful-
ton park, through rural scenes wild and
picturesque; then we took a motor car far
out in the suburbs, where fruit farms are
now laid out in building lots. Making a
cornucopia of a newspaper, I pic}. ed
enough blackberries, that added to some
cakes made a fine supper to which I in-
vited my spouse in our room. Portland is
situated on the Willamette river near its
confluence with the Columbia. Its popu-
lation with its suburbs is now about 80,-
000. It is settled principally by eastern
people, and its social, religious and educa-
tional advantages are on a higher and
more settled plane than many other cities,
whose “boom ” growth has thrown to-
gether the most heterogeneous elements.

We went on board the ocean vessel
Coloma. I had never been on an ocean
sailing vessel, and was much interested in
its working details. This vessel trades to
China and Japan, making three trips a
year. Left Portland on the steamer Lur.
line at six p. m. August lst, and for some
distance found a monotonous view, sand
banks, sage brush or marsh. But this
changed as we ascended the river; bold
banks became hills, and then mountains.
The Multnomah river, a small stream,
came dashing down the mountain ravine,
with a sheer fall of 800 feet, dashed into
foam and spray in its rocky descent. Saw
the famed “ Rooster ” and “ Castle” rocks;
isolated columns of curious form. At the
“Cascades ” we took a narrow gauge
train for the portage of six miles, the train
running nearly all the way on the brink of
the roaring, seething waters. A lock will
ere long be completed, so that the portage
will not be necessary. Taking the steamer
D. S. Baker, we pursued our way amid
scenes of wild grandeur. We stopped at
Reed’s Landing where there is an extensive
salmon cannery, and took on an immense
number of cases of this toothsome product.
The season closes August 1:l3, so the estab
lishment was shut down. At four p. m.
we passed the mouth of Hood river, and
got a fine view of Mt. Hood, lifting his
snow-crowned head high over the other
mountain peaks. We arrived at The
Dallas, a pretty tree-shaded town of 4,000
inhabitants. Just before getting here, we
saw at a bend in the river ahead, what
seemed to be smoke or fog, but which on
nearing proved to be clouds of fine sand
blowing about; and the hills and rifts that
we saw then and farther o i, made one of
the most desolate sights met with on the
whole journey.

At the “ Cascades.” as the name indi-
cates, the river passes through the moun~

 

tains of that name, and the scenery is
magnificently sublime. Taking the train
at The Dallas, the road follows the course
of the river, and a short distance above
we reach the point that gives the name to
the town. The channel of the river con-
tracts into a deep narrow chasm, filled
with rocks where the water seems literally
turned up on edge, so small is the aperture
through which the huge flood is forced.
The road follows the valley of the Colum-
bia all the way to Pasco. We changed
cars at Umatilla, and again at Wallula
junction, and at Pasco were again on the
main line of the Northern Pacific. The
route from The Dallas to ‘Pasco is all the
way through the alkali plains, except _
where irrigation has been employed; and
it is amazing to see what can be done in
these sterile, arid wastes. Trees spring up
rapidly, crops flourish with a luxuriance
not excelled in more favored lands. But
just step beyond the reach of the artificial
watering and the white sand whirls and
circles; your eyes smart, lips crack, and the
exposed face and hands are soon chapped

and seamed.

To see such tows as Pasco set down on
such an arid, verdureless plain sets one to
wondering over the problem of the dif-
ferences of individual humans. The peo-
ple wear a contented, cheerful look; the
children delve in the sand with bare feet
or dusty shoes, with dirty faces and hands,
(to keep clean is impossible) and seem as
healthy and happy as children anywhere.
We recrossed the mountains and arrived at
Livingston at 9 p. m., Sunday. Aug. 3rd.

Ma rnnrnonrn. A. L. L.

(To be Continued.)

. Now that the harvest and the threshing,
the corn cutting and the seeding are over,
the extra hands in the fields been paid off
and discharged, and the pickling and pre-
serving nearly finished, we hope to have
more letters for the HonsEHOLD.‘ The
little paper is intended as a help to house-
keepers and to give them an opportunity
to exchange opinions on topics connected
with the home and family. We are glad
to hear from any and all; none need fear
their letters will not be welcome. If you
have anything to say, you are sure of an
audience in the HOUSEHOLD.

——-——...-————-
Conbuted Recrpes.

Fnancu CURRANT CAKE—Sugar. one cup;
butter. halt cup; sweet milk, two tab‘espoon-
fu‘s; three eggs: half teaspoonful soda: one
teaspoonful cream tsrtar; half cup currents:
two cups fl )ur.

Harmon CAKB.—-L'ght part: One and a
half cups white sugar: halt cup butter: half
cup sweet milk: half teaspoonful soda: one
teaspoonful cream tartar: whites of four
eggs: two and a half cups flour. Dark part:
Brown sugar, one cu): half cup motasees:
half cup butter: half cup sour milk; ha 1 tea;-
spoonful soia; one te aspooniul cream tartar:
two and a half cups flour; cloves. auspice,
cinnamon and nutmeg. half tesspoont‘ul of
each. and yolks of four eggs. When all is
mixei. drop a spoonful of dark and then one
of light in the cake tin. EDA.

Barn Bnaorr