DETROIT, SEPT. 2, 1893.

 

 

THE HOUSEHOLD-"Supplement.

 

 

CIRCUMSTANCES AND CASES.

“l‘here's plenty of work for this morning." she

cried:

"Ihere‘s baking. and scrubbing. and sweeping
beside.”

But she went at the baking with laughter and
30118.

And said. as she finished. "that it didn’t take
long."

And then to the scrubbing—and how‘she did
scrub!

The boards were like snow when she gave the last
rub.

Her hands were so deft and her arms were so
strong;

And she said. as she finished. "that didn't' take
long."

And then to the sweeping—she made the dust fly.

She looked at her work with a critical eye.

And yet all the time she kept humming a song.

And she tacked to the last verse "that didn’t take
long.”

The dinner was over. the work was all done ;

“And now for the errand, she said; "I must run.”

Six o'c'ock comes so soon when the days are so
lone.

And off she went, hunulng a verse of that song.

The mad she'd to travel was as straight as a die.
She knew every s'ep and see in tent just to fly;
But she met an acquaiulauce do vn li'lEI‘B by the
stile,
And somehow—the er: an l—lt took a. good while.
a! he Century.

 

LEAVING THE FARM.

“We Live on a farm which we work
on shares. The owner gives us a good
chance, and my husband says W“ are
doing- Wm} ‘0;):i~'islering.’ “T9 lizard. it
SUI] twenty year-4 will. it L'li‘l 1w" u’xt ‘rl'l,
and 3“"th y iunger children. But We,
all think we could do better in the city.
support The family more, easily, and en-
joy at great many sculpt-ayes which we
cannot have in the farm! Oar lease ex-
pires next March. and though we. have
the privilege of renewing it, think of
giving it up and moving to the city,
hoping not have to work so hard and to
have more advantages. What do you
think oi the advisability of this plan?"

BEL.

Mv advice is to “let well enough
alone.” The present is a mighty good
time to stick close to anything that
promises a living. When almost every
line of industry in the country is reduc-
ing its working force, and. thousands of
discharged men are looking for work
and facing the probabilities of a winter
of idleness and privation, with slight
prospect of relief,it would be the height
of folly to give up an assured support
and hunt for other work. In this crisis,
it is better to be a farmer than a bank
president. When business firms all
over the country are going down like

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"‘K.‘ , .‘ _ _ .. _ _.»._ m, in , ‘ . . ..~.
’2 ~>n1sg13~mrar<mzr:‘rfiz‘ln.m -. . f ., .

reeds before the financial blast, the
farmer is about the safest man I know
01‘. He’s sure of his job. There’s no
body to tell him Saturday night that he
will not be wanted Monday morning.
He’s certain of a living—enough to eat
and a roof for shelter—and that’s more
than many a poor fellow in town can
hope for this winter.

I wonder when, if ever. the farmer
will appreciate his blessings!

If Bel and her family come to the city
they will be called upon to meet athou-
sand new expenses. House rent is one of
the items that carry 01? a large per cent
of a man’s salary. Fuel is another. Every
egg, every drop a f milk, may pint of
berries, the head of lettuce, and the
onion that flavors the soup-—;lll have a
commercial value, a hundred times
greater than she ever attached to them
on the farm. The. Wages inst seemed
such a competence melt lil‘if frost in
sunshine before the absolutely neces-
sary demands upvn them. and at the
end of the. year the cal-clue ;eit is not
a: great as on the farm lining". a hund-
re‘l new UCODOIUi‘:s cue her-2n ur'aciicctd.
RSV. Thos. Dixon Vt‘l‘f.’ ll'u 3 says:

“ There are new people in list: country,
but they are millionaires in nil thatcun-
Sai‘ttltz‘s a. life as CU L’pdi‘ud w LL.) tel: poor
of the city.”

As for the mummies-s, the}; are: i”.'fil‘z",
it in thud, bill» le'i flit“ =-

 

Lne} a1: cost nicely lhc UL?

I.

l’nnc‘n’s market woman. gives "unable.

_ Vir'
, (in:

‘fcr nuthin' and precious little for tug.)-
penn:." The free entertain ments are
few in nuin ficl‘ and always crowded,
while car fare counts lip where there
are two or three 1.0 go. The bigc‘nurch-
es and eloquent preachers are all on the
great avenues, and it cost money to get
there; and the cl lthes that were good
as any one’s in the country somehow
look queerly old-fashioned in those
grand temples, and it takes a great deal
of chrls ianity to stand that. Belle Isle
is two car tickets and a ten cent trip
ticket off. and a couple means forty
cents. Cheap enough, but an item after
all when wages are low and seven
months are to be fed, seven bodies clad.
And so it goes; the little leaks here and
there, the small but constant demands,
soon convince one that money is more
easily spent than earned in town.
There is the advantage of schools, it

7 is true; it is a great pi.y that farmers

 

 

  

l;:~l)‘fl‘Ll) “'71? that ,

 

are so negligent and blind to the ad-
vantages of good schools in their own
neighborhood. In nine cases out of ten
it would cost them less to hire a first
class teacher, competent to instruct in
the higher branches, than it would to
send their children away from home to
school. And the teacher, having charge
of fewer pupils could give them much
more attention and advance them more
thoroughly than is possible to the teach-
er who has from forty to sixty pupils in
her room, whom she must put through
a prescribed routine so exactly mapped
out for her that she has no time for ex-
planations beyond a certain point, but
must hurry the children on and silence
their questions so thev can "pass their
examinations,” while the dull are hope-
les—ly left behind, and the bright are
dwarfed by routine and squared and
pruned into a grcow we call a “course
of study,”

My antics then to Be. is think less
of possible adt l.Ylin-_{":S aim
present. actual l3585r~:"a1~.7:4,

{DUFF} of
a v13: postpone

the flitting lo the cl}: izidcfiniie;y——or
at leaet until :39 ".la.:‘-_..':7s~ inferextes of
il:».:c.‘n.intry resume; fibeir sauna and

hell‘tzymne TC.“ genshierr‘. of lift». to
a vast army of rue-i am? \t’v‘lnf‘ti this
winter «iii he now {033' L‘I'~iv't_’.;_1fl in cat.
BEAU“);
.. .0“.-- -_.._
AT BSY PARK.
" Change l”|llii150!ll€."li tell myself

as I go out in the earl}: inrn‘nin'; Wi’ah a

 
 

chip hm tied under my chin and pail in
hand. to get water for breakfast—not
to the well tried old pump; butthrough
th: white sand, past logs and bogs; out
over the water; treading one plank
after another until I get dizzy, then
steeping to dip it from Lake Huron.
Once more on the sand, I turn to see
the beauty of lake and sky. It is al-
ways there, and always different.
Sometimes we see the smoke of far off
steamers; sometimes a sail boat stand-
ing out against the sky. There is the
gray blending of earth and air which
no artist brush can put upon canvas:
then again “The sea of glass mingled
with fire,” the wht'.e caps and wild
angry waves which come at the call of
the wind, or the spread of molten silver
beneath the touch of the moon, each
and all are wonderously beautiful to a
lover of nature.

Our cottage stands but a few yards

 

 

 
 
   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

The Household.

 

‘ distant and we come down tothe beach,

a dozen times a day, yet there is al-
ways something new to be seen.

The water is so shallow for a mile out
. that a child could hardly drown if it
tried, and groups of them play in it all
day. The cluster of thirteen cottages
with unkept grounds about them seems
at first glance a “no account” sort of a
place, but it is a paradise for a tired
mother of limited means. The cot-
tages. furnished with all necessaries
except bedding, rent for five dollars
per week, and in many cases they ac-
commodate two families for a few weeks
while at one next cure a dozen gay
young people of both sexes seem to
moke life a holiday under the supervi-
sion of one matron who acts as both
chaperone and cook. A tent serves
them as dining room, their hammocks
are every where, and gay peals of
laughter through the day subside into
beautiful songs at evening.

Half a dozen different towns contri~
hate to the circle, where every bit of
formality is banished; a somebody, or
a whole load of somebodys, are always
either going out or coming in, and
everybody seems good natured and
friendly. Looking out to the east,
over the sedgy low level, stretching as
far as the eye can reach, one often sees
a carriage or wagon full of new comers
winding around toward the Bay. No
postoifice, no store. one wonders some-
times if the great world left behind is
still there. Rambling up the beach,
we find lots of fishing huts. Some on
rough sleds all ready to run out upon
the ice when their harvest time comes;
and some full of nets. Great piles of
flat stones with a niche on each side to
hold the strong wire about them are
used, I suppose, as sinkers. Climbizg
to the top of the low dune bordering
the bay, we see a little cabin nestling
beneath the shadow of a clumpof scrag-
gy trees, and looking but a trifle taller
than the sedges which wave between
us. They saw the girl who sells milk
at the park lives there, and later, when
she passes us, bridle in' hand, and going
far up the beach, catches a horse feed-
ing there, and comes riding back
through the shallow water; the figure
and landscape suggest “ Madeline Bra-
bean," in "Little Venice.” that most
pathetic and passionate of stories.

Beneath the series of planks, resting
on tottering stakes, which I introduced
first, and which we call "the water-
way.” because there is somebody al-
ways treading its uncertain line with
pail in hand, half a dozen boats lie lazi-
ly in the sun. or toss about, fretting at
the tie which binds. Fishing parties
row out in those to a line of fishing
stakes, just visible from shore, and re-
turn with merry song, laughter or jest,
and report of a good time. and a good
string of medium sized fish, but I have
seen no large ohes.

The one permanent resident, a
bachelor who furnishes us with ice

 

, pies.

 

wood and sundry other articles, seemsI
to have a good time with his gun, slip
ping but a few yards to the back (if his
house, and bringing down snipe at any
hour of the day. He tells me the ladies
and children disappear from this place
the latter part of August, but gentle-
men come out until late for hunting
and fishing. Children under ten all go

bare footed, and very few toilettes more 5

elaborate than a mother hubbard wrap-
per and chip hat are seen. About four
P. M. on nice days, bathers in all sorts
of costumes may be seen running to-
ward the beach, where they go in for a
general good time. A few neat bathing
suits are seen, but most of them speak
of a hasty descent from an attic.

A boom broke loose at Saginaw last
year and three million feet of logs were
jammed and piled up in this bay. The
shallow water made it difficult to get
them out; and sixty teams and one hun-
dred men were employed for some time.
Many of the logs are still scattered
about and sometimes at evening the
men and boys pile debris about them
and build a big bon fire.

A minister with his family and a trio
of young ladies arrived one day. We
hear that one of the young ladies is a
recent college graduate and goes from
here to the World’s Fair. then on to
take a chair in a western college.
Another is cashier in a bank; and yet
because the load-was heavy these girls
took turns in walking from the railroad
station, six miles distant, something on
the old "ride and tie plan,” and tell us
they had lots of fun over it; but I have
a mental list of country girls who
would think themselves eternally dis-
graced by such a walk. For some time
the cottagers here delighted in a flow-
ing well of deliciously pure water ; but
the mines at the neighboring towns
tapped the vein and in its place you now
receive from a pump the nauseous mix-
ture of salt, iron and water. The water
used is dipped from the bay, and either
filtered or boiled. Nobody gets sick
from it, so I suppose it is all right.

Ophelia and I take turns at getting
meals and the girls wash the dishes.
Our bill of fare is simple: Something
warm for breakfast, bread and milk for
dinner, and bread and something else
for supper. There is so much chatting
and playing to do that our fancy work.
reading and letter-writing are alike un-
touched. We can .do them when we
are beyond the presence of so many new
and pleasant friends.

The days go by like “white sails upon
a summer sea,” and all too soon will
come to the one set for us to say good
bye to all in, and go back with our tan-
ned faces. and shells and pebbles and
memories, to our world of work.

THOMAS. A. H. J.

 

THE Rural New Yorker {says green
tomatoes and pie plant make excellent

 

Use equal quantities of each, and
make like pie plant; flavor with lemon.

 

 

DISH-GLOW.

.I cannot explain the reason why that
dish-cloth so haunts my dreams at night
—-and my mind through the day. There.
was much that was lingering about it
certainly. It was Phyllada’s dish-cloth
—she is the maid of all work, boss bal-
ancer in the kitchen realm—and pure
chance that I stumbled on it.

It was wash day; not a blue Monday
by any means, but a gloriously beautiful
day. The sun was shining brightly,
there was the least breeze—and such an
intensely blue sky, just an ideal day for
one to string out a line of clothes. To~
expedite matters I volunteered to take
out a boilerful of clothes and put in the
last of the washing, namely brown
towels and so forth. I glanced at the
nails back of the stove and there hung
what appeared to be a huge cloth. I
took it down cautiously and opened it.
It was the cloth that three times per
diem washed the dishes, pots, pans,,
kettles and floor—for all I knew. Talk

I about the germs of typhical fever linger-
ing in dish-clothes!

If the regular old.
Asiatic cholera wasn’t pretty well domi-
ciled in that filthy rag, than may I
never hope to visit the World’s Fair
this fall! It would weigh three pounds-
at the least calculating. It was original-
ly a bag that held salt, a twenty-five
pound sack; it had never been opened
but was in its sewed up state and all the
accumulations of weeks of steady usage
had been allowed to remain, a sort of;
stratic formation: and the smell! Well,
"Youmay break, you may shatter the vase if you
Butvgtléhcent oi the roses will linger there still.”

I graSped a big butcher knife that
lay conveniently near and proceeded to
up at apart. By pulling and cutting
and tearing succeeded in getting it into
two pieces. I rinsed it up and down in
half a dozen Waters and oumped it into
the boiler, and made a hasty exit as-
Phyllada came in form the clothes line
with her empty basket. When I final-
ly appeared at meal time with my
hands full of nice little dish cloths, and
explained the various uses for each, I
found that old rag, neatly sewed togeth-
er, had once more assumed its natural
proportions, and was fulfilling its mis--
sion of rag-of-ail-work. Tears actually
filled sweet Phyllada’s eyes as I opened
the top of the store and sent it hissing
into the blaze. I cremated it on the
spot.

I fell to wondering, why it is that
people take such genuine solid satisfac-
tion in crochety ways sluttish habits.
and have to be compelled to give them
up—and that only at the point of the
bayonet? It is said that straws show
which way the wind blows, and awo-
man’s hand-writing is a sure index to
her character. Be this as it may there
is no better criterion of a woman’s
housekeeping ability than her dish-
cloth. The neat, tidy housewife has a ,
number of dish-cloths; thin, soft ones

 


 

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n

 

 

l

The Household. 8

 

not too large, rinsed out free from not
black, streaks,sweet and clean and hung
out separately to dry; while the dis-
orderly woman or girl has one, and one
only never rinsed, squeehed half dry
and thrown up in a wad over the dish-
"pan handle, reeking and dripping with
filth and debris.

I wish that every "woman would arouse
to a realizing sense of the importance
of tidy dish-cloths and the intense satis-
faction they produce and of the great
influence they exert over the members
of the family and occasional visitors.

Bum 0an. EVANGELINE.

_._._...__
THE OLD TIMES.

I am always sorry for those elderly
people whose backward glance sees in
“the good old times” so much more that
was desirable and enjoyable than they
can find in the present. 1 am sorry, I
say, because I comprehend that they
have come to the sunset of sixty years
confessing life has been disappointment
and a failure, if they feel the truth of
what they say . Any sane man who.
looking back over a life time of sixty or
seventy years, honestly believes the 30’s
were better than the 90’s, admits tacit-
ly that he has not lived upto his Oppor-
tunities. Progress has swept by him,
and left him “a back number.”

He will tell you people lived simple,
frugal lives then; that there was less of

V selfishness and more of neighborly good

will, that peonle were truer-hearted
and more sincere; he’ll even say the
seasons are changing—the winters are
colder and the springs more backward.
Nothing is quite as good as it used to
be. Well, the aborigines lived even
more simply than the pioneers, but the
latter did not care to emulate their
methods. People “neighbored” from
necessity, not choice; benefits were re-
ciprocal because all were dependent;
safety to life and property lay in union.
There is just as much unselfishness and
true friendship in the world now as
then; I am not sure but people are real-
ly more sympathetic, for there are so
many of us now that attraction, not pro-
pinquity, can govern our associations.
These good old times had their jealous-
ies, their envys, their bickerings, and
they were based on far narrower lines
and stronger prejudices than ours of to-
day.

The man who avers his willingness
to go back to the days when the country
was without railroads, daily papers,
telegraphs and telephones; when schools
and churches were scattered, and every
body lived in log houses, when there
were no harvesters, nor steam thresh-
ers; when letter-postage was twenty-
five cents and the bottle of rum was
kept in every man’s cupboard and set
out for everybody’s refresnment, from
the minister down to the nearest neigh-
bor. When no building was “raised”
or harvest garnered without its use—

, fit at man, I say, is either a colossal liar
or an equity gigantic humbug.

 

 

Life was never so rich. and blessed as
now; never so bountiful with opportuni-
ties or so grand with promise. Yet the
grumblers fail to remember that it is
“not in our stars but in ourselves that
we are underlings.” Who would wish
art and science and literature to turn
back and give us their crudeness and
experimentation again?

The eyes of the child are ever fixed
upon the future, that holds everything
in its hand for him. The tired eyes of
age look back over the dusty pathway
of the past. Time’s mirage softens
much that was hard and crude; pains
and disappointments are forgotten, only
pleasures remembered. The lad was
care-free and happy; the old man is dis-
appointed. He has not kept in touch
with the little world around him; he has
drawn apart from life’s interests and
youth’s ambitions as they are lived
around him, as vears multiplied, and
now he is lonely. The reason that the
old is to him so much better than the
new lies within; he, not in the times or
the seasons. He amuses himself by
thinking how much happier he used to
be than he is now, and ascribes his lost
happiness to “training days” I, and his
mother’s ginger bread, instead of to his
own failing faculties and blunted per-
ceptions.

The old man is more apt to weave a
halo around old times than is the elder-
ly woman. She busies herself about
the details of daily life and keeps young
by her participation in them. She
keeps in touch with the young element
of the family, and the “times are good
enough” for her. And “grandma” is
usually far more believed than the
“grandpa” who believes there were no
days like the old days.

BRUNEFILLE.

W

WOMAN’S MISSION.

l

 

When we consider now importanta
mission women are honored with in life;
how great our influence is both in the
domestic circle and in society, too great
care cannot be taken in the cultivation
and formation of minds and habits,
which may have .a beneficial effect on
those around us.

We cannot overestimate the power of
influence, and it is ours to wield that
power for the good of others.

A writer speaks of women as being
the books, the arts, the academies, that
should contain and nourish all the
world; and if such be the case surely it
behooves us to make our lives examples
of purity and unselfish goodness, in-
stead of wasting the precious time which

has been given us in useless aspirations '

after the unattainable.

Many will not engage in any definite
work, simply because they are unable
to reach the highest standard of excel-
lence, and thereby merge into a state of
selfish egotism. Let us; my dear sisters,
take a lower place. All are not gifted
alike with ability to shine, «but we can

. - _’ ; l , , ' -. ; ' . ' .
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each take our rightful position in the
home, making that blessed little circle
the better and happier for our being in
it.

We can do so much that I have often
thought it a pity that we do not more
fully realize the unlimited scope for
usefulness which lies before us, and how
frequently opportunities are allowed to
slip, which might be productive of good
if only taken advantage of; and when
we consider that we are more or less
our brother’s keeper, a proper sense of
responsibily will make us willingly
active in the performance of any duties
required of us. It is by careful atten-
tion to small things that great results

are attained.
"Little words of kindness, little deeds of love,
Make of earth an Eden. like the Heaven above."
Let us therefore take courage and
unite in a grand effort to let our influ-
ence ever be felt on the side of right,
and if we truly seek to attain this we
will have a share in making woman’s
mission a glorious one, but,
“We must not hope to be mowers,
A nd to gather the ripe gold ears,
Unless we have first been sewers,
And watered the furrows w’th tears,
It is not just as we take it,
This mystical world of ours.

Life‘s field will yield as we make it
A harvest of thorns or flowers.”

PLAINWELL. Z. E. B. O.
———OO.—-——
PUTTING UP PEACHES.

 

There are many ways of preserving
this splendid fruit for winter use.
Probably more peaches are canned
than put up any other way. Peaches,
peas, apples and quinces should always
be pared with a silver knife and
drouped into clean water, to avoid
discoloration .

To can peaches, prepare a syrup
allowing one cup of sugar to each can
and simmer the peaches in this until
done. Lift them out carefully into the

can, boil the syrup ten or fifteen

minutes and fill up the cans.

Good Housekeeping gives some excel-
lent methods of putting up peaches, a
few of which are given below:

PRESERVED PEACHES—Pare and.

, stone the fruit, allow sugar, pound for

pound. Break a quarter of the stones,
extract the'kernels, cut them in pieces
and boil in just enough water to cover

them till soft, then set aside in a cover--
ed earthern jar. Put at the bottom of"

the preserving kettle alayer of sugar,
then one of peaches. and so on till the
kettle is filled or the fruit exhausted.
Let it warm s‘owly till the sugar is
melted and the fruit heated through.
Then strain and add the water from
the kernels and boil the whole till the
peaches are tender and clear. The
fruit is then taken carefully out with
long-handled Skimmers, placed upon
large flat dishes or platters, and set in
the sun to become firm. Meanwhile
the sirup is boiled and skimmed till it
is clear and thick, when the jars are
filled three-quarters full of the fruit
and the boiling sirup is poured over to
fill the jars. '

r’s

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The Household.

 

 

”Exam! unnuALsna—The peaches,
having been pared, stoned and weigh,
ed, are placed in a porcelain-lined
kettle and heated slowly, so as to ex-
tract all the juice possible. It is

necessary to stir them often from the

bottom, and for this use a wooden
spoon is best—never use an iron spoon.
Increase the heat gradually till the
juice comes to a boil, which is allowed
to continue for forty-five minutes,
stirring frequently during the time.
Tue sugar is then added, allowing
twelve ounces for each pound of fruit,
and the whole is boiled for five minutes,
all of the scum which rises being care-
fully removed. Then add the juice of
a lemon for each three pounds of
peaches, and the water in which a
quarter part of the kernels have been
treated as described for preserved
peaches. The whole is then to be
stewed for ten minutes more, being
stirred meantime till it becomes a
smooth paste. when it is taken from
the fire and put into jars or tumblers,
being covered when cold with brandied
paper.

PICKLED PEACHES, PARED.——Seiect
ripe, perlect fruit, weigh after paring,
and for each ten pounds of peaches
take a quart. of vinegar, four and a half
pounds of sugar. and as much mace,
cloves and cinnamon, or whatever spice
is preferred, as will give the desired
flavor. Lay the pared peaches upon
the sugar for an hour, then drain 01f
theatrun .hus formsi, and add a cup-
iuloi water. Bzing Luis to a boil and
skim as long 3.5 any scum rises: then
put in the o nudes. bill for ten minutes,
put into the j w: M11 the Vinegar and
spices to the fill‘llll. soil. fifteen minutes
and fill Uj‘: the jars.

PICKLED PEACHES, UNPARED —-
WLoe. zvat'r‘. a curse Clint. to remove
the dew: prick eucn p act. with a
erk, and h3at in i153 enough Wait: to
cover l....,.n. Wei gh them. When the
water has n =31 y icaencd a ”poll, take
out the peachas and put in three
pounds oF sugar to each seven pounds of
fruit, pulling the swap ti‘ius :ormed for
fifteen minuteslun; saimning ll. till
clear. Than add three pints of vine-gal-
and the spices, which should be placed
in a small, thin muslin bag, and consist
of one tablespoonful each of mace, all-
spice and cinnamon st ink, with a tea-
spoouful each of celery seed and cloves.
Boil all together for ten minutes, then
return the peaches, and continue the
boiling till the fruit can be pierced
with a straw. Tnen remove the fruit
to be cooled and packed in jars, con-
tinue boiling the sirup till it is of
satisfactory thickness, and pour it over
the peaches while still scalding hot.

._____.....__..

IN preparing pineapples one cannot
be too careful to remove every particle
of the "eyes” after paring. Then in-

’ stead of slicing the fruit, commence at

the top and strip in small pieces from
the outside to the centre or core.

 

 

GEEBKIN mute.

 

Tiny gherkins, or cucumbers. should
be chosen for this purpose. The
prettiest size is from one inch and a
half to two inches and a halite length.

but they may be used whennearly twice
aslargs. The smaller does require less '

soaking in brine than than 01 greater

“size. Leave stems on the ghsrkins if

possible, and be careful that there are
no specked or bruised specimens among
them. Christine '1‘. Herrick gives the
following as the best method.

Put the cucumbers in a good-sized
cheese cloth bag. in which has bee”
placed a stone heaVy enough to anchor
the bag in the bottom of the large
earthen- -ware crack or small keg which
is to hold your pickles during this first
stage. Tie up the bag at the top and
lay it in the jar, taking care that none
of your gherkins are under the stone.
Pour in the brine, made strong enough
to bear up an egg. using about a quart
of salt to three gallons of water. Let
the cucumbers lie in the brine for at
least ten days, stirring the brine up
well three times a week. Fresh
cucumbers may be added from day to
day, but in that case the length of time
the bag and its contents remain in soak
must be proportionately increased. It
will not injure the cucumbers to re-
main for a month or six weeks in the
brine. Test its strength with an egg
from time to time, and add more salt if
necessary, or water, if this has evapo-
rated too rapidly.

-When the last cucumbers added to
the store have served their term in
salt-water, take them all out, pick
them over carefully, rejecting those
that have softened, and. lay the others
in cold fresh water for forty-eight
hours, changing the water once during
that time. if the pickles are to he
greened it must- be done at mis stage,

Prepare the. Vinegar by adding to
each quart tweive wcozz-t. c eve-s, twelve,
whole clack peopereo-ns, :‘lX whole

ailsplce, nix blades: ._,..' mace, :. quarter
of an onion sliced. 1:2“ mouthful of a
233,) of sugar. l‘le the r"“;<3 1-.4 and onion
up i. 2 {ether in 0118 or LVN.) C‘llll’lnll flags,

and o | l toe vinegar connining these
and the sugar for five minutes. PJUK
the ghelklns inm astl lie. creel... pour

‘lhu roilin- vinvgm‘ over them. and=

00an l‘ Lilli jsr' lignll}. {'ll vinalrap
must b é (ll'n- 2.51 Hum ill; piGKlr, {him
day 5 later so lid ag till. a C: poured back
on the gherkins, an this Duel'atluh re-
pea-ted a week) ater, and then again on
the tenth day. The pickles may then
be arranged in salt“ jars or left in a
large crock. In either case, they must
be covered closely. They will be ready
for the table in six or eighi weeks.

String- beans, radish pods, and small
green tomatoes may be put up by the
same method, and also because the
direction, if absolutely ooeyed Will
yield thoroughly satisfac my results.
Should these pickles not prove sharp
enough to suit all tastes. the fault may
be remedied by using less sugar to the
same amount of vinegar.

 

HOUSEHOLD HINTS.

 

TIN cans that tomatoes and corn come
in are godd to pack sausage in. Press
down for a while after you think there
are no chinks left. Pour hot lard on
top. When wanted to fry, set in hot
water a minute. It will slip out with a
“tunk” on the bottom—R. U. Y.

stemming currants has its value to the
housekeeper. H currents are placed in
aflat collanderand a small stream of
water allowed to run over them as...
the faucet, the stems can be actuated
by making a circular motion with the
fingers through the currents.

 

A DISH drainer is a household con-
venience that would save, trouble and
toll to a good many women, and give
them cleaner sweeter dishes to use in
the bargain, if. they would only be per-
suaded to invest. A dish rinsed by turn-
ing clean hot water over it and dried
without wiping, is cleaner than the
same dish wiped on thr average dish
towel, and once handling is saved. A
dish drainer described by an exchange
is like this: It was of tin, two feet in
diameter, with sides that sloped towards
the centre. There was a removable
bottom like a skimmer, and underneath
was a grooved bottom with an escape
for the water that is poured over the
dishes to make them easily wiped. and
thoroughly free from every bit of dish
water. This was one of the best labor
savers I have seen, and every kitchen
would be the better for one.

Z E. R. 0. says the inquiring read-
er should use two cups of sifted flour in
the graham cake, or pudding.

 

Useful Recipes

Gunmen BAT Ls —U-e equal parts of shred
ded fish ( williout soaking) and of uncooked
potatOes pared and cut into thin slices. The
fish and potatoes are put info tepid wutsr to
boil together. W hen cooked dry off and
mash as you would f'cr mashed potatoes
that you wished to be light and nice. Partly
; cool the potatoes, tl‘en beat in an egg, in
is w lehlespoanl‘ul: of milk or sweet cream
I (do not. 11 aka lo ) moist). and if negzewary a
lliltle sell. Bis-at and mix until ‘- .g‘bt and
{then with a men roll in ge lumps of the

potatoes in o ‘n ii; that are more ov.9.i man
i round and erp into the fat which most be
very hot, so hot that the lime smoke which
indicates a high temperature is seen.

 

large tablespocnfuls of butter and. sugar,
one teacupfcl sweet milk, two feaeumuls
flour. two teaspoonfuls baking pawns-r, a
pinch of salt and two well beaten eggs. Mix
well, pour in e. greas~d basin or mould and
steam an hour. It is improved with fruit
but is good without. To be eaten with
cream and sugar, or sugar and butter rubbed
to a cream; flavor with almond or vanilla.

 

PIEPLANT J Aim—Seasons when fruit is
scarce, pleplant jam may be made to take
the place of some of the ordinary domestic
supplies. Pare and cut the stalks, to every
pound allow a pound of sugar and half the
rind of a lemon. Pleace the fruit in a
preserving kettle, strew over the sugar and
set it on the stove where it will not beat very
fast at first. Stir frequently to prevent its
scorching. Slice the lemon rind thin and
add it to the rhubarb and cook slowly until
it is rich and somewhat stiff. then dip it into

 

--O. J Farmer.

 

Tumutionofanexchangaabout

SIEAMED FUDDIXG.—-Beal to a cream two ,

jars or tumblers and cover the same as Hli- i

 

 

    
   
  
  
   
 
   
   
   
   
 
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
    
     
   
   
   
 
      
  
     
   
   
   
 
   
     
    
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
 

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