¢ ’1 - 93m” //// Cl K, ‘ ’ *5, ”W , r_ _ V», . g7, 44/4/4/1/1/ )5 ’-//////I// .«r/ ‘7///// f ”/1. 5,14 L " ’ “‘ 41—— ,- ,j DETROIT, SEPTEMBER 15, 1885. THE HOU§EJHIOLD===§upplememm For the Household. M Y DREAM. One long day of toil was ending, And my head was hot with pain, When a thought akin to envy, Racing thro‘ my throbbing brain. Muttered to my fevered fancy, “ Only wealth has power to please; Rocking in the lap of riches Life were fair as summer seas.” Wealth for me would bridge the ocean, Open Europe’s storied lore; Rome and Greece with art and beauty, Each would open wide her door; These my hung’ring soul had longed for, 0ft they seemed within my clasp, But like gold beneath the rainbow They‘d escape my eager grasp. How I spurned the homely carpet That in poverty was wrought, And the couch, whose dingy plushings Now in weariness I sought. Common things, I said, repining, Ne‘er for me will blessings hold, Butthe sun, just then declining Flooded all with molten gold. And a benison descending On the wings of closing day, Soothed and hushed my sad complaining, Drove the evil sprite away; Brought before me my possessions, Richest in the long array Wealth of home, where love of dear ones Make it bright and warm alway. Lightly drooped the shining 1' ringes Of the evening’s twilight hour, While the playful, roving zephyr Gently kissed each folding flower, Softly gliding into dreamland On the sunset's gilded car, Soon for me, his golden splendor Wrapped all objects near and far. In his grand effulgent shimmer “ Common things” grew strangely bright: Aye, my home becomes a palace, All resplendent in the light; E’en the russet garb of labor, [1 unstained by deed of shame; There out-shone the kingly ermine With its throne and titled name. And like lilies round me springing, Noble deeds shone pure and white; Angel bands, about me winging, Whispered to me, “ Life is bright, And its sweetest flowers are blooming In the toil-warn paths of earth, And its purest gems oft sparkle On the brow of honest wort .” Diamonds oft are but the tear—drops Avarice wrings from orphaned trust, And his gorgeous, crimson velvets Stole their hue from hearts he’s crushed . More I BiW in ruptured dreaming— Seraphs holding crowns of gold, Beckoning up the shining pathway When the gates of Rest unfold. Some, whose wealth did bow them earthward, Sought for this to enter in, Others wearii g robes of priesthood Thought that these absolved from sin; But no easier passed the portal Those in purple, can] or gown,— He who bore life’s burdens bravely, Won the race and wore the crown. JULIA CARTER ALDRICH. Wansnox, Ohio. ——--——-¢o¢——-—— A DAY AMONG THE FLOWERS. On the let inst. I took the afternoon train on the D. & M. road to pay a long- anticipated, oft—deferred visit to Mrs. M- A. Fuller, of Fenton, whose letters on floral subjects have made her so well known to readers of the Household. The brakeman’s basso—profundo voice an— nounced “ Fen—ton ” at about seven o’clock, and I stepped out into the twilight to find Mr. Fuller waiting to convey me to his home, two miles out of town, where I was warmly welcomed by Mrs. Fuller and her daughter, Miss Mattie, and where a blazing fire crackled a cheery “ how d’do,“ a “ creature comfort ” appreciated on a chilly evening when the farmer thinks ap- prehensively of frost and a ruined corn crop. g The next morning was spentin the flow- er garden. The house stands about half way up a sloping hill, which rises behind it, forest crowned, and slopes from the front only to rise again in gentle undula- tions into a sizable hill, from which a fine view of the surrounding country is to be obtained. The principal garden lies east of the house; another but smaller space on the west side is devoted to flowers, while the pansy bed under the parlor windows forms a floral isthmus connecting the two. The piazza on the east is hung with the delicate foliage and pale pink bells of the adlumia vine, while that on the west is draped by a dense growth of what I took to be Clematis Vitalba, a stronggrowing vine with inconspicuous greenish-white flowers, which Mrs. Fuller would do well to replace with some of the more desirable varieties, as 0. Jack'nam', or 0. Lanugi‘ nosa candida, which give such beautiful bloom. I have seldom seen more beautiful flow- ers or more thrifty plants than I found in this little spot among the “ Tyrone hills." Summer is not the time to find green— house plants i their best, and I had as ex- pected I found those intended for winter bloom nicely rooted and coming into growth. Mrs. Fuller’s choice of green— house plauts seems excellent. She has wisely discarded these sorts which require conditions unattainable bv amateurs who cannot command the even, high, and moist temperature of a regular green- house, and selected those which can be grown with success in . ordinary living rooms if rightly cared for. She has a small compartment built into the piazz a, and warmed from the sitting room, which in winter is filled with plants, all abloom and growing; it is a misfortune the space is not larger, it should have been three times as commodious. The display of autumnal flowers in the garden was very fine. It is a garden of surprises; you think you have seen all, but when you go through it again you find "lots of things” you missed before. The petunia is grown in masses and makes a brilliant bezl, as showy as Phlox Drum— mondz’ or portulaca. Tall clumps of rose and white phlox tower over the humble minded but bright-faced verbena, yellow and bronze-brown calliopsis coquet With handsome Chinese larkspurs, while a few blooms of Lilz'um rubrum queened it over the floral court here assembled. I have not space to particulari ze all the beautiful flow- ers grown here in such charming 0 mm. sion and profusion. Hollyhocks had gone into the seed business. sweet—peas, which somebody has called “floral butterflies,” reminded me of Keats; “ Here be sweet- peas on tiptoe for a flight;" and “real English poppies,” with the vel- vety black spot at the base of each petal, satisfied Miss Mattie’s liking for “ some- thing English” and formed a beautiful study for the brush that is skillful enough to reproduce the rich color and silky text- ure. A bronze oxalis, with tiny yellow flowers, carpets the ground at the foot of the piazza steps; Mrs. Fuller thinks very highly of the oxalis as a border plant. I saw some new—to me—annuals, which seemed very pretty, to my taste. Aqui— legia crysantha, or “ golden columbine,“ was in full bloom, and its pale yellow flowers, in color like virgin gold, made one think of the sun shining through mist; the Eschscholtzia, or California poppy, is a desirable plant just now on account of its rich color. orange and yellow; and the Ed‘ ward Otto nasturtium, bronze, silky, glis- teniug like satin, “old gold ” in the sun, altogether unique, would delight the soul of an aesthetic belle as a corsage flower. Mrs. Fuller grows the most magnificent dahlias I ever saw. They are absolutely perfect in shape, filling every requirement of a standard flower—for I suppose you all know there are "standards ” in flori— culture as in poultry and small fruit rais- ing. Some specimens I brought back to Detroit were highly commended by good 2 THE HOUSEHOLD. judges. Her balsams are all very double and good. A fine lot of asters was 'just coming into bloom, and the pansies were getting into shape for exhibition at the fall fairs. Mrs. Fuller believes in the Darwinian theory of the “ surviValofthe fittest.” Of a flower which should be perfertly double she tolerates no imperfect specimens; such are weeds to her and share the same fate. ‘A leading article of her floral ( reed is that no 8011 can be too rich for flowers. Her garden is on strong clay soil, plentifully enriched with fertilizer from the yards and leaf mould from the woo.ls;while a home- made liquid fertilizer is kept constantly on hand as a tonic. The result is certain- ly satisfactory. A certain red zonale ger- anium bore several clusters of bloom, one flower of which would eclipse asilver dol- lar; we call it a very fine p1 int when one flower is as large as ahalf-dollar. Sweet- peas, asters, roses, everything which likes generous living, runs riot here. A large part of the east garden is underlaid with bulbs, but Phlox Drummondi and other annuals have been planted so there are no bare spaces and the strong soil supports the two growths with ease. Mrs. Fuller starts her plants in cloth-covered hot beds, which serve ascold frames for the rooting of slips the remainder of the sea— son. As soon as the young plant is fairly in the seed leaf, she transplants to prevent “ damping—off.” Certain seeds of perennials are sowed in autumn and re- qu‘re lit‘le or no care in spring, coming up at their own sweet will. Perennials and bulbs, like lilies, gladioli, etc., would be more largely grown, she is sure, did people but know their merits better. They certainly give best returns for least labor. In the afternoon we drove out to Long Lake, beyond Fenton, visiting “ Idlewxld ” and “Long Branch,” the euphonious names of two summer hotels on the banks. “Long Branch” commandsa fine view of the lake, which is in shape something like an elongated trefoil, being separated into three divisions by jutting points of land. A little island is the summer home of its own- er. The lake is afavorite resort for people from Detroit, Flint and the adjacent vil lages, but the ferty camps which dotted its shores during our brief heated term, van— ished with the advent of the chil y nights and prolonged rains that followed. From a. hill midway between Mr. Fuller’s home. .and Fenton- a charming rural landscape is to be seen. We look over a succession of gentle slopes rising one above the other till the misty blue horizon line seems on our level. Among the hills are set farm— ers’ homes, cattle are grazing in the fields, we look into the tasseled corn fields from far above them; Holly lies beyond us, be- hind a hill; while the blue waters of Long Lake, set in a dimple among the hills, shine and sparkle in the mellow Septem- ber sun. Fruit growing is a profitable busi— ness among these hills, but Mr. Ful ler's old peach-trees succumbed to last winter’s severe weather, while a young orchard not yet in bearing was unhurt. Apples will be but half a crop this year, much to my regret, for in all my peram- bulatlons through the State this summer I have not found a “ real good place to hook apples ” yet.‘ BEATBIX. A LITTLE MORE COFFEE. “Now write up our coffee for the Household ” said “ Fidus Achates ” as she and her friend stepped into their carriage and drove away toward their Oakwood home, in the clear April moonlight. But the summer is so far sped that I have heard the wind whistling for Autumn to hie along over the hills with her hunters, her dogs and her guns; the catalogues for the fairs. so close at hand, are on our table-the spring chicken crows with the voice of a mature chanticleer, and that coffee is still unwrit, and but for an- other call from Fidus one day last week, and another jog to my “sense of duty 5 as she and her daughter bade me good-by, might have remained unwritten inde- finitely. The formula I will send to its place in the recipe column. The tale that hangs thereby I will tell here. Last winter I had a little tussle with Ill-health. The old dame got the upper hand, and compelled me to consult a physician. The little pill man was my first choice, and his first question was “You drink coffee?” “Yes sir, one cup, once aday.” “And that one cup you must modify or altogether forego,” said be. This was a poser, for how -I was ever gomg to stand it to salute my internal organism with a douse of cold water, when the mercury had curled up in the bulb to try to keep warm on those in- tensely sub‘zero mornings, was more than I could tell. No doubt my per- plexity was apparent in my physiognomy, for presently he added, in a voice full of commiseration, “I can tell you how to prepareacoffee that is perfectly harm- less. It will give you the aroma, flavor and gentle stimulating warmth of pure coffee. But as its nourishing qualities equal or exceed its stimulating effects, yen will be none the worse for having drank it.” He then proceeded to give the formula that Ishall send with this letter. When he had finished I said to myself, “Pooh! I know all about your bran coflfee, sir! I’ve been persecuted with the vile stufi manyatime in my wanderings on the face of the earth. I’ll drink nothing, sir, before I’ll fuss and fool around making that nasty stuff. and then offer such a sublime insult to the beverage of the gods as to call it ‘coflee.’ ” But one day early in March as I sifted the graham flour to make a loaf of bread Ithought I would try a little, “just for fun.” SoIsifted everything out of the bran but just the clear bright husks of the wheat kernels, and proceeded with the proceedings, until next morning we had a cup of coffee that for color, flavor, and all the general excellencies was “good enough for me.” It is needless for me to add that this has been our morning beverage ever since. One in a while Imake a dish of the simon pure. But cofiee lovers as we have een and still are, we don’t like it, and the next morning finds us luxuriating in our home made adulteration again. And I must not omit to add that as far as my health and that of other members of the family is concerned, it has proved to be all that the physician claimed for it. And I would heartily recommend it to all coffee drinkers who are nervous people. and who suffer from that bate Mir-the ' sick headache. I have only had to yield in utter helplessness to this tyrannical malady, twice, since I began to drink this homeopathic coffee, and both attacks were brought on by excessive fatigue. Whereas it was my fate under' the old regime of pure coffee, to have a struggle for life with the sick-headache business- well—quite pro miscuously. E. L. NYE. HOME-IN-THE~HILLS. ————