Household.
For nothing lovelier can be foundIn woman than to studyhouseholdgood.—Milton.
For nothing lovelier can be foundIn woman than to studyhouseholdgood.—Milton.
For nothing lovelier can be foundIn woman than to studyhouseholdgood.—Milton.
For nothing lovelier can be found
In woman than to studyhouseholdgood.—Milton.
Who is that little woman there,With laughing eyes and dark-brown hair,And physiognomy so fair?My wife.Who’s not as meek as she appears,And doesn’t believe one-half she hears,And toward me entertains no fears?My consort.Who wakes me up on every morning,About the time the day’s dawning,My protestations calmly scorning?My spouse.Who marks my clothes with India ink,And darns my stockings quick as a wink,While I sit by and smoke and think?My frau.Who asks me every day for money,With countenance demure and funny,And calls me “pretty boy” and “honey?”My little woman.Who runs this house both night and day,And over all exerts her sway;Who’s boss o’ this shanty, anyway?My better half!—San Francisco Call.
Who is that little woman there,With laughing eyes and dark-brown hair,And physiognomy so fair?My wife.Who’s not as meek as she appears,And doesn’t believe one-half she hears,And toward me entertains no fears?My consort.Who wakes me up on every morning,About the time the day’s dawning,My protestations calmly scorning?My spouse.Who marks my clothes with India ink,And darns my stockings quick as a wink,While I sit by and smoke and think?My frau.Who asks me every day for money,With countenance demure and funny,And calls me “pretty boy” and “honey?”My little woman.Who runs this house both night and day,And over all exerts her sway;Who’s boss o’ this shanty, anyway?My better half!—San Francisco Call.
Who is that little woman there,With laughing eyes and dark-brown hair,And physiognomy so fair?My wife.
Who is that little woman there,
With laughing eyes and dark-brown hair,
And physiognomy so fair?
My wife.
Who’s not as meek as she appears,And doesn’t believe one-half she hears,And toward me entertains no fears?My consort.
Who’s not as meek as she appears,
And doesn’t believe one-half she hears,
And toward me entertains no fears?
My consort.
Who wakes me up on every morning,About the time the day’s dawning,My protestations calmly scorning?My spouse.
Who wakes me up on every morning,
About the time the day’s dawning,
My protestations calmly scorning?
My spouse.
Who marks my clothes with India ink,And darns my stockings quick as a wink,While I sit by and smoke and think?My frau.
Who marks my clothes with India ink,
And darns my stockings quick as a wink,
While I sit by and smoke and think?
My frau.
Who asks me every day for money,With countenance demure and funny,And calls me “pretty boy” and “honey?”My little woman.
Who asks me every day for money,
With countenance demure and funny,
And calls me “pretty boy” and “honey?”
My little woman.
Who runs this house both night and day,And over all exerts her sway;Who’s boss o’ this shanty, anyway?My better half!
Who runs this house both night and day,
And over all exerts her sway;
Who’s boss o’ this shanty, anyway?
My better half!
—San Francisco Call.
—San Francisco Call.
It has long been a social mystery, over which conservatives and radicals have puzzled alike, why the gifted men and women of our race should spring almost exclusively from the intermediate ranks of life. The solution is found in Piazzi Smyth’s metaphor of the Great Pyramid. A circumscribed routine of pleasure on one hand, of toil on the other, equally engrosses the time and thoughts of the dwellers at either end. It is only in the middle of the pyramid that one is free to live up to the standard of the hideless coffer, the sarcophagus measure, the measure of a man!
Of the feminine attainers to this measure, says a writer in the American Queen, the women who are taking up their lives and living them fully in all their length and breadth and dignity, as lives must be lived to reach the cosmic standard of the pyramidal man, there is found one pre-eminent type in that woman of letters against whom a hard battle is being waged to-day.
To woman emancipated, freed from veil and harem, elevated from her primal position when she was but the toy and tool of man’s passion, this age of civilization points with a pride whose justifiableness has yet to be proved. Exterior liberty she has gained indeed; but in the face of the fact that this universal crusade against women of letters is but the determination to hold the old shackles on heart and brain, what is her alleged emancipation but a lengthening of the chain which still binds her in moral and mental bondage.
“The shrieking sisterhood,” be it said in justice to the sex, represent a small minority. Few and far between are the women who would usurp man’s place on platform or at poll; still fewer and farther apart the advocate of woman’s right to drop her petticoat for the untrammeled freedom of the trousers. But the great-hearted woman, yearning for recognition as paramount forces of social regeneration—the great-minded women taking up the problems of life and grappling with them for the sake of their weaker sisters—these are many, confined and silenced within the gilded bars which society is daily drawing closer and stronger about them. This narrowing of woman’s sphere, this withholding her from anything but a mission purely physical, is but a different form of the old barbarism whose alleged destruction is the boast of the present day; and the time is not far distant when the wrong must be acknowledged and amended, or retrogression brand the age for which we so proudly claim progression! Let the hackneyed cry of woman’s intellectual inferiority prove its truth, conclusively, as it has not yet been proved, or let it be silenced forever! The cranial differences existent between the sexes, upon which the theoristic foundation of their respective superiority and inferiority of intellect has been laid, are, in truth, the exponents of sexual intellectual equality, science having proclaimed them the visible proofs of that mutual dependence and adaptability which, sexually, mind has for mind, as body for body. Let this truth be no longer denied; let present social theories hold their sway, and in a generation of pigmies, moral, mental, and physical, our race, in all its glorious potentialities, must sink ignominiously into oblivion. This is an important fact, of which society seems to have lost sight—that upon the women of to-day and of to-morrow the coming man is wholly dependent, type being the transmitter of type, according to its kind. The increase of female education has naturally awakened women to a recognition of all her latent intellectual possibilities, and hence the growth of feminine ranks in that wide field whose battles are fought with a weapon “mightier than the sword.” The recruits of to-day are not all Mrs. Brownings nor George Eliots, but the world will lose infinitely in good and strength and sweetness if the budding Adelaide Proctors and Mrs. Burnetts are blighted by the propagation of that harsh masculine doctrine which, stripped of its pretty sophisms, is resolved into the bare assertion that a woman of talent is a woman unsexed! This doctrine, false, shallow, and unjust, is the enemy with whom woman is battling to-day.
May the pyramidal prophecy soon be verified when “all things shall be compared in pure truth and righteousness.” Then the conflict shall be ended and the intellectual growth of woman be revealed, the heightener, enricher, purifier of that emotional development which is the essence of ideal womanhood—an essence thrilling as deeply and tenderly the hearts of the humble followers in her footsteps as it thrilled the hearts of that greatest of woman poets, who sang:
What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain!What art is she good at but hurting her breastWith the milk-teeth of babes and a smile at her pain?
What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain!What art is she good at but hurting her breastWith the milk-teeth of babes and a smile at her pain?
What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain!What art is she good at but hurting her breastWith the milk-teeth of babes and a smile at her pain?
What art can a woman be good at? Oh, vain!
What art is she good at but hurting her breast
With the milk-teeth of babes and a smile at her pain?
pointing in the zenith of her fame to the divine right of maternity as the supreme, holiest and sweetest potentiality of womanhood.
A recent editorial article in the New York Medical Record contains the following pertinent remarks on the value of water in the treatment of sick infants:
“With the exception of tuberculosis, no disease is so fatal in infancy as intestinal catarrh occurring especially during the hot summer months, and caused, in the majority of cases, by improper diet. There are many upon whom the idea does not seem to have impressed itself, that an infant can be thirsty without, at the same time, being hungry. When milk, the chief food of infants, is given in excess, acid fermentation results, causing vomiting, diarrhœa, with passage of green or yellowish-green stools, elevated temperature, and the subsequent train of symptoms which are too familiar to need repetition. The same thing would occur in the adult, if drenched with milk. The infant needs no food, but drink. The recommendation of some writers, that barley-water or gum-water be given to the little patients in these cases, is sufficient explanation of their want of success in treating this affection. Pure water is perfectly innocuous to infants, and it is difficult to conceive how the seeming prejudice to it ever arose. Any one who has ever noticed the avidity with which a fretful sick infant drinks water, and marks the early abatement of febrile and other symptoms, will be convinced that water, as a beverage, a quencher of thirst, a physiological necessity, in fact, should not be denied to the helpless member of society. We have often seen an infant which had been dosed ad nauseam for gastro-intestinal irritability, assume, almost at once, a more cheerful appearance, and rapidly grow better, when treated to the much-needed draught of water. If any prescription is valuable enough to be used as routine practice, it is, ‘Give the babies water.’”
To make a pretty little pitcher, cut off the small end of an egg, then carefully remove the yolk and white of the egg; next take a narrow strip of colored paper and paste it around the edge of the opening, making the paper pinked in one place so as to look like the mouth of a pitcher. Then paste a strip around the other end of the egg so that it will stand alone; to finish the pitcher paste on a strip of paper bent in the shape of a handle. Cups may be made in the same manner by cutting away more of the shell than would be cut in making a pitcher. Pretty air castles are made by cutting egg shells in half, building the cut edges with colored paper or cloth, and fastening to them bright colored cord or silk by which to suspend them. These air castles look pretty when suspended from brackets, hanging lamps, etc. The pitchers, cups and air-castles may be improved by being ornamented with small pictures pasted on them.
Breakfast Cocoa, as a beverage, is universally conceded superior to all other drinks for the weary man of business or the more robust laborer. The preparations of Walter Baker & Co., have long been the standard of merit in this line, and our readers who purchase “Baker’s Breakfast Cocoa” will find it a most healthful, delicious and invigorating beverage.
A manpasses for what he is worth. Very idle is all curiosity concerning other people’s estimate of us, and idle is all fear of remaining unknown. If a man knows that he can do anything—that he can do it better than any one else—he has a pledge of the acknowledgment of the fact by all persons. The world is full of judgment days, and into every assembly that man enters, in every action he attempts, he is gauged and stamped.
Ifyou would enjoy quiet content, drop all airs and pretenses.
EDUCATIONAL.
UNIVERSITY OF THE STATE OF NEW YORKAMERICANVeterinary College,141 West 54th St., New York City.
The regular course of lectures commences in October each year. Circular and information can be had on application to
A. LIAUTARD, M. D. V. S.,Dean of the Faculty.
BREEDERS DIRECTORY.
The following list embraces the names of responsible and reliable Breeders in their line, and parties wishing to purchase or obtain information can feel assured that they will be honorably dealt with:
SWINE.Chester Whites.W. A. GilbertWauwatosa Wis.
SCHEIDT & DAVIS,Dyer, Lake Co., Ind., breeders of Victoria swine. Originators of this famous breed. Stock for Sale. Write for circular A.
REMEMBERthat$2.00pays forThe Prairie Farmerone year, and the subscriber gets a copy ofThe Prairie Farmer County Map of the United States, free!This is the most liberal offer ever made by any first-class weekly agricultural paper in this country.
LIVE STOCK, Etc.
HOLSTEINSATLIVING RATES.DR. W. A. PRATT,ELGIN, ILL.,
Now has a herd of more than one hundred head of full-blooded
HOLSTEIN’S
mostly imported direct from Holland. These choice dairy animals are for sale at moderate prices. Correspondence solicited or, better, call and examine the cattle, and select your own stock.
Dana’s White Metallic Ear Marking Label, stamped to order with name, or name and address and numbers. It is reliable, cheap and convenient. Sells at sight and gives perfect satisfaction. Illustrated Price-List and samples free. Agents wanted.
C. H. DANA, West Lebanon, N. H.
10 JERSEY BULLS FOR SALE.
All of fine quality, solid color and bk. points. Ages, from six to eighteen months. Sons of Mahkeenae, 3290; brother of Eurotus, 2454, who made 778 lbs. butter in a year, and out of cows of the best butter blood, some having records of fourteen and fifteen lbs. per week. No fancy prices.
A. H. COOLEY, Little Britain Orange Co., N. Y.
N. B.—If I make sales as formerly will send a car with man in charge to Cleveland, getting lowest rates.
SCOTCH COLLIESHEPHERD PUPS,—FROM—IMPORTED AND TRAINED STOCK—ALSO—Newfoundland Pups and Rat Terrier Pups.
Concise and practical printed instruction in Training young Shepherd Dogs, is given to buyers of Shepherd Puppies; or will be sent on receipt of 25 cents in postage stamps.
For Printed Circular, giving full particulars about Shepherd Dogs, enclose a 3-cent stamp, and address
N. H. PAAREN,P. O. Box 326,—CHICAGO, ILL.
MISCELLANEOUS.
Don’t be HumbuggedWith Poor, Cheap Coulters.
All farmers have had trouble with their Coulters. In a few days they get to wabbling, are condemned and thrown aside. In our
“BOSS” Coulter
we furnish a tool which can scarcely be worn out; and when worn, the wearable parts, a prepared wood journal, and movable thimble in the hub (held in place by a key) can be easily and cheaply renewed.We guarantee our “BOSS”to plow more acres than any other three Coulters now used.
OUR “O. K.” CLAMP
Attaches the Coulter to any size or kind of beam, either right or left hand plow. We know that after using it you will say it isthe Best Tool on the Market. Ask your dealer for it.
Manufactured by the BOSS COULTER CO.,Bunker Hill, Ills.
Greatest Offer Ever Made SEEDS $2.65 FOR $1.00 A COMPLETE VEGETABLE GARDEN ALL THE BEST VARIETIES.
We claim our Seeds are Unsurpassed. Their vitality and purity being tested before sending out. We OFFER$665.00 IN CASH PRIZES FOR 1884Competition open to all. See Catalogue for particulars. We desire that all may compete for these prizes, and give our seeds a fair trial, feeling sure ofmaking a permanent customer of every purchaser, and tointroducethem into thousands of new homes will send free by mail on receipt ofONE DOLLARamounting at regular prices to$2.65, OUR SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BOX OF SEEDS, containing large size packets of allbest newandstandard varieties, as follows:3Remarkable Cabbages.Johnson & Stokes Earliest, 10 days earlier than any other,Early Favorite Savoy, richer than Cauliflower.J. & S. Premium Flat Dutch, the standard Winter Cabbage.$80 CASH PRIZESfor heaviest heads.2Handsome new Beets.EclipseandPhiladelphia Perfection,$10 PRIZEfor the best.3Delicious New Melons,Golden Gem—Musk.Boss, andSweet Icing—Water.$50 CASH PRIZESfor best Melons.3Superior Onions, our Pedigree stock.Southport Red Globe, Extra Early Red, andYellow Danvers. Livingston’s New Favorite Tomato, New Ne Plus Ultra Sweet Corn, best of all:New Lemon Pod Wax Bean. American Wonder Pea. Philadelphia Prize Head and New Satisfaction Lettuce. Green Prolific Cucumber. Improved Long Orange Carrot. Sugar Parsnip. New Dwarf Extra Curled Parsley. Mammoth Etampes Bright Red Pumpkin. Early French Breakfast Radish. New White Strasburgh Summer Radish. California Mammoth Winter Radish. Long White Salsify. Perfect Gem Squash. New Extra Early Munich Turnip, and a trial packet of theWonderful New Welcome Oats. We will put in each box,free of charge, 3 packets of Choice Flower Seedsas a present to your wife, mother or daughter, in all32 Packages.Send a$1 BILL, postal note, or stamps, in an ordinary letter, and you will receive the box by return mail, and if not satisfied we will return your money.3 Boxes mailed for only $2.50OUR FLOWER COLLECTIONcomprising10 Packetsof theChoicest Flower Seeds, each beautifully illustrated in colors, with full directions for culture, sent postpaid for25c. in stamps.FIVE COLLECTIONS, $1.00. ORDER NOW, and get ourNEW AND COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE.MailedFREE. Address,
JOHNSON & STOKES, Seed Growers, Philadelphia.
SNOW WHITE FLOUR MADE FROM IMPERIAL SPRING 46 B PER ACRE SALZER’S NEW WHEAT.
BUY NORTHERN GROWN SEEDS,No Seeds produce more beautiful Flowers, finer vegetables, larger crops, than ourreliable Northern Crown Seeds. Don’t buy worthless Seeds when for less money ours are deliveredFREE BY MAILat your door.The FarmNew tested Wheat [5 sorts] among these Saskatchewan Fife and Imperial French Seeds grown 800 miles north of here! Everything for farm. Wis., Ill., Iowa and other States will return to old time yield if our Seed Grain is used. Try it.
☞ Catalogue free.Always say where you saw this.
J. A. SALZER, La Crosse, Wis.
J. A. SALZER,La Crosse, Wis.
Plants and Roses,by the 100,000.LARGEST GREENHOUSESin the West.
THE STANDARD REMINGTON TYPE-WRITERis acknowledged to be the only rapid and reliable writing machine. It has no rival. These machines are used for transcribing and general correspondence in every part of the globe, doing their work in almost every language. Any young man or woman of ordinary ability, having a practical knowledge of the use of this machine may find constant and remunerative employment. All machines and supplies, furnished by us, warranted. Satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded. Send for circulars.WYCKOFF, SEAMANS & BENEDICT, 38 East Madison St., Chicago, Ill.
OUR YOUNG FOLKS
Have you heard of the valley of Babyland,The realm where the dear little darlings stay,Till the kind storks go, as all men know,And oh, so tenderly bring them away?The paths are winding and past all findingBy all save the storks, who understandThe gates and the highways and the intricate bywaysThat lead to Babyland.All over the valley of BabylandSweet flowers bloom in the soft green moss.And under the blooms fair, and under the leaves there,Lie little heads like spools of floss.With a soothing number, the river of slumberFlows o’er a bed of silver sand,And angels are keeping watch o’er the sleepingBabes of Babyland.The path to the valley of BabylandOnly the kingly, kind white storks know.If they fly over mountains or wade thro’ fountains—No man sees them come and go;But an angel, maybe, who guards some baby,Or a fairy, perhaps, with her magic wand,Brings them straightway to the wonderful gateway,That leads to Babyland.And there in the valley of BabylandUnder the mosses and leaves and ferns,Like an unfledged starling they find the darling,For whom the heart of a mother yearns.And they lift him lightly and tuck him tightlyIn feathers as soft as a lady’s hand,And off with a rock-a-way step they walk awayOut of Babyland.As they go from the valley of BabylandForth into the world of great unrest,Sometimes weeping he wakes from sleepingBefore he reaches his mother’s breast.Ah, how she blesses him now she caresses him:—Bonniest bird in the bright home band,That o’er land and water the kind stork bro’t herFrom far off Babyland.—Ella Wheeler.
Have you heard of the valley of Babyland,The realm where the dear little darlings stay,Till the kind storks go, as all men know,And oh, so tenderly bring them away?The paths are winding and past all findingBy all save the storks, who understandThe gates and the highways and the intricate bywaysThat lead to Babyland.All over the valley of BabylandSweet flowers bloom in the soft green moss.And under the blooms fair, and under the leaves there,Lie little heads like spools of floss.With a soothing number, the river of slumberFlows o’er a bed of silver sand,And angels are keeping watch o’er the sleepingBabes of Babyland.The path to the valley of BabylandOnly the kingly, kind white storks know.If they fly over mountains or wade thro’ fountains—No man sees them come and go;But an angel, maybe, who guards some baby,Or a fairy, perhaps, with her magic wand,Brings them straightway to the wonderful gateway,That leads to Babyland.And there in the valley of BabylandUnder the mosses and leaves and ferns,Like an unfledged starling they find the darling,For whom the heart of a mother yearns.And they lift him lightly and tuck him tightlyIn feathers as soft as a lady’s hand,And off with a rock-a-way step they walk awayOut of Babyland.As they go from the valley of BabylandForth into the world of great unrest,Sometimes weeping he wakes from sleepingBefore he reaches his mother’s breast.Ah, how she blesses him now she caresses him:—Bonniest bird in the bright home band,That o’er land and water the kind stork bro’t herFrom far off Babyland.—Ella Wheeler.
Have you heard of the valley of Babyland,The realm where the dear little darlings stay,Till the kind storks go, as all men know,And oh, so tenderly bring them away?The paths are winding and past all findingBy all save the storks, who understandThe gates and the highways and the intricate bywaysThat lead to Babyland.
Have you heard of the valley of Babyland,
The realm where the dear little darlings stay,
Till the kind storks go, as all men know,
And oh, so tenderly bring them away?
The paths are winding and past all finding
By all save the storks, who understand
The gates and the highways and the intricate byways
That lead to Babyland.
All over the valley of BabylandSweet flowers bloom in the soft green moss.And under the blooms fair, and under the leaves there,Lie little heads like spools of floss.With a soothing number, the river of slumberFlows o’er a bed of silver sand,And angels are keeping watch o’er the sleepingBabes of Babyland.
All over the valley of Babyland
Sweet flowers bloom in the soft green moss.
And under the blooms fair, and under the leaves there,
Lie little heads like spools of floss.
With a soothing number, the river of slumber
Flows o’er a bed of silver sand,
And angels are keeping watch o’er the sleeping
Babes of Babyland.
The path to the valley of BabylandOnly the kingly, kind white storks know.If they fly over mountains or wade thro’ fountains—No man sees them come and go;But an angel, maybe, who guards some baby,Or a fairy, perhaps, with her magic wand,Brings them straightway to the wonderful gateway,That leads to Babyland.
The path to the valley of Babyland
Only the kingly, kind white storks know.
If they fly over mountains or wade thro’ fountains—
No man sees them come and go;
But an angel, maybe, who guards some baby,
Or a fairy, perhaps, with her magic wand,
Brings them straightway to the wonderful gateway,
That leads to Babyland.
And there in the valley of BabylandUnder the mosses and leaves and ferns,Like an unfledged starling they find the darling,For whom the heart of a mother yearns.And they lift him lightly and tuck him tightlyIn feathers as soft as a lady’s hand,And off with a rock-a-way step they walk awayOut of Babyland.
And there in the valley of Babyland
Under the mosses and leaves and ferns,
Like an unfledged starling they find the darling,
For whom the heart of a mother yearns.
And they lift him lightly and tuck him tightly
In feathers as soft as a lady’s hand,
And off with a rock-a-way step they walk away
Out of Babyland.
As they go from the valley of BabylandForth into the world of great unrest,Sometimes weeping he wakes from sleepingBefore he reaches his mother’s breast.Ah, how she blesses him now she caresses him:—Bonniest bird in the bright home band,That o’er land and water the kind stork bro’t herFrom far off Babyland.
As they go from the valley of Babyland
Forth into the world of great unrest,
Sometimes weeping he wakes from sleeping
Before he reaches his mother’s breast.
Ah, how she blesses him now she caresses him:—
Bonniest bird in the bright home band,
That o’er land and water the kind stork bro’t her
From far off Babyland.
—Ella Wheeler.
—Ella Wheeler.
As I promised you I will try and tell you a little about Halifax.
Halifax is, as you all know, the capital of Nova Scotia, which is one of the provinces of British North America, and thus is under the dominion of the Queen. It is just what I should imagine a real old English city to be—very odd and antiquated, and yet picturesquely beautiful, and altogether a most charming place in which to spend a summer.
Never shall I forget the stroll I took alone the second morning after my arrival. The day was one of those rarely perfect ones in July. All nature seemed wrapped in a dreamy repose; the heat of the sun was tempered by the soft sea breezes blowing from the grand old ocean not many leagues away, whose roar sounded like the voice of many waters, soothing, restful, and sweet.
It happened that my wanderings led me in to some of the older portions of the city where the houses are many of them two hundred years old. And such funny, queer old houses. They seemed, somehow, to have a slanting look to them; it may have been, however, that it was because the streets were so hilly, and such a contrast to our flat, level prairies.
Right in the midst of the city, among the stores (shops they call them) and houses one comes suddenly upon the graveyards—some of them not now in use, but still left there. What interested me was the flat tombstones. When a little girl my father used to tell me of how the children would take their dolls to the cemetery and play upon and under the grave stones. Do I hear you exclaim, “What, playundera grave stone!” I do not wonder, for it seemed a funny thing to me, but it was quite clear when I saw how the marble slabs were placed. Instead of standing in an upright position, as you have always seen them, they were laid flat and raised some distance from the ground (high enough for a child to crawl under comfortably) by means of little marble posts. I used often to roam through these cemeteries with a dear old gentleman who would tell me stories of the brave young sailor boys buried there, far away from their own loved English homes.
Halifax is one of the most strongly fortified cities in America, and at every turn one meets the red coated soldiers in the streets—when they are not on duty. What would interest our boys would be to see a sham battle; the officers and soldiers all in uniform, eager and active as for a real encounter with the enemy.
One day I went to visit the strongest fort the city contains. It is called Citadel Hill, and overlooks and commands the harbor; which by the way, is considered one of the finest in the world. This Citadel is merely an immense hill, covering nearly half a mile of ground and situated in the very heart of the city. When you have climbed to the top you come upon a large opening, and looking down see a long flight of iron steps leading to the ground, many, many feet below. The hill is excavated and stored with arms and ammunition of all kinds, and great cannons, that look so cruel. All along the outer edge of this excavation were little rooms in which the married soldiers lived with their families. I pitied the little children that had to live in this way, without any home feeling—never knowing at what moment their father might be called away, for a soldier’s life is necessarily a roving one.
This hill would make a grand coasting place in the winter, and one which I have no doubt the little Blue Nose boys and girls often avail themselves of. In Halifax not only the boys and girls, but the men and women also, make much more of winter sports than we do. The large and elegant skating rink I hear has just been opened and, the regimental band have given a grand concert in honor of the occasion.
Snow-shoeing used to be indulged in largely, but in the city the custom is, I believe, somewhat falling off. I do not think you Western boys and girls could hardly imagine what odd, pretty suits the girls make to go skating and snow-shoeing in. The one I saw was made of two large white flannel bed-blankets, with a bright scarlet and blue border. The suit consisted of a skirt, circular-like cloak, and cap with a long side flap to it, which hung nearly to the shoulder. My cousin dressed herself all up in her pretty rig and then got down her wooden snow-shoes and buckled them on. She looked like a winter fairy all ready for an Arctic expedition.
I must confess I could hardly understand how she could manage to walk in the great unwieldy looking shoes, which were nearly five times as large as an ordinary shoe, but she assured me it was great fun and easily done.
I heard an amusing story there about a minister who wished to be married, but who lived a long distance from the neighboring minister, and the snow was very deep, and there was but one pair of snow-shoes. Not wishing to wait until spring he hit upon a novel plan which was this:
That his ladylove should stand upon the back of his snow-shoes, clasp her arms tightly around her future lord’s waist, and thus be carried safely to the neighboring kirk, which she accordingly did. You see this required no real effort on the lady’s part, only, I should judge, a great deal of pluck and nerve power, as well as love. However the story is that they accomplished the journey in safety and were duly married.
One of the prettiest drives in Halifax can be had in a place called the park (what we would call a park proper they call the gardens). This park, situated in the southern part of the city and overlooking an arm of the ocean, has twenty miles of smooth, beautiful roads winding around, and circling in and out among the trees. The roads were made by the soldiers, who received for their work twenty-five cents a day besides their regular army pay. There is also another strong fort in this park. There are, I think, nine forts, strongly garrisoned in and about the city.
I wonder if any ofThe Prairie Farmerboys and girls have the same desire that I had when living away out West, where I never saw water, much less a ship, to go through a large ocean steamship. If you have I hope that some day you may be able to have your wish gratified as I had mine.
One morning my friend said, “Will you go to a concert this afternoon or go and visit the ships?” “The ships of course,” I cried, and to the ships we went. The “Scotia” was just in on her way from Liverpool to New York, crowded with passengers. It was noon when we went on board, and the long tables were being laid out in the salon. Most of the cabin passengers were out “doing” the city so we saw only the steerage passengers. Now I had heard much of the steerage passengers, but really never imagined them to be such a poor, miserable looking set of beings. They sat around almost anywhere with a plate of soup or a dish full of other unpalatable appearing food and ate as though they did not care much whether they lived or died. I longed to speak to the children and the downcast looking mothers, but they were nearly all of foreign birth, and would not have understood me if I had.
Many of the better class of passengers were in the little side rooms at their private meals, but we only caught side glimpses of them passing through. It was a very pleasant sensation to sit in the handsome saloon and almost imagine yourself to be sailing, sailing away in the great noble ship to the land of your dreams and fancies.
There are many more things of interest about this pretty city I would like to touch upon, but I fear my space is already occupied, so will have to say good-by for this week.
Mary Howe.
Most of these are in session again over the land. I do not mean those law-making bodies which meet annually at the State capitols to undo what they had done before, or otherwise make work for the courts and lawyers. But I allude to those little assemblies of young folks—lads and lasses—that weekly meet in the winter season in all the thousand and one school-houses and rural halls throughout our country. Legislatures did I call them? Not quite legislatures; but training schools in which legislators are made; and it is in these that our rising youth are qualifying themselves to govern the country that is so soon to be theirs.
Little as we may think of it, these assemblies, under whatever name they may be known—lyceums, societies, clubs, or “legislatures,”—are a power in the land; they do far more than most people think in forming the characters and fixing the opinions of the great multitude of boys and girls who participate in them. They are to-day more numerous than ever before, though they have been abroad in the land for more than half a century. Many of the leading actors on the world’s stage at the present day owe their position to the influence of one or more of these little associations of which they formed a part in their boyhood days. The writer of this could not count on his fingers the number of his associates in boyhood, who have risen out of these schools to positions of honor and trust in the country.
But there is a marked feature belonging to them now that did not exist a half century ago, the result of a vast change that has been made in public sentiment within that period. Then they were confined only to the boys; now the girls participate in them almost, if not quite, as freely as their brothers; and it must be confessed that in a great majority of cases the result has been beneficial to both sexes. The fogyism of that day stoutly protested that hens should not be permitted to crow, yet they persisted in learning the art, and conservatism has been forced to acknowledge that they can crow vociferously and to good effect. And these institutions have proven to be good crowing schools to girls.
Let these associations be encouraged in every school district; but care should be taken by the elder class that they be properly organized and conducted in an orderly manner. Youthful zeal and ardor will be apt to break out into rudeness and disorder, unless held in check by the aged and experienced. Let the older, then, wherever these associations exist, see to it that they are prudently managed—else instead of blessings they will become evils in the community.
The points to which these efforts should be mainly directed, should be—first, plain rules for their government; second, a strict adherence to them when adopted; a diversity of exercises—not too much debate, and not too many essays; fourth, the avoidance of all personal matters; and fifth, a judicious selection of subjects. With these points held well in view, and with a serious desire for improvement, these institutions can not but be useful; otherwise they should be discontinued.
Farmers everywhere ought to encourage the formation of these institutions in their respective neighborhoods, and aid their sons and daughters in carrying them forward. Give them your countenance and your counsel.
T. G.
The material of which walking sticks are made is as various as can well-nigh be conceived of. Many are imported woods—some from the tropics, China and the East Indies. The celebrated Whongee canes are from China, where they are well known and celebrated for the regularity of their joints, which are the points from which the leaves are given off, and the stems of a species of phyllosiachys, a gigantic grass, closely allied to the bamboo. The orange and lemon are highly prized, and are imported chiefly from the West Indies, and perfect specimens command enormous prices. The orange stick is known by its beautiful green bark, with fine white longitudinal markings, and the lemon by the symmetry of its proportions, and both prominence and regularity of its knobs. Myrtle sticks also possess a value, since their appearance is so peculiar that their owner would seldom fail to recognize them. They are imported from Algeria. The rajah stick is an importation. It is the stem of a plant and a species of calamus. It is grown in Borneo, and takes its name from the fact that the Rajah will not allow any to go out of the country unless a heavy duty is paid. These canes, known as palm canes, are distinguished by an angular and more or less flat appearance. Their color is brownish, spotted, and they are quite straight, with neither knob nor curl. They are the petioles of leaf stalk of the date palm. Perhaps the most celebrated of the foreign canes are the Malacca, being the stems of the calamus sceptonum, a slender climbing palm, and not growing around Malacca, as the name would seem to indicate, but imported from Stak, on the opposite coast of Sumatra. Other foreign canes are ebony, rosewood, partridge or hairwood, and cactus, which, when the pith is cut out, presents a most novel appearance, hollow and full of holes.
Shortlyafter Miss Alcott’s “Little Women” was published a quiet-looking lady entered a Boston circulating library and asked a lady clerk to pick her out “a good book that would rest and amuse her.” Naturally “Little Women” was offered, and declined. “It’s very nice; you’d like it,” urged the clerk. “I should not care to read it,” said the other. “But at least look at it.” “No,” came the answer, firmly and with an odd smile; “it is not a book that I should care to read.” Then the clerk, pretty angry, walked away to the chief librarian and cried: “There’s a woman down there wants a book, and if you want her waited on somebody else must do it. I won’t.” “Why, why not?” “Why, she says ‘Little Women’ isn’t good enough for her to read.” “Do you know who that lady is?” “No, and I don’t care.” “Well, I’ll tell you. That is Louise M. Alcott. Now go and get her a book.”
A Michigangirl told her young man that she would never marry him until he was worth $100,000. So he started out with a brave heart to make it.
“How are you getting on George?” she asked at the expiration of a couple of months.
“Well,” George said hopefully, “I have saved up $22.”
The girl dropped her eyelashes and blushingly remarked: “I reckon that’s near enough, George.”
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Literature
I. Her respectable papa’s.
“My dear, be sensible! Upon my word,This—for a woman, even—is absurd.His income’s not a hundred pounds, I know;He’s not worth loving.”—“But I love him so.”
“My dear, be sensible! Upon my word,This—for a woman, even—is absurd.His income’s not a hundred pounds, I know;He’s not worth loving.”—“But I love him so.”
“My dear, be sensible! Upon my word,This—for a woman, even—is absurd.His income’s not a hundred pounds, I know;He’s not worth loving.”—“But I love him so.”
“My dear, be sensible! Upon my word,
This—for a woman, even—is absurd.
His income’s not a hundred pounds, I know;
He’s not worth loving.”—“But I love him so.”
II. Her mother’s.
“You silly child, he is well-made and tall;But looks are far from being all in all.His social standing’s low, his family’s low,He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
“You silly child, he is well-made and tall;But looks are far from being all in all.His social standing’s low, his family’s low,He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
“You silly child, he is well-made and tall;But looks are far from being all in all.His social standing’s low, his family’s low,He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
“You silly child, he is well-made and tall;
But looks are far from being all in all.
His social standing’s low, his family’s low,
He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
III. Her eternal friend’s.
“Is that he picking up the fallen fan?My dear! he’s such an awkward, ugly man!You must be certain, pet, to answer ‘No.’He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
“Is that he picking up the fallen fan?My dear! he’s such an awkward, ugly man!You must be certain, pet, to answer ‘No.’He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
“Is that he picking up the fallen fan?My dear! he’s such an awkward, ugly man!You must be certain, pet, to answer ‘No.’He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
“Is that he picking up the fallen fan?
My dear! he’s such an awkward, ugly man!
You must be certain, pet, to answer ‘No.’
He’s not worth loving.”—“And I love him so.”
IV. Her brother’s.