MOTHERLY TALKS
WITH
YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS:

EMBRACING

EIGHTY-SEVEN BRIEF ARTICLES ON TOPICS OF HOME INTEREST, AND ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED CHOICE RECEIPTS FOR COOKING, ETC.

BY

MRS. H. W. BEECHER.

NEW YORK:
J. B. FORD AND COMPANY.
1873.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,

BY J. B. FORD & CO.,

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge.

PUBLISHERS’ PREFACE.

THIS book, composed of brief and pithy articles, on almost every conceivable point of household duty, is a friendly monitor for young wives, and a mine of good sense and information for growing maidens. Originally published in the Household Department of “The Christian Union,” the articles have been so frequently called for and inquired after by those who had found help in them, that the author yielded to the desires of others, and has gathered them into this little volume.

Mrs. Beecher’s notion of woman’s sphere is, that, whatever exceptional women may be able to accomplish, by reason of peculiar circumstances and talents, and freedom from domestic responsibilities, the place of labor and achievement for most women, and for all married women and mothers, is Home. And this book is exactly what its title sets forth,—a kind and motherly way of helping the inexperienced to make agreeable, well-regulated, and happy homes. Following the “Talks” are a choice selection of nearly five hundred Cooking Receipts, all vouched for by the author’s own experience and skillful testing.

CONTENTS.

PART I.
MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.

PART II.
CHOICE FAMILY RECEIPTS.

INTRODUCTION.

FOR the last two years we have occupied a corner in “The Christian Union” with the following brief articles, and from week to week endeavored to bring to its readers something useful and practical. We have reviewed the daily labors indispensable to all classes of homes, giving whatever suggestions or criticisms seemed to us most needed or desirable, not only as regards the manual labor of a household, but also the actions, motives, and principles which build up and secure the happiness of a family; or which, falsely understood and neglected, must lay the foundation for misery and sin.

We have been requested by many of our readers to gather these talks together, for the more convenient use of those for whom they were written, namely, young housekeepers, who, marrying before their domestic education has received sufficient attention, daily find many stumbling-blocks in their way, which haply a word fitly spoken might remove.

Where so much has been written in the way of “Advice to Young Housekeepers,” “Household Guides,” etc., it would seem superfluous to venture on this well-worn track, did it not lead to a portion of general education too little thought of, where “line upon line and precept upon precept” are peculiarly needed.

The home education of our girls is often sadly neglected. Indulgent mothers, who have kept their daughters in school from earliest childhood, think it would be cruel to ask that any part of their vacation should be usefully employed. It must all be given to relaxation and amusement, leaving the knowledge of the homely household duties which would enable them to superintend and adorn a happy home to be learned after they have been “graduated.” Yet how many young girls pass from the seminary at once into married life, and on their first entrance into society are transformed from simple school-girls into wives and housekeepers! If no part of their child-life was devoted to those lessons, which none should be able to teach so kindly and so thoroughly as a mother, what is the result? The home which the lover dreamed of, proves dark and comfortless, and the bride is too often transformed into the heartless devotee of fashion, instead of the companion and helpmeet God designed a wife to be.

Young ladies would soon discover the richer life there is in one’s own home, if they were early initiated into an intimate knowledge of the whole routine of home duties and household mysteries, so that when they shall be exalted to the dignity of the mistress of a house, they can with good judgment and intelligence direct their servants, or independently perform the labor of a family, easily and methodically, with their own hands. With such knowledge, and the ability to execute, they can greatly augment domestic happiness and add new lustre to their charms as companion and friend.

True, there is much that is hard and disagreeable in household cares and labors; but what good thing do we possess that does not require thought, effort, and often unpleasant labor before we come into the full possession and enjoyment of it? Under any self-denial or hardship experienced in the performance of duty, there is a great comfort in the knowledge that, the work being once mastered and made familiar, any thought of drudgery connected with it disappears; and in the happy consciousness of independence and power over difficulties one finds great pleasure and full compensation.

In preparing these articles for book publication, we have not attempted to bring them together in a methodical manner, but have allowed them to follow one another in about the order in which we were moved to write them by the daily occurrences around us, or in reply to many letters from discouraged or ready-to-halt young housekeepers. Nor have we presumed to give advice or instructions to old, well-established mothers and housekeepers, who doubtless know far more than we do, and at whose feet we would cheerfully sit for instruction. But like a mother in the midst of her young daughters we have desired to stand, answering such questions as they would naturally ask, pointing out mistakes that they are likely to make, showing where the error lies, and trying to offer a remedy; not in household affairs alone, but in many phases of the duties that belong to the wife and mother as well as to the housekeeper. To give some little assistance and encouragement in every effort to make home what it should be,—the happiest place on earth,—is our earnest desire.

EUNICE W. BEECHER.

PART I.
MOTHERLY TALKS WITH YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.

I.
SYSTEM IN WORK.

“I HAVE been hard at work all day,” we think we hear some say; “up stairs and down, from the cellar to the attic, looking into every nook and corner, and ‘putting things to rights’ generally. O dear! I wonder what next those grim old housekeepers would expect me to take hold of. I have everything in good running order, as far as I can see, and now how I would like to take a book and curl up somewhere, out of sight and hearing, and have one of the old-fashioned good times I used to have before I was married. Well, I don’t care. I mean to have it, anyhow, and just let things go on without my watching, for a while. Nora can manage to keep the house in order, somehow, now I have everything in its right place, I am sure.”

Ah! but, my dear little woman, if you do not give daily attention to your household affairs, in a few days, under Nora’s rule, you will find the machinery all out of order, and be compelled again to go over the same wearisome labor you now complain of.

“What then am I to do? From this time on, is my life to be a perpetual drudgery?”

No; not if you are wise. Be patient. It is a new thing to you now. Care does not sit lightly on young shoulders; but time and a reasonable amount of patience will soon make the “crooked ways straight, and the rough places smooth.” A few weeks of extra time and thought, at the beginning of your new life, will teach you how to work methodically. Until this lesson is fixed in your mind, it will be “uphill work”; but persevere. Have a regular plan for each day’s work, and every step will be easier and more natural.

There is nothing like method and regularity to lighten labor. We have so many poor, discouraged, repining housekeepers, chiefly because they were not taught from the beginning to work methodically. Let this once become a fixed habit, and almost every one can find leisure for reading and recreation, certainly if in a position where they can delegate the hardest, roughest labor, under suitable supervision, to a servant.

Secure a few moments every evening to think over and arrange for the necessary labor of the morrow. Bring before your mind just what ought to be done, and fix the mode and time for doing it distinctly. While dressing, the next morning, review your plan, that all through the day it may be like a map spread out before your eyes. Of course, many things may occur that no foresight could provide for,—sickness, unexpected company, or interruptions past your control,—but nothing that can wholly derange a well-digested plan for every day’s duties.

Try this mode of working resolutely for a few months, and labor or oversight of labor will become so nearly a second nature that you will arrange, or perform almost instinctively, even with pleasure, that which now seems a heavy burden, grievous to be borne. To show just what may be done, let us take a glance at the arrangements for washing and ironing days.

Every housekeeper has her own way of apportioning the work of her servants. Where there are three girls, many prefer that the cook should take charge of the washing, leaving either waiter or chambermaid to do the cooking Mondays and Tuesdays. If these are tolerable plain cooks, this may answer; but, generally, on those two days the table is less pleasantly served than during the remainder of the week.

Now, we prefer to feel as sure of a well-cooked and well-served dinner on “washing-day” as on any other day in the week. For that reason, we think it a more excellent way to have the cook understand that the kitchen, pantries, and cooking are her own especial care; from which, until that work is done, she is not to be called to assist in anything else. This plan, we think, insures a more orderly kitchen, cleaner pantries, and better prepared and more regular meals, than when the cooking is given over, two days in the week, to one less accustomed to it. We see no good reason why, if company happens in unexpectedly, one should not be as well prepared to serve them on Monday as on Wednesday or Thursday. By giving the washing into the care of the second girl, we think one may escape most of the terrors of “washing-day.”

Early rising should be one of the well-understood rules of the house, for the servants at least. As soon as up, on Monday morning, the laundress’s first work is to light the fire, if the laundry is separate from the kitchen; if not, the cook, of course, attends to that. The furnace is then to be well shaken and cleaned out, fresh coal added, and the ashes sifted and removed; which, if done every day, as it should be, is but a small item comparatively. Sweeping the front stairs, hall, doorsteps, sidewalk, and gutters comes next in order. By this time the fire and water will be in a proper state to commence washing; and that once begun, the laundress should be exempt from any other duty, save to feed the furnace, until the washing is finished and the clothes brought in and folded.

On Tuesday the same routine, while the fire is kindling and the irons heating; after that the laundress gives her undivided attention to her ironing. She should be up in season to finish sweeping stairs, hall, etc., and commence her washing and ironing by seven; and then, unless the washing is very large, an ordinarily bright girl should have all finished by Tuesday night, and be ready to give her full time to the chamber-work,—making beds, sweeping, dusting, washing windows, etc., during the remainder of the week.

The waitress is often expected to take charge of the furnace, but we cannot think it is desirable. If there is a fire to be lighted in the parlor or sitting-room, to remove the ashes, wash the hearth, and have the rooms dusted and in readiness for the family, and then put her table in order, is all that she will be likely to do well. Besides, after working in the cellar over the furnace, she cannot be fit to wait on the table without taking more time to free her hair and dress from ashes and dirt than she can spare, if you would have the breakfast served promptly. And what is more disgusting than an untidy waitress? The waitress should have charge of parlor, dining-room, silver, answering the bell, and on Monday and Tuesday do the chamber-work.

Where but two servants are kept,—and we are inclined to think the fewer servants the better the work is done,—of course the two must divide the work, each assisting in the washing and ironing, but the cook still retaining the charge of the meals.

II.
MARCH.

THE morning sun shines brightly, the air is mild and balmy; you go about your early cares with a cheerful spirit; and, after seeing that the “pickings up,” the brushing and dusting, which are a daily necessity, are faithfully performed, you sit down to your sewing, your books, or your writing in a satisfied and comfortable state of mind. But in a few hours the sky grows dark; grim and threatening clouds obscure the sun; the wind sweeps round the house with long, wailing moans, or short, fierce gusts, while you shiveringly draw the warm breakfast shawl closer about you, and find that you have suddenly passed into a far less genial atmosphere than you enjoyed in the morning.

March may come in a very mild and gentle manner, but don’t trust it. It is “fooling you.” Its smiles are quickly followed by frowns, and the bright, warm sunlight all too soon will be forced to give place to fierce winds and drifting snows. We are quite as well pleased when this, the first month of spring, appears in its own proper character,—windy, stormy, and bitter cold,—for then we hope that it will make its exit in a gentler mood.

Yes, this is truly March,—cold, raw, and blustering March,—which, with the early days of April, before the winds have fairly died out, is the terror of all careful housekeepers,—insuring an abundance of extra work; for its winds and storms will force an entrance into every part of the house, however securely guarded. No burglar’s alarm can promise safety from this insidious foe. Windows, pictures, and furniture, so nicely cleaned and polished but a few hours since, require a repetition of the same work many times a day. No month in the whole year demands such incessant use of dusters, brushes, and brooms,—such unslumbering watchfulness.

Why not clean once a day and then let the dust be till next morning?

Because, if allowed to remain, it soils your hands and dresses, spoils your pictures, finds lodgment in your finely carved statuary, or settles in the graceful designs or rich upholstery of your furniture. Once snugly secreted in woollen or plush, dust is not easily removed, but becomes the favorite resort for moths, affording abundant material for all their wants. There is no month in the whole year which so completely makes you the slave of the broom and dusting-brush. If there is a carpenter ingenious enough to build a house so tight that it can defy the searching winds of March, he would most certainly be a universal favorite among all housekeepers. Under the doors, from the top, bottom, and sides of the windows, in at the key-holes,—everywhere the dust finds an entrance. No table, chair, or shelf may be touched without showing the presence of this subtle enemy. Each book, picture, or article of dress acknowledges its power. Was it not in the month of March that the plague of dust tormented the Egyptians? Unless some learned interpreter of the Bible can prove the contrary, we are inclined to accept this idea. There is no other season of the year when one feels so little courage, for we cannot “rest from our labors.” However faithfully the work may be done, an hour will destroy all trace of our industry. Then why attempt to do it? Why not let all cleaning cease till March gives place to its betters, and then have a general purification?

If there were no other reason for patient continuance in well-doing, notwithstanding all discouragements, the injury done to carpets and furniture would be a good and sufficient one. With the strong March winds the dust is so thoroughly sifted into the threads of carpets, and into the moldings and ornaments of furniture, that if not very often removed, it would be almost impossible ever to do it. The sharp grains of dust would sink into the carpets, and the friction of walking over them would wear out the material more in this month than in any two months of the year. Heavy brocatelle curtains and delicate lace are very easily defaced and injured by the dust, if not often shaken and freed from the constant accumulation.

It cannot be helped; through all this windy, unmanageable season, frequent usings of dusters and brushes are inevitable, and, if thoroughly applied, aside from the economy of it, will greatly lighten the labor of the spring house-cleaning.

A good beating with a furniture whip (two or three ratans, lightly braided or twisted together, and the ends united in a handle, found at any house-furnishing store) is an excellent thing to dislodge dust from chairs, sofas, table-covers, mattresses, etc., but the beating must be followed by the use of the feather-brush over all, and an old silk handkerchief for polished or highly varnished furniture.

Windows are very difficult to keep bright and clean at this season of the year. If there is rain or snow, it is usually followed by high winds, which dry the streets and very soon cover the damp windows with a storm of dust,—settling into the molding and around the sash to such a degree that it will require much time and hard work to remove; and even while washing them, the dust is still swept over the windows. It is wise, when windows are so quickly and easily defaced, to wet a clean, smooth cloth in a little whiskey or alcohol, and cleanse the glass with it. It removes the dirt much more thoroughly and gives a better polish to the glass than water can, and evaporates so quickly that the dust will not so readily adhere. This may be liable to objections on the ground of economy; but, for three or four weeks it is much more effective, and makes the work so much easier, that we are inclined to think it is not extravagant. Of course it must be used with judgment. A little will be sufficient.

Now, more than any other part of the year, the ashes must be removed from the cellar, if you have a furnace, faithfully every morning. If allowed to accumulate, a heavy wind will send them up through the flues and registers, to settle in the carpets or furniture, and do more injury than the dust, because the alkali in the ashes will eat the texture and injure the colors.

Then, again, it is important that on washing-days some attention should be paid to the wind. It is a great trial to a methodical housekeeper to put off the week’s washing for a day or two. It seems to derange all the work planned for other days, and makes one feel unsettled, as if everything was sadly out of joint. It is not at all pleasant to consent to such innovation, but March is a tyrant, and in the end it is better to submit to its caprices. To see all your clothes on the line at the mercy of a real March wind, would be worse than to defer the washing and wait for a milder day. The clothes will be more injured and worn by one day’s snapping on the line, in a very high wind, than in weeks of wear; and unless one has a good, roomy attic with windows at each end to admit free air, it is wise, if not agreeable, to put the clothes in soak, after washing, in plenty of clear water, and wait for the calm, or defer the entire washing to that propitious moment.

Yet a good, brisk March wind, with an unclouded sky, has its excellences. There is no better time to put blankets, carriage-robes, and heavy winter garments out to air. If not left out too long, such heavy articles will not be liable to so much injury, by whipping on the lines, as cotton and linen, and it is an excellent and effective way to free these cumbrous garments from dust and moths.

These are only a few of the reasons for the necessity of more than usual vigilance in this stormy month of March; they are but hints to call attention to the subject. Your own good sense, kept awake by the wild wind that is shaking the windows as we write, and bending the tall masts beyond, will enable you to carry them out more minutely and practically than we shall attempt at present to do.

III.
SPRING LABOR.

MOTHS.—The first few days of April are too near kin to March to warrant any decided steps toward the regular spring house-cleaning; but it is quite time now that special attention be paid to moths and their characteristic destructiveness.

In furnace-heated houses, moths are occasionally found in mid-winter; but they are only the advance guard of the main army, and do little harm, save by the annoying reminder of what one has cause to fear in spring.

In April they will begin to show themselves very much in earnest, and are seen too often for your comfort, particularly after the gas or lamp is lighted. If an expert, you may destroy many, as, attracted by the bright light which lures them to destruction, they fly around you; yet enough remain to keep you constantly on the lookout. We know of no remedy, when moths have once gained entrance to a house, but ceaseless watchfulness. They often deposit their eggs in the fret-work and open spaces in cornices, as well as in woollens and furs, and therefore all such hiding-places should be carefully searched. In high-studded rooms it is difficult to reach these sheltered nooks, and therefore in them moths too often find a secure retreat. But although difficult, it is not impossible to dislodge them, even from these high places. A tall step-ladder, with a little care and some one to steady it at the base, can easily be mounted, and from this height you readily gain access to your enemies. If the carving is deep and intricate, take a quill, and with the feather-end brush out these holes into a dust-pan; follow this brushing with a wet cloth wrapped round a pointed stick. It takes time, care, and patience, but is very necessary. In houses that are not often painted, you will probably find large quantities of dust and lint that have accumulated and settled, from sweeping, in the cornices. In this the moths deposit their eggs; and, when hatched, the worm which eats your garments may be found here, snugly rolled in its thin covering, or perhaps just ready to fly through your house, depositing its eggs for the next generation of moths.

A new house, left for months unoccupied, or an old house long untenanted, it is said, will surely be overrun with moths. For this we do not vouch, but are quite inclined to credit it. Our first experience of the plague of moths was on taking possession of a house, almost new, that had stood empty some months,—a dearly bought experience, the debt for which is not fully cancelled after more than fourteen years. In all the cornice ornaments we found large quantities of the eggs and worms snugly laid to sleep, till the warm spring sun should rouse them to begin their mischievous expeditions among our furs, blankets, and garments. Many were fully developed, and flying about in search of some choice place to deposit their eggs.

The spring and summer are their busiest time; and as soon as it is warm enough to dispense with furs, heavy shawls, and woollen garments, these should be well shaken and brushed, then hung on the clothes-line and beaten with the furniture whip, every spot or stain cleansed, and repairs attended to before being done up and put away for the summer. Each housekeeper has probably her own theory as to the best way for packing up such articles as moths injure. Some put pepper, camphor, cedar-chips, sandal-wood, or moth-powder among the articles to be stored away, and then sew them up closely in old linen, or cover them with two or three thicknesses of paper, lapping one over the other, leaving no holes, and then seal the paper up with mucilage. We prefer the paper wrappings, but feel a little safer if we sprinkle Poole’s moth-powder over the articles before sealing.

We have been told that strips of cloth dipped in kerosene, rolled up and placed among flannels, furs, etc., which should then be shut tight in a cedar trunk or close drawer, will surely prevent moths from injuring them, destroying the eggs or such moth worms as are already in possession.

This appears sensible, inasmuch as moths are said to be repelled by any pungent, disagreeable smell. And surely, if that be so, kerosene would be most deadly.

In carpets, moths generally seek the corners and secluded places. For that reason it is essential that in sweeping, at all seasons of the year, one should see that great attention is paid to the corners and edges of carpets. Never attempt to sweep there with a common broom. You cannot get at the corners. Take a whisk-broom or a round, pointed brush, such as is used to clean buttoned furniture, called a furniture button-brush, and with it clean out the corners where the carpet is turned in. Have close at hand a pointed stick, which, with a cloth wrapped about it, will enable you to pry into every nook thoroughly. Every few weeks it is well to draw the tacks in the corners a little way, and, turning back the carpet on to a thick paper or old cloth, give the edges a faithful brushing. It is under and near these corners that moths love to secrete their eggs.

IV.
SUNSHINE AND FRESH AIR.

FEW realize how dependent we are on sunshine and fresh air for good health and pleasant, cheerful homes. When shown into a dark and dismal parlor,—blinds all closed and heavy curtains dropped to exclude light,—and creeping forward in search of a seat, fearing, each step, to stumble over a chair or upset a table loaded with small wares on exhibition, we always feel suffocated, as if in a vault among dead men’s bones. And when the servant, after calling her mistress, returns and opens the shutters just far enough to allow one small ray of “light divine” to struggle through, what a relief it is! How we long to spring forward, throw back the curtains, swing the blinds wide open, and give admittance to the full glory of the free, glad sunbeams. But no! Health and comfort must be sacrificed rather than expose the costly carpet and rich curtains. Only so much light as will enable our friend to recognize us may be allowed to enter, and after a few moments’ conversation, as cold and spiritless as the room itself, how glorious seem the clear sky and pure air as we leave the house! We are so chilled and benumbed by our short tarry in those prison-like parlors, that it has penetrated to the heart, and we are not quite sure that we feel any great affection for the friend from whom we have just parted, until, having walked a few moments, we regain life and freshness by a full bath in the fresh breezes and invigorating sunshine.

Strange that any will deprive themselves of blessings so rich, so free, and health-giving for a mere fancy,—particularly when we find that the richest and most beautiful fabrics are generally those which will bear exposure to open windows and pure light.

That perfect ventilation and abundance of light and sun are indispensable to a healthy atmosphere all over the house, should be understood as one of the principles of good housekeeping. Servants are generally careless in airing the rooms committed to their care. Bedrooms, dining rooms, kitchen, and pantries are seldom sufficiently ventilated; and it behooves a housekeeper to maintain a constant watchfulness against such remissness. As soon as you are dressed, throw open the window, take off the bedclothes, spread them neatly across two chairs set in the draught,—taking care that the ends do not drag on the floor. Raise up the mattress; double it like a bent bow on the under-bed, or palliasse, that the air may circulate freely through and around it. Beat up the pillows and bolster, and throw them across a chair near the open window. Some hang them out of the window. All right, if you are careful first to brush the sill free from the dust that will, of course, accumulate there. When ready to leave the chamber, open the doors through from one room to another, even if some rooms have not been used; but be careful, in cold weather, to close the doors leading to the halls, that parlors and halls be not made uncomfortable by too much draught.

Children, boys and girls alike, should be instructed never to leave their bedrooms without at least throwing back the bedclothes and raising the windows; and guests in a family, one would suppose, will do this for their own comfort; but it is well that every housekeeper should be sure that it is done before she goes to the kitchen or breakfast-room. It is particularly desirable that our children become accustomed to this kind of care and attention to their sleeping-rooms; for if the habit is fixed in early youth, when absent from a mother’s care, in school, college, or business, and compelled to board, whatever other discomforts they may be subjected to, they can secure for themselves well-ventilated beds and sleeping-rooms. If, from extra morning duties or ill health, you are not able to attend to this part of the chamber-work yourself, then, as soon as the rooms are all vacated, the chambermaid should go to them at once, taking with her the chamber pail and cloths, and, first opening the windows and putting bedclothes and mattresses to air, as above mentioned, should empty all slops, wash out the washstands and all pertaining to them,—pitchers, soap-cup, tooth- and nail-brush holders,—gather up all dirty clothes and towels, and put them into the basket, or, if wet, hang up to dry. By the time this is faithfully done, the chambermaid will be ready to go to her own breakfast, leaving the windows open, unless in stormy weather, and the beds unmade. Keep strict watch that the servants do not fail to air their own rooms and spread open their beds when they come down to their early morning’s work. Never fear to open chamber windows in stormy weather. If the rain or snow beats in badly, drop the window from the top a little way, or spread an old bit of bagging or oil-cloth before the window to protect the carpet; but in spite of wind or weather, have a full current of fresh air pass through your bedchambers every morning. Once a week mattresses must be thoroughly brushed with a whisk-broom, and the tufts or buttons that tack them together cleaned with a round pointed brush, called a button-brush, so that no lint or dust can lodge about them to shelter moths. When free from lint and dirt, throw the mattress across a table, or spread on the floor an old sheet kept for that purpose, and lay it on that. In the same manner brush the under-bed; then turn it up and with a wet cloth wipe off the inside of the bedstead, raising up the slats that no lint may remain lodged there. By such care you will save much trouble from moths and bugs. It is well to attend to this on Friday, or whichever day may be set apart for sweeping, as lint may be dropped on the carpet, and should be at once removed.

V.
HOUSE-CLEANING.

“LAST year I thought house-cleaning would be ‘real fun.’ I had never before taken the entire charge of such extensive operations, and thought, in my simplicity, that I would show the old ladies how a smart young housekeeper would walk through the fiery furnace, with not even the smell of fire upon her garments. But I little dreamed what I had undertaken. I found out, however, before the ‘fun’ was ended, to my entire satisfaction, and now, in this my second year of housekeeping, look forward to the spring cleaning with the greatest repugnance; gladly enduring all the cold, the winds, and storms of early spring, because they postpone the evil day. But now milder weather and warmer suns are upon us, and this great nuisance may be no longer deferred. How I dread it! No regularity, all rules abolished, servants rebellious, husband—to put it mildly—uncomfortable; baby cross, and I—the crossest of all? O dear! What shall I do?”

What shall you do? Take it easy. Patience, my child, the oldest panacea, is still the sovereign cure for such trials. But why “borrow trouble”? For weeks you have, in imagination, been carrying this burden which you so much dread. Wait till the proper time comes to take it up. Give each hour its own work; do not permit yourself to groan over that which belongs to the next; and you will find the heaviest and most disagreeable labor, if arranged and performed systematically, glide smoothly through your hands. When it is finished, you will look back in amused surprise at the “bugbear” you had conjured up for your own torment.

True, what is generally understood as regular “spring house-cleaning” is not a pleasant operation; but is it absolutely necessary that this important part of household duties should be made a terror to all in the house? We think not. When furnace, grates, and stoves, have been in constant use for six or seven months, and gas or lamps are burning many hours each night, a very thorough house-cleaning is indispensable. No care can prevent smoke, ashes, and gas defacing walls and ceiling, and finding a lodgment in carpets and furniture, all over the house. And it is necessary that the warm spring days should be devoted to cleaning and renovating; but certainly not to the exclusion of real home comforts and pleasures, while this work is in progress. It is folly to commence by putting the whole house into disorder; displacing everything, leaving no room in habitable condition, that by and by you may, from this utter desolation, bring order out of confusion.

It is best to commence with the cellar, and the first thing to be done, after seeing that the coal-bins are in order, is to have your coal for the year put in. It is usually as cheap, and often cheaper, in the spring than in the fall. The coal safely housed, have the furnace emptied and put in thorough repair. Remove all the ashes. If you have an ash-vault, or bin containing the ashes of the whole winter, you will require a man to do it; but if—which is much wiser—the ashes have been sifted and removed every day, it is no burden, and but a few minutes’ work. Then all bits of waste boards, boxes, and barrels, no longer usable, should be chopped fine and stored with the kindling wood. If dust and cobwebs have been overlooked, brush them down very carefully; sweep the cellar bottom, and, if it is of stone or cemented, scrub it clean. If all this has been done every week, as it should be,—save the putting in coal and repairing the furnace,—it will be only a piece of regular work; but it must be done before any other cleaning is attempted, else the coal dust and ashes will penetrate every part of the house, and render all your labor useless. No door or window can be shut so closely that they will not force an entrance. Be careful to shut the “registers” from the furnace in every room, before moving ashes or coal.

The cellar being in order, the next step is to the attic. If it has been properly attended to through the winter, it is no hard task to make it fresh and clean, unless you allow it to be made the “catch-all” for every kind of useless trash. If not “hard finished,” the walls should be nicely whitewashed or calcimined, after the attic has been swept and dusted. This done, scrub the floor faithfully; polish the windows, and arrange neatly all that properly belongs to the attic. If you have pieces of carpeting stored there, they should be taken into the back yard, well brushed, and spread on the grass or hung on the line, the first thing, before the cleaning is begun.

The cellar and attic in order, you are ready for the upper chambers. If you can afford it, it is well to secure four good house-cleaners, and by putting two in one chamber and two in another, keeping up a quiet, but vigilant superintendence of both parties, you will find, if the work is well contrived, and each part arranged in regular succession, it will be done more quickly, more effectually, and with more economy, than to endeavor to drag through with little help.

Ingrain and three-ply carpets must be lifted every year, and that is the first thing to be done. Brussels and velvet do not need to be taken up oftener than every two years; while heavy Wiltons, Axminster, and Moquettes should not be removed oftener than every three years. The texture is so firm, no dust works through to the carpet lining beneath, and faithful sweeping and thorough use of the “carpet-sweeper” will remove the dust and moth’s eggs. Extra care will be required to clean and brush in corners, and wherever the carpets are turned in and nailed; and they must also be protected, while the walls, ceiling, and wood-work are being cleaned, by a heavy drugget spread over them, and moved from place to place as the cleaning progresses.

When washing painted walls and ceilings, take care in drying them that they are wiped in straight lines, from top to bottom, and not unevenly, or in circles; for however clean you may wash the paint, careless wiping will give it a streaked and untidy appearance.

Brush wall-paper carefully with a feather duster, and then pin a large towel tightly to a clean soft broom, and placing it up to the ceiling, bring it, with an even pressure, in a straight line down to the mop-board or casing. Proceed in this way until you have gone over the entire paper. It will be necessary to change the towel when it looks soiled. If this work is well done, the paper will look almost as fresh as new.

In cleaning door-knobs, bell-pulls, or speaking-trumpets, cut a hole in a piece of oil-silk or soft oil-cloth, and put it round the knob or bell-pull, etc., to protect the paper or paint from being soiled.

We have no room to carry these suggestions further at present, and leave your good, earnest, common-sense to practice and improve upon them.

VI.
WASHING-DAY.

“IF it were not for the washing, housekeeping would lose half its terror. But I rise every Monday morning in a troubled and unhappy state of mind, for it is washing-day! The breakfast will surely be a failure, coffee muddy, meat or hash uncooked or burnt to a coal, everything untidy on the table, and the servants on the verge of rebellion. With a meek and subdued countenance, with fear and trembling, lest some unlucky word of mine may infringe upon their dignity and cause them to leave before the washing is finished, I go softly about the house.”

This ought not so to be. In the first place, if you allow yourself to be kept thus in bondage to your servants, you destroy all hope of comfort. Let them once see that you fear to give them offence, and from that hour they are your tyrants.

Define, distinctly, the appropriate duties of each; but with this proviso, that in emergencies they will be required to lend a helping hand in any department where their services are needed. Let them understand, unmistakably, what your rules are,—for you cannot manage a household without well-digested laws and regulations,—then kindly, but firmly, make them know that you will have no infringement upon those rules.

“I wonder how long any girl, my Bridget, for instance, would stay, were I to take such independent ground.”

Probably not long, if she has learned that she can intimidate you; and once aware of that, the sooner she takes her leave the better for your future peace,—that is, if you will be taught by this experience to begin right with her successor. Those servants who fully recognize the lady as their mistress, in something more than name, are generally the most respectful and reliable.

Never allow a girl to give a disrespectful answer or manifest irritability, simply because the work for some days in the week may be more distasteful than in others; and never permit them to threaten to leave you without insisting that the threat shall be carried into effect, unless an ample apology is given; for, if passed over submissively, it will be repeated whenever the girl’s temper is ruffled. Not for our own selfish comfort alone, but for the good of all who are compelled to employ servants, should we defend our own rights and position; not till there is concerted action and organized rules that will define the duties and rights of mistress and maid, and these rules strictly enforced, will this plague, which leaves us at the mercy of our servants, be stayed.

And now let us see if there is, really, any good reason why washing-day should be so full of terror. If one is feeble, it is not easy, nothing is; but to a strong, healthy person, it ought not to be burdensome, even if one is obliged to do it one’s own self, particularly with the aid of all the “modern improvements.” The apportionment of duties we have already considered, in Chapter I.

Twenty years ago the tubs and wash-benches were to be brought from the cellar or area, all the water pumped, and often carried some distance, heated in a boiler, then poured into the tubs, and every article wrung out by hand. Then, in the city, tubs were carried out into the streets and the dirty suds emptied into the gutter. But there was little complaint then of hard work. What would the girl of the present day think if expected to work under such disadvantages?

Now we have hot and cold water in the laundry, wringers, “tubs set,” generally, which can be emptied at pleasure, without a step, making the washing of a medium-sized family not as laborious as the Friday sweeping of a large house. With one or two servants in the house, to divide the work, washing is not and should not be considered a hardship.

Put the clothes to soak overnight, rubbing soap on the collars, wristbands, bindings, etc., of each article. We have found Babbitt’s soap very satisfactory, safe, and much more economical than most soap. It is excellent for bleaching. Cut up several cakes in sufficient water to dissolve them, and let it boil till the soap is all dissolved, then pour it into a wooden pail, or old butter-tub that is well cleaned, and when cold it will be nice soft soap, and keep well as long as it lasts. This is a good way to prepare any soap for soaking or boiling clothes. But it is more economical to have a cake of hard soap, to use for the dirty spots, while washing.

Rub soft soap on the dirtiest parts of each garment, when you put them to soak, and just cover them with water. Table linen should be soaked in a separate tub, and washed first; the fine clothes, sheets, and pillow-cases put in another, and stockings and coarse things in a third tub.

Early Monday morning wring out the clothes from the water in which they were soaked, and prepare a fresh, clean hot suds. Table linen and all fine or starched clothes should be washed and hung out first, that they may be dried before night. If any are left out overnight, it should be the stockings and underclothes, bath-sheets, and dish-towels; the latter must be soaked by themselves, and washed in water that has been used for nothing else.

When a boilerful has been washed, rub soap on all bindings, collars, etc., replace the clothes in the boiler, fill it with cold or lukewarm water, and set over the range to boil not over twenty minutes; then pour all into a tub, adding cold water enough to make it comfortable to the hand, when ready to put them through the second suds. While the first set of clothes are boiling, of course those for a second boilerful are being washed and ready to be put in as soon as the first is removed, that no time may be lost. When the second is over the fire, get the first through the next suds and the two rinsing waters, which should be blued and ready as quick as possible. Do not be sparing of rinsing water. Have your largest tubs two thirds full, and put in but a few pieces at a time, so that each article may have unobstructed benefit of a large body of water, and all the soap may be removed. Wring and shake out and put into the second rinsing. Shake out each thing from the last rinsing, snapping them smooth; lay them loose into the clean clothes-basket, and hang out to dry before you begin on the second boiler. Careless rinsing and wringing will soon turn clothes yellow. When two girls assist about washing, one should rinse and hang out while the other is washing. It greatly expedites the work, of course, if they do not spend half the time talking; but it must be a very large wash that, even with but one at the tubs, is not all on the line before two o’clock.

Refined borax, in the proportion of one large handful of the powder to ten gallons of boiling water, is said to save nearly one half the soap, and make the clothes beautifully white and clear. It is a neutral salt and will not injure the fabric. For laces, cambrics, etc., an extra quantity is necessary. The wash-women of Belgium and Holland, so famous for the beauty of their work, use borax instead of soda.

Much more might be said on this topic if space would permit, perhaps of little interest to old experienced housekeepers, but our talks are more especially intended for those just entering upon the unknown sphere of domestic care.

VII.
PUTTING CLOTHES TO SOAK.

“A YOUNG housekeeper” is troubled at the idea of “putting clothes to soak” overnight. She is sure it must take two or three hours to do it, and asks, “How is one to do this, who lives in the country, where the ‘modern improvements’ of hot water and cold and stationary tubs are not found, except in the houses of wealthy families; but where all the water must be pumped or drawn by hand, and carried to the tubs by one who has all the work to do for husband and family, and perhaps keeps a few boarders beside? To bring the water, soap the clothes, as they are put in the tub, would occupy two or three hours of the Sabbath; for, as you speak of washing Monday, we infer that you mean to soak the clothes Sunday.”

Yes, Sunday morning or evening, as is most convenient. We think it—like getting breakfast, washing dishes, making beds, etc., on Sunday—one of the necessary items of household labor. True, some prefer to do this Saturday evening, but too long soaking yellows the clothes, and beside only part of them can be collected Saturday. Some also soak their clothes a half-hour Monday morning, but, in our judgment, very little is gained by that. We would, however, by no means advocate the mode we have advised, if two or three hours of the Sabbath or of any other day in the week must be given to it. Twenty minutes or, if a large wash, half an hour, is abundant time.

This young housekeeper evidently imagines that we must be giving theoretical advice, and not such as can be successfully carried into practice. But in this, as in all that we have offered, we speak only of “what we know, and testify of that which we have seen” and done. Ten years at the West, at a time when all “modern improvements” were unknown, and when we were so situated that the work for husband and little ones, and often several boarders, was, of necessity, done with one pair of hands, where the water was all to be drawn, not pumped, with now and then a “shake” or “chill,” to fill up the measure of the week’s work (and fever and ague, “out West,” in those days, was a genuine article), compelled us to economize time, if not labor. We never found two or three hours to spend in putting clothes to soak. When supper was over, Saturday evening, dishes washed, and babies to sleep, the water was drawn, tubs filled and covered, to keep the water free from dust, and, except the bedding and garments, to be changed Sabbath morning, all the dirty clothes accumulated through the week were “sorted” and laid in piles on the table, in the “wash-shed,” covered over with the clothes-baskets, ready to be soaped and put into water. This last may be done before dressing for church or, as we much prefer, before retiring, Sabbath evening.

Such lessons, taught by the best schoolmaster in the world, necessity, are often far more valuable than any we can learn in later life, and under more easy circumstances. Of course no man, whose labor ends with the close of the day, who deserves the honored name of husband (house-bond), would need to be asked to put his strong arm to the work, so far as to draw the water and fill the tubs, after tea, in the twilight of Saturday evening; while the wife and mother, whose work never ends till all are sleeping, is putting the little folks to bed and getting everything in readiness for breakfast Sunday morning. But often the nature of the husband’s employment deprives him, by necessity, of the pleasure of assisting his wife. Then, if without servants, there is no other way but for her to prove “woman’s equality with man” by doing it herself. After all, there are many harder things than drawing the good clear water from the well.

Now, with water in the tubs, clothes laid in separate parcels, plenty of soap dissolved, or a nice barrel of soft soap close at hand, does not our “young housekeeper” think the clothes could be soaped and put into the tub in less than half an hour? Would there not be plenty of time after breakfast, before dressing for church, to perform this necessary labor as we think it? Or if making beds or uneasy children consumed too much time in the morning, how long would it take to throw on a wrapper just before retiring, when all is quiet at night, and have the clothes all at soak? The answer to these questions depends on two things,—are you an early riser? have you such established system about all your labors as to secure a time as well as a place for everything?

There is one other point that may as well receive attention while we are on this subject.

Many are in the habit of changing bed-linen Saturday night, to avoid what may seem like extra labor Sunday morning, in accordance with their ideas of a strict observance of the Sabbath. We cannot think this wise. It certainly does not meet our ideas of that “cleanliness that is next to godliness.” We think it should be a matter of principle to have everything as pure, as sweet, and clean Sabbath morning as is possible. All one’s clothes are put on fresh on that morning; table-cloths and napkins come right from the drawer. If these are all brought out spotless in their purity, in honor of the Lord’s day, then why should not our beds also rejoice in the whitest of linen? We think it a grateful and appropriate way of beginning our Sabbath; and if the bed-linen is laid out Saturday night, as it should always be, we do not see how it can occupy more time to put on clean things than those which are tumbled and soiled. We think the objections to it are of that kind spoken of as being “wise above that which is written.”

VIII.
PATIENT CONTINUANCE IN WELL-DOING.

AFTER one of those days of perplexity and annoyance that will occasionally come to all housekeepers, old or young, order having at last been restored, and peace beginning to dawn out of the confusion, we took up the pen to begin our weekly talk with young friends. But pausing for a moment’s rest and deliberation, our thoughts took form and life, and led us into an imaginary conversation with a young housekeeper, passing though the same trials we had just been battling with. We think we cannot do better than send the thoughts and scenes that rose before our mind, as they so truly illustrate our idea of the necessity of constant watchfulness combined with “patient continuance in well-doing.” We think most of our readers, who have just begun life’s cares, will have already learned that imagination does not, in this case, equal the reality.

Scene.—A lady’s chamber, and the occupant in tears. Enter a Motherly Talker.

—Why! what can be the matter? You, so bright and cheerful usually, in despondency and tears! Some great trouble must have befallen you!

“I am completely discouraged! I ought never to have undertaken housekeeping. It is evident I shall never make a good housekeeper, and I will not be a poor one. After all my boasting when I first began, I am ashamed to tell you now how miserably I have failed. But ‘open confession is good for the soul,’ and when you have had the whole story, say if you think I am worth the teaching.”

Why, how humble our little woman has become! Some “lion in the way,” and, doubtless, of your own creating, has disheartened you for the present, we think. Tell us, without hesitation, what troubles you, and we will see if we cannot find a “silver lining” to this cloud, as it is easy to do in most cases.

“Well, listen, and tell me, when you learn how I have been blinded, if I have not cause to hide in the valley of humiliation.

“I have labored hard to train my Bridget, to the best of my ability, and, with all her inefficiencies, have felt and boasted that she was really neat. That being the case, I felt myself capable of keeping so strict a watch of her weak points, that she could not hide her mistakes so deftly but that I would find and try to teach her to rectify them. I had, at the commencement of my new life, arranged everything in the nicest order; and having started the machinery, Bridget seeming so ready to carry out my rules, I was confident that, by keeping up a careful supervision, I could not fail, and was in a fair way to become a bright and shining light among my sister housekeepers.

“Well, Bridget left me yesterday. I didn’t much care. There would be no trouble in replacing her, and doubtless securing a more capable girl. Beside, a few days’ work all to myself would be no hardship; for had I not been so faithful in my oversight of all domestic affairs, that everything about my house must be in perfect order?

“I was in the habit of visiting kitchen and store-closet daily. The sink seemed clean, the range well polished, the boiler bright, and dishes all in order, and making quite a pretty display on the shelves. Ah! if I had handled each article, looked into each pot or kettle, instead of being content to see only the outside, I should have soon learned that all was falsely fair! Why! everything was slippery, greasy, dirty, or leaking, except those which were placed in the front rank, for show. I am sick and lame from just this morning’s cleaning and scrubbing, and am not half through even the kitchen. Half the dishes that looked so nicely on the shelves are ‘nicked’ or cracked; holes burnt in the saucepans, and bits of old cloth drawn through to stop the leak,—who can tell how long they have remained there, gathering filth, or from what dirty rag they were torn!

“How often I have praised Bridget for keeping the kitchen coffee and tea pot so bright. But when I took them down this morning, lo! the coffee-pot was minus a handle, and the teapot bottomless! They were placed with the perfect side in sight on the shelves, and the broken parts wholly concealed; while my best things were doubtless used in the kitchen. If I must take up each article, day by day, to be sure of their condition, I could do nothing else through the day.

“In the cellar a barrel stood, in its proper place, filled with kindling. I reached my hand in hastily to get paper to start the fire, and quickly snatched it out, cut and bleeding. There were only a few papers on the top of the barrel, and all the rest of its contents was broken glass and china!

“Then my store-closet is kept locked, and the key in my own pocket. I have always handed out everything—sugar, spices, sweetmeats, etc.—myself, yet I find much sugar, sweetmeats, spices, and jellies missing! Now that my suspicions are aroused, I see what has gone. If I keep the keys myself, and yet am not safe from pilfering, what can I do? But other housekeepers have not this trouble: where lies the secret of their success, and my most humiliating failure?”

Now, although this is simply an imaginary scene, there is far more truth than fiction in it. Many housekeepers of late years have often had the same experience, and worse. This evil is growing upon us rapidly. If deliverance comes not to us,—perhaps through China,—our housekeepers have a gloomy prospect. The secret of apparent success with some often arises from the fact, that keeping two or three girls employed, when one leaves without warning, those who remain are expected to manage as best they can, till the vacant place is filled. In these cases the mistress does not see with her own eyes all that takes place behind the scenes. Such “ignorance is bliss,” perhaps, but certainly not the best economy. Whereas, if housekeepers are left alone without any help for a few days, and are obliged to take the work into their own hands, they learn several unexpected lessons which are not easy to forget. They see the evils which have been quietly accumulating under the carelessness or deceit of servants, and will not be so readily blinded the second time.

When you have servants about you, it is not possible to handle every article, to look into every corner, daily. One might as well make no pretence of keeping “help.” And while only a slavery of the most exact and unfailing watchfulness can save you from many leaks and much extravagant waste, yet, by this course, you may lose, by the constant irritation of disposition, more than you can save pecuniarily. The only safe way is to make things as secure as possible; first, as to the character of servants when you engage them; secondly, by way of guarding them from the temptation of open closets and immunity from oversight.

So long as servants can and do forge “characters” or “recommendations,” or use skeleton keys,—and many do this,—we are greatly at their mercy, unless we look the evil squarely in the face, and attempt to find a remedy. We are told that to speak plainly of these things—which are truly of frequent occurrence—we open the eyes of the servants as well as their mistresses, and tempt them to do the wrong which, but for the speaking of it, they never would have thought of. Let no one believe this. It is entirely a mistaken notion. Our ladies have no idea how thoroughly posted their servants are—even some of the most trusted—in every evil of this kind. A better way is to meet any such dangers openly; not willingly stumble along blindfold, lest we should see what we cannot help fearing is going on in our midst. See it, and try to overcome it by greater caution. Never, under any consideration, take a written “recommendation” of a girl. Go to the lady who is said to have written the “character,” and learn the truth. That destroys all danger from forged certificates. If it is thought too much trouble, then you must not complain of imposition.

Again, if you judge best to keep locked closets and store-rooms, there are many patent locks, not expensive, which no “pass” or “skeleton key” can open. Put such on your store-closet and places which you most desire to guard, and you at once secure yourself against another evil.

And “patient continuance in well-doing,” frequent, careful, but kindly oversight, thorough but not suspicious inspection of kitchen, store-rooms, closets, etc., will lessen many others; the remainder we must endure until, among all the reformatory movements of this progressive age, some good spirit shall effect a deliverance from the heaviest burden that oppresses the housekeeper,—unfaithful, inefficient servants.

IX.
PREPARING FOR THE COUNTRY.

JUNE, the month of roses, is near, and all who are compelled to live a large part of the year in the city are looking forward to some weeks of rest from ever-ringing bells, interminable flights of stairs, and all the wear and tear that belong peculiarly to a city life. But there is much to be done before you can safely close the doors and leave the house and its content under lock and key, for the summer. Every part of the house should be thoroughly examined, and none but the eye of the mistress can be depended upon. Each article that is to be left behind must be carefully looked after. Winter garments, furs, and such heavy shawls as may not be thought advisable to take to the country, have of course been aired, beaten, sprinkled with Poole’s or Lyon’s insect-powder, wrapped up in linen or paper, and sealed so that no moth can find an entrance. Even if done up in linen, it is better to put over that a strong wrapping-paper, and seal up with mucilage. If this is faithfully done, moths cannot, or rather will not, wish to get in. We are inclined to think that Poole’s powder is the best; it is certainly the most disagreeable, and that speaks well for its efficacy. Camphor or cedar trunks, made expressly for packing furs, woolens, etc., are a great convenience and very safe; but for those who have none, sprinkling with the powder and sealing in thick paper is, though more troublesome, equally reliable.

If the house is to be closed for some time, a very thorough cleaning of paint, windows, plated knobs, and bell-pulls is a useless waste of time and strength, as they will all be bronzed in a few weeks; but every part should be well swept, and all accumulation of dust removed. In the attic or any uncarpeted room, where the boards of the floor have shrunk, leaving open spaces between the boards, much dust and lint will gather in the crevices thus formed, and become favorite nests for moths. All such places should be swept with great care. A stiff brush should be used to clear every particle of dirt out, and then scrub the floor with hot soapsuds. When it is dry, sprinkle insect-powder in the seams. This done, and well done, we think there need be no hesitation in leaving a house unoccupied for a few weeks; certainly we should feel far less solicitude than to leave a servant in it.

Insect-powder should be put round the corners and edges of such carpets as are to remain on the floor for the summer. There is a little bellows that generally comes with Poole’s powder, or can be had at house-furnishing stores, by which you can blow the powder under the edges much more thoroughly than in any other way.

Next, see that all food is removed from the house; meat, salt or fresh butter, flour, meal, bread, or cake should be disposed of. Such articles soon spoil and make the air impure and offensive; or, if not offensive, it entices rats and mice into the house to prepare work and trouble for you all through the winter.

The furnace and ranges must be cleared out, and if any repairs are necessary they should be done now. It will annoy you far more to have these to attend to when you return and are in the confusion and haste of getting “settled” for the winter, with the thousand interruptions to which you will then be liable. The top of the range should be rubbed in sweet-oil, or lard that has no salt in it, to prevent rust. Flat-irons, bake-pans, soup-boilers, all iron-ware, must also be oiled, wrapped up in paper, and hung up, that you may find your utensils in perfect order when you return, needing only a good washing in hot soapsuds to be ready for immediate use. Have locks, keys, bolts, and bars in a good usable condition, that you may feel sure that nothing is left without strong fastenings.

All this preparation is hard work, and you are very thankful when the last trunk is locked, the last bundle or basket fastened, and this labor ended. But the comfort and satisfaction of knowing by your own actual observation and care that all has been done, and waits your return in the fall, with no mark of carelessness to rise up in reproach against you, will be ample compensation. Yet, at the last minute, take one more journey from cellar to attic, to “make assurance doubly sure,” and then, leaving all that care behind you, go on your way rejoicing.

X.
HEEDLESSNESS.

THERE are many annoyances that fall to a housekeeper’s lot which seem very insignificant when spoken of, and too trivial to put on paper; but they are grievances nevertheless, and like a wasp’s or bee’s sting, though small, not easily borne; and when they follow each other in quick succession, and are constantly repeated, the accumulation, like a whole swarm of bees, will tax the grace and patience of the strongest. It is the little frets of daily life that, when summed up, become almost unendurable; and to them is added the mortification of knowing that friends who are only “lookers on,” having never themselves touched the burden with so much as their little finger, feel no sympathy, but on the contrary almost a good-natured contempt, that any one should be so weak as to be shaken by such trifling troubles and vexations. But they are not trifling; if they were only occasional they would be; but they are of daily, hourly occurrence, and, because they are never ending, make a housekeeper’s responsible position one that demands self-control and patience of a higher order than any other position to which woman aspires. There is a dignity in being burnt at the stake that enables one to rise above the pain; but to be harried to death with briers and brambles is very humiliating, yet a torture none the less.

Many things that are really untidy are not noticed until, through neglect, they increase, and at last cause great confusion in the home affairs, simply because the young housekeeper’s attention has not been called to them, or she does not yet understand how to regulate and control them. Ignorance may be bliss, but it is of a nature that leads to mischief in the end.

Let us point out some of these petty troubles, and see what they amount to and how they may be removed.

What more disagreeable and annoying than to have the vapors or odors that arise from washing or cooking pervade the whole house, giving to it the sickening smell of the lowest class boarding-houses? When seated quietly in the parlor, it comes so gradually upon one that it is hardly noticed; but step for a moment into the fresh air, and on your return you will be greatly disgusted at the fumes that half suffocate you as you open the door. This infliction can be escaped only by keeping the doors of the kitchen or hall leading from it tightly closed. Yet it seems almost impossible to teach a servant that just “pushing the door to” is not shutting it, and the smells of the kitchen will escape as readily through a half-closed as through an open door. There is no help for this evil but watchfulness and constant reminder. You can put springs or rubber straps on the door, and while they are new and stiff they will swing to with force enough to close it; but the spring will soon grow careless, like other servants, and by and by not shut the door entirely. As well leave it wide open as ajar. Besides, springs are very troublesome and inconvenient, and, in the passing of servants with their hands full, endanger the dishes. And, worse than all, we have noticed that a spring on the door has a singularly inflammatory effect on the disposition of the servants; and after they have been hit or a few dishes broken once or twice by it, the spring suddenly breaks or is cut. Of course it broke itself, or nobody—that most mysterious mischief-maker—did it. The watch and care of the mistress is the only remedy.

Another careless habit which often proves a great grief of heart to the thorough housekeeper, and to which the attention of the beginner should be directed from the first, is the use of dish-towels and dish-cloths, instead of “holders,” to remove pots, stew-pans, and kettles from the fire, or meats and pies from the oven. It is a habit that is harder to conquer than almost any other. The most ample supply of holders may be provided, yet the mistress seldom enters the kitchen but she sees the nice crash towel caught up to remove a boiling pot from the stove, or a gridiron from the fire, and if it is not tossed into the sink, scorched and smeared, it is a marvel. And the “holder” you had so neatly made but a few days before, now a mass of grease, stove-crock, and filth, is perhaps lying in the coal-hod ready to be thrown into the fire, where you will be the least likely to find it out; for to wash a holder never enters into the heads of those who use, or rather abuse, them so badly.

A cook’s holder should be made of some strong, dark material, a piece of tape about a half-yard long sewed on one corner, and a large hook on the tape to hook into cook’s belt or apron-string. It is then always ready for use.

“And will she remember to use it?”

Doubtful; certainly not without your watchful care. But be sure and have them ready, and then strictly endeavor to secure their proper use.

The ironing-holder should be of soft, light-colored material, that dirt and stains may bear testimony against its use about clean clothes, till it is washed. Harsh material is severe on the hands when used for hours on a hot iron. When out of use, the ironing-holder must be put away with the ironing-sheet, bosom-board, etc., that they may not be used in the kitchen.

Again: watch the dish-towels; see that they are not thrown on the floor or into a chair to be sat on by the first one who happens in, and perhaps the next minute used to wipe the fine china or cover over the bread fresh from the oven. Such things are constantly being done. Do our housekeepers know it? Of course they never do such things themselves; but if they once gave it a moment’s sober thought, would they not, for their own comfort, endeavor to prevent its being done again? Who would wish to eat or drink from china wiped with towels so misused? Who would like to eat bread that had been wrapped up in a dish-towel, however clean? They should be washed and boiled every day after the dinner-dishes are out of the way, hung out to dry, and fresh, clean ones used at tea and till after dinner the next day, when the first set are brought in for the dishes, and the second washed, boiled, and hung out,—thus securing clean towels for each day. But no matter how faithfully this rule may be carried out, no dish-towel should ever be used for bread, no bread-cloth should be used to wipe meat, no meat-cloth used for fish. Each contracts a taste or smell belonging to its own peculiar work, and each should be marked and employed for its own appropriate use, and no other.

XI.
WASHING FLANNELS.

“CAN you tell me what has been done to my blankets? Not a year in use, and look at them! Fortunately I put but two into the wash this week, and now I think I shall never dare to have another washed. My pretty, soft, white blankets absolutely ruined!”

Not ruined, as far as use is concerned, but the beauty has departed, never to return. Did you overlook the washing of them yourself?

“Most certainly not! I never did such a thing in my life. I told the laundress that I wanted her to be very particular, and she assured me that she was fully competent to the work. I have just been speaking to her about them, and she can’t tell what should make them look so badly, unless there was something wrong about the wool.”

That is simply absurd. Did you question her as to her mode of washing them?

“O, no. I should not have known if she had managed incorrectly, and to question her would only have exposed my own ignorance to a servant, and that I am very loth to do; but she said she rubbed them very faithfully, soaped them thoroughly, and boiled them in good, clean suds.”

Soaped and boiled blankets, or woolen goods of any kind! No wonder they are brown and muddy, and as thick as a board!

Blankets that are carefully managed will not require washing often; yours have been in use so short a time they certainly could not have needed it, unless they were accidentally soiled.

“No, they looked very fresh and fair; but I had supposed blankets should be washed every fall and spring. I never asked why.”

O, no! They are always put between the sheets and bedspreads, not in contact with the body at all, and it would be long before anything but an accident or the greatest carelessness could soil them.

There are people who will lie down for a nap in the afternoon between the blankets! The housekeeper who can patiently or silently endure that must be nearer akin to the angels than we generally find them. True, no woman would be guilty of such carelessness; but ignorance is an excuse for many short-comings. But it is not this class of men that we intend to have at home in charge of household affairs when women go to Congress.

Occasionally, in a fair, clear day, and when there is a moderate wind, it is well to pin blankets on the clothes-line in the yard, that they may be well aired and freshened, and whatever dust may have settled in them be whipped out by the wind. When they really need washing, the first step is to see that there is a good quantity of boiling water ready. Next, select the largest tub and fill half full of boiling water; dissolve and stir thoroughly into it two table-spoonfuls of powdered borax and sufficient soap to make a good lather, but on no account rub soap on the blankets. Put into the tub but one blanket at a time. Shake it to and fro with the clothes-stick till perfectly wet through, then press it under the water to remain till cool enough to use your hands in it, when each part should be examined very carefully, gently rubbing or squeezing the suds through it. Hard rubbing fulls woolens. When sure that all spots or dirt are removed, wring them into a second tub of boiling water into which you have thoroughly stirred some blueing. If your first suds are strong enough, the blankets will retain sufficient soap for the rinsing water, which in woolens requires a little soap. Shake the blanket up and down in this water, with the clothes-stick, till it has flowed through every part. Then, while the water is still hot, wring it. It requires two persons to wring and shake out a bed-blanket. They should take it by the ends and snap vigorously, to remove all the water as far as possible. Then carry it to the line, throw it over, and pull it smooth, bringing the hems straight and true, and pin on to the line strongly. When half dry, turn it lengthwise on the line, and pull the selvedges together in a straight line, so that no part may draw up in cockles or full unevenly.

It is not well to wash woolens of any kind on a rainy or cloudy day; but for blankets it is ruinous. A bright sunny day with a brisk wind is very desirable, as it snaps out the water, giving it no chance to settle. When the blanket is perfectly dry, fold very evenly, but never press or iron it.

Washed in this way, although your blankets may not be quite as white as when new, the change will be hardly noticeable, and they will be soft and fleecy until worn out. A tall, large tub with a pounder or dasher on springs, fastened across the tub, like the old-fashioned pounding-barrel, or the tub and dasher of the Metropolitan Washing-Machine, is one of the most convenient and desirable tubs to wash blankets in, as the washing can be done at once without waiting for the water to cool. The pounder should be used gently, as harsh rubbing or pounding knots the fibers of woolens, but the spring dasher keeps the water filtering through every part without any hard usage.

Wash flannels in the same way, only bring them from the line while quite damp; pull out and fold evenly. If any spot has “fulled” or “cockled,” when it is a little damp you can pull it smooth. Roll up the articles tight, for a little while, until dampened all over alike, and then press them till dry, pulling the garment taut from the iron as you press.

There are many theories about washing woolen goods. Several of the “Household Guides,” of late, recommend washing in cold water. Some even advise soaking them all night, claiming that they do not felt or full any more than when washed in hot water, and are not as liable to grow yellow. But we cannot think this idea correct. Professor Youmans, in his “Book of Household Science,” describes the difference, in the structure of fiber, between woolen and cotton and linen fabrics, with a drawing of the straight, smooth form of linen or cotton filaments, and the toothed and jagged structures of woolen fabrics, and says:—

“It is evident that the latter, by compression and friction, will mat and lock together, while cotton and linen fibers, having no such asperities of surface, are incapable of anything like close mechanical adherence. Hence the peculiar capabilities of woolen fabrics of felting, fulling, and shrinking, caused by the binding together of the ultimate filaments. We see, therefore, the impolicy of excessive rubbing in washing woolen fabrics, and of changing them from hot to cold water, as the contraction that it causes is essentially a fulling process. The best experience seems to indicate that woolen cloths should never be put into cold water, but always into warm, and if changed from water to water, they should go from hot to hotter. In the most skillful modes of cleansing delaines for printing, the plan is, to place them first in water at 100° or 120°, and then treat them eight or ten times with water 10° hotter in each change.”

XII.
JUNE CARES.

THERE is much of romance and beauty in the month of June, partly imaginary and partly real. During the frosts and snows of winter, the sharp winds and dreary storms of spring, our thoughts turn with most affectionate longings towards June,—the month of loves and roses. Yet, when she comes, hardly any other month of the whole year brings so many little frets and annoyances as the month of June.

The first two or three days, so warm and balmy, lull us into a dreamy state of delightful rest and security; but we wake to find damp, foggy mornings, with mists so dark and dense that you long to cut a window through for the sunshine, which you feel must be held in durance vile behind it. Particularly is this noticeable if living near a river. All through the first half of the month we have cold, stormy days, then suddenly damp, sultry, sticky ones. In the morning we are uncertain how to dress. If warm, and we put on cool, thin garments, perhaps in an hour or two a chilly wind sweeps by, and, shivering and quite uncomfortable, we resort to a breakfast shawl or sack; they are a little too much, and we drop them, only too glad, in a few moments, to draw them close about us again; or, in an obstinate fit, we refuse to yield to the demands made by these sudden changes for warmer clothing, and a heavy cold is the result. The wind has a decided partiality for the east most of the time in early June. If it veers for a few hours to the south, it is in an unsteady, wavering manner, and soon turns back to the east again. The result is, that the first half of June will very likely keep you in an uncomfortable, dissatisfied state of mind. Everything molds; clothes grow damp in drawers or wardrobes, or the washing is caught out in a shower, just as it is half ready to be taken in. It is decidedly “falling weather.” Be watchful to guard against any infelicities that may follow these changes, patiently accepting what they bring that cannot be avoided. That’s the only true way. This variable weather usually lasts till the middle of June, sometimes later, when we may look for more settled but very warm weather.

The flies have been reconnoitring,—sending out scouts, during those few weeks of mild weather; but as the warm days become more permanent, they come on with their main army. We have put the moths to rest, but these intruders, if not as mischievous, are quite as hard to manage, and even as persistent. There are various kinds of “fly-paper,” around which, if ready for them, certainly lie large numbers of the slain to certify to the virtues of the paper. It is doubtless of some benefit, but does not by any means free us from this great vexation. It is at least a dirty, mussy remedy, requiring one to be incessantly on the watch lest flies who have tasted the paper fall into food, or lie about in an unseemly manner. If servants in the kitchen or dining-room have any gifts toward neatness, this constant litter makes them cross; if they have not that gift, the careless way they allow the dead flies to lie about, and the fear that they may approach too near the cooking, may make the mistress cross also,—two evils to be scrupulously avoided.

During the heat of summer we are compelled to keep open doors and windows, but these lawless intruders know, apparently, the moment when we lift the latch or raise the window, and swarm in upon us in myriads. To secure the air and baffle the flies, we have found mosquito netting a great help. A simple frame of pine, about an inch and a half wide, fitted closely inside the lower sash, with mosquito lace or net nailed across it (galvanized nails or tacks should be used, to avoid rust), is the most effectual safeguard we have ever tried. The frame must not be quite as high as the lower sash, as room is needed to push in the spring to open or close the window. The outside doors and those leading from the kitchen to the dining-room may have frames fitted in the same manner,—the frame having a cross-piece in the middle. It can be hung on hinges, having a hook in the cross-piece to fasten it with, while the real door may be kept open all day, excluding the flies, but leaving freedom for the air to circulate. By a few days’ extra care the family will soon learn to close this net door, or swarms of flies will quickly remind them of any heedlessness in this matter. A wire net is the most durable, although more expensive at first; but it will soon repay the extra expense, for lace or netting must be renewed every year. Yet notwithstanding these precautions, the flies will often effect an entrance, especially into the dining-room when dishing the dinner, or when merry, heedless children rush in and out, always forgetting to close the door. Cut old newspapers in strips an inch or an inch and a half wide, nearly the whole length of the sheet, leaving only about two inches uncut at the top. Take a smooth round stick about two feet long, and laying three or four of these cut papers together, wind the uncut part about the stick. Tie the paper on with strong twine, very tightly, so that it will not slip, leaving the long ribbons of paper hanging loose, and you have a most effectual fly-brush. Cheap calico is still better, as paper tears easily and litters the room. Keep one always on hand for the kitchen, and two for the parlor and dining-room. If the flies have secured an entrance during the dishing of dinner, when it is served spread a large piece of netting over the table to protect the food from dust or the flies you may brush down. Open the door, let two persons take each a fly-brush, and, standing opposite the door, swing the brush in concert through the room swiftly toward the door, and it will be amusing and gratifying to observe how hastily the intruders will vacate the premises. One or two well-directed charges will leave you free to shut the net door, remove the netting from the table, and partake of your dinner unmolested.

XIII.
PURE AIR AND THOROUGH VENTILATION.

AT all seasons of the year it is important that the house should be kept dry and well ventilated; but extra precautions are necessary in warm weather. The nights are often close and sultry; windows are left open with the hope—often a vain one—that an occasional breeze may deign to sweep through the rooms, and assist us in the labor of breathing. And here is danger. The night air, what there may be of it, and the heavy morning fogs, fill the house with dampness. The bedclothes are moist and disagreeable. The garments laid off on retiring at night, if left near an open window, are heavy with dew. Fever and ague, rheumatism, cholera, and dysentery lurk always in such an atmosphere. One of the best preventives is a quick blaze, in an open fireplace or stove, immediately after rising; no matter how warm the weather may be. A handful of brush or light wood, just to make a blaze, expel the bad air, and dry the rooms, not heat them, is all that is needed.

Those who can be in the country during the summer will have no difficulty in finding plenty of brush,—dead branches, or sprouts, or bushes, cut off in clearing up the fields or hedges. On a rainy day, when outdoor work or play cannot be advantageously attended to, a child could easily cut them up into foot or foot and a half lengths, tie them in fagots, and pile them neatly in the wood-house, ready for use. Keep one of these fagots always in the fireplace or stove, ready for lighting every morning. It will dry and purify the air wonderfully, and save doctors’ bills and much sickness.

Aside from the ill effects of dampness, the air is full of impurities arising from the body, and more injurious through the night than in the day. Professor Youmans says:—

“The escape of offensive matter from the body becomes most obvious when, from out of the pure air in the morning, one enters an unventilated bedroom where one or two have slept the night before. Every one must have experienced the sickening and disgusting odor upon going into such a room, though its occupants themselves do not recognize it. The nose, although an organ of excessive sensibility, and capable of perceiving the presence of offensive matters where the most delicate chemical tests fail, is nevertheless easily blunted, and what at the first impression is pre-eminently disgusting, quickly becomes less offensive to the smell; but the impure air has not departed. Two persons, occupying a bed for eight hours, impart to the sheets by insensible perspiration, and to the air by breathing, a pound of watery vapor charged with latent animal poison. When the air in other inhabited rooms is not often changed, the water of exhalation, thus loaded with impurities, condenses upon the furniture, windows, and walls, dampening their surfaces, and running down in unwholesome streams.

“Yet we are not to regard the human body as necessarily impure, or a focus of repulsive emanations. It is not by the natural and necessary working of the vital machinery that the air is poisoned, but by its artificial confinement, and the accumulation of deleterious substances.”

In speaking of the prevalent inattention to a perfect ventilation in our homes, and the need of great care in this respect, if we would secure health, Youmans also refers to the “gaseous exhalations, of every sort, that escape from our kitchens, filling the house with unpleasant odors; the imperfect combustion of oil and tallow in lighting our homes; the defective burning of gas-jets”; and the injurious effects upon health,—causing severe headaches, if nothing worse; to the destruction to health from the poisonous influences of green paper-hangings upon the air, from which the fine particles, loosened by dusting or moving about the room, are set afloat in the atmosphere, and are often very deadly.

Then from the decayed vegetables—carelessly allowed to remain sometimes for days in our cellars—and the damp and stagnant air of cellars and basements come exhalations most destructive to health. Even dry closets and rooms in upper stories become moldy and musty if not often and thoroughly aired. “To be pure and healthy, air requires continual circulation; but cellars are rarely either ventilated or made dry by water-proof walls or floors, and are usually damp, cold, unclean, and moldy.

“The air from these basements and cellars ascends to the upper rooms in such small quantities that it does not produce immediate disease; yet it so gradually undermines the health as not to be perceptible. Many an invalid, who fancies himself benefited by the change of air in going to another residence, is really only improved by escaping the moldy atmosphere that arises from beneath his own ground-floor.”

By quoting thus largely from Professor Youmans, we bring good authority for the particular and earnest advice we have offered to our “young housekeepers” with regard to the drying and ventilating every part of their houses. We doubt not many a one, who has begun with sound health, has gradually sunk into a confirmed invalid, when the principal cause could be traced back to carelessness in this seemingly unimportant duty. And those who are thus slowly poisoned by the impure air which comes through this neglect of duty are the most ready recipients of all infectious and epidemic diseases.

It is always well to have either a bath full of water near where one sleeps, or, if no bath, a pail or tub full set into the room, as water is one of the best disinfectants, cleansing the air by taking up all the impurities from it as fast as they arise. But this water should be let off in the morning, and fresh water used for bathing or washing; and if you need drinking water in your bedroom,—and it is well always to have it near,—do not let it remain open in your room, as it absorbs impurities, and would be unfit for drinking; but either have a lid to your pitcher or cover it over with a thin cloth, to keep dust and insects out, and set it on the ledge outside your window, in the pure, fresh air.

XIV.
MILK AND BUTTER.

JULY and August are trying months for those who have charge of milk and butter, unless the work to be done is performed in large establishments devoted entirely to it. When a milk-house is built under large trees, to shield it from the fierce heat of the mid-day sun, with a stream of pure cold water running through it, the labor is diminished full one half. Indeed, we should not call it labor, but an exhilarating amusement to take charge of such an one as we saw, a few weeks ago, in Norwich, Chenango County, New York. We have not thought of it since without a longing, amounting almost to coveting our neighbor’s work. To find this house among the trees, away from the confusion and turmoil of the town, which is shaken by the ceaseless din of more noisy occupations, was most restful and tranquillizing; the music of the rich, green leaves among the long sweeping branches, and the murmur of the restless brook, could not fail to give a spring and elasticity to the spirits that must, in a great measure, overcome the sense of fatigue. This was our first impression, as we stood outside the unpretentious building, and it was in nowise changed when we stepped upon the smooth floor, as white as good soap, fresh water, and a willing arm could make it.

Our attention was immediately attracted by the sound of machinery. In the farther corner of the room stood two large barrel-churns, the dashers of both moving up and down with an easy, uniform motion, impelled by the wheel and belt overhead, to which they were attached. No fears for the aching back and tired arms neutralized our enjoyment, for the woman in charge sat, resting by the open door, till the butter was ready to be taken out into the “butter-worker.”

A large trough, some twelve or fourteen feet long, six or eight wide, and perhaps four deep (we simply use our Yankee privilege of guessing at the dimensions), and lined with tin, was placed in the middle of the room, where the curd for “skimmed cheese,” made from milk after all the cream was removed, was “set.” This and the churning arrangements occupied half the building. The other half was a large tank, through which the water from the brook flowed continually. Into this reservoir, always full, tall tin cans, between two or three feet high, and perhaps a foot across, were set. Little danger that milk in that cool bed would sour before all the cream had been risen. About this tank ran a wide shelf or ledge, on which stood great tubs of golden butter waiting to be sent to market.

In the second story, equally cool and clean, large shelves were placed, where the cheeses are kept to dry, or ripen, entirely separate from the butter.

This is a very tame description of a scene of labor which was to us exceedingly interesting. We must now hasten to speak of that which is real care and labor,—the management of small dairies, where butter is only made for home consumption.

The most scrupulous cleanliness must be recognized as being absolutely indispensable. If all else is done to perfection, and that is wanting, you cannot have good butter. As you skim one mess, be sure that the shelf on which it stood is faithfully scrubbed and left unoccupied until it becomes dry. Every utensil used about milk or cream should be kept for this, and drafted into no other service. Many object to using soap in washing milk-pans, pails, etc. But we have great affection and reverence for soap, and cannot imagine that its free use can harm any article employed about a dairy. We always insist that the pails, pans, skimmers, butter-prints, and churn be washed in very hot suds; if a servant fears to risk her hands, we use our own. A small, pointed scrub-brush must be used to scour the seams, corners, handles, etc., of all the utensils, and particularly the strainers in the pails. After this scrubbing is well done, rinse in an abundance of hot water, and then pour over all a large kettle of boiling water. Let the articles stand in this a short time, then wipe with clean towels, and turn down on a stand or shelf prepared for them outdoors, where the sun will sweeten them perfectly. Even in rainy days, better leave them out an hour or two that they may have the benefit of the air at least, if deprived of sun; then wipe them dry, and bring into the milk-room before night.

A small unpainted tub should be kept expressly to wash milk things in. The brush, wash-cloths, and drying towels ought all to be marked, and never used for any other purpose. See that they are washed, scalded, and hung to dry, outdoors if possible, every time they are used.

If the milk-room or cellar is small and not ventilated, it is very difficult in July and August to keep milk sweet long enough for all the cream to rise. While the weather is very hot, unless one has a deep, cold cellar, or a spring of water running through it, it is well to scald the milk when first brought in. Have a kettle half full of boiling water over the fire; strain the milk into a clean pail, and set it into the boiling water until it gets scalding hot, but not boiling. Be sure and remove it before it rises in wrinkles on top. If too hot, the butter will have a disagreeable taste. The butter is never quite as good, but the cream rises more rapidly, before the milk has time to change,—a very important gain, and one to be considered in case of a small cellar.

In very warm weather, with no more protection than is generally found in small dairies, it is not often possible to keep milk over twenty-four hours before skimming. Every minute the cream remains on the milk, after it changes, is an injury to the butter. Thirty-six hours is the proper time for milk to stand, when the weather is cool enough to keep it sweet. Some keep it forty-eight hours, on the plea that more butter is secured. We doubt if it is so; but whatever is gained in quantity, by keeping milk so long unskimmed, is certainly lost in quality. Many think it important to keep the cream till ripe, or sour, before churning. We think it a mistake, if good, sweet butter is the thing sought. In cool weather we churn when the cream is as sweet as that which is used for coffee. In July and August the cream will sour, and the flavor of the butter shows the difference. As soon as the butter “comes,” it must be well washed down from the sides of the churn, and gathered into a mass. If very warm, wash a piece of ice and put it into the churn, leaving the butter five or ten minutes to harden before putting it into the “butter-bowl,” which, with the butter-ladle and churn, should have been kept full of cold water all night. When the butter is firm enough to work over, take it into the bowl and throw in a handful of salt; we fancy it causes the buttermilk to run off more easily; work out all the buttermilk as gently as possible; too much working or rough handling injures the grain of the butter. This done, pour in ice-water; wash the butter through that; pour off, and add more, till the water runs clear. Twice washing, in a generous quantity, should be sufficient. Then taste, and see how much more salt is needed. After the washing, press the butter with the ladle till no water runs; toss it into a compact roll, cover with a clean linen cloth, and put into the ice-chest till next morning, when it must be again broken up, worked over, and packed into a butter-pail or jar, pounded down compactly, and covered with strong brine, in which pulverized saltpetre—a great spoonful to four quarts of brine—has been dissolved. Cover the jar or pail closely, and set in the ice-chest or a cool place.

This method will insure good butter the year round. It is the buttermilk left in most of our market butter that gives us so much poor butter. If that remains, no brine or care can make it sweet.

The Blanchard Churn is, we think, one of the safest and most convenient, as the washing, salting, and working can be almost entirely done in the churn, by turning the wings, or dasher, back and forth half-way,—pressing out the buttermilk and salting it more evenly and with far less fatigue.

XV.
MAKING CHEESE.

FIRST, a dry, airy, thoroughly ventilated room must be provided, of even and moderate temperature. It should be used for a cheese-room only, and access denied, if possible, to all but the operator. It is useless to attempt the work if flies cannot be excluded; and, when open to all, that is impossible. The windows should be kept open in fair weather, but blinds always closed, to avoid currents of air, except to admit what light is needed while the work is being done. Frames covered with wire or mosquito net can be fitted into the windows, and a door of the same material hung inside, shutting closely to exclude the flies, yet giving admittance to as much air and light as are needed. If wind and sun have too free access to a cheese-room, the cheese cannot ripen properly.

Cheese-tubs, cheese-knives (a long wooden knife for cutting the curd), cheese-ladder, hoops, cheese-boards, or followers, cheese-basket, bowl, and cheese-cloths made of strong linen, but woven very loosely, and the cheese-press,—these are the necessary utensils.

The months from May to September are good cheese months; some keep up the work through October; but the cheese is more difficult to cure, and will not be as good.

If night and morning milk is to be used, strain the night’s milk into pans, and set in a cool place. In the morning take off all the cream; heat the skimmed milk to 95° or 100°, pour it into the cheese-tub with the morning’s milk, and stir in the cream; add the rennet, and mix all well together with the long wooden cheese-knife or a wooden spoon; cover the tub with a close-fitting cover, and spread over that a thick cheese-blanket, to keep in the heat while the curd is forming. The milk, when drawn from the cows, is from 85° to 90°, and until the curd is well set, it should not lose more than from five to seven degrees of its natural heat. See that the cows are driven to and from their pasture gently; for, if they get overheated, the milk will rise above the natural heat, and must be cooled off before the rennet is stirred in; as, if the milk, either from this cause or any other, is over 90° when it is set, the cheese will be spongy and of very poor flavor, or no flavor at all. If the milk is too cold the curd will be so tender it will never become firm, but will bulge out at the side, and will not keep. Be sure and ascertain the temperature of the milk always, before adding rennet. If the milk is too cold, heat some milk and stir in, until the whole rises to the proper temperature; if too warm, wait till it cools sufficiently before adding the rennet. The quantity of rennet to be used depends so much on the quality of the article, that experience only can teach the exact amount to use. If good and strong, two ounces is quite enough for sixty quarts of milk. The curd will have set firmly in an hour or an hour and a half, when it must be cut gently, first round the sides of the tub, then across in lines, reaching the long wooden cheese-knife to the bottom of the tub, each time about an inch from the last; then cut in the opposite direction, forming squares, to give the whey an opportunity to rise above the curd. Let it settle a few minutes. Then throw over the tub a large square cheese-cloth, or strainer, and after the curd has settled and the whey risen to the top, sink the strainer into it and dip off the whey as closely as it can be done. The strainer is then spread over a square splint cheese-basket, woven very loose and open, and the basket set on the cheese-ladder, which is laid across another tub. The curd must now be cut into small pieces gently, and put into the strainer. The corners of the cloth are then gathered up and twisted tightly together, and a flat, smooth stone, kept for that purpose, of about twelve or fifteen pounds’ weight, laid upon it, to press the whey from the curd. It should stand an hour; and, while draining, such things as will be no more needed to finish the work for the day can be washed, scalded, and set out to dry; for, of course, hot water is always ready.

The curd when ready is removed to a large wooden cheese-bowl, cut in slices, and a pail of the whey heated to 120° or 130° is poured over it. Great judgment and care are required here, as, if scalded too much, it makes the cheese hard; if not enough, the cheese will spread and crack. The hot whey should be left on till the curd will “squeak”—as the children used to call it—when bitten; then returned again to the strainer and basket, to drain free of the hot whey. This done, cut it up again fine; put in the salt, and thoroughly stir it in. The taste is the best criterion to judge of the quantity,—about six ounces to every fifteen pounds of curd is a fair estimate. A cheese-cloth must now be laid over the hoop; the curd dipped into it, pressed down, but heaped up in the centre; the corners of the cloth folded smoothly over, and the first cheese-board, with holes all through it, put on; one a size smaller laid over that; and the cheese thus prepared is ready to be put into the press, and subjected to a pressure of from forty to sixty pounds, according to the size of the cheese. It should remain in the press two or three hours. If the whey, which is now pressed out, is of a slightly greenish color, the curd has been properly prepared; but if it is white, like milk, the curd was formed imperfectly, and the cheese will not be of the first quality.

When the cheese has remained in the press for about two hours, some advise to take it from the hoop and let it stand an hour in hot whey, to harden the skin. We do not like the idea, and fancy much fine flavor would be lost from the cheese.

We should simply put it into a dry cheese-cloth and return it to the press, to remain till next morning. In changing the cloth, if any rind presses over the top of the hoop, cut it off smoothly and turn that side of the cheese down. Leave it now until the next morning in the same cloth; only it is well to turn it over in the press several times in the course of the day.

When taken from the press the last time, a piece of cheap muslin should be soaked in hot butter and fitted over the top and bottom, and a band, also wet in butter, bound tight round the cheese and sewed to the edges of the top and bottom covers. The cheese is then placed on the shelf. It will need rubbing with butter every day for some weeks, and must be turned over every day for several months, washing the shelf clean each time, and changing the place so that the shelf may get well dried.

If the whey is saved, in twenty-four hours a thick creamy substance will rise, which, if skimmed off and churned, forms butter very quickly, and is excellent to dress the cheese with,—a great economy, and better for the cheese than table butter. Put some of the butter into a tin dish kept for that purpose; throw in a small red pepper, and put it over the fire till boiling hot, then set aside for dressing, leaving the pepper in.

These directions give the general idea of making cheese. There are many varieties of cheese, which it would be very interesting to notice, pointing out in what the difference consists; but we cannot appropriate more space to this matter.

XVI.
A TROUBLESOME QUESTION.

“ONE of the most urgent of the unsolved, irrepressible questions of the times,” says the “Household,” a most excellent Vermont paper, “relates to the trials which modern housewives experience in their efforts to manage their households satisfactorily, and still have time for needful rest and social culture. As yet the problem remains a puzzle alike to the housewife and to the philanthropist. Labor-saving machines, which promised so much relief, practically fail to lighten materially the housekeeper’s tasks. ‘Biddy’ is still the main dependence in the performance of hard work in the kitchen; yet the constant oversight which she usually requires often renders her services a doubtful advantage.

“That the cares of housekeeping increase faster than means are found for their disposal seems generally true. Whether this is owing to increased luxuriousness in our ways of living, or whether the housewives of to-day lack the executive ability of their grandmothers, remains an open question.”

It does not seem to us very difficult to find the reasons for the great increase of our domestic cares; the puzzle is to find the remedy.

We escape much of the hard work our mothers and grandmothers performed so energetically, and about which housekeepers of the present day hear so many disparaging comparisons; for machinery does better and far more expeditiously many things that in olden times could only be accomplished by hard labor.

The wool is no longer carded by hand. Our factories have banished the spinning-wheel from the good old kitchen fireside; the little ones nestle no longer by mother’s knee, watching with never-ceasing wonder and enjoyment the “head” of flax disappear from the distaff and become a smooth, bright thread, under the skillful hand and foot that keep the pretty wheel so active. The cool breeze, laden with the perfume of cinnamon-roses and lilacs, while it sweeps through the open window of the old attic, no longer sports with golden curls, as the children run merry races in their efforts to “keep step” when the long white rolls of wool in the hand of the mother are transformed by the rapid revolutions of the big wheel into yarn for knitting. Little hands no longer wind it, from the spindle on the swifts, into skeins, or fill the bobbins for the weaver’s shuttle, and no bright eyes watch it as it flies through the warp.

The mothers escape the labor of the loom, while the little folks lose all this, or the still greater sport of meddling with the web, in their vain efforts to throw the shuttle through, or to bang up if they succeed,—the frolic often cut short by banging their fingers, instead of the woof, with the heavy beam. Machinery relieves us from all such labor, and deprives our children of much real fun, for which there is no compensation.

We almost regret those old-fashioned times, and often wonder if the elegancies and (supposed) increased comforts of our modern dwellings are a sufficient compensation for the multiplied labor and the necessity for so much more help which we are forced to employ. For though our mothers and grandmothers did more rough, homely work, we do not believe that they had half so hard a time in doing it as their daughters have in their efforts to teach modern servants how to perform the necessary labor of our present style of housekeeping. To weave a web of cloth is but child’s play, compared to the worry and disappointment and mortification that cause our modern housekeepers to “die deaths daily,” through the utter incompetency of those they are compelled to have about them. The tyranny of our modern style of living increases the proper amount of work to be done far beyond what one pair of hands can perform.

We think the deterioration is in the servants, and not in the mistresses. With all loving respect for our mothers and grandmothers, we feel confident that their daughters’ executive ability is equal to their own.

To be sure, husbands will tell of their mothers’ gingerbread, pies, and doughnuts, and, with an air of hopeless longing or patient endurance, wonder why nobody “nowadays” can ever cook as their mothers did!

To be sure! Why can’t they? For the very reason that our husbands cannot eat “ever so many” pickles, pies, gingerbread, and big bowls of bread and milk, as they used to do on returning from school; finish off with a pocketful of apples, and then be half ready to cry that their containing powers are not equal to their appetites. A good game of “tag,” however, up the front stairs, down the back, through the long hall once or twice, soon remedied that difficulty in boyhood. If husbands will only let their brains run wild for a short time, quit study, forget business, gold markets, and all such corroding cares, and be wild, harum-scarum boys once more, their wives’ gingerbread will taste just as good as their mothers’ and grandmothers’ did. That is the trouble with the husbands’ appetites. But the housekeepers’ troubles lie deeper than this.

The whole routine of modern housekeeping is much more complex than in our parents’ time. To be sure, they rose early; parents and children then knew what “sunrise” meant, for they were dressed and at work before the sun’s red wheel began to rise over the eastern border. The cows were milked, the milk put in the cool milk-cellar, the butter made, the breakfast ready—a good substantial, healthy breakfast—long before the time when our housekeepers of to-day are out of their beds. “Early to bed, early to rise,” simple, nourishing meals, quiet home pleasures,—not many hours spent in senseless calls, but an occasional good old-fashioned visit to keep the heart fresh and living,—these insured health and strength, good digestion, tranquil sleep, and cheerful homes.

Early rising facilitates the action of the domestic machinery in a wonderful manner. One hour lost or wasted in the morning clogs the wheels, and the work drags heavily all day. One hour gained is the best lubricator in the world. Everything glides along smoothly,—head, heart, and hands work in harmony.

Once, when a little girl, we were in despair because our “stent” was not finished in season for us to go a berrying with the brothers and sisters. Taking her kerchief from the black satin reticule that always hung on her arm when knitting, the dear old grandmother gently wiped the fast-falling tears, saying, “Ah, little one! you didn’t want to get up this morning when the others did. Remember that if you lose an hour in the morning you will waste half a dozen hunting it all day long, and deprive yourself of much pleasure. I’d try and remember, if I were you, never to lose another.”

We regret, for their own comfort, that our present housekeepers do not retain their parents’ habits of early rising. But contrast the life of our parents with the modern life of their descendants. The demands of society, late hours, too much visiting and company, make laggards in the morning; and the appetite, injured by untimely eating at these late hours, is supposed to need coaxing with dainties at breakfast. The elaborate breakfast requires as much time and labor as belongs to a dinner; and the dinner, with all the variety that etiquette claims,—several courses, and a multitude of dishes consequent upon these courses,—increases the labor immensely; and, unless blessed with a good corps of servants, requiring little oversight, we can secure little time for rest, reading, or sewing. Such servants are seldom granted to mortals in our times. Twenty years ago, one girl, without any of the modern improvements,—water to be brought from the street pumps, suds to be taken up and emptied in the gutter,—accomplished more work, and made the family more comfortable, than three or four will do now.

We are inclined to believe that the heaviest trials of housekeeping may be traced, not to the degeneracy of our mothers’ daughters, but to a marked and most unfortunate change in the character and capacity of our “help.”(?) This is no freak of the imagination. Some few families still retain servants that have been with them for years, and such housekeepers have no sympathy with their less favored sisters; but let death or marriage remove these comforts, and compel them to seek others to replace the old and well-tried ones, and they will learn that this complaint has very substantial foundations.

What remedy may be found it is impossible to say. In part our housekeepers are to blame. They have such horror of being left without help, such dread of constant changes, that they live as slaves to the whims and caprices of an ignorant class of persons, who soon recognize their fears and dependence, and use this knowledge to extort high wages for very little service,—compelling then mistresses to pass over their impudence and arrogance by bold threats of leaving.

This lack of independence, this fear to assert their own authority and rights, is, we apprehend, in a great measure the cause of the insubordination and uselessness of the girls of the present time. When they learn that their services will not be accepted unless faithfully rendered, we may look for easier and happier times. But how is this to be accomplished? A few cannot remedy the evil. It can only be effected by general co-operation. We are not willing to acknowledge that the housekeepers of the past were any more capable than those of our time; but we do think that our position, owing to the great annoyance we are subjected to from the kitchen cabinet, is far more trying than our mothers’ could have been.

What sort of housekeepers our daughters will become, enervated by late hours and all the gay and strange excitement of modern life, and crippled by the hideous freaks of fashion, it is painful to imagine and impossible to foretell.

XVII.
WOMAN’S KINGDOM.

“I SEE unrest, discontent, strife, and sin: I see girls—children in years—from whose cheek the first blush of innocence, from whose soul the last vestige of youth, have vanished; women sold to frivolity; women wasting most precious gifts; women whose ambition has no higher object than to mislead and triumph over men; men growing hard, selfish, and wicked, the slaves of their passions, going down to death, with no hand to save,—all for the lack of a true home. Then I remember that the home is the true kingdom of woman, where her rights can never be dethroned; that all pure love, all right thoughts, all religion, all governments, if you would have them live, must have their roots beneath its altar. This conviction impels me to say to every woman who has a home, Let home stand first, before all other things! No matter how high your ambition may transcend its duties, no matter how far your talents or your influence may reach beyond its doors, before everything else build up a true home! Be not its slave! Be its minister! Let it not be enough that it is swept and garnished, that its silver glistens, that its food is delicious. Feed the love in it. Feed the truth in it. Feed thought and aspiration, feed all charity and gentleness in it. Then from its walls shall come forth the true woman and the true man, who, together, shall rule and bless the land.”

Is this an overwrought picture? We think not. What honor can be greater than to found such a home? What dignity higher than to reign its undisputed, honored mistress? What is the ability to speak on a public platform to large, intelligent audiences, or the wisdom that may command a seat on a judge’s bench, compared to that which can insure and preside over a true home, with such skill that husband and children “rise up and call her blessed”? To be the guiding star, the ruling spirit, in such a position is higher honor than to rule an empire. Woman’s rights! Has man any higher rights than these?

To be sure man often abuses his power, and brings sorrow and woe upon her who, trusting and loving him, should always be the mistress of his heart, an equal partner in all his possessions, his joys, and his sorrows. But are there no cases on record where “the woman Thou gavest me” has abused the power with which the marriage vow endowed her; destroying the peace, and making shipwreck of all that her husband holds most precious?

The law does not as yet secure to a wife such independence as will guard her against injustice and meanness from the hands of her husband; but what defence have they provided against the bitter sorrows that bad wives can bring down upon their husbands? Has any one ever ascertained the full statistics, or clearly estimated the average? It is well, no doubt, that this matter has been so widely agitated, as it all tends, we hope, to establish the rights of both man and woman on a firm foundation; but if, before this “revolution” is settled, man should make a full statement of his wrongs, there are those who could bring forward just cause of complaint in large measure. Ah! if husbands and wives would always remember that, with them, as in other associations, “union is strength”; that “united they stand, divided they fall”; that together they should walk through life, together share the joys, together bear the burdens and the crosses,—what a happy world this would be! If it is a united kingdom, the wife accepts the rough as well as the smooth of household rule, as her part of the administration. If able to govern without a “kitchen cabinet,” a happy woman is she! But if not, she also takes the trials of the kitchen, the disagreeable details which must form a part of her home life, the vexation of spirit caused by the inefficiency of the servants of the present time, and this is the dreariest part,—all great and increasing hindrances to the perfection at which she should aim. But a good wife will endure these infelicities till a remedy is found, remembering that they are but a small part of home. The purest, sweetest, holiest elements that constitute a home, if recognized and administered in the right spirit, will enable her to forget these trials in the joy and peace that is set before her, and to which all may surely attain, if woman forgets not her high calling in a poor ambition.

Meanwhile the husband—the household king—accepts his part in the rule of this united kingdom. Are his cares any lighter than his wife’s? Look at them. The dust and toil and strife, the battling with the great world outside, in whatever sphere his talents and duties call him, to provide necessities, luxuries, or honors, accordingly as he is prospered, for the family who are sheltered in his home.

We think the joys and the sorrows, the crosses and the crowns, in married life are about evenly balanced, and nothing will right all the wrongs, and bring order out of the confusion of these vexed questions, so surely as the shelter of a true home, ruled by the true wife and mother.

XVIII.
THE KITCHEN.

UNFORTUNATELY, many ladies have not health or strength sufficient to take such supervision as will secure a neat and well-arranged kitchen; and, still more unfortunately, there are many, and we fear the number is increasing, who have such repugnance to any care save the genteel arrangement of their parlors, or the fashionable adornment of their persons, that they shun their kitchens as they would the plague. They will give occasional directions for some fancy dish, or the more elaborate details, if preparing for company; and then, if their husbands attend to the marketing, relieving them from all care, and the cook and waiter have breakfast, dinner, and tea at the desired time and in proper shape, they are content. If their parlors and chambers appear neat and inviting, they ask no questions as to the condition of their kitchens, and never inquire if the supply of utensils is adequate to the amount and quality of the labor the cook is expected to perform, or if they are of a kind to expedite or simplify her work. Indeed, one would suppose that the kitchen was entirely out of the mistress’s domains,—a region for which the cook only was responsible. If any are content to eat what is set before them, “asking no questions,”—not “for conscience’ sake,” but for the sake of their own indolent self-indulgence,—that is their right, and we would in no wise interfere with the full enjoyment of it.

But we know there are those who find no bliss in such ignorance, but prefer to know when and in what their food is prepared, and willingly accept the care and, it may be, the annoyance which the knowledge will bring. In many of the most palatial abodes, where comforts and luxuries of every character abound, little attention is paid to any comfort or convenience connected with the kitchen. Refusing to provide straw, Pharaoh exacted the full tale of brick from the Israelites of old; and so some housekeepers exact the most elaborate meals, without any thought of providing the conveniences which will best enable the cook to gratify their wishes.

We once watched with a sick child belonging to the rich family of the town. The furniture, the silver and glass, were of the best. It was necessary to prepare wine whey for the little sufferer during the night. The mother, exhausted with much watching and anxiety for the child, was sleeping, and, unwilling to wake her, we left a fellow-watcher in charge while we found our way to the kitchen,—if the miserable room could be called by that name. The floor was made of loose, rough boards, that sprang up with every step; an old, dilapidated table, minus one leg, was propped up on the back of a chair; broken dishes, worn-out saucepans,—in truth, we were at our wits’ ends to make even the simple wine whey in such utensils as we found in that strange kitchen, and have often since marvelled by what skill the excellent dinners and suppers we have partaken at that house could ever have been manufactured in such a den and with such “conveniencies.”

Whenever it is possible, a large, airy kitchen should be provided, with every thing to expedite and simplify the labor, and with every facility for perfect ventilation,—a most important point. In the homes of the wealthy there is no reason why the kitchen should not be in all respects so arranged and furnished that the cook must be inexcusable if she does not keep it and its belongings in the most perfect order.

But for those who cannot command the means to build and furnish a kitchen of this kind, the necessity for the greatest neatness and order in that department is still stronger. The occupants of second-class houses are often those who must themselves do or overlook much of the heaviest labor of the family, and therefore have no time to spend in the doubtful luxury of “clearing-up days.” Such days are generally wasted days. Those who find them a necessity are mostly a class who, for five days in the week, never put anything in its proper place, leaving all in disorder till Saturday. Then everything is hunted out of its hiding-place, washed, scoured, polished, and put where it really belongs. The improvement is so striking that one would suppose the kitchen would never again be a scene of disorder and confusion; but probably before Monday’s sun has set carelessness and misrule will have again regained their empire, and taken unto themselves seven spirits worse, if that be possible, than the first. And thus Saturday’s labor will have been given in vain. There is not one servant in a hundred who does not need the watchful eye of a methodical mistress to enforce the necessity of order and neatness in the kitchen. If it is made and furnished in the best manner, it should certainly be carefully kept; but if it be small, inconvenient, and have a meagre supply of utensils, neatness and order become an imperative necessity.

Jules Gouffe, a famous French cook, says: “The more inconvenient a kitchen may be, the more need for cleanliness, carefulness, and for plentiful and good utensils to simplify one’s work. Cleanliness! Cleanliness!—the great essential in all cooking operations—should, I maintain, at the risk of being thought over-particular, be written in large capitals on the door of every kitchen, large or small. A kitchen may be small, badly arranged and lighted, but it should never, on any plea, be dirty. Failure in cooking is often attributable to want of attention to cleanliness. Nothing more than a dirty saucepan is often sufficient to spoil the effect of a whole dinner. All kitchen utensils should be examined daily. Saucepans of all kinds cannot be kept too carefully; they should be washed, scoured with fine sand, and well rinsed each time they are used. The washing of many things in the same water should be carefully avoided; the greasiness this engenders adds much to the labor of cleaning. The brightness and cleanliness of the outside is very commendable; but the cleanliness of the inside must not be sacrificed to that.”

What would be Jules Gouffe’s sensations could he look into many of our kitchens? What would our good housekeepers themselves say—those of them that are not obliged to do the cooking for their families—if we should tell them that the pans in which their bread is baked are seldom washed out and dried, but are, unless thrown into the closet just as the bread was taken from them, wiped with a wet, greasy dishcloth, and bread baked in them over and over again, day after day, with no other cleansing? Said a good lady, “What is the reason that the bottom crust of my bread always tastes like rancid butter?” Examine your bread-pans, and you will no doubt find the reason, to your great surprise and vexation. How often, think you, is your molding-board set away without being washed after molding bread or rolling pastry, and the dough left to dry and sour on it, and the next batch molded on the same unwashed board? “That can’t be possible. I saw it hanging up in the store-room over the flour-barrel only this morning, and it was clean.” Turn it over, under side up, before you speak with too much certainty. How about the flour-sieve? Is it left in the flour-barrel,—thrown in with the sponge, from the cook’s wet hands, upon it, or a piece of unused pastry put in it? If so, when the barrel of flour is about half used, you will find that it has suddenly become sour.

Is it not well to watch over these things daily?

XIX.
HOW MUCH IS A WIFE WORTH?

A FEW weeks since, a party sitting near us in the cars were speaking of a young man, a wealthy farmer, who had just disturbed his friends by venturing to marry a poor girl. We judged by the conversation that he had been well educated, and for wealth and intelligence was quite looked up to by his townsmen. But he had married for love, not money or position, and these friends were liberally using friendship’s privilege to make rather severe remarks about him in his absence.

First, it was so foolish, after his fine education, instead of entering into one of the “professions,” to return to the homestead, the quaint old farm-house, and taking the care of his aged parents upon himself, settle down to a farmer’s life. So foolish!

But that was a trivial offence compared to taking a poor girl for a wife, with nothing but a common, practical education, good health, a loving heart, and willing hands to recommend her. With his cultivated and refined tastes, what happiness could he hope for in such companionship? But then he would be a farmer, and perhaps she would be all that a farmer’s wife need be.

We have often thought of the tone of this conversation. For what do men generally marry, and what estimate do they put upon their wives? How many really good husbands ever realize how large a share of the prosperity of their home, its comforts and success, they owe to their wives. The husband earns the money, it may be, but does he ever make an estimate, a fair business estimate of what it would cost, in dollars and cents, to buy the care and comforts that he receives through his wife’s labors, whatever may be their standing in the community? Particularly is this a pertinent question in regard to a farmer’s wife.

While this subject and the conversation just alluded to were fresh in mind, we chanced to pick up a stray paper which spoke quite clearly on some of the points in question. We subjoin a few sentences. They may not come exactly under the head of “talks with young housekeepers,” but they certainly belong to the “Household.” Besides, while we are on such intimate terms with the wife, common courtesy demands that some little attention should be paid to the husband.

“We will for the present leave out of sight all sentiment, all reference to the little comforts and felicities that go to make up the sum of domestic happiness, and come right to the practical question, ‘Does a young woman, who comes to her husband with little or no dowry, but with willing heart and hands and a fair share of intelligence, who takes care of him, of his house, and of his family as it increases, often without any hired help, really earn anything more than her board and clothing?’

“No man will deny that a good wife is a treasure. Her care and labor certainly secure him many comforts; but how much would he consider them worth in dollars and cents? It is a great comfort to a husband to have his three meals a day properly cooked and prepared at hours that suit his convenience. He can swallow a dinner in twenty or thirty minutes, that it has taken most of the wife’s forenoon to prepare. He thinks it a good dinner; but how high an estimate think you would he put upon the labor of preparing it, if required to state the worth in money?

“With what astonishment and disgust would he look upon his table if set with dishes that had not been washed since last used; but how high a money value would he be willing to put upon the one unromantic item of washing dishes, which, nevertheless, takes so large a share of a woman’s time?

“With what satisfaction he puts on the clean, smoothly ironed shirt and the nicely darned socks! They do not look much like the ones he pulls off to throw into the wash.

“Some one had to rub pretty smartly to get the dirt all out; some one strained over the hot flat-irons to make this shirt so glossy; some one spent an hour, perhaps while he slept, to darn those unsightly holes in the heels of these stockings. And if a farmer, it was his wife most probably that did it all; and not this one week only, but every week, as sure as the week comes round. Now, he does appreciate cleanliness, notwithstanding his protestations against washing-days and house-cleaning; but is he willing to own that it is worth anything in money if done by his wife?

“Then comes the case of the milk and butter. Every day it must be attended to at the proper time, the cream churned, the butter made and carefully worked and salted. He is proud that his wife makes good butter, and quite happy to have customers tell him, ‘Your wife makes better butter than any one round here.’ But then, are not the cows his? Does he not furnish the food? does he not milk and take care of them? Is her part really worth anything in dollars and cents?

“Then, again, her energies are taxed early and late in the care of the children. She is, of course, an interested party here; but then she don’t pretend to own but half a share. Is it really worth nothing to soothe, amuse, correct, teach, and watch over his half of the little folks as well as her own? This is real brain-work. Where is the man who will say that this care for their children does not require all a woman’s wit and wisdom? But if asked to place a pecuniary value upon this part of a wife’s and mother’s care and labor, to how high a figure, think you, it would mount?

“A farmer’s wife, who really does her own work, or faithfully oversees its being done, which is by far the most trying part, has no easy task; but we would ask for her only what is justly her due. If there is any standard by which her services can be rightly estimated, we would like to know it. We wish to know whether there be any surplus in her favor; whether, when she asks for a few dollars for some purpose not strictly necessary (a book, for instance), she ought to feel that she is asking for her husband’s hard-earned means, or whether she has a right to feel that it is her due? How much must a wife credit to her husband’s generosity; how much use with a free conscience as her own faithfully earned portion of their joint labors?”

Young men will do wisely to give this matter a serious thought, lest they make the mistake of taking a wife’s labor and attentions as a matter of course, as a right, instead of feeling that in taking his name, his wife claims, not only an equal right to his cares and labors, joys and sorrows, but also an equal right to a proper use of the money which she has done her part to earn or to save. A wife, a farmer’s wife particularly, has too much toil and perpetual watchfulness to make her life desirable, if with it all she is to be considered a beggar, a recipient of charity, instead of a joint partner with her husband in all that he has.

XX.
TEACH LITTLE BOYS TO BE USEFUL.

HOW often, when anything has been said of teaching little boys to be useful, have we heard mothers exclaim, “What an idea! Teach boys to be useful! I wish you would tell me how; for of all the restless, awkward, mischievous, troublesome comforts on the face of the earth, I do think boys are the most trying. I am sure I love my boys just as much as I do my girls; but it is so much harder to manage them, to keep them out of mischief, to know what to do with them. They were vexatious enough when we were boarding; but now, when, with four children on my hands, I am but just entering upon my novitiate as a housekeeper, feeling my way step by step, they fret me woefully. They are under my feet all the time. Too young to be sent to school more than a few hours a day, or to be turned out unattended, to play with chance companions, they hang about me, uneasy, restless, fractious, teasing for something continually. I often think it would be a comfort could we put them on a shelf to sleep through the unquiet, turbulent period of childhood, to wake up full-grown men. My little girls can always find something to do, but the boys—make boys useful, indeed! It would be a true benefactor who could teach mothers how to accomplish such a marvellous thing!”

Well, I notice that you very wisely and skillfully combine instruction with amusement in your management of your little girls. I watched with much interest how pleasantly you were teaching them to be useful, while they found work to be only amusement. “I wonder which of these little girls would like to run and bring mamma a few apples”; and away, in great glee, trotted little three-year-old Kitty, with her little basket.

“Would Mary like to help mamma pare this nice red apple? Which, think you, can make the largest paring without breaking?” How happy the little lady was to leave her play and make the trial! Why not make the same effort to amuse and instruct your little boys?

“Would you have me teach them to set the table, wash dishes, sew, or try to work?”

Do you not believe they can be taught all this as easily as girls? We hold that, in a large family, each one, boy or girl, should be taught to be useful; to help their mother indoors and out, and, above all, learn to help themselves. This they cannot do if allowed to be idle.

In the city, and in families that depend entirely on hired help, it is more difficult to train children to be industrious and useful. It is not well to let the young, imitative little ones be much with servants, certainly not unless the mother is there also; and all instructions of a practical nature should be given by her, and practised under her eye. Wealth is by no means to be despised; but when it is so employed as to remove all labor from us, or to so free us from care that we do not teach our children how to make themselves serviceable, it is no blessing, and may become a curse. Those who have begun life poor, and worked their way to wealth by real hard labor, forget, when their children start up around them, how much true, solid pleasure was in their struggle for this well-earned prosperity, and as they relax their exertions and begin to feel the enervating effects of wealth, they remember only the hardship, forgetting the pleasure. Because there is now no absolute necessity for it, they shrink from permitting their children to follow in their early footsteps, and so cheat them out of the strength and independence for which no amount of gold can in any way compensate.

But we are neglecting the boys. We will give you an example which will explain somewhat our idea of making children useful, boys and girls alike.

We remember a large family in which there were seven boys. They were not driven to work, but from their earliest childhood were, little by little, trained to understand and do all kinds of outdoor work pertaining to a large farm; but it was also understood that they were to lend a helping hand indoors whenever the mother or sisters needed them. They knew they would only be called in when it was quite necessary, but very early recognized the importance of knowing how to do anything that came before them. If the mother or sisters were sick or absent, they could so far fill up the gap as to keep things comfortable till health was restored. They could dress the youngest, make a bed, sweep a room, make a cup of tea or coffee, broil a steak, or wash the dishes in a very satisfactory manner.

When quite little, not old enough to undertake heavy or rough work, they were allowed any amount of play, but it was expected that all but the baby must do something useful, something that was work, in the course of each day. So, little by little, as they trotted about after mother, they gathered up many things which, in mature life, were of great value.

The family lived some miles from church, and as it was customary to have preaching in both morning and afternoon, with Sabbath-school between services, they took a slight lunch of crackers or gingerbread, stayed through all, and returned in season for a late dinner and tea united. Now it was a settled rule that the parents and part of the children should go to church every Sunday, rain or shine; and the oldest children, boys and girls, took turns in staying at home to get dinner and take care of the baby.

They all took great pride in having everything in order, and a good dinner all ready, when the church-goers returned; and the boys’ housekeeping was as creditable as the girls’. None felt it to be a hardship; on the contrary, those who were too young to be left in charge looked forward with great anxiety to the time when they should be allowed to “take their turn” with the older and more favored ones.

When these boys left home for school or college, a box, with scissors, needles, thread, and buttons, was always placed in each trunk; and the lost buttons were replaced and the ever-recurring rents repaired by their own hands; and with the stitches went many thanks daily to the wise mother who had taught them to take care of themselves, as well as be helpful to others.

Now, my dear young housekeeper and anxious mother, do you not think your little sons would be less restless and fretful, and far more happy, if you allowed them to “make b’lieve” that they were a most important help to you, until, by a little patience and indulgence, you succeeded in making the imaginary help a reality, which would repay you in later years for all the slight inconvenience and annoyance you experienced in teaching them, and insure comfort and independence to your sons, under whatever circumstances they might be placed.

XXI.
BLEACHING, STARCHING, AND REMOVING STAINS.

A YOUNG housekeeper writes us: “Without the least knowledge of domestic concerns, I passed from the school-room into the position of a farmer’s wife. Together with other things of which I am ignorant, I need some minute directions for starching, ironing, removing stains, etc. Any hints on these points would be very acceptable to me, and I doubt not to many others. I can now succeed very well in managing the cooking and butter-making, but am sorely tried about my washing and ironing sometimes. With cooking and butter-making, my sewing and babies, I have enough to do, and feel like evading the care or oversight of the washing and ironing, but cannot. There are so many kinds of stains,—fruit, tea, and grass stains. Then if the girl succeeds in doing the washing pretty well, she makes such work with the starching, and smuts the clothes so badly in ironing, that I am much troubled. Whether not particular enough in cooking or straining the starch, I don’t know.”

We judge from this letter that our friend is obliged to depend on “hired help” for her washing and ironing. We think we can show her how to succeed as well in this department as she seems to have done in cooking and butter-making; but whether she can manage to secure the observance of our directions by the girl in the laundry, is another and very doubtful question. One of the hardest of the housekeeper’s trials with the servants of the present day is their unwillingness to receive any directions or counsels about the mode of doing their work; yet they seem utterly without any capacity to plan or arrange their labor for themselves, so that it may be performed in the best and easiest manner. They will be an hour in doing that which with a little forethought or method could have been done in one third of the time, and in no one item of household labor do they manifest their total want of system so strikingly as in the laundry; yet they will not be taught a more excellent way.

With regard to stains, which are a grief of heart to all good housekeepers, it is much surer and less troublesome to remove them when fresh; and the eye of the mistress must watch over this, or they will be left to dry, and most likely be overlooked when the washing is done.

Most, if not all, fruit stains can be taken out if stretched over a dish or pail, and boiling water slowly poured over them. If the stains have not been allowed to dry long, this will speedily remove them. But if they have, unfortunately, been put into the wash, the soapsuds will “set” the stains, and then, when discovered, they should be dipped in “Javelle water” or “bleaching fluid.” They should remain in this but a few moments, then be well rubbed and put at once into the boiler, and, as a general thing, when the article is taken from the boiler to rinse, the stain will have disappeared. If the stains from tea or grass are fresh, “Javelle water,” or a little ammonia, will easily remove them; but in either case, if done before the regular washing, the article should be well washed and spread on the grass to bleach and dry. Stains that have been long dried, or washed and boiled in before they were noticed, are much more difficult to remove. Ink stains can be taken out of linen as follows:—

Wash the spot in salt and water as soon after the ink is on as you can, taking care that it is not put into suds before it has been well washed in the salt and water, and then sponged with lemon-juice, else the soap will instantly “set” the color, making it almost impossible ever to remove the ink.

When ink is spilled on the carpet or on woolen goods, if attended to instantly after the accident, it can be taken out entirely by sweet milk. First, wipe off carefully all that can be soaked up by a handful of cotton batting. Then have a dish of sweet milk ready, and dipping the clean cotton batting in it, wash the spot, changing the batting for a clean piece as soon as it gets black with the ink; and also get clean milk, when the first becomes discolored. Continue this till the ink no longer shows; then take a pad of hot suds and a clean cloth, and wash as far as the milk has wet; rinse with clean warm water, and rub dry with a clean cloth. We have never known this to fail.

Ink spots, paint, or grease can be removed from clothing by mixing four table-spoonfuls of spirits of hartshorn, the same quantity of alcohol, and one table-spoonful of table salt. Mix it well and apply with a sponge or brush. Wash off with clear alcohol.

To remove ink stains from colored articles, drop hot tallow on the spot; then soak and rub it with boiling milk. This will be found effectual. Of course, the tallow and milk must be afterward washed off, either with soapsuds or alcohol, else a grease spot will be left.

Your oil-cloth should never be scrubbed with a brush, and on no account use soapsuds or hot water. It has a bad effect on the paint, and the cloth will not last as long. After sweeping, wash with soft flannel and lukewarm or cold water. Let the oil-cloth get thoroughly dry; then prepare a small bit of bees-wax, softened with a little turpentine, and rub the cloth well with this preparation, using for that purpose a soft furniture polishing-brush. This need not be done every week, but whenever the oil-cloth grows dingy. Cared for in this way, it will last twice as long as with the ordinary scrubbing, and always look fresh and new.

A less troublesome way, but not quite so effective, is to wash the oil-cloth, after sweeping and washing with flannel and warm water, with sweet skim-milk, and then rub very dry with a clean dry cloth. Wipe straight one way of the cloth, not round and round, as that will give a cloudy, unpleasant look to the cloth.

When clothes have become yellow or of a bad color from poor washing or from lying unused some time, it is well to take them, after boiling, from the first suds and spread on the grass to bleach, while another boilerful is being washed. When the second is put on to boil, take up those that have been bleaching on the grass and rinse faithfully through two generous rinsing waters; the last water to be blued. Then pass through the wringer, starching such as need it in hot starch, unless you prefer to wait till you fold them, and hang up to dry. Then take the second lot from the boiler, and leave on the grass to bleach, while you get the coarser articles washed and on to boil. This done, take up the second, rinse and hang out, and so on till all the white clothes are on the line.

Most servants object to the bleaching, and they wash all the white clothes and leave them wrung out in piles in the baskets till all are washed, before they hang up anything. This is poor work. The clothes become yellow and streaked by lying in coils as they come from the wringer, and under such management it is impossible to make them look clear and white. The sooner they are on the line after passing through the last rinsing, the clearer the clothes will be, and if well snapped as they are hung up, and pulled straight and evenly on the line, one finds compensation for the little extra trouble—and it is very little—in the greater ease with which they can be folded and ironed.

It is well to bleach clothes while washing, all through the pleasant weeks of spring, summer, and fall, as it can be so much better done than in winter. One hour on the clean grass before rinsing is long enough. It is not well to leave clothes out overnight when it can be helped, as they are liable to be trampled over by cats and dogs during the night, or be spotted by the drip of the dew or fogs from the trees or vines.

For blueing there is nothing better than the “Nuremberg Ultramarine Blue,” which comes in pretty little balls about the size of a small cherry, at from fifty to seventy-five cents a box. One box with care, in a medium-sized family, will last several months. The balls must be tied into a blueing-bag, and used like common blueing.

A large fire-proof earthen saucepan or one of the yellow-ware pipkins is better than tin or iron to make starch in; but if these are not to be found, a tin kettle will do very well, if kept bright and clean, and never used for any other purpose. When cooking it should be carefully attended to, and then there is no danger of its scorching.

Two even teaspoonfuls of starch for each shirt, a salt-spoonful of salt, a piece of sperm or white wax as large as a pea, or, if these are not to be had, that much lard or butter, is a good rule. Use enough cold water to wet the starch, so that it can be stirred free from lumps and beaten perfectly smooth, then pour on boiling water. It is not easy to give the quantity of water to this amount of starch, as the tastes vary in regard to the stiffness of collars and bosoms. The starch must be stirred often, and boil slowly from fifteen to twenty minutes. Skim and strain while hot into a large wooden bowl or earthen dish; keep a bag for straining starch, which should never be used for anything else; but it is safe to keep close watch, or towels, napkins, etc., will be used for this purpose instead of the bag. It is not long since we found one recommended as a splendid laundress straining starch through a shirt-sleeve, which was tied about the wrist with a fine handkerchief. A good starch-bag was hanging not six feet off. “Never mind, my lady, I’ll wash it all out.”

If you prefer to starch after the clothes are dried, wet the bosoms, collars, and wristbands in hot water, wring very dry, and starch while the cloth is yet warm. Rub the starch in faithfully, wring in a dry towel to remove all starch that may adhere to the outside, spread the garments out evenly, rub with a dry cloth, roll up tightly, and let them remain two or three hours before ironing.

In cold weather it is safe to dampen and fold clothes at night, and then it is desirable to have the starched clothes ironed first. In warm weather starched clothes should never be dampened or folded till morning, as there is danger of the starch becoming sour and mildewing; and unless there is a cool, airy room to leave them in, it is not safe to sprinkle and fold anything, for they may mildew in a warm room in a night.

If any article needs mending, it is well to do it before ironing. When ironed, fold and press each article neatly, and hang evenly on the clothes-bars, leaving them there till perfectly dry. Fold shirts so that the bosoms will not be bent in the drawer. Collars should be kept in round boxes. Ladies’ undergarments should be folded so as to bring the sleeves and necks outside. It is no more trouble, and it certainly is pleasant to have a drawer look neat and attractive when one opens it. It is what a good old grandmother used to call sort o’ restful to look at. Skirts should be made not much stiffer than new cotton. The noise of a very stiff skirt when one is walking is not the pleasantest music. They should be either hung up in a deep wardrobe or folded together lightly and laid on a broad shelf.

XXII.
TO IRON SHIRTS, VESTS, AND EMBROIDERIES.

SHIRTS cannot be ironed with ease and ironed well without a bosom-board. It should be made of pine, well seasoned and entirely free from gum; one and a half inches thick, one foot nine inches long, and eighteen inches wide; very smooth and straight; rounded on one end, and rubbed with sand-paper to remove all roughness. The square end must also be smooth, and with a hole in the middle near the edge, to hang it up by. Take two or three thicknesses of an old woolen blanket and cover one side. Stretch it very smooth and tight, and fasten to the board with tacks. Use the galvanized tacks, so that the clothes will not be iron-rusted by coming in contact with them. When tacking on the last side, be sure and draw both thicknesses of blanket very tight, so that there may be no wrinkles. Over the blanket tack two thicknesses of Canton flannel, the fleecy side up. Bring the edges of both blanket and cotton over the sides, so that when nailed you can cut them even with the other side of the board. Then turn it over and cover the other side with thick flour paste, and stretch over it a piece of Canton flannel; when this is quite dry, paste on another, and so on, as each becomes perfectly dry, till you have four thicknesses of Canton flannel pasted together on the board; the last one being trimmed so as to lap over and be tacked on to the side of the board, thus making a neat finish and covering up all rough edges. The soft side is to iron embroidery, Marseilles vests, and other figured articles on; the hard side to be used in giving a polish to shirt-bosoms, collars, etc.

The bosom-board being thus prepared, make cotton covers to slip over all, fitting as tightly to the board as they can and yet allow of its being readily removed without tearing. Be careful to have these covers changed after each week’s use.

A skirt-board should also be kept in every house to iron skirts and dresses. This must be six feet long, eighteen inches wide at the bottom, one third narrower at the top, and one and a half inches thick. The top should be rounded. Cover one side with two or three thicknesses of an old blanket, as directed for the soft side of the bosom-board; tack on smoothly; cover the other side with coarse cotton, and nail over on to the edge of the board, so as to cover the raw edges of the blanket. Have cotton cases also made for the skirt-boards, to be changed and washed with each week’s use.

Covers for the holders will also pay for the trouble of making them, as they insure, as far as possible, against smut on the clothes when ironing. But to make this pay, the housekeeper must be put to the slight inconvenience of seeing herself that these covers are changed, and follow up this care by promptly demanding them, when each fresh washing comes up, to be put away with the other clean things.

The ironing-table should be covered with a thick blanket, doubled, and that with a cotton sheet. A coarse, thick, gray or white blanket, like an “army blanket,” may be bought quite cheap; they come on purpose for “ironing-blankets,” and answer just as well as a better quality.

Flat-irons should be carefully kept from dampness, which soon rusts them. Leave them standing on the end; they soon spoil if set on the face. If they become rusty, scour with emery till quite smooth, or, if past your skill, send to an emery factory and have them ground smooth. Keep a piece of yellow bees-wax, wrapped in a cloth in the drawer of your ironing-table, to rub the irons on in case they get coated with starch. Have a clean cloth at hand to wipe them on before using, each time you take a fresh one from the stove.

Having our ironing-table, bosom-board, and other implements now all ready, we will attend to the ironing.

A perfectly clean sheet must be spread over the other ironing-sheet before commencing to iron the starched clothes. In ironing a shirt, begin with the binding at the neck; then fold the back in the middle and iron; then iron the sleeves, and wristbands, if there are wristbands on the shirt; fold the sleeve in neat plaits and press them hard after ironing; then iron the plain part of the shirt and the collar, if on the shirt, ironing the bosom last. Iron the bosom and collar on the bosom-board; rub the bosom over lightly with a damp cloth, and iron hard and quickly with a polishing-iron. If you have none, you should get one if possible. They are found at all hardware stores. They are rounded instead of being flat, like other irons, without an edge, and very smooth, so that no mark of the iron is left on the article ironed. This iron is very convenient to use for caps, vests, and many small things.

In ironing a shirt-collar, pass the iron rapidly over the wrong side, then iron the band, lastly the right side of the collar, which should be well polished, and ironed till perfectly dry.

Gentlemen’s linen or duck pants should be ironed on a pants-board, prepared like the soft side of a bosom-board, and as nearly the full length as possible. The pockets must be turned outside before ironing, that they may leave no crease on the pants. Hang pants to air by the straps or the waistbands.

In ironing a skirt, slip the skirt-board through by the round end. Have a clothes-basket or clean sheet on the floor under the skirt-board, so that the skirt may fall on it as you iron.

Have a large piece of mosquito net over the clothes-bars to protect the articles already ironed from flies, dust, etc.

Cake-napkins, doilies, or towels that are fringed, must be well snapped while damp, to leave the fringe smooth and untangled. Some use a fringe-comb. This is very well occasionally, but we think, if often used, it tears the fringe, and soon gives a thin, worn-out, ragged look to the article.

Muslin dresses need to be about as stiff as new muslin, the starch being strained into the last rinsing water. White gum-arabic added to the starch is very nice for muslin dresses; they iron easier, and look newer. Dark muslins must be starched in rice-water or gum-arabic, as common starch leaves white patches over the dark color after ironing. Iron, as far as possible, on the wrong side.

To make good rice-starch, boil a pound of rice in four or five quarts of water; let it boil until perfectly soft, adding boiling water as fast as it boils out, so as to keep up the same quantity of water all the time; stir frequently and break it up as much as possible while boiling. When the rice is as soft as it will boil, pour the whole into a gallon of water and strain through a thick cloth. It is said that eighty drops of elixir of vitriol put into three gallons of clear spring water and one of rice-water, thus prepared, is excellent to set the color. We have never tried it. Ox gall we know is good to fix the color in calico or muslin, as well as to cleanse grease and dirt from woolens. There is nothing better to clean broadcloths, coats, vests, and pants. Get the butcher to fill a bottle with the gall, and put four or five spoonfuls into about three quarts of hot soapsuds, and sponge the garments with it, carefully rubbing every spot. When dirt and spots are removed, sponge in clear hot water, and hang the garment up by seams of the arm-holes of coats and vests, and waistbands of pants, where they will dry quickly. Press on the wrong side when about half dry. Woolen dresses may be cleaned in the same manner.