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NOTABLE NOTHINGS.

PICKED UP IN THE FAMILY LIVING ROOM After the Publications of the Day have been Read and Relegated to the Catch-all Closet.

A Self-Raising Nose.

I heard a funny story recently of an actor, some time ago, who was playing in a farce in which it was necessary for him to use a large dough nose. One night, when he got to the theatre, he found no flour, and sent the boy out for some. Back came the boy, the nose was made, and whipped on. Presently, to the horror of the actor, the nose began to swell, till at length, in the midst of an important passage, it burst and fell to the ground. It had been made of self-raising flour, and the heat of the actor's face had accomplished the catastrophe.-Newport News.

The Dirty Window Pane.

A tidy housekeeper of Lisbon, Me., was much troubled by a certain window pane in her parlor. Do what she could she couldn't get it clean. She tried acids, alcohol and window rubbers to no purpose. Her husband laughed at her and said he could clean that glass. He tried. It remained just as dingy as before. Then the housekeeper called in a glazier and told him to take out the offending glass. He started to do so, and found that somehow or other two panes of glass had been set in that sash, and the inside of each pane was dusty. Of course the dust couldn't be reached by washing. It was a very simple solution of what began to seem almost a mystery.-New York Sun.

Origin of the Lamp Chimney. Argand, a poor Swiss, invented a lamp with a wick fitted into a hollow cylinder, up which a current of air was permitted to pass, thus giving a supply of oxygen to the interior as well as the exterior of the circular frame. At first Argand used the lamp without a glass chimney. One night he was busy in his work-room, and sitting before his burning lamp. His little brother was amusing himself by placing a bottomless oil flask over different articles. Suddenly he placed it over the flame of the lamp, which instantly shot up the long, circular neck of the flask with increased brilliancy. It did more, for it flashed into Argand's mind the idea of the lamp chimney, by which his invention was perfected.-Manchester Union.

Funeral Baked Meats.

A very large funeral took place recently in a township in the upper end of Montgomery county, and the following list of things provided for the entertainment and refreshment of the mourners is absolutely correct. By the time the funeral was over the supply was pretty well exhaused. This is what was consumed: One hundred and twenty-six pies and cakes, fifty loaves of bread, ten dozen light cakes, ten dozen rolls, ten dozen mixed cakes, two dozen pound cakes (one pound each), four hams, forty pounds of roast beef, a cheese, ten pounds of dried peaches, eight pounds of prunes, fifteen pounds of raisins (for pies), seventeen pounds of sugar used on the table, besides twenty-two pounds used in baking, six quarts of ground coffee, besides milk, relishes, potatoes, and lots of other things good to be eaten. Eight women and four men, neighbors of the deceased, spent the whole of the day before the funeral in preparing, cooking, and baking for the event.-Allentown (Pa.) Register.

A Roman Recipe for Bread.

If you want to taste wheat bread, such as the Romans used to chew upon about two centuries before Christ, here is Marcus Portius Cato's recipe: "Panem depsticium sic facito. Manus mortariumque bene lavato. Farinam in mortarium indito, aqua paulatim addito, subigitoque pulchre. Ubi bene subegeris, defingito, coquitoque sub testu." This may be a trifle obscure if you do not happen to "know Latin," but perhaps that bright schoolboy or school-girl can "help you out." If not, this will have to do: "Make kneaded bread thus: Wash well your hands and trough. Put the meal into the trough, add water gradually, and knead it thoroughly. When you have kneaded it well, mold it and bake it under cover." There! Clip this out, hand it to the

wife, and when the first mouthful of the result has safely passed through your esophagus, don't swear, but rather give thanks that you were allowed to enter this world as a nineteenth century American instead of a poor yeastless Roman of Cato's time.The Roller Mill.

The Great Kitchen at Windsor Castle.

The kitchen, on the north side of the castle, is fitted elaborately enough to delight the heart even of a Carême. The apartment is nearly fifty feet in height, and has an enormous fire at either end, with a system of spits after the fashion of university kitchens. As an ordinary staff there are a chef de cuisine, two master cooks, two yeomen of the mouth, two roasting cooks, two larderers, five scourers, one steam man, and three kitchen-maids, besides apprentices and serving men. The number of dinners that can be cooked in this kitchen is simply marvellous. Every detail of the arrangements is worked out with the greatest care, the dishes being handed straight to the footmen from the cooks, and by them conveyed to the various rooms.

The Afternoon Tea in London.

The custom of afternoon tea is surely a very pleasant one when indulged in moderation; but when one is expected to take as many cups of tea in succession at different houses as Dr. Johnson was wont to indulge in during his historic visits to Mrs. Thrale, it is fraught with difficulties in the shape of extreme nervousness and indigestion. All the servants in private houses go trotting down to the housekeeper's room for four o'clock tea daily. Women take a tin kettle of the favorite beverage for their working husbands, who are, perhaps, on the streets; but the very quintescence of afternoon tea luxury that has come to my knowledge was last week at Battersea Park, whither I had gone under the comfortable cover of a hansom. Suddenly my cabby came to a dead stop, got down from his pinnacle of glory, stepped to the horse's head, and gave him a canvas bag, evidently containing fodder, much to the satisfaction of the animal. "His supper?" I suggested. "H'o, no; h'only 'is h'afternoon tea," was the reply.-London Letter.

The Rage for old Silver.

The rage for old silver is growing to be virulent and is replacing the mad excitement which existed with us some years ago in the collection of ceramics. There are difficulties in the way of this last fad, for real antique silverware always commands a market, and the value of ceramics is more or less fluctuating. A rare bit of old china or pottery is often picked up in the most out of the way places, but rarer is it to find a beautiful piece of silver overlooked by the passing bric-a-brac hunter. Since it has become regular trade to collect in European towns old silver to export to America, bushels of apostle spoons with a more or less authentic pedigree have found their way across the water and into American cabinets of curios. The mistake which the enthusiast in old silver is apt to make is that want of discrimination between what is artistic in design and that which is crude and ugly in workmanship. While nothing can be more beautiful than artistic silver, certainly nothing is more unattractive than that which is inelegant and coarse.-Boston Post.

There are lace curtains in the parlors of Robert Garrett's milliondollar Baltimore mansion which cost $200 a yard. Some of the carpets on the floors are actually worth their weight in gold.

There is a log house near Danbury, N. C., in which the fire on the hearth has not been out since the house was built, about fortyfive years ago. The man who occupies the house now is the man who built it, and he has never passed a night away from home.

It is alleged that in a fashionable seminary near New York an old tombstone was used for a kneading board in the kitchen, until the girl students objected to having fragments of an inscription to the memory of some woman impressed into the bottoms of their loaves of bread.

The finest house in Washington is that of B. H. Warder, on K street. It cost $400,000, and looks like a Venetian palace. It has a bath-room of white marble, and in one of the bedrooms there is an apartment walled with mirrors, so arranged that one can see every part of himself without turning his head.

180

A PAGE OF FUGITIVE VERSE.
GATHERED HERE AND THERE.

[RE-PUBLISHED BY REQUEST.]

SHE DOES NOT KNOW CHICKEN
FROM TURKEY.

(An old saying for a poor housewife.)
Helen is the handsomest girl of her race;
She's an elegant form and an exquisite face,
And she dresses with perfectly consummate
grace,

But she doesn't know chicken from turkey. She knows many languages, living and dead; In science and fiction is very well read,

But she cannot cook meat, and she cannot cook bread,

And she doesn't know chicken from turkey.

She can play a "fantasia

skill;

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or nocturne" with

Can sing up to-"B"-has a wonderful trill;
Can write a good story, or sonnet, but still
She doesn't know chicken from turkey.
She's been up the Tiber, the Rhine, and the Nile;
She's a painter in every popular style-
Can decorate china, a plaque or a tile-

But she doesn't know chicken from turkey.
She's always self-satisfied, graceful, and cool;
A critic, both just and correct, as a rule;
And knows every stitch of the Kensington
school,

But she doesn't know chicken from turkey.
She can work a design by Lensing or Burt;
But she cannot cut out for her children a skirt-
Or make for her husband a well fitting shirt-
She doesn't know chicken from turkey.
I'm willing a girl should read Latin and Greek;
Should German, and French, and Italian speak;
And be "up" in the latest æsthetical freak,

If she only knows chicken from turkey.
I'd like her in music and song to take part;
Read poetry, science, and cultivate art,

If husband and children were first in her heart,
And if she knew chicken from turkey;

He leaves our hearts all desolate;

He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers;
Transported into bliss, they now

Adorn immortal bowers.

The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones
Make glad these scenes of sin and strife,
Sings now an everlasting song

Amid the tree of life;

And where he sees a smile too bright,
Or heart too pure for taint and vice,
He bears it to that world of light,
To dwell in Paradise;

Born unto that undying life,

They leave us but to come again;
With joy we welcome them-the same,
Except in sin and pain.

And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear immortal spirits tread;
For all the boundless universe
Is life-there are no dead.

-Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.

MAKE CHILDHOOD SWEET.
Wait not till the little hands are at rest
Ere you fill them full of flowers;
Wait not for the crowning tuberose

But while in the busy household band
To make sweet the last sad hours;
Your darlings need your guiding hand;
Oh! fill their lives with sweetness.

Wait not till the little hands are still

For the loving look and phrase;
But while you gently chide a fault

The word you would speak beside the bier
The good deed kindly praise;
Falls sweeter far on the living ear;

Oh! fill young lives with sweetness.

Ah! what are kisses on the clay-cold lips
To the rosy mouth we press,
When our wee one flies to her mother's arms
For love's tenderest caress!
Let never a worldly babble keep

Knew barley from rice, knew a tart from a pie; Your heart from the joy each day you reap,

A boil from a stew, a broil from a fry;
And if she went into a market to buy,

Knew very well, chicken from turkey.

For, to make a home happy, all knowledge must
blend;

Art, science and service their benefits lend!
Then, ladies, so clever, and wise condescend
To know about chicken and turkey.

-Lillie E. Barr, in the Continent.

THERE IS NO DEATH.
There is no death! The stars go down
To rise upon some fairer shore;
And bright in heaven's jewelled crown
They shine forever more.

There is no death! The dust we tread
Shall change beneath the summer showers
To golden grain or mellow fruit,

Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

The granite rocks disorganize

To feed the hungry moss they bear, The leaves drink daily life

From out the viewless air.

There is no death! The leaves may fall,
The flowers may fail and pass away;
The only wait through wintry hours
The coming of the May.

There is no death! An angel form
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread;
He bears our best-loved things away,
And then we call them "dead."

Circling young lives with sweetness.

Give thanks each morn for the sturdy boys,
Give thanks for the fairy girls;
With a dower of wealth like this at home,
Would you rifle the earth for pearls?
Wait not for death to gem life's crown,
But daily shower life's blessings down,
And fill young hearts with sweetness.
Remember the home where the light has fled,
Where the rose has faded away;

And the love that glows in youthful hearts-
Oh! cherish it while you may!

And make your home a garden of flowers,
Where joy shall bloom through childhood's
hours

And fill young lives with sweetness.

-Unidentified.
BLOOMING OVER THE DOOR.
A cottage, all fitted and furnished,
Stands daintily over the way,
And here a young pair to housekeeping
Came promptly the first day of May;
The place seemed homelike and cozy,
The sun shone bright on the floor,
Yet one dewy evening saw them planting
A rose to bloom over the door.

Ah, how they watched over its growing,
And trained it with tenderest arts,
And swift as its bright buds unfolded,

The love of home grew in their hearts.

The husband came home in the evening,
All weary and worn from the store,
To find the wife's welcome the sweeter
For roses that bloomed o'er the door.
But they say "love flies out of the window
When poverty enters the door."
But against all trials and troubles

The two young hearts garnered full store
For, when fell the hush of the twilight,
They whispered anew love's sweet lore,
Wove closer the bonds of affection

'Neath roses that bloomed o'er the door.
And when the dark days closed around them,
And poverty's wave overbore,

To keep the poor home how they struggled,
Where the roses bloomed o'er the door.
And when all their "trial time" ended,
They dwell in the sunlight once more,
And love brightly gleams on the hearthstone
Where roses bloom over the door.

Ye new-mated pairs who are building
Your home nests, now heed, I implore,
This lesson-that love lingers longest
Where roses bloom over the door.
So ye who count home more than shelter,
Plant ere the bright spring time is o'er-
To make home the brighter and dearer-
A rose to bloom over the door.

-Unidentified.

THE MOTHER WANTS HER BOY.
There is a homestead waiting for you, my boy,
In a quaint, old-fashioned town;
The gray moss clings to the garden wall

And the dwelling is low and brown;
But a vacant chair by the fireside stands,
And never a grace is said,

But a mother prays that her absent son
Soon may be homeward led,

For the mother wants her boy.
She trains the vines and tends the flowers,
For, she says, "My boy will come;
And I want the quiet, humble place
To be just like the dear old home
That it seemed when he, a gentle lad,
Used to pluck the orchard's gold,
And gather of roses and lilies tall,
Far more than his hands could hold;
And still I want my boy."
How well she knows the very place

Where you played at bat and ball;
And the violet cap you wore to school
Still hangs on its hook in the hall.
And when the twilight hour draws near
She steals down the lane,
To cosset the lambs you use to pet
And dream you were home again;
For the mother wants her boy.
She is growing old and her eyes are dim
With the watching day by day,
For the children nurtured at her breast
Have slipped from her arms away.
Alone and lonely she names the hours
As the dear ones come and go;
Their coming she calls "The time of flowers,"
Their going "The hours of snow,"

And ever she wants her boy.

Walk on, toil on, give strength and mind
To the task in your chosen place
But never forget the dear old home,
And the mother's loving face.
You may count your blessings score on score,
You may heap your golden grain,
But remember when her grave is made,
Your coming will be in vain-

'Tis now she wants her boy.

-Christian at Work,

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A FORTNIGHTLY JOURNAL.

Conducted in the Interests of the Higher Life of the Household.

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LESSON VIII.-ECONOMY, TRUE AND FALSE. "All true economy is the law of the house. Strive to make that law strict, simple, generous. Waste nothing, grudge nothing."-Ruskin.

N Dora's devotion to her children she found that without continual watchfulness everything in the household went like water spilt on sand. Unless there is a balancing power at work, the waste of food, of fuel, of clothing, of everything, in fact, in a family of six, will be sufficient to support at least two additional members. It takes more intelligence, to say nothing of conscienciousness, than usual domestics possess to adjust this balance. They seldom do it for themselves. Thrift and economy are not often found among those who live from hand to mouth. Neither is it certain to be found among the wealthy. Many housekeepers who can construe a Latin verb or give an elegant dissertation upon Wagner cannot keep accounts or add up a column correctly. They have never trained themselves in habits of accuracy.

A keen sense of justice determined Dora to establish order and punctuality. The household, like the solar system, needs a center, and each member ought to have a certain orbit. Small deviations are expected; large or frequent irregularities, inadmissible.

That gift of executive ability which turns off work and makes every step tell is better developed in men than in women. They have had a broader field of exercise.

"How dexterously my husband would manage in my place!" thought Dora. "Men would reduce household labor one-half within a year if they took hold of it. Very soon we should have laundry work and baking done in coöperative establishments. Their patience would give way under the strain to which we submit."

Then she resolved to call the attention of certain members of the literary society of Roseville toward this subject.

"Why not begin here, as well as elsewhere, a coöperative laundry, and save money, time, patience, coal, the smell of hot soap-suds, and great household friction? I will see about it."

That was for the future; for the present there lay before her systematic economy. Long ago she had studied the chemistry of food, physiology and hygiene, and, as far as possible, established cooking on the basis of health and nutrition. Her table was plain and substantial but delicate and varied. Fruits, cooked and uncooked, took the place of rich desserts. Individual taste was consulted but not pam

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pered, and, after early childhood was past, even bread and butter lunches were discontinued. Plenty of fresh air, day and night, frequent baths, regular habits, cheerfulness and fearlessness, conduced to give the children buoyancy and strength. Amy had

"A brow

May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom," and played out of doors in storm or sunshine. Dora believed in acquiring robustness through Nature's own methods. Watchfulness, bathing, and dieting were her medicines. As far as possible, she allowed no pictures of anger or sorrow, disease or suffering, to stamp themselves upon the physical or mental retinas of her children. In their places were images of love and beauty, goodness and happiness. For she believed that the mind molds the body as the potter molds his clay. She trusted in the power of mental health to produce physical health, aided, of course, by conformity with natural laws. In this course of action the greatest difficulties come from outside influences which it was impossible to control.

As soon as they were large enough, Mrs. Southmayd gave the principal care of their bed-chambers to her children. The boys occupied one spacious room, fitted with two single beds, two bureaus, and double toilet arrangements. In the morning, after dressing, Charlie and George removed the clothing from their respective beds, raised the mattresses on edge, opened the doors and windows, and left the door open before going down stairs. After breakfast they returned to replace shoes and slippers in bags inside their closets, and to put every article of clothing in its place. Soiled pieces were deposited in a bag in the bath-room, and all books and belongings put in order.

After the clean clothing was taken upstairs on Tuesday night, each laid away his own garments. Handkerchiefs were smoothly laid in their boxes, and larger pieces in various drawers ready for mother's inspection. That either of the boys could go in the dark and put his hand on any article he needed was one result; another was that neatness, order, and carefulness which those little men who are waited on sadly need. And little Amy early learned to imitate her brothers. In due time the beds were made up by skilful hands, but they had had such an airing as beds ought to have.

Each child had its own needle-case and box of cotton, linen and tape, and, when large enough to thread a needle, sat down by mother on Saturday morning, and sewed on missing buttons and mended small rents in every-day garments. Meanwhile, mother told them about real men and women. How often she went over the pathetic story of Abraham Lincoln's early life, no one could remember. Always she told of difficulties overcome, of struggles to conquer self and adverse conditions. The trials of Washington, Jefferson, and Adams were always connected, in after-life, with these morning hours when they learned to use the needle skilfully. In later years, during pioneer expeditions to the far West, these

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great, manly, bearded fellows were the ones of all the party who laughed at the dismay with which their companions regarded the rents daily made by sage-brush and mining rocks. On those same Saturday mornings the boys took a lesson in bed-making. Sheets and pillow-slips were changed, and the children helped their mother spread the clothing neatly and put the room in perfect order. Nor was that all. If cook left suddenly because "Me cousin's wife's sister's baby is very sick," as cooks are given to do, the boys knew how to roll up their sleeves, clear the table, wash the dishes according to "mother's way," sweep dining-room and kitchen, prepare vegetables for dinner, and get it ready if necessary. By camp-fires in other years, as well as in the varied exigencies of their own married lives, these boys blessed the memory of that faithful little mother who equipped them for any vicissitude, and made them masters of all situations.

To her surprise, Dora found the moral effect of such training to be vastly more important than the manual dexterity obtained. Charlie and George learned how to save work and care in the family, because they knew what that work and care meant. And neither boy nor man can estimate the amount of thought and the number of steps taken in one day in the simplest household without some experience in that line.

Amy went through a similar discipline, but carried still farther. A bedstead and bed, a table and dishes, were among her playthings. By the time she could manage these successfully, Amy proudly showed her mother that she knew how every room in the house should be kept.

Dora's economy showed itself in many wholesome ways, such as cotton slips for mattresses, pillows, and bolsters, which were laundried monthly and kept the bed fresh; in exposing bedding to the sun and wind, and in perfect cleanliness and order in all toilet arrangements,-towels, ewers, and pitchers. Housekeeping is a continual warfare against dirt at the best, and one in which every member must engage.

Each child had a little set of tools in the common playroom, and by the time Amy was twelve years old neither of her brothers could drive a nail, saw a board, or make a joint better than their sister. The glue-pot came into frequent requisition, followed by the speedy reduction of fractures in furniture. Plant-stands, brackets, and picture-frames for their own free-hand drawings were the production of all three. Charlie developed a remarkable talent for cabinetwork and machinery, which pleased his father, who flattered himself that the eldest child might perhaps become an inventor. At any rate, all of them had manual training, observant eyes, and a love of activity directed to practical ends. Base ball, lawn tennis, and croquet had their due share of time, but the three were just as happy in the workshop, where the productions of their hands took a tangible form.

On rainy days Amy's large doll became the lay-figure on which to begin dress-making. Here the little woman learned to fit, sew, and trim, and it was an easy thing to transfer this skill to her own wardrobe.

It will be seen how much this training of each child to take care of itself and its belongings took from the cares of the mother. In this regard, while the young people received the most valuable portion of education, the economy of the household was also subserved. One and all were benefited.

In the kitchen Mrs. Southmayd required system, order, and neatness. After breakfast it was her custom to examine store-room, pantry, and refrigerator, to note down what was required, plan for to-day and to-morrow, look over scraps of meat and vegetables for soups, hash, and râgouts, and give general directions for the day. Once a week every drawer and cupboard was looked over, and every kettle and cooking utensil rubbed with a white cloth to see if it were neat.

Absolutely no refuse accumulated. Rolls of clean, white and colored cloth hung in bags in the store-room ready for use, and bags formed an essential part of the furnishing. Bags for holding wrapping paper, for strings, for soft, old linen, for corks, for pieces of dresses and cotton batting, hung in appropriate places in closets, all plainly labeled. In a housekeeper's book Mrs. Southmayd kept a daily account of whatever came into the house, together with its cost, and, at the end of the month and the year, reckoned up the sum total. It was easy to see where the money went, to stop leaks, and be generous with one hand while thrifty with the other. At a glance she could estimate the expenditure for fuel, clothing, groceries, books, amusements, and charities.

There were also inventories of the contents of every room, including the more important dishes and implements of the kitchen. Every article of linen and clothing bore a plain mark of ink or embroidery cotton. Whenever No. I wore out, the new which took its place received the same number, and an entry on the book gave the fact and the date. In the few moments of time each night devoted to her book, Mrs. Southmayd saved a thousandfold in time and strength as well as money.

On Saturday morning, with her little flock, Mrs. Southmayd looked over the bed and table linen, and darned thin places before they were worn through, so that the stock lasted half as long again as it would otherwise. By such means was she enabled to keep up with the times in hours of reading, to help her husband about his books and maps, and to be fresh, young and cheerful where another might have been worn and old. For life had its sullen days, and there were cares which she could neither evade nor surmount.

A fond and tender husband, a kind, if not judicious father, Mr. Southmayd had developed a habit of speculating, the thought of which hung over his wife like a nightmare. What the morrow might bring, she never knew. Caught in the maelstrom which sweeps so many to destruction, he risked everything for great riches. Early poverty and a fear of its recurrence, competition, love of power, any or all these, burned within him in a kind of unreasoning frenzy. So it was that, unsuccessful in her attempts to lead her husband from this unholy pursuit of money, she desired to see her children equipped for any emergency. In their educations, while trying to ground them in the more important studies, she had sedulously watched the dawning of tastes, and sought to have each trained according to his or her bent, Amy as well as Charlie and George. Who could tell if she, too, might not have to earn her bread as well as her brothers? Some natures are so finely strung as to feel those "coming events" that "cast their shadows before," and Dora was one. Intuitively she knew that fortune could not favor them always, and that in self defence they must prepare for adversity. Mr. and Mrs. Southmayd now lived handsomely and went into society a good deal, as much for the sake of their children as for themslves. The young form habits and associations so readily that both parents desired to have the three associate, not with prigs, but with well-bred, happy, hearty young people of their own age and acquire that ease and simple grace of manner and address which would be a recommend in any situation. All this added to the expense of living.

Every Saturday morning Mr. Southmayd put into his wife's hands a certain amount of money. He intended this to include all household expenses, the wages of domestics, coal, clothing for herself and the children and their pocket money. Sometimes the weekly bills, of which she kept memoranda, fell far short of the amount in hand, sometimes they exceeded it. She saw there would be need of a fund to draw upon in case of reverses, and had already begun to accumulate,

though the impulse was strong to spend for luxuries while the children were at home. Remembering the counsels of reason she obeyed and saved something every year.

By experience she found that "the secret of pecuniary success lies in the relation of income to outgo." One of her neighbors, poor with ten thousand a year, found less comfort than another neighbor who counted his income at less than one-fifth that sum. With a fixed outlay, like a river running away with a certain amount yearly, every increase of income increases wealth. Increase the outlay to a corresponding degree, naught remains. He who receives a hundred thousand yearly and spends it all is poor unless he spends it wisely helping others.

For the sake of the children Mrs. Southmayd kept an hourly check upon that spirit of extravagance which grew with the increasing prosperity of Roseville. Dr. Sanders was their nearest neighbor, a flourishing physician with several sons and an only daughter. The Sanders lived up to their income which depended entirely on the doctor's practice, and their children spent money freely. If Annie, who was about the age of Amy, desired a box of sweetmeats, she had only to telephone down to the confectioner's and it was brought to the door. Edward and James soiled and cast aside as much clothing in one year as should have lasted four. Their two domestics squandered unchecked; it was considered a free, generous family. And when the Southmayd boys murmured at the care required of them in regard to their clothing and pocket money their mother had to appeal to their reason according to her custom. They were reminded of the good which might be done with that money they would otherwise foolishly spend, and the young readily respond to generous sentiments. They respond too, to love of finery, of pleasure, of show, and only firmness and conscientiousness united with tact can manage where unthrift and careless ease rules the neighborhood.

Over the store-room door Mrs. Southmayd placed the motto "Nothing waste, nothing grudge." Every morning she gave out whatever was needed for the day, except the usual sub-❘ stantials. To be given free access to tea, sugar and nice groceries she knew to be demoralizing to ordinary domestics. 'They were allowed a little of every delicacy, but no cans of fruit or jelly were sent to the kitchen. Over the household arrangements two F's held an important place; Fragments and Forethought. Out of fragments came large accumulations; by means of forethought, waste is avoided, steps saved and preparation made for emergencies.

It must not be thought that the house looked barren, the table stingy. Beyond the new parlor a wing had been built containing a large library and workroom below and chambers above. The parlor, now handsomely furnished in sage green and salmon, held choice paintings and bronzes; the library in oak and leather color, had its quota of standard works to which constant additions were made. The newest and best etchings were seen upon the walls or in cabinets and George and Amy began to develop artistic tastes to the delight of both parents. Charlie, too nervous and restless to go through the preliminary study and practice was unconsciously under the especial eye of his mother, who feared the result of moodiness and passionate intensity.

How often, in her quiet hours, Mrs. Southmayd felt glad that she had persisted in that order, system and prudence which left her free to be the friend and confident of her wayward boy! Without just that companionship he would have been the prey of the vicious. She hoped now to see him acquire self reliance and self mastery without which no character can attain solidity and power. But for that economy of strength which too many women waste in want of system, in useless steps, in elaborate and complex kinds of food and

clothing there would be no possibility of being the elder sister of her children, taking part in their amusements, free to talk, to walk, to read with them. She knew what was going on in the world; art, literature, ethical advance, public affairs, all was of interest and in the family these topics were constant subjects of conversation. The children came to be interested in whatever their elders enjoyed and so their development was as natural and unconscious as the growth of flowers or the song of birds. So much for that prudence which subordinates the least important for that which is higher.

Life is too brief for everything. Mrs. Southmayd saw that if she spent the morning in making a timbale for dinner there would be little spirit left for her family. If a week's time went to the ruffling and tucking of Amy's dress, just that amount was squandered which would answer to make it more simple and equally tasteful. So much for prudence of strength and time.

When women are extravagant it is generally because they are ignorant of the uses of money. Those who never know how it comes, who have not learned that it represents work either of the head or the hands, cannot be expected to expend judiciously. "I wish dollars grew on trees so that we could pluck them as we do fruit," said a school girl. Having all her wants amply provided for it never occurred to her that money did not come in a natural way just as apples grow. She had never thought out the process by which it was obtained. In some wise way which men understood but which women were not expected to, men went about their business and money flowed in. Sometimes it came faster than at other times, just as, during some seasons, there is more rain and snow than in others, but come it must. To such it always has. There are a few grown up children who spend recklessly when it is theirs to spend. In such cases they have not been taught to think or have not had any responsibility in the use of money; keep a woman a child, never set her free from the leading strings and she cannot be trusted. That is not the way to learn to walk. By no such method comes strength of character.

It is related by Mr. Higginson that in serving on committees where both sexes were represented he found as a rule that "women were more careful in expenditure than men and less willing to take risks. The cases where women ruin their husbands by extravagance, are exceptional." Again, "we hear men denounce the extravagance of women, while these very men spend on wine and cigars, on clubs and horses, twice the expenditure of their wives."

Economy has another meaning than mere thrift. It is a sense of justice. Nature shows us what to do. Over and over again she weaves unsightly debris into tissues of living beauty. Not one particle of material has even been thrown away since first the planets rolled out of nebulae. Nature kneads and refines, separates and unites but never destroys. She cannot, it is not in the constitution of things to do so. The granite is refined into soil and soil into the rose, the rose dust into wheat and wheat into man.

The discovery of the conservation and correlation of force or energy is one of the most brilliant achievements of this wonderful century. And what is that but a triumph of economy? This unity in the midst of change is the grandest poem which our foster mother has yet sung to the intellect of man, one before which scientist and moralist alike stand entranced. Like all true poems it has an ethical meaning.

It means, first and lowest, that we are in duty bound to make the most and best of all things with which we have to deal. He who wastes time, opportunity, money, material, food or clothing, impoverishes himself and robs others. Possessions of every kind are a sacred trust. They will not keep themselves; they must be watched, guarded and improved.

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