Original in GoOD HOUSEKEEPING.

BEST.

Singing at her work, merry hearted maiden,
Deftly helping mother in the loving home;
Gathering only pleasure, ever honey laden,
Dreaming not of sorrow in the days to come.
Singing at her work! happy wife and mother,

Sound of children's voices, and footsteps in her ear,
Busy sire and husband to his home returning,
Waits upon the threshold the cheerful song to hear.
Weeping at her work! sunny heads are resting
Underneath the daisies on the hillside green,
Yet for sake of others crushing back her sorrow,
Smiling through her tears and wearing cheerful mien.
Praying at her work by her lonely hearthstone,
Aged husband sleeping with the children now;
Praying to be counted worthy to rejoin them,
When the work is finished, given her below.
Smiling without work! all her labors ended;
Fingers idly resting, folded on her breast;

We would not detain her, fondly though we loved her,
She hath found her welcome-surely this is best.
-Mary A. Simpson.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

MRS. HIGGINS' MISTAKE,
Or That Fourth Commandment."

ILAS HIGGINS stretched his weary limbs under Marthy Ann's two hundredpieced quilt, the quilt, which Marthy Ann's grandmother had worked with her own hands, and which had brought her fame and fortune at the County Fair nearly fifty years before; the fame consisted in the verdict of her neighbors that she was "a pesky smart woman," and the fortune in a new five-dollar gold piece. But fifty years of constant exhibition and subsequent use had brought the high and mighty counterpane down to an every-day sort of a quilt, and now Silas would fain have covered his sleepy head with the same, and stolen forty winks more, but there was work in the West lot, chores about the house, and outside of all that Marthy Ann's shrill voice was calling from the bottom of the back stairs that it was "time he was stirring." The West lot and chores shrank into insignificance alongside of Marthy Ann's voice.

"You'll find your store clothes in the company room, and your biled shirt and clean socks in the press." This from the invisible Marthy.

"Going to have company to-day? There's a heap of work over in the West lot that I somehow ought to get to," answered Silas from the head of the stairs.

Marthy Ann's gray eyes opened wide with astonishment. For the first time in their married life Silas Higgins proposed working on a Sunday, but "he shouldn't do it, no, he shouldn't do it if she could prevent it, and it was very likely that she could."

Marthy Ann's voice was awful in its solemnity, "the Lord will send down his wrath upon you and your children unto the third and fourth generation." As there were no heirs to misfortune or otherwise, this was a dire threat. "You'll be a byword among your neighbors, working on the Holy Sabbath."

She was now the visible Marthy, for mounting the stairs she stood in the bedroom door, in one hand a fork, in the other a dish towel, while righteous indignation showed forth in every gesture. Silas beat a hasty retreat by putting his head into a bowl of

water.

Splash, splash! "Reckon I must have slept kinder hard, Marthy Ann," splash, splash, "lost all count on the days and thought it was a Saturday," splash, splash.

Marthy Ann retreated somewhat mollified, but on the fourth step she turned back to announce that the "bacon was done to a turn and the coffee biled."

All during breakfast Silas was very quiet.

"It do beat all how a man can get so turned 'bout," he said. "Reckon we'll have to buy one of them new fangled calendars over at Hick's store."

"No need of them sort of things round here, Silas Higgins. All the calendar that's wanted is the work done regular like. 'Pears you've got no faith in my reckoning."

Silas had all faith imaginable, and hastened to inform her of the fact, while he offered his best team to go to meeting.

"The parson's laid up with the rhumiticks," replied Marthy. "I saw the doctor driving over yonder yesterday, and he reckoned the parson wouldn't get ter preach for a fortnight. There comes Pete now; wonder what's bringing him over here!"

By this time Pete had opened the kitchen door on a crack, thrust his frowsy head, and presently his whole body into the narrow space.

"I say!" he began, at the same time describing a circle with his bare toe on the floor. "No, Pa says will yer loan him a team, there is a heap of hay wants hauling and he calkerlates on some rain 'fore long."

"Law sakes!" said Marthy Ann before Silas could speak; "what's happened to the men folks! Guess your ma don't know of such doings! Yer go straight home and tell your pa we'll not lend a hand to such wickedness and evil ways. He's cut his wisdom teeth, I reckon, a good time past, and ought to be knowing better. Now you can give him that message straight."

Pete stayed only long enough to take a good stareat Mrs. Higgins, then lost no time in leaving her august presence. A few handsprings and a couple. of somersaults brought him rapidly to his destination; there he was not long in stirring up the family wrath by delivering his message in a decidedly graphic and efficient manner. The little Browns declared they'd "get even;" and getting even with the Browns meant a surplus on their side.

Meanwhile, in happy ignorance of what the future held in store, Silas sat contentedly smoking his pipe

on the front porch. After the dishes had been washed and put in their place, Marthy Ann joined him, bringing her Bible. To be sure, she was no great hand to read, particularly aloud, for Silas sometimes corrected her pronunciation, and if Marthy Ann had any weakness it was to be at all times and in all places right; but to-day, realizing that there was much evil influence abroad, she felt it incumbent upon her to read some good, wholesome truths to Silas, and try to keep him in the narrow path.

She had just finished the ten commandments, laying particular stress on keeping the Sabbath day holy, when a carryall came lumbering along the road, filled to overflowing with the youth and beauty from the village. They were so happy among themselves, singing the popular airs with such zest, that they passed the two on the porch unnoticed.

Some folks think the Lord's laid up with the rhumiticks," Marthy groaned, "along with the parson; but they'll find themselves mistook. It's no decent folks that'll be having their acquaintance. I've lived nigh on to twenty years 'bout these parts and I never see'd such goings on."

Marthy Ann took good pains to wait for their return, and planted herself by the gate. As they neared the house Josh Blinkly reined in his horses.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Higgins; nice weather, only the dust is smothering."

Marthy held herself rigid, not a muscle moved, while Josh, in a dilemma at her strange behavior, hid his confusion under a pretense of flecking the flies off of old Charley's back. There was a giggle from the back seat which proved too much for Marthy Ann.

"Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy," was all she said, but she turned her back on the wayward sinners and marched straight up the path and into the house, leaving Josh to whip up his horses and drive on.

"I'm awfully sorry for Silas," said the offending giggler; "it do seem that Marthy Ann Higgins gets more cranky every day."

Mrs. Silas Higgins was noted for miles around for having the snowiest linen on the line. "Give it a good sunning," she said, "get your wash out early and don't be in a hurry fetching it in." So on the following morning, true to her principles, she was up betimes, got her breakfast well out of the way, sending Silas off half an hour earlier than usual, then getting the tubs out on the back porch, set to work.

It was with great satisfaction that she viewed her snowy sheets as they swayed back and forth in the soft, summer breeze, and thought within herself that Mrs. Brown wouldn't yet be through her breakfast dishes.

She had nearly finished starching Silas's shirt when a sudden sound made her drop the piece on the ground. "For the land's sake! there goes the meeting house bell; what's up now, I wonder? I've a great mind to run over to Deacon White's and see if they know." But a look at the work still on hand de

termined her to remain at home, and she went on deftly pinning the shirts seam to seam and the towels lapping.

At dinner she questioned Silas as to the bells, but he hadn't heard them and guessed she was dreaming; still to satisfy her he'd drive down to the village and inquire.

"You might fetch up that barrel of flour from the station as you come back, and just leave this bundle at Widow Jones's." So Silas harnessed Bobbin to the cart, and taking from the top peg in the hall his old straw hat he started on his errand.

As Marthy Ann was passing a window in the hall on her way upstairs to "tidy up a bit" she was startled by the strange appearance of her wash, and hurrying down was still more surprised, for in the place of her linen hung great squares of white paper bearing this inscription: "Keep the Sabbath day Holey."

"Humph!" she ejaculated, "some people are small," and tearing down the offending placards she replaced the clothes which had been thrown in a heap to one side. If she had looked close, she would have found a fresh gap in the hedge which divided the Brown's farm from theirs.

"I've had more scares than enough to-day," she thought as she sat down to her darning. "What ever makes the folks stop at our gate and stare I don't know. Land deliver me from company on a Monday."

Just then there came a knock at the front door, and Marthy Ann's heart failed; still she could rise to any occasion and she did so now, letting her visitor in none too graciously.

It was Deacon White, dressed in his meeting clothes and carrying his Bible under his arm. Putting his silk hat under the chair he sat down by Marthy's side.

"I reckon you'll not mind if I go on with my work," said Marthy Ann, breaking off the cotton with her teeth; "there's a heap to do somehow to-day and a big wash! Your folks through?

"Sister Higgins," answered the deacon, and his voice was almost pathetic, "let us pray!" and down went the good man on his knees, first spreading his bandana handkerchief on the floor.

Possibly Marthy Ann's spirit rebelled against putting down the unfinished darn, but she followed the deacon's lead, vigorously emphasizing her "Amens" as he prayed for those who broke the sanctity of the Sabbath.

As they rose from their knees the deacon took her hands.

"Sister Higgins you've been reckoned one of the elect round here since you experienced change of heart, and I'm powerful glad that you feel you're a sinner-"

Marthy Ann stepped back and stared at her visitor in amazement.

"I calculate on doing my duty, deacon; there's some mighty black sheep in the fold that need looking after more than me.”

The deacon shook his head sadly. Here was a

flagrant case, needing all his eloquence to bring the erring sinner home.

“I'll not say but you're a good wife, and keep Silas Higgins's home in order; but, sister, it would be better to leave your work till another day, and not be washing on a Sabbath, neglecting the meeting and setting a bad example to-"

"The Sabbath!" interrupted Marthy Ann. "The Sabbath? This ain't no Sabbath! Didn't I wash on a Monday last week? Landy me, Deacon, I didn't! I washed a Saturday, thinking Sarah Briggs would be over. She didn't come, so I went right on regular like; and so this is the Holy Sabbath and me profaning it like that!"

And "down she went all in a heap," as the deacon expressed it afterwards.

Just then Silas came up the road, his hat pushed down over his eyes. There was no barrel in his cart, and the bundle for Widow Jones still lay beside him on the seat. As he came up the path he halted in front of the washing which hung dazzling white before his eyes. Yes, any one could see that wash a mile off, a fact of which he was wont to be very proud, but to-day he wished it was black, no, green, any other color than white; he put out his hands to remove the offending sheets, but habit was strong, and glancing hastily at the house, he replaced the clothespins and walked on.

Marthy Ann never looked up as he came in, but sat still with her head between her hands. For the first time in many years Silas felt himself growing bigger, more self-assured, dignified. It was an awful temptation to tell Marthy Ann that it was all her fault and that she was the one who had made him turn a Saturday into a Sunday, and a Sunday into a Monday, but he didn't. He only walked over to where she sat, and, stooping down, kissed her, while the deacon slipped out the back door.

There now hangs in the Higgins parlor, right between the windows where the light falls well on it, a highly decorated but very useful calendar.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

A

-Ella Van Heekeren.

FLASHLIGHTS

On One Day of a Woman's Life.

S sleigh bells jingled up to the gate she sprang to the window to behold five friends merrily alighting, and welcomed by the unconscious husband who was just coming in to a "picked up" dinner. The fire was low-would they go to the kitchen! Quickly the draughts were put on, children sent up to their room for clean aprons, quietly things were straightened about and tucked out of sight, and, ready to cry because still disorder was too apparent even to her accustomed eye, she met the guests and covered her confusion with kindly offices. Busy brain must formulate the best possible bill of fare from materials at hand,-table must be reset, and "the girl" pacified, children made presentable, with a thanksgiving for their good looks and good manners, and in

an hour the hungry sleighing party were seated at a table spread with many doubts as to the freshness of bread and sweetness of butter, seasoning of vegetables and tenderness of meat. A sad hearted, weary hostess, with a set smile upon her lips, who took refuge in the duties of her office to cover her lack of cheerful conversation, upon the departure of that party vowed a vow never to be caught again so unready for unexpected guests and receiving no sympathy from the host, who "did not see but that they enjoyed it," as if "they" were the only ones to be considered. -R. E.

Original in GoOD HOUSEKEEPING.

A TIME TO LIVE AND A TIME TO DIE.
The time to live is fore-ordained

To mankind molded out of dust,
Empowered to run an earthly course,

Not may, or might, or should, but must;
At first a helpless, human waif,

An image of Omnipotence,
Void of all innate strength or power,

Of wisdom, knowledge or pretense.
The length of time 'tis man's to stay
Upon this floating, mundane sphere,
Is not for human ken to know,

Whether the way be bright or drear;
With a fickle sky and measured pace,
Mankind the bidden path must take,
With steady step and confidence

In God and Man, and all at stake.
The life thus held in earthly frame,

From birth to death progressing,
In varied forms the way is made,
Too often retrogressing;

The soul and sense that mortal growth
To immortal regions give,
Walking uprightly all the day,

Measures the "mortal time to live."

Numbered the hour. The fiat comes
To every listed mortal,

When the lamp of life goes out fore'er,
At death's mysterious portal;
Where footsteps halt, but ne'er return,
Where love holds well in keeping,
Where foes withhold their poisoned darts
From souls in sacred keeping.

This is the time, and this the hour,
When every one now living,
Must wait on God, to make return,
As stewards of His giving;
When "talents" will not counted be,
By worldly weight or measure,
But rather by acquired results,
And purity of treasure.

That time and hour-the time to die,
In advance may not be given,
To mortal eye, or ear, or tongue,

On the way to a hoped-for Heaven;
But when it comes, as come it will

From an unseen power on high,
Mortality will powerless be
When comes the "Time to Die."

-John Wentworth.

THE BUCKWHEAT CAKE.

But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
Nor grateful evening, without thee is sweet!

Muse, that upon the top of Pindus sitt'st,
And with the enchanting accents of thy lyre
Dost soothe the immortals, while thy influence
sweet

Earth's favor'd bards confess, be present now;
Breathe through my soul, inspire thyself the song,
And upward bear me in the adventurous flight;
Lo! the resistless theme-THE BUCKWHEAT CAKE.
Let others boastful sing the golden ear
Whose farinaceous treasures, by nice art

And sleight of hand, with store of milk and eggs,
Form'd into pancakes of an ample round,
Might please an epicure-and homebred bards
Delight to celebrate the tassell'd maize
Worn in the bosom of the Indian maid,
Who taught to make the hoe-cake (dainty fair,
When butter'd well!) I envy not their joys.
How easier of digestion, and, beyond
Compare, more pure, more delicate, the cake
All other cakes above, queen of the whole,

And trumps of the culinary art

The Buckwheat Cake! my passion when a boy,
And still the object of intensest love-

Love undivided, knowing no decline,
Immutable. My benison on thee,

Thou glorious Plant! that thus with gladness
crown'dst

Life's springtime, and beneath bright Summer's eye,
Lur'dst me so oft to revel with the bee,

Among thy snow-white flowers; nay, that e'en yet
Propitious, amidst visions of the past
Which seem to make my day-dreams now of joy,
Giv'st me to triumph o'er the ills of time.

Thou, when the sun "pours down his sultry wrath,"
Scorching the earth and withering every flower,
Unlock'st, beneficent, thy fragrant cells,
And lavishest thy perfume on the air;
But when Autumn sweeps along the glebe,
Gathering the hoar-frost in her rustling train,
Thou captivat'st my heart! for thou dost then
Wear a rich purple tint, the sign most sure
That nature hath perform'd her kindly task,
Leaving the husbandman to sum his wealth,
And thank the bounteous Gods. O, now be wise,
Ye swains, and use the scythe most gently; else
The grain, plump and well-ripen'd, breaks the tie,
Which slightly binds it to the parent stalk,
And falls in rattling showers upon the ground,
Mocking your future toil; or, mingled straight
With earth, lies buried deep, with all the hopes
Of disappointed man! Soon as the scythe
Hath done its work, let the rake follow slow,
With caution gathering up into a swarth

Do most effect the practice. But a point,
So subtle, others may debate; enough
For me, if, when envelop'd in a cloud
Of steam, hot from the griddle, I perceive,
On tasting, no rude mixture in the cake,
Gravel, or sandy particle, to the ear
Even painful, and most fearful in effect;
For should the jaws in sudden contact meet,
The while, within a luscious morsel I hid,
Some pebble comes between, lo! as the gates
Of hell, they "grate harsh thunder;" and the man
Aghast, writhing with pain, the table spurns,
And looks with loathing on the rich repast.

But now, his garners full, and the sharp air
And fancy keener still, the appetite
Inspiriting to the mill, perch'd near some crag
Down which the foamy torrent rushes loud,
The farmer bears his grist. And here I must
To a discovery rare, in time advert;
For the pure substance dense which is conceal'd
Within the husk, and which, by process quick
As simple, is transform'd to meal, should first
Be clean divested of its sombre coat;

The which effected, 'tween the whizzing stones

Descends the kernel, beauteous, and reduced
To dust impalpable, comes drifting out
In a white cloud. Let not the secret, thus
Divulg'd, be lost on you, ye delicate!
Unless, in sooth, convinc'd ye should prefer
A sprinkling of the bran; for 'tis by some
Alleg'd that this a higher zest confers.
Who shall decide? Epicurean skill
I boast not, nor exactest taste; but if
I am to be the umpire, then I say,
As did the Baratarian king, of sleep-
My blessing on the man who first the art
Divine invented! Ay, let the pure flour
Be like the driven snow, bright to the eye,
And unadulterate. So jovial sons
Of Bacchus, with electric joy, behold.
"The dancing ruby;" then, impatient toss

Or, wanting such, one of an humbler sort,
Earthen, but smooth within; although nor gold,
Nor silver vase, like those once used, in times
Remote, by the meek children of the Sun,
(Ere tyrant Spain had steep'd their land in gore,)
Were of too costly fabric. But, at once,

Obedient to the precepts of the muse,

Pour in the tepid stream, warm but not hot,
And pure as water from Castalian spring.
Yet interdicts she not the balmy tide
Which flows from the full udder, if preferr'd;
This, in the baking, o'er the luscious cake,
Diffuses a warm golden hue-but that
Frugality commends and taste approves;
Though if the quantity of milk infus'd
Be not redundant, none can take offence.
Let salt the liquid mass impregnate next,

The clear unsullied draught. But is there aught
In the inebriate cup, to be compar'd
To the attractive object of my love,
The Buckwheat Cake? Let those who list, still quaff
The madd'ning juice, and, in their height of bliss,
Believe that such she of the laughing eye
And lip of rose, celestial Hebe, deals
Among the Gods; but O, ye powers divine!
If e'er ye listen to a mortal's prayer,
Still give me my ambrosia. This confers
No "pains arthritic," racking every joint,
But leaves the body healthful, and the mind
Serene and imperturb'd.-A nicer art
Than all, remains yet to be taught; but dare
I venture on the theme? Ye Momus tribes,
Who laugh even wisdom into scorn-am ye,
Authoritative dames, who wave on high
Your sceptre-spit, away! and let the nymph
Whose smiles betoken pleasure in the task,
(If task it be,) bring forth the polish'd jar;

And then into the deep, capacious urn,
Adroitly sift the inestimable dust,
Stirring meanwhile, with paddle firmly held,
The thickening fluid. Sage discretion here
Can best determine the consistence fit,

Nor thin, nor yet too thick. Last, add the barm-
The living spirit which throughout the whole

Shall quickly circulate, and airy, light,
Bear upward by degrees the body dull.
Be prudent now, nor let the appetite
Too keen, urge forward the last act of all.
Time, it is true, may move with languid wing,
And the impatient soul demand the cake
Delicious; yet would I advise to bear
A transient ill, and wait the award of Fate.
The sluggish mass must be indulg'd, till, wak'd
By the ethereal spirit, it shall mount
From its dark cell, and court the upper air;
For bak'd too soon, the cake, compact and hard,
To the dissolving butter entrance free