Newspaper Page Text
THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE: WASHINGTON, D. C, AUGUST 27, 1881.
IF WE KNEW?
If we knew, when friend around us
CloM-ly proved to say ' good-bye,"
Which, anion? tin1 lips that kit u,
Firt among the flowers should lie,
"While like rain upon their faces
Fall our bitter, blinding tears,
Tender words of love eternal
We would whi-per in their ear.
If we knew what forms were fainting
For the shade which we should fling,
If we knew what lip are parching
For the water we should bring,
We would ha-te with eager footstep,
We would work with ready hand",
Bearing cooling cups of water,
1'lanting rows of shading palms.
If we knew, when walking, thoughtless
Through the crowded, dusty way
That some pearl of wondrous whiteness
Close beside the pathway lay,
We would pau-e where now we hasten,
We would oftener look around,
JaI our careless feet should trample
Some rare jewel in the ground.
HOW DOT PLAYED SHE WAS TWO.
Sidney Dayre in Wide Awake for August.
Dot was eight vears old. She had very indul
gent parents and a beautiful home, but she wis
the only child in it. and it was the great grief of
lier little life that she had no sister. She bad a
play-room full of toys, and a book-case full of
wonderful pictures and story-books. Her mam
ma often read and told stories to her, and often in
cited other children to play with her, but still
Dot was lonely, and would have traded everything
she had for the tiniest bit of a sister.
"Mamma,' she said one day, " I wish you'd play
I was two."
"Play what, Dottic?"
"riay I was two, mamma. You've only got
one little girl, and w e want another so dreadfully!
So let's play I was two little girls one must be
Dot, and the other Dottie. and when you call Dot,
I'll come, and if you call 'Dottie,-' I'll come all
the same, only then you know. I'll be the other
one. Will you, mamma?''
"Yes," said mamma, smiling.
"And you must ask me. 'Where is vour sister?'
and I'll say, 'Oh, she's up-stairs. or she's dressing
"her dolls,' or something. Will you, mamma?"
"I shall have this doll for my sister, mamma,"
and Dot held up her largest doll. "She shall be
my twin sister. Twins always look alike, you
knowT doesn't she look like me? See, her curls
are yellow, and so are mine; and her eyes are blue
3nd her cheeks are red, just like mine."
"But I don't quite understand," said mamma.
"Am I to have three twins, then?"
"Why, no, ma'am: I'm to be your two, but I've
got to have some one to be the other one to me,
" It is rather a confusing arrangement, I think,"
said mamma, laughing, " but I'm sure it will be
very nice indeed."
"And oh! mamma twins always dress alike.
Couldn't you make her a little dress just like my
new one? Please now, you dear mamma! "
Mamma patted the pretty face, and thought she
might if there was enough bluebunting left, which
was very likely. Cook then came for orders, and
Dot, hearing the door-bell ring, settled "waxen"
Dottie" on a lounge and strayed into the parlor to
see who had been shown in.
A lady whom she had never seen before sat
there. Dot spent so much time with her mother
that she was accustomed to seeing visitors, so she
was soon chatting sociably.
"I have not seen your mother for a long time,"
the lady said: "has she any little girls besides
you, or any little boys?"
"Well, we haven't any little boys, but I have a
twin sister that is, you know,"' said Dot, confi
dentially, "J play she's my ' but here her mother
came in, and with the exclamations, ''Why, Janet,
you!" and "My dear Ruth!" the two ladies met
The visitor was an old schoolmate of Mrs.
Prince, Dot's mother, who was very glad to learn
that she, with her family, had moved into one of
the suburbs of the city, and was now living but
a few miles from them. The friends had not
heard from each other for several years, and Dot
sat quietly by for a short time, listening to their
talk of old times. But Mrs. Bright made but a
short call, and soon left, with promises of pleas
ant visits to come.
Dot went for Dottie, and carried her up to the
sewing-room to consult with the seamstress as to
whether there was enough stuff left, surely, to
make her a dress exactly like her own.
The "play I was two" plan worked very well.
To be sure, Dot's mother sometimes forgot which
of her was Dot and which was Dottie; but that
really did not matter much. Dot found her twin
sister a great comfort, for, if she was not quite as
lively as could have been wished, she fully made
up for it in other ways. She was the most accom
modating little thing in the world. If Dot did
not feel like dressing her in the morning, she
would lie in her little bed all day, contentedly,
staring at a chubby cherub on the ceiling paper
ing. Or, if she were set to learn a lesson, she
would sit for hours with her eyes fixed on her
' book. She never wanted more than her share of
nuts or candy. She never quarrelled with her
-sister, or meddled with her toys, and always did
exactly what she was told. All this, you know,
is more than can be said of some twin sisters.
Dot came one morning into the breakfast-room
got her kiss, and explained that Dottie had a
slight attack of "the nervous" and would take
her break-fast in bed to-d:ry.
"Dear me!" exclaimed mamma to papa, "How
strange it is that one or other of these children
is so often sick ! We scarcely ever see both of them
at the table at once. You must be sure and see
that the poor little thing has a good breakfast
Dot." Something of this kind was expected to
be said every morning, and gave a delightful tinge
-of "sure enough" to the make-believe.
"Listen, dear," went on mamma, as she opened
tsi letter. "This is from Mrs. Bright, the lady
-who came here last week." She read:
"My children are to have a little lawn party on
"Friday afternoon, and I want you to come out and
bring the little daughter I saw at your house,
and the twin sister she told me of, whom I did
not see. Come by the early afternoon train. Mr.
Bright will call for Mr. Prince to come by a late
train to dinner. Don't disappoint us. I will
meet you at the station without fail.
Dot smiled. "I told her how I played I had a
twin sister, mamma, and 1 think she's very nice
to invite her, too. I suppose all the little girls
will have their dolls. Can we go, mamma?"
" L think so, but stay our Aid Society meets j
that afternoon, and I am one of the managers, j
and must be there. I'm sorry, little daughter,
but I'm afraid you'll have to go late, with papa
Dot's face fell. Then her papa spoke:
"It is only a few miles out there; I can put her j
under the conductor's care, and he'll place her in
Mrs. Brighfs hands."
Oh. she's too little to go so," said her mother.
"I don't think could let. her. Something might
happen to her."
"What could happen?" It really was not easy
to say v hat ; and Dot coaxed and papa seconded
her, till mamma gave an unwilling consent. So, :
in due time, with many cautions to herself and j
the conductor, Dot was placed in a seat in the car, '
closely hugging the darling Dottie, in all the j
glorv of her new dress peacock blue with car
dinal pipings, and a hat precisely like Dot's own. j
"She looks so becoming in it!" Dot assured j
her mother, with immense satisfaction. '
Many a smile awakened at sight of the dainty '
little lassie, carrying the small ditto of herself. '
But Dot did not find it as nice as she had expected. '
She had never before accn only strange faces
around her, and she soon began to wonder how
she ever could have left her mother. She sat
Dottie in a corner of the seat, and waited anx
iously, as seeral stations were passed in the
closelv-settled city suburbs, glad when the con
ductor took her hand and led her out upon the
platform of a way-station. I
"I was to leave this child with a Mrs. Bright," !
he said, speaking in haste to a man who seemed j
to be in charge. "I can't wait a moment." !
"Mrs. Bright is not here, but I suppose she will '
be soon, if she was to meet some one," was the '
answer. "She lives very near, and if she doesn't :
come I'll send the little girl to her by safe hands." t
The conductor knew the man was to be trusted,
so he stepped on board his train, and it soon sped
out of sight. And not till the last car disap- '
peared around a curve did poor Dot remember, '
with grief, and dismay, that in her haste she had I
forgotten Dottie, her precious twin sister blue '
dress, new hat and all.
It would have been bad enough to be left alone
this wav. without having to bear such a misfor
tune, too. The man spoke pleasantly to her and !
gave her a chair, and she sat there with a big i
lump gathering in her throat, and tears clamoring
to get out of her blue eyes. Five. ten. fifteen, j
yes, twenty minutes she waited, and then a horse
was driven up fast, and Mrs. Bright, in a great )
flutter, came half tumbling out of a pretty '
"You poor little darling no one to meet you,
and you all alone! To think of that wretched
buckle breaking in the harness just as we were j
starting! So sorry to get your mother's note that '
she couldn't come till late. But where's your
As the tightly pressed lips opened to answer,
the tears would not keep back any longer.
"I she's on the car." sobbed poor Dot. "She's '
gone " '
"What!"' exclaimed Mrs. Bright, raising her
hands in horror: "do you mean that she's gone
on in the train ? "
Dot's sobs redoubled at sight of her agitation,
and Mrs. Bright saw that it would not do to ex- ,
cite the child further. She led her out and put
her in the carriage, where she was much com- ,
forted at sight of a little girl rather older than '
herself. The lady then returned to the station
master. "Mr. Barton, what shall I do? what .shall I do?
That child's sister has gone on in the train. Do '
telegraph somewhere quick !"'
"Very strange! The conductor put her off
here. That train," he looked up a time-table, "is
beyond Glendale by this time. I ram il ton will be I
the best place for her to get off and take a down
train. What shall I say?" ,
"Oh dear, let me see a little girl, about eight, j
I believe how was your sister dressed. Dottie?" i
she cried, running out to the carriage.
"Just like me, ma'am."
"Of course. Well, don't cry any more, pet, j
we'll have her back here soon. John, drive the i
children home, and come back for me."
" Dressed in blue they're twins. Oh dear,
such a mite of a thing to be off by herself! When
is the next train up? I believe I'll go after her
" Don't you fret now, ma'am. That wouldn't
do any good, for like as not you'd miss her coming
back. They'll take good care of her, and return
her all right, you'll see."
Mrs. Bright walked up and down the platform,
thinking the answer never would come. At last :
''Here 'tis!" But as Mr. Barton penciled it off
his face grew blank. It ran :
" No such child on train. She got off at Orore
landr Mrs. Bright looked at him in terror.
''What does it mean?" she gasped. "There
" I'm blamed if I know, ma'am,' he said ; " I
never knew such a thing to happen before."
""What can we do next?" she said, a tremble in
"She might have got off at one of the stations
above here. I might telegraph and inquire."
"Yes, yes telegraph anywhere."
Some train despatches were passing, and the
answers were some time delayed. lint at last it
was ascertained that nothing had been seen of j
any such child. I
"She might have fallen off," exclaimed Mrs.
Bright, now nearly beside herself. "Send men
on foot all along the road. I must go into the
city at once and see Mr. Bright and the child's
parents they were to come out at half past live
but we must advertise in all the papers, and get
out the police."
"See here, ma'am," said Mr. Barton, in real pity
for her distress, " I'd advise you to stay out here
and let them come. We may hear something be
fore that time, and then they needn't be alarmed.
I'll send out good men, and they'll telegraph the
moment they find her. You'd better go home,
ma'am, and I'll let you know the first word I
Mrs. Bright knew this would be best. With a
cold chill at her heart at thought of what might
be, she rode home, finding a group of happy chil
dren at play on the lawn.
Dot had soon made friends with the little
Brights and others, and had almost forgotten her
troubles. She looked at Mrs. Bright as she drew
near, but did not leave her place in the merry
circle, which sang:
" Here wo go round the mulberry bush."
"I haven't brought her yet, Dottie," she said,
but she'll come soon," and as Dot laughed and
moved on, the lady could not help thinking, "I
wonder how she can take it so coolly! Childlike,
I suppose, but I do think our children would have
leu il nunc ii one oi men iiuniwi iiui iawi iuau
"I should notlune cried a bit about it," said
Dot to Alice Bright, a little later, as they walked
arm-in-arm through the shrubbery, "if she hadn't
had on her nice new dress, and such a beautiful
hat. It was the first time she over wore them,
and" Dot sighed mournfully "J don't believe
she'll ever come back."
Alice looked at her in surprise, thinking this a
very queer thing for her to say. She privately
told it to the nurse-maid, who told the cook and
iVli !i .. " i' .. , i i. 1 .. 2 .....ilw1is1 It ft it lij '
house-maid, and they came out to look at Dot,
and all thought she must be a very queer child,
indeed, but certainly was a very nice-looking one. j
The carriage was sent for the expected guests, j
and nothing had been heard of the lost child, j
Mrs. Prince came in it, the gentlemen preferring j
to walk. Mrs. Bright met her at the door with
a brave attempt to look as if nothing was the
matter; she must not know till all hope of soon
finding the little one was gone. The children
had been sent to play in another part of the
grounds, and she was hurried up stairs. Before
long Mr. Prince and Mr. Bright were heard chat-
ting in the parlor below, and Mrs. Bright's kindly
heart grew heavier with every step she took, as
she went down to put such a dreadful end to their
friendly talk. She came before them with such
a quivering face that her husband seized her
hands in alarm.
"0 Mr. Prince." she said, "your little girl is
lost but she will be found soon, I know I'm
sure of it, sir. She got left on the train and we
have telegraphed and telegraphed, but she isn't
He started to his feet and listened with a white
face, his mind going back to the moment when
he had led his little daughter into the car that
afternoon, rather against her mother's wish.
"Stay, sir," went on Mrs. Bright: and Mr.
Bright laid his hand on his shoulder as he stepped
towards the door. " There are men out search
ing Mrs. Prince don't know."
There was a cherry sound of children's voices
and steps in the hall. The door opened suddenly,
and with a " Papa, dear, have you come?" Dot
sprang into her father's arms. " 0, papa, don't
squeeze me so hard, you hurt me," she cried as he
turned with what she thought a very strange look
to Mrs. Bright.
" Madam, I must have misunderstood you," he
said ; and his voice was strange, too. But at this
moment Dot heard her mother calling her, and j
she slipped from his arms and ran up-stairs.
"She must be told tenderly, or it will kill her," ,
saut .irs. mignr. ne uiu not wan to near any
thing more from Mr. Prince, but flew after Dot.
But the bonny thing was already perched in ,
her mother's lap.
"And, mamma, poor Dottie's lost. I left her on
the car, and she's gone traveling away off, and I
don't believe .she'll ever come back!"
Poor Mrs. Bright dropped into a chair, waiting
helplessly for her friend to scream, faint, or go
into hysterics. Mrs. Prince went on stroking the
"Oh, well, never mind her, dear. I've got you
two yet. you know, and I'll get you another twin
I Fad .she gone insane in one moment? Mrs.
1 .right ran and threw her arms around her.
"O Emeline, do you hear? Don't you under-
... 1 ,.U.,4 4ltw.1.;i.l wtolliiKf vnn9
CWlUll 1KII llll III1IU IO H-lIlllj J un .
'Why, yes, Janet: she has lost the doll she I
called her twin sister, but it's no matter, of course." ,
"J doll! All this about a doll!" !
Mrs. Bright went to her room and laughed and I
cried, and had camphor and aromatic vinegar for 1
half an hour. Then Dot crept up to her and said: !
"Oh dear, Mrs. Bright. I'm so sorry. I'll never
play there was two of us any more, never!" Mrs.
Bright shook her and hugged her, and said, as she
got up and brushed her hair for dinner:
"You dear little, funny little nuisance! Why
didn't you tell me the other one of you was made
of wax ? "
What became of her ?
She sat in the corner of the seat, not seeming
to mind being left there at all. Pretty soon a
mother with two or three little children took the
seat, and what a marvel she was to them ! They
hugged her and kissed her and quarreled over her
while they ate sticky gingerbread, till at last,
when they left, she did not look quite as fresh as
before. The mother had a very hard time coax
ing them to leave her when they got off. Then
a gentleman came, who put her into the rack
overhead, and she rode there all the afternoon,
with one arm dangling down, and her pretty
French boots sticking out. All the little ones
looked up at her and laughed, and wondered if
the gentleman was taking her home to his little
When night came, and the train reached the
end of the route, she was left alone in the car,
and the conductor took her to a place where they
keep things lost or forgotten, to wait for some one
to claim them. No one came for Dottie, and after
a few days he took her to his lodging-house. He
had no little ones of his own, but in a gloomy
room there lived a crippled child, who never took
a step out of it. She smiled and laughed and
cooed and sang over this most beautiful thing
which had ever come to her all through the years
of her monotonous child-life.
li' loving little Dot could have knoAvn of the
brightness her twin sister carried into the shad
owed home, she surely would have wanted to
send every doll she owned traveling away on the
cars all alone.
By the streets of "By-and-By" one arrives at
the house of " Never."
Other men's wants are easily borne.
WHAT A BOY SHOULD LEARN.
To be affectionate and attentive. To be brave
and avoid bragging and bad company.
To be careful, courteous, chivalrous, and con
tented. To be diligent, discreet, and dutiful.
To be energetic. To be frank, fearless, but not
To be good, and do good. To be honest, to
! honor his parents, and help make his home a
j To avoid being impertinent and impatient.
t To be joyous but never jealous,
'r0 be kind to every one.
j t;0 iove ,js parents and brothers and sisters,
j .uu an fellow creatures. If he has no sistcyff
j his 0wn, to love some body else's sister -when
the time comes.
To be manly, merry, and merciful.
To be noble, and not stay out late at night.
To be obedient and orderly.
To practice patience and perseverance.
To be quick to assist the needy, quiet but not
To be respectful, reasonable, and remember to
do right at all times.
To serve God, shun evil, saving, slow to anger.
To be thoughtful, tender-hearted, temperate.
, and trusty.
To undertake only what is right.
To be virtuous but not vain.
To be watchful, wise, worthy, and wealth'.
To excel in excellence.
To let "yesterday" instrnct for to-morrow: and
; iet youth learn of experience.
j rp0 ie zealous.
j rn mer? a boy should learn to make himself a
Lr0od husband for a true hearted womanlv woman.
j and if he succeeds.be will possess all the require-
mcnts of a gentleman.
GIVE THE BOYS A CHANCE.
Almost all boys are naturally mechanics. The
J constructive and imitative faculties are developed, i
in part, at a very early age. All boys are not
J capable of being developed into good, practical,
j working mechanics, but most of them show their
j bent that way. There are few cases in which the
boy has no competent idea of the production of a '
j fabricated result from inorganic material, but,
j such cases are. Given the proper encouragement
j and the means, and many boys whose mechanical
' aptness is allowed to run to waste, or is diverted j
J from its natural course, would become good work-
! men, useful, producing members of the industrial
The mechanical boy ought to have a shop of
his own. Let it be the attic, or an unused room,
or a place in the barn or wood-shed. Give him
a place and tools. Let him have a good pocket
knife, gimlets, chisels, gouges, planes, cutting
nippers, saws, a toot rule, and material to work.
Let the boy have a chance. If he is a mechanic
it will come out. and he will do himself credit.
If he fails he is to follow some calling that does
not demand mechanical skill.
THINGS TO MAKE A NOTE OF.
Plain Pie Crust. One cup of lard, one cup
of coj(1 water three cups of flour, and salt. This
makes three pies. If you want a nice top crust.
roll iu butter.
Cottage PrnmnC4. Two-thirds cup of sugar,
I one eery, two teasnoonfuls of melted butter, one
teaspoonfilj sodaj two teaspoonfiils of cream of
tartar, and one pint of flour. Steam one hour, and I measured some that were fifteen inches.
To be eaten with sauce or cream. ' Now for the result of this treatment: In some
Butternut Cake One and one-half cups of vears the iVuit luis sol(1 tor more th:in -55,000, and
sugar, one-half cup of butter, two cups of flour, , for the lilst twelve years of bearing in alternate
two eggs, three-fourths cup of sweet milk, one tea- i seasons, the crops, taken together with the bar
spoonful of cream of tartar, one-half teaspoonful , rels h;ive bought $32,000, or more than $20,000
of soda, one cun of butternut meats, and bake in liet above a11 expenses. There are seven acres of
Gueex-Corx Pudding. One pint of grated
green-corn ; two eggs, well beaten ; one teacupful
of milk; butter the size of an egg: salt and pep
per to taste: bake half an hour and send to the j
table " piping hot."
Crystallized Fruit. This is an excellent
and refreshing breakfast dish. Take any kind of
fruit and leave it upon the stalks. First dip in
the beaten whites of eggs, and afterward in a
plate of finely pulverized sugar, taking care that
the fruit be completely covered. Set the clusters
of fruit in the sun to dry, and serve upon a tray j
bordered with natural leaves.
Chocolate Caramels. One-half cup of but
ter, three-fourths cup of grated chocolate, one
half cup of molasses, one-half cup of milk or
cream, one pound of brown sugar; mix all well
together, and then boil till it will harden on the
spoon or dropped into cold water. Be sure not to
stir it while cooking, and don't cook fast enough
to burn. Flavor with vanilla.
Potato Biscuit. To one quart of mashed
potatoes put one cup of warm milk and two
tablespoonfuls of lard (better to pass through
the colander,) one teacup of good yeast; stir in
as much flour as it will take, then beat with a
wooden spoon or paddle for half an hour, set in
a warm place to rise ; when light, drop by spoon
fuls on a greased tin, and bake for thirty minutes
in a moderately hot oven.
When a thing is once begun it is almost half
The jest 'that gives pain is no jest.
To him that lives well every form of life is
good; nor can I give any other rule for choice
than to remove from all apparent evil.
Memory binds the flower of the present and
fruit of the past upon one stem.
An old farm hoiibe with meadows wide,
And sweet witli clover on each side;
A bright-eyed boy who looks from out
The door with woodbine wreathed about
And wishes his one thought all day ;
" Oh! if I could but fly away
From this dull spot the world to see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy I should be!
Amid the city's constant din,
A man, who round the world has been,
Who, 'mid the tumult of the throng:,
Is thinking, thinking all day long;
" Oh ! could I only tread once more
The field path to the farm house door,
The old green meadow could I see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy .should I be! "
FARM AND GARDEN,
Putting ix Fall Crops. Tn almost all parts
of the country the cool, wet spring brought
forth an abundant crop of grass. Wherever the
crop is thin from a scarcity of plants it will pay
to plow up the ground and put in some fall crop.
Hungarian grass put in now would give a good
crop in the fall, as it soon matures. Corn for
green fodder should be put in if needed for this
purpose. It should be remembered that corn
must have sun and air to be nutritive. It is
therefore of very little value town broadcast and
thick together, rt should be sown in drills, as
this affords more chance for a serviceable growth.
These crops serve to get ground in good order for
lall or spring sowing oi other crops. It is much
)QiWr o uylk(. this usc of '
it remain in sod, which affords but little pasture
Charcoal for Fowls. The Poultry Yard,
i which is looked on as an authority in matters
relating to fowls, says the benefits which these
1 birds derive from eating charcoal is acknowledged.
The method of putting it before them, however
is not well understood. Pounded charcoal is not
in the shape in which fowls usually find their
food, and. consequently is not very enticing to
them. Corn burnt on the cob, and the refuse,
which consists almost entirely of the grains re
duced to charcoal and still retaining their perfect
shape, if placed before them is greedily eaten by
them, and with a marked improvement in their
health, as shown by the bright color of their
combs and their sooner production of a greater
average of eggs to the flock than before.
I 'I'M ik ix seeds act as a diuretic on cattle.
Cows in milk should never have access to them.
Before pumpkins are fed the seeds should always
e removed, for they decrease the flow of milk
' very rapidly.
I WllEX a cow disconres her food it is a svmntom
I of irritation in the stomach and indigestion,
probably arising from the presence of too much
acid. Give her two drachms of carbonate of
ammonia, with one ounce of ground ginger, in
some scalded bran once a day for a week. After-
ward she should have a little salt and pounded
chalk to lick every day as long as she will take it.
If your chickens are dying of so-called cholera
perhaps you need look no further than their water
vessels for the cause. At night every trough and
pan used for water should be emptied. Fill in
the morning with fresh water and as many times
through the day as necessary. If possible keep
the water in the shade, and where chickens are
kept at all shade should be abundant.
a Productive Apple Orchard. "The
most productive apple orchard, for its size, which
i SUw, was in Niagara County, some miles north
0f Lockport, and which I was enabled to visit
through the kindness of X S. Woodward. It be
longs to Peter D. Miller, occupies but eleven
asres, and contains 5oO trees, or fifty to the acre.
It was not planted on land suited to anything
else, such, for instance, as untillable hillside, as
some have recommended for orchards, but on the
finest, deepest, and richest soil which the hun-dreed-acre
farm afforded, and this had been well
cultivated and moderately manured alternate
' years. The trees were set twenty-two years agoT
aml? although thirty-one feet apart, many of the
' branches have met from opposite rows, and some
have extended several feet past each other. None
of the trunks were less than a foot in diameter,
the eleven planted with the Baldwin, and from
these seven acres nearly all the profits come. The
best portion of these, containing 140 Baldwins,
when sixteen years old in 1S75, and gathered sep
arately from the rest, yielded 1230 barrels, which
sold at $3.25 per barrel. Tribune Farmer.
WHAT A GIRL SHOULD LEARN.
To sew, to cook, to mend, to be gentle.
To value time, to dress neatly, to keep a secret.
To mind the baby, to avoid idleness, to be self-
T darn stockings, to respect old age, to catch a
To hold her tongue, to make good bread, to keep
a house tidv.
To be above gossiping, to humor a cross man.
to control their temper.
To take care of the sick, to make a home happy,
to sweep down the cobwebs.
To marry a man for his worth, to be a help
mate to a husband.
To keep clear of flash literature, to take plenty
of active exercise.
To read some books besides novels, to see a
mouse without screaming.
To be light hearted and fleet footed.
To get in mother-in-law's good graces.
To wear shoes that wont cramp her feet.
To give poodles the second place in her heart.
To be a womanly woman under all circum
stances. To use no cosmetics but soap, water, and fresh
To be polite to all people at all time and in all
To live on more healthful diet than cake and
To distinguish a suit of clothes from the man
who weare them.
To respect herself that she may know how to
win respect from others.
To know the worth of her heart and hand, and
not give them away too easily.
To be mistress of some lucrative branch of in
dustry, if she is to depend on her own exertions
for a living.
To look on a man as a creature with a head and
heart, and not as a mere machine to turn out so
man' dollars a day and keep a woman in all the
solid comforts of life.
He that handles thorns shall prick his fingers.
Wherever the speech is corrupted, so is the
A laugh is worth a hundred groans in any
He that will eat the kemel must crack the nut.