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The Florida agriculturist. [volume] (DeLand, Fla.) 1878-1911, September 11, 1878, Image 2

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David (Srey’s Estate.
Over his forge bent. David Grey,
And thought of therich man 'cross the way.
“ Hammer and anvil for me,” he said,
“ And weary toil for the children’s bread.
“ For him, soft carpets, and pictured walls,
A life of case in his spacious halls.”
The clang of hells on his dreaming broke;
A flicker of flame, a whirl of smoke.
Os in truvis. forge grown white-hot.
Coat and hat were alike forgot.
As up the highway, the blacksmith ran,
In face and mien like a crazy man.
“School house afire! ” Men’s hearts crew
And the women prayed as women will.
While ’hove the tumult the wailing cry
Of frightend children rose shrill and high.
Night in irs shadows hid sun and earth ;
The rich man sat by his costly hearth,
Lord of wide acres and untold gold,
But wifeless, childless, forlorn and old.
He thought of the family ’cross the way:
“! would,” IK!.sighed, “1 were David Grey.”
The blacksmith knelt at his children’s bed
To look once more at each shining head.
"My darlings all safe! Oh God,” he cried.
“ My sin in thy boundless mercy hide!
“Only to-day have I learned how great
■ at.li been thy bounty and mv estate.”
Home Journal.
“There!” said Bess, sitting down
emphatically on the door-step and
fanning herself with her wide straw
hat. “There, that front room must,
and shail he furnished !”
“I wish it might be,’observed Hat
tie dubiously ; “but I don’t feel much
encouraged about it as yet.”
“If I were you, Bessie, I would or
der the suit in reps, and a tapestry
carpet,” 1 remarked sarcastically. “I
am airaid we cannot quite afford Au
busson and satin brocade.”
“Il'ow much money have you Har
vie V” asked Bess, ignoring my irony.
“Five dollars and forty-three
cents,” said Ilarrie, after an inspec
tion of the contents of her pocket
“And you Flo.?”
“I have $10,” laughed I. “We shall
not be able to rival the Bentons, I am
afraid, Bessie dear.”
The Bentons were our showy next
door neighbors, he it remarked,
whose gorgeous parlor was at once
the admiration and dispair of half the
housekeepers in Norwoodville.
“The Bentons.” exclaimed Bessie
with supreme scorn. “Bo you snp-
? o ( . Flnrahella, that I would sit
down ill our front rc,v._. i£ r, or(V ti, e
stery shop of the Bentons ? Do you
“Of eourse not! : ’ I cried with up
lifted hands, warding off any more in
dignation. “I don’t suppose any
thing at all. But what has sent you
struggling with that impossible front
room again ?”
“Tisn’t impossible,” retorted Bess.
"I have S2O all my own ; that makes
$35 between us. Now it you girls
will follow my directions, we can
take that $35 and furnish that room.”
“How.” I queried, helplessly;
while Harrie evidently thought it of
no use to say any more to a girl who
talked such absurd nonsense as fur
nishing a parlor witii $35.
We were three orphan sisters,
keeping house together on an income
so rediculously small that any outlay
for new furniture was quite out oi
the question, and yet the one desire
oi our three hearts was to furnish our
parlor, a pretty room, but bare as
any barn. We had a conveniently
appointed kitchen, and a cool clean
dining room, where we sat in the af
ternoons with our sewing. Our bed
rooms were comfortably furnished;
but for the parlor we bad not so
much as a table.
Tomorrow our quarterly income
was due, but that we must live on for
the next three months. So the $35
left over from this quarter was all we
could possibly count on, and that
seemed too small a sum to think of
in connection with the furnishing of
our iiont room.
Bess was our head and shoulders,
our right hand, our mainstay; and
her capabilities in the way of getting
something out oi nothing were truly
remarkable, as witnessed by the fact
of her having more money at the end
of the quaiter thau both of us to
gether ; though we had all the same
allowance for our personal expenses,
and Bessie’s were the heaviest, on ac
count of her being the largest and
requiring the most dress material.
Yet in spite of Bessie’s genius, the
furnishing of that room seemed ex
ceedingly problematical.,,"^^!
“There is my contribution to the
funds,” remarked Bess placing her
S2O on the top step. I deposited my
$lO beside it, and Ilafrie followed
with her $5.
Then we looked at Bess and wait
ed an explanation.
“I have been reading in a magazine,”
6aid Bess, “about a woman who fur
nished her parlor with SSO and had
the prettiest room in town.”
“But we have only $35,” J sug-
“And 43 cents,” supplemented
“Well, that woman bought some
things we need not buy,” replied
“To be sure she had a set of
lovely old chairs which belonged to
her oreat-grandmother, and which
have just come into fashion; and
somebody gave her a pair of pictures
and somebody olse presented her with
a statuette; and—‘
“Bo stop Bess,” I cried imploring
ly ; while Ilarrie went off in a vio
lent explosion of laughter.
“I don’t suppose anybody will give
us a picture, or beg the privilege of
keeping a piano in our front room,"
said Bessie candidly; “although that
happened to the woman in the maga
zine. What I want is Ben Brad
shaw’s plane and saw, and Ben him
self to operate them, and an old bar
rel or two.”
“I suppose Ben and his tools are
to be had for a thank you and there
are barrels enough in the woodshed.
What are you going to do with them
Bessie ?”
“You shall see,” said Bessie, smil
ing wisely. “At present let us go to
Merrion’sand get some of that lovely
staw matting for the floor. ’
“Straw matting will do very well
for the present,” said I. “hut when it,
comes cold weather—”
“We must not begin to think of
cold weather in May,” interrupted
Bessie, “perhaps by November some
good luck will bring us a carpet. In
Summer matting is a positive lux
We went to put on our things, of
course, preparatory to visiting the
carpet store, for we always obeyed
Bessie’s order.
When we returned from the expe
dition we were accompanied by a
man with a wheelbarrow; and in that
barrow were 26 yards of blue and
cream colored matting, of a nice qual
ity, which we had bought for 50 cts.
a yard; also eight rolls of pretty
grey paper at 50cts. a roll. When.
1 tfe.f 1 Tit- eottago of'eight rooms fs siti
was jt~ —-* •• +*- — l> t
was dovvn, our front room was very
clean and cool to look at.
“But we could look at the pretty
mattting and blue grey paper inMer
rion’s store just as well,” said Harrie.
“And Ido not see where we are to
get any iurniture, our ancestors did
not leave us any antique chairs.”
“We will make the curtains first,
said Bessie, cheerfully, coming in at
that moment, with her bat on and a
a bundle in her hands. “I’ve just
been down street and bought the
And Bessie opened her bundle and
displayed a roll of snow white mus
lin and some pale-blue cretonne.
“I paid 40 cents a yard for the
muslin,” she said, “and I bought 15
yards. Five yards t<> a window will
be plenty it is so wide. And the cre
tonne w ill make charming shades. It
was GO cents and here are six yards. ;
We'll make some lambrequins of it,
too, tor the windows, and lor that ug
ly wooden mantle-shelf. You can
make some blue and white tassels,
llarrie, like those on your tidy, but
larger. And here are the fixtures
for the shades. They cost.sl.so lor
the three.”
So we hung the blue shades in om
threc windows, with a blue and white
crochet tassel pendent from each;
and over them we draped the full,
white muslin curtains, with pretty
blue lambrequins at the top. Harrie
sacrificed her freshest blue ribbons
to loop the curtains, though Harrie is
a blonde, and blue ribbons are very
becoming twisted among her yellow
“Why, if is charming!” she cried
admiringly, regarding the effect from
the doorway. “Now Bessie bring in
the furniture 1”
Ben will bring the table this even
ing,” said Bessie. “And I can prom
ise a lounge aiul two arm-chairs
and a pair of ottomans, there!
my ideas and the money will give
out together.”
Ben did bring the table—a great
round pine allair,"oi his own manufact
ure, rude enough, certainly, but he
planed it smooth and stained the legs
Mdth amber,in imitation of walnut,and
even that did not matter much, for,
very little of them showed when Bes
sie nad covered it with a sheer-cloth,
abstracted from the dinning room.
“There now!” she cried in tri
umph ; “could anything be neater ? it
will hold piles of books and papers,
and that is all we want it for. Who
is going to lift the cover to see if it is
walnut ? We will cover it with white
cloth in the Summer (thank our stars
we have plenty of table linen !) and
next Summer I promise to save $lO
from my allowance to buy a cover
for it. I had Ben make it nice and
big, because I hate a small table; I
like one that everybody can gather
around and beitociublc.”
After the rable followed at inter
vals of a day or two, the other arti
cles which Bessie had enumerated.
First, alonuge—perhaps it would be
better called a sofa —composed of a
long packing box. with one side
knocked out, and a square block un
der each corner.* These square legs
were stained with amber, in imitation
of walnut, like the table legs.
Bessie expended all the rest of her
money for blue and white chintz—a
distractingly pretty pattern, and got
at a bargain. With this she covered
that unpromising sofa, stuffing the
cushions with corn husks; and the
two big square pillows were orna
mented at each coiner with Harris’s
pretty tassels. Upon my word the
sola was as pretty an article of
furniture as the Benton’s had in their
Then Ben brought us two large
casks, or hogsheads, or whatever you
call them, sawed down lengthwise to
the proper heights for a seat, and then
sawed crosswise, and a hoard fitted
in. These also were covered with
the pretty chintz, and well cushioned
with husks, and they made the cosi
est arm-chair imaginable. Harrie fin
ished them off with crochet and net
ted tidies. Bessie’s ottoman was
simply two soap boxes cushioned
with husks and covered with chintz.
We took a few chairs from the oth
er rooms and added to this array.
We cut engravings out of old maga
zines, and framed them with straw
and passe partoute frames ; took the
fine landscape painting from the
dinning room and brought it into the
parlor; Bessie brought down her pet
chromo of the “Cenei,” from her bed
room and placed it between the east-
Cl’P • rtiv -*■ t **' *
grtrwlTig tfifft®
and suspended then at each corner
of the high old fashioned mantle-shelf
now prettily upholstered in blue cre
tonne. And our front room was fin
I say nothing about the flowers
with which our room was adorned,
but. perhaps they did more thau any
thing else there to attract us and all
our friends. It was cool and tidy to
the eye, and all Summer our friends
kept telling us how pleasant it was
to ecme in there and sit down. Sam
and Millie Benton came in often of.
an evening, and they thought it a
prettier room than their mothers
grand parlor.
And all for $35.
“And 43 cents,” says Harrie. — Mal
lows Monthly
Tim’s Kit.
It surprised the sinners and news
boys around the post office, the oth
er day, to see “J.impv Tim” come
among them in a quiet way and to
hear him say:
“Boys, 1 want to sell my kit. Here
is two brushes, ahox box of blacking,
a good stout box, and the outfit goes
for two shilling l P
“Goin’ away Tiui ?” queried one.
“Not ’/.aelly, boys, but I want a
quarter the awfullest kind just now.”
“goin' on a 'scursion ?” asked an
“Not to-day, but I mast have a
quarter,' he answered.
One of the lads passed over the
change and took the kit, and Tim
walked straight to the counting
room of one of the daily papers, put
clown bis money, and said;
“I guess I can write if you will
give me a pencil.”
With Blow moving fingers he wrote
a death notice. It went into the pa
per almost as lie wrote it, but you
might not have seen it. He wrote:
“Died—little Ted—of scarlet fe
ver ; Funeral to-morrer, gon up to
Hevin ; left one bruther.”
“Was it your brother ?” asked the
Tim tried to brace up, but he
couldn’t. The big tears came up, his
jChin quivered, he pointed to the no
tice on the counter and gasped :
“I—l had to sell my kit to do it,
b—but he had his arms around my
neck when he d—died !”
He hurried away home, but the
news went to the boys, and they
gathered in a group anrl talked. Tim
had not been home an hour befpre a
barefooted boy left the kit on the
doorstep, and in the box was a bo
quet of flowers.— Detroit Free Dress.
A Blighted Pleasure.
Billy Spoonaker enjoyed tht taste
of anew bliss the other evening.
That is to say, he experienced that
exhilarating serenity that makes itselt
at home in the youthful bre; si when
its owner for the first time finds him
self bowing over a marble top table,
watching the dancing light in a pair
of eyes brighter than hope, while the
most bewitching of rosy lips wade
into tiie ice cream, and make ihe sil
liest nothings the most precious gems
of speech. That’s the way it seemed
to Billy. Of course he will gel over
it before the bh ak frosts of autumn
nip tiie potato vines and make him
chatter in his over-worn summer suit,
as he wonders why in cr-r r-r r-eation
a woman wants !•> make a refriger
ator of herself ail the year round;
hut just at that time he was under
going an ecstatic flutter about. q )( .
heart that tilled his soul with sin_’j,,„.
birds and honeysuckle, ihe boy
on good terms with ail the w< r jj
and didn't worry about i
He smiled as easy as going to
and said witty things without k.
ing it till afterwards. Oh, it wa p
lyl They cooed and chatted and
halted ;, nd then fell into contid eT)t ; a ]
whisP tr!S ’ occasionally lnok'"S in the
direc 1 ' 011 °t another coup^ e across
the w :i y> * M,t scarcely notiei u c? them
Not so > however, t 1 e oth 01 ‘ party.
The m a " was eying Billy with a
wicked *ook, and, when at length he
got tip and started for the cashier’s
desk, th<* man followed and tapped
him on the shoulder.
“ S u e here, youngster.” he said, with
a thick breath, “T want a word or two
with yon privately. Come this way,
if you please.” and the stranger step
ped outside ot the door.
Billy was in a fog, and a little
scaled. J3c. didn’t like the looks iff
..lii.w • . wnnrtiii’Pii wo&f; |
x.... ..sliow, wonrtereti wrist ne
could want with him, but followed
with some reluctance.
“ See here, boy,” said the man. tak
ing a firm hold on Killy’s shoulder,
“ I want to know what sort of re
marks you was making about, my
wife to that gal in there. Tell me at
onest, or I’ll larrup the ground with
ye! ” and the stranger gave him a
look that made his marrow quiver.
“ Why, bless your life ! sir,” said
Billy in a shaky voice, “ I never notic
ed your wife, and didn’t say a word
about her. I didn’t think of such a
“ That won’t go down, little one.
I had an eye on you, and time and
again I saw yon both look over our
way, an’ then go to gigglin’. Was
you makin’ fun of Mariar’s clothes ? I
want to know,” and the man gave
him a cruel shake.
I tell you, sir, ’pon honor, we
didn’t once think of your wife. May
be wo might have looked over that
way, but we didn’t notice either one
oi you. We were talking about
something else all the time, and laugh
ing at our own talk. Indeed we were.
I don’t go about making fun of people,
sir—l was better raised.”
“ Well, hang me if I don’t half be
lieve you, buu, an’ I axes your par
don. Blow me, though, if I couldn’t
a’swore you was passin’ remarks
about Mariar’s clothes, an’ then titter
in 1 about it to that little school gal
with ye. I know she’s not rigged
up as gay as some women, sonny, and
she don’t flam on a great sight o’
style, but she is as good as the best
of ’em, an’, though she ain’t to say
purty, she knows how to keep the
house lookin’ as neat as a show win
der, an’ she kin make a bushel of per
tatnrs hole out in hard times eq’al to
anything that wears calico, an’ that’s
what makes me say, little one, that
whoever undertakes to have a gay
timo by pokin’ fun at her when I’m
around will wakeupthe worst hornets’
nest hcever stumbled over. Hows’
mever, there’s no harm done, Johnny,
an’ mighty glad of it. Ye’rc a bright
little feller, an’ I’d hate like sin te
give ye a spankin’ afore the gal, which
I should a’ done had things turned
out the way I thought they was. It’s
a blamed good joke, ain’t it ? ” and
the man laughed with a most aggrav
ating guffaw as he went back to rejoin
his wife. ,
But Billy felt bad and put out, and
was nearly mad enough to cry. It
was too bad—just when he was feel
ing so grand and inportant —to have
this great burly man come along and
call him “ bub,” and “ sonny,” and
crush him to earth by talking about
“ spanking,” in a voice loud enough
for the angel inside to hear every
word. No wonder he was glum and
gloomy the rest of the evening, and
make no witty speeches during the
promenade to his charmer’s home.
There will be no giggling over the
rigid cream next lime.— . Breakfast
nm ipes.
Spiced Fruits. —To seven pounds
of fruit add three pounds of sugar,
one pint of vinegar and a tablespoon
ful of every kind of spice—cloves,
cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg.
Cookies. —One cup butter; put into
a teacup one egg, one teaspooufui
soda, two teaspoonfuls sweet cream
and fill up with sugar; mix soft
enough to roll out; caraways.
Ginger Snaps. —One cup of brown
sugar, one cup of molasses, two eggs,
one cup of fried meat, gravy, one
tablespoonful ol cider vinegar, two
heaping teaspoonfuls of soda, one
teaspoonful of ginger; flour enough
to roll.
Potato Soup.— Boil eight potatoes
and one good sized onion until tender;
strain through a sieve; add one quart
of milk, salt and pepper to taste, and
nearly one teacupfui of butter; put
aii in a saucenan and let it come to a
boil. Serve hot.
Diccolmmi Cake. Stir to cream
one cup of butter, three cups of sugar,
and the white of five eggs; then stir
gradually into the mixture the yolks
of live eggs, four cups ot flour, one
and a halt teaspoonfuls of yeast pow
der, and one cup of milk; flavor to
the taste.
Cream CaJce. —One cup sour cream,
flour, two eggs, oife teaspoon even
full soda; dissolve the soda in two
teaspoonfuls boiling water; stir sugar
and eggs well together, then add
soda and flour; flavor with lemon ;
bake in moderate oven.
Cure for Hoarseness. —Spikenard
root, sliced and bruised, and then
steeped in a teapot containing equal
parts oi water and spirits, and the
vapor inhaled, when sufficiently cool
ed, will relieve the soreness and
hoarseness of the throat or lungs,
when arising from a cough or cold.
Canaries. —If you keep a canary
bird, let its food be very simple, and
it will keep well, and be a good sing
er, but over feeding makes them dull
andsickly. Their food should be simple
canary seed mixed with about one
quarter of rape seed. A bit of apple
or a piece of loaf sugar once in a
while wih do no harm, and prove
very acceptable.
Water Rising for Bread. —Take a
quart pitcher and a spoon, scald them;
fill the pitcher half full of boiling wa
ter ; cool to the temperature of good
hot dish water; stir in flour to make
a batter as thick as flour pancakes;
and a quarter teaspooful of salt and
as much soda, cover closely, set where
it will keep quite warm, stirring oc
casionally ; it will raise in five or six
hours. Some prefer it to hop or brew
ers yeast.
Pork .Pudding. —One pound of
salt pork chopped fine, twice the
quantity of dry bread crumbs (salt
risings preferred) moistened with one
pint of boiling water, a dozen sage
leaves minced, three eggs, one teacup
of sifted Indian meal; beat the whole
thoroughly, add one-half tcaspoonful
of soda and a little flour; bake in a
pudding dish and serve with sweet
ened sweet cream, or maple syrup.—
It can be eaten with relish either hot
or cold. Makes a good substitute
for sliced meat for supper, when
hearty food is required to satisfy hun
gry harvesters. For a large family
the recipe can be doubled in quantity
without injury to the quality.

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