Newspaper Page Text
FARMERS’ WIVES.
We have sung the joys of fanners’ boys,
And the beauty of the farmers’ girls;
Os the farmer, too, in his overalls blue,
Dark eyes and chestnut curls.
It’s the strangest thing that none will sing
Os the wasted martyred lives
Os the pallid face of the worn out race
Os the weary farmers’ wives.
When we recollect that the sad neglect,
And the ceaseless wear and strain.
Give a big per cent.-to the mad-house rent.
With a worn out spine and brain ;
It’s time to think of woman’s ills,
As constantly she drives;
It’s time to sing with a doleful ring
Os the pale faced farmers’ wives.
She is first to wake, when day-light breaks,
And the last to sleep at night;
No noon day hours, no rest through showers,
The weather is always right.
Like a blind horse bound to a ceaseless round,
No matter how hard she strives,
She is never through, there is lots to do
For the busy farmers’ wives.
rhe brawny boys, through toil and noise,
Grow up to mau’s estate,
And one by one, toward the setting sun,
Pass through the old farm gate;
And the rosy girls, with smiles and curls,
Pass out to brighter lives,
And leave behind, with tear drops blind,
The hopeless farmers’ wives.
While the farmer’s health and the farmer’s
wealth
Have grown, he cannot tell
For his very life what ails his wife;
She is never of late quite well.
To his great surprise she suddenly dies I
He into his coffers dives;
In a rosewood box her form he locks,
And she sleeps with the farmers’ wives.
Now wouldn’t it be financially
(Forgive me if I ask it)
More wise to give, while your wife doth live,
A rest—than a rosewood casket?
Let her go out doors when the sunshine pours,
In happy walks and drives ;
You will find it worse to hire a hearse
For your worn out farmers’ wives.
HOME CHAT.
BY MONNIE MOORE.
“ Hurry, Chet,” said I one morning as I
washed the dishes, and he wiped them,
“ This is silver cleaning day, and we will
have to hurry to get all done before school
time.”
“Hurrah! I like that,” and Chet gave
the dish towel a flourish, and spun ’round
upon one heel.
“ Chet,” (severely) “ You’re getting too
large for such dido’s. Y ou be
twelve your next birthday.”
“Can’t help it, I’m just running over
this morning. And, besides I was born to
make a noise in the world, I guess.” And
I believed him.
After the morning work was all done,
we sat down to the cook table with the
silver, plenty of flannel rags, a piece of
chamois skin, and a bottle of my famous
silver polish before us. I forgot to mention
the long narrow brush of soft bristles.
The silver had first been washed in clean
soap suds, just as hot as I could bear my
hands in, and wiped dry on a clean soft
towel.
The polish is made by the following rule,
tho’ I have used prepared chalk, of the
finest quality, moistened into a paste with
water, with gratifying success :
SILVER POLISH.
1 oz. alcohol, I oz. liquid ammonia,
and j oz. of finest prepared chalk.
Apply with a piece of flannel, and rub
off when dry with a piece of dry flannel.
Use the brush, a soft tooth brush will do,
where there is carving. If the silver is
badly tarnished, more than one application
will be needed. Jewelry can be beautifully
cleaned with this polish, and will look as
well as new. To test the brightening
properties of this polish, I cleaned my
dinner castor, once upon a time, and set it
beside a new one just bought by a friend
of mine, and my castor looked just as new
as did hers. It is a boon in the house.
But, here in Kansas, where we have to do
such awful swearing, (fact,) to get a half
pint of alcohol, this polish is not so easy to
obtain, not for me, at any rate, because
I’ve a chronic opposition in my nature to
swearing, in any form.
Silver ware to be kept in good condition
should be carefully washed in hot soap suds
once a week, and don’t keep it rolled up
and put away out of sight. It will look
better if used, with care, and will last quite
long enough.
While I believe in keeping something in
reserve for a time of need, I do not believe
in depriving ourselves of all the comforts
in life that ’tis possible to enjoy. For,
after all, the things my mother has
carefully saved for her children, denying
herself the comfort of using them, will, in
many cases, be just as carefully packed
away as relics of mother, while her chil
dren prefer those of more modern style.
But I love old-fashioned things, around
which sacred memories cling. An old
fashioned chair, almost a century old, sits
near my desk and ’tis the most highly
prized piece of furniture in the house. Al
though it was once one of my mother’s
kitchen chairs and had served in that
capacity before her day, I’ve had rockers
put on it and am going to otherwise em
bellish it, making a parlor ornament of
“ that old kitchen chair.” It has a high,
straight back, and looks just as the chairs
in old pictures do, and its frame is as firm
and strong as when it was new; so well
were people in the habit of doing
work then. 1 often think it a convincing
protest against the bargain furniture we
buy now-a-days.
Kit Clover struck a responsive chord in
my heart when she told of “ Susie’s visit.”
I often wonder that the list of crimes and
criminals are not greater when I think of
the thousands of unwelcome children, and
children who are parentally stamped with
criminal tendencies.
We have reform movements of many
kinds. Would that a reform might be
brought about in this grave evil to civili
zation.
Oh! mother, what a sacred trust has
been given you, and the fathers are not
exempt. A man who possesses one spark
of manhood, will carefully shield and guard
his .wife from annoyance at such a time.
But mothers, if your lot is not all you can
desire, try to forget self. Turn your
thoughts to noble actions; seek for all the
beauty your surroundings may possess,
and as a reward, through your child, your
later years may be blest, and in this may
woman rule the world indeed.
Mother! is there name more holy—
Nor sound of greater weight, or worth ?
Be her station high or lowly,
Revered is she who gave us birth.
Bends her gentle face above us,
In our days of infant fcharm,
Bliss it is, that mother loves us,
Seeks to shield our lives from harm.
When her hair with age has whitened,
Seems a halo ’round her then,
By her presence all is brightened,
Honored thou, mother of men.
A FAMILY LETTER.
I think I must acknowledge through
“ our paper ” all the loving, kindly words
and messages sent me. But I thought “Silvia
Silverthorn ” had barred her doors and
windows and aye, her heart so securely,
that even a warm and loving welcome to
our sunny land, our paper and our hearts
could not even reach her. But a mistake,
for now she comes to tell me how pleased
she was, and dear Kit Clover said just the
right thing, did she? Doesn’t she always?
And she has found a warm place in my
heart that will ever be retained. But,
“ Kit,” how in the world do you manage
your own washing? "With so many “ An
gels,” and “ Loves,” and “ Birdies,” there
should not be many clothes. That’s the se
cret, isn’t it ? They wear wings. Do you
know I’ve just been aching to furnish, on
paper, one of those rooms in your great big
house? A bed room; why any one these
days, with tact and a little money— l should
put that first, you think—can have beauti
ful rooms! How I wish I was there to
aid you! I read with so much interest the
way in which you made “ new things out
of old ones.” Its quite an accomplish
ment (?) Now, tell Birdie if she wants a
dainty little table, to take three broom
handles, old ones, and saw them the re
quired length, and they will answer for the
legs, and get a cheese box lid for the top,
and follow the directions given in the
March number of Woman’s Work and
she will have a “ thing of beautv ” and
utility. But, to be very serviceable, one
can use handsome cretonne instead of
plush. Oh, “ where there’s a will there’s a
way,” generally, Kit Clover; and before
long, I dare say, “order will reign out of
chaos” in that house you think so bare.
If I bad a room and nothing to put in it,
I think I would furnish it with—flowers.
And now you are laughing at that, for by
the time all those babies had examined and
admired and handled the fair, frail beau
ties, alas! I fear me they would not be a
“joy forever.”
Silvia Silverthorne, are you coming
again ? You will always find a hearty
welcome and a “Little Mother’s” arms
and warm heart ready to receive you.
And there’s dear, true hearted Monnie
Moore! Though last, not least, Monnie.
I am acquainted (?) with you, and so feel
ing you understood me, I put you last.
Ah, those long, entertaining letters! Write
again soon, and when I answer, I may have
“something sweet to tell you.”
And now for fear of a frown from—
somewhere—l must make my “adieu.”
But first let me say to my rapidly increas
ing family, bow glad I am to see your
names every month. Don’t forget to write
sometimes to Little Mother.
WHAT IS WOMAN’S WORK ?
We often hear this expression, uttered
in a tone very like a sneer, “What is wo
man’s work?” conveying the idea that oc
cupation is too small, too unimportant for
a man to engage in—that and kindred em
ployments should be left to the weaker sex.
Now I ask, let the question be mooted,
“What is woman’s work?” What are the
bounds of her capabilities? AV hat may be
called, her legitimate occupation ? Wa
told that in our good mothers’ day’s the
wife and mother did “make her well-or
dered house to know her,” and this in
volved a thousand and one steps up-stairs
and down-stairs, superintending carding,
spinning and weaving, making and mend
ing apparel, overlooking laundry, dairy
and kitchen ; preparing three meals, com
posed of a variety of disnes; in the yard
and garden, superintending all that per
tained to the rearing of flowers, fruits and
vegetables, bees, poultry and sheep; at the
same time attending to the wants and oc
cupations of from six to twelve children.
Was there not work in this? Was there
not exercise of body and mind, as well ? A
taxing of ingenuity, of patience, of self
possession, to keep all pursuits going on
methodically.
Yea, and besides these, there were num
berless incidentals demanding her time and
labor. Now, as for us, their descendants,
if, by reason of machinery, we need not
“seek wool and flax,” “laying-hands to the
spindle and distaff,” we still must “look
well to the ways of our households and eat
not the bread of idleness.” Have we de
generated, physically and mentally, that
we cannot accomplish as much as did they,
in the same time? What remaineth for
us to do since the work of the loom-room,
laundry and dairy is removed, and sewing
machines make up garments as fast as we
can cut them? We have still our houses
to keep in order, with probably a greater
number of rooms to “tidy up,” as many
children, each one having a more extensive
wardrobe, and each dress more elaborately
finished. And the preparation of our food
is no inconsiderable matter. It consumes
the time of one or two persons, at least two
hours to prepare each meal and finish all
the work attendant upon it (I mean a sub
stantial, appetizing meal, that puts a per
son in a good humor with all mankind;
not one composed of many courses of cakes,
pudding, confections— a chow-chow of con
diments that sour the stomach and temper,
too.) The housewives of these days, many
of them, devote much time to gardening
and the ornamentation of the yard. Be
sides, all that pertains to the home,the amen
ities and duties ofneighborly intercourse de
mand a portion of our time. Now, summing
it all up, the life of the housewife cannot be a
life of ease, unless she ignores the duties
devolving upon her. But there are cases
where, through the incapacity of the hus
band, woman must resort to various expe
dients outside of her domestic labors to
defray the family expenses. In succeeding
chapters we hope to suggest and discuss
what employments may be considered
feasible, practicable and legitimate, not
only for those in the bonds of wedlock, but
for others who must pursue lucrative
avocations. r q j)
DAKOTA LETTER.
Having read the article on house-plan
ning and house-keeping, by Fanneale, in
a recent number of Woman’s Work, I
beg leave to offer a few remarks. Fan
neale seems to think that the larger the
house, the easier the work. I have lived
in both kinds, large and small, and find
that I would' much rather do the work in a
small house, if I had to do it alone. Os
course, if you have the house made with
all the modern conveniences, with a ser
vant or two, to do the heavy work, it is
nice. In the country I live in (North
Dakota), the smaller the house, the pleas
anter it is, especially in the winter. I can
picture to myself, Fanneale’s look of horror
and dismay, if she were suddenly wafted
to this land of sod-shanties and dug-outs.
I have never had to take up my abode in
one, for any length of time, but a great
many of my friends live in one or the oth
er, and I have never heard any complaints
of having to send the children to the
neighbors to stay, when they had company.
Their houses are neat, they have fam
ilies ,and part of the year a hired man or
two, but they do the work alone, and there
is no folks are so light-
have
time fancy-work, or what
ever they wish, but hardly ever have
the time before dinner. Fanneale’s idea
of house work is quite original. I believe,
that with a servant to do the kitchen and
dining-room work, and all the “ chores ”
that go with that particular part of house
work, any of us could be at leisure by ten
o’clock as she is. But it is not everyone
who can afford a servant. In this country,
where wages are high, (from $3.00 to $5.00
per week) we feel as if we would rather
keep the sum, to buy coal during the win
ter. Fanneale doesn’t say anything about
a family. If she had two or more children
to prepare for school, and their luncheon to
put up, then I think she would not have so
much leisure at ten o’clock in the morning.
It is an easy matter to do the sweeping
and dusting, straighten up one’s room, and
“tackle the lamps,” as long as you know
that the kitchen and dining-room work is
being done, at the same time.
♦ **♦**»
Did any of the Southern sisters ever see
a snow plow ? There was one upon the
Northern Pacific R. R. this morning (the
28th of March) it was in a cut north of
town, all night. It is quite a sight to see
them as they go through the snow-drifts,
sending the snow many feet above the
smoke-stack.
»****»»
A good way to make a tidy is to take,
any material you wish, mine is white can
ton flannel, cut in circular pieces, run a
! thread around the edge, and draw up;
this makes a puff’; take as many of these
as you want, then tie together with bright
colored zephyrs, and they make quite a
bright spot in the room. I may write
again, if this is published.
Mary Ann.
It cannot be too deeply impressed upon
the mind that application is the price to be
paid for mental acquisitions, and that it is
as absurd to expect it without this as it is
to look for a harvest without seeds,