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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,