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WOAUSWORK-
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A LITERARY AND DOMESTIC MAGAZINE.
PUBLISHED MONTHLY.
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FEB YEAB. J ( PER COPY.
■ ditbd BY KATE GARLAND.
•••▼ -raivMT.
R
RECENTLY I found two fami
lies having what seemed to be
a very happy reunion at a
country home. I ascertained facts in the
case that were interesting, was giv
en the correspondence which had preceded
Ibeir gathering, and am confident that my
Woman’s Work friends will enjoy read
ing it below. If any feel inclined to offer
criticisms, I have the positive assurance
of the two sensible women who wrote
these letters that no offense will be taken
either at condemnation or commendation:
• * *
Dear Lula,
How the years have gone by
since we were in school together! You
will be surprised to receive a letter from
me now, after the lapse of so much time but
I hope it will be a welcome surprise. Per
haps you know from experience how many
things arise after a girl graduates to en
gage her attention and to monopolize her
time even to the neglect of sweetest and
dearest friends. My mind has so often
gone back to those dear old days we spent
in M and memory has held frequent
musings over the pleasures and hardships
of those hours that seemed so long in study
or short in merriment. My heart has oft
turned back and lingered amid the bright
places of those months in college and my
lips have sighed at thought of the partings
which came and the changes that have
been so steadily at work. Ah, these
changes! Some of them have been so
sad to me, have brought me such heart
aches and such longings. Others have
been kind indeed; so, life has been
brightened by rays of sunshine that would
dissipate the darkness, and whenever the
clouds were lowered above me I knew
they would once more disappear and the
azure heavens be left again undimmed. I
have not seen you through all these years
and you perhaps know little of the demands
they have made upon me or the gifts they
have brought me. Os course the months
close following our commencement were
gay ones, and I enjoyed the glorious ex
perience of a young debutante with plenty
of beaux and many social attentions. The
innocent flirtations and the pleasant love
affairs made life a kaleidoscopic panorama
and a game of hide-and-seek between the
heart and love and fancy and frolic. But
those days could not last, and maybe they
would ere long have lost their charm,
anyway. After a while I married Mr.
J and we are a picture of perfect con-
geniality. He is just as good and sweet as
he can be and never crosses me in any
way. He holds a responsible position
with a large firm here and is so closely
confined by business that he rarely thinks
of a vacation for himself, but he is perfectly
lovely to the children and me and wants
us to enjoy relief from the monotony and
the cares of home as often as we can. I
have four children—three girls and a
boy—all bright and full of life and activity.
Os course every mother is proud of her
own little ones, but I am sure I have
special cause for pride in my household.
The children may sometimes seem bad in
the sight of others, but they are just as
smart and sweet as the dear things can be.
The eldest daughter is in school this term,
but the others stay at home with me and
keep me busy with their many demands
and questions and needs. 1 will be right
glad when the school term closes, as
Maude will be with the younger ones
then and can relieve me in many ways;
we are not able to keep a nurse besides
other help in the house and on the lot. I
begin to feel the effects of long, hot days,
as summer comes on, and my energy is
somewhat on the wane. But lam devot
ing this letter too much to matters concern
ing myself, and not, as I intended it, to
my sweet friend of the old days at M .
I want to know more of how the hand of
fortune has been laid upon you—whether
to lift you up or to bear you down. I
remember you as a happy-hearted little
beauty, one of the sweetest and brightest
among all the girls. You were always so
full of life, so jolly natured, so ready to
help everyone. And you had such good
taste, such stylish clothes, and such boxes
of good things from home that you were
the envy of all the school. How you
found time to recite such perfect lessons
and still make so many little articles of
wear and keep your wardrobe in such
superb order I could never understand
And it didn’t seem hard on you, either. I
remember how I would fret and worry
and get tired and sleepy over my tasks
and never get them finished, while you
went so calmly on and accomplished so
much without exertion. I imagine that it
is the same way now, since we have homes
and families and more serious duties to
claim our attention. I break down and
get very little done, while your superior
management may and doubtless does
conquer all difficulties and accomplish all
purposes. I have heard very little of
you since we were together. I sup
pose you enjoy a delightfully quiet
country home and that you are so
happy with your own work and loved ones
that you do not think of taking time to let
others know it. I almost envy you the
satisfaction and freedom of such a life.
Os course you are denied many conven
iences and advantages that we have in
the city, but, while we would hardly know
how to do without them, I suppose you do
not realize their need and you have so
many other blessings in place of them. It
is very much a matter of custom, anyway,
as to how we live, and while we would be
miserable if we were transferred to the
regime of our great-grandparents, I imag
ine they would find it equally as difficult
to adapt themselves to our customs and
surroundings. I think it a pity that we so
completely shut ourselves up in our own
affairsand know so little of the “other half
of the world”—so little even of our own
dear relatives and friends. It would do us
good to go out more into different spheres
and glean new ideas and experiences and
help others with our own. I realize this in
my own case. I have remained close at
home—l mean in my own home city—un
til I have suffered from the effects of it and
know a change of air and surroundings
would do me a great deal of good. I
think, if it suits you, that I will come
sometime during this summer and the chil
dren and I will enjoy your company and
the exhilarating country air for a few
weeks. Wo will not be troublesome, and 1
am sure that the freedom and the rambling
and reveling amid the scenes about your
home will be of greater benefit to us than
physicians and medicines in our city quar
ters. It will be an entirely new privilege
for the children, and little less so for me—
while the chance afforded me for seeing
you again and reviewing as it were the old
time days that we spent together will give
back for a space the days of our girlhood.
I wish that Mr. J. could go with us, for 1
would like so much for you to know him,
but he will hardly be able to get away, and
besides, you might not feel so free to treat
him as homefolks as you will just with the
children and me. I could not get my
consent to impose a hardship on a sweet
friend, of nature so generous as yours. I
realize that it would be the proper thing
for me to write and find out more as to
your plans and preferences before thus out-
WOMAN’S WORK
lining my arrangements, but our antici
pation of the needed change is so great that
our impatience is exerting itself as shown
in this letter. Please accept it as an evi
dence that 1 am still as unreserved as in
the days when we were thrown together.,
and if there are reasons which make it in
convenient to you for us to spend a while
with you, do not hesitate to freely and ful
ly let me know them. It seems almost
strange to think of being with you again
after so many years and such great
changes. I hope soon to see you, however,
and to find you seemingly as young as you
ever were—the same bright, happy, true
hearted friend that I left when college days
were over. Do not fail to write me freely
about our visit, and if there is anything I can
do to reciprocate your kindness I hope you
will let me know. With anticipations of a
long and early letter from my dear friend,
I am,
Lovingly,
Grace.
* * *
My dear Grace,
It was indeed a surprise to hear from
you by letter, after so many years have
passed over our heads since we were
thrown together in our younger days. It
is unnecessary for me to say that I read
this letter with pleasure, for I am fond of
my friends and always glad to hear from
them, though I do not find much time for
correspondence. I am glad that you re
member me with such feelings of friend
ship and it is good of you to speak of me in
a complimentary way; you know we
all like praise, even though we may be
conscious of the fact that it is not fully de
served. I, too, have often thought of our
days spent together at school and 1 have
wondered what Fate may have had in store
for our classmates. But home duties have
claimed too much of my time for any con
siderable portion to be devoted to other
matters, and, after all, I think we are hap
piest in performing as best we may the
tasks that are closest to us, and helping as
we may to make our own loved ones hap
py and our home the dearest spot on earth
to them.
After graduating I returned home and
found plenty of work and much satisfac
tion in relieving Mother and trying to do
something to repay the many and long
continued efforts of my dear old parents
for my education, welfare and happiness.
There was little time left for the things
that usually claim the thoughts and atten
tion of young girls, so I may say that the
period of flirtations and frolicing which
forms a part in the life of most girls was
entirely omitted in mine, and I have nev
er felt less happy on this account.
After a time I loved and married a good
man, one who was raised near my old home,
and whose worth is far greater than his
pretensions. After the death of my dear
parents we bought the old home and have
since lived in the same house which shel
tered me in infancy and childhood. We
are content to live for one another here,
surrounded by the beauties and blessings
which Nature has prepared for those who
love and will live among her works. It
is a quiet life, but I have never felt that
the mad rush for gain in the busy marts of
trade would be a more favorable atmos
phere in which to train my children, or a
happier atmosphere for their parents. Os
course it is a busy life, for there is always
much to be done by a nouse
wife in the country, who does her
own work. Outside of washing and
ironing and milking and scouring, I have
never hired help except in cases of sick
ness, for we live in plain style, and I
think the expense and trouble of servants
would not be offset by the help they would
give me. I wish that I could claim the
perfection of management for which you
give me credit, but am sorry to say that it
is lacking in my household, as in most
others. I too often allow my work to mas
ter me; I become tired and cross, and then
feel sorry for it, for I know that every life
JUNE. 1896.
has its own hardships, differing in kind
more than in degree. You grow weary
of the smoke and dust and noise and heat
of the city and long for the pure air end
inviting scenes of country life. I er joy
the latter, but sigh for rest from the daily
round of duties which h \s oft been made
with weary footsteps. Yet others are free
from our cares, only to envy the peace
that we enjoy. So goes the world as I have
seen it—as you must have found it. I have
thought much of these matters; wondered
often why we do not do irore to help
others over their hard places and why
they, in turn, do not give us the assistance
so easily in their power. And, thinking
of these things, your letter seems to me to
offer an opportunity for the application of
this principle—the use of a remedy for our
troubles. You asked me to write freely,
and if we are friends in the true sente of
this dear word it would be an injustice
both to you and myself if I did not do so.
You need a change from the surroundings
of your city life, and I need rest from the
monotonous routine of work which I have
known so long. If I bid you and the
children come to be entertained as my
guests I will do the polite thing; but will
it be just to you or to myself if my labors
are increased—if you have for your hostess
a tired and aching woman whom you leave
at your departure to go on in her daily
round, knowing no rest so long as the limbs
can carry their burden and the hands per
form their tasks? Will we not both enjoy
ourselves more, er joy your visit more, if
I ask you to come, and in my own home,
while you are realizing the change so long
needed, give me the rest for which I suffer?
I will supply everything possible for your
comfort; you will feel perfectly at home,
and I will feel perfectly at ease to
let you manage just as if you were at a
country dwelling of your own and I your
guest. Won’t this be great for all of us old
folks and glorious for the children. Now
this is surely writing as freely as you could
wish, but it is written in sincerity and
friendship, for our mutual good and pleas
ure. It is written with such confidence in
your good sense that I believe you will
find it just the letter to please you most.
Let me know at once if this is true, writing
just as unreservedly as I have written.
With 1 we,
Your old-time friend,
Lula.
* *
Dearest Lula,
Your plan is delight
ful, your sincerity and candor refreshing,
your friendship far more valuable than the
flattering, hypocritical kind. We will bn
with you two weeks from to-morrow, and
Mr. J will run up to see us under this
arrangement—much to the pleasure of all,
lam sure. Will “say” the balance when M
I see you, rather than write it now.
Devotedly,
Grace.
A CHANCE TO MAKE MONEY.
I have berries, grapes and peaches, a
year old, fresh as when picked. I use the
California Cold Process; do not heat or
seal the fruit, just put it up cold, keeps
perfectly fresh, and costs almost nothing;
can put up a bushel in ten minutes. Last
week I sold directions to over 120 families;
anyone will pay a dollar for directions
when they see the beautiful samples of
fruit. As there are many* people poor
like myself, I consider it my duty to give
my experience to such, and feel confident
anyone can make one or two hundred
dollars around home in a few days. I will
mail sample of fruit and complete direc
tions to any of your readers, lor eighteen
two-cent stamps, which is only the actual
cost of the samples, postage. etc., to me.
FRANCIS CASEY, St. Louis, Mo.
Ordinary love may be selfish; but the
highest and purest love always enjoys far
more fr< m what it gives than from what
it receives.
Our offer on 16th page, headed “For
You” is a great opportunity.
Read our premium offers in this issue.
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