Newspaper Page Text
6
,
the) SLTNNY aOTTTH
HOUSEHOIiD and WOPfl’S fllflGDOP
For The Sunny South.]
A Wail From the Kitchen.
I sat me down at twilight.
The day’s work nearly done:
I was worn and tired with labor
From the morn till set of sun.
I had washed and scoured and scrubbed,
In my kitchen spent the day ;
Every pot and pan was rubbed.
Every grease spot cleaned away.
All the dishes in their places,
stood in bright and shiny rows,
And the kitchen looks quite cheery,
Though without the bleak wind blows;
But I knew that on the morrow,
Ere the noontide passed away,
Everything would be as dirty
As 'it had been just this day.
That the pots would be as gr<
And the plates and dishes, 1
reasy,
plates and dishes, too,
Would be there in dirty parcels,
And the same work be to do.
Oh. the weary, weary washings!
Oh. the cleanings never done!
Oh. the endless repetition
From the dawn to set of sun!
I could labor well and truly,
I could toil with cheerful heart,
At a work one ere could finish—
I could do a willing part.
I could dig and plant a rose bush.
And feel the pleasure all the while,
For the rose would grow and blossom.
And each weary heart beguile.
I could like to make a garment.
Say a dress, with pains and care,
For the dainty robe, with plea ure.
One for weeks and months could wear.
I could hie me to the schoolroom.
Take my children round my knee,
And with" earnest work and labor
Help their minds develop free.
What a task, yet what a comfort,
Has a mother in this toil!
For the work, when once established,
Has an end that naught can spoil.
A life of idleness and pleasure
Is not a life God planned.
And in the vineyard of my Maker
I would not aii idler stand.
But the weary, wearv kitchen.
With its ceaseless dirt and broil,
Is a terror never ending—
Is a lowering, thankless toil.
When one’s ideas grow and broaden,
How their life it doth despoil
To be ever in the kitchen,
In the coarsest, roughest toil.
In this broad and sunny Southland,
On her wives and daughters fair,
Fall this burden now most grievous—
Bears this load of weary care.
Is there not some way to help them?
Can no system new be tried?
To the suds and kitchen ashes
Must we evermore be tied?
Kate A. Orgaix.
Salcido. Ter.
From Nature’s Book.
“It requires a vast amount of leisure
to enjoy the moonlight, music and
flowers of life,” a wise little woman
asserts, and another declares that when
nature is loveliest the housekeeper
must be busy preparing 1 meals for her
household, and so misses the glory of
the early morning with its sunrise,
and, later, the sunset, the cool shadows
that invite atter the heat and the
dewy twilight.
No matter where life has placed us,
he it on the prairies, by the seashore
or among the mountains and hills,
there is beauty to cheer and a voice to
instruct; no matter with what humble
tasks our hands are tilled, in the study
of nature, we may forget that those
duties are irksome if we be, as Mrs.
Whitney says, “just a little shut in as
to our horizon, and just a little lifted
above it.”
The books of nature are Dever shut
She holds them up before us, and we
have only to lift our tyes from our
work to read from the open pages.
And this is the best way to study her
works; to read a sentence now 7 and
then and con it over in the mind. No
h one can comprehend the whole volume
so pf her writings, or suddenly grasp the
•‘' leaning of her sublime sentences, her
p re -itricate periods and faultless diction.
* “* Oman is so constituted that she
tc cems best firted to enjoy those mi
nor details so dear to femi
nine breasts, those quaint touches and
tender conceits everywhere written.
Farther and wider researches may
be made by man, whose mind compre
hends a vaster plan, whose eagle eye,
at one glance, takes in a grander
scene, and who, with steadier hand,
portrays them in sweeping outline.
If it be true that little things make
up life, the sum of its joys, as well as
trials, then one may cull a vast amount
of pleasure from the commonplace.
Every womon loves flowers, and their
presence without the house is an evi
dence of the refinement within. They
are to the exterior of our homes what
furniture is to the interior. And how
cheaply and effectively the outside
may be adorned with leafy screens and
curtained vines, to say nothing of bud
and flower that, to the richest inte
riors, as well as around the open cot
tage, lend an added charm. Without
these living blossoms in rooms and
balls, something is wanting, and one
is reminded of libraries unread, of mu
sical instruments unplaved and out of
tune. But beyond the fact of adorn
ment, there is pleasure in the instruc
tions they offer, and the lessons they
A woman need not wander about the
country and penetrate swampy mo
rasses in order to study entomology,
she has only to sit with her work
at the open window and. between
the stitches of her needle, watch
the different specimens dip arid soar
o’er fragrant beds of flowers, and with
golden spoons rake out some, sweet
corolla. Sometime, in proportion to
their size, it will seem a pit li-fork
they carry, and you may watch a crea
ture, part bird, part butterfly and bee
(the “electric hug”) stand upon air
and dip and plunge before it succeeds
iu sipping the sweets trom the lily cups
with a long antenna that looks like an
inverted pi-til. You may also con
tinue the scientific researches in the
various branches of housework. The
spider weaves its web in every home,
be it mansion or cottage. Ere you
tear the dainty lacework, demolish
their fairy castles and toss the cocoon
like receptacles into the lire, just call
up the children and let them become
familiar with the appearance of the
different species that produce each
web. Did you ever watch the common
jumping spider lie in wait for a stray-
fly upon your window-sill? What
valor! what perseverance! After its
heroic failure the story of Bruce fades
into insignificance.
But to return to the flowers. Can
you smell chrysanthemums in spring
and roses in winter? You have only 7
to crush the leaves and steins at
any 7 time and a pungent aroma
will arise similar 10 that which,
ctherealized and delicate, scents the
perfect flower. Within those delicate
veins, and hidden beneath the woody
stem, each bush, shrub and tree hides
the secret freely 7 given to the lull-
formed flower. In almost the same
way, the gardener is enabled to group
his flowers effectually; for to a careful
observer the color of leaf and stem
foretells the color of the unformed
flower, especially if the latter is to be
white, red, or a bright blue. These
facts were taught to me.by gifted wo
men who had never studied botany 7 in
books.
Whtn the roses faint in the summer
heat, and the sun has burnt out the ef
fects of mist and cloud, learn a new
lesson in the differing shades of green
of the staunch old trees. Ti.rough all
the stiff leaves of the oak, deep down
beyond the green, burns the red, as if
the bloody sacrifices of the old Druids
still dye their roots, and here, on a for
eign shore, proclaim the old supersti
tion. Showing murkily through the
green tufty leaves of the “post-oak” is
the quality that wins for it the name
of “white” oak. Rub together on the
palette some white and zinnober, and
see, as the same color, out there against
the sky. Muddy ’tis true, but unmis
takably the white that deeper and
purer hides in the heart.
Even in summer the sy 7 camores are
bronze; piled upon the hickories one
can see the blue that almost supersedes
the green. ’The needles of the pines
display heavier touches of the same
color, till, alone in winter, they stand
shamed by the blue sky, and then in
this, their growing time, each (feathery
tuft outlines itself in tender flakes of
yellow chrome. Behold, at all seasons,
the gold on poplar trees and beeches.
Hold wiihin your hands a leaf <*f them
all—oak, beech, pine, and poplar, and
read them closely; not atmospheric
effects alone but real color, sent down
in a composite sunbeam from the grand
old alchemist, Sun.
The changes of the seasons are not
sudden and abrupt. Each day helps
to effect those results which, completed,
we call spring, summer, autumn and
winter. Observant eyes may read
new stories and see new pictures every
day, in the slow budding out of flowers
in the spring, the maturity of summer,
the tinting touches that deepen and
glow, pale and fade for autumn, till all
stand in the bolder outlines of winter.
There is no uncompromising bare
ness even then, for the branches
that swung in joyous blossom
ing, that hid in the foliage, that
bent in the fruitage when outlined
against the sky retain their dainty-
curves. Be they shrub or brier, in
their poverty they forget not the grace
of a proud prosperity. And Nature
loves them still, and ere long a lew
sympathetic tears falling will find for
them a new adorning. Then shall the
trees be tipped with silver thorns,that
shall rattle and clash in the wind like
the unsheathed swords of mail-clad
knights, galloping and fighting over
the plains: and across the deepening
vistas the branches shall droop their
white arms ready when Nature trips
that way to fold her in a loving em
brace. *
When, in these restful glances from
work, the earth begins to weary, above
it is the fairyland of clouds. Whether
the flying earth leaves them banked in
the rear or they, with swifter wings,
out travel her, or keeping ne*r seem
stationery, or linger with laggard steps
behind and lazily follow,-they twist
themselves into a thousand fantastic
shapes and forms and weave landscapes
that seem the image of distant shores,
or thinned by the wind into floating
drapery, are looped into festoons o’er
the holiday skies.
It requires even less waste of time
to listen to the music of Nature and
enjoy it, even though you may not
be able, like the musician, to tell in
what key the wind lulls itself to rest;
or, like the artist, to appreciate the
trumpet cyclone while you paint the
giant madman, or like drowsy youth
to claim that life is incomplete
because you have rnDsed the quiver of
an earthquake. Every leaf on the trees
is a drum which the fairies beat, and
the grasses quiver with the anthems
that rise through them. She has new
stories every day, new pictures for
each individual which she shows to no
other, and to each she sings a different
song. She never frets or wearies, but
rests and calms alway.
CUNDUBANGO.
Woman’s World.
This title is not new, certainly not
original.
The publication which does not have
among its departments a woman’s
world is not in accordance with the
spirit of the times. One must count
the editor a modern Rip Van Winkle
who has not waked up to the spirit of
this fin de siccle.
At a glance the heading is paradoxi
cal. The world to-day is romantic. She
is empress of the earth. This fact
is one of the greatest compliments
to the man of the nineteenrh century.
The graciousness with which he con
cedes woman her rightful place beside,
not back of him, and at the same time
kneels to her as “She who must be
obeyed,” is a triumph over heroes of
past ages. Times change and the peo
ple change with them. It is so com
mon an occurrence as to have ceased
to be noticed that the “catch” in the
matrimonial swim is now often carried
off by the woman who jostled with
him in the office and business
street. There, amid trials and vexa
tions, he finds her patient and un
swerving; there he sees her in the
searching true light of day and be
comes aware of her precious worth.
Away from the glare of the grand
ballroom and its calcium effects he
recognizes the mate for his journey
through life. Mettle that has been
exposed to the fire and found true is
the kind we are anxious to possess.
So the tried man or woman is the safest
friend.
A woman loses none of her woman
liness by this w r alking beside her
friend and brother, but rather gains.
At lea*t this is possible. She brings
into bis office an aroma of dignity and
refinement, and her gentleness is a
revelation in his vexed, impatient
moods. She sees him off gourd, as it
were, in his habits and speech. Meet
ing upon equal ground she has an op
portunity of judging his generosity
and truthfulness, and he of her judg
ment and force.
The fact is, the eligible is most in
variably an eminently practical man,
who, accustomed to strength in his
wines and sauces, now requires the
same in the character of the woman of
his choice.
But since the world unquestionably
and undisputably belongs to woman,
why this title, signifying, it seems, a
different sphere from man’s? Perhaps
it is only an example of condensation
of things which is such a prominent
feature of the age.
Time is money to the man of affairs,
who boards the car and grasps the
morning news. Woman’s w orld, stock
quotations, sporting news, no time
lost in searching through a multitude
of pages, lie has about digested the
current news which most concerns
him when his office is reached.
And so it is with Madame, whose
time is engrossed from 11 a. m. until
far past 11 p. m. She gleans in the
quickest possible time what is happen
ing to womankind throughout the
world. Cod made the w 7 orid in six
days, according to our orthodox teach
ing, and made man the ruler over all
thereof. But,
“The world was sad the garden was a wild.
And man, the hermit, sighed tiil woman smiled.”
women who broke in upon the time-
honored custom of stay-at-home and
crocheting misses by makiug the
journey around the world, tout sene. It
is a fact to be noted that women of
greatest personal charms travel now
alone, from Maine to California, with
all the curtises and homage shown
them from the opposite sex. While
it is true that in a
great measure this is due to the con
duct of the woman herself, still I hold
that much of it is because men are bet
ter than in years gone by. Possibly I
am laughed at for this idea, but it will
only be the chronic croaker who
laughs. We hear through the press
and the pulpit that woman is growing
to be a personified giantess, and the
surmise is that man is shrinking into
a veritable pigmy by her side. The
truth is man is a greater giant mor
ally and mentally than ever before in
the history of the world. And in this
we have the effect of a cause. If
woman is at the bottom of most things
wise and otherwise, she certainly is
the reflector of most things good. So
the cause then is woman. The strong
est force in producing the effect has
been religion, and at this point we
catch a glimpse of that world to which
woman does essentially belong.
That is a poetic, yet apt illustration
of woman’s sphere which Church gives
in his famous painting of “Una and
the Lion.” To warm, to comfort and
command. Her commands upon his
moral stature for its noble height.
Man at best has much of the lion’s
nature and never appears in real life
»>r Action to such fascinating advan
tage as when the savage element in
his nature yields to the influence of
womanly charm and virtue. It has
been said that Shakespeare has no he
roes ; he has only heroines. However
this may be, where there are heroic
deeds to be done it is the women of his
imagination who accomplish them.
While every living creature needs
encouragement and help to attain per
fection, still an excess of sweets is
poison. The trouble with this abun
dant eulogizing of woman is that in
some cases it causes the growth of a
noisy bee in their bonnets. It buzzes
even louder than the proverbial poli
tician’s bee; and she cries out for
woman’s rights.
If we could only whisper near to
her bonnet srrings a quotation that
“Woman is not undeveloped man, but
diverse; would we make her as the man,
sweet love were slain.”
There is no condition or circum
stance that can deprive woman of her
rights—the right to be, by her entirely
different qualities, indispensable to the
honor and salvation of mankind—the
right to value herself, knowing he will
appreciate her worth accordingly—the
most potent right of all, the right to
be womanly. Realizing this, she will
find that her strongest advocate of
woman’s rights will be man.
Octavia Dockery.
ne
**3
nntVh^ h ™ eet t0 °tl'’s sak,
not above gomg il ir , i;J „ h
George styles it. Hi s ^ t0 , L „ far< *. as
waved m the soft firelX /'We
watched it I realized that n i «* I
would soon be trying Ciff'' 1
1 could ea^ih- •
what were the thought's ’' !!la ?'ne
fashioned mantel shell'
so deeply scarred by the r"i S - de is
tacks of the years that are r.. ,r ' stm as
. Below I give you its disgusted’,
ings: » u -teQ nm s .
CHRISTMAS eve,
“Alas, alas! has
189
slit?
® and
it comet., thi.-
Mused to itself
The mantel shelf
®f. s "uel Time change,l thv '
Of childhood’s innoce nt i • ,
In dear old Santa’s beinjr tin*
Promoter of joyous happhuw-
“Do you not fear it. old Clo-k
As you tick, tick.'
T * , And patiently click
Just above the one l„ne so, k
That dangles from mv edge t
Our babies have grown >
bright.'
In brave old Santa to take much stock"
“My friend, the children are few
M ho care for the jov ’
_ Of a Christmas tov
D °es lt: not cause a pause to v,m
That the clnldirli trust should ch&nraxl
And life so preciselv arrant.,!
As olden times give way to the new?"
“Old Santa must take a back scat
He is not in it.
And it is not fit
That he should his visits repeat:
For boyhood changes to mar.'mod
And girlhood to o’erwise woi'ianhmd :
Ere they, scarce, have tried their bate
feet.”
With best wishes,
C
hOLEMBIi,
My George and Jack.
Tt is a matter for regret that
such a term as woman's rights
ever invaded the feminine mind,
as though she were an injured
party struggling to free herself
trom a bonded slavedom. Who would
usurp the rights of woman? Not man
certainly, lie is too well pleased with
his own. Men and women meet now
upon the same platform. Many of
them are forced to do so by the strug-
le for daily bread; others fired by
the same lofty aims as their male com
petitors. Either way there is not an
instance noted where man has crowded
the woman of ability off the platform.
1 hat she is on this platform is simply
because she has proven herself capable
of standing upon it. Her stay there
will only be gauged by her ability to
sustain the position.
A few years ago a generation of men
doffed their hats with pleasure and
pride to the two handsome young
A Happy New Year greeting to you,
dear Mother Hubbard, and will you
please extend the same to the editor of
the Southern woman’s favorite paper,
the last copy of which, I assure you, I
consider one of my most highly prized
Christmas presents.
The perusal of it was solid pleasure,
from beginning to end; and among
so much that was extraordinarily good
it may be unkind to mention any
particular sketch that suited my
lancy; yet, I can’t resist referring to
the Chow Chow, furnished by the in
comparable, irresistible and fun-pro
ducing Musa Dunn for your Kingdom;
and my gratification in the continua
tion of the “Tom and George and
Jack” sketches.
I am satisfied that every other reader
of The Sunny South, who is the
mother of a Tom or George or Jack,
has been as eager as I have for Mr.
Fairman to resume, and continue in
definitely, those enjoyable narratives.
They are so true to country boy life,
and, if it is as I am inclined to sus
pect. that George, the second hero
of the sketches, has developed into
the bright, literary character that
now stands at the editorial helm of a
paper that the whole South can well
be proud of, they will be a
source of great encouragement to me
while watching the development of the
characters of my Tom and George,
whose rough manners frequently
cause me almost to despair of ever
making anything above the ordinary
of them. J
And my Tom and George (my only
children) are rapidly growing beyond
all things childish; a fact I never fully
realized before the eve of the past
Christmas, when to my dismay my
George (but my baby no longer) de
clared that he was so thoroughly dis
gusted by d scovering that in all the
years since he could remember, he had
been such a ninny as to believe in a
real Santa Claus, whose reindeer could
travel in midair with the fleetness of
the wind, and who could find his way
down any chimney, no matter what
the size; that he would not hang up a
stocking to encourage a superstition
lor which he now felt such perfect
contempt. He is a lad of many pecu
liar ideas.
Tom, however, is such a lover of
delicacies, and always did so love to
pull the “goodies” out of his stocking,
There are far too many kinds of ome
lets to undertake to give all “the names
of them.” Of course, where omelet
making is studied, a pan must be kent
for them solely. If this is of copper, so
much the better, as the thickness of the
metal equalizes the heat, and is less lia
ble to “catch.” Moreover, the pan
should never be washed, but just wiped
out carefully each time it is used, and
then rubbed up with a clean soft cloth
or leather. If this is done each time it
is used at once, you will find no difficulty
in keeping it (as it should bet perfectly
bright and Clean. The proportions for
a small omelet aux fives heron are, two
whole eggsi'beaten tiil light /, ,. till the
fork you beat them with can be lifted
clean out of the egg), a teaspoonful of
finely minced chives or one small finely
minced chailot, desertspoonful of mixed
parsley and chervil, with pepper to
taste. Now melt one ounce of butter
in the pan, and as soon as it is quite
still pour in the mixture, which should
be well blended, and cook it till the
eggs are nearly set and the under side
is a pale golden color; then tilt the pan
towards you, slip a broad knife—a pal
ette knife is best—under the half of the
omelet nearest you, and fold it over the
furthest half. Now slip the whole thing
down to the side of the pan, which will
give it a crescent shape, and dish it at
once in a hot dish, sprinkle it with salt,
and serve. Connoisseurs say salt is bet
ter added at the last, as they aver it
keeps the omelet from hardening. For
the same reason some cooks add a table-
spoonful of milk for every two eggs to
the original mixture. I never find this
necessary; but then we never kept an
omelet waiting.
If you wish to add any ragout to your
omelet, such as oysters, kidneys, roe,
Ac., you omit fines herbes, and, after
making the omelet precisely as above,
lay in the ragout, tbs sauce of which
should be rather extra thick, just as you
fold it over. If, however, you mix
the desired flavoring, such as liara,
cheese, &c., to the original mixture, you
will find it better to beat the yolks and
whites of the eggs separately, to give
greater lightness, as the more solid ad
ditions might otherwise make it rather
heavy. A sweet omelet is made in ex
actly the same way, only substituting
sugar and any sweet flavoring desired
for the pepper and salt. If jam is added,
warm it lightly before folding it into
the omelet, as this makes it mix better.
Omelette: au Rhum is a plain sweet
omelet, flavored with a little vanilla !h
you add milk, boil this with a bit of va
nilla stickg over which some rum is
poured, and lighted as it is placed on
the table.
For an omelette soufflee, beat the
yolks of three eggs with about three
deseitspoonfuls of caster sugar till it ls
quite thick, flavor to taste with vanififfi
or anything you please: then stir into 1
the whites of five eggs beaten to the
stiffest possible froth (you should oe
able to cut it clean with a knife, d’our
it on to a hot buttered cish, score J
across two or three times with a knits
(this prevents its tearing, and so faiho?
directly the spoon goes in to help (•(
and hake in a quick oven for ten tnm
utes, when it should be lightly sprint e
with caster sugar mixed with vhaiev
flavoring you have chosen, and
at once. If delayed in the least it tv
fall and be spoilt. ,-
An omelette ex surprise is an or
nary sweet omelet into which is »x
ped, just as it is to be served, a po
tion of any cream ice desired. -
should be frozen as hard as possible,
the omelet will melt and spoil it.
The Queen’s Tastes*
Somebody who claims to know s ‘-
that a child three years old is half 1
height it will ever be.