Category: School for Housewives

What is L’Art Nouveau?

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This is the third article of the School for Housewives 1904 series published on Jan 17, 1904, and is a column on Art Nouveau and more specifically Art Nouveau furniture made popular by Siegfried Bing, a German art dealer who operated a gallery in Paris, la Maison de l’Art Nouveau.

School for Housewives – What is l’Art Nouveau?

What is l’Art Nouveau?

We find in every class of useful articles employed in the home of today certain graceful shapes which we are told are “art nouveau pattern.” We find the name attached to every sort of merchandise from spoons to chairs and sofas, from finger rings and tortoise shell combs to bookcases and mantels.

We are told that “the new art is now permanently established,” that it “marks an epoch in decorative art.” Yet still, surrounded on every side by it, many a woman is still asking herself, “What, oh what, is l’Art Nouveau?”

Let us, first of all, answer her question in the fewest possible words. The “new art,” examples of which are found on every side of us, is a recently developed style in decorative art, which originated in the Paris studio of a certain Monsieur Bing, and was by him christened with the name it now bears. It is a style of protest, intended to wage war against the inartistic furnishings which disfigure so many modern houses.

What is a style? The dictionary definition would be a technical one difficult to understand. Let us look for some familiar examples, outside of art.

Many women at present wear their hair brushed high up over the forehead in a manner which dates back several hundred years. In the details of the arrangement this may vary from season to season, from decade to decade – but the style is still Pompadour.

There was a pattern of coat worn in the time of the English King Charles and fashionable, too, in the days of the French Bourbons. It had large skirts and wide cuffs, embroidery and other individual features. A more important point was its dignity. This coat altered somewhat according to fashions as the years passed, but it never ceased to be the same style. We find its successor today in the Prince Albert, or frock coat, which belongs to a distinct order as contrasted with the “cut-away” or “sack” models, which are representative of other “styles.”

No one who sees a specimen of Art Nouveau manufacture can mistake it for anything else. It is invariably and infallibly recognized at a glance by its leading characteristic, which is that the leaves, stems or flowers of plants and trees form the basis of its design. These designs are sometimes simple enough, but oftener, perhaps, twisted and tortured into intricate patterns. But whether the object be useful or ornamental, and whether it be of large size or small, the fundamental idea remains the same and many be seen in all the complex evolutions of the modest rose or stately palm leaf, whose flower or left formed the skein, as it were, with which the artist wove the exquisite ideas they inspired.

The history of the “new art” is none the less interesting because it bears out the time-honored axiom concerning the lack of novelty “under the sun.”

The most prominent disciples of the movement are one and all ready to admit that anything new in decorative work must necessarily have absorbed something of preceding schools.

The term “Art Nouveau” may be said to have been invented by M. Bing, when he threw open the doors of his now world-known establishment in the Rue de Provence and invited the students of the new art to bring their efforts to his galleries for exhibition. Not the youth of France alone, but enthusiasts from all countries responded to the invitation.

Marion Harland

OTHER ARTICLES ALSO PUBLISHED…
Housewives, Parents and Children Around the Council Fire
Recipes
Talks With Marion Harland

Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers – Some Suggestions concerning Salads, Their Hygienic Value and Their Preparation

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This is the third article in January of the School for Housewives 1905 series published on Jan 15, 1905, and is a longer article in Marion’s series called Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers on the treatment of servants.

School for Housewives – Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers

Some Suggestions concerning Salads, Their Hygienic Value and Their Preparation

Across the water a dinner without a salad is condemned as a gastronomic solecism. We Americans would do well to copy this one foreign fashion and relax in some measure our devotion to “fries” and “pies.” As winter strengthens her hold with the lengthening days, our torpid systems require the cooling and purifying juices of fruits and esculents. In unconscious recognition of this hygienic fact our markets teem with green stuffs – celery, cabbage and lettuce – from October to April. Lettuce, the most valuable of them all, is in season all the year round.

In the United States alone salads are, by common consent, accounted the rich man’s luxury. When scarcest, they are never dear by comparison with meats and pastries. And thanks in part to the absurd fallacy aforesaid, a salad, deftly concocted, gives a touch of elegance to the plainest dinner or supper.

The preparation of this adjunct to family or company meal should devolve upon the hostess, by rights, unless she can afford a butler and assistants competent to the task. And this series of Talks is not written for the rich woman. Our flat-dweller’s maid-of-all-work is exceptionally clever if she can be trusted to dress a salad in the precise nick of time, in addition to the rest of her work.

It is such pretty business – the mixing and stirring and turning! It shows off a slim hand and well-turned wrist to such adventure that few young housewives object to the performance of the duty. Most of them take honest pride in their skill in what is justly considered an accomplishment.

If our tyro would acquire the fine art, she should, at the outset, comprehend what some so-called good housekeepers never learn, to wit, the difference between a heavy and a light salad, and the occasions on which each is to be served.

A few hints should suffice to guard her against blunders. A French dressing, to be described presently, is always the accompaniment of plain lettuce or endive. A mayonnaise is not in harmony with the crisp succulence of the tender leaves, and out of keeping with the idea of an impromptu delicacy. Such is a fresh young salad prepared before the eyes of the prospective eaters, between courses – in advertising lingo, “done while you wait.” A better reason for the rule is that lettuce and its sister, endive, wilt within a few minutes after they are touched by the condiments, and the flavor suffers sensibly under the thick coating of mayonnaise.

The simplest form, then, of the salad that follows the meat course of a family dinner, or is a pleasing accompaniment of cold meat at the Sunday might supper (which will be the subject of our next Talk) is this:

The lettuce-leaves which have lain for at least an hour in very cold water are brought to the table in a salad dish and set before the hostess. At the same time another dish and a finger-bowl are given to her. She dips her fingers in the latter, dries them on her napkin, and, daintily using the tips of them in the work, breaks the lettuce into bits, without bruising it, dropping the pieces into the second dish as she goes on. Both dishes should be chilled beforehand. If the dressing has been prepared before dinner, she now pours it over the lettuce, tossing and stirring thoroughly, but always lightly, and when the salad is well-coated serves it. Should the dressing be compounded at the table, she does it before breaking up the green leaves, and thus:

HOW IT IS MADE

Into the bowl of a large spoon she puts a half teaspoonful of salt, half as much pepper, and – should she or her family like to temper the vinegar somewhat – as much sugar as she has salt. Upon this she pours two tablespoonfuls of vinegar, stirs the mixture with a silver fork until salt, etc., are dissolved, turns this into a small bowl and adds five tablespoonfuls of the best salad oil. Then she proceeds to work the dressing into an “emulsion” with the fork, tossing and stirring rapidly until the ingredients are smoothly blended. After breaking the cool lettuce-leaves into bits, she gives the dressing a final stir before pouring it over them. A pleasant flavor is imparted to the salad if the bowl in which it is to be served be rubbed with a cut clove of garlic before it is brought to table. Or a teaspoonful of minced chives may be blended with the dressing.

Warmed crackers, and cream or “Cottage” or any kind of fancy cheese, are passed with the salad.

A clever young housekeeper with whom I lunched unpremeditatedly yesterday, treated me to a delightful modification of lettuce salad. I pass it on to other flat-dwellers.

In the centre of the lettuce, broken into “forkable” bits before it was brought in, was a hard-boiled egg, peeled and ice-cold. Before dressing the salad, my friend cut this up with a sharp silver knife, mixed it so well with the lettuce that we often tasted rather than saw the tiny morsels of egg, and incorporated the dressing – which had the “smack” of a garlic-clove – with the rest.

A simple lettuce-salad with French dressing is the frequent accompaniment of roast and boiled chicken and game.

The universally popular mayonnaise-dressing is a far more serious affair, and in application is almost catholic.

Break into a soup-plate the yolk of one egg, and squeeze a few drops of lemon juice over it. Then, with a silver fork, begin to stir – not beat – the egg around and around. Add the oil, a drop at a time, until the mixture begins to thicken, when it may be put it in larger quantities. To one egg nearly a pint of oil is used. When very thick, thin the mixture by stirring in gradually the juice of a lemon. This done, add again, little by little, the remainder of the it, and continue the stirring until once more very thick.

TAKE NO LIBERTIES

All the ingredients, including the bowl, should be set in ice for several hours that they may be chilled through. The colder the materials the greater are the chances of the sauce being a thorough success. But the directions must be exactly followed. A mayonnaise is one of the subjects with which no liberties are to be taken. In spite of all precautions, the egg will occasionally curdle; but there is a remedy even for this misfortune. Take another yolk and begin again, from the beginning, as at first. When this mixture is very thick, the first dressing may be added, little by little, and very cautiously. If done carefully and slowly the result ill be a smooth, uncurdled mayonnaise, only there will be twice as much as you intended to make. You will, however, have the consolation of knowing that any of the mixture that is left over many be kept until next day on the ice, and will then be as good as ever. The household will be only too happy to have one of the endless varieties of salads for tomorrow’s lunch.

One egg and a pint of oil will make enough dressing for a family of ordinary size.

In the Recipe, Column will be found some of the “endless varieties” alluded to just now. All have been tried and found worthy of housewifely confidence.

Marion Harland

New “Findings” for the Woman Who Sews

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Following up the previous article is another one on the topic of sewing although in this case the focus is on a handful of sewing tips. This is the second article of the School for Housewives 1904 series published on Jan 10, 1904.

While this article is shorter than the previous one it does bring to mind the number of daily hardships women would have had to face such as sewing or pining ‘shields’ in blouses so that the main article of clothing could be protected from sweat and dirt.

School for Housewives – New “Findings” for the Woman Who Sews

The one to whom the family mending falls is perennially interested in new “findings” appertaining to this branch of her work.

There are little devices constantly appearing, any one of which may mean a saving of weary minutes over the workbasket.

The most expert shopper on the staff of the Woman’s Supplement recently made a little tour of inspection among the “motion counters” of the large shops with these findings in view.

She discovered a number of innovations in this line which had usefulness as well as novelty to recommend them. One of these was a very flexible skirt braid designed especially for the pliant materials used for this winter’s costumes. It is mercerized, making available for silk and the various silky fabrics in present use.

A new spooler, of which an illustration is give, keeps the different bobbins in full view and makes shifting them on and off a much easier matter.

The safety-pin shield released us some time since from the daily labor of sewing fresh shields into our blouses. But the ordinary safety used for this purpose had its drawbacks. It would not lie flat, and it was apt to make a disagreeable little lump under the arm. Now the inventor has come to our aid with a clasp intended to remedy this particular deficiency. It lies flat and creates no bulkiness whatever.

The skeleton collar material now sold by the yard is an immense help to the woman who is obliged to make her own blouses. Anyone who knows the difficulty of cutting and shaping the buckram foundation and covering this with silk for a collar on the old lines will appreciate the convenience and time saving of the new collaring.

Marion Harland

OTHER ARTICLES ALSO PUBLISHED…
Feeding the Family – A Discussion Under the Direction of Marion Harland
Some Good Recipes

Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers – Our Maid’s Outings

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This is the second article in January of the School for Housewives 1905 series published on Jan 8, 1905, and is a longer article in Marion’s series called Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers on the treatment of servants.

School for Housewives – Familiar Talks with Cottagers and Flat-Dwellers

Our Maid’s Outings

A young housewife writes: Do not, I beseech you, dismiss the subject of Bridget Thekla before giving us novices in domestic management a few helpful words as to our ‘girls’ afternoons and evenings ‘out.’ Now, here am I, who keep but one maid. We boarded for two years, and did not begin housekeeping until my baby was nearly a year old. Our flat has six rooms and a bath. I have a woman to wash on Monday, my maid of all work doing the ironing and housework, including cooking. She manages it well, and is generally satisfactory. But she wants every other Thursday afternoon and evening out, and every other Sunday afternoon and evening. That means I am to get up dinner and wash up dishes once a fortnight, alternately with the same work on Sunday, with the difference that we have a simple supper on Sunday, having dined at 1 ‘clock.

“My John says it is an imposition upon me – and I must say it does not seem quite fair to my way of thinking. Annie Hagan, who represents Bridget Thekla in my modest establishment, says ‘these are the privileges every gurrel looks to get where there’s but was gurrel kept.”

“Please enlighten me, with a host of others, upon this point. M.E.R.”

There is but one rule that holds good always, everywhere, and in all circumstances. I need not repeat it here – that Golden Rule which ranges all human creatures, of whatever blood and breeding, upon one equal plane.

Put yourself for half an hour, while we two reason together, in Annie Hagan’s place. She has never read Shakespeare, and her theatergoing does not take in Irving and Terry. But you will comprehend why I thought of Shylock as I read your letter. As that much-vilified Jew said of himself, Annie Hagan “has hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions. If you tickle her she will laugh; if you poison her she will die.”

ONLY HER WORKSHOP

I am as sure as if I had taken afternoon tea with you yesterday hat your flat is comfortable and prettily furnished. I hope that Annie Hagan’s niche in ??? clean, decently appointed, and as airy as in consistent with flat architecture. Her food is the same that is served for yourself and for John. You do not complain when a nice girl “acquaintance” drops in to call upon her in the evening. In fine, you wish Annie Hagan to feel at home in the steam-heated, gas-lighted six-rooms-and-a-bather.

The fact (one of several) remains that it is not her home. She has had a series of such – some worse, some better – in the five or ten years she has spent “in the country.” The roots of her local attachments are slender and lateral. There is no tap root running down from the heart into the new soil; and this is well and merciful. Your slice of a house is nine-tenths of the world to you, because John and the baby and all your best treasures are there. Annie Hagan’s friends, congeners, and blood kindred lie outside of your sphere. Your flat is her factory – her workshop. Cooking, cleaning, and ironing – even her turn at tending baby when you have your “outing” – are her spindles and loom.

TAKE HER VIEW OF IT

Her cousins, the Flanagan sisters, are shop girls, and never tire of taunting her for “taking service” and having but one evening a week to herself. They are free after 6 o’clock every afternoon – as free as any lady in the land. They can walk the streets until midnight, if they like, and have “followers” galore, to say nothing of dressing in colors never flaunted by any bow in the cloud since the first was appointed unto Noah for reassurance.

Annie Hagan has a steady head and right principles. Nevertheless, these things have weight with her, as they would have with you were you “in her place.” Keep these in imagination while we are talking. She may like cooking. She probably does if she cooks well. She may enjoy “redding up” for the pleasure of seeing things look clean and bright when all is done. She may “Take intrust” in baby. There are no better nurses in the world than Irish girls of the best sort. Her livelier and larger interest are in the sphere in which she was born and in which, please Providence and Larry Moran, she hopes to end her days. The same Larry fills as large a space in her dreams as John filled in yours three years agone.

In consideration of all this, she is right in calling the few hours she spends weekly in that world where she lives in heart and in thought, and has her real being, her “privileges.” She may not pronounce the word right, but she enters into its meaning more truly than can you, who make it a point of hygienic conscience to get the fresh air every day.

Why, let a mature manager ask don’t you have supper instead of dinner on Thursday, as well as on Sunday night? What country people know as a “hearty tea?” one John I know looks forward with zest to “the girl’s” evening out, because he always has Sally Lunn for supper.

Sally Lunn, such as you will find described in a recent recipe in our column. The maid set it at noon. All the mistress has to do with it is to put it into the oven and oversee the baking. Baked potatoes and baked beans (baked that forenoon and warmed over in the evening) reconcile this John to cold meat, a salad dressed on the table, crackers and cheese. A pudding or a pie and coffee fill him up satisfactorily.

If your sense of fitness rebels at the thought of washing up your dishes when you are dressed for the evening pile them in the sink, pour hot water, with a liberal dash of ammonia, over them, and leave until nearly bedtime, when you can slip on a wrapper and get them out of the way. Or Annie Hagan – if she be exceptionally appreciative of a good mistress – will ask you to “lave them be” for her to wash early in the morning.

Respect our maid’s “privileges” as you respect your own engagements. Decline invitations for her evenings out steadily. Unless you have mother or sister who can take your place in the home now and then when John has tickets for something he is not wiling to have you miss.

In addition to the outings nominated in the bond between you and Annie Hagan, contrive that she shall go regularly to church. If she is conscientious in the discharge of religious duties – and this from principle, not out of custom or superstition – the more likely will she be to be faithful in her obligations to you.

Once in a while give her an extra outing – a “treat” such as you relish when John gets those tickets unexpectedly. An uncovenanted mercy which belongs to the same category with Alice in Wonderland’s “unbirthday gifts.”

Annie Hagan may not be effusively grateful. Some people do not know how to say “Thank you.” She may even disappoint you by taking the uncovenanted grace as a matter of course and her rightful due. “Some do.” Do it next time as heartily as if she had felt and said the proper thing, and let conscious obedience to the Golden Rule be your rich reward.

Marion Harland

Miss Pauline Astor’s New Handshake

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This is the first article in January of the School for Housewives 1903 series published on Jan 4, 1903, and is short article on a ‘new’ handshake demonstrated by Pauline Astor. Pauline was the first daughter, and second child of four of William Waldorf Astor, 1st Viscount Astor. William Astor was an American who was raised in Europe and was one of the richest people in America in the late 1800s.

Miss Astor Brings a New Greeting Right from England

Though English-Born, This New Greeting Is American in Its Fervor

Not a Finger-Touching Greeting, but a Good, Hearty Striking of Hands

Miss Pauline Astor, daughter of William Waldorf Astor, of England, and heiress to untold millions, has introduced a new handshake in American society.

Briton though she be, the handclasp smacks of things American, for there is about it a degree of heartiness that is by no means typical of the Englishman.

It cannot be denied that there is some kind of charm about shaking the hand of a young woman who is destined to be the richest in the world. One needs no great stretch of imagination to realize that the dainty hand will some time have the power to sign a check that would ransom king or emperor.

Perhaps it is that fact that makes one observe with great care just how the dazzling handshake is delivered. At any rate, it is safe to assume that Philadelphia society is in a receptive good and that Miss Astor’s innovation meets with its entire approval.

The truth is society everywhere has a strong predilection for fads. It gratefully accepts whatever comes to it in this guise without taking the trouble to go into an analysis of its merits. So it was with Miss Astor’s handshake. It was a fad, and society liked it. But in addition to the fact that it is the introduction of one of the most polished young women in the world, there are other features to recommend it.

There is no denying that it is a distinct improvement over the highlighted, fastidious, finger-tipping touch with which society people have been won’t to greet each other for years.

The new handclasp is no characterless, light-fingered shake, but a hearty grasp. Its exponents show the warmth of old friends greeting each other after a long separation.

The arm is extended naturally in front of the body and the hands are brought sharply together in a strong, firm clasp. It is an honest handshake. There is no indecision about it, and there is no needless effusiveness about it, either, for the hand is instantly withdrawn. It is only natural and unaffected.

Miss Astor has been visiting her uncle, Mr. James W. Paul Jr., at his country home at Radnor. Philadelphia society leaders first witnessed the handshake, now its own by adoption, when she appeared in company with her cousin, Miss Ellen Drexel Paul, at the annual Radnor Hunt breakfast on Thanksgiving morning.

Miss Astor rode her cousin’s hunter Dumnorix in the Ladies’ Cup class for the best riding and jumping, but although she had style and a firm, light hand, she only captured fourth place, losing to Mrs. John R. Valentine, Mrs. Robert E. Strawbridge and Miss Josephine Mather, who won first, second and third, respectively.

It was when she was congratulating the winners that the society folk first noted the handshake, which was to them entirely now.

Miss Astor is naturally exclusive in her tastes. One indication of this is the fact that she never shakes hands with any person to whom she is first introduced. She reserves this favor for her intimate friends or when, as a good loser, she congratulates those who win from here.

The manner in which a person shakes hands is very often a strong indication of character. Miss Astor’s friends say that her method is typical of her – exclusive in general, but firm in her friendships.

She is only 20 years old and has been trained in an atmosphere of exclusiveness, which in her father’s home has been termed snobbishness. She is always accompanied by her French governess, Mme. Flory, who previously served as governess in the families of the French aristocracy.

Miss Astor, in her natural qualities, resembles her mother, who was the beautiful Miss Mary Dahlgren Paul, of Philadelphia. The young girl has often said that she would prefer to be an American and live in America, but her father is filled with Anglomania prejudice, and hates everything “Yankee,” as he sneeringly calls it.

Miss Astor could not be counted as pretty, but she possesses a subtle charm that wins the hearts of all with whom she associates. She is fond of outdoor life and loves the beautiful thoroughbreds in her father’s great stables. She has been reported many times to be engaged. Among others, the rich Duke of Roxburghe has sued for her hand but he failed, and the nearest Miss Astor has ever come to falling in love was with Captain H. Frazer, the “tallest and handsomest” guardsman in England.

Marion Harland

OTHER ARTICLES ALSO PUBLISHED…
Housewife’s Corner
The Parents’ Corner
Recipes for Four Dainty Dishes

American Women Learn Torchon Lace Making

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This is the first article of the School for Housewives 1904 series published on Jan 3, 1904, and is a short column on the sprouting popularity of Torchon Lace in America.

Now what exactly is torchon lace?

Torchon is one of the simplest lace making methods to learn although its popularity in mainland Europe did not spread to England until the late 19th century. In the television series Lark Rise to Candleford the main character’s mother, Emma Timmins, made and sold torchon lace as a reliable form of income until the popularity of machine made lace made her work redundant and comparatively expensive.

I can imagine that the pioneer women of the Mowat district would have had to create their own lace decorations for dresses and other cloth items by hand as they would not have had much money to buy embellishments. It would be interesting to see a comparison of all the different patterns the pioneer women might have known and brought with them from their home countries.

School for Housewives – American Women Learn Torchon Lace Making

One of the most thoroughly serviceable laces for general purposes is torchon, especially in its simpler forms.

It is only of late that women are discovering how easy some of these attractive patterns are to do.

Since the discovery has been made several little classes with an enthusiastic patronage have sprung up in our different large cities.

There are so many purposes to which a good strip of torch on can be put!

It makes a pretty and durable finish for the various articles comprised in the lingerie trousseau, and no experience housekeeper needs to be reminded of its many uses in connection with household linens.

Another good point is the inexpensiveness of the work. There is the first moderate outlay for the cushion and bobbin outfit. After that the only expense is for the thread.

It will be seen by the illustrations that torch on is a pillow lace, distantly related to Valenciennes and other favorites.

The number of bobbins for the less elaborate patters (such as the strip pictured) is about thirty-six.

The legend concerning the origins of the lace is pretty one. Some torchon maker may like to con it over as she twists her thread and manipulates her bobbins.

At a time when lace-making was yet an unknown industry, says tradition, there lived in Venice a pretty girl betrothed to a fisherman. During his enforced absences at sea she was accustomed to sit and think of him along the seashore.

One day as she sat day-dreaming of the beloved one, and idle wave washed up to her a mass of some exquisitely fine seaweed. It lay out before her in nature’s wonderful designs.

The maiden, to relieve her ennui, attempted to copy the pattern. She used for a foundation the meshes of a fisher’s net. Thus was lace-making begun.

But the story has variations. According to another version, the primitive fisher maidens used to embroider portions of nets to serve as bridal veils. From these head draperies developed lace.

As a matter of fact, nets, passementeries, broideries and their life are as old as civilization and as the first solicitude of woman for her coiffure.

However, it is not known how and from which of these garnitures sprang lace, the loveliest of them all. No trace of it is discoverable previous to the Middle Ages.

Some authorities will have it, and it is reasonable to believe, that the women of the Venetian lagoons themselves hit upon the plan of improving with fanciful designs upon the meshes of the fishing nets.

Again, the mariners of the Adriatic may have brought back with them from the Orient bobbin laws on the order of those that were recently excavated in ancient ruins of the east.

The lace which are lineal descendants of the decorated fishing net are made with hook or shuttle for the foundation mesh, and with hook or shuttle again or occasionally the needle for the decoration.

Marion Harland

OTHER ARTICLES ALSO PUBLISHED…
Good Recipes
Helps and Hints Around the House
Household Topics of Much Interest Discussed With Housewives by Marion Harland – Letters From Members of a Great and Widespread Organization of Women Who Love Their Homes

A New Year’s Preachment for the Council

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This is the first written article in January of the School for Housewives 1905 series published on Jan 1, 1905, and is one of Marion’s yearly messages.

School for Housewives – A New Year’s Preachment for the Council

Start Right at the Beginning of This Practical Rather than Sentimentally Reminiscent Conferences

When we were young and green in judgment we were not afraid of “big contracts.”

Much that passes with youth for courage, and which is condemned by elders as “foolhardiness,” is rashness born of ignorance. The skater who has never broken through thin ice, and never heard of “breathing holes,” strikes out fearlessly.

When we were young we reviewed the year behind us, and made good resolutions for that before us – all on New Year’s Day. The retrospect was a moonlighted track, where memory blended sorrow and joy into a kind of gentle pensiveness. The prospect was bright with the sunlight of hope.

Ah, well! we all know what came of the New York exercise enjoined by custom and conscience; how surely the thin ice cracked under our stride; how good resolves were drowned in the black breathing holes.

Now that the years, in flying, have dropped white down upon our heads, if their “multitude” have taught us it should, we take short views of life. We go to school to the coral builders, to the ants, the bees and the flowers of the field, with their perpetual parable of, first, the blade, then the stalk, the bud, the blossom – the seed. We form letter by letter, set stitch by stitch and draw one breath at a time.

A PRACTICAL CONFERENCE

This is our New Year’s talk, a cozy four-feet-on-a-fender conference between reader and editor on the threshold of 1905. A conference I would make practical rather than sentimentally reminiscent.

Whether or not Thomas Carlyle obeyed his own injunction to “do the duty which lieth nearest thee, which thou knowest to be a duty,” it is certain that the utterance is instinct with sound wisdom.

Turning the pages of the book, my eye falls upon another pregnant paragraph:

“Don’t object that your duties are ‘so insignificant.’ They are to be reckoned of infinite significance and alone important to you. Were it but the more perfect regulation of your apartment, the sorting away of your clothes and trinkets, the arranging of your papers – ‘Whatsoever they hand findeth to do, do it with they might,’ and all thy worth and constancy.”

After dwelling upon “duties that have a higher, wider scope” – those done to kindred and kind – our author adds a sentence I would like to engrave upon the fleshy tablets of every heart:

“That is the sure and steady disconnection and extinction of whatsoever miseries one has in this world.”

If I could, as our boys (and some of our girls) would phrase it, “put you next” to that “sure and steady disconnection and extinction,” I should deserve your everlasting gratitude and a niche in the Temple of Fame.

THE DUTIES NEAREST US

“Don’t trample on the gentians while you are hunting for the edelweiss, which, after all, may not be up there!” cried one Alpine traveler to another, who, on tiptoe at the edge of a glacier, was searching eagerly every crevice that might hold the coveted snow flower.

Beneath her feet, in the very drip of the melting mass of ice, July suns had spread a carpet of gentians as blue as the heavens – as brave as he everlasting hill they draped.

Take we, then, our “nexts” the duty nearest us – the everyday tasks we rate as humble – to be our gentians, and stoop to gather them. They grow thick, and they grow fast for each of us. Who has not his or her edelweiss to win which would be honor, and, we think, happiness? We mothers have our ambitions. Yours may be music, it may be literature, it may be travel and all the good it implies.

You have so dove-tailed your takes – the must-be-dones – that make the necessary routine of the day so wisely that you have two hours for the piano, or one hour for the book you have longed for a month to read, or you wish to attend a concert, or to visit a friend whose society would be a spiritual and mental uplift.

Just as the dear joy is within your reach the cook taps at the door with the tale of a happening – to you a catastrophe – which upsets the cherished plan. Or a visitor – always a bore, now a nuisance – “shakes all your buds from blowing.” Or John comes home with one of his nasty headaches and you cannot leave him. Or Johnny has examples to prepare for tomorrow’s session that terrify him almost to tears. Or Susie asks permission to bring a few of the girls and a boy or two in for an evening’s innocent frolic. Or the report of a charitable society must be written by you because the regular officer, whose business it is, has neglected it. Or the twins have been afield and torn their trousers so horribly that your work basket is hurried to the front, and the reading the review, the companionship for which you are athirst and a-hungered, must be postponed indefinitely.

GRAND PRACTICES IN PATIENCE

Trifles? Yes! To the masculine philosopher who has no household hindrances, and whose time is his own because he “will not submit to interruptions.” So are toothache, and a boil upon the tip of one’s nose, and gravel in one’s shoe, and the loss of one’s dinner. We women know which class of these miseries is the lighter.

Plainly, there is but one salve for disappointment in any or all of these cases, and in a hundred others of daily occurrence. That is, to force oneself to hold out a friendly hand to the hindrance, accepting it as a duty, and, since it is done for another, as a privilege. This is a “disconnection” of the chain of small “miseries.” When recognition of duty as a privilege becomes habitual, “disconnection” becomes “extinction.”

It is grand practice in patience – this brave conversion of an enemy into a friend. In the days when there were giants of oratory upon the earth I heard Wendell Phillips define Patience as “that passion of noble souls.” We rise to the sublime height of that passion step by step. Whenever, n the yea to come, we crush back the irritable retort; when we smile when we would rather frown; when we esteem another’s happiness or comfort a worthier object than our own personal ease; when we beat down pride, envy, unworthy ambitions – whatsoever means our brother to stumble – in short, by so much as the Mind of the Master in use prevails above self-love – we climb!

Shall we begin the ascent together, dearly beloved, the Great Family with whom I have walked in peace and mutual affection all these years?

God keep our feet in the upward way, granting us by this sure, if arduous, pass a happy New Year!

Marion Harland

The Sensible Family Picnic

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AS A preface to our familiar talk of today we will dismiss incontinently all thought of the public picnic, heralded by flaming placards, or by pulpit notices, and accompanied by national and society fags. Young eyes glisten gleefully in the prospect; graver and older folk groan in anticipation, and sigh in relief at the memory thereof. We did not mind “roughing it a bit” when we were young. In fact, there was a relishful spice of the unusual and the forbidden in the al fresco frolic that lasted all day and set at naught all the conventionalities of Sunday clothes and table manners associated with other and indoor convivialities. An old ballad sung in our grandmothers’ day invited one to “take tea in the arbour”-

With roses and posies to scent up your noses;
and lilies and billies and daffydownlillies.

The charmed visitors sough the arbour eagerly and saw the other side of the situation. Among other drawbacks to the pastoral,

A big daddy longlegs fell plump in my cup; the summer house floor was damp and the revellers caught cold, etc. When I was forty years younger, I laughed with others of the party when a New Jersey farmer from whom we had received permission to picnic on the banks of a purling stream flowing through his meadow, appeared as we were unpacking our baskets, with-

A FRIENDLY OFFER

“I say, why don’t you young folks bring all them victuals up to my house and eat them in the dining room, like Christians, where there’s no flies, and where you can set on comfortable chairs and eat out of plates? My old woman seen you from the winder, and how uncomfortable you all was, a sprawling on the damp grass, and sent me down to ask you up to the house. It shan’t cost you a cent.“
We declined civilly and gratefully, and waited until he was out of hearing before we had our laugh out.
I reminded a surviving member of the merry party the other day of the incident.
“How odd it seems now,” she said, reflexively, “to think that you and I ever enjoyed sitting on the ground and eating our luncheon out of pasteboard boxes!”
That summed up what the picnic is to her sophisticated self. I confess secretly i pack the boxes that are to thrill the soul of grandchildren with pure delight, when, in the hottest of the solstitial noontide, they will devour sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs and innumerable cookies in the woods, seated upon stumps and hummocks, spending eight hours in the open air and coming home at evening hungry as hunters, and so tired that they fall asleep as soon as their heads touch the pillows. It is weeks before the tan fades from their cheeks. The glamour of the innocent festa never leaves the memory.
For these and for sundry other reasons- all good and sufficient- I advise the family picnic to dwells in town and country. Get out of the rut at least two or three times while the prodigal summer is abroad upon he earth; set convention at defiance; forget for a few hours the claims of business, forego the attractions of cut-and-dried “functions” in the shape of indoor luncheons, dine and reception, and get at one with Mother Nature.
If the mother of the household does not “feel like going,” insist that she shall be the honoured guest of the day, the one for whom the festival is given. If there are daughters in the family, let them assume the major part of the preparations for luncheon. Do you, our loving and dutiful juniors, dream of the steady strain, the unceasing stress that housekeeping all the year round is to the faithful head of your home? When one and another remarks hastily that “mother’s appetite is falling,” and from the farther down to the youngling of the flock each taxes is invention to suggest and to pro side some delicacy that may tempt it- ices it occur to one of you that her malady may be “kitchenitis”?
By the coined word I would describe the listlessness that befalls appreciation of tempting foods when one knows, for twelve months at a time, exactly what is to be served three times a day; how it will look and taste- and smell! Give the mother a respite for one little day and let her find the lost relish for her daily fare in the out-of-door world. I am putting the girls in her place in the surprise-party that is her holiday.

Sandwiches

Are associated in the mind with picnics as firmly as sugar and cream with tea and coffee.
Cut the bread thin and either round, triangular or oblong- never square. Trim off the crusts; spread evenly with warmed butter, ad fill neatly. The filling should never project beyond the trimmed edges of the bread.

Some Fillings

1. Mince olives fine and work into cream cheese until you have a smooth paste freckled with green. Salt slightly.
2. Prepare as just directed, adding to the paste finely minced pecan-nut kernels.
3. After buttering the bread, spread rather thickly with cream cheese, and lay between the slices thus prepared a crisp leaf of lettuce dipped in French dressing. Wrap these sandwiches in tissue paper.
4. Mince cold veal or chicken, season tot sate with salt and paprika; butter the bread; cover with this mixture and lap crisp lettuce dipped in mayonnaise dressing between the filled slices.
5. Skin sardines; take out the backbone and rub the fish to a paste, adding butter and a little lemon juice. You may, if you like, add a dash of paprika. Spread between skies of bettered bread.
6. Pound the yolks of hard-boiled eggs to a powder. Rub to a paste with better, paprika and a dash of French mustard. Mince the whites of the boiled eggs as fine as possible and blend with the yolk paste. Butter thin skies of whole wheat or of graham bread and fill with this mixture.
Pack each variety of sandwich in a box of its own. Save candy boxes for this purpose. Line them with tissue paper and fold it over the contents.

Salads

Tin biscuit-boxes lined with the oiled paper that comes in candy boxes are useful for holding salads. Or you may line pasteboard cases and other green stuffs in lightly, and take e mixed dressing along in wide-mouthed bottles or in small fruit jars.
A fruit salad will be popular on a hot day. Peel and strip the white skin from the pulp of four or five oranges; separate the lobs gingerly, not tearing them, and cut each into four pieces with a sharp silver knife. Have at hand a cupful of the kernels of English walnuts which have been scalded, then left to get cold and crisp before they are cut into bits. (While they are hot, strip off the bitter skin.) Mix with the fruit and put into a glass jar with a tight top. Take along mayonnaise dressing for this.
A welcome item in the preparation for a picnic is ice. Cut a piece that will fit easily into a stout basket; wrap in canton flannel and then in several folds of newspaper. Wrap and bind tightly to exclude the air.
Finally, the oilcloth about the parcel and put into the basket. Cover all with stout paper and fit the cover upon the basket. Ice thus protected will keep eight or ten hours if the basket be not exposed to the sun. Commission a strong-armed boy to carry this, and should the journey be made by train or carriage, tuck the basket under the seat.
It is better to distribute the eatables among the party, arranged in parcels of in baskets of convenient size, than to pack all into one big hamper. If mother cannot enjoy her midday meal without her “Comfortable cup of tea,” she need not go without it. Hot-scalding hot-tea may be kept at the same temperature all day in the modern and invaluable vacuum bottle. It is not an expensive luxury and beyond price to traveler and excursionist. Hot soups, bouillon and broths may be secured at any hour of the day or night by the ingenious contrivance, and hot tea and coffee- freshly made before bottling, poured into the bottle and instantly corked and shut up in the airtight cover- will lose neither heat nor flavour in twelve hours.
Mother need not fear lest the excursion may deprive her of her tonic beverage. In a special basket may be stored tea, sugar and cream with her very own cup and saucer.
Lemonade may be made on the ground and drunk out of paper cup packed with wooden plates, paper napkins and centrepiece. It is a convenience, but not a necessity, to have also a tablecloth. But linen is heavy and one can do without other napery than what I have named. Pack the Japanese napkins in the lemonade pitcher, and in other ways economize every inch of space. A dress-suit case or two-or three-may be utilized to great advantage by our family of picnickers. They are roomy and light and attract no attention on train of trolley. Bestow your eatables at discretion within them, and let each boy assume the charge of one.
Wooden plates and paper napkins may be burned on the ground when they have served their purpose. And the suitcases may be utilized on the return trip as repositories for woodland treasures- odd fungi, roots and blossoms, oak-galls and mosses and last year’s bird rests.
Above all and before all and through all the outing maintain an cheerful spirit. Make the best of misadventures and turn disasters into jests. The perversion of the title of the frolic into “pleasure exertion” is a stale joke. It contains a biting satire upon the way some people take their pleasure. Perhaps five out of ten know how to enjoy a holiday- as such. See to it that your family outing is genuine recreation. The corn roast, games- in fact, anything to make the picnic a success is suggested. To this end don’t make a toil of what should be a delight.

Marion Harland