"Cut the meat up in pieces, put it in a saucepan with two onions, half a small cup of Scotch barley, a carrot and a turnip, a quart and pint of water and a teaspoonful and a half of salt; in an hour shred up a quarter of a cabbage and add it. Let it all simmer for two hours and a half, or until the barley is very soft."

Molly, while Marta was doing this, washed and dried the liver, cut about a dozen strips of fat pork as thick as her little finger, and with a narrow knife made many incisions through the liver and then inserted the pork. When all was done she floured it, sprinkled a little salt over it and it was ready for the oven.

When the liver was cooked-it took just half an hour in a hot oven-it was taken up, put on a hot dish and a half cup of boiling water poured into it, round the pan was a great deal of thick glaze, this was all rubbed off and dissolved in the gravy -a teaspoonful of Worcestershire sauce was added and a pinch of salt, and then the gravy was poured over the liver. The dish was a great success. Harry without an idea that it had cost but ten cents, cut it in slices a quarter of an inch thick which, where mottled with the pork and the rich brown gravy gave quite an air to the homely viand. The bisque of oysters Marta had managed very nicely and also the peach pudding, all but the foaming sauce, which Molly had shown her how to make, it was a good sauce but did not foam, the only real fault was with the croquettes, which were like sausage meat and not at all creamy. Molly made no comments at the time, knowing that a much more experienced cook often made no better, but next morning she meant to find out where the mistake was.

"Did you notice Marta that the croquettes last night were not quite right?"

"Yes, they were harder, but I went exactly by the directions."

"I want you to tell me just what you did, and then we will see where the mistake came in. You managed everything else so nicely."

Marta repeated the recipe correctly and Molly was puzzled. "Are you sure you did just as you say?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Then show me how you measured half a pint."

66

'Ah, there it is, you have really only a little more than a gill. Did you measure like that yesterday?"

Marta confessed that she had, and the puzzle was solved, and more understandable still when Molly saw what she called a tablespoonful of flour, it was really near two, for she had used the large kitchen basting spoon and used it heaped. "Now Marta, I want to tell you something. You are anxious to cook like the man cook you once knew, that is you want everything you do to turn out always right, and they will only do that by your being very exact about measuring and weighing. A teaspoonful more or less, seems a trifle, and yet it will spoil many things. Remember if you have a recipe that calls for a tablespoonful, it means just that, if the recipe is good for anything, and half a pint is exactly that measure full, not partly full.

"Gouffé, the celebrated French cook who wrote a remarkable book for other cooks, was so particular, that he explains exactly how much he means by weight when he says "a pinch of salt," and he directs one to weigh each carrot and turnip for soup, till one's eye is accustomed to the sizes."

CHAPTER XVI.

RYE BREAD-OYSTER PATTIES-KNUCKLE OF VEAL, A LA MAITRE D'HOTEL-A SAVORY DISH.

Molly knew the virtues of rye bread, and in perfection, as had she eaten it once in her life, she had enjoyed it much, it had been so sweet, so light and seemed to have the quality of

never getting stale. She knew that to some people rye bread represented a texture that cut like liver, that was sweet in flavor, but in wheaten bread would have been called heavy, and to others it was a sour, dark bread, much approved by Germans. But that rye bread need be neither of these she knew well, but she had no recipe-then she remembered Mrs. Merit and her experience, perhaps she could help her with rye bread as she was a famous economist.

She therefore paid a visit to her neighbor and after a respectable amount of small talk broached her subject.

"Rye bread! laws yes-when my family was large we had it, because it don't cost more than half as much as wheat flour does, and it's as easy to make as mush. You just make a thick batter of one-third white flour, two-thirds rye, stir in to each quart two teaspoonfuls of baking powder-and bake.

This was a new recipe to Molly and she meant to try it some day, but for the Gibbs family, she was satisfied that a properly yeast leavened bread would be more wholesome, and she therefore resolved to see what she could do. She had quite a library of cook books, but rye bread for general use did not seem to be in them. On thinking it over she couldn't see why rye bread should not be made in the same way as white. Finally she went to work to make it exactly as white bread, making a sponge with a pint of white flour and half a cake of yeast, dissolved in a pint of warm water a tablespoonful of sugar and two teaspoonfuls of salt. When this was as full of holes as honeycomb, she put to it two pints of rye flour and used as much warm water as would make all into a soft dough. She kneaded it, but began to understand why it was usually stirred, for it stuck to her hands like bird-lime, and to use flour enough to free them, would she knew spoil her bread. She worked on, regardless of stickiness, and when it was mixed divided the dough in three, put it in tins to rise and when each was double the first size, they were baked in a very moderate oven one hour.

When they were done Molly saw she had attained the secret of her friend's bread, for it was sweet, spongy, and with a tender crust. a tender crust. She kept one loaf for her own use, and sent the rest to Mrs. Gibbs, with the remains of the liver made into savory collops, as follows: It was chopped fine, and an equal quantity of bread crumbs added, a quarter teaspoonful of powdered marjoram, half one of thyme and pepper and salt, to these were put a few scraps of cold fried bacon and a little cold ham left from Wednesday morning's breakfast, both chopped fine. The mince was just moistened with broth, (from boiling down lamb bones with an onion,) and a tablespoonful of flour stirred with it. Molly then made it into three good-sized balls put them into a small, deep pan, poured in the rest of the broth, and put them to bake in the hot oven for half an hour.

It may be thought Molly was taking great trouble for Mrs. Gibbs. She knew that, and had she had it in her power to give money enough to be of substantial service to a destitute family, would not have done it. In this case as with her husband's income, she looked on her time as money, since by it she could make a little money go far. A dollar given to Mrs. Gibbs would have done little, bought bread for a week perhaps and a meal or two beside, the liver sent round to her cold, would have been eaten so, and been miserable and insufficient for a dinner, the neck of lamb the same, but by the time, not an hour after all, she had double the value of what she could give, and the bread she would make from the flour would last three times as long as bakers' bread. In addition to this she went to the house where she bought her cream, and asked what they did with their skimmed milk, and was told they made it into pot cheese when they had much, but half the time they gave it away, she then obtained a promise that they would give Mrs. Gibbs two quarts a day

if she sent for it. Being sure of milk, Molly felt that the best thing she could do now was to buy ten pounds of corn meal and send it to them for mush. This exhausted the dollar, and beyond making the bread and sending an occasional meal, to be concocted out of something that would not much enlarge her own expenses, she knew that she could do nothing, but did not despair of interesting others.

Molly did not want to let her little lecture on croquettes grow cold in Marta's mind, and therefore meant to have them again very soon. To that end she made a tour of the butcher shops in Greenfield of which there were several, in order to find, if she could, a knuckle of veal. This would kill two or three birds with one stone. Veal is not plentiful in September yet is sometimes in market, and for the knuckle she knew she would have to pay very little for in this country it is looked upon as only good for stock, while in Europe it is very choice. She was fortunate enough to get one, it was quite large, that is the meat was not cut too far down, and because of this extra size she paid twenty cents for it instead of the usual fifteen cents. She also bought a piece of salt pork, (very sweet, which she could tell by the pinkish fat,) for twenty cents, and four lambs' kidneys for breakfast for five cents. So surprised was the Greenfield butcher at her wanting them, that at first he had seemed to think they were hardly worth a price, evidently he did not know that they were quite a dainty in the fashionable markets of New York, and as Harry would not eat beef kidney, but was very fond of others, she made up her mind to have them often.

The knuckle of veal was to be boiled the next day very gently in just water enough to cover it for two hours, with a small turnip, a bay-leaf and a carrot, an onion and a bouquet of sweet herbs. The pork was to be cooked in the same water, and served to eat with the veal, which would have a rich parsley sauce poured over it, fried potatoes and fried smelts.

Molly thought it a good plan to have fried fish instead of soups or boiled fish every day when the rest of the dinner was boiled.

From the veal there would be the stock for soup and as there would be more meat than would be eaten what was left would make croquettes. She did not mean to have them for dinner so soon again, but for breakfast. The practice for Marta was what she wanted.

Molly had some "rough puff paste" which she intended to use for the oyster patties. She rolled it out half an inch thick, then with a biscuit cutter cut several rounds, these she put one on another three deep, and on each pressed a smaller biscuit cutter half way through. She had cut twelve rounds of paste, which made four patties, (three rounds or layers to the patty) and each had a circle (cut with a small cutter) on the top layer. These were put on a baking tin and brushed over with a feather dipped in white of egg, and put in the oven which was very hot yet not likely to scorch. To try the heat Molly put in her hand and began to count seconds, when she had counted twenty she was forced to take out her hand, and knew the oven was right.

about the consistency of the cream filling, used for cream cakes or èclairs.

By this time the patties were baked. They were more than three inches high, and after they had been out of the oven a short time, Molly carefully removed the centre of the top layer, marked out with the small cutter and laid it aside, for it was the cover of the patty, then with a small coffee spoon, she scooped out the half-cooked paste from the centre, and then replaced the top. They were now ready to be filled but as they would have to be made hot for dinner she did not fill them, as the paste would be burnt up before the inside would be warm, she therefore directed Marta to stand the oysters in boiling water a few minutes before serving them and keep them stirred, and to put the patty cases in the oven at the same time, let them get thoroughly heated, and when both were hot, to put the oyster filling in them with a spoon. Molly gave these directions for the moral effect, but having strong suspicions that Marta would be unequal to such neat-handed work and might cover the outside of the patties with the filling, saw to that part herself before going to the table.

-Catherine Owen.

[In the next number Molly and Harry decide to join the Dramatic Club. Marta makes croquettes, broiled lamb kidneys for breakfast. Mrs. Lenóx is startled.]

A PERFECT CUP OF COFFEE.

Coffee is the fine issue of Eastern hospitality-the climax of the visit. One recognizes, on entering, the sound of the coffee mortar; for in every properly regulated household in the East, the coffee is not ground, but pounded to an impalpable powder, having been roasted that morning, each day its provision and pounded the moment it is needed. And no one who has not drunk it there and thus can presume to judge of the beverage. In England we roast it till it is black; grind it as we would cattle food, boiling it like malt for beer, and, when we drink the bitter and unromantic fluid which remains, say we have taken our coffee. The Eastern coffee drinker knows all the grades of berry and preparations as a silk merchant knows the quality of silk. The caffejee knows that to roast it a shade beyond the point where it breaks crisply under the pestle, is to spoil it, and when the slow pulverizing is done, each measure goes into its little copper ibrik; receives its dose of boiling water; just one of the tiny cups full rests an instant on the coals to restore the heat lost in the ibrik, and is poured into the egg shell cup, and so it came to us, each cup in a gold enamelled holder. The rule in these lands seems to be that few things are worth doing, but these few are worth doing well, and there is no waste of life or material by over haste.—Pall Mall Gazette.

An Atlanta lady who is an excellent housekeeper, and whose coffee has been praised time over time, gives the following as the 66 'It is rules and regulations for making that delightful beverage : an easy matter to have good coffee. In the first place, the coffee must be kept in an air-tight canister, and must be of a good quality, and be ground as is needed. The coffee pot must be kept scrupulously neat, and must be kept in the sunshine, whenever there is any sunshine. The tea-kettle in which the water is boiled must also be kept clean, and fresh water must be used for making the coffee. The amount of coffee used must be bounteous, else the product will have a limp taste, and will fail to give satis

The yolk was just what was needed for the oysters, she strained them from the sauce, which she put on to boil then when quite boiling and smooth, she dropped the oysters in, (it will be remembered they had not been more than scalded yesterday,) and in about two minutes they were firm yet not shrunken. She took them from the fire and stirred in the yolk of an egg already whipped with a teaspoonful of the cold sauce. They were thick before but immediately became thicker as the heat cooked the egg, and the sauce was now

into a clean pot and fresh boiling water is poured on and the coffee is allowed to boil a while, good coffee is the result. At our home we make coffee extra strong; use about a third of a cup of good fresh milk, with the cream on it, and it is delightful. It is far different from much of the alleged coffee that a combination of stinginess and carelessness forces helpless people to drink." The lady is right. Eternal vigilance is the price of good coffee.Atlanta Constitution.

IN families well ordered there is always one firm, sweet temper, which controls without seeming to dictate. The Greeks represented Persuasion as crowned.-Bulwer 1 ytton.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

HOW TO HELP IN SICKNESS AND ACCIDENT. WITH HELP THAT SHALL BE SOMETHING MORE THAN A HINDRANCE.

V.

UNCONSCIOUSNESS (continued).

HE simplest kind of animal of which we have any knowledge, has for a body merely a little lump of a jellylike substance which has received the name protoplasm. This protoplasm is a clear, slightly granular, semi-fluid jelly, which possesses in greater or less degree all the properties characteristic of living things. Such an animal has no head, or limbs; no mouth or stomach. It has no protecting skin, and can live only in water, since the drying action of the air kills it. When it desires to move from place to place it pushes out a portion of its substance in the direction in which it wishes to move, and then gradually causes the rest of its substance to flow into that projection until finally its whole body has been transferred to the new position; when, by a repetition of the process, it takes another step, and so laboriously works its way along. When it comes in contact with a particle of food, it causes its substance to flow around it until it is completely enveloped; then a slow process of digestion and absorption takes place, the undigestible portions being cast away when the meal is finished, by the unwrapping of the animal's body. When the animal attains a certain size and maturity, it assumes an hour-glass form, the constriction in the center becoming greater, until at last the two halves are entirely separated from each other and the single animal has become divided into two animals exactly alike, each of which now pursues a separate existence like that of the single parent.

Such a simple animal as we have described is called a unicellular animal, since its body cannot be regarded as made up of a number of similar component parts, but is composed of a single cell which, in turn, performs the part of a locomotory apparatus, a stomach and digestive system, and, finally, perpetuates the species by dividing into two individuals. But its powers of locomotion are slow and imperfect, its ability to catch food uncertain, and its digestion tedious. It is powerless to defend itself from untoward circumstances; heat, cold and dryness alike destroy its life. Escape from enemies is impossible. Yet despite all these unlucky deficiencies, in this uni-cellular animal reside all the mysteries of life. It is as thoroughly alive as the most complex organism in the highest ranks of the animal kingdom.

As we ascend the scale, from the lower to the higher animals, we find their bodies built on a more and more complex plan. Instead of a single cell-a single little mass of protoplasm-they are composed of multitudes of such cells, which have acquired certain differing shapes and properties, and perform different duties. It is as though a number of cells had associated to form a community in which each cell labors for the good of all.

In order to do this to the best advantage the cells are divided into groups, each group having certain duties to perform. Thus one group assumes the duty of protecting all the rest, and becomes converted into a tough, pliable skin enveloping the body. Another group attends to the locomotion of the whole society, and its cells take the form of minute muscular threads, which associate to form the muscles of the body. Still another group becomes modified to carry on the digestion of food and the absorption of nutriment. Every process

that goes on in the body has its group or groups of appropriately formed and trained cells, and, over all the others, one important group, forming the brain, spinal cord and nerves, presides, directing and controlling their activities.

In proportion as the cells composing these various groups become perfectly fitted to carry on their special duties, they lose the versatility which distinguishes the primitive cell forming the uni-cellular animal. They become able to do their own work exceedingly well, but are unable to do any other sort of work. While the cell of the uni-cellular animal is a Jack-of-all-trades, the cells of the higher animals are master-workmen whose energies are so entirely devoted to one occupation that they are unable to act in any other capacity. The division of labor which we have just described, necessitates a power of communication between the co-operating groups of cells. This communication is of two kinds: First, transmission of ideas, and second, transfer of material. The means of communicating ideas, as we have already learned, resides in the nervous system. To take a very simple illustration: Suppose the skin of the hand telegraphs to the brain, "pain." If it be an urgent message, the brain telegraphs to the muscles of the arm, "pull away the hand," but if the message indicates but slight pain, the brain may direct the eye towards the hand to gain further information. Suppose the eye reports, "mosquito;" the brain quickly sends a vengeful order to the muscles of the opposite arm, and down comes the retributive hand upon the unsuspecting insect.

The circulation of the blood furnishes the means for the transfer of material from one group of cells to another. From the digestive organs the blood receives the prepared nutriment derived from the food and conveys it to all parts of the body. From its stream the cells of the other groups (organs) take such substances as they stand in need of to maintain their integrity, and into its stream they discharge the waste products of their growth and activity.

Being a common carrier subserving so many organs having such various requirements, the blood necessarily has a complex composition, and to maintain that composition within normal limits of variation, certain groups of cells are fashioned into organs which purify and renew the blood. Among these organs are the lungs, kidneys, liver and skin. The two former are the most important purifying organs. The liver is a storehouse in which some of the substances derived from the food are stored and elaborated, to be gradually given out to the blood as occasion requires. The skin plays a subordinate part, but sometimes vicariously assumes some of the duties of one of the other purifying organs when the latter is overtaxed.

In the lungs, the gaseous waste-products which the blood. has brought from the organs of the body, are discharged into the air, and the atmospheric gas oxygen, which is one of the substances demanded by the tissues, is taken up. In the kidneys a number of solid waste-products, together with considerable water are abstracted from the blood. Thus, through the agency of the lungs and kidneys, and to some extent also through that of the liver, all the undesirable gaseous, liquid and solid substances are eliminated from the blood, and the uniform characters of that fluid preserved.

When, for any reason, these eliminating organs fail to act as they should, the blood becomes altered. The effete substances thrown into it by the cells of the body accumulate, circulating through the body and bathing all its tissues. These used-up compounds are not only useless, but are positively injurious. When they accumulate in the blood beyond a certain degree, they impede and finally arrest altogether the activity of the cells of the body. The blood becomes poisonous.

The brain, which is one of the most delicately constituted organs of the body, is among the first to suffer from the depraved condition of the blood, and the manner in which it is affected depends upon the cause and, therefore, the nature and degree of the poisoning, and the rapidity with which the poison accumulates in the blood. Such is a general statement of the conditions which obtain in this species of bloodpoisoning. There are other ways in which the blood may become contaminated, but they do not now concern us. Our next step must be the consideration of the causes which lead to an inadequate action of the different blood-purifying organs. Let us first consider the lungs.

The proper action of the lungs may be impeded or prevented in two kinds of ways. First, by some cause which materially checks the entrance and exit of the air, such as choking, smothering, drowning, laughing, etc., or, secondly, such great pollution or impoverishment of the air that it is rendered unfit for the regeneration of the blood. In all these cases the sufferer is said to be in a condition of asphyxia.

The obvious aim of treatment in this condition is to purify the blood by the introduction of pure air into the lungs, and the consequent expulsion of the noxious gases from the circulation. The discussion of the means by which this is to be accomplished must be deferred to the next chapter. -Medicus.

Collected for GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

WISE WORDS ABOUT WOMEN.

The excellent woman is she who, if the husband dies, can be a father to his children.-Goethe.

Marriage is a lottery, in which men stake their liberty and women their happiness.-Mme. de Rieux.

Nothing does so much honor to a woman as her patience, and nothing does her so little as the patience of her husband.--Joubert.

The reason why so few marriages are happy is because young ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages.Swift.

Stories first heard at a mother's knee are never wholly forgotten -a little spring that never quite dries up in our journey through scorching years.-Ruffini.

God has set the type of marriage everywhere throughout the creation. Each creature seeks its perfection in another. The very heavens and earth picture it to us.-Luther.

Let no man value at a little price a virtuous woman's counsel; her winged spirit is feathered oftentimes with heavenly words, and, like her beauty, ravishing and pure.-Chapman.

Oh, if the loving, closed heart of a good woman should open before a man, how much controlled tenderness, how many veiled sacrifices and dumb virtues, would be seen reposing there.-Richter.

Good dressing includes a suggestion of poetry. One nowhere more quickly detects sentiment than in dress. A well dressed woman in a room should fill it with poetic sense, like the perfume of a flower.-Miss Oakey.

The most fascinating women are those that can most enrich the every-day moments of existence. In a particular and attaching sense, they are those that can partake of our pleasures and our pains in the liveliest and most devoted manner. Beauty is little without them; with it, she is indeed triumphant.-Leigh Hunt.

How has a little wit, a little genius, been celebrated in a woman! What an intellectual triumph was that of the lovely Aspasia, and how hastily acknowledged! She, indeed, met a Pericles, but what annalist, the rudest of men, the most plebeian of husbands, will spare from his page one of the few anecdotes of Roman womenSappho, Eloisa?-Margaret Fuller Ossoli.

Mighty is the force of motherhood! It transforms all things by its vital heat; it turns timidity into fierce courage, and dreadless defiance into tremulous submission; it turns thoughtlessness into foresight, and yet stills all anxiety into calm content; it makes selfishness become self-denial, and gives even to hard vanity the glance of admiring love.-George Eliot.

Original in GoOD HOUSEKEEPING. SOMETHING ABOUT HOME DECORATION. - CHIEFLY How NOT To Do IT.

HE subject of Home Decoration covers so great a variety of topics and addresses itself to persons in such varied circumstances, that the field for suggestion seems inexhaustible. GOOD HOUSEKEEPING has given many valuable directions, but most of them demand for their success positive artistic talent in the decorator, which all do not possess. There is no difficulty in procuring, for money, not only beautiful adornings of every sort for the luxurious home, but even the taste which will assure the harmony of their arrangement, since there are many true artists in decoration whose services can be obtained to direct those who doubt their own judgment. But the number to whom this is possible is comparatively small, while in almost every home there is a desire for some decoration,-something to beautify the scene of every-day life and make less dreary the routine of household work. This finds expression, in many cases, in really pretty and original methods of ornamentation, but too often the untrained taste, seeking for something to break the monotony of bare walls and dingy furniture, copies blindly the errors of the neighbors, or produces from the materials at hand some harsh, glaring effect, which is worse than the original dinginess.

So many suggestions for methods of cheap decoration find their way into print, addressed to those who have very plain homes and who are out of the way of knowing what is really good, that the need seems rather to be of hints what to avoid. While trying to adorn, it should be remembered that even severe plainness is better than bad ornament. The walls of a room and its floor are the points which are most conspicuous, and therefore most need to be saved from too brilliant coloring and too conspicuous patterns. If bare white walls or those covered with ugly paper confront us, they may be remedied at small expense by tinting with a soft, delicate color, some neutral tint being the safest to attempt; or there are to be found, almost everywhere, wall papers at low prices in small indistinct patterns and subdued colors which are even pretty in themselves and which give warmth and tone to the room; or the plain, coarse gray paper, which makes so excellent a background for pictures, is available, so that it seems almost wrong to weary the eye and brain of the tenants of a room with the gaudy, obtrusive papers so often used.

If the white walls or the ugly paper cannot be changed, let us not increase the ugliness by putting patches of brilliant color in any form of ornament upon them. Even the Japanese fans, which are so popular that one hardly dares utter a protest against them, do not always beautify. They may, indeed, if judiciously and moderately used on a plain, dull colored wall, make a pleasant relief to the eye, or a frieze composed of them is sometimes good. Still, we hope their day is over and that they are passing away from even the remotest farmhouse walls.

There would seem to be an idea among many persons that anything that can be called a picture, especially if painted in oils, is necessarily good and desirable. How else can we account for the existence of picture factories, where canvasses are painted by the hundred, as fast as the paint can be laid on, and with as little regard to design as a house painter would use, and where the frames are as rapidly constructed and added, and the pictures turned out upon the public. We recall a room where the owner had been persuaded to build a charming great fire-place, over which some simple, irregular

shelves were placed, ready for bits of old china or a few books. But the voice of the neighborhood declared that a painting ought to fill the space over the fire-place. So the unpretending shelves were replaced by a large, gaily-colored and wonderfully impossible landscape which, with its impressive gilt frame fully satisfied the owner. Good pictures, either paintings or engravings, are an unfailing source of pleasure and most desirable possessions. But to secure them requires taste, judgment and money,-which are not at the command of every one. The photographs of good pictures, or even the wood-cuts which are now found in the best illustrated papers and magazines, may be simply framed and serve a better purpose than more pretentious but poorer pictures.

The wood work in ordinary rooms is best if it can be finished with oil and varnish, without paint. If, however, it needs paint, the tints should harmonize with the walls and the use of too many colors should be avoided. White is sometimes most suitable, although the constant care of keeping it clean is a drawback, but graining is inexcusable and ought to be carefully avoided.

Window curtains of white muslin or scrim can nearly always be safely used, and there are so many good materials of heavier quality that there is no excuse for the glaring stuffs that often offend the eye. The same may be said of carpets. Let the huge figures and bunches of flowers in brilliant colors, which were the fashion forty or fifty years ago, be left to fill the carpet stores, if they must be manufactured. There are pretty designs and subdued, yet rich colors, even in the cheapest qualities of carpets, which are within reach of all who want carpets. The present fashion of bare floors, stained or painted, if the wood requires the finish, with rugs or squares cf carpet only, makes the problem of furnishing the house far simpler. It has so much to recommend it in the way of cleanliness and economy, both of money and labor, that it ought to be a permanent fashion.

The question of furniture can hardly be entered upon here beyond insisting still upon simplicity of style and color. But the question of how not to do it, in decoration, is most open to discussion when we consider the subject of fancy work as applied to such decoration. Fancy work is a method of expression to many women. It affords relief by diverting their thoughts into a new channel, away from the petty trials of every-day toil, and gives an outlet to such artistic feeling as the maker possesses. A great deal of beautiful work of various kinds is done even by those who know nothing of the results of the best trained skill, but there is also an enormous amount of time, labor and eyesight wasted on productions which are meant to be beautiful, but which are positively bad.

Embroidery of all sorts offers great attractions for the workers, while it requires much skill and knowledge to arrive at desirable results. No form of decoration is more beautiful and satisfactory than this when well done, and none is oftener abused. One of the first requirements for a good embroiderer is skill with the needle in plain sewing. The girl who cannot sew a seam properly may learn to embroider, but she will not learn with half the ease, nor will she work as neatly as the good sewer. Then comes the necessity of the best patterns, colors and materials. There are good hand-books on these subjects from which many stitches can be readily acquired. It is better to learn from the best authorities in books than to imitate blindly any fashion that may happen to prevail in one's vicinity. So the money is better spent in good, though expensive materials, for one piece of really artistic work than in trash enough to fill the house. So, too, with decorative design in painting, either on textile fabrics or on china. One is called on to admire so many hideous pieces of decoration that never would have been attempted if the art had been

=

properly studied. Of the higher forms of drawing and painting it ought not to be necessary to speak. Only good instruction, on right principles, can lead to even tolerable work in these. Painting bad pictures is even worse than buying them; no amateur ought to trust to her own taste and skill without adding knowledge to the list. Leisure time may be spent more profitably in studying the subject of art from good sources, aided, of course, by seeing good pictures and decoration when possible, than in making crude attempts of one's own.

We return again to the statement that bad decoration of any kind is worse than none. A crazy quilt made of worn, soiled pieces of silk thrown together without regard to harmony of color is not better than a plain white bed-spread, even though the stitches in the crazy quilt may be counted by the thousands. The various societies of Decorative Art, of which that of New York is the largest in this country, are formed to develop and diffuse the knowledge of the best principles of decoration. They gladly help those who care to learn, some of them having lending libraries whose books are sent to any distance on application for them. The societies have the best of patterns and materials for work, carefully chosen from foreign and domestic sources, or they will give advice in selection. They may not be accessible to all who would be benefited by a personal inspection of their work and methods, but they are always ready to do what is possible by means of letters.

It is desirable to keep to the simplest sorts of fancy work rather than to fail in more ambitious ones; it is better to have one's house plain and simple than to disfigure it with unsuccessful attempts at decoration. At least no eye will then be pained by bad results, and one's own taste will not deteriorate instead of improve.

Original in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

PEGASUS BOUND.

-Henrietta Davis.

Without, my winged steed has waited long,
His tuneful cadence wooing me to flight;
While I, within, have checked the answering song,
That woke to greet him morn, noon and night.
One morn, it was the glory of the day,

The wondrous beauty of our tropic flowers;
My soul to measures sweet had danced away,
But darning stockings filled my weary hours.
One noon, the ringing chime of village bells,

To mem'ry brought the "Angelus "--sweet and low; While through my heart the throbbing echo swells, The weekly baking bids Pegasus go.

At eve, with soul subdued to minor strain,
By floating fleece of sunset-tinted sky-
O! ne'er will breath such day of love again--
As baby interrupted with her cry.

And yet again Pegasus' melting voice

Came rippling in with mock-bird's native glee: Ah, not in song did my full heart rejoice,

But matin ham and eggs for empty three. Deep inspiration touched my longing mind, When bower, and shrub, and vine and fragrant bloom, Grew haunts, where fairies might fit dwellings find, Beneath the warm smile of a southern moon.

I flew to fix in some melodious rhyme

The thoughts poetic that my bosom thrilled;

I struck a light-a voice came up the wind:

"Put out that light! the house with bugs is filled!"

Poor patient Peg! still faithful spite of all!

I love thee most, when I caress the least.
When may I fly at thy persuasive call?
Or, in my turn invite thee, gentle beast?

-Trebor Ohl.