Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, June 07, 1854, Image 1

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T , ol . B'naAla.
Mast how every thing has changed
• Since I was sweet sixteen,
When all the girls wore homespun frocks,
And aprons nice and clean ;
With bonnets made of braided straw,'
That tied beneath the chin,
The shamil laid neatly on the neck,
And fastened with . a pin.
I recollect the timo when I
Rode father's horse to mill,
Across the meadow's rock and field,
And up and down the hill;
And when our folks were out at work,
(As sore as I'm a sinner,)
I jumped upon a horse, bareback,
And carried them their dinner.
Dear me I young ladies, now-a•days,
Would almost faint away
To think of riding' all alone
In wagqm chaise or sleigh ;
And as fop giving "pa" his meal;
Or helping "ma" to hake,
Oh. saints! 'twould spoil her lily hands,
Though sometimes they may cake!
When winter came, the maiden's heart
Began to beat and flutter;
Each beau would take his sweetheart out
Sleighing in a cutter;
Or, if the storm was bleak and cold,
The girls and beaux together
Would meet and have most glorious fun,
And never mind the weather.
But now, indeed, it grieves me much
The circumstance to mention,
However kind the young man's heart,
And honest his intention,
He never asks the girls to ride
But such a war is waged!
And if he sees her once a week,
Why, surely, "they're engaged!"
From Godey's Lady's Book.
"Yon must have help, that is certain," said
Mr. Harding as he laid a letter which he had
been reading upon the breakfast•table, and be
gan to sip his coffee. "With all this company
upon your hands, and warm weather coming
on, it would be madness for you to try to get
along alone."
"That is true," sighed Mrs. Harding; "but
the question is, where to get it. The whole
vicinity has been searched over and over, and
there is not a girl to be had."
"One must be had," replied her husband, in
a determined tone. "Eight or ten visitors,
more or less, for the summer, would kill you
outright." And he cast a troubled glance at
the pale face and slender form of his wife.
"Well, how shall we get help then?" asked
Mrs. Harding, half laughing in the midst of her
vexation. "The days are gone by when girls
apply for places."
"Yes, there is no way but to go after them.
If my troublesome rheumatism would just leave
me for a few days, you should have two girls.
But as it is, wife, I see no way but for you to
go yourself; with Walter for driver."
Mrs. Harding laughed to think how she would
look driving about the country for "help," and
would almost have preferred to try her hand
alone; but her husband's troubled counynance
and the necessities of the case decided her, and
she said—
"I have almost no faith in the undertaking,
but am willing to try, and if I fail I shall be no
worse off than now. But where shall Igo I"
Mr. Harding thought a moment, and then
"I have beard that there are girls enough on
Succumbs Plains."
"How far is that?''
"Only twelve or fifteen miles. It is only
four or five miles from Cousin Harriman's."
"Oh, that will be nice!" exclaimed Mr,
Harding, well pleased with the suggestion. "I
will spend the night with Cousin Clarissa, and
start from there in the morning."
Alter dinner, the same day, Walter brought
the carriage round to the front door, and Mrs.
Harding started oft', infinitely amused with her
errand, though with uo very sanguine hopes of
igasess. The next morning Mrs. Harriman
igt , . her guests an early breakfast, and by 7
i i!"lock they were ready to commence their
kw* It WM a lowly morning id early June.
I,lt -'-'ilit.tiligDolit
The sun had not been up long enough to kiss
the glistening dew from the grass, and the
thousand gangsters of grove and forest had not
quite finished their matin song. Everything
looked bright with hope; and hope beat higher,
a great deal higher in Mrs. Harding's breast
then it had done the day before. The whole
world looked so beautiful that it seemed almost
wicked to doubt, and they rode on over the re
tired hills towards Seecombe Plains, feeling al
most as sure of the "bird" as though they had
her "in hand."
After riding two or three miles, they np•
proached a small unpainted cottage which stood
upon a very high bank upon the right. -A sin
gle glance showed them that two or three men
were at the back door, evidently just starting
for the fields.
"Stop when yarn get against the house, Wnl.
ter; I mean to inquire here," said Mrs. Harding,
as they drew near. Bat the next moment two
of the men disappeared round the corner of the
shed, while the third, n very oily.lookine man,
with en enormous width of collar, came leisure.
ly along in front of the house.
"Do you know where I could find a girl to do
housework, sir?" asked Mrs. Harding, leaning
forward in her carriage, and addressing the
"Wel. yes," said he of the broad collar; "I've
got darter'd be glad to go; but she ain't home.
She went to work to the Falls last week, but
she ain't a gwine to May but three or four
weeks, If she was to home, she'd be glad to
go . "
"Do you know of any others whn go out ?"
said Mrs. Harding. who thought there was but
little prospect of getting bis daughter Sally.
"Not as I know, on," said Mr. of the broad
collar. "Youcouldn't wait three or four weeks,
I s'pose."
"No," was the reply; and she laid her hand
upon Walter's arm, as a signal to drive on.
"We come pretty near getting a girl that
time," said Walter. laughing.
"Quite as near as was best for us. It is well
that Sally is gone, I dare say, replied his mo
ther, with a smile.
Patient toiling brought them at last op a
long, rugged hill, upon the other side of which
spread out Seccombe Plains.
"Here is a house; shall we inquire here?"
said Walter, pointing to a rude little house or
hovel which stood upon the hilltop, upon a
level spot which was covered with large granite
boulders and unsightly brush.
"Yes," said his mother, as she espied a man
coming round the corner of the house. "It
can do no harm to inquire."
"Can you tell me of any girls in the vicinity
who go out to work ?'' sung out Mrs. Harding
to the slovenly-looting man, who bad no idea
of drawing nearer.
"What? I didn't hear."
The question was repeated, and the sound of
a stranger's voice brought three or four bare
footed, uncombed juveniles to the door, and the
mother's head to the window.
"Cart you tell this woman where she can find
a gal to do housework ?" said the man, ad
dressing his better half.
"Why, yes; there's gals enough, but I can't
seem to think ou 'em," said the woman, with a
perplexed look. "P'raps she could get one of
Sraithson's gals. He has got two that go out
to work."
"Would they make good help?" asked Mrs.
"Fast rate. One on 'em worked for me a
spell last winter, and site did well."
Mrs. Harding thought that was no great re
commendation but she simply thanked her, and
asked if she could tell of any others.
"Wel, I don't think ot• .y; but there's
enough on 'em a heeds farther on, at Maple
"How far is that ?"
"Six miles beyond the Plains."
Mrs. Harding thanked her informer, and they
drove on down the long steep hill, at the foot
of which lay the insignificant village of Sec
combo Plains.
"We have beard of one girl, mother," said
Walter, looking very bright. "Perhaps she
will be just the one for us."
"Perhaps so." said Mrs. Harding, doubtfully.
"We shall feel pretty grand if we can carry
back a good girl."
Mrs. Harding laughed, and said something
about "counting chickens before they were
hatched;" but just then they found themselves
at the foot of the long hill, and directly opposite
a low farm house, the mistress of which was
out, broom in hand, sweeping the little foot
path which led to the road.
Mrs. Harding inquired if she knew of any
girls for housework.
"Where do you . trt 'em to go?" asked the
woman, whose curiosity Wes at once awakened.
"Only about fifteen miles," was the evasive
"Well, I don't know of any," replied the wo
man looking a little disappointed. "I don't
think there's such a thing to be had anywhere
round here."
"I was told that Mr. Smithson has daughters
who go out to work."
"Well, you couldn't git 'em, I know. They
go a little right round here, but they wouldn't
go off so far. Their folks wouldn't hear a word
let," said the woman, with a flourish of her
"Will you have the kindness to tell me where
they live? I think I will try them."
"Oh, yes, I'll do that 1 You must go bark to
the saddler's shop, and then turn square round
to your left, and it is the
„first house on the
"How far is it ?"
"I should say about a mile and a half, or
such a matter. It's the third house on the
r Mrs. Harding expressed her thanks, and old
Dobbin was whirled round the corner instanter,
and they were in full pursuit of the Smitlisons.'
"Here's the house, mother; this is the third,"
• sold Walt,, as thm• ray, in gif ,, tl,t. of a eon,
$1 25
1 50
2 50
fortable looking farm house, which stood upon
quite a bloff upon the right. Everything about
the premises looked very neat. The bright
green grass grew clear up to the front door of
the cottage, which, with the closed cnrtains in
the "forenoon," gave a particularly staid, go•to
mecting•like aspect to the front. A narrow
footpath wound round to the back door, which
was evidently the only approved mode of en
trance. Mrs. Harding al:ghted and took the
well-worn path to the back door, and knocked.
"Come it)," called oat a shrill voice within.—
Obeying the summons, she caw before her a
very tidy-looking matron, with a very white
bleached cotton cap upon her head, holding in
her band a lace or muslin article of the same
sort, which she was spatting and pulling, evi
dently with the intention of "doing it op." The
aspect of the kitchen was very inviting. The
morning, work was all out of the way, and the
polished stove and very white unpainted floor
were really charming.
"I have called to see if one of your daughters
would go oat to work," said Mrs. Harding,
with' hope fast rising in her breast, for she felt
that she had at last come to the right place.
"Well, I don't know; they go out sometimes.
Where do you want them to go?" asked the
woman, with a glance cf curiosity at the strap•
Mrs. Harding mentioned the name of the
town and the distance, adding that she should
have a large family through the season, and
wished some one to cook and do general work.
"I don't know what they'll say to it. They
can do as they've a mind to. Bat they ain't
good for much, nohow," said the mother, who
continued to spat and pull her muslin vigor.
"How old are they ?"
"The oldest is seventeen this month, and
t'other is two years younger."
At this moment the door opened, and in
walked is coarse overgrown girl, munching a
piece of pie, and staring boldly at the stranger.
"Do you want to go out to work, Emeline ?
Here's a woman thiewants you," said the
mother, the moment she mode her appearance.
"Yes," said the girl, in coarse tones, without
relaxing her stare.
Mrs. Harding's heart sank within her. She
saw, at a glance. that the great, coarse, unman
nered girl would be more care than help. She
hardly knew how to make an honorable retreat
in the case; hot after n slight cross•examination
of the capabilities of the girl, she expressed her'
belief that she was too young for her hard
work, and bowed herself out, tearing bruit
mother and daughter looking quite disconcert
"Is she going?" whispered Walter, as his
mother approached the carriage.
A shake of the head answered him.
"Oh, dear, where shall we go now ?"
°Straight before us. Walter; you must not
give up for trifles," said his mother, laughing
good hemoredle, notwithstanding the uneasi
ness that was creeping upon her own heart.
“Where?" said Walter, still desponding.
"I don't know; we'll see. Don't you know
that we are out seelcing our fortunes, Wally?"
They drove on, and soon met an elderly
looking man in a rickety old wagon, drawn by
a limping gray horse.
"Can you tell me, sir," said Mrs. Harding,
laying her hard upon Walter's nrm as a sign
to stop, "where I ean'find a girl to do house
work ?"
"That is a pretty difficult thing to find
ma'am," replied the old man, in a respectful
tone. "Let me see," and he looked down for
a moment, thoughtfully. "Yes, there's Susan
Lovejoy you might get, and she would make
good help. She is a first rate girl."
"How old is she?" inquired Mrs. Harding,
as the vision of the coarse girl munching her
pie flitted before her. •
"Oh, she's old enough," replied the man,
with a smile, "she's old enou,ih. I should think
she might be thirty or thereabouts. They call
her one of the best.
Away they went over the hills, some three
or four miles. and at leneth old Dobbin was
reined op before Mr. Lovejoy's door. It was a
substantial looking farm house set in the midst
of a green field surrounded by a stone wall, its
only opening being a formidable fern, yard
gate. fastened to a post by a piece of rope. The
premises were guarded by a noisy dog, who
rushed out the moment he heard the sound of
wheels, and ran barking towards the carriage.
Mrs. Harding, however, pushed open the gate,
and quickly made her way to the house. A
pale, fresh looking matron was hustling about
the kitchen; and standing at a spinning-wh.el,
near the door, was a girl in a tidy looking dark
calico, whom she knew, at a glance, was the
object of her search.
She at once made known her errand.
"Oh, no," was the response of the girl;
couldn't possibly go. I dou't see who ever
thought I would."
"I was recommended to come here," replied
Mrs. Harding, who liked the looks of the girl,
and was determined to plead her cause with
all her might. "I was told that you went out,
and very likely would go now."
"Who told you so?"
"An old gentleman whom I met threo or
four miles buck."
"With a gray limping horse?
"Yea, I should think so."
"It must have been old Mr. Cartwright, mo•
ther; I don't see what made bins think so." •
"Could I not induce you to go ?" asked Mrs.
Harding, bringing her back to the maims point,
nod entering very fully into the circumstances
of the family. "1 will give you good wages.—
Two dollars a week, it you so."
"Well, J couldn't go nohow. They can't
spare nue."
• "Could mot you go for a few weeks?" asked
Mrs. Harding, anxiously. "Six or eight weeks
would do me a great deal of good. You shall
he well paid, if yuu will go. You may set your
own price."
"Nn, T poribly 70." the girl,
with a tantalizing smile. "I ain't obliged to
work out, and I can't go."
Mrs. Harding looked and felt disappointed.
• but she mode her way out, not knowing where
to go. She felt that she was on a hopeless er
rand, and was half disposed to turn her face
homeward. But, on second thought, she con
cluded to try a little longer, and they rode on,
making fruitless inquiries here and there. At
length she recollected that some one had told
her that there were plenty of girls in Mapleton.
In an instent, old Dobbin was headed that way,
despite Walter's sinking spirits, and they rode
along drinking in the perfume of a thousand
flowers, and charmed into something like hope
by the harmonies which float upon the breezes
of early summer.
"I will inquire here," said Mrs. Harding, as
they neared an old fashioned house some two
or three miles beyond the Plains; and, suiting
the action to the word, she sprang lightly from
the carriage and ran op to the door and knock
ed. After knocking till her fingers were sore, for
neither hell nor knocker graced the panel, she
heard steps of some one who came stubbing
leisurely along to the door. The face which
presented itself was coarse and greasy, and the
untidy dress of the owner strongly suggestive
of yellow snuff.
"Do you know of any girls for housework T'
mid Mrs. Harding, hardly expecting any avail
able information.
"Don't b'leve there's such thing to be found
in ten mile. Folks can't nit gals when they're
sick. and dun no where well folks con find 'em.
S'peet they'll have to do their own work; at
any rate, they orte."
"But well people sometimes have more work
than they can do, and then they need help,"
returned Mrs. Harding, in a tone of remon
"Wal, gals round here won't go where they're
looked down on. They'd rather do sumthin'
else than work for folks that's too grand to eat
with them," said the woman, with a look which
indicated that she thought the stranger one of
the arillocracy.
"Then you cannot tell me of any one?" in
terrupted 11Irs. Harding, intending to cut short
the uncivil harangue.
"No; not unless Betty Symonds would go;
hut, then, she wouldn't, I know," replied the
woman, who seemed a little softened, now that
she had given vent to her spleen against the
"grand folks."
"And where does she live?" asked Mrs. Har
ding, who, like a "drowning man caught at ev
ery straw."
"Up 't the next housen; but she won't go; I
know as well as I want to, canamost."
Mrs. Harding was soon ushered into Betty
Symonds's best parlor. It was a long narrow
room, with two small windows, and partially
carpeted with bits of rag carpeting and large
braided mats of domestic manufacture. A.
white homespun towel covered the stand be
tween the windows, upon which stood a crack
ed tea-pot, oven which straggled long branches
of petunia, which were under the necessity of
lying down because there was nothing to hold
them up.
Betty was soon heard approaching, and she
came in dressed in quite a striking manner.—
Her gay, largedigured calico was decorated
with three deep flounces. Large gold ear•rings
were in her ears, and rings, which glowed with
great yellow and red stones, adorned the hands
which were damp with dishwater. To Mrs.
Harding's inquiry she replied, in loud tones—
"I don't kalkilate to work oat. I ain't oblee•
ged ten. And I mean to go to Boston a visit•
ing soon as haying is over."
Great es were Mrs. Harding's necessities,
she frit little inclined to urge Betty Symonds
to live with her, end on they were soon jogging
towards Mapleton. _
"Where are you going now, mother?" asked
Walter, looking quite blue.
"Oh, I don't know, Wally. lam almost dis
"Do let us go home, mother; we shall not
find a good girl."
"We may; we will try a little longer," said
Mrs. Harding, trying to be cheerful.
As they rode into Mapleton village, they met
man of whom Mrs. Harding ventured to in
. .
"Oh, there nre girls enough," he replied,
cheerfully. "You've just come by a house
where there are three."
"How far hack is it?" naked Mrs. Harding,
"Oh, a mile or so. You can see it from here,
just beyond that hemlock grove," said the man,
pointing back.
Dobbin was again turned, and put in rapid
motion towards the house. There she found a
great corpulent woman knitting quietly by the
window; but the girls were nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Harding stated her errand briefly, but
"My gals are gone," said the woman, coldly.
"One's gone to Lowell, and t'other went yester
day to work at the Meadows."
"Have you not another that would go?"
"No," was the gruff reply of the woman who
did not even deign to look up.
olt's just so everywhere," said Walter, as he
caught the hopeless expression of his mother's
face when she came out. "They are all just
gone or going, or else 'ain't obleeged to work
out.' I wish some of them had to."
"Oh, no, that is wrong, Wally. I would not
have a domestic unless it would be for her in• .
terest to serve me as well as mine. But I do
believe these uncultivated girls sometimes stand
very much iu their own light in refusing to go
where they might be learning something vain•
able, and be really improving themselves, as
well as helping those who need,'
"Well, I em sick of this," said Walter half
laughing, and almost Ina crying, 0 1 am tired
,and hungry. Cannot we have sonic dinner?"
His mother assured him that they would
stop for dinner soon. In the meantime, they
continued their inquiries. One girl who, they
.111:11, Spinn; , , 1,01 wh
) ...., \ .
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~ 4' 4 4* ist,t u di - ' try , 1:-nt.1-
'1 , 6;: •:.-
0 Airri'rri, .
) 11 /OUT 11 Ju 1 ' I '
4 , ,
intended to engage out for the season, they
found had started the day before for Boston in
search of a place. At another house, a sweet
looking girl, blue eyed and fair, with her white
arms hare almost to the shoulders, had her
trunk already packed for Lowell. She "could
not go." One pale mother had three (laugh.
ters, one of whom was at the academy, a sec.
mil in the paper mill, and the third she must
keep to assist herself. One stout, healthy girl,
whom Mrs. Harding urged to the very verge of
decency, preferred to stay at home to knit for
the merchants at one dollar per pound. And
one woman, with very yellow skin and snap
ping black eyes, wouldn't "have her girls go
where folks were so grand. They were as good
as anybody, and , better than some who sot
themselves up to be so smart."
It was two hours past noon when our tired
worn out travellers drove up to a small tavern
to dine. As they sat at the table, a new tho't
struck Mrs. Harding. She would inquire of the
table girl.
"No, ma'am," replied the girl to her ques
tion., with a smile and a shake of the head.—
"We can't get girls enough here to do our
work. Most all the girls here go to the facto.
ry. There was a man along last week, who
had been up the country to get a lot of girls,
and he had engaged sixteen hundred to go to
a new factory in Lowell. He pays them so
much a head, and takes them down by the lot,
just like cattle to the market."
"Shall you go home now, mother?" asked
Walter, when the girl had left the room.
"Certainly I shall; and I can see no other
way but. to do my own work at present."
It was a late hour in the evening when Mrs.
Harding and her son drove up to their own
door. Mr. Harding, notwithstanding his rhea.
matisrn, laughed heartily as they rehearsed the
incidents of the day. He still insi.ted, bower.
er, that it was because they had taken an un
fortunate direction, and that, if they should
take different route, they would surely be.more
"No," said Mrs. Harding. laughing; "I, can
assure you I had enough of it. All I get for
my day's labor is the privilege of getting my
own supper. I ran get along alone, and roust."
"Ah, you will think differently, wife, when
the Wallaces and Pinkertons get here. It will
be no trifling affair to play the parts of lady
and housemaid, hostess and table girl, with so
many visitors on your hand."
Mrs. Harding, however, kept up good cour•
age. The expected guests, some eight or ten
including the babies, arrived. By making ex
tra preparatiopa before their arrival, she mans•
ged to get along comfortably for a few days but
the cake and tarts could not always last where
thero were so many mouths, the house would
not keep in order, and the care and labor of
meeting the wants of her large family pressed
every day, she thought, with greater weight up.
on her.
"I can tell you, Ellen, I will not consent to
this another day," said Mr. Harding to his wife,
as he met her burning face one clay in the
kitchen, just as dinner was ready fbr the table.
"Why, you look as if you had been baked your.
self as well as the mutton," ho added laughing.
"Pray, how will you help it, my dear?" ask
ed Mrs. Harding.
"I will go myself for help, I do believe I can
find•somehody who can attend the roast and
wash the dishes."
"Don't be too positive, Mr. Harding; remem
ber your good wife's experience," interposed
Mrs. Pinkerton, with an arch shake of the fin.
ger and a roguish twinkle of the eye.
"Well, one thing is certain," replied Mr. H.,
laughing, "I shall not come back till I find one,
extraonlivaries excepted. So, when you see
me driving up, you will see some one else."
Old Dobbin was duly harnessed next morn
ing, and Mr. Harding, full of hope, started oil
"bright and early," while the whole family,
guests and all, ran down to the gate to wish
him success and a pleasant ride.
One, two, three days passed, but he did not
return, and Mrs. Harding began to cast uneasy
glances down the street, and to watch and lis
ten every time she heard carriage wheels.
"He will be as good as his word, Ellen," said
her sister, Mrs. Pinkerton. When he does
come, you will have help; that is a comfort."
"Perhaps," cried little Anna Pinkerton, "he
cannot find a girl, and then he will never came
Just then, however, a step was heard in the
hall, and the next moment the parlor door was
darkened by his tall form. There he stood, but
"I left her to come in the cars. She will be
here in three days."
"Oh, did you get one, then?" asked his wife
and two or three others, in a breath.
"To be sure I did; but I had enough work to
find her. My experience was almost as rroman•
tic as yours, wife."
"Do give us your history," said Mrs. Pinker.
ton, after Mr. Harding was settled and quietly
sipping tea.
"Well, said Mr. ITarding, with a selfsatisfi.
ed air, for he had actually engaged a girl, "one
experiences wonderful alterations of hope and
fear in this business, I can assure you. I hare
made as many as fifty calls without number.—
I rode over frightful hills and almost impassa
ble roads, and met with many discouraging re
ceptions; but I was determined to succeed, and
I did."
Ilarding's history of his "girl hunt" kept
his family chatting, laughing, and wondering
till a late hour. But we spare the reader the
details of his ride.
The day that the new girl was expected was
damp and cloudy. The sun scarcely Showed
ilea all the morning, and, now and then, a
heavy mist or slow drizzling rain added to the
.discomfort and gloom. Late in the morning,
a lumbering old stagecoach came nulling up
to Mr. Harding's door, and from it alighted
girl, evidently somewhat over twenty years of
age, with a very dark, sallow complexion, and
1 n .... root bsioir ...hieh
- -77.
purpose to look everything through. Notwith•
standing the dull, uncomfortable morning, she
was dressed in a flounced lawn with a white
ground. A gold pencil dangled at her side,
and she flaunted the largest of gold hoops in
her ears, and an enormous piece of red glass
in her breast pin.
"Can that be the new girl?" asked Mrs. Pin.
kerton, as the stranger whisked up the gravel•
walk and pulled the bell.
"The very one," answered Mr. Harding, who
caught a glimpse of her figure at the door.
Zilpah Ann Swain, for such was her eupho•
nions appeltative, was soon ushered into the
kitchen, where Mrs. Harding was busy with
the dinner, and quietly seating herself at the
windoe•, without offering her nid. she fixed her
staring black eyes upon. Mrs. Harding's red,
weary face, and followed her through all the
evolutions of getting up dinner.
"I am very glad yon have come to•day," said
Mrs. Harding, attempting to be a little social.
"I have friends with me and need very much
some one to take care of the kitchen."
"Well, I thought I'd come a spell, jest to ttc.
comtnedate; but I told Mr. Harding I wouldn't
be boon' to stay. I ain't obleege'l to work out,
if I hain't a mind ten." replied Zilpah Ann, her
black eyes flashing with independence.
It was soon evident that Zilpah Ann come
simply as "help." She had not the slightest
idea of taking charge, of the kitchen, or of re•
Hering her mistress by going on independent.
ly in any department of the work. The morn•
ing after her arrival, Mrs. Harding gave her
special directions about sweeping the front
stairs and hall, and the brick walk which led
to the gate. She was to go through a certain
process every morning. But her work was so
badly dondithat Mrs. Harding determined to
speak to her about it.
"Zilpah Ann," she said as she passed through
the hall one morning, about one week after her
arrival, wish you to be particular to sweep
the corners of the stairs clean. You will find 1
the small brush better for that purpose."
"I guess I know how to sweep. Miss Hard
ing," exclaimed the surprised Zilpah Ann,
starting up from her work and throwing the
011 fire of her eyes upon Mrs, Harding's calm
face. "I don't want nobody to tell me how to
sweep out corners. I knows some things, if I
hain't got so much rarnin' as some folks."
"0, yea, I presume you do know how. I
only wished to remind you of the corners; I am
very particular about having them swept clean
and the walk too. You will remember that,
Zilpah Ann."
"I didn't come to be a nigger nor a sarvant,
Miss Harding, I'll let you know," exclaimed
Zilpah Ann, dropping her broom in a passion
land bolting to her room. Half an hour after
' wards, she appeared at the parlor door , with
her bonnet on, and her bandbox lit her hand,
and demnded to be carried to the depot. The
Hardings let her go without a word of remon•
I strance. They had "help" enough for one
week, and Mrs. Harding went about her work
! alone agAin, with n feeling of positive relief.
"What do you think of girl-hunting now, bro.
! ther Harding?" asked Mrs. Pinkerton, as they
sat round the tea-table making themselves mer
ry with he trials and helps of the week.
"Oh, I dell it an unpmtitable business," ex•
claimed Mr. Harding, with a hearty langh.—
"I rode three days in a broiling sun after Zit.
pah Ann. paid her fare fifty miles, bore with
her help for a week, and received nothing foe
my pains. It is just like chasing your own
shadow, or 'hunting a needle in a haymow."
"Friend," said a Quaker to a man who was
driving a drove of swine into Penobscot, "host
thee any bogs with large bones in this drove ?"
"Yes," replied the driver, "they've all got
big bones."
'•!last thee any with long heads and sharp
"Yes, they're all of them long heads and
sharp snouts."
"Haat thee any with broad flap ears, like the
ears of an elephant, slouching down over their
eyes ?"
"Stranger, every pig of 'em is that 'ere kind,
and no mistake, they'll suit you exactly."
"1 rather think they will not suit tae, friend,
if they be such us thou describest. Thou may'st
drive oti."
cure for gout is taken from an old work:-Ist,
The person most pick a handkerchief from the
pocket of a maid of fifty years, who has never
had a wish to change her condition; I t he
must wash it in an honest miller's pond; gd,. he
must dry it on a parson's hedge who was never
covetous; 4th, he must send it to a doctor's shop
who never killed a patient; sth, he limit mark
it with a lawyer's ink who never cheated a cli
ent; 6th, apply it to 'lto part affected, and a
cure will speedily follow.
BTOOTlM—Philips, the Irish orator, in one
of his speeches gives a most vivid personation
of bigotry. It is as follows,—
anigotry has no head, and cannot think; she
has no heart, and cannot feel; when she moves,
it is in wrath; when she pauses, it is amid ruins;
her prayers are curses; her communication is
death; her vengeance is eternity; her decalog,ue
is written in the blood of her victim; if she
stops for a moment from her infernal flight, it
is upon some kindred rock - to whet her fangs
for keener rapine, and re•plume her wings for
a mom sanguinary desperation ."
lady having asked a surgeon why woman was
made from the rib of a man in preference to
any other bone, ho gave the following gallant
answer;—"She MS not taken from the heed
lest sho would cute over him; nor from his feet
.lest he should trample upon her; but the was
taken front his side. that she might be his mitt.
al; from under hivarm, that he might protect
I her; from near his heart t:lmt teln , ro t nhr;riq'i
and In her."
VOL. 19. NO. 23.
Spirit and turpentine varnishes are prepared
by mixing the resins and the solvent together,
and agitating the whole with a stick having a
number of pegs or nails driven in near the low.
er end until the solution is complete. The re.
sins should be dry, and in small pieces; with
the impurities picked out; the finest and clear.
est pieces of the gum are set aside tor superior
varnishes. Turpentine varnishes are made in
quantities of 10 or 12 gallons; spirit varnishes
from 4to 8 gallons. In making the fatter, the
ingredients are sometimes put into a cask of
8 or 10 gallon's capacity, and mounted so as
to revolve upon bearings at the ends. An al.
ternating motion is given to the barrel by pas.
sing round it a cord terMillatinght a cross hen.
dle. When the operator pulls this cool towards
him the barrel rotates and winds the cord op
in the other direction Fs as to be ready for a
second pull, which, in like manner, winds the
cord in the opposite direction, and so on.—
Agitation must be kept up, or the resin will ag.
glutinate. After 3or 4 hours, or when the eo•
lotion is complete, the varnish is left for a few
hours to deposite solid impurities, and is then
strained through muslin or lawn into bottles.
Coarsely pounded glass is sometimes added to
prevent the agglutination of the resin. When
heat is employed in Making spirit varnishes,
the source of.heat should be a water or a sand
bath, and a still and worm may be used to pre.
vent loss by evaporation, the resins and solvent
in the still being kept in motion by a stirrer
passing through a stuffing box in the head.—
Shellac contains a little wax, which is apt to
get diffused through the varnish when heat is
applied. The infiamable nature of the ingre
dients will of course suggest the necessity fur
caution in malting spirit varnishes. The uteri.
ails employed must be quite clean and dry.
Best white hard spirit varnish, such as will
hear polishing, is made by adding 2 lbs. of the
best picked gum-sandarac to 1 gallon of aloe.
hol and agitating for 4 hours, until the solution
is complete. 18 ors. of Venice-turpentine, (or
9 ozs. if the work is not to be polished,) are to
be moderately heated in a water-bath until
'quite fluid, and added to the varnish to give it
body. Agitate fur an hour, strain and put in.
to bottles, which must be kept well corked.—
After retnaining, undisturbed fin. a week the
varnish is fit fur use. If the clearest and pale.
est pieces of gum be selected, this varnish will
be pale enough for white work.
WHITE HARD VARNISII.—(So. 1.) 3ilbs. of
gum sandarac to 1 gallon of spirits of wine,
and when the solution is Complete add 1 pint
of pale turpentine•varnish, and shake the whole
well together. (No. 2.) 2 lbs. of gum sande.
rat, 1 lb. of gum mastic, and 1 gallon .of ales
; hol. White spirit varnish for violins. 2 lbs.
of mastic to 1 gallon of spirits of wine and 1
pint of turpentine-varnish.
Brown hard spirit varnish is similar to white
!hard varnish, only shell-lac is used instead of
sandarac. Dissolve 2 lbs. of shell-lac in 1 gal.
' lon of spirits of wine, and then add 18 ozs. of
Venice turpentine, warmed. This varnish will
bear polishing. Or, 2 lbs. of shell-lac, 1 lb. of
sandarac, and 2 ozs. of mastic dissolved in 1
gallon of spirits of wine. A lighter color is
produced with 2 lbs. of sandoeve, 1 lb. „-shell.
lac, and 1 gallon Of spirit. When the solution
is complete add 1 pint of turpentine tarnish,
and agitate the whole well together. If a pito
lae varnish be required, white or bleached lac
may be used. "DiSsolve 5 Va. of shell-lac
in a quart of rectified spit-its of wine; boil fora
few minutes with 10 ozs. of well-burnt and re
cently heated animal charcoal, when a small
quantity of the solution should be drawn off
and filtered; if not colorless, a little more char
coal must be added. When all color is remo
ved, press the liquor through silk, as linen ab
sorbs more varnish, and afterwards filter it
through fine blotting paper."
lir. Hare has published a method of bleach
ing lac:—"Dissolve in an iron kettle 1 part of
pearlash in about 8 parts of water, add 1 part
of shell or seed-lac, and heat the whole to ebu
lition. When the hue is dissolved, cool the so
lotion and impregnate it with chlorine gas till
the lac is all precipitated. The precipitate is
solute, but the color deepens by washing and
consolidation; dissolved in alcohol, lac bleach
ed by this process yields a varnish which is as
free from color as any copal varnish." The
application of chlorine must be made by a, per
son acquainted with chemistry. Hence chic,.
ride of lime is safer as a bleaching agent, the
lime being afterwards dissolved out front the
precipitate by the addition of muriatic acid.
The precipitate is to be washed several times,
dried and dissolved in alcohol with the addition
of a little mastic. This varnish is very pale,
and rather thin.
BVTTER.--NOt ono pound in five of the but.
ter sold is fit for human food. Batter makers
should remember these few short roles:
The newer and sweeter the cream, themeoet
er and higher flavored will be the butter.
The air must be fresh and pure in the room
or cellar where the milk is set.
The cream should not remain on the milk
aver thirty-six hours.
Keep the cream in tin pails, or stone pots,
into which put a spoonful of salt at the begin
ning, then stir the cream lightly each morning;
this will prevent the cream from moulding or
Churn as often as once a week, and asmuch
oftener as circumstances will permit..
Upon churning, add the cream upon all the
milk in thn dairy.
Use nearly an ounce of salt to a pound of
Work the butter over twi-e, to free it from
the buttermilk and brine, before lumping or
TOMATOES should always be bushed just as
much as peas, and who bat a sloven would
think of raising the latter without any support.
Tomato plants should be trimmed also, and not e
permit* to lw , r all +he fruit the! SO. upon