Chapter V: Part I: Motherly Talks with Young Housekeepers (2)

Now, although this is simply an imaginary scene, there is far more truth than fiction in it. Many housekeepers of late years have often had the same experience, and worse. This evil is growing upon us rapidly. If deliverance comes not to us,--perhaps through China,--our housekeepers have a gloomy prospect. The secret of apparent success with some often arises from the fact, that keeping two or three girls employed, when one leaves without warning, those who remain are expected to manage as best they can, till the vacant place is filled. In these cases the mistress does not see with her own eyes all that takes place behind the scenes. Such “ignorance is bliss,” perhaps, but certainly not the best economy. Whereas, if housekeepers are left alone without any help for a few days, and are obliged to take the work into their own hands, they learn several unexpected lessons which are not easy to forget. They see the evils which have been quietly accumulating under the carelessness or deceit of servants, and will not be so readily blinded the second time.

When you have servants about you, it is not possible to handle every article, to look into every corner, daily. One might as well make no pretence of keeping “help.” And while only a slavery of the most exact and unfailing watchfulness can save you from many leaks and much extravagant waste, yet, by this course, you may lose, by the constant irritation of disposition, more than you can save pecuniarily. The only safe way is to make things as secure as possible; first, as to the character of servants when you engage them; secondly, by way of guarding them from the temptation of open closets and immunity from oversight.

So long as servants can and do forge “characters” or “recommendations,” or use skeleton keys,--and many do this,--we are greatly at their mercy, unless we look the evil squarely in the face, and attempt to find a remedy. We are told that to speak plainly of these things--which are truly of frequent occurrence--we open the eyes of the servants as well as their mistresses, and tempt them to do the wrong which, but for the speaking of it, they never would have thought of. Let no one believe this. It is entirely a mistaken notion. Our ladies have no idea how thoroughly posted their servants are--even some of the most trusted--in every evil of this kind. A better way is to meet any such dangers openly; not willingly stumble along blindfold, lest we should see what we cannot help fearing is going on in our midst. _See it_, and try to overcome it by greater caution. Never, under any consideration, take a written “recommendation” of a girl. Go to the lady who is said to have written the “character,” and learn the truth. That destroys all danger from forged certificates. If it is thought too much trouble, then you must not complain of imposition.

Again, if you judge best to keep locked closets and store-rooms, there are many patent locks, not expensive, which no “pass” or “skeleton key” can open. Put such on your store-closet and places which you most desire to guard, and you at once secure yourself against another evil.

And “patient continuance in well-doing,” frequent, careful, but kindly oversight, thorough but not suspicious inspection of kitchen, store-rooms, closets, etc., will lessen many others; the remainder we must endure until, among all the reformatory movements of this progressive age, some good spirit shall effect a deliverance from the heaviest burden that oppresses the housekeeper,--_unfaithful, inefficient servants_.

IX.

PREPARING FOR THE COUNTRY.

JUNE, the month of roses, is near, and all who are compelled to live a large part of the year in the city are looking forward to some weeks of rest from ever-ringing bells, interminable flights of stairs, and all the wear and tear that belong peculiarly to a city life. But there is much to be done before you can safely close the doors and leave the house and its content under lock and key, for the summer. Every part of the house should be thoroughly examined, and none but the eye of the mistress can be depended upon. Each article that is to be left behind must be carefully looked after. Winter garments, furs, and such heavy shawls as may not be thought advisable to take to the country, have of course been aired, beaten, sprinkled with Poole’s or Lyon’s insect-powder, wrapped up in linen or paper, and sealed so that no moth can find an entrance. Even if done up in linen, it is better to put over that a strong wrapping-paper, and seal up with mucilage. If this is faithfully done, moths cannot, or rather will not, wish to get in. We are inclined to think that Poole’s powder is the best; it is certainly the most disagreeable, and that speaks well for its efficacy. Camphor or cedar trunks, made expressly for packing furs, woolens, etc., are a great convenience and very safe; but for those who have none, sprinkling with the powder and sealing in thick paper is, though more troublesome, equally reliable.

If the house is to be closed for some time, a very thorough cleaning of paint, windows, plated knobs, and bell-pulls is a useless waste of time and strength, as they will all be bronzed in a few weeks; but every part should be well swept, and all accumulation of dust removed. In the attic or any uncarpeted room, where the boards of the floor have shrunk, leaving open spaces between the boards, much dust and lint will gather in the crevices thus formed, and become favorite nests for moths. All such places should be swept with great care. A stiff brush should be used to clear every particle of dirt out, and then scrub the floor with hot soapsuds. When it is dry, sprinkle insect-powder in the seams. This done, and well done, we think there need be no hesitation in leaving a house unoccupied for a few weeks; certainly we should feel far less solicitude than to leave a servant in it.

Insect-powder should be put round the corners and edges of such carpets as are to remain on the floor for the summer. There is a little bellows that generally comes with Poole’s powder, or can be had at house-furnishing stores, by which you can blow the powder under the edges much more thoroughly than in any other way.

Next, see that all food is removed from the house; meat, salt or fresh butter, flour, meal, bread, or cake should be disposed of. Such articles soon spoil and make the air impure and offensive; or, if not offensive, it entices rats and mice into the house to prepare work and trouble for you all through the winter.

The furnace and ranges must be cleared out, and if any repairs are necessary they should be done now. It will annoy you far more to have these to attend to when you return and are in the confusion and haste of getting “settled” for the winter, with the thousand interruptions to which you will then be liable. The top of the range should be rubbed in sweet-oil, or lard that has no salt in it, to prevent _rust_. Flat-irons, bake-pans, soup-boilers, all iron-ware, must also be oiled, wrapped up in paper, and hung up, that you may find your utensils in perfect order when you return, needing only a good washing in hot soapsuds to be ready for immediate use. Have locks, keys, bolts, and bars in a good usable condition, that you may feel sure that nothing is left without strong fastenings.

All this preparation is hard work, and you are very thankful when the last trunk is locked, the last bundle or basket fastened, and this labor ended. But the comfort and satisfaction of knowing by your own actual observation and care that all has been done, and waits your return in the fall, with no mark of carelessness to rise up in reproach against you, will be ample compensation. Yet, at the last minute, take one more journey from cellar to attic, to “make assurance doubly sure,” and then, leaving all that care behind you, go on your way rejoicing.

X.

HEEDLESSNESS.

THERE are many annoyances that fall to a housekeeper’s lot which seem very insignificant when spoken of, and too trivial to put on paper; but they are grievances nevertheless, and like a wasp’s or bee’s sting, though small, not easily borne; and when they follow each other in quick succession, and are constantly repeated, the accumulation, like a whole swarm of bees, will tax the grace and patience of the strongest. It is the little frets of daily life that, when summed up, become almost unendurable; and to them is added the mortification of knowing that friends who are only “lookers on,” having never themselves touched the burden with so much as their little finger, feel no sympathy, but on the contrary almost a good-natured contempt, that any one should be so weak as to be shaken by such trifling troubles and vexations. But they are not trifling; if they were only occasional they would be; but they are of daily, hourly occurrence, and, because they are never ending, make a housekeeper’s responsible position one that demands self-control and patience of a higher order than any other position to which woman aspires. There is a dignity in being burnt at the stake that enables one to rise above the pain; but to be harried to death with briers and brambles is very humiliating, yet a torture none the less.

Many things that are really untidy are not noticed until, through neglect, they increase, and at last cause great confusion in the home affairs, simply because the young housekeeper’s attention has not been called to them, or she does not yet understand how to regulate and control them. Ignorance may be bliss, but it is of a nature that leads to mischief in the end.

Let us point out some of these petty troubles, and see what they amount to and how they may be removed.

What more disagreeable and annoying than to have the vapors or odors that arise from washing or cooking pervade the whole house, giving to it the sickening smell of the lowest class boarding-houses? When seated quietly in the parlor, it comes so gradually upon one that it is hardly noticed; but step for a moment into the fresh air, and on your return you will be greatly disgusted at the fumes that half suffocate you as you open the door. This infliction can be escaped only by keeping the doors of the kitchen or hall leading from it tightly closed. Yet it seems almost impossible to teach a servant that just “pushing the door to” is not shutting it, and the smells of the kitchen will escape as readily through a half-closed as through an open door. There is no help for this evil but watchfulness and constant reminder. You can put springs or rubber straps on the door, and while they are new and stiff they will swing to with force enough to close it; but the spring will soon grow careless, like other servants, and by and by not shut the door entirely. As well leave it wide open as ajar. Besides, springs are very troublesome and inconvenient, and, in the passing of servants with their hands full, endanger the dishes. And, worse than all, we have noticed that a spring on the door has a singularly inflammatory effect on the disposition of the servants; and after they have been hit or a few dishes broken once or twice by it, the spring suddenly breaks or is cut. Of course _it broke itself_, or _nobody_--that most mysterious mischief-maker--did it. The watch and care of the mistress is the only remedy.

Another careless habit which often proves a great grief of heart to the thorough housekeeper, and to which the attention of the beginner should be directed from the first, is the use of dish-towels and dish-cloths, instead of “holders,” to remove pots, stew-pans, and kettles from the fire, or meats and pies from the oven. It is a habit that is harder to conquer than almost any other. The most ample supply of _holders_ may be provided, yet the mistress seldom enters the kitchen but she sees the nice crash towel caught up to remove a boiling pot from the stove, or a gridiron from the fire, and if it is not tossed into the sink, scorched and smeared, it is a marvel. And the “holder” you had so neatly made but a few days before, now a mass of grease, stove-crock, and filth, is perhaps lying in the coal-hod ready to be thrown into the fire, where you will be the least likely to find it out; for to _wash a holder_ never enters into the heads of those who use, or rather abuse, them so badly.

A _cook’s holder_ should be made of some strong, dark material, a piece of tape about a half-yard long sewed on one corner, and a large hook on the tape to hook into cook’s belt or apron-string. It is then always ready for use.

“And will she remember to use it?”

Doubtful; certainly not without your watchful care. But be sure and have them ready, and then strictly endeavor to secure their proper use.

The ironing-holder should be of soft, light-colored material, that dirt and stains may bear testimony against its use about clean clothes, till it is washed. Harsh material is severe on the hands when used for hours on a hot iron. When out of use, the ironing-holder must be put away with the ironing-sheet, bosom-board, etc., that they may not be used in the kitchen.

Again: watch the dish-towels; see that they are not thrown on the floor or into a chair to be sat on by the first one who happens in, and perhaps the next minute used to wipe the fine china or cover over the bread fresh from the oven. Such things are constantly being done. Do our housekeepers know it? Of course they never do such things _themselves;_ but if they once gave it a moment’s sober thought, would they not, for their own comfort, endeavor to prevent its being done again? Who would wish to eat or drink from china wiped with towels so misused? Who would like to eat bread that had been wrapped up in a dish-towel, however clean? They should be washed and boiled every day after the dinner-dishes are out of the way, hung out to dry, and fresh, clean ones used at tea and till after dinner the next day, when the first set are brought in for the dishes, and the second washed, boiled, and hung out,--thus securing clean towels for each day. But no matter how faithfully this rule may be carried out, _no_ dish-towel should ever be used for bread, no bread-cloth should be used to wipe meat, no meat-cloth used for fish. Each contracts a taste or smell belonging to its own peculiar work, and each should be marked and employed for its own appropriate use, and _no other_.

XI.

WASHING FLANNELS.

“CAN you tell me what has been done to my blankets? Not a year in use, and look at them! Fortunately I put but two into the wash this week, and now I think I shall never dare to have another washed. My pretty, soft, white blankets absolutely ruined!”

Not ruined, as far as use is concerned, but the beauty has departed, never to return. Did you overlook the washing of them yourself?

“Most certainly not! I never did such a thing in my life. I told the laundress that I wanted her to be very particular, and she assured me that she was fully competent to the work. I have just been speaking to her about them, and she can’t tell what should make them look so badly, unless there was something wrong about the wool.”

That is simply absurd. Did you question her as to her mode of washing them?

“O, no. I should not have known if she had managed incorrectly, and to question her would only have exposed my own ignorance to a servant, and that I am very loth to do; but she said she rubbed them very faithfully, soaped them thoroughly, and boiled them in good, clean suds.”

_Soaped and boiled blankets_, or woolen goods of any kind! No wonder they are brown and muddy, and as thick as a board!

Blankets that are carefully managed will not require washing often; yours have been in use so short a time they certainly could not have needed it, unless they were accidentally soiled.

“No, they looked very fresh and fair; but I had supposed blankets should be washed every fall and spring. I never asked why.”

O, no! They are always put between the sheets and bedspreads, not in contact with the body at all, and it would be long before anything but an accident or the greatest carelessness could soil them.

There are people who will lie down for a nap in the afternoon _between the blankets_! The housekeeper who can patiently or silently endure that must be nearer akin to the angels than we generally find them. True, no woman would be guilty of such carelessness; but ignorance is an excuse for many short-comings. But it is not this class of men that we intend to have at home in charge of household affairs when women go to Congress.

Occasionally, in a fair, clear day, and when there is a moderate wind, it is well to pin blankets on the clothes-line in the yard, that they may be well aired and freshened, and whatever dust may have settled in them be whipped out by the wind. When they really need washing, the first step is to see that there is a good quantity of boiling water ready. Next, select the largest tub and fill half full of _boiling_ water; dissolve and stir thoroughly into it two table-spoonfuls of powdered borax and sufficient soap to make a good lather, but on no account _rub soap on the blankets_. Put into the tub but one blanket at a time. Shake it to and fro with the clothes-stick till perfectly wet through, then press it under the water to remain till cool enough to use your hands in it, when each part should be examined very carefully, gently rubbing or squeezing the suds through it. Hard rubbing _fulls_ woolens. When sure that all spots or dirt are removed, wring them into a second tub of boiling water into which you have thoroughly stirred some blueing. If your first suds are strong enough, the blankets will retain sufficient soap for the rinsing water, which in woolens requires a little soap. Shake the blanket up and down in this water, with the clothes-stick, till it has flowed through every part. Then, while the water is still hot, wring it. It requires two persons to wring and shake out a bed-blanket. They should take it by the ends and snap vigorously, to remove all the water as far as possible. Then carry it to the line, throw it over, and pull it smooth, bringing the hems straight and true, and pin on to the line strongly. When half dry, turn it lengthwise on the line, and pull the selvedges together in a straight line, so that no part may draw up in _cockles_ or full unevenly.

It is not well to wash woolens of any kind on a rainy or cloudy day; but for blankets it is ruinous. A bright sunny day with a brisk wind is very desirable, as it snaps out the water, giving it no chance to settle. When the blanket is perfectly dry, fold very evenly, but never press or iron it.

Washed in this way, although your blankets may not be quite as white as when new, the change will be hardly noticeable, and they will be soft and fleecy until worn out. A tall, large tub with a pounder or dasher on springs, fastened across the tub, like the old-fashioned pounding-barrel, or the tub and dasher of the Metropolitan Washing-Machine, is one of the most convenient and desirable tubs to wash blankets in, as the washing can be done at once without waiting for the water to cool. The pounder should be used gently, as harsh rubbing or pounding knots the fibers of woolens, but the spring dasher keeps the water filtering through every part without any hard usage.

Wash flannels in the same way, only bring them from the line while quite damp; pull out and fold evenly. If any spot has “fulled” or “cockled,” when it is a little damp you can pull it smooth. Roll up the articles tight, for a little while, until dampened all over alike, and then press them till dry, pulling the garment taut from the iron as you press.

There are many theories about washing woolen goods. Several of the “Household Guides,” of late, recommend washing in cold water. Some even advise _soaking_ them all night, claiming that they do not felt or full any more than when washed in hot water, and are not as liable to grow yellow. But we cannot think this idea correct. Professor Youmans, in his “Book of Household Science,” describes the difference, in the structure of fiber, between woolen and cotton and linen fabrics, with a drawing of the straight, smooth form of linen or cotton filaments, and the toothed and jagged structures of woolen fabrics, and says:--

“It is evident that the latter, by compression and friction, will mat and lock together, while cotton and linen fibers, having no such asperities of surface, are incapable of anything like close mechanical adherence. Hence the peculiar capabilities of woolen fabrics of felting, fulling, and shrinking, caused by the binding together of the ultimate filaments. We see, therefore, the impolicy of excessive rubbing in washing woolen fabrics, and of changing them from hot to cold water, as the contraction that it causes is essentially a _fulling_ process. The best experience seems to indicate that woolen cloths should never be put into cold water, but always into warm, and if changed from water to water, they should go _from hot to hotter_. In the most skillful modes of cleansing _delaines_ for printing, the plan is, to place them first in water at 100° or 120°, and then treat them eight or ten times with water 10° hotter in each change.”

XII.

JUNE CARES.

THERE is much of romance and beauty in the month of June, partly imaginary and partly real. During the frosts and snows of winter, the sharp winds and dreary storms of spring, our thoughts turn with most affectionate longings towards June,--the month of loves and roses. Yet, when she comes, hardly any other month of the whole year brings so many little frets and annoyances as the month of June.

The first two or three days, so warm and balmy, lull us into a dreamy state of delightful rest and security; but we wake to find damp, foggy mornings, with mists so dark and dense that you long to cut a window through for the sunshine, which you feel must be held in durance vile behind it. Particularly is this noticeable if living near a river. All through the first half of the month we have cold, stormy days, then suddenly damp, sultry, sticky ones. In the morning we are uncertain how to dress. If warm, and we put on cool, thin garments, perhaps in an hour or two a chilly wind sweeps by, and, shivering and quite uncomfortable, we resort to a breakfast shawl or sack; they are a little too much, and we drop them, only too glad, in a few moments, to draw them close about us again; or, in an obstinate fit, we refuse to yield to the demands made by these sudden changes for warmer clothing, and a heavy cold is the result. The wind has a decided partiality for the east most of the time in early June. If it veers for a few hours to the south, it is in an unsteady, wavering manner, and soon turns back to the east again. The result is, that the first half of June will very likely keep you in an uncomfortable, dissatisfied state of mind. Everything molds; clothes grow damp in drawers or wardrobes, or the washing is caught out in a shower, just as it is half ready to be taken in. It is decidedly “falling weather.” Be watchful to guard against any infelicities that may follow these changes, patiently accepting what they bring that cannot be avoided. That’s the only true way. This variable weather usually lasts till the middle of June, sometimes later, when we may look for more settled but very warm weather.

The flies have been reconnoitring,--sending out scouts, during those few weeks of mild weather; but as the warm days become more permanent, they come on with their main army. We have put the moths to rest, but these intruders, if not as mischievous, are quite as hard to manage, and even as persistent. There are various kinds of “fly-paper,” around which, if ready for them, certainly lie large numbers of the slain to certify to the virtues of the paper. It is doubtless of some benefit, but does not by any means free us from this great vexation. It is at least a dirty, mussy remedy, requiring one to be incessantly on the watch lest flies who have tasted the paper fall into food, or lie about in an unseemly manner. If servants in the kitchen or dining-room have any gifts toward _neatness_, this constant litter makes them cross; if they have not that gift, the careless way they allow the dead flies to lie about, and the fear that they may approach too near the cooking, _may_ make the mistress cross also,--two evils to be scrupulously avoided.

During the heat of summer we are compelled to keep open doors and windows, but these lawless intruders know, apparently, the moment when we lift the latch or raise the window, and swarm in upon us in myriads. To secure the air and baffle the flies, we have found mosquito netting a great help. A simple frame of pine, about an inch and a half wide, fitted closely inside the lower sash, with mosquito lace or net nailed across it (galvanized nails or tacks should be used, to avoid rust), is the most effectual safeguard we have ever tried. The frame must not be quite as high as the lower sash, as room is needed to push in the spring to open or close the window. The outside doors and those leading from the kitchen to the dining-room may have frames fitted in the same manner,--the frame having a cross-piece in the middle. It can be hung on hinges, having a hook in the cross-piece to fasten it with, while the real door may be kept open all day, excluding the flies, but leaving freedom for the air to circulate. By a few days’ extra care the family will soon learn to close this net door, or swarms of flies will quickly remind them of any heedlessness in this matter. A wire net is the most durable, although more expensive at first; but it will soon repay the extra expense, for lace or netting must be renewed every year. Yet notwithstanding these precautions, the flies will often effect an entrance, especially into the dining-room when dishing the dinner, or when merry, heedless children rush in and out, always forgetting to close the door. Cut old newspapers in strips an inch or an inch and a half wide, nearly the whole length of the sheet, leaving only about two inches uncut at the top. Take a smooth round stick about two feet long, and laying three or four of these cut papers together, wind the uncut part about the stick. Tie the paper on with strong twine, very tightly, so that it will not slip, leaving the long ribbons of paper hanging loose, and you have a most effectual _fly-brush_. Cheap calico is still better, as paper tears easily and litters the room. Keep one always on hand for the kitchen, and two for the parlor and dining-room. If the flies have secured an entrance during the dishing of dinner, when it is served spread a large piece of netting over the table to protect the food from dust or the flies you may brush down. Open the door, let two persons take each a fly-brush, and, standing opposite the door, swing the brush in concert through the room swiftly toward the door, and it will be amusing and gratifying to observe how hastily the intruders will vacate the premises. One or two well-directed charges will leave you free to shut the net door, remove the netting from the table, and partake of your dinner unmolested.

XIII.

PURE AIR AND THOROUGH VENTILATION.

AT all seasons of the year it is important that the house should be kept dry and well ventilated; but extra precautions are necessary in warm weather. The nights are often close and sultry; windows are left open with the hope--often a vain one--that an occasional breeze may deign to sweep through the rooms, and assist us in the labor of breathing. And here is danger. The night air, what there may be of it, and the heavy morning fogs, fill the house with dampness. The bedclothes are moist and disagreeable. The garments laid off on retiring at night, if left near an open window, are heavy with dew. Fever and ague, rheumatism, cholera, and dysentery lurk always in such an atmosphere. One of the best preventives is a quick blaze, in an open fireplace or stove, immediately after rising; no matter how warm the weather may be. A handful of brush or light wood, just to make a blaze, expel the bad air, and _dry_ the rooms, not _heat_ them, is all that is needed.

Those who can be in the country during the summer will have no difficulty in finding plenty of brush,--dead branches, or sprouts, or bushes, cut off in clearing up the fields or hedges. On a rainy day, when outdoor work or play cannot be advantageously attended to, a child could easily cut them up into foot or foot and a half lengths, tie them in fagots, and pile them neatly in the wood-house, ready for use. Keep one of these fagots always in the fireplace or stove, ready for lighting every morning. It will dry and purify the air wonderfully, and save doctors’ bills and much sickness.

Aside from the ill effects of dampness, the air is full of impurities arising from the body, and more injurious through the night than in the day. Professor Youmans says:--

“The escape of offensive matter from the body becomes most obvious when, from out of the pure air in the morning, one enters an unventilated bedroom where one or two have slept the night before. Every one must have experienced the sickening and disgusting odor upon going into such a room, though its occupants themselves do not recognize it. The nose, although an organ of excessive sensibility, and capable of perceiving the presence of offensive matters where the most delicate chemical tests fail, is nevertheless easily blunted, and what at the first impression is pre-eminently disgusting, quickly becomes less offensive to the smell; but the impure air has not departed. Two persons, occupying a bed for eight hours, impart to the sheets by insensible perspiration, and to the air by breathing, a pound of watery vapor charged with latent animal poison. When the air in other inhabited rooms is not often changed, the water of exhalation, thus loaded with impurities, condenses upon the furniture, windows, and walls, dampening their surfaces, and running down in unwholesome streams.

“Yet we are not to regard the human body as necessarily impure, or a focus of repulsive emanations. It is not by the natural and necessary working of the vital machinery that the air is poisoned, but by its artificial confinement, and the accumulation of deleterious substances.”

In speaking of the prevalent inattention to a perfect ventilation in our homes, and the need of great care in this respect, if we would secure health, Youmans also refers to the “gaseous exhalations, of every sort, that escape from our kitchens, filling the house with unpleasant odors; the imperfect combustion of oil and tallow in lighting our homes; the defective burning of gas-jets”; and the injurious effects upon health,--causing severe headaches, if nothing worse; to the destruction to health from the poisonous influences of green paper-hangings upon the air, from which the fine particles, loosened by dusting or moving about the room, are set afloat in the atmosphere, and are often very deadly.

Then from the decayed vegetables--carelessly allowed to remain sometimes for days in our cellars--and the damp and stagnant air of cellars and basements come exhalations most destructive to health. Even dry closets and rooms in upper stories become moldy and musty if not often and thoroughly aired. “To be pure and healthy, air requires continual circulation; but cellars are rarely either ventilated or made dry by water-proof walls or floors, and are usually damp, cold, unclean, and moldy.

“The air from these basements and cellars ascends to the upper rooms in such small quantities that it does not produce immediate disease; yet it so gradually undermines the health as not to be perceptible. Many an invalid, who fancies himself benefited by the change of air in going to another residence, is really only improved by escaping the moldy atmosphere that arises from beneath his own ground-floor.”

By quoting thus largely from Professor Youmans, we bring good authority for the particular and earnest advice we have offered to our “young housekeepers” with regard to the drying and ventilating every part of their houses. We doubt not many a one, who has begun with sound health, has gradually sunk into a confirmed invalid, when the principal cause could be traced back to carelessness in this seemingly unimportant duty. And those who are thus slowly poisoned by the impure air which comes through this neglect of duty are the most ready recipients of all infectious and epidemic diseases.

It is always well to have either a bath full of water near where one sleeps, or, if no bath, a pail or tub full set into the room, as water is one of the best disinfectants, cleansing the air by taking up all the impurities from it as fast as they arise. But this water should be let off in the morning, and fresh water used for bathing or washing; and if you need drinking water in your bedroom,--and it is well always to have it near,--do not let it remain open in your room, as it absorbs impurities, and would be unfit for drinking; but either have a lid to your pitcher or cover it over with a thin cloth, to keep dust and insects out, and set it on the ledge _outside_ your window, in the pure, fresh air.

XIV.

MILK AND BUTTER.

JULY and August are trying months for those who have charge of milk and butter, unless the work to be done is performed in large establishments devoted entirely to it. When a milk-house is built under large trees, to shield it from the fierce heat of the mid-day sun, with a stream of pure cold water running through it, the labor is diminished full one half. Indeed, we should not call it labor, but an exhilarating amusement to take charge of such an one as we saw, a few weeks ago, in Norwich, Chenango County, New York. We have not thought of it since without a longing, amounting almost to coveting our neighbor’s work. To find this house among the trees, away from the confusion and turmoil of the town, which is shaken by the ceaseless din of more noisy occupations, was most restful and tranquillizing; the music of the rich, green leaves among the long sweeping branches, and the murmur of the restless brook, could not fail to give a spring and elasticity to the spirits that must, in a great measure, overcome the sense of fatigue. This was our first impression, as we stood outside the unpretentious building, and it was in nowise changed when we stepped upon the smooth floor, as white as good soap, fresh water, and a willing arm could make it.

Our attention was immediately attracted by the sound of machinery. In the farther corner of the room stood two large barrel-churns, the dashers of both moving up and down with an easy, uniform motion, impelled by the wheel and belt overhead, to which they were attached. No fears for the aching back and tired arms neutralized our enjoyment, for the woman in charge sat, resting by the open door, till the butter was ready to be taken out into the “butter-worker.”

A large trough, some twelve or fourteen feet long, six or eight wide, and perhaps four deep (we simply use our Yankee privilege of _guessing_ at the dimensions), and lined with tin, was placed in the middle of the room, where the curd for “skimmed cheese,” made from milk after all the cream was removed, was “set.” This and the churning arrangements occupied half the building. The other half was a large tank, through which the water from the brook flowed continually. Into this reservoir, always full, tall tin cans, between two or three feet high, and perhaps a foot across, were set. Little danger that milk in that cool bed would sour before all the cream had been risen. About this tank ran a wide shelf or ledge, on which stood great tubs of golden butter waiting to be sent to market.

In the second story, equally cool and clean, large shelves were placed, where the cheeses are kept to dry, or ripen, entirely separate from the butter.

This is a very tame description of a scene of labor which was to us exceedingly interesting. We must now hasten to speak of that which is real care and labor,--the management of small dairies, where butter is only made for home consumption.

The most scrupulous cleanliness must be recognized as being absolutely indispensable. If all else is done to perfection, and _that_ is wanting, you cannot have good butter. As you skim one mess, be sure that the shelf on which it stood is faithfully scrubbed and left unoccupied until it becomes dry. Every utensil used about milk or cream should be kept for this, and drafted into no other service. Many object to using soap in washing milk-pans, pails, etc. But we have great affection and reverence for soap, and cannot imagine that its free use can harm any article employed about a dairy. We always insist that the pails, pans, skimmers, butter-prints, and churn be washed in _very hot_ suds; if a servant fears to risk her hands, we use our own. A small, pointed scrub-brush must be used to scour the seams, corners, handles, etc., of all the utensils, and particularly the _strainers_ in the pails. After this scrubbing is well done, rinse in an abundance of hot water, and then pour over all a large kettle of _boiling_ water. Let the articles stand in this a short time, then wipe with clean towels, and turn down on a stand or shelf prepared for them outdoors, where the sun will sweeten them perfectly. Even in rainy days, better leave them out an hour or two that they may have the benefit of the air at least, if deprived of sun; then wipe them dry, and bring into the milk-room before night.

A small unpainted tub should be kept expressly to wash milk things in. The brush, wash-cloths, and drying towels ought all to be marked, and never used for any other purpose. See that they are washed, scalded, and hung to dry, outdoors if possible, every time they are used.

If the milk-room or cellar is small and not ventilated, it is very difficult in July and August to keep milk sweet long enough for all the cream to rise. While the weather is very hot, unless one has a deep, cold cellar, or a spring of water running through it, it is well to _scald_ the milk when first brought in. Have a kettle half full of boiling water over the fire; strain the milk into a clean pail, and set it into the boiling water until it gets scalding hot, but not boiling. Be sure and remove it before it rises in _wrinkles_ on top. If too hot, the butter will have a disagreeable taste. The butter is never quite as good, but the cream rises more rapidly, before the milk has time to change,--a very important gain, and one to be considered in case of a small cellar.

In very warm weather, with no more protection than is generally found in small dairies, it is not often possible to keep milk over twenty-four hours before skimming. Every minute the cream remains on the milk, after it changes, is an injury to the butter. Thirty-six hours is the proper time for milk to stand, when the weather is cool enough to keep it sweet. Some keep it forty-eight hours, on the plea that more butter is secured. We doubt if it is so; but whatever is gained in quantity, by keeping milk so long unskimmed, is certainly lost in quality. Many think it important to keep the cream till _ripe_, or sour, before churning. We think it a mistake, if good, sweet butter is the thing sought. In cool weather we churn when the cream is as sweet as that which is used for coffee. In July and August the cream _will_ sour, and the flavor of the butter shows the difference. As soon as the butter “comes,” it must be well washed down from the sides of the churn, and gathered into a mass. If very warm, wash a piece of ice and put it into the churn, leaving the butter five or ten minutes to harden before putting it into the “butter-bowl,” which, with the butter-ladle and churn, should have been kept full of cold water all night. When the butter is firm enough to work over, take it into the bowl and throw in a handful of salt; we fancy it causes the buttermilk to run off more easily; work out all the buttermilk as gently as possible; too much working or rough handling injures the grain of the butter. This done, pour in ice-water; wash the butter through that; pour off, and add more, till the water runs clear. Twice washing, in a generous quantity, should be sufficient. Then taste, and see how much more salt is needed. After the washing, press the butter with the ladle till no water runs; toss it into a compact roll, cover with a clean linen cloth, and put into the ice-chest till next morning, when it must be again broken up, worked over, and packed into a butter-pail or jar, pounded down compactly, and covered with strong brine, in which pulverized saltpetre--a great spoonful to four quarts of brine--has been dissolved. Cover the jar or pail closely, and set in the ice-chest or a cool place.

This method will insure good butter the year round. It is the buttermilk left in most of our market butter that gives us so much poor butter. If that remains, no brine or care can make it sweet.

The Blanchard Churn is, we think, one of the safest and most convenient, as the washing, salting, and working can be almost entirely done in the churn, by turning the wings, or dasher, back and forth half-way,--pressing out the buttermilk and salting it more evenly and with far less fatigue.

XV.

MAKING CHEESE.

FIRST, a dry, airy, thoroughly ventilated room must be provided, of even and moderate temperature. It should be used for a cheese-room only, and access denied, if possible, to all but the operator. It is useless to attempt the work if flies cannot be excluded; and, when open to all, that is impossible. The windows should be kept open in fair weather, but blinds always closed, to avoid currents of air, except to admit what light is needed while the work is being done. Frames covered with wire or mosquito net can be fitted into the windows, and a door of the same material hung inside, shutting closely to exclude the flies, yet giving admittance to as much air and light as are needed. If wind and sun have too free access to a cheese-room, the cheese cannot ripen properly.

Cheese-tubs, cheese-knives (a long wooden knife for cutting the curd), cheese-ladder, hoops, cheese-boards, or _followers_, cheese-basket, bowl, and cheese-cloths made of strong linen, but woven very loosely, and the cheese-press,--these are the necessary utensils.

The months from May to September are good cheese months; some keep up the work through October; but the cheese is more difficult to cure, and will not be as good.

If night and morning milk is to be used, strain the night’s milk into pans, and set in a cool place. In the morning take off all the cream; heat the skimmed milk to 95° or 100°, pour it into the cheese-tub with the morning’s milk, and stir in the cream; add the rennet, and mix all well together with the long wooden cheese-knife or a wooden spoon; cover the tub with a close-fitting cover, and spread over that a thick cheese-blanket, to keep in the heat while the curd is forming. The milk, when drawn from the cows, is from 85° to 90°, and until the curd is well set, it should not lose more than from five to seven degrees of its natural heat. See that the cows are driven to and from their pasture gently; for, if they get overheated, the milk will rise above the natural heat, and must be cooled off before the rennet is stirred in; as, if the milk, either from this cause or any other, is over 90° when it is set, the cheese will be spongy and of very poor flavor, or no flavor at all. If the milk is too cold the curd will be so tender it will never become firm, but will bulge out at the side, and will not keep. Be sure and ascertain the temperature of the milk always, before adding rennet. If the milk is too _cold_, heat some milk and stir in, until the whole rises to the proper temperature; if too _warm_, wait till it cools sufficiently before adding the rennet. The quantity of rennet to be used depends so much on the quality of the article, that experience only can teach the exact amount to use. If good and strong, two ounces is quite enough for sixty quarts of milk. The curd will have set firmly in an hour or an hour and a half, when it must be cut gently, first round the sides of the tub, then across in lines, reaching the long wooden cheese-knife to the bottom of the tub, each time about an inch from the last; then cut in the opposite direction, forming squares, to give the whey an opportunity to rise above the curd. Let it settle a few minutes. Then throw over the tub a large square _cheese-cloth_, or strainer, and after the curd has settled and the whey risen to the top, sink the strainer into it and dip off the whey as closely as it can be done. The strainer is then spread over a square _splint_ cheese-basket, woven very loose and open, and the basket set on the cheese-_ladder_, which is laid across another tub. The curd must now be cut into small pieces gently, and put into the strainer. The corners of the cloth are then gathered up and twisted tightly together, and a flat, smooth stone, kept for that purpose, of about twelve or fifteen pounds’ weight, laid upon it, to press the whey from the curd. It should stand an hour; and, while draining, such things as will be no more needed to finish the work for the day can be washed, scalded, and set out to dry; for, of course, hot water is always ready.

The curd when ready is removed to a large wooden cheese-bowl, cut in slices, and a pail of the whey heated to 120° or 130° is poured over it. Great judgment and care are required here, as, if scalded too much, it makes the cheese hard; if not enough, the cheese will spread and crack. The hot whey should be left on till the curd will “squeak”--as the children used to call it--when bitten; then returned again to the strainer and basket, to drain free of the hot whey. This done, cut it up again fine; put in the salt, and thoroughly stir it in. The taste is the best criterion to judge of the quantity,--about six ounces to every fifteen pounds of curd is a fair estimate. A cheese-cloth must now be laid over the hoop; the curd dipped into it, pressed down, but heaped up in the centre; the corners of the cloth folded smoothly over, and the first cheese-board, with holes all through it, put on; one a size smaller laid over that; and the cheese thus prepared is ready to be put into the press, and subjected to a pressure of from forty to sixty pounds, according to the size of the cheese. It should remain in the press two or three hours. If the whey, which is now pressed out, is of a slightly greenish color, the curd has been properly prepared; but if it is white, like milk, the curd was formed imperfectly, and the cheese will not be of the first quality.

When the cheese has remained in the press for about two hours, some advise to take it from the hoop and let it stand an hour in hot whey, to harden the skin. We do not like the idea, and fancy much fine flavor would be lost from the cheese.

We should simply put it into a dry cheese-cloth and return it to the press, to remain till next morning. In changing the cloth, if any rind presses over the top of the hoop, cut it off smoothly and turn that side of the cheese down. Leave it now until the next morning in the same cloth; only it is well to turn it over in the press several times in the course of the day.

When taken from the press the last time, a piece of cheap muslin should be soaked in hot butter and fitted over the top and bottom, and a band, also wet in butter, bound tight round the cheese and sewed to the edges of the top and bottom covers. The cheese is then placed on the shelf. It will need rubbing with butter every day for some weeks, and must be turned over every day for several months, washing the shelf clean each time, and changing the place so that the shelf may get well dried.

If the whey is saved, in twenty-four hours a thick creamy substance will rise, which, if skimmed off and churned, forms butter very quickly, and is excellent to dress the cheese with,--a great economy, and better for the cheese than table butter. Put some of the butter into a tin dish kept for that purpose; throw in a small red pepper, and put it over the fire till boiling hot, then set aside for dressing, leaving the pepper in.

These directions give the general idea of making cheese. There are many varieties of cheese, which it would be very interesting to notice, pointing out in what the difference consists; but we cannot appropriate more space to this matter.

XVI.

A TROUBLESOME QUESTION.

“ONE of the most urgent of the unsolved, irrepressible questions of the times,” says the “Household,” a most excellent Vermont paper, “relates to the trials which modern housewives experience in their efforts to manage their households satisfactorily, and still have time for needful rest and social culture. As yet the problem remains a puzzle alike to the housewife and to the philanthropist. Labor-saving machines, which promised so much relief, practically fail to lighten materially the housekeeper’s tasks. ‘Biddy’ is still the main dependence in the performance of hard work in the kitchen; yet the constant oversight which she usually requires often renders her services a doubtful advantage.

“That the cares of housekeeping increase faster than means are found for their disposal seems generally true. Whether this is owing to increased luxuriousness in our ways of living, or whether the housewives of to-day lack the executive ability of their grandmothers, remains an open question.”

It does not seem to us very difficult to find the _reasons_ for the great increase of our domestic cares; the puzzle is to find the _remedy_.

We escape much of the hard work our mothers and grandmothers performed so energetically, and about which housekeepers of the present day hear so many disparaging comparisons; for machinery does better and far more expeditiously many things that in olden times could only be accomplished by hard labor.