Rensselaer Union and Jasper Republican, Volume 8, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 May 1876 — NELLIE'S HOUSEKEEPING. [ARTICLE]

NELLIE'S HOUSEKEEPING.

“ My dearest Nellie!” “ Dear Horace!” “ And you will becontent to take me as I am—a poor clerk, with only seven hundred a year ? Will you be happy to pass life with me in a small house, and attend to the domestic affaire yourself ?” “Yes, Horace.” “ But have you considered, ray best beloved, how great a burden this may sometimes bet” “ A burden I O Horace, as if anything that I could do for you would be a burden! A sweet little vine-wreathed cottage will be delightftil. A cozy house all to ourselves, and no prying house-maids to spy into everything we do, and prate of our faults and failing! to the whole neighborhood!” “And no burnt steak and black coffee! Doubly delicious the ambrosial nectar that your lily white hands shall prepare, my day-star, my wife—that is to be.” Immediately upon this followed a concussion which made the windows clatter as in the breath of a tempest; and from what little experience we hare had in such premises, we must venture to affirm that he kissed her—which, of course, sealed the compact. Horace Hartwell was a fine-looking young fellow of twenty-three—a clerk in the jobbing-house of Martin & Turner; and Nellie Armstead was the daughter of a man who, though by no means wealthy, had a wonderful talent for appearing so. In this laudable endeavor he was aided by his wife—a handsome, showy woman, who brought her daughter up to ornament the parlor, to the utter exclusion of the kitchen. Therefore, Nellie was well qualified by education to become the mistress of a house, and the regulator of its domestic affairs. Horace Hartwell had fallen in love with her pretty face at a picnic; and, on obtaining an introduction, the infatuation had increased, until he came to the conclusion that he could not live without her; and Nellie was firmly convinced that she should pine away and die if separated from Horace. And having succeeded in convincing Mrs. Hartwell of this tact, that lady informed her husband, and the good man had nothing to do hut consent to the marriage which was to be the means of saving two valuable lives. One fine, sunshiny morning in May, Horace and Nellie stood before the clergyman, and after that people called Nellie Sirs. Hartwell, and congratulated her on the happiness which was within her reach.

The young couple took up their residence in a neat, one-story house, a little removed from the bustle of the city, and easy of access from the store where Horace was employed. And here they first came to realize that Longfellow was not far from the truth when he said: “Life is real, life la earnest.” Their house was comfortably, if not luxuriously, furnished, and an ample stock of the good things of life was laid in for Nellie to exercise her skill upon as a cui tinier. When everything was put to rights, and Horace had gone to his place of business, leaving many a lover-like kiss on the white forehead of his wife together with the intimation that he would expect dinner at three o’clock, Nellie consulted her watch, and found that she had full four hours in which to prepare that important meal. She would dress before she commenced doing anything about the kitchen, she thought; she had read so much of un tidy housekeepers, it never should be said she went around the house in slipshod shoes or dingy wrappers. Oh, no, housework should never make a sloven of her.

So Nellie went up to her chamber, arranged her hair in becoming ringlets, donned a pretty white peignoir over an embroidered skirt, and with black velvet bracelets on her arms and a blush rose in Its own sweet buds and foliage on her bosom, it must be confessed that little Nellie looked pretty enough to challenge anybody’s admiration. “ Let me see,” quoth she , meditating, “ what shall I have for dinner? Horace is fond of broiled steak; I’ve heard him say so. And pudding; yes, there must be pudding; a rice one, I guess, will be best. And then there must be potatoes and bread. That will suffice for the eatables; now for the drinkables, as Aunt Keziah says. Shall I have tea, coffee, chocolate or water? My head doesn’t feel very well, and it shall be tea; sea helps settle anybody’s head, I have heard mother say. That’s all, I believe—no, there’s the sauce; there must be some kind of sauce. Shall it he apple or cranberry? For this once, cranberry; it’s an abominable job to pare apples, and it stains one’s hands so shockingly; and Horace can’t endure stained hands. I’ll go and make a fire now.”

And suiting the action to the word, Nellie, after some search, found the coal shovel, and put into the stove a peck of coal and an ignited bunch of friction matches, then stood quietly awaiting the conflagration which was to ensue. Nothing alarming occurred; there was considerable smoke, and a powerful, strong smell of brimstone, but no great lire. She concluded that the matches didn’t get fairly burning, so she tried another bunch; and believing this could not fail of accomplishing her design, she retired to the pantry as the next field of operation. After considerable thought on the subject, she decided to make the pudding -first; it would be the most difficult job, she argued. Well, how was it to tie made? “The Revised American Cook Book and Delicate Housewife’s Especial and Valuable Friend in Need” was called in play. There was a paragraph on the cover to the effect that you would find everything worth knowing within the lids of that invaluable casket of diamonds ; and Nellie fondly believed that people in general prefer speaking truth to a lie! So she opened the book in full faith touching its veracity. “ Rice Pudding. Put the rice to soak in luke-warm water, having picked it clean of all Impunties; and milk, sugar and' salt to your taste. A little nutmeg and a couple of eggs improve it” “'Goodness me!” ejaculated Nellie, “ how am I to know anything about it, I wonder? How much is a little nutmeg? And how much rice, and milk, and sugar, will be enough ? And, as I live, if there ain’t the awfulest smut spot upon my skirt! I must wash thatout the first thing!” And, forgetful of pudding and dinner, she flew to the washbowl, and scrubbed the soiled cambric till its gaping threads cried eloquently for quarter. By the time this was cleansed she espied a second spot, located on the sleeve of her dressing-gown, and this must undergo the same elaborate process as the former blemish. When thus much was gone through with, she saw that the rose on her bosom was in a disabled condition—the rose itself being among the missing, and the two delicate buds broken and wilted. So Nellie had to go np stairs and , Set a fresh blossom. Horace admired owers, and thought Nellie became them amazingly. “ Now the padding must be mixed, for certain,” said she assuming an air of pretty importance, which, unfortunately, co one was there to see. " Let me read that recipe over again. ‘Pick it clean of ail impurities.’ I wonder if that means the water, or the rice. It can’t mean the rice, assuredly, for that is as clean as it possibly can be; it is the double refined—no, double distilled—mercy! strange that I should forget the label on the box! Well, it is pure nee, that don’t need any picking, any way.- How much rice will it take? Goodness! I wish the cook book was a little more definite. Some time, ■.. , , r . • v' '' r

I’ll writa one mvself, that will give all the particulars to a teaspoonful. Well, we shall want the large white dish foil; I’ll measure it, and see how much It holds.” And away flew Nellie to guage the pud-ding-dish, In order to calculate the quantity needed tor the pudding. She found the plate capable of containingtwo quarts, and from this she concluded that two quarts of rice would be quite enough. The extravagant item was measured out, and committed to a tin pan foil of water to undergo the soaking process, and Nellie sur. ▼eyed with dismay what remained in the box. ‘ ‘ Dear me! it must be a terrible expense to keep house—lmre’s every bit of that rice gone for a pudding; and Horace having only seven hundred dollars a year. I must try to be very saving. I won’t use as much sugar as I intended to; and the recipe says a little nutmeg--and 1 won’t put in so much as that. JEconomv is a real virtue.”

Soliloquizing thus to herself, Nellie mixed the rice, water and all, with a cupful of milk, a teacupful of sugar, two unbeaten eggs, a half a cup of salt, and a few grains of nutmeg. This precious compound she put into the oven of the stove and then proceeded to examine the fire. This was not so easily done, as there was no fire to be examined. Nellie thought she never did see such a contrary stove in her life; and by way of improving its contumacious disposition, she poured two or three spoonfuls of burning fluid on the coal, and then touched a lucifer to it. The effect was astonishing; the covers of the stove were blown off like a beaver hat in a nor’wester, and the fire proved to be a mere “ flash In the pan.” “ Never mind,” said Nellie, in a consolatory tone; “ I guess it will kindle; there seems to be a small blaze underneath.” • The potatoes were brought next, and having carefully peeled them, she placed them in a kettle with some water and put them over the stove. Then she cut the steak—and her finger at the same time; and the extraordinary gyration which she made under the influence of the pain upset the flour-bucket into the slop-pail and entangled her crinoline in the hooks of the steelyards which depended from the walL It was a long time before flheceuld;

break clear from these tenacious intruders; the steel frame-work of her skeleton held on like true metal, and the hooks of the steelyards were bound not to let go; so a comE remise was made, and Nellie divested erself of the warlike garment and disengaged the combatants at her leisure. Nellie had heard her mother’s cooksav that pounding meat made it tender; and, in pursuance of this knowledge, she put .the pieces of steak into a mortar and pounded them until the perspiration streamed down her face and her arms ached with the exertion. As for the meat, it is best not to say much regarding the appearance; but it more strongly resembled a poultice than anything else. While she was thus engaged toe cat—a family pet—had taken possession of toe remainder of the steak, and was enjoying it to her feline heart’s content, in toe shadow of the pickle jar. “ Scat, scat, you beast! Shoo, scat, there! Shoo, I say!” cried Nell, dropping the mortar, and making at pussy with the pestle elevated over her head. The cat, To aroid foe impend|iqjpstow; mMe a sidelong spring, knocking down a shelf which held several vessels of milk, and this shelf falling upon the egg basket, smashed a chosen dozen of as good eggs as ever a hen cackled over.

Nellie had quite a mind to sit down in the midst of toe ruin and indulge in a good cry; but she controlled herself, and after mopping up the milk, to the great detriment of her white garments, she went out into the kitchen to see what progress the fire was making. Ihere was not toe least vestige of a fire about toe premises, and poor Nellie was in despair. Just then she spied a boy going by, and cajed out: “ Here, boy, here! I’ll give you ninepence to do a little job for me.” The boy’s eye glistened at the prospect, and he obeyed her call with alacrity; but, when she told him to make a fire, he laughed in her face. Hawever, he was a capable lad—as Nellie thought—and ere long, by his skillful application of kindlings, a brisk fire was in progress. The stipulated price was paid, and Nellie considered it a good bargain. The pudding was in the oven, the potatoes in toe pot, toe steak on toe gridiron upon the top of the stove—everything was en traine. By and by the dripping from toe fat began to smell rather unpleasantly; it filled the room with smoke so dense and stifling that poor Nellie’s eyes grew red and tearful; and the tortured meat sizzled and hissed, and turned black as a bear’s skin. Nellie threw open the doors and stuck to her task of turning the gridiron, resolved in vulgar, though expressive parlance, “ to grin and bear it.” The pudding boiled over a continued stream, the potatoes bounced up and down in toe kettle like cockle shells in a stormy sea; the steak groaned and spit; and in the midst of it all the clock struck three. Punctual to foe hour, Henry’s step sounded in the entry; the kitchen door was flung open with a lover’s impetuosity, and that individual invaded the smoky room. “ Good gracious, Nellie! is the house on fire ? Come here this moment, darling. What under the canopy ails your face? ltte blacker than toe ace of spades—begging your pardon for the comparison. DO Took into foe glass, Nell!”

He wheeled her round toward the mirror, and surely the picture there presented was not the most attractive one that a young husband might wish to look upon. The ashes which had been evolved from the stove through her unremitting attempts to make a fire, had settled on her hair, until her head was as white as that of an ancient militia captain, powdered for training day. One long curl had dipped itself in the hot water, over which she had been standing in vain effort to scrub the stains from ner clothes, and it was straightened out as perpendicular as * oumlle, and hung, dripping with water, down her back. To finish the tout en Htmble, a streak of smut extended from her left temple across her nose to her right cheek, and at sight of the ridiculous figure she made poor Nellie burst into tears. This only made matters worse; but Hor- 1 ace, like a triMP hero, kissed away the tears, soot anil ell, transferring by far the larger portion of the latter substance to his own face. Then he off coat, turned up sleeves, and announced himself ready to assist about the dinner. In this respect Horace was a jewel, knd his wife blessed him for the generous heart which prompted his ready sympathy. But his abilities as a cook were In no wise equal to his will. He turned the steak, and lost half of it in the fire through the bars of the gridiron, “set” the table with the cloth wrong side out, the knives in the spoon-holder, the butter in the preserve bowl, and mistook the pudding dish for toe meat plate. The potatoes were fished out of the pot, boiled to a complete mash; not one particle was left upon another; and Horace, to his wife’s dismay, insisted upon straining potatoes and water through the dishdoth,.in toe hope of saving toe remains. At last they sat down to dinner—baker’s bread, suspicious-looking butter, meat, and a pie from toe confectioner’s. The pudding was to answer for the dessert. “ Is there tea or coffee, dearett ?” asked Horace, looking dubiously over the table. “Goodness, if I didn’t forget it!” cried Nellie, springing up with such force as to upset the castor, and send the vinegar dancing to the floor. “How much tea will it take for us?” “I don’tknowj I’m sure,” said Hor-

ace, slowly. “What does your cook-book say?” Nellie consulted the work. “It say* ‘a quantity proportionate to the aize of the family.’ How much would that be for us ?*’ “ Well, I don’t know; about a cupful, I should think.” So a cup full waa put Into the urn • hot water was added, and the two housekeepers sat down and waited patiently for the steeping to be finished At last the tea was drawn: Horace sugared and creamed It, and put the cup to his Ups. “Good heavens!” cried he in dismay; it is strong enough to bear up a long-boat, and black, too. No more black ink needed in tills house yet awhile. We must drink water to-day. There, there, never mind; it was all my work.” Nellie’s tears had begun to flow again, and Horace leaned over the table to kiss her forehead, upsetting the tea at the same time into tne bosom of his white vest. The amount of caloric contained in the fluid was decidedly unpleasant, and poor Horace, under the influence or the pain, kicked over his chair and broke the looking-glass with the flourish of hjp elbows. Then he begged Nellie’s pardon, picked up the chair, removed the fragments of the mirror, kissed his Niobe of

a wife, and sat down to finish his dinner. Alas for his appetite! The steak was nothing but a burnt cinder—outrageously detrimental to molars and incisors ; the potatoes were non e»t; and Horace saved all his powers for the pudding. And he had need of them. The dessert was brought on and poured into its appropriate receptacle, and Horace helped himself and his wife to bountiful portions. “Turk’s Island! and crystalized limestone!” cried he, dropping his first mouthful back into his plate. “Lot’s wife must have been imported in the last steamer.” “Why, Horace!” exclaimed Nellie, in alarm, “what is the matter with the pudding?” “ Salter than salitudus! Do taste, Nell!” One mouthful was sufficient. Nellie’s pretty face was screwed up into a huna«d puckers. -.-~=^ssax^a “ Why, Horace, who would have thought it? I only put in half a cupful.” Dinner passed ofl rather soberly. Nellie was mortified at the ill success of her hard work. Horace was obliged to quit the table hungry, and we all know that a man with an empty stomach, and the prospect of that organ’s remaining thus, is a formidable animal. However, his good humor returned directly. He kissed Nellie good-by, and left her to the task of washing the dishes —no easy duty, by the way. The dinner and its accompaniments were but the prototype of many another dinner. It would be infinitely amusing to the reader to follow Nellie Harwell through the four weeks following her removal to a house of her own.

She invariably forgot to make the bed until she went up stairs to retire; the lamps were never filled till the moment they were wanted; the carpets were swept after she had dusted the furniture; she boiled the calico clothes and the , white ones together ; made starch of cold water; ironed Horace’s di aies wrong side out; sewed up the fingers of his gloves ; mistook salt for saleratus and tartar emetic for shit; burnt the meat, forcrot to sweeten the sponge cake, and made a hundred other blunders that every inexperienced housekeeper can imagine for herself. A month of this kind of existence passed away, and Nellie broached a plan to her husband. Horace waa only too happy to consent. Their house was shut up; the young man went to a boardinghouse and Nellie went to Aunt Martha Chase, a widowed sister of her father, who resided in a country town some twenty miles away. Aunt Martha was a lady more celebrated for the excellence of her pies and preserves than for the number of her flounces, and under her tutelage Nellie became, in time, what every woman should be, without regard to her station, a good housekeeper. And when at the end of three months she went back to her own house, there were no more salt puddings or burned steaks. Little lady, think well beforehand, if the adoration of your accepted lover will live after marriage if fed upon bad bread and black coffee.— Rural New Yorker.