Vintage Colouring Page- Girl with Turkey

vintage printable Thanksgiving Colouring Page, Edwardian era girl with turkey I added the poem on the left side. It replaces yet another November calendar. The poem also comes from one of the old teaching magazines, but no author was given.

This could be used as a card or picture gift for a relative.  You could print a variety of colouring pages and put them at a table with crayons or coloured pencils for the little people at your Thanksgiving celebration.


vintage colouring page girl walking turkey

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My husband’s Lunch- Roasted Sweet Potato, Kimch, more…

Sweet Potato Lunch


Left side, upper compartment: Diced sweet potatoes tossed with sesame oil, onion salt, white pepper, then roasted in the oven. Kimchi under the sweet potatoes because Kimchi goes with sweet potatoes, just ask any Korean drama.

Right side, upper comparment: Waldorf style salad- basically diced organic carrots, sliced celery, walnuts, and thin slices of tart Granny Smith apple all lightly tossed with home-made mayonnaise.

Bottom compartment: Maple roasted chicken breast on a bed of edamame and tri colored peppers.


I asked him what he does when there is a combo of hot and cold things in his lunch dish. He says it depends.  Sometimes he eats dessert first, and sometimes he scoops out whatever should be hot onto a cafeteria plate and reheats it that way.  But he takes his whole lunch back to his room- he doesn’t eat in the cafeteria.  So if he really has to reheat something it is a little inconvenient but not that big of a deal.

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Free4Kindle: A few fun discoveries

The Golden Age Cook Book

Reader Review; This is a book for “bloodless diet”, i.e. vegetarian cooking. It is rather extensive in size, it has the following sections:


“The section on baked goods is very nice. I tried the recipe for Coffee Bread and it came out quite well. Section on eggs is rather extensive, one of the omelet recipes was different from the ones I ever made an I tried, i was delicious! An egg section followed by a Soup section. The soups sounded fairly simple to make, simple yet tasty. I have not tried any, but plan to. Entrees varied from vegetables to a large variety of potato-based dishes. Salads were interesting, I was intrigued by tomato jelly and plan to try it out. All fruit recipes sounded terrific! Scalloped apples are on my to-do list. Fruit section is followed by desert section. Again, simple food, wholesome ingredients, they sounded really good!

The book ends with miscellaneous recipes for non-edible things such as lotions and soaps.

Overall, simple wholesome comfort food! What’s not to like? I recommend.”


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Pigs is Pigs

Short story, American humour. Classic clash between a ‘these are the rules’ bureaucrat at the railroad and a stubborn, penny pinching customer. Dated ethnic term or two. Author is the largely forgotten today Ellis Parker Butler, a writer who dropped out of high school by necessity to support his family and worked various jobs for several years, writing at night and whenever he could. This story allowed him to quit his day job and go into writing full time. The pigs, by the way…. well, I don’t want to spoil it. 57 pages. What do you have to lose?

You may also enjoy: Philo Gubb, Correspondence-School Detective

The Cheerful Smugglers


The Water goats and other troubles

And for .99, here’s a sampler collection of humour writers, short stories and poems that will tickle your funny bone in just the right spot:
The Classic Humor Megapack: 45 Short Stories and Poems

This is a collection of light humour in the romance department, also .99:

6 Humorous Romance Novels: Box Set
Francis Perry Elliott (Author), Robert W. Chambers (Author), Ellis Parker Butler (Author), F. Hopkinson Smith (Author), George Barr McCutcheon (Author)

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The Cockatoo’s Story
by Mrs. George Cupples

This a Victorian morality/teaching tale for children. Herbert is a boy who owns a Cockatoo and a Gray Parrot, and as a reward for his kindness to all animals, a small fairy visits him and gives him the ability to understand them. They then share their stories.

Through the stories there are little lessons about character development, bird biology, geography, and natural history, but mostly, character development. Here’s a sampling:

“After waiting for a little,” continued the cockatoo, “and after listening very hard, my companion explained to me she thought we might venture to join the group; for if they weren’t cockatoos, they were our cousins the parrots; and in a minute more she spread out her wings, and alighted in the midst of them. They were somewhat startled at first; but on her explaining why she was there, they received her very kindly; and she then called out to me to approach, for I had waited in a bush out of sight, feeling a little shy and nervous. They were greatly delighted with my appearance, and I fear they quite turned my head by their praises. I know I gave myself airs, and strutted about in a manner that would have vexed my poor mother, could she but have seen me. My companion over and over again reminded me to beware of[Pg 35] conceit, saying that even in a cockatoo it was a dangerous thing to carry about with one; and that though our cousins were pleased with me at present, they would tire of praising me by-and-by, if they saw how foolish it made me. But I was only a year old at that time, and had always been a little headstrong and difficult to manage.

“As my old friend had said,” continued the cockatoo, “my newly-found cousins were not long in finding out my bad qualities, and they were almost harder upon me than my own brothers had been; which caused my temper to give way again, and from being a very frank, obliging bird, I became quite a cross, ill-natured one. One day I had retired to the woods, and was sitting sulking by myself in a bush, when the old cockatoo came and perched herself on the branch[Pg 36] above me. For some minutes she sat looking at me without uttering a sound; but every now and then she would shake her head, or raise up her crest in rather a fierce manner. At last I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I cried out in a very angry tone of voice, ‘Why, what do you mean by looking at me like that? I would rather not be disturbed.’ And I gave a very ugly and angry screech.

“‘Cockatoo,’ said she, ‘I am grieved to the heart by your behaviour. Take my advice, sir, and mend your ways, else I fear something bad will come of it.’

“‘I will not be interfered with,’ I said; ‘and I don’t care if you never speak to me again;’ and I screeched louder and uglier than before.

The same author wrote Carry’s Rose, or, the Magic of Kindness. A Tale for the Young

Bluff Crag, or, A Good Word Costs Nothing

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Miss Million’s Maid A Romance of Love and Fortune

Reader Review: This curiosity of a book was written in the early 1900s. A sparkly bit of fluff, the story takes place during the downfall of the British aristocracy in the time when large estates became a financial drain and could not support the old lifestyle. And yet, thanks to a mind-set developed over centuries, “gentlemen” distained working as an option.

This comedy of manners shows what happens when a young housemaid inherits a fortune and hires her young, penniless former mistress as her maid. Madness ensues as the “maid” tries to polish her new mistress and help her navigate the potential disasters awaiting her in society and among fortune hunters.

Since this is a comedy of manners, stereotypes are used liberally. Some, like the handsome, sweet-talking, duplicitous Irishman fit into the story.

Others, like the villain–an oily, mean-spirited foreign Jew–make modern readers cringe.

It is best to keep in mind that this book comes from an earlier age with all the prejudices of that age.

It also helps to remember that the setting is around the time of World War I when a swastika was merely an ancient good luck symbol.

Note: most readers enjoyed this and found it surprisingly modern, good social commentary, witty, amusing, unpredictable, and a generally good read apart from the stereotypes by race. The handful of negative reviews were the unhelpful sort written by people who make me wonder if they really like to read anymore more complicated than a modern bodice ripper (I hated it. It was boring. Stopped reading in the second chapter.).

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Troublesome Comforts A Story for Children

By Geraldine Glasgow, 69 pages of very charming reading, a good story that really does have some ‘improving’ food for thought.

I *liked* this story- it rather reminded a bit of Patricia St. John’s story The Other Kitten. It’s a little more old fashioned, since it is, after all, an older story. It wasn’t too goody-two-shoes or missish. There are one or two hints at the cult of womanhood, but they are whiffs in atmosphere rather than Victorian Preaching throughout the book. It isn’t perfect, but most of the characters seemed quite human and real, with the possible exception of the mother, who is just a little too good to be true while at the same time expecting overmuch of her eldest- a failing many of us have, after all.

Susie is the eldest of the five children, all of them fairly young. She struggles with temper and discontentment a little too high a self-regard, and a certain impulsiveness when it comes to naughtiness. But she’s also a mixes in just enough sound conscience and sense of duty that she generally ends her naughtiness with regrets and self-reproach. The family leave Father with his business in the city and take a vacation at the sea, meant to be a rest for the mother, although the five children don’t really allow her much by way of rest.

Like The Other Kitten there is a crisis or two, and while the faith aspect is not as overt as in The Other Kitten. I rather liked the natural expressions of it- for instance, two of the children are lost and the mother is searching for them in town and comes to be assisted by a retired member of the British Navy. They two have this exchange:

“I shall sail humbly in the wake of the Royal Navy. Only, tell me what you mean to do.”

He stood for a moment under a lamp, and his keen eyes seemed to see through her. “I propose to begin with the first street out of the Parade,” he said, “and so on, by sections. I’ll go first where I’m known. There can’t be such a rack of twins in the town that they can’t be traced. Trust me, lady.”

“I do! I do!” she said; “but I feel frightened.”

“Where’s your faith, ma’am?” he said, rather sternly.

“I am sure I don’t know,” she said, with a faint smile. “It may be the will—the will of—Providence—that the children should not come home.”

The old man stood still again, and raised his cap from a silvery head.

“There’s One above as won’t let him go too far,” he said. “We have our orders, which is enough for me. Carry on.”

And here’s the intro:

“Mrs. Beauchamp sat in a stuffy third-class carriage at Liverpool Street Station, and looked wistfully out of the window at her husband. Behind her the carriage seemed full to overflowing with children and paper parcels, and miscellaneous packages held together by straps. Even the ticket collector failed in his mental arithmetic when nurse confronted him with the tickets.

“There’s five halfs and two wholes,” she said, “and a dog and a bicycle.”

“All right, madam,” he said politely, “but I don’t see the halfs.”

“There’s Miss Susie, and Master Dick, and Miss Amy,” began nurse distractedly, “and the child in my arms; and now there’s Master Tommy disappeared.”

“He’s under the seat,” said Dick solemnly.

“Come out, Tom,” said his father, “and don’t be such an ass.”

Tom crawled out, a mass of dust and grime, not in the least disconcerted.

“I thought I could travel under the seat if I liked,” he said.

“Oh, if you like!” said his father; but nurse, with a look of despair, caught at his knickerbockers just as he was plunging into the dust again. “Not whilst I have power to hold you back, Master Dick,” she said.—”No, sir, you haven’t got the washing of him, and wild horses won’t be equal to it if he gets his way.”

“Well, keep still, Tommy,” said his father.

Tommy squirmed and wriggled, but nurse’s hand was muscular, and the strength of despair was in her grip. Mrs. Beauchamp realized that in a few minutes the keeping in order of the turbulent crew would fall to her, but for the present she tried to shut her ears to Susie’s domineering tones and Tommy’s scornful answers. Susie always chose the most unsuitable moments for displays of temper, and Mrs. Beauchamp sighed as she looked at the firm little mouth and eager blue eyes. She felt so very, very sorry to be leaving Dick the elder in London—so intolerably selfish. Her voice was full of tender regret.”

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Have fun reading!

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Comet Song

ESA took a data series from Philae’s magnetometer, sped it up about 10000x, and turned it into an audio waveform.

Shivers with the coolness of it all.

No, I don’t totally understand it. The comet, as I almost understand it, produces oscillations in the local magnetic field. Why? Maybe via the comet surface and solar wind interacting together which results in… something. That something- or some other cause- results in vibrations which are read as data by the magnetometer, and then sped up and turned into the audio above.

Which is just another way of saying what was already said, but I make a reasonably decent parrot, don’t you think?

The morning stars sang for joy in the beginning of time…

And they may have been singing ever since.

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Vintage Colouring Pages: Pilgrim Children Cooking

vintage colouring page pilgrim children cooking commonroomI apologize that it’s off center- I don’t have a program that lets me straighten it out. The original image is also full of some gray shadings that I think are just shadows on the scanned image. I tried to remove them from the second printable you see here- but it became tedious and I took a short cut. Now, the short cut works, but it also reduces the sharpness of the printed image just a bit. On the other hand, it also saves on ink when printing. So you decide which one works best for you:

vintage colouring page pilgrim cooking vintage colouring page pilgrim cooking darker lines

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November Calendar, Nuts and Seeds

november calendar seeds and nuts

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Sourdough Graham Gems

2014-11-14 19.10.50 I’ve put the recipe onto a free printable- a half page decorated recipe card, two to a page. This way you can print, cut it in half, keep one inside your favorite cookbook or your own home-made recipe book, and give the other away to a friend, along with some of your own sourdough starter and directions on how to keep feeding the starter:

sourdough muffin recipe cards

The recipe makes about 2 dozen.


I had some sourdough starter that I really needed to use, and I was ready to use it all up and try a fresh batch.

So I fossicked around here and there, and I thought of my old recipe for graham gems. This is the first muffin recipe I baked as a newlywed, and it continued to be my standby for muffins for about the next 8 years or so.  I adapted it from there and we had them with split pea soup for supper last night, just like the old days- except two of the three sons-in-law, four grandbabies, and Blynken and Nod were all here as well.

2014-11-14 19.11.34 2014-11-14 19.12.09

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Vintage Colouring Page: Turkeys

vintage colouring page turkeys

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Nod’s Birthday

Several years ago we started a tradition without realizing that is what we were doing. It was by accident, really, which is how the best traditions begin.

It was one of our children’s birthdays and I couldn’t really spare the money for gift wrap and wasn’t feeling inspired by comics-paper wrapping (we didn’t have it anyway, we didn’t get a paper), or brown paper bags potato stamped in bright colors, or a bit of yardage that could double as dress up clothes, or a bandanna that could also go in the dress up box or be used to fold, roll, and tie to make a handkerchief baby doll, or any of the other ideas for substitute paper.

So we did a scavenger hut for the present. I hid it somewhere, and made a list of rhyming clues and riddles, each one leading to the next, and the children ran through the house following up on the clues. They loved it, and henceforth there was at least one scavenger hunt for presents each year.

A few years ago we found ourselves with Blynken on his birthday and we learned that if we didn’t celebrate his birthday, he’d been told it wouldn’t be celebrated at all (don’t ask, I won’t tell more than this- it made us all very angry and it wasn’t fair to him). This was a state of affairs not to be born so we quickly put together a birthday part celebration for him- I almost always have a stash of goodies for gifts in my closet, so I pulled out one of those, but lacking paper, I did a scavenger hunt.

Blynken also needed to work on his reading and he’d been rather intractable about cooperating on that front. So I made his clues up to include words he should be able to read and needed to practice- something he never has known. He did read his words and find his clues and get to the present at the end, and ever after, the boys come to our house the week of their birthdays and request a scavenger hunt.

Yesterday, can you believe it? Nod had his 8th birthday. 8 years since the day I watched him being born and then got to be the first person to hold him, all wrapped up warmly, vernix still moisturizing his beautiful newborn cafe au lait skin.

Earlier this week his mother called and asked if the boys could come for the weekend, and “Can you give Nod a scavenger hunt or his birthday? He really wants one.”

And so we are.

I’m writing the clues on these turkeys:

six stand up turkeys to one page

I thought about telling him the clues were inside a book- that would certainly be a scavenger hunt to remember, but I thought that might seem a little unpleasant to clean up the aftermath.

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Free Kindle Books, some Victorian reads

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Guy Fawkes or The Gunpowder Treason

Extract: More than two hundred and thirty-five years ago, or, to speak with greater precision, in 1605, at the latter end of June, it was rumoured one morning in Manchester that two seminary priests, condemned at the late assizes under the severe penal enactments then in force against the Papists, were about to suffer death on that day. Attracted by the report, large crowds flocked towards the place of execution, which, in order to give greater solemnity to the spectacle, had been fixed at the southern gate of the old Collegiate Church, where a scaffold was erected. Near it was a large blood-stained block, the use of which will be readily divined, and adjoining the block, upon a heap of blazing coals, smoked a caldron filled with boiling pitch, intended to receive the quarters of the miserable sufferers.

The place was guarded by a small band of soldiers, fully[Pg 2] accoutred in corslets and morions, and armed with swords, half-pikes, and calivers. Upon the steps of the scaffold stood the executioner,—a square-built, ill-favoured personage, busied in arranging a bundle of straw upon the boards. He was dressed in a buff jerkin, and had a long-bladed, two-edged knife thrust into his girdle. Besides these persons, there was a pursuivant,—an officer appointed by the Privy Council to make search throughout the provinces for recusants, Popish priests, and other religious offenders. He was occupied at this moment in reading over a list of suspected persons.

Reader Review: This book, written around 1840, is a historical novel, rather than a history. At the same time the authors seem to have studied the subject well. They begin by telling of the severe persecutions of Catholics in England in the reign of James I.

There had been persecutions under Elizabeth I, but they were stepped up a year after James took the throne. This was partly to provide finances to the king’s less wealthy friends. Putting them in charge of collecting from the Catholics gave them a nice income. They were supported by those Protestants who still harbored a grievance for the bloody reign of Mary I, even though she had been dead nearly a century. The surprising thing is not that the situation led to the Gunpowder Plot by a handful of Catholics, but that it didn’t lead to outright revolt by a majority of them.

The suffering of those condemned is not dealt with in the gruesome manner currently in fashion. You’re told what is going down, and then left to use your imagination (or not) as to the details. Altogether, I think the book is worth a look, if only to remind us of the fact that there’s a difference between disagreeing with someone’s views and becoming obsessed with “saving” them from their errors. (BTW if you’re wondering, no, I’m not Catholic, but I am a Christian, and I find nothing in our Lord’s teachings about hating thy neighbor.)

If I had teens I’d want them to read this to help them understand the history of the establishment clause in the Constitution, and to let them see where unchecked prejudice can lead.

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Old Saint Paul’s A Tale of the Plague and the Fire

Reader Review: One thing I learned long ago is that just because a book is old and written in a style modern readers may no longer appreciate, doesn’t mean it should be ignored, and this book is a fine example of it. Ainsworth proves he is an outstanding writer as he tells his tale of romance and horror as he describes the way the plague ravaged London in the 1660s, and ends the book with an incredible description of the great fire of London.

Ainsworth tells us upfront that the book is based on a small volume called “preparations against the plague” that is attributed to Defoe. I have not read that particular work, so I can’t comment on on how much of it was copied from that work. I can only talk about “Old St. Paul’s” itself.

Like a lot of works from this time period (1841) you need to have a bit of patience while the plot develops, although it develops more quickly than many works from this era. The author focuses on a single family of London, a successful grocer, Stephen Bloundel and his family, and especially on his daughter, Amabel (that is not a typo, that is the correct spelling) and his apprentice, Leonard Holt.

Leonard is infatuated with Amabel. But, unfortunately, so is just about every other male in London, including a notorious libertine well known for seducing and ruining the lives of attractive young women.

Meanwhile the plague is approaching London, and beginning to attack the outskirts of the city. The grocer develops a plan for locking himself and his household into his large home, isolating the entire family from the rest of the city, and hoping to avoid the plague.

I thought the book was going to turn out to be a mere romance novel, but it is far, far more than that. The descriptions of the way the plague ravages London are incredible. It’s hard to imagine the horror of it, the way the sick were teated, and the ‘plague pits’, the mass graves where bodies of the victims were unceremoniously dumped. And as is the case during every tragedy, there are people who are willing to take advantage of the situation to make a profit. The town abounds with quacks selling every manner of fake remedies, taking advantage of the desperate and the sick.

The book is long and convoluted and detailed, and I was fascinated with it right up until the very end. It concludes with an incredible description of the great fire of London.

I just don’t have the space to delve into everything that goes on in the book, and I don’t want to spoil anything for potential readers. So take a look at the book. After all, the price is right.

Extract: One night, at the latter end of April, 1665, the family of a citizen of London carrying on an extensive business as a grocer in Wood-street, Cheapside, were assembled, according to custom, at prayer. The grocer’s name was Stephen Bloundel. His family consisted of his wife, three sons, and two daughters. He had, moreover, an apprentice; an elderly female serving as cook; her son, a young man about five-and-twenty, filling the place of porter to the shop and general assistant; and a kitchen-maid. The whole household attended; for the worthy grocer, being a strict observer of his religious duties, as well as a rigid disciplinarian in other respects, suffered no one to be absent, on any plea whatever, except indisposition, from morning and evening devotions; and these were always performed at stated times. In fact, the establishment was conducted with the regularity of clockwork, it being the aim of its master not to pass a single hour of the day unprofitably.

The ordinary prayers gone through, Stephen Bloundel offered up along and fervent supplication to the Most High for protection against the devouring pestilence with which the city was then scourged. He acknowledged that this terrible visitation had been justly brought upon it by the wickedness of its inhabitants; that they deserved their doom, dreadful though it was; that, like the dwellers in Jerusalem before it was given up to ruin and desolation, they “had mocked the messengers of God and despised His word;” that in the language of the prophet, “they had refused to hearken, and pulled away the shoulder, and stopped their ears that they should not hear; yea, had made their heart like an adamant stone, lest they should hear the law and the words which the Lord of Hosts had sent in his spirit by the former prophets.” He admitted that great sins require great chastisement, and that the sins of London were enormous; that it was filled with strifes, seditions, heresies, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and every kind of abomination; that the ordinances of God were neglected, and all manner of vice openly practised; that, despite repeated warnings and afflictions less grievous than the present, these vicious practices had been persisted in. All this he humbly acknowledged. But he implored a gracious Providence, in consideration of his few faithful servants, to spare the others yet a little longer, and give them a last chance of repentance and amendment; or, if this could not be, and their utter extirpation was inevitable, that the habitations of the devout might be exempted from the general destruction—might be places of refuge, as Zoar was to Lot. He concluded by earnestly exhorting those around him to keep constant watch upon themselves; not to murmur at God’s dealings and dispensations; but so to comport themselves, that “they might be able to stand in the day of wrath, in the day of death, and in the day of judgment.” The exhortation produced a powerful effect upon its hearers, and they arose, some with serious, others with terrified looks.

Before proceeding further, it may be desirable to show in what manner the dreadful pestilence referred to by the grocer commenced, and how far its ravages had already extended. Two years before, namely, in 1663, more than a third of the population of Amsterdam was carried off by a desolating plague. Hamburgh was also grievously afflicted about the same time, and in the same manner. Notwithstanding every effort to cut off communication with these states, the insidious disease found its way into England by means of some bales of merchandise, as it was suspected, at the latter end of the year 1664, when two persons died suddenly, with undoubted symptoms of the distemper, in Westminster. Its next appearance was at a house in Long Acre, and its victims two Frenchmen, who had brought goods from the Levant. Smothered for a short time, like a fire upon which coals had been heaped, it broke out with fresh fury in several places.

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The Master of the Inn

REader Review; Great little novella which I read in one sitting on a flight from Edinburgh to Brussels. I’m long been interested in this period of American literature and assumed, wrongly, this work might have had strong influences from the Naturalism movement of the time. Some of the descriptions of nature and evocations of place are absolutely first rate and give the early part of the book a meditative, arcadian feel. You’ll find yourself really wanting to go and stay at the Inn (if you are a man at least!). The later part of the book seems like it’s losing its way but then comes full circle and achieves closure just when you fear it will drift into in-conclusion. A minor gem but a gem nevertheless which I’d absolutely recommend spending a hour or two with.

Extract: And so, as one was added to another, they began to call themselves in joke “Brothers,” and the Doctor, “Father.” The older “Brothers” would return to the Inn from all parts of the land, for a few days or a few weeks, to grasp the Doctor’s hand, to have a dip in the pool, to try the little brooks among the hills. Young men and middle-aged, and even the old, they came from the cities where the heat of living had scorched them, where they had faltered and doubted the goodness of life. In some way word of the Master had reached them, with this compelling advice—”Go! And tell him I sent you.” So from the clinic or the lecture-room, from the office or the mill—wherever men labor with tightening nerves—the needy one started on his long journey. Toward evening he was set down before the plain red face of the Inn. And as the Stranger entered the old hall, a voice was sure to greet him from within somewhere, the deep voice of a hearty man, and presently the Master appeared to welcome the newcomer, resting one hand on his guest’s shoulder perhaps, with a yearning affection that ran before knowledge.

“So you’ve come, my boy,” he said. “Herring [or some one] wrote me to look for you.”

And after a few more words of greeting, the Doctor beckoned to Sam, and gave the guest over to his hands. Thereupon the Chinaman slippered through tiled passageways to the court, where the Stranger, caught by the beauty and peace so well hidden, lingered a while. The little space within the wings was filled with flowers as far as the yellow water of the pool and the marble bench. In the centre of the court was an old gray fountain—sent from Verona by a Brother—from which the water dropped and ran away among the flower beds to the pool. A stately elm tree shaded this place, flecking the water below. The sun shot long rays beneath its branches into the court, and over all there was an odor of blossoming flowers and the murmur of bees.

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Chocolate and Cocoa Recipes and Home Made Candy Recipes

Reader Review: This book begins with a brief history of chocolate so that may be of interest to you. Then it is mostly filled with recipes that the modern cook will have trouble with in today’s times. Like for instance who measures flour by the pint? Who cooks in a moderately hot oven? If placing something over a fire, would that be a gas burner? How do you get an entire box of gelatine? Now it is sold in envelopes. What is “soluble” chocolate? I find most of the recipes sound delicious but making them would be quite the effort. First you’d need to write out the recipe again with all the ingredients listed first and the instructions after. In this book the recipes are all written in an old-fashioned style that won’t be appreciated by cooks who want something fast to make. If you do read this book do it only for the pleasure that a foodie would get from reading about cooking.

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The Easiest Way in Housekeeping and Cooking Adapted to Domestic Use or Study in Classes

Why Monday should be fixed upon as washing-day, is often questioned; but, like many other apparently arbitrary arrangements, its foundation is in common-sense. Tuesday has its advantages also, soon to be mentioned; but to any later period than Tuesday there are serious objections. All clothing is naturally changed on Sunday; and, if washed before dirt has had time to harden in the fiber of the cloth, the operation is much easier. The German custom, happily passing away, of washing only annually or semi-annually, is both disgusting, and destructive to health and clothes; the air of whatever room such accumulations are stored in being poisoned, while the clothes themselves are rubbed to pieces in the endeavor to get out the long-seated dirt.

A weekly wash being the necessity if perfect cleanliness exists, the simplest and best method of thoroughly accomplishing it comes up for question. While few women are obliged to use their own hands in such directions, plenty of needy and unskilled workwomen who can earn a living in no other way being ready to relieve us, it is yet quite as necessary to know every detail, in order that the best work may be required, and that where there is ignorance of methods in such work they may be taught.

The advantages of washing on Tuesday are, that it allows Monday for setting in order after the necessary rest of Sunday, gives opportunity to collect and put in soak all the soiled clothing, and so does away with the objection felt by many good people to performing this operation Sunday night.

To avoid such sin, bed-clothing is often changed on Saturday; but it seems only part of the freshness and sweetness which ought always to make Sunday the white-day of the week, that such change should be made on that morning, while the few minutes required for sorting the clothes, and putting them in water, are quite as legitimate as any needed operation.

If Monday be the day, then, Saturday night may be chosen for filling the tubs, supposing the kitchen to be unfurnished with stationary tubs. Sunday night enough hot water can be added to make the whole just warm—not hot. Now put in one tub all fine things,—collars and cuffs, shirts and fine underwear. Bed-linen may be added, or soaked in a separate tub; but table-linen must of course be kept apart. Last, let the coarsest and most soiled articles have another. Do not add soap, as if there is any stain it is likely to set it. If the water is hard, a little borax may be added. And see that the clothes are pressed down, and well covered with water.

Monday morning, and the earlier the better (the morning sun drying and sweetening clothes better than the later), have the boiler full of clean warm suds. Soft soap may be used, or a bar of hard dissolved in hot water, and used like soft soap.

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Euthenics, the science of controllable environment a plea for better living conditions as a first step toward higher human efficiency

Mainly of a sort of geeky historical interest



I. The opportunity for betterment is real and practical, not merely academic 3
II. Individual effort is needed to improve individual conditions. Home and habits of living, eating, etc. Good habits pay in economy of time and force 15
III. Community effort is needed to make better conditions for all, in streets and public places, for water and milk supply, hospitals, markets, housing problems, etc. Restraint for sake of neighbors 39
IV. Interchangeableness of these two forms of progressive effort. First one, then the other ahead 59
V. The child to be “raised” as he should be. Restraint for his good. Teaching good habits the chief duty of the family 73
VI. The child to be educated in the light of sanitary science. Office of the school. Domestic science for girls. Applied science. The duty of the higher education. Research needed 91[xii]
VII. Stimulative education for adults. Books, newspapers, lectures, working models, museums, exhibits, moving pictures 117
VIII. Both child and adult to be protected from their own ignorance. Educative value of law and of fines for disobedience. Compulsory sanitation by municipal, state, and federal regulations. Instructive inspection 131
IX. There is responsibility as well as opportunity. The housewife an important factor and an economic force in improving the national health and increasing the national wealth

Excerpt: The less spectacular but more effective office of prevention of the need for charity, in the maintenance of cleanness in the markets, streets, and shops, yes, even in the homes of the people, has been neglected. Through lack of belief, and especially [46]through inattention to causes so common as to escape notice, many details of great hygienic importance have been overlooked.

Some daring ones in commercial ventures are showing the possibilities of a standard in cleanness, and model establishments, dairies, bakeries, and restaurants should receive the hearty support of a community. If they do not receive this support, it is more than discouraging to the promoters, for it costs to be clean, a lesson the community must learn. The saving of money and the consequent loss of life through disease, or the spending of money and the saving of life through prevention, are the alternatives.

Undoubtedly the old view of charity as tenderly caring for the sick—because there must always be a certain amount of sickness in the world—has held men back from attempting to make a world without sickness. The charity worker of the past had no hope of really making things better permanently.

The new view, based upon scientific investigation, is that it is not charity that[47] is needed to support invalids who once stricken must fade away, but preventive action to give the patient hope and fresh air. Most important of all, the experience already gained shows how far from the truth was the old fatalistic notion of the necessary continuance of disease.

While the support of many agencies—dispensaries, clinics, hospitals, sanatoria, etc.—must for a time depend upon private philanthropy, the expense is in the nature of an investment to bring in a high rate of interest in the future welfare of the race. As soon as the belief in the efficiency of these agents reaches the taxpayer he will willingly furnish the funds for public agencies.

Today the child in the school is examined; then, if need be, is given special consideration at the dispensary, then sent to school, where, with fresh air, pure food, and hygienic surroundings, he will so strengthen himself as to combat the ravages of disease.

The Association for the Improvement of the Condition of the Poor, New York[48] City, not only sends bread to fill the hungry stomach, but now sends a wise and sympathetic worker to help women to understand food and money values, which means a permanent help. And it no longer simply says to the tired, worried woman who has had no education-stimulus along the line of cleanness, “Be clean,” but sends in women to make the house an example, an exhibit of clean conditions, if you will. Example is stronger than precept.

In the rapid growth of cities, so often beyond anticipation, preparation for development or plans for extension have seldom been laid. Much suffering has been wrought to the families of men in our crowded cities, for there is no greater evil than the congestion of streets and buildings.

Many students of social conditions of today believe that the most serious menace is the situation best described as housing—the site, the crowding, the bad building, poor water supply and drainage, lack of light and air and cleanliness. All believe that it is economically a loss to the city in general, however profitable to a very few.[49] To rent such buildings is a far greater crime than cruelty to animals or even the beating of women and children.

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Baby Mine

Baby Mine is a farce, not to be taken too seriously, although it has a couple of excellent moral lessons (don’t pretended to be somebody you’re not in order to land a man).

Excerpt: Sitting alone in a secluded corner of the campus waiting for Alfred to solve a problem in higher mathematics, Jimmy now recalled fragments of Alfred’s last conversation.
“No twelve dollar shoes and forty dollar hats for MY wife,” his young friend had raged and he condemned to Jimmy the wicked extravagance of his own younger sisters. “The woman who gets me must be a home-maker. I’ll take her to the theatre occasionally, and now and then we’ll have a few friends in for the evening; but the fireside must be her magnet, and I’ll be right by her side each night with my books and my day’s worries. She shall be taken into my confidence completely; and I’ll take good care to let her know, before I marry her, just what I expect in return.”
“Alfred certainly has the right idea about marriage,” mused Jimmy, as the toe of his boot shoved the gravel up and down the path. “There’s just one impractical feature about it.” He was conscious of a slight feeling of heresy when he admitted even ONE flaw in his friend’s scheme of things. “Where is Alfred to find such a wife?”
Jimmy ran through the list of unattached girls to whom Alfred had thus far presented him. It was no doubt due to his lack of imagination, but try as he would, he could not see any one of these girls sitting by the fireside listening to Alfred’s “worries” for four or five nights each week. He recalled all the married women whom he had been obliged, through no fault of his own, to observe.
True, all of them did not boast twelve dollar shoes or forty dollar hats—for the very simple reason that the incomes or the tempers of their husbands did not permit of it. In any case, Jimmy did not remember having seen them spend many evenings by the fireside. Where then was Alfred to find the exceptional creature who was to help “systematise his life”? Jimmy was not above hoping that Alfred’s search might be a long one. He was content for his friend to go jogging along by his side, theorising about marriage and taking no chances with facts. Having come to this conclusion, he began to feel uneasy at Alfred’s non-appearance. Alfred had promised to meet him on this spot at four-thirty, and Alfred had decided ideas about punctuality. It was now five-thirty. Ought Jimmy to look for him, or would he be wiser to remain comfortably seated and to try to digest another of his friend’s theories?
While Jimmy was trying to decide this vexed question, his ear caught the sound of a girlish titter. Turning in embarrassment toward a secluded path just behind him, whom did he see coming toward him but Alfred, with what appeared to be a bunch of daffodils; but as Alfred drew nearer, Jimmy began to perceive at his elbow a large flower-trimmed hat, and—”horrors!”—beneath it, with a great deal of filmy white and yellow floating from it, was a small pink and white face.
Barely had Jimmy reversed himself and rearranged his round, astonished features, when Alfred, beaming and buoyant, brought the bundle of fluff to a full stop before him.
“Sorry to be late, old chap,” said Alfred. “I have brought my excuse with me. I want you to know Miss Merton.” Then turning to the small creature, whose head peeped just above his elbow, Alfred explained to her graciously that Jimmy Jinks was his very best friend, present company excepted, of course, and added that she and Jimmy would no doubt “see a great deal of each other in the future.”
In his embarrassment, Jimmy’s eyes went straight to the young lady’s shoes. It was possible that there might be more expensive shoes in this world, but Jimmy had certainly never seen daintier.
“I hope we didn’t disturb you,” a small voice was chirping; and innocent and conventional as the remark surely was, Jimmy was certain of an undercurrent of mischief in it. He glanced up to protest, but two baby-blue eyes fixed upon him in apparent wonderment, made him certain that anything he could say would seem rude or ridiculous; so, as usual when in a plight, he looked to Alfred for the answer.
Slapping Jimmy upon the shoulder in a condescending spirit, Alfred suggested that they all sit down and have a chat.
“Oh, how nice,” chirped the small person.
Jimmy felt an irresistible desire to run, but the picture of himself, in his very stout person, streaking across the campus to the giggled delight of Miss Fluff, soon brought him submissively to the seat, where he sat twiddling his straw hat between his fingers, and glancing uncertainly at Alfred, who was thoughtful enough to sit next him.
“Goodness, one could almost dance out here, couldn’t one?” said the small person, named Zoie, as her eyes roved over the bit of level green before them.

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People of the Whirlpool From The Experience Book of a Commuter’s Wife

Collection of letters, essays, and journal entries from back in the day:
“January 25th.

“I dwelt on that little dinner episode, my dear Barbara, because in it you will find an answer to several questions I read between your lines. Since my return I find that practically all my old friends have flown to what Archie Martin called ‘a different roost,’ or else failing, or having no desire so to do, have left the city altogether, leaving me very lonely. Not only those with daughters to bring out, but many of my spinster contemporaries are listed with the buds at balls and dinner dances, and their gowns and jewels described. Ah, what a fatal memory for ages one has in regard to schoolmates! Josephine Ponsonby was but one class behind us, and she is dancing away yet.

“The middle-aged French women who now, as always, hold their own in public life have better tact, and make the cultivation of some intellectual quality or political scheme at least the excuse for holding their salons, and not the mere excuse of rivalry in money spending.

“I find the very vocabulary altered—for rest read change, for sleep read stimulation, etc, ad infin.

“Born a clergyman’s daughter of the old regime, I was always obliged to be more conservative than was really natural to my temperament; even so, I find myself at middle life with comfortable means (owing to that bit of rock and mud of grandma’s on the old Bloomingdale road that father persistently kept through thick and thin), either obliged to compromise myself, alter my dress and habits, go to luncheons where the prelude is a cocktail, and the after entertainment to play cards for money, contract bronchitis by buzzing at afternoon teas, make a vocation of charity, or—stay by myself,—these being the only forms of amusement left open, and none offering the intimate form of social intercourse I need.

“I did mission schools and parish visiting pretty thoroughly and conscientiously during forty years of my life,—on my return an ecclesiastical, also, as well as a social shock awaited me. St. Jacob’s has been made a free church, and my special department has been given in charge of two newly adopted Deaconesses, ‘both for the betterment of parish work and reaching of the poor.’ So be it, but Heaven help those who are neither rich nor poor enough to be of consequence and yet are spiritually hungry.

“The church system is necessarily reduced to mathematics. The rector has office hours, so have the curates, and they will ‘cheerfully come in response to any call.’ It was pleasant to have one’s pastor drop in now and then in a sympathetic sort of way, pleasant to have a chance to ask his advice without formally sending for him as if you wished to be prayed over! But everything has grown so big and mechanical that there is not time. The clergy in many high places are emancipating themselves from the Bible and preaching politics, history, fiction, local sensation, and what not, or lauding in print the moral qualities of a drama in which the friendship between Mary Magdalene and Judas Iscariot is dwelt on and the latter adjudged a patriot. I don’t like it, and I don’t like hurrying to church that I may secure my seat in the corner of our once family pew, where as a child I loved to think that the light that shone across my face from a particular star in one of the stained-glass windows was a special message to me. It all hurts, and I do not deny that I am bitter. Those in charge of gathering in new souls should take heed how they ignore or trample on the old crop!

“So I attend to my household duties, marketing, take my exercise, and keep up my French and German; but when evening comes, no one rings the bell except some intoxicated person looking for one of the lodging houses opposite, and the silence is positively asphyxiating—if they would only play an accordion in the kitchen I should be grateful. I’m really thinking of offering the maids a piano and refreshments if they will give an ‘at home’ once a week, as the only men in the neighbourhood seem to be the butchers and grocery clerks and the police. There is an inordinate banging going on in the rear of the house, and I must break off to see what it is.”

* * * * *
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Sweet Cicely – or Josiah Allen as a Politician

This is temperance movement book written to show the reader the evils of demon rum and other spirits, but there is plenty enjoy about this quaint old fashioned tale as well:

It was somewhere about the middle of winter, along in the forenoon, that Josiah Allen was telegrafted to, unexpected. His niece Cicely and her little boy was goin’ to pass through Jonesville the next day on her way to visit her aunt Mary (aunt on her mother’s side), and she would stop off, and make us a short visit if convenient.
We wuz both tickled, highly tickled; and Josiah, before he had read the telegraf ten minutes, was out killin’ a hen. The plumpest one in the flock was the order I give; and I wus a beginnin’ to make a fuss, and cook up for her.
We loved her jest about as well as we did Tirzah Ann. Sweet Cicely was what we used to call her when she was a girl. Sweet Cicely is a plant that has a pretty white posy. And our niece Cicely was prettier and purer and sweeter than any posy that ever grew: so we thought then, and so we think still.

From another section:
“It must be we can get the laws changed before he grows up. I dare not trust him in a world that has such temptations, such snares set ready for him. Why,” says she—And she fairly trembled as she said it. She would always throw her whole soul into any thing she undertook; and in this she had throwed her hull heart, too, and her hull life—or so it seemed to me, to look at her pale face, and her big, glowin’ eyes, full of sadness, full of resolve too.
“Why, just think of it! How he will be coaxed into those drinking-saloons! how, with his easy, generous, good-natured ways,—and I know he will have such ways, and be popular,—a bright, handsome young man, and with plenty of money. Just think of it! how, with those open saloons on every side of him, when he can’t walk down the street without those gilded bars shining on every hand; and the friends he will make, gay, rich, thoughtless young men like himself—they will laugh at him if he refuses to do as they do; and with my boy’s inherited tastes and temperament, his easiness to be led by those he loves, what will hinder him from going to ruin as his poor father did? What will keep him, aunt Samantha?”
And she busted out a cryin’.
I says, “Hush, Cicely,” layin’ my hand on hern. It wus little and soft, and trembled like a leaf. Some folks would have called her nervous and excitable; but I didn’t, thinkin’ what she had went through with the boy’s father.

P.S.  There’s also some pretty funny, in a dry sort of way, commentary on the types of men who lectured about why women shouldn’t have the vote.

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