The Dickinson press., 1888-07-28
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ONE OF THE MOST DELICIOUS MEN,
DRIES OF CHILDHOOD.

DRIES OF CHILDHOOD.
a Trip to the Oldtimc "Hush'-A Day
When Patent Iyaporntors Were Tn
kmowu-.:nldcn Drips of Understandable
SwcctncSs-''It ROpcs!'
There is one thing that no mortal can imi-
tate. have seen and tasted n hundred sorts
of manufactured sugar: but l will go without
my spring bonnet if l ann tell the honest
FROM the imitation every time. There is n
delicate l%ouquct of flavors comminglcd to
make up maple syrup-five in number. | am
sure. if not six. These l can tell, one from
the other. and glucose is not one of them.
The most delicious memory of my g%irlhood
is of q day when l was permitted to so with
my father 10 the "bush,H half IL mile from
the house. The bush, or grove. was about
scvcntv-tive maple trees, scattered in groups
and singly up and down the slopes of Il great
glen. or pcrched on top Il grand knoll. We
rode Oh a stone boat over the snow, for the
farmers could carry barrels of sap more
easily on such Il vehicle, and it did not cut
into the snow. rcmcmbcg to this hour Just
where a crow sat perchcd oil a dead hemlock;
and as We went through the nd orchard n
Nv"tlNNhNis III VIZ INNhliiS IL ii'it III IL
studied limb, turned his queer head around
and looked at me as much as to say: "Wcll.
who are You. any way The crow said
nothing, which is n crows way of saving n
great deal: for when a crow keeps still you
may be sure he is very busy thinking. In
the maple tree by the brook there was a
squirrels hole, and as there had been some
warm weather, Bobby was abroad, and l
suppose gathering in from his caches or store
houses.
ZONES OLD DoBBIN.
Then we were in the bush, and the horse
was headed near the fire, so that he should
he comfortable, and an old buffalo robe was
thrown across his back, and n bunch of hay
laid under his nose. SO all the morning
Dobbin munchcd his hay or took n nap be-
tween bites, and l rambled about under the
south slope, where the SHOW had tliawcd
away and the dry leaves lay in heaps in
little hollowS.
The folks" that is my father and my two
big brothers, were patiently %cmptying buck
cts that stood by the trees, into pals, and
carrying the contents to the great cauldron
kettles that hung over the fire, near by Dob
bin. There We're none of the improved ways
then, nor any patent cvaporntors; but there
was genuine sap, that ran out of real trees,
and we boiled it till it was thick, honest
syrup, every ounce of it. Then we took it
to the house, where my mother cleansed it
with n cup of milk; Sor the milk made tho
dirt to rise to the top when it boiled. When
it rose, one must quickly skim it off, with II
great long handled brass skinner. "You
are quick" said my mother often, land
Your eyes are bright, now you may take tho
skinner When it WIS clennscd, it must
'loil down" for awhile, till it would ''rope'
and grain. Oh, sugary days of childhoodl
oh. golden drips of Undesirable sweetneSS!
For one whole hour we stood around, al
ways conveniently near, to help test the boil
ing Joy of robust stomachs and q Sweet
tooth.n Saucers and teaspoons VIC all had,
and a small amount was in turns ladled into
our dishes, that we proceeded to stir and
taste. When at last the liquid, held aloft,
came down from the spoon into the saucer in
threads ald strings, we cried: at ropes! it
ropes" "Well, then, it will soon grain,'' the
older ones would say. So We stirred all the
moro Justify, and ate all the more rapidly,
for we must know the moment it would grain.
ROM loud TO SOLID.
First of all, the pure white scum that rose
clean and foam like would tllicken when
stirred till cool. Then the true sugar began
TO show a sign of turning from liquid to
solid. The pot must now be quickly swung
off from over the fire in tho great fireplace,
and in turn we stirred the fiery contents
with a wooden pudding stick" You do not
know what u pudding stick was. You do
not deserve to know, for having been born ut
SO late a day. You should have been born
sooner. There is no romance now. But
pudding sticks and rolling pins every girl
knew the meaning of i'll those days. We
We're brought up OH much mush and many
doughnuts, and we girls knew oil about it.
Manual instruction! Indeed, it was the rule
in those days. 1t is no new thing. And our
mothers also knew how to use their hands.
But, as j said, one is always getting born
too soon or not soon enough. But what is
more, nothing ever stays us it was. l go now
to look for the bush, and in its place is u
street with houses, and no end of children
peeking out the windows. They it is who
have usurped my place. Yes, they nave
crowded ne along, and are the boys and girls
of today; and it is they who hold the saucers
and the spoons; and l have by sheer compul-
sion taken to the pen. 1t is well, little ones.
The world has none too many Of you. 1t
never will have. But, as for us, we have
the past. and no one can take it away from
lis. And if one has the past one can make
sugar from the trees that used to grow and
are now cut down. call it the maple sugar
Of memory. Only some one there are that
have the knack of making sugar, and can
only make vinegar. One must not throw
away the past when once it is lived, for it is
delightful property to have. Dear old sugar
bush! no TX shall ever cut you out of my
loving heart.-Mary L. Spencer in Globe
Democrat.