Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1903-03-05

find anyone engaged in the villainous
art of making worsted wreaths, "spat-
ter work." crystalized grasses, or
peach-stone picture frames. Aunt
Miriam B. never desecrated her dear,
oldfashioned sitting-room, however in
any such way, and my thoughts as in
the beginning go back to her. Her
corner cupboards filed their legitimate
office of holding china dishes; on the
broad window seats there was always
work-basket bristling with the knit
ting-needles which were making pair
of "clouded yarn socks or mittens.
The cranes of the big Franklin stove,
capped with a mighty dome, were
bright and shining. Best of all, the
only ornament of the old-fashioned
tinkling-tankling piano, covered with a
black and green stamped spread, was
a tin boat-shaped dish of flier apples
or whatever brand the season afforded
Surely time is long, but art is fleet
ing-happily some art. AS children
we used to visit a friend who "did"
wax work. 1t seemed to me then she
was the most accomplished female
ever knew. Her "what-not' revealed
wealth of pieces" carefully pro-
tected by glass globes on standards,
and surrounded at the base with red
chenille, all fittingly elegant for what
was within. There were pond lilies
baskets of mixed flowers and white
crosses over which trailed white vines
designed to have a daZzlingly pure eff
feet of an in memoriam order, or pos
sibly to induce one to try to lead a
better life. Placed upon a marble
topped table, nothing could have look
ed more chilling or depressing, but
then-to step into that almost sacred
parlor, and leave the ornate green
paper shades rolled up and fastened
with a red cord and fat worsted tassel,
long enough to reveal the wonders of
the room, seemed a sweet privilege in
deed. Subsequently, when the same
artist evolved a cucumber, lemon
and a slice of watermelon from wax,
it seemed as if art could go no further
Some estimable people made flowers
of feathers, of worsted and of hair
that must have made Dame Nature
writhe in untold agony. l have a
vision now and then, unfortunately it
seems never to pass away entirely, of
a hair bouquet standing on the end of
an old-fashioned mantel, and before it
the happy maker, explaining with
smiles of tender Renaissance that in
the bunch was hair from the heads of
all her family An otherwise grew
some collection of dismal browns and
grays was Enlightened up" with one
red spray, the contribution of one.
and the only one, not connected with
the bunch by ties of consanguin;ty.
At 45 Aunt Miriam put on a cap,
wore a brown merino dress. with
plain body" buttoned straight up and
down, and made herself look at least
so to the eyes OF young beholder |
have often wondered what would have
been the result if the sprightly person
of the present. mayhap a dame of so,
wearing a golf skirt, shirt waist and
the little old-young lady in the brown
merino and the shoulder shawl, To
the latter, however. cling memories of
such mince pies and such cup Gus.
tards (baked recklessly in china cups)
that nothing more modern could put
to the shame. To have used anything
so lazy as condensed mincemeat would
have been almost a crime. Endless
pairing, chopping, seeding and season
ing were cheerfully accepted condi-
tons, and the results beyond com
pare. But we must reckon canned
goods" among modern Improvements.
Alas, I believe I've left my little 20th-
century friend alone in the garrett
while have wandered aimlessly in the
past. Bless her heart, and may she
find everything in life "a modern inn