Chapter XIV: Part I: Motherly Talks with Young Housekeepers (11)

But never imagine that you can sit down in idleness; as the flies are routed, or on the retreat, you will find yourself beset with _wasps_. During the chilly September days they begin to seek for winter quarters. They are well content for the most part to weave their summer nests away from the house, in trees and shrubbery; but as cold weather approaches they are prone to select some snug retreat under the rafters of the barn or the eaves of the house or attics. They like to curl up in large masses inside the window-blinds on the east or south side of the house, where they remain too torpid to stir at your approach, until the sun pours in its warm flood of light, to wake them to life and activity. Wherever they are thus found massed together, if at all within reach, be sure and spare no effort to destroy them early in the morning, while in this torpid condition. It is very easy then to kill them: take a pitcher of boiling-hot water, raise the window carefully and pour it over them; or if nested close on the window-glass, pour it down between the upper and lower sash and it will destroy large quantities of them instantly. The few stragglers that were only slightly touched with the hot water will not be vigorously active, and you can easily brush them into a pail or dust-pan and burn them. Unless you take some such method of removing the wasps, it is not safe to raise your windows to air your rooms and let in morning air and sun, as they will be sure to seek shelter in the chamber instead of remaining inside the window-blind, because as the sun warms their lodgings they become quite lively; and, once in the room, should they crawl in under the pillows and sheets, a favorite shelter for them, the warmth of your body at night would most probably rouse them, and they might disturb your slumber in a manner by no means agreeable.

It is unfortunate that wasps often attack without provocation; and such applicants for winter shelter should be destroyed as effectually as possible, especially when there are children about. Their stings are bad enough for an adult to bear, but it is piteous to see a child suffer from them; because to the pain is added a terror not easily controlled. Notwithstanding the utmost vigilance, some may so skillfully secrete themselves that your first knowledge of their presence will be a sting. Every one should keep a speedy antidote in the house, and nothing gives so thorough and instantaneous relief as _cut tobacco_,--the only thing that we know of that it is good for. We never fail to have a paper close at hand, where every one in the house knows where to find it. Wet a small quantity of it and lay at once on the spot stung, holding it on tightly for three or four minutes, and the pain and swelling will be at once removed.

These annoyances disposed of, you can now commence a thorough house-cleaning, and at once begin to remove all the marks by which the flies have disfigured your house and furniture, and disturbed your peace through the warm weather.

No good housekeeper will allow the glorious October days to beguile her into forgetfulness so far as to neglect house-cleaning until the raw and chilly November weather is upon her, and winter is close at hand. October is by far the best month for fall house-cleaning, not only because the flies are disposed of, or so far under your control that they can be kept out of the house, but also because the weather is usually not so warm that such work is exhausting and severe, nor so cold that the necessary exposure chills; the cleaning can be accomplished with more comfort and less fatigue than in any other month of the year.

During the summer all the small fruits have been plentifully supplied, and later, peaches, pears, and grapes have furnished much enjoyment and many luxuries; but all these good things levy a tax upon us in some shape or another, generally defacing furniture or leaving ugly stains on our clothes or table linen. The clear, frosty nights that we may soon look for will aid materially in eradicating the stains; but the injury done to furniture, especially articles with marble tops, requires a different treatment.

Fruit stains may be removed from linen, without in any way injuring the fabric, by rubbing yellow soap on both sides of the stained spots; then wet some starch in cold water or in lemon-juice to a thick paste, and spread over the soap; rub this starch-paste into the cloth thoroughly, and expose the linen to sun and air till the stains disappear. If they do not entirely go in three or four days, repeat the application. This is for stains that have been in some days; if taken when fresh stained there is little trouble in removing them. Hold the stained place over a bowl and pour on _boiling_ water; let it filter through slowly, pouring on the water gradually till the stain disappears; then lay the article in the hot sun for an hour or two, when it may be washed and ironed. The water used must be really boiling, and the stain fresh made, not dried in for days, for this remedy to be efficient. As by this mode one avoids all danger of injuring the texture of the cloth, it is worth while to take a little trouble at once and save the linen instead of waiting until quite dry. Bleaching liquids, chlorate of lime, Javelle water, and many other preparations, are good if carefully used.

When marble is stained with fruit, oxalic acid diluted with water, or oil of vitriol and water, rubbed on the stain and left a few minutes, will remove the spot; but they must be used with care, for if left on too long they will destroy the polish of the marble. Rub off very dry, and polish with chamois-skin.

There are a multitude of receipts for removing stains both from linen and marble, but very many, although they remove the stains, are liable to remove the cloth also, or in marble destroy the polish; others are useful, and in time our readers shall have them.

LXVII.

THE SLAVERY OF FASHION.

“WORN OUT,” “_Overtaxed_,” “_Used up_,” “_Too tired for anything_,” are expressions daily heard from mothers and housekeepers; and the languid step, pale, care-worn face, and heavy eyes bear witness that these are not foolish, unmeaning words, but all too near the truth for safety. Most are ready to recognize the fact that half the feebleness and ill health among women arises from over-exertion while attempting to carry burdens too weighty for the constitution. Yet how much of this is needless, in no wise increasing the comfort or happiness of the family circle, but, in every department of household labor, the result of blind, unreasoning adherence to the dictates of fashion. Look backward but one half-century. Are those of us who require three or four servants to keep the household machinery in working order any happier than our mothers were? We turn from our fashionable cooking and elaborately served tables with longing for the simpler yet most excellent cooking of the olden time, when one servant was sufficient, and often none at all was required; the mother, with her little daughters round her, preferring to do all the work without a servant, that she might herself teach her young girls the lessons of domestic economy as none but a mother can teach them.

Was all that labor more wearing to health and strength than the cruel bondage in which we live, while laboring to secure, from servants, the care and efficient work absolutely necessary to the present style of living? With how much more appetite we partook of the plainly cooked and more healthful food in those days, undisturbed by the bustle and confusion of many courses, or the constant attendance of a waiter, whose eyes and ears are usually more observing of the little pleasantries and freedom of the family circle than of the service which a fashionable style demands, and whose tongue is ready to retail all that is said or done at our table, and “with additions strange.” The meal finished, the labor of clearing away and washing the many dishes now required is fourfold what was demanded in the times of more simple and pleasure-giving customs, to say nothing of the reckless heedlessness and destruction fostered by the haste necessary to be ready for the next formal meal.

But the slavery of providing for the table is nothing in comparison with the over-exertion which fashionable dress exacts. Even if the labor of the olden time was burdensome, and time and strength too heavily taxed, yet the exercise of the whole body, and frequent opportunities of breathing fresh outdoor air, which housework compels, were far more likely to secure firm health than can be hoped for if one sits for hours bending over ruffling and trimmings, thereby restricting the proper action of the lungs, and straining the eyes until they become weak and prematurely old. In many cases this must all be done without help, for few, comparatively, can afford to hire a seamstress, and yet be able to spend money as lavishly on such elaborate dress as the present monstrous style demands. But we are not sure that even that herculean task is as injurious to health and happiness as the severe strain on strength, nerves, and temper, which those ladies whose purses are always full experience in traversing the city, roaming from store to store, in their anxiety to secure the first and newest style, and at the same time torturing themselves lest, after all this labor, they should misjudge or be beguiled into wrong selections. With this fear ever present, they repeat those tiresome journeys day after day, making themselves disagreeable and uncomfortable, and exhausting the wonderful long-suffering and patience of the shopkeepers before they can decide which of all the many patterns they will purchase.

But the material being at last selected, can they now rest from their labors? Ah, no! their trials are but just begun. The ruling power in the fashionable world--the dress-maker--condescends to acknowledge that the articles selected are all satisfactory, though twenty or even thirty yards are hardly enough for a full dress (our mothers looked very fine and far more inviting and graceful with but ten yards in their dresses). But now comes the great struggle. How shall the dress be made? Mrs. ---- has twelve small frills or flounces around her skirt, and a train two feet long; then there must be a bustle “ever so big,” over which falls a _pannier_, with puffs, bows, buttons innumerable, bands, folds, and--mercy! we are getting beyond our depth, for we cannot possibly understand all the terms given to the piles upon piles of strange “fixings” which go to make up the whole of that most abominable deformity called a fashionable dress. But the poor harassed devotee has them all at her tongue’s end, for her heart is full of them. If Mrs. ---- has a dozen ruffles or puffs, she will not be outdone, but will have eighteen or twenty, and a bustle twice as big, which shall extend her overskirt and all its puffs and bands twice as far; and ever so many more dozen buttons all over,--above, below, before, behind, between the frills or bows,--_anywhere_, so that Mrs. ----’s trimmings are surpassed. “But, truly, now, dear madam, is this the _very_ latest style? Isn’t there something just a _little newer_?” And then another discussion begins, anxious, nervous, and trembling, lest some one should be a little ahead of her in style. The poor slave spends many precious hours before she dares to decide on the pattern. But at last that question is settled; and now another trouble assails her. The arrogant dress-maker well understands the power these devotees of fashion have vested in her hands, and her victims, proud, sensitive, and overbearing perhaps to all others, must bow to her will and caprices. She will take her own time to finish the work.

“But, O madam! I _must_ have it for this party, before any one else has this new style.”

She pleads in vain. No coaxing will avail. She must await the despot’s will, and spend hours or days excited and unhappy, fearing that the dress will not be finished in season for the party. And when at last it comes, look at it! We could laugh, were we not ashamed to think that women can be so absurd. What can be more uncouth, ungraceful, or deforming than a lady dressed in the extreme of fashion, or indeed with but half the absurdities that are daily seen. A camel, with its hump and peculiar gait, is graceful compared with the figures with frowzy hair, dresses puffed and looped up over a bustle, that we see stooping and tottering on high-heeled boots, or with the additional incumbrance of a long trail, sweeping through our parlors, and, at the slightest beck of fashion, drabbling through the mud.

Will our women never learn that they are giving health and strength, almost life, “for that which satisfieth not”? Once in a while, when the bondage has pressed too heavily, and they sink exhausted on a sick-bed, some few wake to a dreamy kind of consciousness of their folly; or a mother, who has endeavored to make her little girl as “fine as the finest,” is prostrated by giving her strength for this absurd waste of time and comfort, and begins to see that there is a better way she can manifest her love for her child.

A year or two ago we received a letter, from which we will copy a few sentences:--

“I have been trying to get away to the country with my family of two little girls and the baby; and, that they might appear in as fine feathers as any other birds, have overworked and gone to bed sick, instead of being seated in a nice parlor-car, inhaling the pure country air, as we whirl along, away from the city.... When I was a girl, we wore _our own hair_; and a white muslin dress, with a fresh ribbon for a sash, was all that was needed for the largest party. And how we did enjoy ourselves, and life! The elderly people talked, or played whist, while the young ones danced right merrily the old, square cotillion, Virginia reel, etc.; and mirth and pleasure was the _finale_ of many a day whose early hours had been given to domestic duties, which then were shared by all at home. _One day_ with a dress-maker, and _no_ machine, made a dress entire, without fatigue. The “_artiste_” was often a lady like ourselves, and sat at the same board, and did her work conscientiously, while the day she passed with us was no dreaded ordeal, but rather a pleasure to look forward to....

“Well, to-day, lying on my bed, overtaxed and overworked, I have been thinking of these things, and then of other mothers, who, like myself, spend all their strength in toil, and lie awake all night, ‘too tired to sleep’; and so employ the wakeful hours in planning work for another day, using up as fast as possible the precious gift of life, which the good Father above gave to us.”

Now, why can we not be content to live happily and easily? I speak not of the sorrows that from time to time come upon us, when the heart bleeds, and the wounds quiver long; for the deep scars which tell where the strain was hardest, tell also of the healing which He who scourges never fails to bring. _God did it._

But the toil of sorrow and care we make for ourselves have no promise of His relieving. The slavery of fashion, which so often leads to sin, cannot be carried to his throne, and left there for a blessing. Will not some one tell us some practical way to begin a reform, to release us from a bondage which is becoming intolerable?

It may be to have one ruffle less; to tuck more sparsely the flounce of even the innermost petticoat, or to sew one yard less edging on a baby’s shirt. But whatever and wherever the lesson, I pray you begin it at its A B C; and as it advances, I have faith to believe that headaches will be lessened, “prostrations” less nervous, appetites and sleep more regular, and women lift their heads like the flowers after the rain, glad and grateful.

We had something to say of the injury done to our little children by this early training in devotion to fashion; but we must leave that for another time.

LXVIII.

PICKLING AND PRESERVING.

IN the preliminary steps to almost all new enterprises there are “lions in the way,” from which it is very natural, at first, to shrink back with at least a partial discouragement; and, as a general thing, the two most formidable “lions” which cross the young housekeeper’s path are _pickling_ and _preserving_; that is, if she has not, before marriage, taken part in this work, under her mother’s supervision. We hear more complaints and repining in this direction than in any other. Time, strength, and money, it is affirmed, are spent in earnest endeavors to succeed; but the time and strength are given in vain, and the money is wasted; so their failures compel them to believe. The pickles become slimy and moldy; the jelly won’t harden; the sweetmeats ferment; the canned fruit turns sour. In short, “the troubles and trials,” writes one, “incident to this portion of housekeeping are enough to make young girls forswear matrimony, and go into a convent; only they never will believe in these trials until they are bound; and then, instead of a convent, a boarding-house would seem the only alternative, if they would escape manifold vexations; for if a young housekeeper do not succeed in all her duties, but particularly with her pickles and preserves, ‘Mrs. Grundy’ is sure to go prying about, and expose every failure, and these failures are attributed to shiftlessness, instead of misfortune.”

We have great sympathy for any one in her first attempt to manage this portion of fall labor, unless able to secure the support of some judicious friend familiar with all the minutiæ necessary to accomplish it creditably. Courage, self-reliance, and a resolute will are of very great advantage, and can usually carry one successfully through most difficulties; but experience is, after all, a wonderful assistant in securing success,--in “making crooked places straight, and the rough places smooth” and easy. Our household journals and papers are full of instructions and receipts for preparing every kind of pickles and preserves; but with all these valuable aids, it will require several experiments, in most cases, before a beginner can feel that the difficulty is mastered, and this work stripped of all mystery; once successfully done, however, it becomes as simple as making bread, pastry, or cake.

Still, we cannot but think that too much time and strength are expended in private families on some parts of this labor. Since this kind of work is done on a large scale, and these luxuries so cheaply procured in the many excellent establishments arranged expressly for the business, and which have reduced the various operations to the simplest and easiest forms, we feel confident that housekeepers might relieve themselves of this part of their cares, and be none the poorer for it; certainly this is true as far as canned fruits and preserves are concerned. It is but reasonable to suppose that in these large manufactories, with every appliance and convenience to secure the most perfect and expeditious work, in many articles they can equal, if not surpass, the most expert cook or housekeeper.

The regular, old-fashioned preserve, with “a pound of sugar to a pound of fruit,” is much less used since the system of canning fruit, and thus retaining the natural flavor, has been introduced. This is certainly more healthful, and to most tastes more palatable, than the rich preserves. The person must be fastidious indeed who could ask for any sweetmeat more delicious than the pears, peaches, cherries, and plums that now fill our markets and groceries, and there can be no doubt that for those who must buy the fruit, and take the labor and risk of canning it, it is far more economical to buy it from the factories or grocers ready canned. Even when one has the privilege of raising one’s own fruit, if it can be sold with reasonable profit we think it questionable if there is anything saved--any real economy--in canning the fruit at home, instead of buying it. For those who have leisure, and do not find it important to be very exact in economizing strength or money, it is all very well to do everything of this kind at home. To many whose time hangs heavily on their hands,--and, mythical as it seems, we suppose there are such,--preserving as much as they can of every variety of fruit, even to the absurdity of using watermelon-rinds and cucumbers, is, perhaps, a real pleasure. Though, while books are to be obtained, and fine flowers and beautiful scenery to be seen, we cannot comprehend how one can spend time in this work, simply for the enjoyment of it. But it is all well enough if it gives pleasure; and doubtless articles prepared with one’s own hands have a flavor more acceptable than when they are bought ready for use. But to all housekeepers whose minutes are precious, these labor-saving manufactories are a great blessing, and the slight difference that may be recognized in the excellence of the article, when compared with the home-made, is not to be noticed when we remember the additional time and ease, to say nothing of health, one secures by buying preserves and canned fruit from reliable establishments.

Whether these ideas hold good with regard to pickles, may be somewhat doubtful. We cannot but think that the large amount of spices, now so much used in making pickles, is injurious to the health; even the simplest kind, we are inclined to believe, should be used with moderation; and as the imported pickles, and those prepared in the manufactories in this country, are often compounded with articles known to be injurious, it is safer to make whatever is required in the way of pickles, whether mixed or plain, at home, under your own eyes. Some of the various kinds of vinegar now in use, and largely employed in the factories for pickles, is very injurious. The process of “greening” pickles is carried on with most reckless disregard of health. A bottle of small, delicately-greened pickles is very attractive to those who do not know the poison hidden in them.

Cider vinegar of the purest quality is the best. But in the process of making, if pickles are soaked or boiled in a brass kettle, they are poisoned by the verdigris, or acetate of copper, which is formed by the action of the vinegar on the brass. Acid dissolves the lead that there is in the tinning of saucepans, and corrodes copper and brass, and if it remains in such vessels any length of time the vinegar becomes very injurious. For these reasons metal kettles should be discarded in making pickles. When necessary to boil vinegar, use a stone jar on the stove, and also use _wooden_ spoons and forks. Most suppose that the delicate green cannot be obtained without the use of alum in the brine, and in this brine they must be soaked, boiled, and allowed to cool in a brass kettle half a day. They claim that by thus soaking, the skin is acted upon by the metal, or acetate of copper, and by soaking afterward in hot water this poison can be so far removed as to be no longer injurious. It is said that if soaked long enough in the brass to bring out the full green, pickles would be dangerously poisoned; and that one can tell if this has been done by the clear, _light_ green color; but if, after soaking in the alum and brine, _in brass_, half a day, and then being removed and soaked in hot water, the action of the heat turns them a _dark_ grass green, the poison is destroyed. This may be so, but we prefer pickles made green without the help of brass, or not green at all. There are ways by which all adulterations may be discovered. The chemist would find no difficulty in ascertaining; but very few of those most interested--our housekeepers--are competent, even if they have time or inclination, to examine these things scientifically, and therefore it is well to insure against harm in domestic manufacture by having it fully understood that metal kettles of every kind should be discarded.

The many kinds of sweet pickles that have become common within a few years are, we imagine, less liable to derange the stomach than such as are spiced highly, and prepared mainly with vinegar. The mixed pickles--piccalilli, Indian pickle, Bengal pickle or chutney, and the Chow Chow--are all fiery, and must require an uncommonly strong digestion to be eaten without injury.

But each one must judge for himself. Pickles of all kinds will always be in use, no doubt, and it is well for every housekeeper to know how they are made. Pickles should be always kept covered with vinegar, and if at any time there are indications of their becoming moldy, boil up the vinegar again, adding more spice. Have the jar two thirds full of pickles, and one third full of vinegar. Keep the jar closely stopped, as exposure to the air will make them soft.

In greening pickles (for they can be greened enough without brass) keep them closely covered while the hot vinegar is on them, so that none of the steam may evaporate. Boil them only four or five minutes, or it will take away their strength, and they will soon become soft.

LXIX.

WHAT HAS BECOME OF ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS?

WE look in vain into many pleasant homes, or into the streets, cars, or steamers, for what was once a common sight, and was then, and ever must be, the sweetest object in nature,--a simple, artless _little girl_ with all the pretty, unaffected ways and manners of unsophisticated childhood, fresh and beautiful, about her. There is no lack of small beings, dressed in such a marvelous style that Darwin himself would be puzzled to make out the class to which they belong; but we find nothing to remind us of the little girls we used to know, either in dress or manners.

In former times a pretty muslin bonnet or a simple close-fitting cottage straw was thought the most appropriate covering for a little head, protecting the bright eyes from too intense light, and shielding the rosy cheeks from the sun’s too fervid kisses; but now, leaving eyes and cheeks entirely unprotected, we see _something_ placed on the sunny curls, which is elaborately trimmed with bows, feathers, a flower-garden, or perhaps a mingling of both; for, although it is too small for even a good-sized doll, the milliner, with an ingenuity which would have been praiseworthy if exercised in a more sensible manner, has contrived to pile up trimming enough to hide even the faintest suspicion of a bonnet. But, what is sadder than the lack of true taste and good common-sense in this stylish affair, we see no semblance of childlike simplicity in the wearer. And the bonnet is but the beginning of this unfortunate change which we mourn; the pretty _baby waist_, the plain white dress, the neat muslin or merino, so appropriate, which little girls used to wear, are supplanted by incomprehensible garments, the fac-simile of the grand dame’s attire; flounces, fringes, bows, and double skirts looped and festooned in an astounding manner; the child’s--no, we mean the _young lady’s_--height (there are no _children_ in these days) is less than her circumference. This dress is put on over a hoop, and the “mite” who is made to carry such an incongruous burden totters about on high-heeled boots. This tiny specimen of womanhood, hardly weaned from her mother’s breast, or, more probably, a wet-nurse’s, shakes out her redundant robes, bending and twisting her small body in grotesque imitation of the women spoken of by the Prophet Isaiah, “with haughty mien, walking _and mincing as they go_.” See how the little ape looks over her shoulders as she tottles about, to be sure that her hoops give her dress and figure the correct _wiggle_ her sharp eyes have observed in the stylish mother and her fashionable friends. It is lamentable that all the simplicity and beauty of babyhood and childhood should be destroyed by fashion.

Added to the absurdity of the dress, these little women attempt to discourse on the “latest style”; with their companions or dolls you will hear them imitating the discussions on this subject that they daily hear in the parlor or nursery from their mother; or, still imitating, with a contemptuous toss of their little heads, they will inform their listeners that they “couldn’t think of ’sociating with those girls, because they are _not stylish_!”

A few days since, as we passed out of a store on Broadway, our attention was arrested by the conversation of two little figures seated in a fine carriage, waiting, doubtless, for mamma to finish her shopping. They were dressed in a style positively overwhelming: their hats were wonders of skill; their gloves had the orthodox number of buttons, with bracelets over them; a dainty handkerchief, suspended from a ring attached by a chain to another ring on the little doll-like fingers,--the dress was simply indescribable. The elder was speaking to the younger, who, scarcely more than a baby, sat demurely by her side: “O, mercy, just look at that horrid little girl who is crossing the street! she has no hoops on, and not a single flounce; no trimming at all on her dress! and, oh, see her gloves; she has only one button! Pshaw, she’s nobody,--not a bit of style!”

The younger lisped a reply, which we lost as we passed on; but it was painful to think of the training they must have received which enabled them at that early age to judge a child of their own years so quickly by the rules of fashionable dress, and because her attire was not in exact accordance with that week’s style, turn from her with contempt as something too low for their notice.

Then, again, how soon a child, taught by daily precept and example, learns to watch her little companions with envious or exultant feeling, as the case may be! How quickly she begins to grow hollow-hearted and deceitful; receiving, as she sees her elders do, a companion with open arms or a welcoming smile; expressing the greatest affection, but the moment she leaves begin to criticise or make unkind remarks.

“I don’t like Nellie one bit, mamma; she’s such a proud, stuck-up thing! I suppose she thought I should feel bad ’cause her dress had more trimming, and was a little newer style than mine. I didn’t let her know that I noticed it. But I do think it real mean, mamma, that she should have nicer things than mine. Papa is twice as rich as her father. It made me mad to see her show off her dress; and she kept looking at mine and sister’s in such a way.”

“I hope, my dear, you were polite to Nellie.”

“O yes! but, mamma, I was awful glad when she left; though I was just as smiling and pleasant as could be to her face.”

“That’s a good girl. You must always be very polite and cordial to your companions, you know. But I must say I think Nellie was quite vain; and you must never show that you are proud of your clothes. I shall go out to-morrow and get you that pretty dress you teased so for, I think!”

“O mamma, I am so glad! And as soon as it is made I’ll go right over and call on Nellie. Won’t she feel bad when she sees my new dress! It will be ever so much prettier than hers.”

And the mother smiled complacently, with never a thought of the wicked feelings she was cultivating in her child. O mothers! how can you be so blind! Both by precept and example you are teaching your children to make dress their idol, and to know very little of anything but that which pertains to fashion; to be envious or contemptuous of their little friends and companions, according as they are dressed better or worse than themselves. Can you ever reflect that God did not commit such treasures to your keeping without meaning some day to call upon you to render up the account of your stewardship? What can you say, when asked how you have trained the young souls given to your care? Can you reply, “We have been instant in season and out of season in teaching them,”--what? To work for the good of others; to learn to do right; in all simplicity to love and obey the Saviour, who, taking a little child in his arms, said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.” _Of such?_ Ah, no! Not of such children as those; you are training to avoid, not evil communications, but unfashionable companions; to look on the outward adorning, and not on the heart.

But it is not alone the worldly-minded who make no pretence to any higher law than their own selfish gratification, who bow the knee to fashion. Christian mothers, are you guiltless? Think of the time, the health and strength given to dress; the bondage which compels you to pervert all real taste, to do violence to your own natural instincts of neatness and true elegance, and accept the absurdities of fashion, simply because the ruling style requires it. If you are thus influenced and beguiled, do you flatter yourselves that your children will not, from their earliest years, regard such homage as important? We do not think it wrong to dress neatly and in as good taste as possible. We blame none for giving so much thought to their own dress and their children’s as to provide those articles that are appropriate and becoming to the different styles of face, figure, and complexion. It is natural, and we think right, for a mother to dress her darlings as neatly and prettily as she can, without unnecessary waste of time and strength; but we do think it sin to spend money and time lavishly in following the dictates of fashion, and not of good taste and common-sense; no one pretends to believe that there is either of these in the present style of dressing. It is utterly destitute of grace; is ridiculous to the last degree; but _fashion_ compels, and women--_Christian women_--obey, and teach their little daughters like obedience! O, the money, time, and strength given to destroy, by the absurdities of fashionable dress, every vestige of beauty and grace which God gave you in your little ones! Take the week through, hour by hour, do you not give more time and thought to your own and your children’s dress than you can spare for your Master’s service? Do not your children gather from your daily walk and conversation that to be fashionably dressed is of more importance than loving and serving the Saviour, who died for them and you? Judging by your daily conversation, which will they think of the greatest importance, the service of God, or devotion to fashion? To which do they see you giving the largest part of your time, the adorning of their little bodies,--“the plaiting the hair, the wearing of gold, and putting on of apparel,”--or in teaching them that which is not changeable, “not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight of God, of great price”? What can you say, fashionable Christian mother, when He calls you to give an account of your stewardship?

LXX.

PROCRASTINATION.

AN inclination to put off till to-morrow that which were more appropriately done to-day seems quite natural to almost every one, but it is one of the symptoms of depravity, and the earlier it is fought and conquered the better. There are some sensible mothers whose constant endeavor is to prevent this habit from gaining a foothold in their children’s characters. From earliest childhood they watch and nip it in the bud. Those who have lived an active life--every moment claiming its own special work--are the mothers who can best train their children to understand the full value of the prompt, regular performance of each duty, however small.

“Come, little one, it is time to get up.” The child is perhaps disinclined, thinks one more little nap would be comfortable. But it is time to prepare for breakfast, and what is gained by delay is nothing but the first lesson in selfish indulgence and procrastination. The child does not need it. If it went to bed, as it should have done, when the birds folded their heads under their wings, it requires no more sleep. A few gentle words or caresses will soon chase all traces of slumber from those bright eyes, and the little one, merry as the birds, is soon ready for breakfast.

While children are very young begin this education, and see that it is distinctly understood that no excuse but illness can avail. They must be up at a given hour, and by the time they are twelve years old you will find it difficult to keep your little girls and boys in bed beyond the regular time. You have thus established a habit of early rising which will cling to them through life; that is, if their mother gently and lovingly impressed upon their minds what they would lose by delay and gain by promptness. But, although a stern and severe compulsion may secure obedience while under your eye, by that course you make the act so disagreeable and repulsive, by associating it with your stern manner, that they are tempted to rush to the other extreme whenever they can do so with impunity.

Children naturally love play better than work or study; but it is better that they early learn that there is something besides play which even little girls and boys can and must do. They, of course with no evil intention, will be inclined to stretch the play hour or recess a little beyond the appointed time. It is the parent’s duty to watch and guard against this, not on account of the real good which a young child might accomplish in these few extra moments, but for the sake of establishing a habit which will be of infinite service for the child in after years, that the discipline, though for the present not joyous, may work for its future happiness and usefulness. Therefore, make the hours for recreation as frequent as seems necessary, only let it be distinctly understood that when that time expires there must be no delay, no procrastination. As the child grows older and able to exercise a little judgment, it will soon become conscious of the loss incurred by dilatoriness, and the gain secured by a prompt performance of duty. A judicious mother will soon teach it how to contrast the two modes of action, and a few unfortunate experiments will fully corroborate her teachings. The penalty to be paid for leaving any duty which should be done _now_ until “by and by,” generally follows very speedily after the omission.

When quite young we were given a piece of work one morning which should not have occupied an hour’s time. In the afternoon our brothers were to go to a neighboring town in a sleigh, and we were promised a ride with them, on condition that this work was finished in season. It was a rich treat, and we were greatly elated. The work we were set to do was so easy we made merry over the idea of a failure. But the sun did shine so brightly, and it was so pleasant to stand at the east windows and watch the men at the huge wood-pile, sawing and splitting the winter store of wood; and it was such fun to see the old gander chase our little roguish brother away from the place where the stately old fellow kept watch and ward over his mate on her nest, that every few minutes our sewing was forgotten and we were seated on the old-fashioned window-sill. A gentle voice often reminded us that we were wasting time, and must be left behind if that simple seam were not finished in season.

“O mother! I can finish it just as easy!”

“Yes, dear, if you work steadily, but not if you delay in this manner.” Dear, patient mother! How much easier for her to have taken our neglected work and done it herself than to keep such a vigilant watch over a giddy girl; but for a child’s good a mother bears all things.

Time flew by, unregarded by our idle fingers. Presently a sleigh dashed up to the door, the bells jingling merrily. It cannot be time! But a cheery voice rang out, “Come, sister, not a minute to spare,”--and that little, little bit of work not quite done!

“O mother, mother! only a few more stitches! See! O mother, let me go!” But, even while we uttered this piteous wail, we knew that mother could not break her word. When she took her sobbing little girl on her lap, and explained how necessary it was that we should suffer the penalty of our persistent procrastination, if we would ever destroy this bad habit, we were conscious that her grief was deeper than our own, that she suffered with us. We did not soon forget that lesson, and it did not require many similar ones to effect a pretty substantial cure.

No one is more strongly tempted to put off till a more convenient season, here and there, some minor duty, than a housekeeper whose cares are many, and helpers very few. By afternoon she is so weary, rest would be very pleasant, but just as she thinks she may indulge in one half-hour’s quiet, some little item rises up that should receive attention to-day. “I have half a mind to let it pass till to-morrow,” but to-morrow has it own duties, and unexpected ones may arise. A few experiments in this most excusable of all procrastinations will teach the folly of the attempt to add to the already filled register of the next day’s work the duties of the present time.

The clothes are brought up from the wash; on sorting them out and putting them in place, you find a small hole in this article or a rip in that. You are very tired, your head aches; to thread your needle and mend those few small rips or holes seems a burden. “It is so little I’ll let it go till next week, one week’s more wear can’t make much difference.” And it is laid aside unmended. How is it when it next comes up from the laundry? A huge rent or a most appalling hole is the result. A heavy wind arose when the clothes were on the line, and with every snap a dozen more stitches were added to the work that procrastination has cost you, if indeed the garment is not ruined past any repairing. “A stitch in time saves nine.”

Some friends have just left your house. During their visit much work accumulated, while you felt bound to entertain your guests. Either you are with no help, or your servants are very busy, and you say, “I’ll take off the soiled linen from the bed, and leave the room to air a few days, or till a more convenient season.”

The airing is all very proper, but two or three days are not needed for it, and, if you leave the bed unmade, you will not find it wise or at all labor-saving in the end. Let the room and bed air until you are ready to take off the sheets and pillow-cases that need to be changed. When you go up to do that, take with you the clean articles, and being there, why not finish the work and leave all in order? But, if instead of that you say, “We’ll put the ‘spare chamber’ in order to-morrow,” perhaps just as you are retiring, a carriage stops at your door, and guests quite unexpected arrive, who find it convenient to stop with you overnight, to be ready for the morrow’s train, and late in the evening the guest-chamber must be prepared. Just try this once or twice,--you’ll not care to try it oftener,--and see if some one don’t come unannounced just as, when tired and sleepy, you are ready to retire. Will it be any easier to do the work which was put off till a “more convenient season,” at this late hour, than it would have been to have finished it at the proper time?

“There is hardly enough bread to last through to-morrow.”

“Well, it is stormy; we sha’n’t be likely to have company to-morrow. I guess this will answer, or we will stir up some biscuit if needed.”

In spite of wind or weather, be sure if you risk the delay you will have unexpected guests, and will regret that you neglected to be ready for the emergency.

“Here are some letters which should be answered immediately.”

“I guess it won’t make much difference if I leave them till to-morrow. I am very busy now.” So you wait. Are you any less busy to-morrow? A headache, or a sick child, or company prevents an answer then. Your correspondent waits anxiously for your reply, the failure of which may be the cause of great inconvenience.

We could multiply examples, but your own experience will fill up the picture, and, if you are wise, teach you that each day has its own duties, which can be mastered; but if you add to them the work of yesterday you make the burden grievous to be borne. Your old “copy-books” told you, when you were young, that _Procrastination is the thief of time_. In riper age remember it. “Never put off till to-morrow that which you should do to-day.”

LXXI.

THE SUREST REMEDY.

TO the troubles and annoyances which befall housekeepers there is no end, if they are obliged to rely on servants for comfort and peace of mind. In social gatherings the conversation often turns on the trials they experience from this part of their household. It is not at all strange that it should be so, for “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh,” and verily in this particular the heart has ample reasons for being abundantly filled, and there is no end to just cause of complaint.

One girl is a good worker, but impudent; another is always willing, but very untidy. This one is neat, but so slow that her work is never finished. That one is unequaled in order and efficiency, but her temper is so uncertain you cannot make a suggestion without risking a storm that quite destroys all the pleasure her excellent work might otherwise afford you. One is extravagant and wasteful; another economical in using materials for your family, but dishonest in appropriating your property for her own benefit.

So, in a company of a dozen ladies, one takes up the discourse as the other ends, and, without exaggeration, proves her own trials even more vexatious than her neighbors’. It is possible that the mistress, by searching, may find some slight symptoms of these very defects in her own character. The least said on that side of the question the better, perhaps. But, as we once heard a lady say, “We don’t hire servants for that sort of actions.”

But, whatever may be the defects of the mistress, we know there are very strong foundations on which to build the complaints about servants; for it cannot be denied that these “troublesome comforts” have it in their power to diminish the sum of domestic happiness, to a degree which requires much grace and patience to endure with equanimity; and that the power they have usurped is on the increase will not, we imagine, be gainsaid. Once the employés in the family fully understood the position they were engaged to fill in their employer’s house; and knew that certain service was paid for, which must be strictly and honestly rendered, or they would lose their place, and having lost it, unrecommended, would find it difficult to secure another. Once--and the time is not so far distant but that most of us can still remember it--one girl was expected to do the work that we are now compelled to employ three to do. And this one girl did the work, and did it well,--far better than we can hope to have it done now. She was not injured by it; no complaints were made, we mean in ordinary cases,--in every station some may be found who abuse power and cruelly oppress those whom circumstances have placed in an inferior position; but these are only solitary cases; as a general thing there was no ground for complaint. The service was kindly and cheerfully rendered. But now, with three or four girls, the work drags, is imperfectly done, and “the work is too hard” is the constant cry. Why is this? What reason can be assigned for a change so complete and annoying?

In part because the foreigners who land on our shores, and upon whom, unfortunately, we are obliged to depend for all labor which we cannot do ourselves, come to us with strange ideas of what is meant by all being “free and equal”; or, if you take one right from the emigrant vessel, it requires but a few weeks for those of their nation, who, having been here longer, think themselves better informed, to impart their knowledge, and teach erroneous ideas of these rights. Under such bad influence it takes but a short time for the modest stranger, whom you received into your house and endeavored to teach a correct mode of labor, to be transformed both in dress and manners into a bold, self-willed girl. Her countrywomen gather about her and warn her not to be “put upon,”--a favorite phrase among those whose chief aim is to get the highest price for the least labor. “Stand up for your rights”; and they proceed to expound a code of “rights” which, if they were allowed to carry into practice, would soon leave us entirely at their mercy.

They are told to insist upon just so many times at church, and certain days “out.” Then the funerals--and there never was such mortality as is always happening among our servants’ relations, particularly the cousins--and the weddings, and the baptism of infants for which our girls are to stand “sponsors,” all come upon us in quick succession. Then, every step of the work each girl is expected to do must be carefully defined, and you are not to be allowed to call upon them, on any condition, for one thing over and above the specified labor.

How has this class of persons succeeded in taking and maintaining such a stand? In part it has grown up, gradually, from seeing in their employers the independence that is a distinctive peculiarity in our national character. But that which, when rightly regulated, is a noble thing, when used by uninformed and undisciplined minds, for selfish ends, is not likely to bring forth the most desirable results.

But is not the trouble and disturbance through our servants, which particularly characterizes the present day, in part the fault of the _ignorance_ of the mistress? Our ladies give much less attention to domestic affairs than in former times; and our young ladies are growing up, for the most part, poor housekeepers. The material for the very best of servants may be easily ruined by a poor mistress. Much time and money is expended on the education of our girls; but that part of education which would help to keep them strong and healthful is almost entirely ignored,--we mean regular work, at stated times, about the house; not only to establish good health, but to secure a thorough knowledge of domestic operations.