Chapter XVI: Part I: Motherly Talks with Young Housekeepers (13)

NOTHING so completely unmasks all the peculiarities of each individual, showing bright and noble traits most clearly, and casting deeper shadows on all that is weak, disagreeable, and unlovely, as being shut up in a steamer or in cars for days together, acquiring an intimacy in one week far more familiar than would have been formed in a year of ordinary intercourse. Nowhere are selfishness, irritability, and vanity so quickly detected; nowhere are such opportunities to manifest patience, self-abnegation, and all sweet and gentle qualities, in the most forcible and attractive manner, as in this phase of social life. You may call daily, or spend weeks with people in their own homes, and never imagine that fierce ambition, weak and silly vanity, petty jealousy, or a harsh and bitter temper are smoldering where all appears so cheerful and quiet, ready to be fanned into flames by the first annoyance beyond their power to repel. While no shadows fall or clouds obscure their sky, how pleasantly the moments pass by! Smiles and gentleness meet you at every step. To secure your comfort and pleasure is their delight; to dispense the hospitality of their homes gracefully and with a free hand does them honor; to neglect to do so would detract from the dignity of their social position, and be disgraceful. Every attention and courtesy paid to a guest reflects honor on the host, and few are so perfect that these considerations do not have some weight. This may be assumed without at all detracting from higher motives.

But become companions on a journey with those who, as host and hostess, have been so attractive, and the most astonishing changes, for which you are entirely unprepared, utterly foreign to your estimate of their character, may meet you in every word and act. Take care, however, while watching the _mote_ in your neighbor’s eye, that he does not discover the _beam_ in your own. In the infelicities of traveling, remember you are liable to the same criticism, and watch and pray lest your own conscience compels you to acknowledge the justice of the censure.

On the other hand, you will often see persons so quiet and gentle at home, that while you respect, you never think of them as presenting any very striking characteristics. Sensible and unobtrusive, the goodness, unseen, carries comfort to all around, while the recipients seldom recognize the cause of the good influence which surrounds them, until some startling commotion proclaims their silent ministration. The freedom born from a common annoyance, discomfort, or danger, such as is often experienced in traveling, sometimes reveals heroes and heroines where we least expected to find them.

One may read some strange chapters in character if he quietly watch a crowd rushing on board a car or steamer, eager to secure the best position, where most can be seen with the greatest comfort. The rudeness and selfishness of each movement and act would be unpardonable in their own homes. If you are careful to be on board early, before the “rush” begins, it is certainly permissible to secure the best seat you can, but with the reservation that old age, feebleness, and infancy have a claim on all, which, if need be, should lead you willingly to relinquish the position, however desirable, if by so doing you can add to the comfort of any who come to you with these vouchers for their right to your assistance and sympathy. Unfortunately, we often see this gentle consideration for age and feebleness disregarded; but when it shines forth how beautiful it is! How it covers little faults and foibles, which, but for such unexpected manifestations, would have much power to vex and distress!

An elderly lady in feeble health took her seat in the cars, homeward bound after a long absence. Being a cold, rainy day, it was especially desirable to avoid all draughts from open windows. A party of young people in high spirits seated themselves in front, and at once opened the window. The wind, sleet, and rain rushed in, making all around uncomfortable. Several remonstrated, but with no satisfactory results. Even the indulgent father gently insinuated that they might themselves suffer from such exposure, but not a word was spoken of the risk to others. Every other seat being occupied, the invalid could make no change; and feeling that all the health gained by her absence from home might be lost through this severe exposure, with much reluctance she mildly requested that the window nearest her might be closed. The favor was rudely refused.

These young people were evidently persons of wealth, on their way to travel some time in Europe. From such examples, what impressions must the people of the “old country” form of the characters and manners of the new? The lady, probably reflecting gravely on the habits of the young of the present day, sighed for the time when age was honored and the young taught to reverence gray hairs.

Time flew by, and again the invalid sought health far from home. The boat was crowded with the young and gay. No wonder she remembered the scene on the cars with sad forebodings, the sadder because on a voyage one is liable to more discomforts than when traveling by land, and probably was prepared to be perfectly isolated, asking for and expecting nothing. The passage was disagreeable in the extreme, and all more or less seasick. Of course, under such circumstances, it would not have been surprising if each was disposed to think only of his own discomfort. On the contrary, kindness, respect, and attention were the rule, with hardly one exception. Those but slightly sick were prompt in ministering to the comfort of the more seriously afflicted. Affectionate inquiries, gentle sympathy, and, when needed, most tender assistance, filled with bright spots a voyage which, but for this blessed spirit, would have been intolerable; making warm and genuine friends for life of those who but a few days before were perfect strangers.

These two experiences prove how unwise it would be to form one’s estimate of all, in any circumstances, by the freaks and folly of a few. How easy to excuse much heedlessness and frivolity, hoping for better things with coming years, if out from among many youthful follies such good traits are made apparent!

If this law of unselfish kindness were thoroughly understood; if all, particularly the young, could realize the rich reward for every kind act, repaying them tenfold even in this life,--it would extract many thorns from weary feet, prevent much heart-burning, and give a glory to the life below only second to that blessed life above, where, when they enter, they may hope to hear, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

LXXIX.

IF WE KNEW!

“If we knew the baby fingers
Pressed against the window-pane
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow,
Never trouble us again,
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the print of rosy fingers
Vex us then as they do now?

“Ah! those little, ice-cold fingers,
How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions
Strewn along our backward track!
How those little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns, but roses,
For our reaping by and by!

“Strange we never prize the music
Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown!
Strange that we should slight the violets
Till the lovely flowers are gone!
Strange that summer skies and sunshine
Never seemed one half so fair
As when winter’s snowy pinions
Shake the white down in the air!

“Lips from which the seal of silence
None but God can roll away,
Never blossomed in such beauty
As adorns the mouth to-day;
And sweet words that freight our memory
With their beautiful perfume
Come to us in sweeter accents
Through the portals of the tomb!

“Let us gather up the sunbeams
Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day;
With a patient hand removing
All the briers from our way.”

THE wind is playing with the long gray beard on the grand old live-oak over our heads; the air, soft and balmy, brings the slightest intimation of perfume from the orange-trees around us; the golden fruit, half hidden in the rich, glossy leaves, and here and there a bud just opening into the delicate blossom, give promise of another harvest before the first is fully gathered. Before us lies the beautiful St. John’s river, smooth and tranquil as a summer sea; but a steamer in the distance, like a graceful swan, approaches the wharf, and will soon disturb its calm, and toss the placid waters into merry ripples or foaming, sparkling waves. Only for a moment she touches the wharf, then glides away, and the river subsides into its wonted calm. Her coming and going have no interest for us, save that which a glimpse, however transient, of beauty, strength, and grace must always awaken. She brings none to greet us and claim the welcome, so gladly given by one far from home.

Everything around us is quiet. The inmates of the cottage are mostly out sailing. The gentle provider for the household comforts, “on hospitable thoughts intent,” is preparing for their return from this “toil of pleasure,” tired and ravenously hungry. We are entirely alone; and as we sit in this wonderful quiet, the little poem quoted above, “If We Knew,” stirs our heart with strange and solemn power.

Lives there one who does not, in moments of retirement or solitude, look back to the earliest hours of childhood, and recall times when, if he could have known the results, his actions would have been far different?

If all could in youth look along the map of life clear to the end, seeing all the breakers and quicksands, which by patience and self-control could have been avoided, how much more comforting would be the view they might take, in after years, of the “backward track”! No doubt it is well, for many reasons, that we cannot read the future. Trials and sorrows, which no skill or forethought could have turned aside, would have been doubled by anticipation and foreknowledge. And yet we doubt if there are many who, looking back from the “half-way house,” would not willingly endure all the additional pain if they might have possessed the power to foresee the inevitable results of certain courses, and, profiting by this foreknowledge, have avoided the danger or the sin.

Brother, sister, “if you knew” that soon “those little baby fingers” would “never trouble you again,” would you be impatient or cross to your little playmates for their childish, willful ways?

Two little boys were playing together. Both wanted the rocking-chair for a horse. Full of health and animal spirits, their dispute ran high, and ended in a blow. Only a few days passed, and the baby hands of the younger were folded in “snowy grace” upon the cold and quiet heart, and laid in the grave. A short time after, hearing bitter sobs in the garden, the mother found the lonely brother--himself but just past babyhood--lying under the peach-trees, watching with eager eyes some birds flying over his head, and calling, between his sobs: “O birdies! little birdies! Fly up! fly higher! and tell Jesus if he will only let little brother come down to me, he shall have the rocking-chair all the time, and I never, never will strike him again! O, _never, never_!”

Ah! how many brothers and sisters look back upon little disputes and sharp, childish quarrels, that would hardly have been remembered had both been spared to grow up together; but one having been taken away, that dispute, or the wrong done, remains through life a sore spot in the heart of the survivor.

Father, be not harsh with your son. He disobeyed your commands, has done wrong, and for his own good deserves rebuke; but remember he is “only a little one.” Let your censure be tempered with gentleness. It was but the overflow of exuberant life, not willful disobedience. If you could look forward to what soon may be, how leniently would you judge, how tenderly chide, and by your gentleness secure obedience much more effectually!

Ah, poor, tired mother! you are very weary and wellnigh sick. Your eyes are heavy for want of sleep, and your head throbbing with the noise and shouts and wild frolics of your little ones. It is often very hard to bear; but it is health and strength and life overflowing in their yet untried, undisciplined hearts. Be patient! If soon, with hot and tearless eyes, you watch by the little crib where fever may conquer that life but late so joyous and full of activity, can you endure what God may see best to bring upon you, if, by impatience, you have “scattered thorns, not roses, for your reaping by and by”?

“I have asked you twenty times to mend this coat, and it is not done yet. ‘No time’! How long would it have taken, I should like to know? But--well--I can go ragged, I suppose. You give little heed to my wishes or comfort. You must take your own time and way, without regard to my convenience, or you will not be satisfied.”

Husband! why do you say such ugly, biting things? You love your wife. You would be indignant if a looker-on should hint that you misjudged her or were exacting. Your heart--or that silent monitor, your conscience--tells you that she did not intend to disregard your wishes or advice. She was tired, overtaxed with many cares and frequent interruptions, or perhaps sickness is creeping upon her unawares. Whatever the reason, the offense was but a “little thing.” Or even if she was self-willed or irritable, be patient with her. You are fully aware that one mode of speaking makes her indignant, and stirs up all the offensive, opposing elements in her character; while, on the contrary, a certain tone of your voice, a love-look from your eye, would have brought her to your side in an instant, sorry, self-upbraiding, loving and honoring you with all her heart. Ah, “_if you knew_”! These first morose, fault-finding words are, perhaps, “leaving on her heart a shadow, leaving on your heart a stain,” which may be the beginning of coldness, mistrust, and defiance, or perhaps a darker sin, when but for them you could have secured joy and gladness in your house, growing sweeter and purer day by day. Deal gently. You, her husband, can make her happy, loving, and good, or you can make her irritable, unloving, and evil, thereby destroying your own happiness as well as hers. You are the _house-bond_ or _home-bond_. See that you sever it not by your own folly.

“John, why do you always _wait_, and _wait_, and hinder me so? You can come at once, just as well as to keep me waiting, if you only choose to!”

Wife, it is just such little, impatient, waspish words that will tempt your husband to seek quiet, comfort, and appreciation away from your side. No matter if _he_ does “speak just as impatiently as you have done, fifty times a day,” show him a better way. Why retort, or increase the “little shadows,” which you can by gentleness dispel? Yield a little; it is not hard, and you will reap a glorious reward. Is not your husband’s love and confidence worth keeping, by the exercise of a little patience and forbearance? But if not for present joy, to ward off future misery at least, “set a guard over the door of your mouth, that you sin not with your lips”; and so tread life’s pathway with him to whom you have vowed a wife’s fealty that, if called to sit in the desolation of widowhood, there shall not be added to that sorrow the anguish of self-upbraiding for little services impatiently rendered, or love requited by coldness or irritability.

When we have passed through all the labors and trials of early life, and in full maturity or just on the decline pause a moment to recall the friends of our youth now gone, and the sweet family ties now broken, how the heart aches with the memory of hasty words or actions, and vainly yearns for one more opportunity for the better performance of our whole duty, in all love, fidelity, and patience! But

“God ... pity us all
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: _It might have been!_”

LXXX.

IN SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOT.

WHEN a young girl is called by the death of her mother to assume the management of the family before her home education has been completed, we know of very few cases which draw so largely on our sympathy. Grief and depression for the loss of a mother is hard enough for the young heart to endure; and added to this, it is no easy thing to accept the responsibility of providing for the comforts of those thus thrown upon her care. All the economical arrangements of the household, the oversight of cooking, even when the labor is done by the hands of a servant; the daily watchings to prevent miscalculations in marketing; the neatness and regularity to be secured in every department,--may seem light to an experienced matron, but are heavy burdens to be laid upon a slight young girl. Yet all this is but a drop, compared with the thought and anxiety she must feel in administering to the health and happiness of her father and of the children, even younger than herself, who will now turn to her for the care once so efficiently and promptly given by the mother. And most likely, until trials came to her, the daughter had never had cares or duties that demanded the exercise of her independent judgment,--her mother being always near to direct and decide.

A daughter may be ever so thoroughly instructed in all womanly employments, yet if her mother retains the entire charge of every portion of the household labor,--the child simply following as she is bid,--there can be little opportunity for the development and exercise of her individual judgment. She naturally prefers to lean on one ever ready to relieve her from distasteful duties. This is, no doubt, pleasant for both,--the mother is happy in shielding, the child happy in freedom from care. But we doubt if it is wise or right, for often “in such an hour as ye think not” all this must be changed. Frequently, without a moment’s warning or time for preparation, the mother is taken from her family. Ought she not to have furnished her child, by her teachings, with that experience which, like a lamp trimmed and burning, would guide her footsteps, enabling her, when this unlooked-for trial came, to assume these responsibilities with comparative ease? We believe that even at an early age it is best that some particular duty should be committed to the care of every child, thus teaching them self-reliance from the beginning of life, and accustoming even the little ones to feel responsible for a certain amount of daily labor. Of course, the mother will quietly watch that these small duties are properly performed, but not openly, so that her child loses the sense of real accountability, by knowing that “mother will see that it is all right, even if I should neglect or make mistakes.” The mother must _point out_ mistakes, but the child should always be made to _rectify_ them. The knowledge that doing work hastily or carelessly will only be the cause of punishment by compelling her to do the work over and over again, until it is right, is a great safeguard against contracting careless habits. Lessons thus enforced do not often need repeating.

Little by little, as the child grows toward womanhood, let the mother throw off some portion of her cares, teaching her daughters to oversee or perform them correctly, and by so doing not only lighten her own labors, but make such duties easy for her children in after years, or if they should be called prematurely to the entire charge. When daughters are old enough to become their mother’s companions, they should also become joint partners in home and household responsibilities. When out of school, divide the work so that every other week the mother shall be entirely free from all care,--a guest in the family; or if that is at first too great a tax on the young partner, “take turns” in dividing the work,--the daughter one week having the charge of the cooking, marketing, and arranging for each meal entirely herself; the next week, of the dairy, if on a farm, or the laundry or chamber- work. When each week is ended, the mother can point out the failures, or recommend a better or easier way of doing some particular thing; but unless advice or directions are asked, it is far better that the young housekeeper should be left to her own skill and judgment. For a few times this may not prove the best economy, but in the end “it pays,” and with good interest. Of course, before this plan can be carried into execution to any extent, the young lady has served an apprenticeship, so far as to know, herself, that part of the work which comes under her jurisdiction each week; and when practice shall have made perfect, and the term of apprenticeship expires, it is excellent discipline for a daughter to assume the reins entirely, for a shorter or longer time, as health or pleasure may determine, subject to such suggestions as may be deemed advisable. This arrangement gives rest and liberty, if all her children are grown up, for the mother to read, travel, or enjoy social life; as she could not do when they were young and needing the mother’s care,--which should never be delegated to another, unless compelled by ill health. This is a most valuable training, by which the young housekeeper is prepared for a useful life, or a happy home of her own some day.

We cannot but feel that of late years too large a proportion of care and thought is bestowed by parents in educating their daughters to shine in fashionable life,--in giving them an ornamental rather than a solid, practical, or intellectual education. They dislike to keep their children at close study, lest they should spoil their figures or their eyes, and allow them to discard housework for fear their hands will not be small and delicate enough to show to advantage at the piano, or in a party. Music, painting, and dancing are all well enough in their way,--some of them very important,--but should not be sought after to the exclusion of the practical, and by no means the least important part of a young girl’s education, and preparation for an active, useful life. Many young ladies will not willingly accept these views; but it is for the most part because mothers, out of mistaken fondness, do not care to have them; or, as is too often the case, because they do not like the drudgery, as they term it, of teaching the lessons in domestic economy, so necessary to their future welfare,--an indolent or selfish mode of setting aside heaven-ordained duties, for which a severe reckoning may one day be demanded.

LXXXI.

GRUMBLING.

IT must be that a certain class of people find pleasure in fault-finding and grumbling, or they would not search so industriously for an opportunity to exercise their talents in this direction; or, failing to secure a legitimate occasion, willfully manufacture one. In the family, this habit is, unfortunately, often carried to a great extent, even among those who are, undoubtedly, sincerely attached to each other. The first word in the morning is usually a querulous inquiry or complaint about some trivial thing which they merely _suspect_ has been neglected or unsatisfactorily performed. They do not take the trouble to inquire if their suspicions are well founded. Such inquiry might deprive them of the luxury of grumbling. If it were not so sad to hear the early morning hours thus desecrated, it might furnish much amusement for a looker-on to notice how often these unfortunates are caught in their own trap, and the fact made evident to all that the foolish words were but the ebullition of arrogance and irritability, having no foundation.

“My dear!” (you will notice that a _gentleman_ grumbler begins a complaint with a strongly emphasized term of endearment,)--“my dear! why could you not heed my request that our breakfast might be one half-hour later this morning? I told you I was very tired, and needed a little more rest. But it is useless for me to imagine you would deviate from your rules one minute just for my comfort.”

“Why, Tom! how unreasonable you are! You are so in the habit of finding fault, that you never stop to learn certainly if there is any cause for dissatisfaction. Your breakfast is just three quarters of an hour later than usual. I delayed it just as long as I could, expressly for your comfort.”

“I said _half_ an hour, _not three quarters_. That was every minute I could spare. Now, I shall be too late for some very important business. But you are always interfering, as if I didn’t understand my own business best!”

But when the grumbler has had a good cup of coffee or tea, and the “inner man” is suitably refreshed by an abundant breakfast, he seems to be in no great haste to attend to that important business; but has leisure to look over the papers, play a moment with the children, and can really speak gently to the one so rudely censured in the morning, before his appetite was appeased.

“Now, I call this real cruel, John. I must go to market right off after breakfast, because you forgot to bring home the marketing last night. And I asked you so particularly; as we have company to dinner, I have hardly time to get ready. But I might have known if I wanted anything in season, tired or sick, I must always do it myself. It is really too bad!”

“My dear! if I might slip in a word, I would like to inform you that I _did_ bring home the marketing according to orders, and gave it to the cook. You will doubtless find it in the store-closet.”

“O John! that’s just like you. Why couldn’t you have told me last night? It wouldn’t have hurt you to have taken that trouble, I’m sure.”

“You had company, you recollect, when I came home. I had an errand to do after tea, and you were fast asleep when I returned. What chance had I to tell you?”

“You couldn’t have told me quietly, even if we had company, I suppose?”

“Why, child! how eager you are to find fault!”

“O, yes! of course I am the only one to blame.”

It is not necessary to multiply examples, though, we are sorry to say, they could be brought from every class and position. But such things are not pleasant to hear, and certainly do not look well on paper. It is to be feared that we all have some germs of this same malady,--enough, at least, to understand the symptoms, and warn us to vigorous efforts to eradicate them. If allowed to take root, they deface our own characters, and disturb, if not destroy, the comfort of home. When parents indulge in this sin of grumbling, they cannot wonder if their children follow their example, and even go beyond it. A whole family of grumblers! what can be more wretched?

Another class, whose behavior at home is unexceptionable, spare their families, reserving their grumbling for business hours, giving their servants or clerks the discomfort that the first class lay by for home consumption. There is hope for those. By and by some high-spirited sufferer from their waspishness and fault-finding, having endured their wearisome grumbling till patience is no longer a virtue, may teach them a lesson, through their self-interest, that will perhaps prove effectual.

But we have a few words to say of another class,--_grumbling travelers_. At some of our hotel tables, where travelers “most do congregate,” one can read a chapter of absurd and ridiculous weakness to be found nowhere else. We have known people to sit down to a table where we could find no occasion for complaint, and grumble loudly at every individual article. Coffee, “horrid”; tea, “an insult to set such stuff before any one”; soup, “too thick,” or “too thin”; and so on through the whole bill of fare. Nothing set before them that was not made a subject of criticism or rude comparison between the hotel fare and the wonderful perfections of their own table. This habit of fault-finding is, by a certain class, considered a certificate of superiority which cannot fail to convince the public that they are persons of wealth and high-standing at home. A mistaken idea. Even the waiters at public tables, who, in consequence of the variety of guests to whom they are called, are usually good judges of character, are not deceived by this vain pretense; but many sly glances, that can only be interpreted as contemptuous, may be detected; and as these complainers leave the table, the waiters whisper to each other, as they pass to and fro, “Shoddy,” with looks that cannot be misunderstood.

This class of travelers leave their homes, not for information and improvement, but for the opportunity of grumbling, on a new and more extensive scale than can be attained in their own families. They leave home in search of some yet untried cause for grumbling, and by a long stretch of conscience and imagination they contrive to find it, and return with a large store of freshly gathered material, over which to expatiate for some weeks, quite to the relief of their families.

All this kind of grumbling appears to us most unreasonable and ridiculous; but if not inclined to find fault in any of the ways mentioned, we are beginning to fear that every one meets some point in life where he imagines dissatisfaction and complaint to be perfectly justifiable. Something in their surroundings is out of joint. Their most carefully laid plans and well-grounded expectations fail; friends grow cold; where lies the fault? Is none of it with you? The foundations of our worldly prosperity seem built on solid rock, but they slide from under us. We take to our hearts one dearer than our own life, and in an hour when we think not the bond is severed. Time and again the cradle is left empty; or a sweet and loving spirit emerges from it, and step by step grows toward clear companionship, when, as in a moment, God calls, and we are left in sackcloth and ashes. We murmur and repine,--God’s dealings appear so unequally distributed. In the same vicinity one family grows up unbroken, from babyhood into vigorous manhood, while another home is left desolate, and they cry out in their anguish, “I do well to be angry.” They forget that God deals with his children as they deal with the rich but uncultivated lands committed to their care. What is more beautiful to the eye than a large grove of wild orange-trees?--but how useless if left unimproved! Who complains when their beauty, for the present, is destroyed, the trees cut back and pruned till they stand bare and unsightly? But the buds and grafts which have been introduced will soon start into new life, the branches begin to shoot upward, and the sweet, pure blossoms and golden fruit will clothe the tree, which a grumbler would have thought wholly destroyed, with new beauty. The old beauty was defaced only that the tree should, in the end, become fruitful, and thereby more gloriously perfect than at first.

Yet we murmur when our wild orange groves are cut back, pruned, and grafted, and the “seedlings” from our nurseries transplanted. We forget that

“Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green,”

which are made more gloriously beautiful by every rare and precious plant that our Father transplants from this beautiful but stormy earth to his garden,

“Where everlasting spring abides,
And never withering flowers.”

LXXXII.

LITTLE FOXES SPOILING THE BELOVED VINE.

“A MOTHER” desires to know if she fails in discipline, or if her children are more troublesome and difficult to manage than other people’s. She has coaxed, reasoned, whipped; shut up in solitude, fed them on bread and water, or confined them in a dark room; but all appears to be ineffectual. They do nothing really _wicked_, in the strict sense of that term; but they forget or disregard all rules or commands, are mischievous and careless; boisterous and full of frolic one day, to the neglect of every duty, and the next, quarrelsome, irritable, and in every respect uncertain. This mother feels her responsibility deeply, and with all her heart desires to bring her children up in the right way, but is more and more conscious that she fails in her efforts, and now feels disheartened and discouraged.

We judge the great trouble here is over-anxiety. Her children are _governed too much_. It is not easy to lead young, conscientious mothers to see this; but the grandmothers, profiting by their own mistakes, see in these boisterous, careless, impressible children that which, if not too closely pruned, will mature into strong, healthy men and women; and in their irritability and disobedience they recognize the effect of over-restraint, and too great repression of youthful, exuberant, animal spirit, which, if slightly modified and gently led, will be an invaluable assistance to these little ones in after life, giving them strength and force of character to act well their part when they enter in earnest on their life’s work. No doubt quiet, demure, proper children would be the most desirable, just for the present comfort of mothers or friends. Overtasked bodies and aching heads find such children less troublesome. But it is not for present ease that good mothers live. They look for their reward in the future usefulness of their children, and “for the joy that is set before them” they endure the cross like good soldiers.

Yet while striving, in all patience, self-sacrifice, and love, to make your children happy in the formatory state, and at the same time teach them better ways, you must also be on the watch for the foes without and the foes within,--the “little foxes” that seek to destroy

“The beloved vine
Trusted to your tending
By the One Divine.”

In no case be easy and lenient to that which is _sin_,--not merely childish sport or thoughtlessness. Root up the smallest germ from which mean, low, or wicked habits will spring, with a kind but uncompromising firmness. You cannot guard your charge too closely here; but be most scrupulously careful that you are not overhasty in judging of the character of their faults, but have rightfully distinguished between deliberate, intentional wrong-doing and childish folly. Let your children feel that for the first you accept no excuse; for the latter you are lenient, full of loving-kindness and tender mercy. For disobedience that springs from stubbornness and a willful determination to do that which is forbidden at all hazards, be not cruel and harsh, but firm, and so severe that the child will have no doubt of your resolution to destroy the evil by meeting each act with quick retribution. Yet when compelled to punish, be so careful of your own heart that your erring one cannot but see that you are severe from no one emotion of anger, or because you are made uncomfortable, but because God has committed them to your care, and will demand a strict account of your stewardship. Be sure, in your dealings with your children, that they have no difficulty in seeing that you recognize a wide difference between overt sins and wrong done through childish thoughtlessness and ignorance; and while you gently point out the inconvenience and mischief apparent in consequence of their careless acts, seek to make it plain to them that you restrain because you do not like them to seek their sports and amusements selfishly, and at the expense of others’ comfort. Before you decide that any act of your children is really sinful and deserving punishment, examine and hear all that can be said in excuse or palliation.

Then as to the mode of punishment, when it really becomes necessary, we think the parents’ judgment ought to be the surest guide, as they should better understand the characters they have to deal with. Some children, when they find that punishment is sure to follow wrong-doing, submit easily; others are resolute or defiant, and these traits should decide the nature of such infliction as the parent finds unavoidable. There are times with certain children when we think a sound whipping the most curative process; while to others it would be so humiliating as to irreparably injure the child’s character; but a whipping is not needed once, where some young, inexperienced, but conscientious parents employ it twenty times. Where it must be resorted to, let it be sufficiently severe to make a repetition a thing to be dreaded; but, if brutal, it is simply barbarity, not justice.

Never, under any circumstances, _strike a child on the head_ or _box the ears_. That is the act of anger, and in general is practiced only when the judgment is overruled by passion. Do not attempt to turn a child from the “error of his ways” by any such heathenish means. No one can judge at the time of the force of a blow dealt in anger; and though done thoughtlessly, in a moment of irritation, it may bring life-long suffering and sorrow. So, shutting up a child in a dark room, though it may not appear at the time so barbarous, has often resulted in the most painful, if not fatal injuries. Neither do we approve of attempting to convert a child through its appetite; a dark room, a cup of water, and a crust of bread savors too much of the inquisition or the convict’s cell for Christian parents to imitate.

After all, each one must be a law unto himself. Another cannot give special rules for any one; but there is one thing that it may be well for every parent to bear in mind always, namely, that probably a large proportion of the evil we find in our children is but the continuation or increase of our own faults, unheeded while they were our own. And this should teach us great caution, great love and gentleness in governing our little imitators. Mrs. Mary Crann, some years ago, published some pretty verses on “The Little Foxes,” which spoil our “beloved vines.” They are very touching, because so true, and mothers cannot fail to read them with deep feeling, and with full hearts thank the author who in these lines gives utterance to the sorrow and self-condemnation which so often oppress them, when their own faults and failings look at them through their little ones. We think we cannot do better than to finish by giving our readers the whole poem:--

“Little foxes, spoiling
The beloved vine
Trusted to my tending
By the One Divine.
Little foxes, wherefore
Have ye entrance found
To the vine so precious
Growing in my ground?

“Have ye leaped the fences?
Have ye climbed the wall?
Were there tiny openings?
Ye are very small,
And ye can creep slyly
Through a tiny space;
But I thought I closed up
Every open place.

“And I watched by daytime,
And I watched by night,
For the vine you’re spoiling
Is my heart’s delight!
I have kept the earth-worm
From its precious root;
I have trimmed its branches,
But they bear no fruit.

“For the little foxes
Have assailed the vine,
Trusted to my tending
By the One Divine;
And though I’ve been faithful
Since its birthday morn,
They were in the garden
When the babe was born.

“For they are the failings
That I would not see
When they were _my_ failings,
When they dwelt in me;
Little faults unheeded,
That I now despise;
For my baby took them
With my hair and eyes.

“And I chide her often,
For I know I must.
But I do it always
Bowed down to the dust,
With a face all crimsoned
With a burning blush,
And an inward whisper
That I cannot hush.

“And sometimes it seemeth
Like the voice of God,
And it says, ‘Poor coward,
Using now the rod
On a child’s frail body,
Till I hear it moan,
And see its soft flesh quiver
For a sin thine own.’

“O my Father, pity,
Pity and forgive;
Slay the little foxes
I allowed to live
Till they left the larger
For the smaller vine,
Till they touched the dear life,
Dearer far than mine.

“O my Father, hear me,
Make my darling thine,
Though I am so human,
Make her all divine!
Slay the little foxes,
That both vines may be
Laden with fruit worthy
To be offered thee!”

LXXXIII.

WASTE NOT--WANT NOT.

MANY, particularly among the young, associate economy and frugality with meanness, ungenerousness, and a churlish, disobliging disposition.

“There would be no pleasure or comfort in living,” said a young lady, when a friend was endeavoring to show her the desirableness of “counting cost,” before entering upon any extravagant expenditures,--“there would be no comfort in living, if I must stop and consider the price,--adding up at every step, and deliberating upon the sum total before I dared to make a purchase; to say every minute, ‘Can I afford this?’ or, ‘Can I manage to do without that?’ To compel myself to study how I could alter over an old garment, how to change the trimmings so as to hide such piecing as must be done, before I could bring the article into usable shape, and at the same time preserve a genteel appearance; to pick up pins and needles, buttons and strings, keeping before my mind all the time the idea of economy and saving, in everything, small as well as great! Pshaw! I should feel so mean. I should despise myself, and think all my acquaintances would despise me also. I’d sooner spend what I have in a free-and-easy manner, taking what pleasure I could in it, as long as it lasted, and, when all was gone, go to the poorhouse or die! I do really think so.”

A change of cars took them away, and we do not know what reply was made to this speech; but from it we thought one could, without uncharitableness, form a pretty correct estimate of the speaker’s character and probable future. She may not end in the poorhouse, though that would not be the most unlikely thing that could happen; but if she marries, the heart of her husband cannot safely trust in her, and her children will not rise up and call her blessed. Waste and extravagance go hand in hand, and happiness and comfort do not walk with them. Those whom they beguile become selfish, seeking their own gratification, regardless of the interests of others.

It is possible that parents often err in their mode of inculcating economy, and, while striving to enforce its practice, render the whole subject, and every idea connected with it, distasteful by overmuch teaching. However that may be, for some reason the young appear to look upon it as something to be shunned, feeling that they would “lose caste,” if they even spoke of it, and to attempt to practice it would shut them out from certain acquaintances as something quite inferior. So, if compelled to economize, they do it secretly, while they think of it as an evil to be deplored. All their little devices to “keep up appearances,” and bring their surroundings into harmony with their more wealthy neighbors, they shrink from having known, as from real disgrace or guilt; whereas the ingenuity displayed is something often worthy of much praise, if used openly, without regard to foolish criticisms. Those who have the _gift_ to practice a judicious economy, to save carefully, because it is _right_, and not from a niggardly, miserly desire to hoard,--in household affairs, in dress, or in anything that comes under their care,--are endowed with a talent for which they may well be proud, and which is recognized by all sensible people as most desirable, even by those who are placed in circumstances where the closest watchfulness and care may not be a necessity.

But it is not merely as matter of necessity that we wish to direct the attention of all good housekeepers to the duty of thrift and carefulness in the management of their affairs. We do not think the poor, or those merely in moderate circumstances, should be allowed to monopolize all the pleasure which, if rightly viewed, can be secured by a frugal use and proper economy of the good things of this world that may be placed at our disposal. The rich have an equal right with the poor to share in this pleasure. A proper education, presenting this subject in the true light, will show conclusively that the more abundant the riches, the greater will be the satisfaction derived from proper discretion and judgment in the use and distribution of them. The good one can do, the large amount of personal happiness to be secured by the good done, would be sufficient motives, even if there were no higher, for strict watchfulness against waste, even in the smallest item. If one has the means, and recognizes the greater convenience of making purchases in large quantities, there is no degradation in doing it _because_ it is also the better economy. But because they have bought by the wholesale, and filled their store-rooms with large and generous supplies, they must not feel that they have nothing to do but fold their hands and allow others to scatter their stores recklessly and without judgment. Making the purchases and seeing them carefully put in place is by no means the end of their duty. They are but stewards of God’s bounties, and a steward may not relax his care. If a lady can afford to keep a housekeeper, and is willing to submit to the rule and tyranny of one, rather than burden herself with the entire charge of a house, we can only say, “There is no accounting for tastes,” and will not presume to doubt her right to do so; but even then, after having thrown off the supervision of the household, and all the details connected with its care, we believe every one should still retain sufficient responsibility to be sure that the housekeeper is faithful, capable, and willing at all times to render a satisfactory account of her stewardship; and the mistress should be able to know, also, by these accounts, if she is true to her trust. If this was generally understood to be the rule with all, there would be less unfaithful stewardship, less defalcation in the household certainly, if not everywhere else.

But the injury done to subordinates by extravagance is one of the worst features of this evil. Our servants are quick imitators, and if the mistress is easy and careless in her expenditures, the maid soon learns to follow her example, and so will waste the material put into her hands. It does not take long to teach one of the improvident class, from which our servants usually come, a lesson which not only leads her to be careless of the property of others, even when she has no thought or intention of being dishonest, but wholly unfits her for saving her own earnings or managing a home of her own. Hence we see all around us those who have lived in wealthy families marrying, with no knowledge of providing for a family, or of using the little they have with economy. So they sink down, year after year, into deeper poverty and wretchedness; ending, perhaps, in the poorhouse; when if the lessons learned in their employer’s house had been those of true economy, they might now be living in neat and comfortable homes.

LXXXIV.

MAKING CAKE AND PASTRY.

ONE of our young friends, speaking of her troubles, says:--

“I must have cake in the house, but shrink from the attempt to make it; and in my brief experience in housekeeping have, so far, depended on the bake-shops; for I know nothing about such work, and won’t let my girl see me trying it, lest she find out what a novice her mistress is. If I should put all the materials for my cake together, in the most careful manner, and when it is taken from the oven find that it was not good, _I_ should not know if the failure arose from my want of skill in preparing it, or from my girl’s carelessness in baking it; but _she_ would doubtless know whose the fault was, and I am dreadfully afraid it would prove to have been my own. I don’t understand much about cooking, and still less, I fear, how to judge of the quality of the materials I must use in cooking.”

In the first place, bear in mind always, in purchasing, that it is cheaper in the end to buy _the best_, and in no one article is this so manifest as in flour. Get the best in market, even if you pay an extra price, and notice the _brand_. Try the flour faithfully, and if it proves satisfactory, “make a note of it,” and continue to furnish yourself with that kind, unless, after a few times, you find it deteriorates.

Good flour will adhere, slightly pressed together in the hand; and when you unclasp your hand, the _lines_ in the palm will be plainly seen on the flour you have held so tightly. Dough from good flour will not be a clear, blue white, but yellowish, and, when well kneaded, will not stick to the hand.

We should have said, in the first place, by inquiries and observation secure a good, honest, reliable grocer,--one who will truly endeavor to serve you with the best; having satisfied yourself that you can trust him, you will find his judgment will assist you out of many uncertainties, until you have, by experience, learned to trust your own.

The same rule for buying holds good of all groceries. _Buy the best._ You will save money and insure comfort by it. There is no more economy in buying cheap sugar than cheap flour. A barrel of pure, clear, granulated sugar will last longer, and in the end be cheaper, than any of the coffee or brown sugars.

Before collecting your materials for making cake or pies, see that your stove or range is in good order; the grate shaken free from ashes; all the fuel needed for the cooking added and burning clear. Be careful that no doors or windows are opened, so that the air will blow across the stove. No oven can bake well if this is not prevented, or if the sun shines across it. We all know that if this happens, the coal will soon look whitish, instead of burning clear and lively.

Having the fire and oven in a proper condition, you can now prepare for making bread, cake, or pastry. Of course you will have a large, clean apron, and _fold, not push_, your sleeves back above the elbow. A sack apron, with high neck and short sleeves, made long and full enough to cover the dress, is a great convenience, for if suddenly called from your work you can throw it off easily, leaving your dress in a neat, presentable condition. A close net cap drawn over the head will prevent loose hairs falling into your work, and should be more used than is common. A basin of water and a clean towel close by are necessary, so that you need not be obliged to stop in the midst of your work to get it in case of any mishap. Put everything you will need on the table. Be sure that all utensils are always put away clean, so that, when they are next wanted, you will not be hindered to do more than wipe them free from the dust which may have gathered upon them. Scrupulous neatness about all your cooking-utensils should never be forgotten. If iron, tin, wood, or earthen vessels are set aside without being scrubbed perfectly clean and wiped dry, you will waste much time when next they are needed, aside from risking a moldy or rusty taste in your food.

A good-sized bread or molding-board, white and clean, perfectly dry and smooth, should be placed on the table. It keeps the flour, sugar, etc. that may fall, from the table, and is readily lifted, with all the soiled dishes on it, to the sink for washing,--thus saving much litter and many steps. Learn to cook without gathering a large number of things about; after a little practice, you will be surprised to see how few things are really needed, and how much confusion and how many steps can be avoided by a little management.