Chapter VIII: Part I: Motherly Talks with Young Housekeepers (5)

“She is well worth fourteen dollars a month to me, if she is worth a penny.” Four dollars extra would be quite an addition to Sophia’s income. To be sure it would. So her nurse-girl goes confidentially (_privately_ we presume that means) and tells Sophia that Mrs. Chessleburg will give her fourteen dollars a month if she will leave the lady, who, five years ago, “picked her up in New York,” and has taught her, during these years, to be such a desirable servant. The girl goes, of course. Mrs. Potiphar thinks it mean “to steal her girl away in that style.” _So do we._ Is it strange that we think Mrs. Chessleburg’s desire to right the girl’s supposed wrongs had its origin less in real benevolence than in the selfish anxiety to secure a valuable servant for herself? We certainly must, notwithstanding “Laicus’s” perplexity, join with the ladies in thinking Mrs. Chessleburg’s proceeding highly objectionable, and are confident employees as well as employers will agree in this matter.

We read the article in question to the superintendent of our farm, and said, “How does this strike you? How shall we answer this question? If the girl’s work was worth more than ten dollars, was it not right that she should have it?”

“Yes; but I shouldn’t think that was the right way for a lady to do? Why didn’t she go to the girl’s mistress, instead of sending her nurse-maid to the girl privately? I don’t think any lady would do such a thing.”

“Well! I think you are right about house servants. But on the farm, in your position, for instance, as foreman, there is some difference, is there not? Supposing some gentleman should offer you more than we do, what would you think of that?”

“That he was no gentleman. I don’t see the difference. If he wished to make any such offer, he should go to my employer and state the case, but not to me.”

“But you are not bound to stay with us. If you can better yourself, you have a perfect right to do so. You are a free man.”

“Yes, I know that; but I think there should be some honor, if there is no law, about such things; and I don’t think a gentleman acts honorably who tempts a man with offers of higher wages to leave his employer’s service. Let him go, like a man, to the proprietor of the work himself.”

“Maggie,” said we afterward, “if a lady should send one of her girls to you with an offer for more wages than I give, what would you think of it?”

“O, I’ve had that trick tried on me, ma’am! No _lady_ would do it, and I’d not risk living with any one who would connive at such a mean thing.”

“Why, what would you have her do?”

“Come right to yer, ma’am, or advertise. Sure the papers are open to any one who chooses to advertise.”

Now, this subject appears too clear for any question of right or wrong, liberty or slavery. The same course--open and above-board--should be plain to both employer and employé. Among business men this law of honor is fully understood. The amount of wages in all employments is well defined. Custom fixes the prices for specified labor. It is those who offer beyond the accepted rates who cause most of the trouble experienced in all classes of labor.

A manufacturer engages a certain number of men to work in his mill. He offers and they accept the regular rates of payment. A neighboring manufacturer is short of hands, and privately goes to these men, _bribing_ them, for it is nothing short of a bribe, with offers of higher wages to leave their present work and come to him. If their ideas of honor are no higher than his own, they will probably accept the bribe, and their first employer’s mills must stand idle until he can secure others to fill their places. Would you not call this dishonorable? This is acceded to in the outdoor world, among merchants, mechanics, manufacturers, and farmers. But how much more sacred, how much stronger, should this code of honor be to us, in the family!

If we learn that a girl has “given warning” to her employer of her intention to leave, we have a perfect right to try and secure her; but to avoid the least appearance of evil, to do truly “as we would be done by,” we should think it but wise and just to go first to the lady and signify our wishes, making such inquiries as may be needed. In the case given by “Laicus,” however, the nurse-maid is sent, and offers of higher wages given through her. The girl is _bought_. We cannot think it acting honorably by the mistress or kindly by the maid. If tempted once to act secretly, she probably can be again, and from a useful, reliable servant may become one on whom there can be no dependence.

If this mode of securing assistance is accepted as a correct and honorable practice, no one is safe. In every department we shall be at the mercy of the selfish and unscrupulous.

The laborer is evidently worthy of his hire, and in this country no class of people are likely to remain long in ignorance of the price they can command, or to estimate their ability at too low a rate.

We object to no one’s obtaining the full value for his work, but claim that there should be no meddling, no underhand work to buy servants or laborers from another, by the private offer of larger wages. Advertising is open to all, and brings the needed help to you; but if you do not choose that mode of supplying yourselves with laborers, then let the employer be applied to, and if you can give his or her servants better terms than they now receive, there are not many who will not advise them to accept the offer. We do not think that ladies enact any such law, as that “no servant shall be offered a better post than the one now occupied, so long as he or she remains in it”; but we do claim that the good old rule should be as fully recognized in dealing with a neighbor’s servant as in everything else, namely, “Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.”

XXIX.

FALL CLEANING.

THE summer is over and gone; cold nights and mornings have so frightened and subdued the flies, that it is easy to hunt them from the house, and by a little extra watchfulness prevent their gaining possession again. The sun, still quite warm and summer-like in the middle of the day, tempts them out from their hiding-places, and they will swarm in at open doors and windows, if unprotected by wire and net frames, in great numbers. Take care that these safeguards are doing duty whenever windows or doors are opened for ventilation or comfort, else the skillful little manœuvrers will soon gain access. Drive them out toward night into the cool evening air. A few really cold nights will free you from these vexatious intruders, and enable you to commence fall cleaning in peace and safety. The danger always is, that this part of fall labor will be undertaken too early. The first ten or twelve days of September are usually raw and cold. The flies, crawling into warm nooks and corners, pretend to be asleep. The housekeeper, forgetting the experience of former years, hastens to get out scrub-cloths, brushes, and all the implements of house-cleaning. Those whose homes are in the city hurry back with the first puff of cold air, believing that flies and heat have both alike departed for the season. But they soon learn that this is a great mistake. These chilly, cold days are usually followed by ten days or a fortnight as warm as midsummer, and generally quite unhealthy. Nothing but real necessity should tempt any to leave the country before they have fully enjoyed the most perfect month of the whole year,--_October_. But whether in city or country, those who attempt to do their fall cleaning in September will have short-lived satisfaction compared with the comfort derived from the same work in October. Flies, spiders, and wasps, if not harmless then, are at least so far disabled as to be easily conquered, and until that is accomplished, house-cleaning on a large scale is wasted labor.

The first thing to be done, preparatory to house-cleaning, is to have all the chimneys thoroughly swept, and the furnace, range, and grate flues, not only perfectly cleaned from soot, but examined by a competent workman; especially is this needful if the house has been closed or only partially used during the summer. Before real winter weather comes, everything of this kind should be in perfect order.

Have the furnace-grate examined, as it may have been corroded by rust while unused, or so far burned out that, if neglected, some cold morning when a bright glowing fire is most needed it may break down and let your fire out. It will not be pleasant to sit shivering while the old grate is being mended or a new one fitted. The range-grate and fire-bricks must also be looked after and repaired for winter use. A little attention now will save much expense and discomfort later in the season.

If carpenters’ or masons’ work, whitewashing, painting, glazing, or plumbing is needed, it should all be done before any cleaning is attempted. If left till afterward, this kind of work is a great terror to housekeepers. To secure seasonable attention to all these matters, it is essential that the mechanics who are needed should be engaged some weeks in advance; but remember that such workmen are, unfortunately, not as good in _keeping_ promises as in _breaking_ them; therefore watch closely, and hold them to their agreement. This habit of promising more than can be performed is a very pernicious one, and in the end most unprofitable. Mechanics are tempted to this dishonorable practice by anxiety to secure a good job. Knowing the great demand for labor, they imagine if they promise to do your work at a given time, come and do a little, then go to some one else, leaving your work half finished, then back to you again for a while,--the second party annoyed by the same vexatious delay,--that your necessity compels you to endure silently if not patiently. You may submit for this once, but never burn your fingers twice at the same fire. Let it once be understood that employers of all kinds look upon a broken promise as destroying all confidence, and that they will under no circumstances give a _promise-breaker_ a second opportunity to beguile them, and this great trial to grace and patience would soon be overcome.

While repairs are going on, bring down all the woolen garments, blankets, furs, or pieces of carpeting that have been stored away for the summer. Take them out on the grass-plat under your clothes-line, before removing the wrappers, for the preparation in which they have been put away is not very pleasant to the smell, particularly if it is Poole’s powder, which we think the safest as well as the most disagreeable. If it is a windy day, hang all on the clothes-line for a good snapping before you attempt to brush them, and most of the powder will blow off. After an hour or two in sun and wind, brush them well with a nice whisk-broom, and, when done, the garments and blankets may be put in their proper places and the pieces of carpeting sewed up in bagging or canvas or put into a spare trunk. They will need no more powder till spring, if carefully stored and occasionally aired through the winter.

The coal, of course, you had put into the cellar last spring, as it is usually cheaper about May than in the fall. The ashes and soot having been removed, the flues, furnace, and grates all in order, the house should now be swept from the attic to the cellar. Ingrain and three-ply carpets ought to be taken up every year, unless in rooms but little used, and after being well shaken or taken to the carpet-shaking mill, they should be laid out of the way till the room from which they were taken is cleaned. Brussels, Wiltons, Axministers, and all the heavier carpets should not be raised oftener than every three years. Very little dust sifts through such fabrics, and careful sweeping and the use of a good “carpet-sweeper” will preserve them from all harm. In sweeping, preparatory to cleaning, it is well to draw the tacks in the corners and turn such heavy carpets back, so that with a whisk-broom any dirt that may have settled there can be easily removed. It is but little work, and the corners can be readily tacked down again.

When the sweeping is all done, a most thorough dusting is the next operation, so that wood-work, walls, and gas-brackets may be free from loose dirt before water is used. The paint is much easier cleaned after this than if the dust were allowed to remain and be washed off. Some recommend the latter to _save time_. We think it _wastes_ time.

The walls should be dusted with a long-handled feather duster, then with a clean dry cloth pinned smoothly over a clean broom; wipe them down evenly, beginning at the top and passing in a straight line, “by a thread” as a seamstress would say, to the bottom, changing the cloth as it becomes soiled. Next remove all chimneys and shades from the chandeliers and gas-burners; wash clean, dry and polish with a soft linen towel, and then with chamois-skin, and put them into a closet till the room is cleaned. Now with a cloth, wrung from weak, hot suds, wipe off the brackets and chandeliers, and rub dry with chamois-skin. Draw a coarse linen thread, double, through the opening in the tip of all the gas-burners to remove any dust that may have settled in them while unused. This done, if you have two or three hands at work, the cleaning may be so divided as to be done quite expeditiously; let one wash the windows while another cleans the paint. The windows, if long unused, need to be well washed in warm suds, into which a little spirits of ammonia have been poured,--two teaspoonfuls to half a bucket of suds; then well rinsed in clear water, wiped dry, and polished with chamois-skin. This same proportion of suds and ammonia will also clean paint very easily, and without injury to the hands. It is good for cleaning marble slabs and mantles. The plated door-handles, bell-pulls, etc., come next in order for cleaning; and here, if a piece of oil-cloth is cut to slip over each, so that the walls may not be tarnished, the hot suds and ammonia will prove very effective. A piece of old carpet or drugget should be laid down as you clean windows, paint, or plated ware, if the carpet is down, and moved from one spot to another as you go on.

Now all is ready to put the last touch to the room. Wring a clean cloth from some warm, clear water, in which a little alum or salt has been dissolved, and wipe hard each breadth of the carpet, rubbing straight down the nap. Wring out the cloth often, to rinse off all the dust, and change the water if it looks very dingy. This brings up the nap and gives a new and fresh look to carpets of all kinds; only be sure that the cloth is not so wet as to drip. Leave the windows open when the carpet is finished, and shut the doors till it is thoroughly dried before bringing in what furniture was moved out to clean the room.

XXX.

FASHIONABLE DRESS.

WE are often asked why we do not speak out plainly, in the way of counsel and reproof, about the absurdities of fashionable dress, now so apparent? What good would it do? Almost every paper has spoken plainly, or hinted--the worst kind of speaking, however unmistakable--on this subject, and what is the result? Week by week the fashion-plates are increasingly monstrous, until at last we are uncertain whether it is a _bona fide_ fashion plate we are looking at or “Punch” and “The Budget of Fun.” Neither could take greater liberties or more atrociously caricature “the human form divine.” And, what would be very amusing if the weakness did not excite so much pity, those who urge us to contribute our mite toward a reform, a more Christian mode of dress, are themselves marvellous structures,--a pile, composed of frizzed, braided, curled, and puffed hair, under which a small, delicate face appears; a dress fringed, flounced, puffed, and trailing, with hoops and panniers protruding like a dromedary’s hump; and all this miserable deformity borne about on high heels and the tips of the toes, the discomfort and pain of such unnatural locomotion accepted and endured because it is _the fashion_. Yet these fair inquirers appeared wholly unconscious that their own disfigurement was a stronger appeal for aid than any words could have been.

Why not begin this reform in your own dress? Brush your hair smoothly, and give us the satisfaction of once more seeing what the head is, as God made it; take off yards of silk, lace, and fringe, and show us your natural, graceful figure. You who move in what is called fashionable society can do more by such independence than all that can be written. Try one season, and mark the change you would effect. “O, we couldn’t think of such a thing! ‘As well be out of the world as out of fashion,’ you know. It would make us so very conspicuous by our singularity. We think it would not be _modest_ to take such a stand. No one person can effect the change: it must be simultaneous.”

Ah, had all reformers reasoned so, what would now be the condition of the civilized world! But Fashion is a tyrant; and we fear volumes written on the evils which she brings will do little good until women have learned to defy her. A few in every age have done valiantly in their attempts to dethrone her, but she changes so often, and so abruptly and entirely, it is difficult to keep track of her. As far back as we can search, the whirligig of fashion has been in perpetual motion, unceasing in its changes. The advice and admonition of age and experience have little influence towards checking this long-established tyranny. The old look sadly upon the vagaries of the young; but if they glance back to their own early days, would they not recall equal absurdities in the fashions of that period, or on a moment’s reflection, perhaps, even the dress and style to which they still pertinaciously adhere may be liable to the same criticism?

We vividly remember the look of dissatisfaction on our grandmother’s face (a dear little woman, nearly eighty years old), whose keen black eyes flashed ominously as we came before her for inspection, dressed for our first party. We stood, at fourteen, a full head the taller, but were abashed at the dignified air of authority with which she descanted on the ridiculousness of our attire. A very narrow skirt, with a few gathers in the back, three small pleats on each side,--it took but six or seven yards then for a dress,--a full waist, with a narrow band round the neck like a baby’s slip, and the belt almost under the arms; a large lace “Vandyke,” or cape, over the shoulders; the hair combed high on the top of the head and tightly tied, and the length twisted into a knot or bow, and kept in place by a big tortoise-shell comb, the top of it full three inches high and six or seven inches round; and this placed back of the hair. Our first high-topped comb! What a wonderful work of art it was in our eyes! And the dress--our _first_ silk--of changeable hues, like the silks which are now coming again into fashion,--how stylish it did look! We thought every one must recognize its elegance. Yet here was this “little grandma,” whose judgment, next to our mother’s, was infallible, looking with disdain upon it, and turning our whole outfit into ridicule! It was heartbreaking! And for our first party! Fourteen was very young to go to parties in those days, but, being tall for our age, we were invited by mistake we presume. At the present time _young ladies_ of three and four send out and receive their cards, and with gloves and fans, frizzled hair, and flounced dresses, mimic the affectation and absurdities of their elders. We have no sweet, simple childhood any longer.

But how was our revered critic attired? The soft, white hair, still quite abundant, was brushed straight over from the brow, not tied on top, but rolled as tightly as it could be drawn over what was then called a pillow,--now it would be, we presume, a _rat_,--and fastened on the top of the head by two long silver pins with arrow-heads; a spotless white mull cap with a very high crown and deep frill was put on over this pillow and tied with a broad black satin ribbon in a bow on top; a string of gold beads, a square of white lace folded over the shoulders and crossed in pleats in front, under the dress of heavy black satin; the waist of said dress made long down to the hips, with a point before and behind, the skirt not trailed but immensely full; very high-heeled slippers; and on her arm a large black satin bag, or _reticule_, embroidered with white beads, in which was the ever-present knitting-work, completed the costume. And this queerly dressed little grandmother scoffed at our newer style as being the height of absurdity. Her dress appeared appropriate to her, because we had never seen her otherwise attired; but with all affectionate deference to her superior wisdom, we thought it very ugly, and would have shrunk in disgust from wearing it ourselves; and doubtless our new dress in which we then rejoiced would strike our grandchildren now as equally undesirable.

So fashion changes, and words of expostulation are wasted. But in this age of improvement, when we turn our backs on the things of old while something new is daily being developed or invented, the wonder is, that in the realms of Fashion we see so little purely original. Like a poor horse in a treadmill, she goes the same circuit, and about every fifty years she finds the end, and is compelled to return and reproduce, with some strange additions, but few improvements, the styles our grandmothers and great-grandmothers wore. The high heels, hoops, trains, and panniers of to-day are but the renewal of the fashions of a semi-barbarous age, which, once buried, should never have been revived.

Addison, in many of his writings (see particularly papers 98 and 127 in the “Spectator”), severely criticises the prevailing fashions of his day. Many of these same deformities our better instructed women have for a year or two past foolishly reproduced. We may not quote his words, because the homely language of that period would shock our greater refinement, (although if it could be arranged for opera or theatre, his wholesome counsels might be listened to _in public_ without a blush!).

There is much to be said, aside from the absurdity of the style, and its destruction of all grace and beauty, of the great extravagance which must attend the present fashions, breaking up many homes and alienating true love; and the permanent injury done to health, subjecting its devotees to long years, perhaps, of discomfort and lingering sufferings or an early grave.

XXXI.

LESSONS BY THE WAYSIDE.

LOVE lightens labor, and crowns Care with rosy garlands which beautify her rugged and repellant features. But when those whose presence makes labor easy are absent, Care is more likely to become a hard taskmaster. Our house being thus left unto us desolate, for a few days, we rebel, and have run away.

Seated all alone in one of those cozy little rooms in the “palace-cars,” on the banks of the Hudson, we will try for once how it feels to be free from care, and give ourselves up to the full enjoyment of the position. How beautiful is the scenery through which we are passing! Each one thinks his own native land, his own mountains and rivers, the finest in the world. This feeling often grows into a ludicrous weakness; but we are confident that our noble Hudson must be acknowledged by all as ranking among the first.

“Where will you find in foreign land
So sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”

In spring-time, when every bush and tree is tipped with delicate green, from the banks of the river to the highest point that overlooks it, we call it more lovely than at any other season of the year. But in summer, when the grass is just ready for the scythe, and blossoms of fruit hang from every bough, we say this surpasses the spring. In the early fall, the orchards scattered all along the river-side, laden with the ripening fruit, in each variety of green, red, gold, or russet, and the woods on either side brilliant with every shade of color, add another charm to the wondrous beauty of the scenery. And now, in this later autumn, as we see the

“Leaves around us falling,
Dry and withered, to the ground,”--

the lights and shadows on the mountains, the golden hues exchanged for deeper russet, the dark red of the Ampelopsis mingling with the rich color of the evergreens that cover the banks,--all caught by the flashing river, and thrown back in broken and fantastic reflection,--call for increasing admiration; and mid-winter, when the ground is white with snow, and the trees are strung with diamonds, will only furnish stronger cords to hold us steadfast to our allegiance. There is not “half a kiss to choose” between the seasons on the banks of our glorious Hudson. We love it always and in all its varied changes.

And this _is_ rest for the weary! How beautifully quiet the pretty villages, nested in among the mountains or scattered along the banks, appear! Is it possible that sickness or sorrow, heartaches or envyings, fierce passions or corroding cares, can find a harbor near this tranquil river? It must be so, no doubt; but as we fly quickly past, and cannot see it, what is it all to us? Why trouble ourselves with the thought of sorrows which we can neither alleviate nor prevent?

Ah! we may leave what we call our cares far behind; but we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that sin, and therefore sorrow, is all about us, as truly in the restful solitude of the little niche we for a few hours occupy, as in the weary round of busy life. Out of sight, but almost within reach of our hand, there is a sick child. We hear its feeble cry, and think, from the sound, it must be quite young, and nearly worn out with suffering. The mother, no doubt, tenderly loves her child, yet long days of watching and sleepless nights have taxed her strength to the utmost, and exhausted her patience. Sharp and irritable words are spoken, and as we hear the little one, through the slight partition that separates us, turn restlessly from side to side, unable to find an easy spot, yet constantly longing for change, we know that it is not gently placed on a cooler pillow, or taken to the mother’s arms,--gathered to her bosom, and soothed with loving words. But instead we hear, “O dear! what a torment! I am tired to death! Can’t you lie still one minute?” How these tones make our heart quiver! No doubt she is very weary, and perhaps full of pain herself; but with each peevish, complaining word uttered over that frail little blossom, she is planting

“Thorns, _not_ roses, for her reaping, by and by.”

If she knew that in a few days, perhaps, her babe would be forever hid from her eyes, would not the remaining hours of its short life be soothed, regardless of her own pain, by the tenderest love, and each word soft and sweet as the notes of the cushat-dove! And the father, in full health and vigor, why does he not relieve the weary, overtasked mother? Why does he not give her an hour’s rest, while the little one finds in his strong arms a grateful change? for there is no cradle so soft and soothing to a babe, sick or well, as a loving father’s arms. Instead of bearing this yoke with his wife, we hear cross, ungentlemanly, unsympathetic words of complaint addressed to her, and harsh and peevish commands to the baby. We long to step across the narrow passage that divides us, and, taking the little one into our own arms, kindly tell the parents what seeds they are sowing; to say to them, “If your child dies, each word will rise up in remembrance against you, filling your hearts with anguish. If it lives, you are sowing poisonous weeds, which will cause you life-long sorrow. The child will imitate your example, practise the lessons it is this day so early learning, and teach you how ‘the sins of the parents may be visited upon the children.’ Your own sins and failings will rise up and condemn you through your children.” Good-breeding and etiquette will not permit us to go to them with such warning; yet that this lesson may profit some one, we send it to the friends for whom we write,--the young _home-makers_ as well as the young housekeepers. In thus shaping your children’s future, we cannot but think that the father will be as richly blessed for instilling correct principles, or as surely condemned for wrong training and example, as the mother. We know this is treason and heresy, if judged by the prevailing idea that the mother, far more than the father, is responsible for the principles and character with which the child takes its place among men and women.

We think this bad doctrine. The parents have an equal share in their offspring, and should not hold a divided responsibility.

The nursing and care in the main is doubtless the mother’s office; but in extreme cases it should be borne together. Being naturally more with the child in early infancy, of course the mother has a closer intimacy. But in a well-organized, loving family, you will note that while the love is given to both parents alike, when questions of weight arise, even in early years, the child turns to the father for the final word which shall be infallible. The mother’s gentler, tenderer tone settles every-day questions, but there is strength and authority in the father’s voice from which they are not often tempted to appeal, and a good wife and mother recognizes this state. It is a sad house when the hearts of mother and children cannot, with love and pride, accept this as the natural and legitimate rule of home government and education. Even if the mother does not, in her own judgment, accept the father’s decision with the simple faith with which the child receives it, it is no evidence of tame submission if she pleasantly reserves her reasons till they are alone. All argument should be avoided between the parents before the children on matters connected with the children’s interest. If appealed to, let the reply be simply, “Father knows best,” or, “Do as father says.” By this you strengthen your husband’s hands, and nowise compromise your own conscience or influence. Then when opportunity offers compare your views and give your reasons for dissent, in all truth and gentleness.

XXXII.

PAULINE PRY.

WE come this week to spy out the land,--to roam “up stairs, down stairs, and in the lady’s chamber”; to creep into all by and forbidden places; to look into the bedrooms, ransack the wardrobes, peep into the drawers, it may be; overhaul trunks and boxes, perhaps; in short, to take all manner of liberty and find fault to our heart’s content.

Now we slip, unseen, into the guest-chamber. It is very pleasant and inviting; but we don’t think the bed is made up very neatly. There are “humps” in the mattress. It has not been turned over after using, and well beaten and brought to a good square surface. The sheets and blankets are not put on smoothly; the fine, Marseilles spread is put on unevenly, giving a very untidy appearance to the bed, and bringing so large a proportion of the bedclothes on one side, so as to render it difficult to turn and press them down properly between the mattress and side-rail, and of course you cannot, under such circumstances, give a square, regular shape to the bed. A poorly made bed spoils the appearance of the room, however elegant the rest of the furnishing may be.

Pretty sheet and pillow _tidies_ are of great assistance in giving a fresh, cheerful air to a bedroom. If sheets and pillow slips are neatly tucked and nicely ironed, the bed will look very inviting at first, if well made; but after it has been once used, the wrinkled, tumbled sheets and pillows are not a pleasant sight, and one feels well repaid for the little trouble of providing tidies, however simple; ruffled and embroidered, for the spare chamber if you please, but a part of a fine old linen sheet, with broad hems and narrow tucks, starched and well ironed, gives a very neat finish to the family bedrooms, and with careful folding when taken off at night will not need to be done up for some weeks.

This elegant bureau is all right, as far as it is furnished; but the guest-chamber should be provided with all the little comforts and conveniences which a lady thinks necessary in her own room. A handsome mat or tidy over the marble top, and little mats on each side for cologne-bottle and watch-stand, or match-box and jewel-case, and a pretty cushion, will add much to the appearance of this bureau; or if nothing more, a clean damask towel spread over it is, if not a necessity, at least a great safeguard against stains on the marble, and a protection from the disagreeable chill that creeps over one when resting the hand or arm on the cold marble.

A good comb and brush, free from the slightest suspicion of dirt, a boot-buttoner, and a paper of pins, ought to be on the bureau or in the drawer. A friend often remains over night unexpectedly, and, of course not coming provided for the detention, will find these little attentions and conveniences a great comfort, and duly appreciate your kind and thoughtful care.

A little basket of willow or perforated card, embroidered with some neat and fanciful design, or a bead or muslin bag, is a great convenience much needed to be hung by the side of the bureau or under the gas, to hold the hair from comb or brush, burnt matches, bits of thread or paper. Some such receptacle for loose bits or litter, no matter how simple, should be near every bureau, which the chambermaid must empty every morning. A _cuspidor_, or wide-mouthed vase, upon the floor, is more elegant than a scrap-basket, but much more expensive.

A curtain of white barred muslin or linen is needed back of the washstand, that the water, in washing, may not soil the paper or paint. A nail-brush is very convenient, we think a real necessity, for every bedroom. Get open, upright brush holders, rather than the long flat ones with a cover, for, by standing the tooth and nail brushes in the upright dish they drain and soon dry; but if laid down and covered they are never dry, and in warm weather soon become quite offensively musty.

A good sponge on the washstand and a clean doily hung up with the towels should be considered as indispensable in any well-furnished spare room as for those in daily use.

Of course the bureau drawers and wardrobe in this room will be left as nearly unoccupied as possible; so we will not stop to open them, but pass into other rooms.

What can be the matter in this young lady’s chamber? As we draw near the bureau, we perceive a most unpleasant smell. We must take the liberty of opening this drawer. Whew! the first breath reveals the mystery.

The brush has been wet to brush the hair, and then without drying shut from the air in the drawer. There is no smell so sickening! It pervades the whole bureau. No perfume can overcome it; and by using the brush, damp and uncleansed day after day, the odor is carried wherever this careless person goes. We have sat by people in church who have used such a brush, and could hardly remain during the service. The cause is unmistakable and cannot be concealed. If no other means can destroy this bad habit, we would recommend that any one so thoughtless should read an article we saw not long since in “Harper’s Bazar” on the vegetable growth, in brush, comb, hair, and scalp, produced by wetting the brush or hair, and leaving them undried or uncleansed. We think once reading that description would be sufficient cure.

The hair-brush should be combed free from hair or dandruff every time it is used, and laid by an open window till well aired and dried, if ladies will persist in wetting the hair or brush. A brisk movement of a dry brush through the hair will soon create a fine lustre on the hair, whereas wetting diminishes the gloss so beautiful in well-kept hair; but we forget that that is an old-fashioned idea. The progress of art and elegance teaches that a wilderness of fuzzy, frizzled hair is now the crowning beauty. Tastes differ, but no change in style or fashion will object, we hope, to a clean, sweet brush; and to secure that it must once a week, at least, be well washed in warm soapsuds, in which a little soda has been dissolved. Soda is better than ammonia, as it cleanses without stimulating the _vegetable growth_ spoken of in the “Bazar,” to which we just referred. Comb the brush while washing, that the suds may penetrate to the roots of the bristles, and cleanse every part; then rinse in warm water, rub dry as you can, and put in the window, or by the fire if the weather is damp, to dry. This care should not be neglected by any one who makes any pretension to neatness.

The bureau drawers in this room are not in good order. You will lose much time, and we think a good deal of self-respect, when next you need a handkerchief or stockings, for everything here seems to have been stirred up by a whirl-wind or a sleep-walker. It will require some skill and more patience than you can spare to separate this wretched tangle.

The pipes in the wash-basin and bath-room are slimy and foul, indicative of neglect. They should be well washed every morning, and once a week a pail of boiling suds, with a spoonful or two of soda or potash, must be poured in, to eat away all impurities, and sweeten the pipes. In passing, let us say this care is more especially necessary in the kitchen sinks. They require a stronger suds, and more soda or lye, and more attention, to eat out all the grease that will accumulate in washing dishes.

The discoloration around the bell-pull, door-knobs, etc., shows that a careless girl has not protected the wall or paint while cleaning them, and the mistress has not kept her eyes open. A bit of oil-cloth, with a hole in the center, to slip over the knobs or bell-pulls while rubbing, would have saved this defacement of paint and paper. And the finger-marks on the doors also tell a sad story of neglect. They need to be washed off once a week--twice, if little fingers are about--with a soft flannel, wrung out of hot suds.

In the sitting-room, the mantel over the grate has not been washed every morning when the fire is lighted in the grate. It should be. See! the gas and smoke from coal or kindlings have turned the white marble quite yellow. Wash it in hot suds, strong with ammonia, to remove the spots, and then use a clean brush and hot suds every morning, and you will save much time, and be well rewarded with an unspotted mantel.

We can’t pry about any longer, but there is no knowing when we may be tempted again to meddle with our friends’ housekeeping.

XXXIII.

BUY YOUR CAGE BEFORE YOU CATCH YOUR BIRD.

A YOUNG lady writes that this old adage is often repeated to her “in connection with grave warnings against early engagements and early marriages,” and asks for our opinion and advice.

This old proverb sounds very wise, and if taken literally may, for aught we know, be correct doctrine; but when used as a warning, in the connection which our friend suggests, we don’t more than half believe in it. We are no advocate for very long engagements or unreasonably early marriages; but we do believe that the happiest marriages are of those between whom the love was early plighted, and that close observation will prove that such are the most likely to stand the test of time, and pass through the many rough and hazardous paths of married life with the most cheerful fortitude. Those who have delayed marriage till their habits have become too firmly established to yield kindly to another’s wishes or peculiarities have not, we think, so sure a prospect of a pleasant and harmonious life. We would sooner trust an early union to carry the wedded pair down to a peaceful old age, not only without losing the love that first united them, but with the firm hope that it would grow brighter and brighter until that perfect day when both, having passed over the river, shall stand with clearer vision and purified affection before the throne of God.

When school-days are over and the young man enters upon his chosen occupation, and the maiden leaves her school-room to return to her mother’s care, then we believe that a betrothal formed with pure love for the basis is a great safeguard. It protects the lover from many temptations by which young men away from home are beset, especially in the city. They have little society save such transient companions as may cross their path, and who will, perhaps, seek to entice them to find pleasure in low and unrefined, if not in really impure and sinful courses. In the evening, after the day’s work is ended, time hangs heavy on their hands, they crave something, they know not what, and are easily entrapped.

Now, while a true love will teach a man to turn from such pleasures in disgust, it will also save the maiden any desire to indulge in the flirtations and coquetries with which gay and fashionable society tempts young and unguarded girls to degrade themselves. An _engagement_ does not always prevent this, we are sorry to say, but _pure love_ will prove an unfailing protection.

Neither do we believe an engagement should be protracted after the lover has entered upon his business or profession, until he has accumulated sufficient wealth to keep his bird in a golden cage.

Begin real life together. That is the true way, all the sweeter and happier if you begin small. The less style and display there is, the more time each will have to study the home character of the one they have accepted as a companion for life, and the better opportunity to learn easily how to bear and forbear, to tone down such peculiarities as are not conducive to mutual confidence and harmony. In all characters there will be such peculiarities,--it is quite right there should be,--but by carrying the same gentleness and courtesy into domestic life which was so easily and naturally given in the days of courtship, yielding a little, giving up one to the other, the early wedded become assimilated, and find in their union an ever-increasing joy, which a later marriage, when the habits become fixed and unyielding, seldom realizes.

“But to begin life in a small way, with limited means, subjects one to much drudgery and many deprivations; besides, we lose caste. Those who knew us in our father’s house, surrounded with comfort and luxury, would scarcely deign to notice us if found in circumstances so at variance with our parents’ mode of life.”

Such friends are scarcely worth the securing. You have outgrown babyhood and childhood, and, having entered upon man’s and woman’s estate, surely do not expect to be always cradled in your parents’ arms; but if you are of any worth you should cheerfully accept life as you find it. “Its rough ascents or flowing slopes,” if trod together and in love, will insure genuine happiness, and we often think one stores up quite as much real pleasure while passing through the rough places as when walking among the flowers. We know that the retrospection is often a source of unfailing enjoyment.

Many, we are aware, find great delight in selecting the house that is to be their home, and furnishing it as elaborately and tastefully as their means will permit, perhaps even beyond a safe limit, and then _surprising_ the bride by ushering her into this unexpected establishment. The surprise is doubtless effected, but although the annoyance may be concealed, in nine cases out of ten we venture to say it is keenly felt. When possible, both should act together in selecting the house, or it may be “rooms,” where is to be their home, and the taste and judgment of both be consulted in selecting the furniture which they expect to have before their eyes daily. In examining and counseling together frequently, they modify each other’s tastes, and in the end are far better satisfied than if either had done the work alone.

The money for furnishing a house is often provided as a part of the bride’s outfit, and of course, if she chooses so to consider the matter, it is her right to select the furniture, without consulting another’s taste or wishes. But the older we grow the more we are satisfied that _my rights_ should be erased from the matrimonial dictionary, and _our rights_ substituted.

XXXIV.

CARE IN SELECTING A HOUSE.

CHOOSING a house or tenement is one of the cares that often devolves upon the wife, and demands great skill, good judgment, and sound common-sense, because there are so many things to be taken into consideration. We have been favored with a book published in London entitled “The Best of Everything.” We have not yet so thoroughly examined its contents as to be able to judge if it warrants that title, but have been much pleased with some “Hints on choosing, buying, or building a House,” and think our readers will be better pleased with some extracts from that chapter than with anything we could furnish:--

“Select a cheerful, healthy locality, and be sure the rent, including taxes, etc., does not exceed one sixth of your income. Do not choose a neighborhood merely because it is fashionable, and carefully avoid occupying a dwelling in a neighborhood of doubtful reputation.

“Be sure that the house is dry, with convenient sewerage and plenty of water. A southern or western aspect is to be preferred. Should the house be infested with vermin, avoid it. See that windows and doors are well secured, that there are proper means of ventilation, and that the chimneys do not smoke.

“Let all needful repairs be made by the landlord before the completion of your agreement, otherwise you will probably be required to execute them at your own expense. Do not deal with a landlord commonly reputed to be disobliging, greedy, or litigious. In every case have a lease properly drawn out and stamped.

“Avoid the neighborhood of a sluggish stream, a mill-dam, or fresh-water lake. The penalties are rheumatism, ague, impaired eyesight, loss of appetite, asthma, and many other ailments. Choose a house away from the vicinity of tan-yards and tallow, soap, and chemical works, old and crowded burying-grounds, or slaughter-houses. A low situation is perilous, especially during the prevalence of epidemics.

“Never lease a house in a narrow street if you can help it, unless the back premises are open and extensive. Houses built with sea-sand will in the winter months discharge moisture and be unhealthy. A house with two entrances is more healthy than with only one. Before closing your bargain, try to learn something of the house from a former occupant.

“If you wish to purchase instead of leasing, do not trust to appearances or rely on your own judgment; but when you have found a house likely to suit your family and your purse, employ a surveyor to inspect every portion of it. He will examine the foundations, the state of the sewerage, and the character of the materials which form the walls, the joints, flooring, and other wood-work. He will be able to detect if soft bricks have been used, by finding traces of dampness at the bottom of the walls. Let a lawyer examine all papers necessary to secure a full possession.

“Beware of rashly purchasing fixtures, such as window-blinds or curtains, hall carpets, or kitchen furniture; new articles may be found in the end more economical.

“Make an effort to pay the whole of the purchase-money. A bond on your house may endanger your credit and affect your comfort.

“If instead of buying a house, you wish to build, select your locality; but before completing the arrangements, ascertain the precise nature of the soil. In a gravelly soil you will readily secure good foundations; but if you find clay, or moist earth, be cautious. You may, indeed, procure an artificial foundation by laying a bed of concrete; but this will be attended with considerable expense. Consult an architect; he will make a plan for your approval, and prepare working plans, and a specification. If the house is to be built of brick, be careful to examine the quality of the bricks, and also of the mortar. Personally inspect the plumber’s work, which, if inferior, will expose you to endless expense afterwards.

“Do not allow zinc to be used either as gutters or water-pipes; it wastes under exposure.

“When a new house passes out of the hands of the carpenters, the painters and paper-hangers take their place. In selecting your paper-hangings, keep in view these considerations. If the ceiling is low, oak paper, or any dark paper, will make it apparently lower still; or if a room be defectively lighted, a dark shade aggravates the evil. Papers of large designs are unsuited for a small room, making it look smaller; and, generally, papers with a variety of colors and showy patterns are inconsistent with elegance. Striped papers are better adapted for rooms with low ceilings. When you have pictures to hang on the walls, floral devices in the paper are particularly unsuitable. Paper of a uniform color, such as light or dark green, is admirably adapted for pictures. The paint of doors and windows should harmonize with the _paper-hangings_.”

XXXV.

VISITING FOR ONE’S OWN CONVENIENCE.

THERE are very few housekeepers in cities or large towns who will not, at the first glance, understand precisely what this means; and, however many may have been tempted to indulge in this style of visiting, and perhaps often yielded to the temptation, there will be none found, we venture to say, who will not heartily protest against it, when practised upon themselves.

We have before us a letter from a lady on this subject, and think we cannot do better than to transcribe part of it for the benefit of our young friends, as it presents the subject in a clear and very forcible manner:--

“Do not, by any means, imagine that I would say a word against friendly visits, for mutual enjoyment and the cultivation of true friendship. I gladly welcome to my house all who come to _see me_, and delight to do them honor in every way hospitality can suggest. My friends are sure of a cordial welcome at all times, and I never make a visit I do not wish returned. So much by way of parenthesis.

“Now for a statement of grievances. It is my misfortune (or fortune) to have been brought up in a rural town, about thirty miles from the city where I have resided since my marriage, five years ago. I am a young housekeeper, not yet of sufficient experience to take matters as easily as older and more experienced matrons can, and therefore am more easily disturbed by untoward events.