"_From our own selves our joys must flow,
And that dear hut our home._"
ONCE upon a time, a somebody who was famous for his or her wit or
wisdom, or for both qualities, remarked that oftentimes the easiest
and best way to get over a difficulty was to go round it. To my great
regret, I can't give you the name of the author of the very pithy
saying, neither can I tell you just what conditions called it forth,
but it's safe to say that its context was a suggestion or opinion
offered for the settling of some great big question of state. But,
what is more to the point, I can be of help in showing you, I hope,
how to make a practical application of the epigram to every-day
affairs. Because, just as sure as we are living, there is always a way
to go round if one can't get over the very toughest hands that one
gets in life's shuffle.
Now, there's the servant-girl question in its Sunday-night aspect. It
exists; it can't be wiped out; and it is impossible to ignore it. She,
or they, as the case may be, will have "the evening out," come what
may, and guests are pretty sure to come o' Sunday nights. Of course
you can't send them home supperless, and neither can you send your
family to bed in a semi-famished condition. No; you must go round the
situation. And it's not so hard. Indeed, my last trip to market, which
included a call at the grocer's, was for the express purpose of
picking up points that would make the circuit easy for you.
I'm not going to say a word, here, about the chafing-dish. And I will
tell you why. It is the custom in a large number of families for the
man of the house to preside at the chafing-dish Sunday nights, and
while my stock of book-learning is very diminutive, I have learned
that under no circumstances is it wise to offer suggestions to a man
who thinks he can cook.
Frequently it is easy to have some little dish left ready by the cook
which needs only to be heated before it is served, but in nine
households out of ten cold viands are the staple commodity. And the
singular sameness is surprising and saddening. If one is in the habit
of dropping in to "pot luck" at the houses of one's _intimes_, one
soon learns to reckon with a fair degree of certainty upon what will
be likely to be set before one.
Now, there are sandwiches. Once let a housekeeper acquire a reputation
for a particular brand of that edible, and it's like getting her to
change her religion to induce her to try making any other sort. But it
requires only a very little time, with a fair amount of common sense,
to have a sandwich repertoire that will enable one to get through a
fairly long season without repetitions.