We most certainly consider the little ones very peculiarly a part of

“The Household” department, and will cheerfully give any assistance to

young mothers that is within our power. We have before this been called

upon to answer similar questions, and see no reason to change the

answers we have felt to be correct.

Young mothers are frequently told, we think very unwisely, “You have no

cause for anxiety. Most infants either have their crying spells until

they are three months old, or are very quiet and serene up to that

period, and then change and cry, and are restless most of the time till

some months later.” Believing this, the young mother tries to possess

her soul in patience, and struggles on, waiting for the good time

coming. But we think there is always some definite cause for a trouble

which robs the mother for months of a large portion of the pleasure

her infant should bring her, and makes the new world into which the

little pilgrim has just entered so truly “a vale of tears.” The cause

once ascertained, there must be some remedy found, through the large

experience of so many mothers who have been harassed and perplexed by

similar trials.

Often kind friends manifest their affection and interest injudiciously

through their anxiety to see the new-comer, when both mother and child

would be much safer for a few days of perfect, uninterrupted quiet.

In the early days when an infant should be forming the habit of long

naps, and at regular times, and when the mother should be kept from

any excitement, these friendly calls begin, and each caller has great

curiosity _just_ to look at the new baby, or _just_ to wake it one

moment to see whose eyes it has borrowed. This incense offered to

maternal pride is too mighty, and the mother’s judgment bows down

before it. If she allows this foolish innovation once, she must twice,

and soon a restless habit is formed, and short naps and long cries

may be expected. It takes but two or three such friendly visits in

the course of one day, to excite the child so that sleep becomes

impossible; and then, although it is not needing food, when all other

means fail to quiet it, what more natural than to put it to the breast?

But broken rest and nursing too frequently will assuredly cause pain,

and crying will, of course, be the result. In such cases, no remedy may

be hoped for until those to whom the child is committed, and who alone

should be responsible for forming its habits, have learned that sound

judgment and good common-sense must be their guides in the care of

their helpless little ones, and not maternal pride.

But, on the other hand, take a child who from its birth is trained in

the most sensible manner,--washed, dressed, and fed at fixed hours, and

laid, without rocking, to sleep in the crib, where no foolish friend,

indulgent aunt, or grandmother is permitted to disturb or see it until

it wakes naturally and is ready for the next meal. All through the day

it sleeps, or serenely watches the dancing shadows on the wall, or

the bright sun through the curtains; and but for the little cooing,

rippling sounds that occasionally give token of its presence, one

hardly realizes that there is a babe in the house. But at night the

little one becomes restless and begins to cry. Every means for quieting

it are resorted to. It is patted, trotted, rocked, and sung to, but all

is of no avail. What can be the matter?

Let us take this uneasy little mortal. Ah! we see. In dressing it in

the morning you pinned the little waists as tightly as you could draw

them, so that the body is as round and unyielding as a marble pillar.

The morning bath and change of clothes brought some relief from the

night’s fetters; and for the first part of the day, or, if uncommonly

strong and healthy, until night, the child may be quiet and endure; but

by night, release from so many hours’ bondage is absolutely needed.

How would you like to have your clothes thus bound about you? No room

for free breathing, no elasticity of body! What chance for healthy

digestion? After many hours, during the day, of perfect inactivity,

what wonder if by night the poor baby feels this compression

insupportable! Its little limbs must ache, and the whole body become

stiff and numb. But instead of relief, when the child is disrobed and

night-clothes substituted, it is only to tighten the bands, and leave

it to pass the long hours of darkness as much like a mummy as before.

When we see a child thus bound, we think it would afford us pleasure

to act as dressing-maid to the mother long enough to teach her what

torture she is thoughtlessly inflicting on her helpless babe. It has

no way of attracting your attention and begging for relief but through

tears. If the mother was subjected to the same distress for once, she

would ever after understand why her baby lifts up its voice like a

trumpet, to tell her of her sins.

Whenever an infant begins to cry, without any apparent cause, by day

or by night, let your first act be to examine its clothing; loosen

it, remove the pins, or untie the strings, and see if the lungs have

free space to expand, and the body a chance to move every limb and

muscle. Rub the body gently with your warm hand, particularly the back,

lungs, and bowels, to promote the circulation which the barbarous

swaddling-bands have all day impeded. Try this remedy, particularly at

night, and, unless you again “put on the screws,” in most cases your

baby will fall into a peaceful slumber, and you may hope for unbroken

rest.

But here is another whose garments are all sensibly adjusted, yet its

piteous cries are enough to make the heart ache. What is the matter?

Touch the little blue hands, and you will find them like ice. Take the

child in your lap; draw your chair to the fire; heat a blanket and

wrap about it; lay it on the stomach, across your lap, holding the

cold hands in one of yours; shake out the foolishly long robes, till,

hidden somewhere in this mass of flannel and embroidery, you find the

numb little toes, and hold them toward the fire till warm. See how

it stretches its feet to the fire, and puts the pretty face close up

to your warm hands. Many a child who has cried for hours, taxing all

the mother’s strength and skill, and filling her heart with alarm,

will, under this simple treatment, in a few minutes be fast asleep.

Only turning a child over in the crib--anything to change its position

when you find that it begins to cry or becomes restless before its nap

is finished--will sometimes soothe it to quiet slumber, give it the

benefit of a long sleep, and you sufficient time to accomplish many

things which must have been laid aside had baby waked too soon.

Endeavor to imagine yourself in an infant’s place when it manifests

symptoms you do not well understand. You wrap its hands and feet so

closely, when you lay it down to sleep, that it cannot stir. Could

you remain two hours thus fettered without becoming cramped and full

of pain? Loosen the wrappings; shake up the pillow and turn it over

occasionally that the little head may rest on a cool spot (and, by

the way, a good hair pillow, not too full, and well beaten every day,

that it may not become lumpy, is far more healthful for any child than

feathers). If awake, change its position; or if it has lain long, take

it up, toss it gently, and play with it awhile to give it a pleasant

variety, and cause the blood to circulate freely through the whole body.

If these simple methods do not pacify a crying child, it is very

probable that some of the above-mentioned causes have produced colic;

but do not give the simplest medicine till you have tried what virtue

there is in an _enema_ of tepid water. Unless the crying indicates the

beginning of some acute disease, we have invariably found the effects

almost magical, and in no case will it be hurtful.

Never nurse your child when you are chilled, fatigued, or terrified.

The child, however hungry, must wait, or be otherwise fed, until

your own system becomes quiet. It must be a very strong child who

will not suffer from the nourishment the mother offers while under

such disturbance. If your excitement proceeds from fear, go to your

husband or some friend who has the power to soothe or talk you into

quietude, before you see your child. If fatigued, sit down and rest; if

overheated, wash your face and hands in cool water, keeping out of any

current of air, and become thoroughly cool before you nurse your baby.

If, unfortunately, you have allowed yourself to be overcome by anger,

keep far away from the little one, till you have asked God to still the

tempest, and feel that by his grace you are at peace. If in such an

unhappy state you dare to perform a mother’s sweetest duty, your child

will bring you to repentance before many hours elapse.

In early youth we were once compelled to watch by a child in

convulsions. This was among our first painful experiences, and when

we were absent from home. To our dying day we shall never forget the

mother’s dumb anguish when told that the child must die. We afterward

learned that she had been furiously angry with her husband. The

angry voices frightened the child, and to still its crying, even in

the fierce heat of her passion, she put the babe to her breast. The

physician knew of her ungovernable temper, and, boarding with her, had

been the witness of the morning’s tornado. Over the suffering little

creature, he sternly told her that her temper had killed her child.

We never saw her but once after that sad trial, but the marks of the

penalty which followed so quickly upon her sin were still stamped upon

her face.

Mothers do not enough understand or believe these facts, because they

are not accustomed to trace the effect to the cause; but a physician

who looks carefully into the cases which come under his care will

assure you that this is no fiction. A mother at all times is called

upon to guard well her own actions, and to practice much self-denial

for the sake of her offspring, but never more than when her child draws

its nourishment from her breast; and never are judgment and care in the

clothing, in the fashioning and adjusting of it, more important than

while the babe is incapable of making known its wants or discomforts

except by crying.

LXIII.

PERSONAL NEATNESS.

THOSE who have the oversight of household affairs, and perhaps are also

compelled to perform much of the manual labor themselves, cannot be

expected to keep their garments at all times spotlessly clean, still

less can they preserve their hands soft and delicate; yet there is far

too much inexcusable carelessness about personal appearance, among

those who are called upon to be always active and industrious, as well

as among those who have fewer responsibilities.

“Well, I, for one, don’t see how a farmer’s or mechanic’s wife can help

it; she is obliged to rise early to prepare the breakfast, or see that

it is being properly prepared; then the milk requires early attention,

or perhaps butter and cheese are to be made: one duty follows another

in such quick succession, that from the time the housewife rises in the

morning until after dinner, at least, she is compelled to work rapidly

if she would be through in proper season. What time has she to think

about her own personal appearance? A fine housewife that must be, who

would feel obliged to stop in the midst of some important work to see

if her hair was in _company order_, or that no spot of any kind had

soiled her dress or apron. It is all very well for _ladies_ to be thus

particular, but laboring people have no spare moments for any such

ill-timed neatness.”

We do not expect you to be always “in company order,” as you understand

that term: that would be exceedingly inconsistent; yet we could never

understand why one’s own family--those whom we love, and with whom

we hope to spend our days--should not have as strong claims upon our

thoughts, time, and personal appearance as those whom we seldom see;

and we do know that one can work, and work hard, and yet be at all

times so tidy that she need not be mortified to be _caught by company_.

Let us give you a few hints which good common-sense can easily enlarge.

When retiring at night give the hair a thorough brushing, not only for

your own comfort and to promote a healthy condition of the hair, and

remove all dust that through the day will naturally settle in it, but

also to secure greater expedition in dressing in the morning; this

done, fold it up loosely, draw a net or very thin cap over to prevent

tangling: with this precaution it should not take long when you rise to

smooth and arrange it neatly, though, unfortunately, smooth and neatly

arranged hair is no longer fashionable; but it is hoped that while at

work, even those who bow down most subserviently to the fickle goddess,

Fashion, so arrange that no loose hairs are flying.

It is convenient to have morning-wrappers made with a narrow ruffle

round the neck of the same material as the dress; or, if yours are

not so made, before retiring baste or pin in a simple collar or

ruffle, that no needless time may be spent in dressing. If you are

not accustomed to a full bath every morning, a thorough bath at night

is very desirable, even if only a sponge bath can be obtained, and

then a copious washing before dressing will occupy but a few moments.

The teeth should be well brushed, and the mouth and throat faithfully

rinsed in cold water morning and night and after each meal; no hurry of

work should be an excuse for neglecting this duty, if not for neatness

and comfort, for health’s sake. The hair in order, face and hands

washed, and teeth brushed, it will then require but a few minutes’ time

longer to be ready to leave your chamber and go to your early morning

labors in the neatest working order.

A large apron made from heavy brown or white “butchers’ linen” is much

neater and more serviceable than calico or gingham; it does not wrinkle

so easily, and if wet will not become limp and useless so soon. The

sleeve of a morning-dress should be large enough at the bottom to be

easily folded back above the elbow and pinned up; or, if preferred, a

deep cuff is very convenient, as during work it can be unbuttoned and

turned back in the same way. Put a button and a loop of tape or strong

cord about a quarter of a yard apart, on four seams of the skirt at

least,--before, behind, and on each side,--so that you can loop up the

dress evenly instead of pinning it awkwardly back; it is much neater

and in the end will save time, and certainly it keeps the dress from

being soiled at the bottom, and thus saves much washing.

Now go to work with bare arms, a large, long apron, and dress looped

up, too short to be drabbled; and it is very seldom, except in cases

of uncommon accident, that one’s working attire may not be kept in

suitable condition to meet any stranger or friend who may chance to

call during the busy hours of the day. With smooth hair and a clean

dress, you may consider yourself perfectly presentable; all preparation

needed should not occupy five minutes, and no caller should be kept

waiting longer. Unpin the sleeves, unbutton the dress where looped up,

take off the apron, wash hands and face, and smooth the hair if need

be,--that is all. To keep a visitor waiting is not in good taste; we

think it inexcusable, unless compelled by some unusual hindrance. In

that case, send in your reasons or some apology for delay, when the

caller will either wait patiently, knowing that you could not help it,

or, if in haste, return regrets and leave. This is far more kind and

courteous than to keep any one waiting fifteen or twenty minutes, in

haste perhaps, but not daring to leave, because thinking each moment

you will enter.

If, while preserving, or in any other way, you stain your hands, a

few drops of muriatic acid will remove the stain at once. It is very

convenient to have a bottle of this liquid always in the house, for a

black, ugly stain on the hand is a very disagreeable sight; but the

bottle should be put in a secure place, where children or careless

servants cannot meddle with it. It is poisonous, but perfectly safe if

kept securely and used as directed. Wet the spot with the acid, rub

quickly over the stain, and immediately wash in clear water, else it

will burn and make your hands uncomfortably rough. After washing off

the acid, give your hands a good washing in hot soapsuds, using a nail-

or finger-brush to clean all round the nails, which in preserving or

paring fruit are usually badly discolored. Those brushes which have a

nail-cleaner at the top of the handle are the best. No one should be

without a finger-brush, and to none is it more indispensable than to

those who have the most of the family work to do. Wet the brush and

rub soap on it; then brush the nails and inside of the hands with it

before you finish washing them. Nothing more effectually removes the

stains and dirt, which will of course settle on the inside of the hands

when handling pots and kettles or working over the stove; and even if

your hands are roughened by no such labor, the nail-brush is of great

service.

Often when in haste, the dress or apron is caught against a hook or

nail, and a sad rent is made. Whatever your hurry, do not go a moment

with this accident unrepaired. If it happens while some article is

over the fire which may not be left a moment without danger or injury,

you can at least pin up the unsightly hole. Always carry a small

pincushion, filled with pins, in your pocket; if you do not need one

yourself, somebody else may be in trouble for want of only a pin; and

make it a point, as far as possible, to keep a needle ready threaded

near by, so that at a moment’s warning you can temporarily run up any

rent made while at work, which, if in your power, is far better than

pinning it up. A big grease spot or prominent rent on a woman’s dress

is a poor recommendation, and we confess we never see them without

forming an unfavorable opinion, if a stranger, or experiencing a

feeling of mortification and annoyance, if a friend.

A looking-glass, comb, and brush are out of place in the kitchen, but a

small glass in a back hall or entry close by, with a shelf beneath for

the comb and brush, are quite necessary for your servants, and it is a

great convenience to have another near by for your own use, so that if

hastily summoned from the kitchen, you can smooth your hair, and by the

glass assure yourself that there is nothing untidy about you.

There is one kind of personal neglect that we often see, with great

surprise, and quite frequently among a class of people who have little

to do with hard work, and no excuse for the carelessness from lack

of time. We have seen, just above point-lace and diamonds, _ears_

that have long been unacquainted with a plentiful supply of soap

and water. A pretty ear is very attractive to us. We always notice

particularly the eye and ear in every one we meet; and if we see brown,

dirty-looking streaks behind the ear, or the rim and inside dirty,

with unseemly accumulations of ear-wax remaining uncared for,--if it

is on a girl who applies for a place, we would not receive her; if on

a “lady,” we find it hard to feel much respect for her. Unless in a

desert, unblessed by water, there is no manner of excuse to be found

for such neglect.

These hints may seem quite insignificant, but we cannot think them

so. Aside from the comfort and respectability of scrupulous neatness

in your own habits, you are, by your example as you should be by your

precepts, giving ideas of neatness and order to your children and

servants. But if they see you come down in the morning with your hair

in disorder, your garments dirty or torn, shoes or boots slipshod or

unbuttoned, you may be sure your example will be very readily imitated,

and probably greatly exaggerated. If a girl is uncleanly in her person,

there is every reason to presume she will be slatternly about her work,

and particularly so about her cooking. Therefore, if only for selfish

reasons, it is most desirable that young housekeepers should have a

high standard for personal cleanliness, and live in full accordance

with it.

LXIV.

ARE HOUSE-PLANTS INJURIOUS TO THE HEALTH?

“MRS. BEECHER: My wife and I are both attentive readers of the

‘Christian Union,’ and we venture to ask for a few words of information

upon the subject of _house-plants_. We are passionately fond of

flowers, but have frequently seen it stated that plants, especially

flowering plants, vitiate the air, rendering it unfit for breathing

purposes. Is that really true? We like plants in our sleeping-rooms,

but of course would give them up if convinced that they were injurious

to the health. We have heliotropes, roses, geraniums, lilies,

fuchsias, and a number of other plants. Do these render the atmosphere

noxious to life and health? As plants liberate oxygen and absorb

carbonic gas, we think they ought to be wholesome. Or is it the

_blossom_ that does the mischief? Is a sweet-smelling flower poisonous?

Will you please set us right upon this matter, and oblige

“TWO YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS.”

We copy this letter entire, hoping by so doing to bring this subject

to the attention of those whose opinion and judgment are of greater

worth than our own. There are many conflicting opinions concerning the

effect which plants and vines, growing in the house, and filling it by

day and by night with their delightful atmosphere, have upon the health

of their worshipers. If the wise and scientific among our readers will

give this matter attentive and sober thought, we hope to find in the

multitude of counselors the wisdom which is so much needed.

It is not very many years since physicians lifted up their voices

against this pleasant adornment of our homes, by which some portion of

the joyous summer may be wrested from the grasp of the frost king, and

which enables us while indoors, to forget that fingers and toes are in

danger the moment we venture outside of the carefully tended parlor

garden.

But our physicians change their opinions like other mortals, and at the

present time some affirm that plants and vines in the house, or even

in the sleeping-apartments, are health-giving. They tell us that the

carbonic gas which is being constantly set free from our lungs, and

which is detrimental, is at once absorbed by our flowers, while these

at the same time give to us, in exchange, the oxygen which, in its

proper place and quantity, is so necessary to health and life.

Other physicians assume that a growing plant is not noxious or in any

way detrimental, but that as soon as it begins to blossom it should

be at once removed from a bedchamber, and if allowed to remain in the

house at all, should be placed, while in bloom, as far as possible from

the family apartments.

Again, it is stated--and all these conflicting opinions, we are told,

come to us from the “best and most reliable authority”--that no plant,

in flower or not, is at all injurious in any part of the house, so

long as the perfume from the blossom is not powerful and not at all

offensive. “Who shall decide when doctors disagree?” It seems to us

very important that our learned, scientific men--those who make the

effects of the various gases on life and health a careful study--should

give this question a thorough investigation, and when, after mature

research, they arrive, as they suppose, at a proper conclusion, should

publish their opinion in simple terms, such as all can comprehend. We

should rejoice if the conclusion of the whole matter might be such that

all could lean upon it with no fear of its proving by and by a broken

reed; but it is difficult to keep pace with changes in the results of

scientific investigations.

One year certain health-principles are established, the next they are

set aside for some other thing. Some articles of food are prohibited

as being very injurious, but in a few months the prohibition is cast

aside. One mode of diet is declared pernicious, shortening the days,

and making the few that are granted undesirable. Yet, just as you are

ready to accept this theory, you are told of those who have lived

wellnigh to a hundred years, or perhaps have passed that period, always

healthful and cheerful, yet the proscribed diet or article of food has

been habitually indulged in by them.

For our own part, we find it difficult to believe that the plants

cultivated in our homes, and which so beautify and enliven our

winters, can be injurious, provided the rooms in which they are placed

are kept _well ventilated_. In severely cold weather it may not be

advisable to open a window just over the plants, but when windows are

raised to air adjacent rooms, where there are no flowers, then open

the doors leading from them to the parlor, or winter garden, that

the cold breeze from without may sweep through the whole suite of

rooms for a few moments until the air is entirely changed. This, even

in the coldest winter, will do the plants no harm, nor their owners

either, but, on the contrary, will be very beneficial, making both

more healthy and vigorous. Many a lady in mid-winter sits by the fire

or register, yawning and stupidly sleepy, with a dull heavy pain over

the eyes foreboding a severe headache, who could throw off all this

torpidity, defy the headache, and rise up refreshed and vigorous, if

she would simply throw open her doors or windows just long enough to

drive out the overcharged air in the room, and by so doing bring in

exchange a pure and invigorating atmosphere from the outdoor world; and

house-plants will be equally benefited by the same prescription.

We should not think it wise to have plants in bloom in the

sleeping-apartment, unless the room was large, and the doors so

arranged as to favor frequent and complete change of the air.

It is always desirable, just before retiring, to raise the windows for

a few moments, not only in the parlors, but in the sleeping-apartments,

particularly if they have been used through the day as sewing-rooms. It

will insure a more refreshing sleep, and also a brighter awakening in

the morning. House-plants should be placed on a stand having castors,

so that they can be easily rolled away from the windows when opened,

until the room is fully aired; or, if freezing cold, an old cloth kept

for the purpose, or old newspapers, should be thrown over the plants

to protect them from being chilled.

_Cut flowers_, we think, should not be left in a bedroom overnight.

Just before retiring, set them into a cool, dark closet. They will keep

fresh much longer by using this precaution, and the occupants of the

chamber escape any possible injury from them. The water in which cut

flowers are put ought to be changed every night and morning, or it will

become slimy and offensive, as well as injurious.

The love of flowers is very desirable in children, and should be

cultivated from their earliest years. For that reason, if for no other,

we should be exceedingly sorry to have any physician whose judgment we

respected forbid the cultivation of house-plants, particularly in the

nursery. In that room every bright and pretty thing should be gathered,

and certainly nothing more quickly attracts the attention of children

than a choice collection of flowers. To find these all about the house,

but especially in the nursery,--their own peculiar domain,--secures a

taste for them far more surely than to see them kept exclusively in the

green-house, or in rooms set apart for their culture and nothing more.

Yet no mother will risk her children’s health in the least degree,

and if her physician assures her flowers in any part of the house are

harmful, she will eject them at once. We do not at all believe they

are injurious to the health, and know that they greatly increase the

happiness of those who cultivate them. But we are open to conviction,

and if any one of reliable judgment can bring sound reasons against

keeping these house-gardens, we should be glad to know of them.

LXV.

BAD BUTTER.

OF all the needless discomforts common to boarding-houses and hotels,

we know of none so truly inexcusable, nor which subtracts more from

one’s enjoyment, than the use of bad butter for cooking purposes.

When placed on the table in the butter-dish, if found to be imperfect

or quite unpalatable the butter can easily be rejected. To eat good

bread without butter, or, if the bread is unsatisfactory, a fine mealy

potato with a little salt, is by no means the greatest hardship that

you may be subjected to. But imagine yourself seated at the table, and

a large dish of fresh peas, green and tender, brought in. You have

been hoping, almost impatiently, to see them each day, and now what a

feast is yours, in anticipation. You can hardly wait till the soup is

removed. Visions of the splendid peas, of sweet and delicious flavor,

which you used to eat at your father’s table, are floating before you;

and tender remembrances of the dear hand that then so deftly ministered

to your childish appetite are rising, until you are fast verging toward

sentimentality, when your turn comes to be helped. These peas are

the first real _country_ peas, picked right from the vines, you have

tasted since your home was established in the city, and you eagerly

bid farewell to sentiment, and address yourself to the full enjoyment

of visible, tangible things. How you would like to take a real big

mouthful in a childlike manner! But you control your eagerness, and,

ladylike, demurely carry the spoon to the mouth. O horrors! Have you

fortitude and self-possession sufficient to enable you to swallow

that detestable morsel? Politeness and unwillingness to exhibit your

disgust to others at the table control you. With a shuddering gulp

you swallow, but hold your breath till you snatch a piece of bread or

a mouthful of water to send after, with some faint hope of removing

the vile taste. What is it that so disturbs you? _Rancid butter!_ Is

there anything, any taste more revolting and abominable? That delicious

dish of peas spoiled, irretrievably, by a spoonful of the nauseous

abomination, manufactured by careless dairy-women, and bought by

easily gulled grocers, or by those persons possessed of india-rubber

consciences, capable of stretching to any imaginable length, who

will sell this abomination for good butter. Or it may be some sharp,

managing landlady has bought it, knowing its bad character, for

economical reasons. Her boarders will not eat very heartily of any dish

that is flavored with such butter, and yet they will be compelled to

eat something, even if distasteful. We know such ideas of economy--not

honesty--are common; but boarders are very foolish who submit to this

imposition. If they choose, they can easily teach such unscrupulous

managers that being “penny wise and pound foolish,” in the long run,

will not secure prosperity.

But you will try to judge charitably. Perhaps this was a mistake;

and it may be that only the peas have suffered. You will try to look

cheerful and satisfied, and turn to the nice piece of broiled chicken

on your plate. Alas, alas! Juicy and tender, broiled just right to

a perfect brown, but all destroyed by this miserably rancid butter!

“The offence is rank. It smells to heaven!” What can you do? Where

turn? Beets, beans, succotash,--that dish to which, with green peas,

you swore allegiance in early childhood, and have faithfully kept the

vow,--all destroyed by this most villainous compound. You nibble at a

bit of bread or piece of potato, and try to wait patiently till the

dessert is brought in, for you see no alternative but to make that

your principal meal. You wonder if others are as uncomfortable, but,

conscious of the intense disgust your face may exhibit, fear to look

boldly around.

Well, there is a balm for almost every woe, and here comes the

dessert; it may bring healing for your wounded feelings. What a

delicious-looking apple-dumpling! This atones! Will you take wine sauce

or hard sauce? You don’t like wine sauce; but the _butter_ in the hard

sauce,--dare you venture? Why, surely no one will risk such butter as

the vegetables were seasoned with in a delicate sauce! But one taste

is sufficient to show you that you have not yet fathomed the depths of

economical audacity. You put back your plate and try a bit of pie. Even

into the pastry the enemy has found entrance.

But you say, “What is one to do? The rooms are engaged for a month,

and I must stay the limited time or forfeit the price of the rooms,

and that I cannot afford to do; yet I shall surely starve. I hardly

feel that I can eat a meal without butter. The table butter is not

so intolerable as that used in cooking, but even that is all I can

endure. What can I do?” Will it not be better economy to leave at once,

and lose the rent of your rooms, rather than stay and starve a month,

or attempt to “fill the aching void” by that which may derange your

stomach, and induce fever, dyspepsia, or other sickness, which will

cost, in doctors’ bills, ten times the price of your rooms to eradicate?

This great evil will never be remedied while those who board, either

regularly or only for a few weeks in the summer, continue to “put up”

with this discomfort as one of the ills of life which _must_ be borne.

Let it be once fully understood that all boarders--all who frequent

fashionable resorts--are fixed in their determination to endure this

cruel imposition no longer, and that as soon as they find poor butter

is a part of the regular diet, and good butter only an occasional

luxury, they will at once leave, and we think the hotels and

boarding-houses will soon find means to procure a good article. Let

this class of purchasers alone refuse to buy any but the best, and the

large number of poor butter makers will soon be taught the necessity of

greater carefulness in their dairies.

Bad butter is entirely a needless discomfort. The fault begins, of

course, with the manufacturers. They have no excuse, as a general

thing. Once in a great while, there may be a reason for a few pounds

of poor butter in the dairy, which, though it should be a source of

regret, is not necessarily a disgrace. Sickness in the family may

sometimes compel the overtaxed housekeeper to neglect the dairy, or

leave it for a short time in incompetent hands, who, either indolently

or ignorantly, fail to give the milk-pans a thorough scalding, or

leave the cream too long on the milk and too long unchurned, who do

not understand salting or working over the butter; but in such cases

no one with any self-respect will allow the butter to leave their own

house. If at all usable, they will sooner submit to the disagreeable

necessity of using it for their own food, or put it at once into the

only place where poor butter has any right to be,--the soap-grease pot;

anything rather than do themselves the discredit, and their customers

the injustice, of sending it into the market. That is a species of

meanness that should be considered unpardonable; and just as soon as

the grocer learns that his customers will not, under any consideration,

buy poor butter of him, and the dairymen understand that the grocer

will not look at any but the very best, this mischief will be rooted

out, “the plague be stayed”; poor butter makers will find their

occupation gone, and leave the field to more conscientious and more

competent manufacturers, or at once, from self-interest, if not from

self-respect, resolutely set about securing instruction, and learn the

only way to make good butter. This is easily done; care, neatness, and

good judgment are all that is requisite after the mode of operation is

understood, and the preliminary steps are simple and easily taken. It

is a marvel that this nuisance has been so long tolerated. It is just

as easy to make good butter as poor. It is simply want of neatness

or deficiency of judgment that fills our markets with a miserable

preparation that is only fit for soap-grease or the pigs.

First, take care that your cows are not allowed food that will affect

the taste of the milk,--such as turnips, cabbage, or onions; then the

cows’ bags and the milkers’ hands must be washed perfectly clean before

beginning to milk; any dirt or bad flavor from the cow’s bag or the

hands, that may find its way into the milk-pail, will taint the milk

and injure the flavor of the butter; for it should be borne in mind

constantly, that there is nothing that receives any foreign taste so

readily as butter.

Next, all the utensils--pails, strainers, pans, skimmers, churn,

butter-bowl, and ladles--must be kept as sweet and clean as scalding

water and a hot sun can make them. The cream, even in the coldest

weather, must not be allowed to remain on the milk over thirty-six

hours, and in warm weather even less. In hot days remove the cream as

soon as the milk begins to sour: none will rise after the milk changes.

Although it will, of course, become _thicker_ by souring, it does not

follow that it will be any better; on the contrary, every moment the

cream is left on sour milk takes from the sweetness, quality, and

purity of the butter. In churning, the motion should be even, not

too rapid, and, when gathered, the butter must be well worked over

and salted, and set on the ice, or in a place so cool that it will

soon harden and keep so; but be sure that no meat, fish, fruit, or

vegetables are put in the milk-room or cellar,--nothing from which

the milk or butter will contract any taste. It will require a second

salting the next morning, to remove what buttermilk may be left from

the first working. One of the great merits of the Blanchard churn is

the facility with which the buttermilk can be freed from the butter, as

the less manipulation the better for the butter, provided you secure

entire freedom from buttermilk.

Many put in a little saltpetre, to make the butter hard and firm,--a

bad practice, we think, not only because it gives a slightly unpleasant

taste to the butter, but also because it may prove injurious to the

consumer. A butter-pail or pot, perfectly sweet, should be well rubbed

with salt, and the butter be packed in it, and well pounded down so

as to leave no air-holes; then cover the butter an inch deep with

brine strong enough to bear up an egg, and put to the _brine_ two

table-spoonfuls of pulverized saltpetre. This will help to keep the

butter sweet and hard; and, used in the brine, will neither impart any

acrid taste to the butter nor be in the least degree unhealthful.

These rules strictly followed by our dairy-women, we are confident

that there will be no complaints of _bad butter_, but the comfort and

happiness of the consumers be greatly increased, and the labor of the

butter makers in nowise augmented thereby.

We lately saw a receipt for keeping dairy utensils pure and sweet,

which we mean to try, as we think it cannot but be advantageous. Keep

close by the table on which the milk things are washed “a small tub

or a hogshead, according to the size of your dairy. In this, slack

some good quicklime, enough to make a thin whitewash; fill with water,

cover closely to keep out dirt and dust. The lime will settle, leaving

a saturated solution of lime-water over it, as clear as spring water.

Wash the utensils as usual; then dip each article into the cask of

lime-water, giving them a quick turn, so that every part shall be

immersed in the lime-water, then set them up to drain and dry, and

the purification is complete.” We presume in the case of a churn,

cheese-tub, cheese-press, or other large article, that pouring the

lime-water over it will answer the purpose just as well, though using

the lime-water up sooner than by dipping into the cask.

The lime in the clear water instantly neutralizes the acidity of the

milk which may yet remain in the cracks or seams of the milk-vessels.

The lime keeps the water pure all summer, and the waste and evaporation

may be made up by adding clear water when needed, as the lime settled

at the bottom will keep up the strength of the saturated solution.

LXVI.

OCTOBER.

THE brilliant hues in the mountains, the falling leaves in the lanes

(over which the horses’ feet make such sweet yet melancholy music),

remind us that October, the brightest, dearest month in the whole year,

has come; but while we rejoice in anticipation of the glorious hours it

promises, we must not forget that during these mild, invigorating days

our houses must be set in order properly to meet the sharp November

weather, which is close at hand, and the fiercer blasts of winter which

will follow.

Now the frosty nights and cool days will soon relieve us from the

plague of flies, which have by their unconquerable impertinence so

perplexed and disheartened all good housekeepers through the summer; at

least we may promise this relief, if they are hunted every night and

morning from the dark corners where they delight to hide at the first

approach of frost. Attack them every evening with brush and broom,

driving them out doors into the cold night air, closing doors and

windows after them, and a few frosty nights will rid you of this evil

for the winter. After each battle sweep up all the dead and disabled

and burn them, that from out of the pile which you will have gathered

no stunned or crippled fly may be ready to rise up against you with the

morning sun. As the cold increases they become stupid and less active,

and huddle together in masses on the ceiling or windows, where they

cling, too stiff and torpid to shun your approach, thus affording a

good opportunity to brush down and destroy them in large quantities.

If up each morning before the sun, as every good housekeeper should

be, you will have another favorable time to remove them; but if both

night and morning these opportunities for banishing your enemies have

been neglected, you will find as soon as the fires are kindled, or the

bright warm October sun shines through your windows, they will come out

from their hiding-places and be just as busy through the day, and far

more annoying, than in July and August. If you have been vigilant, the

frost and snow, combined with your unwearied skirmishes, will soon set

you free, and the flies be remembered only as trials of the past; and

through the winter, at least, you may hope to rest from your labors in

this particular direction.

But never imagine that you can sit down in idleness; as the flies

are routed, or on the retreat, you will find yourself beset with

_wasps_. During the chilly September days they begin to seek for winter

quarters. They are well content for the most part to weave their summer

nests away from the house, in trees and shrubbery; but as cold weather

approaches they are prone to select some snug retreat under the rafters

of the barn or the eaves of the house or attics. They like to curl up

in large masses inside the window-blinds on the east or south side

of the house, where they remain too torpid to stir at your approach,

until the sun pours in its warm flood of light, to wake them to life

and activity. Wherever they are thus found massed together, if at all

within reach, be sure and spare no effort to destroy them early in the

morning, while in this torpid condition. It is very easy then to kill

them: take a pitcher of boiling-hot water, raise the window carefully

and pour it over them; or if nested close on the window-glass, pour

it down between the upper and lower sash and it will destroy large

quantities of them instantly. The few stragglers that were only

slightly touched with the hot water will not be vigorously active, and

you can easily brush them into a pail or dust-pan and burn them. Unless

you take some such method of removing the wasps, it is not safe to

raise your windows to air your rooms and let in morning air and sun, as

they will be sure to seek shelter in the chamber instead of remaining

inside the window-blind, because as the sun warms their lodgings they

become quite lively; and, once in the room, should they crawl in under

the pillows and sheets, a favorite shelter for them, the warmth of your

body at night would most probably rouse them, and they might disturb

your slumber in a manner by no means agreeable.

It is unfortunate that wasps often attack without provocation; and

such applicants for winter shelter should be destroyed as effectually

as possible, especially when there are children about. Their stings

are bad enough for an adult to bear, but it is piteous to see a

child suffer from them; because to the pain is added a terror not

easily controlled. Notwithstanding the utmost vigilance, some may

so skillfully secrete themselves that your first knowledge of their

presence will be a sting. Every one should keep a speedy antidote in

the house, and nothing gives so thorough and instantaneous relief as

_cut tobacco_,--the only thing that we know of that it is good for. We

never fail to have a paper close at hand, where every one in the house

knows where to find it. Wet a small quantity of it and lay at once on

the spot stung, holding it on tightly for three or four minutes, and

the pain and swelling will be at once removed.

These annoyances disposed of, you can now commence a thorough

house-cleaning, and at once begin to remove all the marks by which the

flies have disfigured your house and furniture, and disturbed your

peace through the warm weather.

No good housekeeper will allow the glorious October days to beguile

her into forgetfulness so far as to neglect house-cleaning until the

raw and chilly November weather is upon her, and winter is close at

hand. October is by far the best month for fall house-cleaning, not

only because the flies are disposed of, or so far under your control

that they can be kept out of the house, but also because the weather

is usually not so warm that such work is exhausting and severe, nor

so cold that the necessary exposure chills; the cleaning can be

accomplished with more comfort and less fatigue than in any other month

of the year.

During the summer all the small fruits have been plentifully supplied,

and later, peaches, pears, and grapes have furnished much enjoyment

and many luxuries; but all these good things levy a tax upon us in

some shape or another, generally defacing furniture or leaving ugly

stains on our clothes or table linen. The clear, frosty nights that we

may soon look for will aid materially in eradicating the stains; but

the injury done to furniture, especially articles with marble tops,

requires a different treatment.

Fruit stains may be removed from linen, without in any way injuring the

fabric, by rubbing yellow soap on both sides of the stained spots; then

wet some starch in cold water or in lemon-juice to a thick paste, and

spread over the soap; rub this starch-paste into the cloth thoroughly,

and expose the linen to sun and air till the stains disappear. If they

do not entirely go in three or four days, repeat the application. This

is for stains that have been in some days; if taken when fresh stained

there is little trouble in removing them. Hold the stained place over a

bowl and pour on _boiling_ water; let it filter through slowly, pouring

on the water gradually till the stain disappears; then lay the article

in the hot sun for an hour or two, when it may be washed and ironed.

The water used must be really boiling, and the stain fresh made, not

dried in for days, for this remedy to be efficient. As by this mode one

avoids all danger of injuring the texture of the cloth, it is worth

while to take a little trouble at once and save the linen instead of

waiting until quite dry. Bleaching liquids, chlorate of lime, Javelle

water, and many other preparations, are good if carefully used.

When marble is stained with fruit, oxalic acid diluted with water, or

oil of vitriol and water, rubbed on the stain and left a few minutes,

will remove the spot; but they must be used with care, for if left on

too long they will destroy the polish of the marble. Rub off very dry,

and polish with chamois-skin.

There are a multitude of receipts for removing stains both from linen

and marble, but very many, although they remove the stains, are liable

to remove the cloth also, or in marble destroy the polish; others are

useful, and in time our readers shall have them.

LXVII.

THE SLAVERY OF FASHION.

“WORN OUT,” “_Overtaxed_,” “_Used up_,” “_Too tired for anything_,”

are expressions daily heard from mothers and housekeepers; and the

languid step, pale, care-worn face, and heavy eyes bear witness that

these are not foolish, unmeaning words, but all too near the truth for

safety. Most are ready to recognize the fact that half the feebleness

and ill health among women arises from over-exertion while attempting

to carry burdens too weighty for the constitution. Yet how much of

this is needless, in no wise increasing the comfort or happiness of

the family circle, but, in every department of household labor, the

result of blind, unreasoning adherence to the dictates of fashion.

Look backward but one half-century. Are those of us who require three

or four servants to keep the household machinery in working order any

happier than our mothers were? We turn from our fashionable cooking

and elaborately served tables with longing for the simpler yet most

excellent cooking of the olden time, when one servant was sufficient,

and often none at all was required; the mother, with her little

daughters round her, preferring to do all the work without a servant,

that she might herself teach her young girls the lessons of domestic

economy as none but a mother can teach them.

Was all that labor more wearing to health and strength than the cruel

bondage in which we live, while laboring to secure, from servants,

the care and efficient work absolutely necessary to the present style

of living? With how much more appetite we partook of the plainly

cooked and more healthful food in those days, undisturbed by the

bustle and confusion of many courses, or the constant attendance of a

waiter, whose eyes and ears are usually more observing of the little

pleasantries and freedom of the family circle than of the service

which a fashionable style demands, and whose tongue is ready to retail

all that is said or done at our table, and “with additions strange.”

The meal finished, the labor of clearing away and washing the many

dishes now required is fourfold what was demanded in the times of more

simple and pleasure-giving customs, to say nothing of the reckless

heedlessness and destruction fostered by the haste necessary to be

ready for the next formal meal.

But the slavery of providing for the table is nothing in comparison

with the over-exertion which fashionable dress exacts. Even if the

labor of the olden time was burdensome, and time and strength too

heavily taxed, yet the exercise of the whole body, and frequent

opportunities of breathing fresh outdoor air, which housework compels,

were far more likely to secure firm health than can be hoped for if one

sits for hours bending over ruffling and trimmings, thereby restricting

the proper action of the lungs, and straining the eyes until they

become weak and prematurely old. In many cases this must all be done

without help, for few, comparatively, can afford to hire a seamstress,

and yet be able to spend money as lavishly on such elaborate dress as

the present monstrous style demands. But we are not sure that even

that herculean task is as injurious to health and happiness as the

severe strain on strength, nerves, and temper, which those ladies whose

purses are always full experience in traversing the city, roaming from

store to store, in their anxiety to secure the first and newest style,

and at the same time torturing themselves lest, after all this labor,

they should misjudge or be beguiled into wrong selections. With this

fear ever present, they repeat those tiresome journeys day after day,

making themselves disagreeable and uncomfortable, and exhausting the

wonderful long-suffering and patience of the shopkeepers before they

can decide which of all the many patterns they will purchase.

But the material being at last selected, can they now rest from their

labors? Ah, no! their trials are but just begun. The ruling power in

the fashionable world--the dress-maker--condescends to acknowledge

that the articles selected are all satisfactory, though twenty or even

thirty yards are hardly enough for a full dress (our mothers looked

very fine and far more inviting and graceful with but ten yards in

their dresses). But now comes the great struggle. How shall the dress

be made? Mrs. ---- has twelve small frills or flounces around her

skirt, and a train two feet long; then there must be a bustle “ever

so big,” over which falls a _pannier_, with puffs, bows, buttons

innumerable, bands, folds, and--mercy! we are getting beyond our

depth, for we cannot possibly understand all the terms given to the

piles upon piles of strange “fixings” which go to make up the whole

of that most abominable deformity called a fashionable dress. But the

poor harassed devotee has them all at her tongue’s end, for her heart

is full of them. If Mrs. ---- has a dozen ruffles or puffs, she will

not be outdone, but will have eighteen or twenty, and a bustle twice

as big, which shall extend her overskirt and all its puffs and bands

twice as far; and ever so many more dozen buttons all over,--above,

below, before, behind, between the frills or bows,--_anywhere_, so that

Mrs. ----’s trimmings are surpassed. “But, truly, now, dear madam, is

this the _very_ latest style? Isn’t there something just a _little

newer_?” And then another discussion begins, anxious, nervous, and

trembling, lest some one should be a little ahead of her in style. The

poor slave spends many precious hours before she dares to decide on the

pattern. But at last that question is settled; and now another trouble

assails her. The arrogant dress-maker well understands the power these

devotees of fashion have vested in her hands, and her victims, proud,

sensitive, and overbearing perhaps to all others, must bow to her will

and caprices. She will take her own time to finish the work.

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

this new style.”

She pleads in vain. No coaxing will avail. She must await the despot’s

will, and spend hours or days excited and unhappy, fearing that the

dress will not be finished in season for the party. And when at last

it comes, look at it! We could laugh, were we not ashamed to think

that women can be so absurd. What can be more uncouth, ungraceful, or

deforming than a lady dressed in the extreme of fashion, or indeed with

but half the absurdities that are daily seen. A camel, with its hump

and peculiar gait, is graceful compared with the figures with frowzy

hair, dresses puffed and looped up over a bustle, that we see stooping

and tottering on high-heeled boots, or with the additional incumbrance

of a long trail, sweeping through our parlors, and, at the slightest

beck of fashion, drabbling through the mud.

Will our women never learn that they are giving health and strength,

almost life, “for that which satisfieth not”? Once in a while, when the

bondage has pressed too heavily, and they sink exhausted on a sick-bed,

some few wake to a dreamy kind of consciousness of their folly; or a

mother, who has endeavored to make her little girl as “fine as the

finest,” is prostrated by giving her strength for this absurd waste of

time and comfort, and begins to see that there is a better way she can

manifest her love for her child.

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

sentences:--

“I have been trying to get away to the country with my family of two

little girls and the baby; and, that they might appear in as fine

feathers as any other birds, have overworked and gone to bed sick,

instead of being seated in a nice parlor-car, inhaling the pure country

air, as we whirl along, away from the city.... When I was a girl, we

wore _our own hair_; and a white muslin dress, with a fresh ribbon for

a sash, was all that was needed for the largest party. And how we did

enjoy ourselves, and life! The elderly people talked, or played whist,

while the young ones danced right merrily the old, square cotillion,

Virginia reel, etc.; and mirth and pleasure was the _finale_ of many

a day whose early hours had been given to domestic duties, which then

were shared by all at home. _One day_ with a dress-maker, and _no_

machine, made a dress entire, without fatigue. The “_artiste_” was

often a lady like ourselves, and sat at the same board, and did her

work conscientiously, while the day she passed with us was no dreaded

ordeal, but rather a pleasure to look forward to....

“Well, to-day, lying on my bed, overtaxed and overworked, I have been

thinking of these things, and then of other mothers, who, like myself,

spend all their strength in toil, and lie awake all night, ‘too tired

to sleep’; and so employ the wakeful hours in planning work for another

day, using up as fast as possible the precious gift of life, which the

good Father above gave to us.”

Now, why can we not be content to live happily and easily? I speak not

of the sorrows that from time to time come upon us, when the heart

bleeds, and the wounds quiver long; for the deep scars which tell where

the strain was hardest, tell also of the healing which He who scourges

never fails to bring. _God did it._

But the toil of sorrow and care we make for ourselves have no promise

of His relieving. The slavery of fashion, which so often leads to sin,

cannot be carried to his throne, and left there for a blessing. Will

not some one tell us some practical way to begin a reform, to release

us from a bondage which is becoming intolerable?

It may be to have one ruffle less; to tuck more sparsely the flounce

of even the innermost petticoat, or to sew one yard less edging on a

baby’s shirt. But whatever and wherever the lesson, I pray you begin

it at its A B C; and as it advances, I have faith to believe that

headaches will be lessened, “prostrations” less nervous, appetites and

sleep more regular, and women lift their heads like the flowers after

the rain, glad and grateful.

We had something to say of the injury done to our little children by

this early training in devotion to fashion; but we must leave that for

another time.

LXVIII.

PICKLING AND PRESERVING.

IN the preliminary steps to almost all new enterprises there are

“lions in the way,” from which it is very natural, at first, to shrink

back with at least a partial discouragement; and, as a general thing,

the two most formidable “lions” which cross the young housekeeper’s

path are _pickling_ and _preserving_; that is, if she has not, before

marriage, taken part in this work, under her mother’s supervision.

We hear more complaints and repining in this direction than in any

other. Time, strength, and money, it is affirmed, are spent in earnest

endeavors to succeed; but the time and strength are given in vain, and

the money is wasted; so their failures compel them to believe. The

pickles become slimy and moldy; the jelly won’t harden; the sweetmeats

ferment; the canned fruit turns sour. In short, “the troubles and

trials,” writes one, “incident to this portion of housekeeping are

enough to make young girls forswear matrimony, and go into a convent;

only they never will believe in these trials until they are bound;

and then, instead of a convent, a boarding-house would seem the

only alternative, if they would escape manifold vexations; for if a

young housekeeper do not succeed in all her duties, but particularly

with her pickles and preserves, ‘Mrs. Grundy’ is sure to go prying

about, and expose every failure, and these failures are attributed to

shiftlessness, instead of misfortune.”

We have great sympathy for any one in her first attempt to manage

this portion of fall labor, unless able to secure the support of some

judicious friend familiar with all the minutiæ necessary to accomplish

it creditably. Courage, self-reliance, and a resolute will are of very

great advantage, and can usually carry one successfully through most

difficulties; but experience is, after all, a wonderful assistant in

securing success,--in “making crooked places straight, and the rough

places smooth” and easy. Our household journals and papers are full

of instructions and receipts for preparing every kind of pickles and

preserves; but with all these valuable aids, it will require several

experiments, in most cases, before a beginner can feel that the

difficulty is mastered, and this work stripped of all mystery; once

successfully done, however, it becomes as simple as making bread,

pastry, or cake.

Still, we cannot but think that too much time and strength are

expended in private families on some parts of this labor. Since this

kind of work is done on a large scale, and these luxuries so cheaply

procured in the many excellent establishments arranged expressly for

the business, and which have reduced the various operations to the

simplest and easiest forms, we feel confident that housekeepers might

relieve themselves of this part of their cares, and be none the poorer

for it; certainly this is true as far as canned fruits and preserves

are concerned. It is but reasonable to suppose that in these large

manufactories, with every appliance and convenience to secure the most

perfect and expeditious work, in many articles they can equal, if not

surpass, the most expert cook or housekeeper.

The regular, old-fashioned preserve, with “a pound of sugar to a

pound of fruit,” is much less used since the system of canning fruit,

and thus retaining the natural flavor, has been introduced. This is

certainly more healthful, and to most tastes more palatable, than the

rich preserves. The person must be fastidious indeed who could ask

for any sweetmeat more delicious than the pears, peaches, cherries,

and plums that now fill our markets and groceries, and there can be

no doubt that for those who must buy the fruit, and take the labor

and risk of canning it, it is far more economical to buy it from the

factories or grocers ready canned. Even when one has the privilege of

raising one’s own fruit, if it can be sold with reasonable profit we

think it questionable if there is anything saved--any real economy--in

canning the fruit at home, instead of buying it. For those who have

leisure, and do not find it important to be very exact in economizing

strength or money, it is all very well to do everything of this kind

at home. To many whose time hangs heavily on their hands,--and,

mythical as it seems, we suppose there are such,--preserving as much

as they can of every variety of fruit, even to the absurdity of using

watermelon-rinds and cucumbers, is, perhaps, a real pleasure. Though,

while books are to be obtained, and fine flowers and beautiful scenery

to be seen, we cannot comprehend how one can spend time in this work,

simply for the enjoyment of it. But it is all well enough if it gives

pleasure; and doubtless articles prepared with one’s own hands have a

flavor more acceptable than when they are bought ready for use. But

to all housekeepers whose minutes are precious, these labor-saving

manufactories are a great blessing, and the slight difference that may

be recognized in the excellence of the article, when compared with the

home-made, is not to be noticed when we remember the additional time

and ease, to say nothing of health, one secures by buying preserves and

canned fruit from reliable establishments.

Whether these ideas hold good with regard to pickles, may be somewhat

doubtful. We cannot but think that the large amount of spices, now

so much used in making pickles, is injurious to the health; even

the simplest kind, we are inclined to believe, should be used with

moderation; and as the imported pickles, and those prepared in the

manufactories in this country, are often compounded with articles known

to be injurious, it is safer to make whatever is required in the way of

pickles, whether mixed or plain, at home, under your own eyes. Some of

the various kinds of vinegar now in use, and largely employed in the

factories for pickles, is very injurious. The process of “greening”

pickles is carried on with most reckless disregard of health. A bottle

of small, delicately-greened pickles is very attractive to those who do

not know the poison hidden in them.

Cider vinegar of the purest quality is the best. But in the process of

making, if pickles are soaked or boiled in a brass kettle, they are

poisoned by the verdigris, or acetate of copper, which is formed by the

action of the vinegar on the brass. Acid dissolves the lead that there

is in the tinning of saucepans, and corrodes copper and brass, and

if it remains in such vessels any length of time the vinegar becomes

very injurious. For these reasons metal kettles should be discarded

in making pickles. When necessary to boil vinegar, use a stone jar on

the stove, and also use _wooden_ spoons and forks. Most suppose that

the delicate green cannot be obtained without the use of alum in the

brine, and in this brine they must be soaked, boiled, and allowed to

cool in a brass kettle half a day. They claim that by thus soaking, the

skin is acted upon by the metal, or acetate of copper, and by soaking

afterward in hot water this poison can be so far removed as to be no

longer injurious. It is said that if soaked long enough in the brass to

bring out the full green, pickles would be dangerously poisoned; and

that one can tell if this has been done by the clear, _light_ green

color; but if, after soaking in the alum and brine, _in brass_, half a

day, and then being removed and soaked in hot water, the action of the

heat turns them a _dark_ grass green, the poison is destroyed. This

may be so, but we prefer pickles made green without the help of brass,

or not green at all. There are ways by which all adulterations may be

discovered. The chemist would find no difficulty in ascertaining; but

very few of those most interested--our housekeepers--are competent,

even if they have time or inclination, to examine these things

scientifically, and therefore it is well to insure against harm in

domestic manufacture by having it fully understood that metal kettles

of every kind should be discarded.

The many kinds of sweet pickles that have become common within a few

years are, we imagine, less liable to derange the stomach than such

as are spiced highly, and prepared mainly with vinegar. The mixed

pickles--piccalilli, Indian pickle, Bengal pickle or chutney, and

the Chow Chow--are all fiery, and must require an uncommonly strong

digestion to be eaten without injury.

But each one must judge for himself. Pickles of all kinds will always

be in use, no doubt, and it is well for every housekeeper to know how

they are made. Pickles should be always kept covered with vinegar, and

if at any time there are indications of their becoming moldy, boil up

the vinegar again, adding more spice. Have the jar two thirds full of

pickles, and one third full of vinegar. Keep the jar closely stopped,

as exposure to the air will make them soft.

In greening pickles (for they can be greened enough without brass) keep

them closely covered while the hot vinegar is on them, so that none of

the steam may evaporate. Boil them only four or five minutes, or it

will take away their strength, and they will soon become soft.

LXIX.

WHAT HAS BECOME OF ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS?

WE look in vain into many pleasant homes, or into the streets, cars, or

steamers, for what was once a common sight, and was then, and ever must

be, the sweetest object in nature,--a simple, artless _little girl_

with all the pretty, unaffected ways and manners of unsophisticated

childhood, fresh and beautiful, about her. There is no lack of small

beings, dressed in such a marvelous style that Darwin himself would be

puzzled to make out the class to which they belong; but we find nothing

to remind us of the little girls we used to know, either in dress or

manners.

In former times a pretty muslin bonnet or a simple close-fitting

cottage straw was thought the most appropriate covering for a little

head, protecting the bright eyes from too intense light, and shielding

the rosy cheeks from the sun’s too fervid kisses; but now, leaving

eyes and cheeks entirely unprotected, we see _something_ placed on

the sunny curls, which is elaborately trimmed with bows, feathers,

a flower-garden, or perhaps a mingling of both; for, although it is

too small for even a good-sized doll, the milliner, with an ingenuity

which would have been praiseworthy if exercised in a more sensible

manner, has contrived to pile up trimming enough to hide even the

faintest suspicion of a bonnet. But, what is sadder than the lack

of true taste and good common-sense in this stylish affair, we see

no semblance of childlike simplicity in the wearer. And the bonnet

is but the beginning of this unfortunate change which we mourn; the

pretty _baby waist_, the plain white dress, the neat muslin or merino,

so appropriate, which little girls used to wear, are supplanted by

incomprehensible garments, the fac-simile of the grand dame’s attire;

flounces, fringes, bows, and double skirts looped and festooned in an

astounding manner; the child’s--no, we mean the _young lady’s_--height

(there are no _children_ in these days) is less than her circumference.

This dress is put on over a hoop, and the “mite” who is made to carry

such an incongruous burden totters about on high-heeled boots. This

tiny specimen of womanhood, hardly weaned from her mother’s breast, or,

more probably, a wet-nurse’s, shakes out her redundant robes, bending

and twisting her small body in grotesque imitation of the women spoken

of by the Prophet Isaiah, “with haughty mien, walking _and mincing

as they go_.” See how the little ape looks over her shoulders as she

tottles about, to be sure that her hoops give her dress and figure the

correct _wiggle_ her sharp eyes have observed in the stylish mother and

her fashionable friends. It is lamentable that all the simplicity and

beauty of babyhood and childhood should be destroyed by fashion.

Added to the absurdity of the dress, these little women attempt to

discourse on the “latest style”; with their companions or dolls you

will hear them imitating the discussions on this subject that they

daily hear in the parlor or nursery from their mother; or, still

imitating, with a contemptuous toss of their little heads, they will

inform their listeners that they “couldn’t think of ’sociating with

those girls, because they are _not stylish_!”

A few days since, as we passed out of a store on Broadway, our

attention was arrested by the conversation of two little figures

seated in a fine carriage, waiting, doubtless, for mamma to finish her

shopping. They were dressed in a style positively overwhelming: their

hats were wonders of skill; their gloves had the orthodox number of

buttons, with bracelets over them; a dainty handkerchief, suspended

from a ring attached by a chain to another ring on the little doll-like

fingers,--the dress was simply indescribable. The elder was speaking

to the younger, who, scarcely more than a baby, sat demurely by her

side: “O, mercy, just look at that horrid little girl who is crossing

the street! she has no hoops on, and not a single flounce; no trimming

at all on her dress! and, oh, see her gloves; she has only one button!

Pshaw, she’s nobody,--not a bit of style!”

The younger lisped a reply, which we lost as we passed on; but it was

painful to think of the training they must have received which enabled

them at that early age to judge a child of their own years so quickly

by the rules of fashionable dress, and because her attire was not in

exact accordance with that week’s style, turn from her with contempt as

something too low for their notice.

Then, again, how soon a child, taught by daily precept and example,

learns to watch her little companions with envious or exultant feeling,

as the case may be! How quickly she begins to grow hollow-hearted and

deceitful; receiving, as she sees her elders do, a companion with open

arms or a welcoming smile; expressing the greatest affection, but the

moment she leaves begin to criticise or make unkind remarks.

“I don’t like Nellie one bit, mamma; she’s such a proud, stuck-up

thing! I suppose she thought I should feel bad ’cause her dress had

more trimming, and was a little newer style than mine. I didn’t let

her know that I noticed it. But I do think it real mean, mamma, that

she should have nicer things than mine. Papa is twice as rich as her

father. It made me mad to see her show off her dress; and she kept

looking at mine and sister’s in such a way.”

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

“O yes! but, mamma, I was awful glad when she left; though I was just

as smiling and pleasant as could be to her face.”

“That’s a good girl. You must always be very polite and cordial to your

companions, you know. But I must say I think Nellie was quite vain; and

you must never show that you are proud of your clothes. I shall go out

to-morrow and get you that pretty dress you teased so for, I think!”

“O mamma, I am so glad! And as soon as it is made I’ll go right over

and call on Nellie. Won’t she feel bad when she sees my new dress! It

will be ever so much prettier than hers.”

And the mother smiled complacently, with never a thought of the wicked

feelings she was cultivating in her child. O mothers! how can you be

so blind! Both by precept and example you are teaching your children

to make dress their idol, and to know very little of anything but that

which pertains to fashion; to be envious or contemptuous of their

little friends and companions, according as they are dressed better or

worse than themselves. Can you ever reflect that God did not commit

such treasures to your keeping without meaning some day to call upon

you to render up the account of your stewardship? What can you say,

when asked how you have trained the young souls given to your care?

Can you reply, “We have been instant in season and out of season in

teaching them,”--what? To work for the good of others; to learn to do

right; in all simplicity to love and obey the Saviour, who, taking a

little child in his arms, said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

_Of such?_ Ah, no! Not of such children as those; you are training to

avoid, not evil communications, but unfashionable companions; to look

on the outward adorning, and not on the heart.

But it is not alone the worldly-minded who make no pretence to any

higher law than their own selfish gratification, who bow the knee to

fashion. Christian mothers, are you guiltless? Think of the time,

the health and strength given to dress; the bondage which compels

you to pervert all real taste, to do violence to your own natural

instincts of neatness and true elegance, and accept the absurdities

of fashion, simply because the ruling style requires it. If you are

thus influenced and beguiled, do you flatter yourselves that your

children will not, from their earliest years, regard such homage as

important? We do not think it wrong to dress neatly and in as good

taste as possible. We blame none for giving so much thought to their

own dress and their children’s as to provide those articles that are

appropriate and becoming to the different styles of face, figure, and

complexion. It is natural, and we think right, for a mother to dress

her darlings as neatly and prettily as she can, without unnecessary

waste of time and strength; but we do think it sin to spend money and

time lavishly in following the dictates of fashion, and not of good

taste and common-sense; no one pretends to believe that there is either

of these in the present style of dressing. It is utterly destitute

of grace; is ridiculous to the last degree; but _fashion_ compels,

and women--_Christian women_--obey, and teach their little daughters

like obedience! O, the money, time, and strength given to destroy,

by the absurdities of fashionable dress, every vestige of beauty and

grace which God gave you in your little ones! Take the week through,

hour by hour, do you not give more time and thought to your own and

your children’s dress than you can spare for your Master’s service?

Do not your children gather from your daily walk and conversation

that to be fashionably dressed is of more importance than loving and

serving the Saviour, who died for them and you? Judging by your daily

conversation, which will they think of the greatest importance, the

service of God, or devotion to fashion? To which do they see you

giving the largest part of your time, the adorning of their little

bodies,--“the plaiting the hair, the wearing of gold, and putting on

of apparel,”--or in teaching them that which is not changeable, “not

corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is,

in the sight of God, of great price”? What can you say, fashionable

Christian mother, when He calls you to give an account of your

stewardship?

LXX.

PROCRASTINATION.

AN inclination to put off till to-morrow that which were more

appropriately done to-day seems quite natural to almost every one,

but it is one of the symptoms of depravity, and the earlier it is

fought and conquered the better. There are some sensible mothers whose

constant endeavor is to prevent this habit from gaining a foothold in

their children’s characters. From earliest childhood they watch and

nip it in the bud. Those who have lived an active life--every moment

claiming its own special work--are the mothers who can best train

their children to understand the full value of the prompt, regular

performance of each duty, however small.

“Come, little one, it is time to get up.” The child is perhaps

disinclined, thinks one more little nap would be comfortable. But it is

time to prepare for breakfast, and what is gained by delay is nothing

but the first lesson in selfish indulgence and procrastination. The

child does not need it. If it went to bed, as it should have done,

when the birds folded their heads under their wings, it requires no

more sleep. A few gentle words or caresses will soon chase all traces

of slumber from those bright eyes, and the little one, merry as the

birds, is soon ready for breakfast.

While children are very young begin this education, and see that it is

distinctly understood that no excuse but illness can avail. They must

be up at a given hour, and by the time they are twelve years old you

will find it difficult to keep your little girls and boys in bed beyond

the regular time. You have thus established a habit of early rising

which will cling to them through life; that is, if their mother gently

and lovingly impressed upon their minds what they would lose by delay

and gain by promptness. But, although a stern and severe compulsion

may secure obedience while under your eye, by that course you make the

act so disagreeable and repulsive, by associating it with your stern

manner, that they are tempted to rush to the other extreme whenever

they can do so with impunity.

Children naturally love play better than work or study; but it is

better that they early learn that there is something besides play which

even little girls and boys can and must do. They, of course with no

evil intention, will be inclined to stretch the play hour or recess

a little beyond the appointed time. It is the parent’s duty to watch

and guard against this, not on account of the real good which a young

child might accomplish in these few extra moments, but for the sake

of establishing a habit which will be of infinite service for the

child in after years, that the discipline, though for the present not

joyous, may work for its future happiness and usefulness. Therefore,

make the hours for recreation as frequent as seems necessary, only let

it be distinctly understood that when that time expires there must be

no delay, no procrastination. As the child grows older and able to

exercise a little judgment, it will soon become conscious of the loss

incurred by dilatoriness, and the gain secured by a prompt performance

of duty. A judicious mother will soon teach it how to contrast the

two modes of action, and a few unfortunate experiments will fully

corroborate her teachings. The penalty to be paid for leaving any duty

which should be done _now_ until “by and by,” generally follows very

speedily after the omission.

When quite young we were given a piece of work one morning which should

not have occupied an hour’s time. In the afternoon our brothers were to

go to a neighboring town in a sleigh, and we were promised a ride with

them, on condition that this work was finished in season. It was a rich

treat, and we were greatly elated. The work we were set to do was so

easy we made merry over the idea of a failure. But the sun did shine

so brightly, and it was so pleasant to stand at the east windows and

watch the men at the huge wood-pile, sawing and splitting the winter

store of wood; and it was such fun to see the old gander chase our

little roguish brother away from the place where the stately old fellow

kept watch and ward over his mate on her nest, that every few minutes

our sewing was forgotten and we were seated on the old-fashioned

window-sill. A gentle voice often reminded us that we were wasting

time, and must be left behind if that simple seam were not finished in

season.

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

“Yes, dear, if you work steadily, but not if you delay in this manner.”

Dear, patient mother! How much easier for her to have taken our

neglected work and done it herself than to keep such a vigilant watch

over a giddy girl; but for a child’s good a mother bears all things.

Time flew by, unregarded by our idle fingers. Presently a sleigh dashed

up to the door, the bells jingling merrily. It cannot be time! But a

cheery voice rang out, “Come, sister, not a minute to spare,”--and

that little, little bit of work not quite done!

“O mother, mother! only a few more stitches! See! O mother, let me go!”

But, even while we uttered this piteous wail, we knew that mother could

not break her word. When she took her sobbing little girl on her lap,

and explained how necessary it was that we should suffer the penalty

of our persistent procrastination, if we would ever destroy this bad

habit, we were conscious that her grief was deeper than our own, that

she suffered with us. We did not soon forget that lesson, and it did

not require many similar ones to effect a pretty substantial cure.

No one is more strongly tempted to put off till a more convenient

season, here and there, some minor duty, than a housekeeper whose

cares are many, and helpers very few. By afternoon she is so weary,

rest would be very pleasant, but just as she thinks she may indulge in

one half-hour’s quiet, some little item rises up that should receive

attention to-day. “I have half a mind to let it pass till to-morrow,”

but to-morrow has it own duties, and unexpected ones may arise. A few

experiments in this most excusable of all procrastinations will teach

the folly of the attempt to add to the already filled register of the

next day’s work the duties of the present time.

The clothes are brought up from the wash; on sorting them out and

putting them in place, you find a small hole in this article or a rip

in that. You are very tired, your head aches; to thread your needle and

mend those few small rips or holes seems a burden. “It is so little

I’ll let it go till next week, one week’s more wear can’t make much

difference.” And it is laid aside unmended. How is it when it next

comes up from the laundry? A huge rent or a most appalling hole is

the result. A heavy wind arose when the clothes were on the line, and

with every snap a dozen more stitches were added to the work that

procrastination has cost you, if indeed the garment is not ruined past

any repairing. “A stitch in time saves nine.”

Some friends have just left your house. During their visit much work

accumulated, while you felt bound to entertain your guests. Either you

are with no help, or your servants are very busy, and you say, “I’ll

take off the soiled linen from the bed, and leave the room to air a few

days, or till a more convenient season.”

The airing is all very proper, but two or three days are not needed

for it, and, if you leave the bed unmade, you will not find it wise

or at all labor-saving in the end. Let the room and bed air until you

are ready to take off the sheets and pillow-cases that need to be

changed. When you go up to do that, take with you the clean articles,

and being there, why not finish the work and leave all in order? But,

if instead of that you say, “We’ll put the ‘spare chamber’ in order

to-morrow,” perhaps just as you are retiring, a carriage stops at your

door, and guests quite unexpected arrive, who find it convenient to

stop with you overnight, to be ready for the morrow’s train, and late

in the evening the guest-chamber must be prepared. Just try this once

or twice,--you’ll not care to try it oftener,--and see if some one

don’t come unannounced just as, when tired and sleepy, you are ready to

retire. Will it be any easier to do the work which was put off till a

“more convenient season,” at this late hour, than it would have been to

have finished it at the proper time?

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

“Well, it is stormy; we sha’n’t be likely to have company to-morrow. I

guess this will answer, or we will stir up some biscuit if needed.”

In spite of wind or weather, be sure if you risk the delay you will

have unexpected guests, and will regret that you neglected to be ready

for the emergency.

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

“I guess it won’t make much difference if I leave them till to-morrow.

I am very busy now.” So you wait. Are you any less busy to-morrow? A

headache, or a sick child, or company prevents an answer then. Your

correspondent waits anxiously for your reply, the failure of which may

be the cause of great inconvenience.

We could multiply examples, but your own experience will fill up

the picture, and, if you are wise, teach you that each day has its

own duties, which can be mastered; but if you add to them the work

of yesterday you make the burden grievous to be borne. Your old

“copy-books” told you, when you were young, that _Procrastination is

the thief of time_. In riper age remember it. “Never put off till

to-morrow that which you should do to-day.”

LXXI.

THE SUREST REMEDY.

TO the troubles and annoyances which befall housekeepers there is no

end, if they are obliged to rely on servants for comfort and peace of

mind. In social gatherings the conversation often turns on the trials

they experience from this part of their household. It is not at all

strange that it should be so, for “out of the abundance of the heart

the mouth speaketh,” and verily in this particular the heart has ample

reasons for being abundantly filled, and there is no end to just cause

of complaint.

One girl is a good worker, but impudent; another is always willing,

but very untidy. This one is neat, but so slow that her work is never

finished. That one is unequaled in order and efficiency, but her temper

is so uncertain you cannot make a suggestion without risking a storm

that quite destroys all the pleasure her excellent work might otherwise

afford you. One is extravagant and wasteful; another economical in

using materials for your family, but dishonest in appropriating your

property for her own benefit.

So, in a company of a dozen ladies, one takes up the discourse as the

other ends, and, without exaggeration, proves her own trials even more

vexatious than her neighbors’. It is possible that the mistress, by

searching, may find some slight symptoms of these very defects in her

own character. The least said on that side of the question the better,

perhaps. But, as we once heard a lady say, “We don’t hire servants for

that sort of actions.”

But, whatever may be the defects of the mistress, we know there

are very strong foundations on which to build the complaints about

servants; for it cannot be denied that these “troublesome comforts”

have it in their power to diminish the sum of domestic happiness,

to a degree which requires much grace and patience to endure with

equanimity; and that the power they have usurped is on the increase

will not, we imagine, be gainsaid. Once the employés in the family

fully understood the position they were engaged to fill in their

employer’s house; and knew that certain service was paid for, which

must be strictly and honestly rendered, or they would lose their place,

and having lost it, unrecommended, would find it difficult to secure

another. Once--and the time is not so far distant but that most of us

can still remember it--one girl was expected to do the work that we are

now compelled to employ three to do. And this one girl did the work,

and did it well,--far better than we can hope to have it done now. She

was not injured by it; no complaints were made, we mean in ordinary

cases,--in every station some may be found who abuse power and cruelly

oppress those whom circumstances have placed in an inferior position;

but these are only solitary cases; as a general thing there was no

ground for complaint. The service was kindly and cheerfully rendered.

But now, with three or four girls, the work drags, is imperfectly done,

and “the work is too hard” is the constant cry. Why is this? What

reason can be assigned for a change so complete and annoying?

In part because the foreigners who land on our shores, and upon whom,

unfortunately, we are obliged to depend for all labor which we cannot

do ourselves, come to us with strange ideas of what is meant by all

being “free and equal”; or, if you take one right from the emigrant

vessel, it requires but a few weeks for those of their nation, who,

having been here longer, think themselves better informed, to impart

their knowledge, and teach erroneous ideas of these rights. Under such

bad influence it takes but a short time for the modest stranger, whom

you received into your house and endeavored to teach a correct mode

of labor, to be transformed both in dress and manners into a bold,

self-willed girl. Her countrywomen gather about her and warn her not to

be “put upon,”--a favorite phrase among those whose chief aim is to get

the highest price for the least labor. “Stand up for your rights”; and

they proceed to expound a code of “rights” which, if they were allowed

to carry into practice, would soon leave us entirely at their mercy.

They are told to insist upon just so many times at church, and certain

days “out.” Then the funerals--and there never was such mortality as

is always happening among our servants’ relations, particularly the

cousins--and the weddings, and the baptism of infants for which our

girls are to stand “sponsors,” all come upon us in quick succession.

Then, every step of the work each girl is expected to do must be

carefully defined, and you are not to be allowed to call upon them, on

any condition, for one thing over and above the specified labor.

How has this class of persons succeeded in taking and maintaining such

a stand? In part it has grown up, gradually, from seeing in their

employers the independence that is a distinctive peculiarity in our

national character. But that which, when rightly regulated, is a noble

thing, when used by uninformed and undisciplined minds, for selfish

ends, is not likely to bring forth the most desirable results.

But is not the trouble and disturbance through our servants, which

particularly characterizes the present day, in part the fault of the

_ignorance_ of the mistress? Our ladies give much less attention to

domestic affairs than in former times; and our young ladies are growing

up, for the most part, poor housekeepers. The material for the very

best of servants may be easily ruined by a poor mistress. Much time

and money is expended on the education of our girls; but that part of

education which would help to keep them strong and healthful is almost

entirely ignored,--we mean regular work, at stated times, about the

house; not only to establish good health, but to secure a thorough

knowledge of domestic operations.

“What time has a young girl to do anything at home?” True. What time

for home affairs, with the present mode of education, and the present

customs of social life, have young men or maidens? Our teachers know

they are expected to “fill” their pupils to the utmost extent of their

mental capacity, and social life grasps every moment that can be spared

from books or schools, even claiming the hours that should be given

to sleep. No matter about the health. “That is not our business,” say

the educators; and, “That is not our business,” echoes Fashion. Our

children go from one study to another--rushing on to be educated--as

fast as possible; and, in two years after leaving college or seminary,

of what practical use will half these studies, for which they have

given so much time and health, be to them? Far be it from us to

undervalue a thorough, practical education,--one that will fit our boys

and girls to lead good and useful lives. “Its price is above rubies.”

But we sometimes think that they are being educated to death; mind and

body enfeebled and made unhealthy for lack of practical common-sense on

the part of parents and teachers. If more time was given to physical

labor while our children are growing up, and less time to schools, and

fewer studies crowded into each term, the fathers and mothers would not

grow old so fast,--being relieved of part of their work; and our young

people would have nobler minds in sounder bodies.

But to return to housekeeping, and the young who must take that

position: let them secure as much knowledge as they can without injury

to health, but let it be understood that, whatever place they may

be called upon to occupy, a thorough domestic education will be the

best foundation on which to build, and by which they can best secure

happiness, honor, and usefulness.

Instead of filling the papers with lamentations because they are not

permitted certain rights which an unregulated ambition urges them to

claim, let our women first be certain that they fully understand how

to exercise all the _rights_ which are unalienably their own, and

which no one attempts to dispute. Let these rights be well cared for

and properly executed, and who will object to any woman’s reaching out

after, and securing just as many more as she can possibly assume and

manage successfully, without neglect of other duties already her own.

Let the highest right, the noblest that woman can desire,--for it is

next to the angels’,--the _supreme right_ which God gave us, and no

man disputes or can usurp, be fully appreciated and acted upon,--the

right to make a glorious _home_, to make our husbands nobler, because

they are happy and comfortable there (they don’t know how to do that,

they can’t take care of themselves without us); the right to nurse and

rear and bless our children; the right, with the ability, to teach our

servants by our own practice how to be a blessing to themselves and to

us. Then enter the lists, if you choose, and do battle for just as many

of what have been called _man’s rights_ as you are capable of managing

well, or have any ambition for.

Until these first duties are understood and properly performed the

prospects for home comforts and happiness are very shadowy. The fault

is not wholly with the servants. If those duties which belong to the

mistress are delegated to uneducated, ill-informed subordinates, what,

even with the very best intentions, can you expect but anarchy and

misrule? Care and experience are as essential to good housekeeping and

home comforts as in any other profession or field of labor.

The lawyer cannot look for success in his profession if he simply opens

an office and delegates the care to an ignorant office-boy, while he

himself knows nothing about law, and never studies. The doctor gives

years of time and study before he attempts to practice. The merchant

goes through a long apprenticeship before he commences business for

himself; but our young girls leave the school-room to assume a _right_

of which they know nothing,--the privilege and honor of making a

_home_. If women would only understand how much skill and power is

requisite, what a noble, honorable thing it is to succeed, or become

eminent as a _homemaker_, there would be fewer boarding-houses, fewer

miserable, dissipated husbands, fewer fast, wild, reckless children,

and fewer worthless servants.

LXXII.

A FEW LITTLE THINGS.

WE take up now a few perplexities which are apt to disturb the

equanimity of the young housekeeper, and propose to give some minute

directions for the better performance of those “little things” which so

often discourage the beginner, such as the building of fires, dusting,

etc.

With an open grate or fireplace in daily use, it is very necessary,

before any dusting can be thought of, to clear out the grate, remove

the ashes, and kindle the fire; for nothing so fills a room with

dust as the necessary work about a fire of any kind, even with the

most careful management. To be ready to do this, or in a condition

to instruct a girl how to do it, it is important that the necessary

implements and conveniences should be on hand, and in a suitable

condition for easy and successful operation.

And, first, a coarse piece of bagging, or an old bit of carpeting,

or, if you have neither, a large piece of stout brown wrapping-paper,

should be kept in an appropriate place, ready for this part of the

morning’s work; even old newspapers will answer, though by no means so

convenient or durable as bagging. Spread a large strip before the grate

or fireplace to protect the oil-cloth or carpet from ashes and cinders

while you are clearing out the grates. This done, lift up the fender or

polished hearth-pan, always in front of a grate, and set it down on the

floor-cloth or bagging. Put up the blower, and with the poker rake out

all the ashes that can be shaken from the under part of the grate. By

keeping the blower up while doing this, most of the ashes which would

otherwise float over the room, lodge in the furniture or carpet, and

in the end do them much injury, will be made to fly up chimney. Having

thus removed all the ashes, you can take the blower down and rake again

smartly from the _top_ until only the half-burnt coals remain.

Now, with a stout, coarse holder kept expressly for that purpose, take

the ash-pan, full of ashes, from under the grate, and empty it in an

ash-barrel in the cellar, or outdoors; by no means empty them from

the pan into an empty coal-hod in the room, as is too often done. Be

careful that no live coals go into the barrel. You will be obliged to

watch a girl very carefully about this “little thing,” or, under the

silly idea that it saves work, most girls will do this so carelessly

when you are not by, that your rooms will be filled with ashes by their

folly.

When the ashes have been emptied, if your grate rests on _cleats_ or

is fitted into _sockets_, lift it off and turn into the ash-pan the

half-burned coals which remain, to be taken out and sifted before using

again; then, placing the grate on the bagging, with a small whisk-broom

proceed to brush down into the pan all the soot and ashes that have

lodged on the sides and back of the fireplace. Do this gently, so as to

avoid sending it out into the room. When done, remove the pan, sweep up

any ashes or litter that may be on the hearth, wash it clean, and put

back the grate and ash-pan into their proper places. Set up the fender,

roll up a quantity of waste paper and put into the grate (if thrown in

loosely it will burn out instantly before the kindling catches), put

on the kindling, and start the fire. If where you can get _coke_ from

the gas-houses for the foundation of the fire, it will, we think, prove

good economy, for you will need but two or three pieces of kindling, as

it ignites readily without a blower, making a very warm fire, and soon

causing the hard coal to burn brightly.

Here, also, great watchfulness is requisite if you trust to a servant

to start fires, for, unless closely followed, they will persist in half

filling the grate with kindling, even when they are provided with coke,

and need to use but very little wood. In the city, where wood is so

dear, economy in kindling-wood becomes quite important.

The fire having been kindled, the rooms can now be set in order. Of

course the window-blinds were opened the first thing after dressing in

the morning, that gas or lamps might not be left to burn needlessly. We

are tempted to stop, before dusting, and say a word on the extravagant

use of gas or oil by the servants about a house, but we must leave

that for another time, and proceed to finish the first part of every

morning’s work.

In _dusting_, a soft but not too fine cloth should be first used. At

almost all dry-goods stores cloths are to be had with soft, tufted nap,

especially adapted for dusters; but an old towel may be kept for that

purpose, and answers very well if you cannot obtain these. Gently wipe

_up_ with the dusting-cloth whatever ashes or dust may have settled

over the mantel or furniture, but do not wipe it _off_ on to the floor

to settle again into the carpet or furniture in the room,--that would

be spending time for naught,--and as you proceed take it up into the

dust-cloth, and every little while shake it out of the window or door.

In this way go over everything _once_, that the greatest part of

the dust may be disposed of, being particular to wipe in and around

moldings, carvings, and cornices, where dust seems more inclined to

rest than on the plainer surfaces. This finished, go over all again

with an old silk handkerchief or chamois-skin, rubbing hard enough to

remove spots or finger-marks, and bring a nice clean polish on the

furniture or ornaments in the room. If you have pictures hung round the

walls, a long-handled feather-brush is quite necessary, especially if

the room is high studded, as city rooms generally are at the present

day. You cannot spare the time every morning to bring in a step-ladder

in order to dust the tops of the picture-frames or the casings and

moldings over and around doors and windows; but if left some days

untouched, the moths will soon find it out and take up their abode in

such desirable quarters. The long feather-brush will easily remove most

of the light dirt that settles in such high places, but do not use it

with a sharp, quick flourish, as whatever dust lodges so high cannot

be taken _up_ with the coarse dusting-cloth, and must, of course, if

disturbed, fall to the floor, but if brushed off rashly, will fly over

everything. For this reason the tops of pictures and doors should be

dusted first, that there may be an opportunity to remove whatever

settles unavoidably when going over other parts of the room.

Every three or four weeks the tall step-ladder is needed, and then all

these places which cannot be reached otherwise must be well cleaned

and rubbed, and the casings of windows and doors wiped clean with a

wet cloth. This work, when done, must always be _after_ the regular

sweeping-days.

Windows require attention every day; we do not mean, to be washed

every day, but to be dusted and have the spots carefully rubbed off.

The dust from the streets finds easy entrance, and settles readily

on the window-panes, which would soon become dim and blurred without

daily oversight. Especially is this the case in damp weather, or

when one lives near salt air. Brush each window with a short-handed

feather-brush, if you have one; if not, save and dry turkeys’ wings,

or the long tail-feathers from any poultry, tie them up neatly, and

you secure an inexpensive feather-brush, and as effective as if bought

at the store. If you find spots or finger-marks on the window-glass,

put your mouth to the spot and breathe sharply on it; then, before

your breath evaporates, rub quickly with a clean linen cloth or a

chamois-skin, and you will be well repaid for your labor.

It requires some time and many words to explain, as minutely as you

wish, how all these _little things_ should be done; but if you are

methodical, you will soon learn to work quickly as well as thoroughly,

and will be very much surprised to see how short a time is needed to

do all that we have been so long telling. You will use less time, take

the month through, by careful dusting and necessary cleaning each day

than--neglecting this duty--you would be compelled to give every few

weeks in one great cleaning effort, by which the whole family must be

incommoded, meals delayed, poorly cooked, or dispensed with altogether

for the time being, because it is “cleaning day.” No wonder husbands

shrink from such days, preferring dirty rooms all the time to having

clean ones, for which they pay such unsatisfactory premiums. A little

quiet care and cleaning every day will, we think, secure the largest

amount of freedom, and certainly much more pleasure and happiness for

all, than these dreaded days of confusion and discomfort.

LXXIII.

PLANNING FOR THE WEEK.

NOTHING so simplifies labor as a well-defined, regular plan for each

day’s specific duties. At first, to one unaccustomed to systematic

work, it may be difficult to get into the track, and follow the route

until it is so familiar that it becomes almost second nature. But

with each effort, duties thus methodically performed will be easier,

and when the plan you design to follow has been well digested, and

each part so adapted as to reach toward the good of the whole, labor

will not only be greatly diminished, but a positive pleasure in the

performance of duties so perfectly organized will be the crowning

reward.

Yet to arrange a plan for each day requires thought and judgment,

and she must be a wonderful character who, from the beginning, can

so perfect a code of laws for the regular discharge of household

labor, that no modification or change will be necessary. If a young

housekeeper, at the end of one year’s trial, begins to feel somewhat at

home in her dominions, she should be well content, nor allow a shadow

of discouragement to mar her comfort, even if now and then she finds

her carefully planned rules requiring some little adjustment, to secure

a smooth and easy action. _Try_, and _reject_, until you have secured a

plan by which _you_, the mistress, can best manage others, or yourself

perform the work. No one can tell you by what rules you can best govern

your domains. Suggestions may be given, which will be of great service

in enabling you to arrive at the desired results in the most successful

and expeditious manner; but further than that, _the work to do is

yours, and not another’s_. Each one must work out the problem of what

is best for herself individually, with what aid she can glean from the

experience of others, according as it shall be congenial, or adapted to

her own peculiar way of working and her own peculiar position.

Even those daughters who are fresh from the wise instructions of a

mother, who led them with her through a daily round of cares until they

are as skillful in domestic management as she is herself, will not

find, when they enter the marriage state, the duties of their new homes

exactly like those of their mother. Many things may, and doubtless

will, compel a somewhat different administration, although the

fundamental principles will be still the same. The husband’s position

may demand change in the mode of proceedings to which she has, from

childhood, been accustomed. His tastes or means may render it advisable

that the wife should modify or enlarge her rules for the performance

of domestic duties. The desired change may, from necessity, or from

_whims_, which for permanent happiness she will be wise to humor, be so

abrupt and entire as to require almost a new mode of action and labor,

calling for much deliberation before it can be perfectly satisfactory;

and of course this will be almost like commencing an education from the

beginning.

Different homes and diverse tastes demand, and justly, to be regulated

on somewhat different plans. New duties, and new modes of performing

them, are opened to the young housekeeper, however efficient she may

have been in all domestic affairs under her mother’s eye; but this

should be no reason for discouragement or self-reproach. Put the mother

in the daughter’s place, and she might find it equally strange, and no

easier to rearrange her code of laws for domestic labor, only so far

as age and longer experience has taught her more wisdom and greater

facility in regulating household affairs. But whatever the style or

position, there is none, however high or low, that is not improved and

the work simplified by systematic arrangement. Let each day of the week

have its own peculiar work, modified or varied, of course, by changes

which cannot be foreseen,--such as sickness, absence of part of the

family, unexpected company, invited guests, or holidays.

And here let us say, it is desirable, when you invite friends to dinner

or tea, that you choose such days as are the least filled with work

which cannot be well set aside,--such as washing, ironing, etc.,--so

that you may take time for entertaining your guests, without the burden

of feeling that you are compelled to leave for to-morrow the work that

should have been done to-day, and, by so doing, to lay up for yourself

too heavy burdens and unsettle the regular course of labor for the rest

of the week.

We do not propose to give rules for any one. That would be quite

impossible, as so much depends on the taste of the master and mistress,

the number of the family, and of the servants employed. But there are

a few things which, in our opinion, will make the work easier, and

increase the comfort of all concerned. For instance, on Saturday all

the clothes for changes should be laid out, so that the Sabbath may

find us arrayed in spotless garments. And this being done, as all the

soiled clothes are ready, it would seem that Monday must, almost of

necessity, be set apart as the established _washing-day_. Of course,

if one has a laundry distinct from the kitchen, as soon as the washing

and ironing of one week is finished, the range will be cleaned out,

ashes brushed off, kindling laid, and floor scrubbed, all for the next

week; and if everything is thus in order, it must be an uncommonly

large family if the washing is not all done, clothes-lines and pins

brought in, and, in winter, coarse clothes sprinkled and folded, in

good time on Monday night. This should be Monday’s work, somewhat

modified, perhaps, according to the help employed in this department.

When two or three girls are employed in one house, as we have before

said, we do not think it the most comfortable way for the _cook_ to

take charge of the washing. Let her help, if necessary, as she may

find time; but if she first performs her regular duties, the family

will be more comfortable; and if the second girl has charge of the

washing, the clothes will, or should be, more satisfactorily done by

one steady hand. Let Tuesday be for ironing. Wednesday the chambermaid

and laundress will need for cleaning the laundry and halls, wiping

off finger-marks from doors, and any chamber-work which did not

receive particular attention Monday or Tuesday. The cook will need by

Wednesday to clean up her tins, floors, closets, or if company or the

family require, to do some extra cooking. On Thursday the silver should

be carefully looked over and polished by chamois-skin, after washing in

_hot_ soapsuds, or with whiting if any brown spots are found. Friday

is the best day for sweeping, and seeing that mattresses and bedsteads

are free from dust; which, if left to accumulate, will breed moths and

other vermin. Saturday may be employed in cleaning parlors, washing

windows, polishing door-handles, bell-pulls, and stair-rods, and a

thorough oversight of the house generally.

These items are only by way of suggestions, to be filled up or

discarded as the housekeeper’s judgment, taste, or position may deem

advisable. We only claim that, having once examined and become fully

persuaded in your own mind what your position and the comfort of your

family demand, you should settle upon some well-considered plan, and

then determine to carry it into practice, as far as possible, with

promptness and regularity. Take time to consider; _try, and try again_;

but having settled what is best, act upon it without flinching.

LXXIV.

SHOPPING.

WE have heard from ladies remarks like the following: “Before I was

married, and cares and responsibilities became more and more exacting

every year, there was nothing I used to enjoy more than roaming from

shop to shop, seeing everything that was to be seen, but without the

responsibility of purchasing, because my mother always attended to

that. My shopping in those days was only to gratify curiosity. But

now it must be done in earnest, without shopping for sight-seeing or

loitering,--the only desirable part of the business.”

Now, I cannot but think this waste of time and gratification of a

childish curiosity in young women altogether wrong. The amount of

“shopping,” as it is called, done from no necessity, but only to while

away the time, is very great, particularly by young ladies who have

no intention of purchasing. While there are books to be read, sewing

to be done, mothers to be helped, and their burdens lightened by

their daughters’ loving care, and painting, drawing, and music to be

practiced, we don’t understand how time can hang heavy on one’s hands.

Pleasant walks and rides, lectures, concerts, and picture-galleries,

can surely furnish all the exercise and recreation that is needed or

at all desirable, and will be much more conducive to the improvement

of the mind and strengthening of the body than this too prevalent

custom of sauntering through the streets, gazing into the windows, or

visiting the stores, looking at and handling everything one fancies,

but buying nothing. Many evils spring from this absurd method of

_taking exercise_, or wasting time. There can be no healthy exercise

in loitering in a crowded and perhaps ill-lighted, poorly ventilated

store; for capacious, airy, and well-ventilated establishments are not

common. The effect of such dissipation on the mind and character cannot

be ennobling. To watch and criticise the people who pass, to remark on

their dress, manners, and peculiarities, is almost certain to establish

an unkind, censorious habit, and, in the end, make those who practice

it confirmed gossips,--the most unlovable and unsafe of all characters.

A love of dress; a desire to imitate or surpass those who are the most

extravagant in their outlays; an envious disposition; dissatisfaction

with their own condition and the income allowed for their dress;

longing to cast aside good clothes and secure the newest and most

stylish, every time the shopping farce is performed,--are some of the

evils which, it is to be feared, will grow out of this propensity;

and added to this, another still more to be deprecated,--the selfish

disregard for the feelings and interests of others.

It is painful to observe with what recklessness our young ladies will

sit at a counter and call for one piece of goods after another, until

the shelves before them are almost entirely stripped,--tossing one

article here and another there, throwing heavy goods upon delicate

articles, while the perplexed clerk endeavors to hide his anxiety, and

shield his wares from harm, in the most gentlemanly and unobtrusive

manner; but his politeness and delicacy are wasted, for this class of

shoppers care little for the discomfort of a clerk.

In this manner they flit from counter to counter, wasting not only

their own time, but that of the employés in the store, and exciting

false hopes of a good sale, and then, without a word of apology for the

trouble they have given, leave that store to go through the same folly

at other establishments.

A few days since we witnessed a most provoking display of this manner

of wasting time, and by no means an uncommon occurrence. All the

room for some distance on one side of the store, and two or three

of the clerks, were monopolized by a party of young girls,--we fear

they thought themselves entitled to be addressed as _young ladies_.

The earnestness with which they called for one class of goods after

another warranted the attendants in anticipating a large sale; but when

woolens, silks, linens, ribbons, and laces were heaped around them in

great abundance, and many really earnest purchasers had been kept long

waiting for attendance, or, not having time, had been obliged to go

elsewhere, these girls carelessly rose and turned to leave.

“I am sorry we can show you nothing satisfactory,” courteously remarked

one of the clerks.

“O, we didn’t come in to buy,--only to look around,” replied the

leader of this ill-mannered party, with a scornful air; and an absurd,

silly giggle went through the party as they left the store, evidently

satisfied that they had had a good time and played off a smart joke on

the clerks.

The expression of disappointment suddenly changed to contempt, visible

among the young men who had so politely waited upon those thoughtless

girls, was very significant of their estimate of such characters. If

their mothers could have seen the whole performance, and, giving each a

_good shaking_, sent them home to learn good manners, and a proper use

of time by a term of labor in the kitchen, we should have been thankful.