to be when my children were little. You didn't let me pay three visits
to your one then, Jane." Mrs. Hubbard drew her thimble from her pocket
and took up the top piece of mending from the big willow basket, in
the most natural manner. "This is to go so, isn't it?" said she. "I
can work and talk, too, you know. Mr. Hubbard has gone to church
meeting; but I don't think it's exactly our place to attend to church
discipline, we women are so apt to make a bad matter worse by talking
it over among each other, and to people that it doesn't concern. So I
thought I'd just run in sociably, and bring my thimble, as we used to
do for each other."
Mrs. Snelling would have said, half an hour ago, that she was
completely fortified against Mrs. Hubbard's advances, in what shape
soever; but she began to find a mist gathering in her eyes, as that old
kindness and affection came stealing back again in recollection.
But Mrs. Hubbard was a wise woman, and she knew that a friend aggrieved
was hard to win, whether the offence had been intentional or not.
"It's pretty hard work to live right, isn't it?" she said, verging
round again to the old subject, after a little talk about the roads
and the weather. "Every lot in life has its trials. I used to look
at rich people, and think they hadn't a care in the world; but, now
Mr. Hubbard has done so well, we have to live differently and dress
differently, and there's no end to looking after things. I used to work
hard all day, and, when the children were asleep in the evening, sit
down comfortably to sew or read; but now there's something or somebody
to see to to the last minute. To be sure, as far as dress is concerned,
I don't think half so much of it as I used to, when I had to plan and
contrive about every cent. Why, I often used to find myself planning
about my sewing in sermon-time, if you will believe it, and how I
should get the girls two dresses out of one of mine. To be sure, I have
no such temptations now."
Mrs. Snelling looked up suddenly, as the recollection of her Sunday
plan about the cape came into her mind. Could it be that to _Him, into
whom all hearts are open_, she had been the less sincere worshipper of
the two?
"I should like to try a little prosperity, by way of a change,"
she said, more pleasantly than she had last spoken, but still with
bitterness beneath. "I'm tired of slaving."
"Oh, Jane!" Mrs. Hubbard said, quickly, "don't choose--don't choose
your trials. I used to say that very thing, and that it was all well
enough for rich people to preach." Mrs. Snelling saw the painful
expression that crossed her friend's face, and the current report of
young Robert Hubbard's dissipation came into her mind. "Everybody has
their own troubles; some don't stand out as plain as others, and don't
get so much pity. Rich people get very little, and they have hard work
enough to bring up their children right, and to live in peace and
charity with all. I've got so now I only ask for patience to bear the
trial of the time, instead of praying to have it changed, and thinking
that I could bear any other better."
The two women sewed in silence for a little while; each heart knew its
own bitterness.
"Jane," Mrs. Hubbard said, stopping suddenly and looking into the
bright grate in front of the stove, "shall I tell you what this puts me
in mind of, seeing this nice bright cooking-stove? Of that New Year's
night, the winter Robert was sick, and our children were all little,
when you came round and brought them over to spend the afternoon, and
boiled candy for them and let them pop corn. They brought us home a
plateful of braided sticks. Poor little things! if it hadn't been for
you, they wouldn't have had so much as a pin for a New Year's present,
their father was so sick, and I was so worn out. Why, only think, they
had been teazing me to buy them some candy, and I actually did not feel
that I could afford that quart of molasses! I've thought of it often
and often since. Somehow, this winter there's scarcely a day when it
doesn't come into my mind, and I always feel like crying."
Mrs. Snelling was crying, as Mrs. Hubbard's voice faltered more and
more; she did not attempt to conceal it, she remembered that New Year's
day so well, and how she had pitied Susan's poor little boys, and
brought them home and made them as happy as children could be made, in
the very kindness of her warm heart. The long struggle with poverty and
care had not seared it, after all.
"Don't cry, Jane. But you won't mind, and you won't misunderstand me
now, if I've brought you a New Year's present of a dress? I was afraid
you wouldn't take it as it was meant, if I just sent it. Here it is."
And Mrs. Hubbard unrolled the very raw silk plaid Mrs. Snelling had
so long coveted. "I wanted it to be useful, and I went down to get a
cashmere like mine; but you happened to be there when I went in, and I
saw how long you looked at this."
Mrs. Snelling remembered the day, and that she had come home thinking
Mrs. Hubbard had felt too grand to talk to her before the clerks.
"I was afraid you would find me out, and so I kept at the other end of
the store. Now, you won't misunderstand me, will you, Jane?"
"Oh, Susan, I had such hard thoughts, you don't know." And Mrs.
Snelling put her apron up to her eyes, instead of looking at the new
silk.
"Never mind that now, it's only natural. I could see just how you felt,
for the more I tried to be neighborly, the colder you got. It's grieved
me a good deal. But about the dress. Ann was not very busy, and so I
had her make the skirt, as we could wear each other's dresses in old
times, and every little helps when a person has a good deal to do. If
you will let me know when Miss Prime comes to make it up, she shall
come over and sew with her."
"Charity is not easily provoked, suffereth long, and is kind," was the
minister's text the next Sunday; but Mrs. Snelling thought of a better
illustration than any he could offer, and noted the rest of the verse
with humiliation--_charity envieth not_.
* * * * *
TREASURES.
JOY makes us grieve for the brevity of life; sorrow causes
us to be weary of its length; cares and industry can alone render it
supportable.
SERENITY of mind is nothing worth, unless it has been earned:
a man should be at once susceptible of passions, and able to subdue
them.
MEMORY is like a picture-gallery of our past days. The fairest
and most pleasing of the pictures are those which immortalize the days
of useful industry.
IF you wish to make yourself agreeable to any one, talk as
much as you please about his or her affairs, and as little as possible
about your own.
PUT away presumptuousness and pride: if they assail thy heart,
think of the beginning and end of life. Narrow, indeed, are the cradle
and the coffin: in both we slumber alike helpless, to-day a germinating
dust, to-morrow a crumbling germ.
THE ECONOMICS OF CLOTHING AND DRESS.
REMAKING AND MENDING.
SHAKSPEARE tells us that "an old cloak makes a new jerkin;"
and with such authority and sanction for turning old materials to new
purposes, we will make no apology for giving our readers a chapter of
advice and instruction on some of the most feasible plans of turning
old garments to good account.
Many are obliged by necessity, or as a matter of good economy, to do
this; and those who are richer, and can afford frequently to purchase
everything new for themselves, will greatly add to their kindness to
their poorer neighbors, if, when they give a cast-off garment, it is
accompanied by a little judicious instruction as to how to make the
best of it.
We will suppose a poor woman receiving the gift of a lady's dress fully
trimmed all over, and so near a fit, that she might think it had been
made on purpose for her, if it was not a little too tight. Would it be
the wisest thing she could do to take and wear the dress just as she
received it? If she did so, the probability is that she would do those
about her, as well as herself and her dress, a great injury. She would,
most likely, be very cross in her family, for that is often one of the
ill effects of dressing too tight. She might, too, begin to think that
she looked so like a lady with this full-trimmed dress, that sundry
unbecoming airs would be likely to creep over her. And as to the dress,
nature would endeavor to free itself from restraint, and hooks and eyes
would be bursting this way and that, and the flounces, that were very
suitable to a lady's mode of life, would soon be torn and soiled in the
household occupations of a poor woman. And in two or three weeks, this
dress, that might have been made to do her good service for months,
will have such a slovenly and torn appearance, that it had better be
put out of sight.
We should recommend, as a preferable course, that, on receiving such a
gift, all conspicuous and needless trimmings be taken off, and the body
and sleeves be made a comfortable fit, by putting in pieces where they
are needed; for which purpose some of the trimmings will be useful. Or,
if it should be a very full skirt, it might be better to take a breadth
from that, which will serve to make a fresh body. If it is too long,
or if it is rubbed, and a little worn at the gathers, the skirt should
be taken from the body, and sewed on again at the right length, at
the same time placing the middle of a different breadth to the middle
of the body, so as to put the worst worn part of the gathers to the
place where they will have the least wear. This will oblige running
up the opening at the back of the skirt, and making a new one. All
this trouble will, however, be well repaid by having a comfortable and
suitable dress; and ladies are much more likely to repeat a kindness
when they see that their gifts are well used and valued.
When a mother has worn a dress as long as she can, it will be strange
if there is not enough which is pretty good left in the skirt, which
will make a frock, or perhaps even two, for a little girl. It is well
to bear this in mind in buying a dress, and to choose one of a pattern
that would not be very conspicuous or unsightly if it should afterwards
be used for children.
Another good use to which to put an old dress is, by altering the body
and sleeves, to adapt it for a petticoat. It is well, however, not
to be in a hurry to do this. Two mothers had each a good black satin
dress; in the course of time they became, as unfortunately all dresses
will, too shabby, or too old-fashioned for their wearers' use. One
mother picked hers to pieces, washed and ironed it, and made from it
two handsome-looking mantles for her daughters. The other adapted hers
for a petticoat, and spent five dollars in the purchase of new mantles
for her two daughters. The mantles made of the old material were far
the better looking, and the more serviceable. Now one dollar would have
bought a petticoat; and thus the saving of four dollars might have been
made for the pocket of the husband.
Bonnets may be lined or made from the cuttings of old silk dresses.
A lady benevolently disposed can find the means of assisting a
needlewoman in want of work, by employing her to use up odd pieces in
this manner. She will thereby give the workwoman the means of earning a
few shillings, and at the same time she will, at a comparatively little
cost, enable herself to rejoice the hearts of various old women by the
gift of a comfortable silk bonnet.
The remaining parts of some dresses will prove suitable for making
aprons and pinafores.
But what can be done with dresses that are so washed and worn as to be
of no service even for a child's frock or pinafore? Why, they may be
cut up for dusters, if they will do for nothing else, and they will
serve nicely for the little girls to learn hemming upon. Indeed, it
only wants an active, notionable mind to discover good uses for almost
anything that may be at hand, and render it applicable to some of the
requirements of the possessor.
About the worst thing to do with old dresses is to carry them to an old
clothes-shop, or to dispose of them at the door for something out of a
basket.
Woollen garments, such as coats and trowsers, offer rather more of
a puzzle as to how to dispose of them. They are, however, articles
to be by no means despised, as a peep into the working-rooms of some
old clothes establishment might soon convince our readers. Many a
second-hand waistcoat, cap, and even child's complete suit, have been
contrived from the refuse contents of an old clo'-man's bag. These
old clothes-merchants, however, never cut up garments that can by any
contrivance of piecing and cleaning be made suitable for wear, or to
fetch a price in their original form. This a good home manager should
also observe.
Cheap bought slop-clothes are scarcely worth the time and trouble
of remaking into anything. But a bit of broadcloth that has been
originally good may be brought into use over and over again, when its
original purpose has been almost forgotten.
In a family of restricted means, where the father is obliged, by his
line of life or connections to keep up what is called a respectable or
genteel appearance, if the mother is a good contriver very little need
be purchased for the clothing of her boys until they reach their teens.
The clothes that the father is, for the sake of appearance, obliged to
lay aside, will afford good material for clothing them. But how often
pride, more than a want of knowledge, comes in here, and prevents the
mother from doing what she might and could do. She is afraid that if
she herself makes clothes for her boys, she may be laughed at as "a
hen tailor." And if she should employ a needlewoman, who could do such
things well and inexpensively for her, she is afraid the woman will
speak of it, and think her mean for using old clothes; and she will in
preference buy cheap, ready-made clothes, which will not last so long,
and perhaps not look any better than what she might have obtained for
a tithe of the cost by using the materials laid by at home.
To keep up a genteel appearance with only a small income, is a very
trying situation to be placed in; nevertheless, it is the lot of very
many; and a wise woman will feel sure that she is not acting meanly,
while she acts in accordance with the limits of her husband's purse.
Nothing can be more mean than to increase his anxieties by indulging in
any needless expenses in dress.
When it is designed to make any cloth garment into a smaller one, it
is generally best to look upon it merely as a piece of material, and
not to attempt to bring any of the old seams into use. If it has been
previously worn in the same family, and not much soiled, a good dry
brushing may be all that is required for cleanliness. But if it has
been long worn and made dirty, it had better be picked to pieces and
thoroughly washed. Good broadcloth will bear washing just as well as a
bit of calico; and so will very many other articles that are frequently
considered unwashable.
Supposing the garment unpicked and brushed, or washed, it should be
well examined as to the thicker and thinner parts, and the smaller
pattern laid on and cut accordingly, always observing to keep the nap
of the cloth all one way, from the top to the bottom of the garment.
Much of the secret of the neat appearance of clothes made by tailors
is in their flatly placing and pressing down all their seams by means
of heated irons. The seams should be opened out--that is, each side of
the seam should be folded back, and damped and smoothed by a hot iron
before the lining is put in. As to a pattern, the best way to obtain
one is from a tailor; and great assistance in the making up may be
obtained by observing how the article picked to pieces was made. All
visible button-holes should be made with silk, and not thread; and a
strip for strengthening laid where buttons and button-holes are to be.
There is no reason why clothes of this description, made by women,
should either be bad fitting, or the work clumsy looking. This is not
always the case; and any woman who has learned the use of her needle,
and uses her powers of observation, might as well rival the tailor as
not.
Odd cuttings of cloth are serviceable for mending or remaking the tops
of boots. Foot-stools also may be covered with remaining pieces, and
if braided with a lively-colored braid, have a neat and ornamental
appearance. We have also seen made from the tails of a coat, a
work-bag, which had a pattern with colored wools worked on each side,
and really had a handsome appearance. Girls in a family might just as
well use such materials to exercise their fancy and ingenuity upon, and
so often save a good many wasted shillings.
Hearth-rugs are sometimes made by cutting cloth into strips half an
inch wide and two inches long, and knitting them together with string.
This is done by inserting the piece of cloth exactly at the middle, in
the loop of the knitting and drawing it in very tight; it is rather
hard finger-work, and some make the rug by sewing the strips of cloth
on to a piece of old carpet or any other strong material that may be at
hand. This sort of rug will in winter form a very comfortable addition
to a poor man's fire-place. Or the bits may be knitted into smaller
pieces for door-mats.
But when all the best bits have been employed as use or fancy may
dictate, there will still remain some rough or thin cuttings which
cannot be worked up any how; what is to be done with these? Perhaps
we could not easily have answered this question, had we not recently
heard a girl say, "Oh, mother is very glad indeed of such pieces; when
she gets any, she washes them thoroughly, and sets us children to cut
them up very small indeed, and fills a case with them to make a pillow;
all our pillows and bolsters, and even the beds at home, are made like
that, and we find them very comfortable; mother could never afford to
buy proper beds for all us children."
Linen and cotton, and even flannel under-clothing, may generally be
darned and pieced until the whole fabric is too much worn to be worth
making into garments of any other form. It may sometimes be worth
while, where the material has been originally good, to slightly make
from them shirts and petticoats for infants; as the growth of the
infant forbids their being worn any great length of time, and the
material having been previously used is softer than new.
* * * * *
MAY-DAY.
The observance of May-day was a custom which, until the close of the
reign of James the First, alike attracted the attention of the royal
and the noble, as of the vulgar class. Henry the Eighth, Elizabeth,
and James patronized and partook of its ceremonies; and, during this
extended era, there was scarcely a village in the kingdom but had a
May-pole, with its appropriate games and dances.
The origin of these festivities has been attributed to three different
sources--Classic, Celtic, and Gothic. The first appears to us to
establish the best claim to the parentage of our May-day rites, as a
relic of the Roman Floralia, which were celebrated on the last four
days of April, and on the first of May, in honor of the goddess Flora,
and were accompanied with dancing, music, the wearing of garlands,
strewing of flowers, &c. The Bettein, or rural sacrifice of the
Highlanders, on this day, as described by Mr. Pennant and Dr. Jamieson,
seems to have arisen from a different motive, and to have been
instituted for the purpose of propitiating the various noxious animals
which might injure or destroy their flocks and birds. The Gothic
anniversary on May-day makes a nearer approach to the general purpose
of the Floralia, and was intended as a thanksgiving to the sun; if not
for the return of flowers, fruit, and grain, yet for the introduction
of a better season for fishing and hunting. The modes of conducting
the ceremonies and rejoicings on May-day may be best drawn from the
writers of the Elizabethan period, in which this festival appears to
have maintained a very high degree of celebrity, though not accompanied
with that splendor of exhibition which took place at an earlier period,
in the reign of Henry the Eighth. It may be traced, indeed, from the
era of Chaucer, who, in the conclusion of his "Court of Love," has
described the feast of May, when
Forth goth all the court, both most and leas,
To fetch the floures fresh, and braunch and blome;
And namely hauthorn brought both page and grome:
And then, rejoysen in their great delite,
Eke ech at other throw the floures bright,
The primerose, the violets, and the gold,
With fresh garlants party blew and white.
And it should be observed that this, the simplest mode of celebrating
May-day, was as much in vogue in the days of Shakspeare as the more
complex one, accompanied by the morris-dance and games of Robin Hood.
The following description, by Bourne and Borlase, manifestly alludes
to the costume of this age, and to the simpler mode of commemorating
the first of May: "On the calends, or the first day of May," says the
former, "the juvenile part of both sexes were wont to rise a little
after midnight, and walk to some neighboring wood, accompanied with
music and the blowing of horns, where they break down branches from the
trees, and adorn them with nosegays and crowns of flowers. When this is
done, they return with their booty homewards, about the rising of the
sun, and make their doors and windows to triumph in the flowery spoil.
The after part of the day is chiefly spent in dancing round a tall
pole, which is called a May-pole; which, being placed in a convenient
part of the village, stands there, as it were, consecrated to the
goddess of flowers, without the least violence offered to it, in the
whole circle of the year."
"An ancient custom," says the latter, "still retained by the Cornish,
is that of decking their doors and porches on the first of May with
green sycamore and hawthorn boughs, and of planting trees, or rather
stumps of trees, before their houses. And, on May-eve, they from towns
make excursions into the country, and, having cut down a tall elm,
brought it into town, fitted a straight and taper pole to the end of
it, and painted the same, erect it in the most public places; and on
holidays and festivals adorn it with flower-garlands, or ensigns and
streamers." So generally prevalent was this habit of early rising on
May-day, that Shakspeare makes one of his inferior characters in King
Henry the Eighth exclaim--
Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible
(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons)
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be.
But, about the commencement of the sixteenth century, or sooner, a
very material addition was made to the celebration of the rites of
May-day by the introduction of the characters of Robin Hood and some
of his associates. This was done with a view towards the encouragement
of archery, and the custom was continued even beyond the close of the
reign of James the First. It is true that the May-games, in their
rudest form--the mere dance of lads and lasses round a May-pole, or
the simple morris with the Lady of the May--were occasionally seen
during the days of Elizabeth; but the general exhibition was the more
complicated ceremony which we are about to describe. The personages
who now become the chief performers in the morris-dance were four of
the most popular outlaws of Sherwood Forest. Warner, the contemporary
of Shakspeare, speaking of the periods of some of our festivals, and
remarking that "ere Penticost began our May," adds--
Tho' (then) Robin Hood, litell John, frier Tuck,
And Marian, deftly play,
And lord and ladie gang till kirke,
With lads and lasses gay;
Fra masse and een sang sa gud cheere,
And glee on ery greene.
These four characters, therefore--Robin Hood, Little John, Friar Tuck,
and Maid Marian--although no constituent parts of the original English
morris, became at length so blended with it, especially on the festival
of May-day, that, until the practice of archery was nearly laid aside,
they continued to be the most essential part of the pageantry.
* * * * *
BLESSINGTON'S CHOICE.
BY FITZ MORNER.
"Be kind to thy mother, for lo, on her brow,
May traces of sorrow be seen."--_Popular Melody._
"Well, Blessington, so you've come back to locate with us, have you?
Got enough of travelling and all its vexations, I presume?"
"Enough? As you please about that, George; but I find no vexations so
weighty as to overcome the pleasures to be enjoyed in travel, by any
manner of means. Still, I have returned to settle down in my native
land, and my good genius seems to have thrown Dallydale in my way; so
here I remain, and have commenced practice, as you see--or, rather,
_intend_ to commence, when any business presents itself."