^^^^' '^ <^ V «■ ■V * • ' ■• v^ .* \- 'f> %■ ^^^' / ■'% c <. < •5: /*/o, xO<^. "OO^ ,0'' X^ ^^, K^ ,>^^ Confessions ,j^ OP A HOUSEKEEPEK. . -» -v BY MRS. JOHN SMITH. - . — J-J-: — j-r- >, PHILADELPHIA: LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO. NO. 14 NORTH FOURTH STREET. 18 5 2. /S7o Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by T. S. ARTHUR, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. STEREOTTPKD BT GEORGE CHA.RLZS. PRINTED UY T. K. k P. 0. C0LUN8. ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE My Speculation in China Ware 8 Shotting why the Dinner was Late 20 Cheap Furniture 38 A convenient Distance from the City 55 A plain Family Dinner 68 Not at Home 85 Rather Slippery 99 Sausages for Tea Ill "I wonder who it is from. Mrs. Smith gets a great MANY Letters" 122 Broiling a Lobster 146 *' If any thing is sent Home, lay it carefully on my Bed" 163 Moths in my Auction Sofa 178 (3) CONTENTS. < » » » » CHAPTER I. PAGE My Speculation in China Ware 9 CHAPTER II. Something about Cooks 21 CHAPTER III. Light on the Subject 29 CHAPTER IV. Cheap Furniture ^ ...... . 37 CHAPTER V. Is IT Economy ? 46 CHAPTER YI. Living at a contenient Distance 54 CHAPTER VII. The picked-uf Dinner 09 CHAPTER VIIL "Who is Kriss Kringle? .....-,•.. ........ ... 77 CHAPTER IX. Not at Home 84 CHAPTER X. Shirt Buttons 92 CHAPTER XL Pavement Washing in Winter 98 A 2 (5) 6 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XII. PAGi Kegard for the Poor 105 CHAPTER XIII. Something more about Cooks 110 CHAPTER XIV. Not a Rag on their Backs 110 CHAPTER XV. Curiosity 123 CHAPTER XVI. IIOUSE-CLEANING 129 CHAPTER XVII. Broiling a Lobster 147 CHAPTER XVIII. The Strawberry- woman 150 CHAPTER XIX. Lots of Things 1G2 CHAPTER XX. A Cure for Low Spirits 170 CHAPTER XXI. A Bargain 179 CHAPTER XXII. A peevish Day and its Consequences 187 CHAPTER XXIII. Words 107 CHAPTER XXIV. May be so 203 CHAPTER XXV. *' The poor Child died" 209 ii>*i'j CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPEE. CHAPTER I. MY SPECULATION IN CHINA WAKE. This hajDpened a very few years after my marriage, and is one of those feeling incidents in life that we never forget. My husband's in- come was moderate, and we found it necessary to deny ourselves many little articles of orna- ment and luxury, to the end that there might be no serious abatement in the comforts of life. In furnishing our house, we had been obliged to content ourselves mainly with things useful. Our parlor could boast of nine cane-seat chairs ; one high-backed cane-seat rocking chair ; a pair of card tables ; a pair of ottomans, the covers for which I had worked in worsted ; and a few illus- trated books upon the card tables. There were no pictures on the walls, nor ornaments on the mantle pieces. For a time after my marriage with Mr. Smith, I did not think much about the plainness of our style of living ; but after a while, contrasts be- tween my ow^n parlors and those of one or two friends, would take place in mv mind; and I (9) 10 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. often found myself wishing that we could afford a set of candelabras, a pair of china vases, or some choice pieces of Bohemian glass. In fact, I set my heart on something of the kind, though I concealed the weakness from my husband. Time stole on, and one increase after another to our family, kept up the necessity for careful expenditure, and at no time was there money enough in the purse to justify any outlay beyond what the wants of the household required. So my mantel pieces remained bare as at first, not- withstanding the desire for something to put on them still remained active. One afternoon, as I sat at work renovating an old garment, with the hope of making it look almost " as good as new," my cook entered and said — " There's a man down stairs, Mrs. Smith, with a basket full of the most beautiful glass dishes and china ornaments that you ever did see ; and he says that he will sell them for old clothes." " For old clothes ?" I responded, but half com- prehending what the girl meant. " Yes ma'am. If you have got an old coat, or a pair of pantaloons that aiut good for no- thing, he will buy them, and pay you in glass or china." I paused for a moment to think, and then said — " Tell him to come up into the dining room, Mary." The girl went down stairs, and soon came back in company with a dull looking old man, who carried on his arm a large basket, in which were MY> SPECULATION IN CHINA WARE. 11 temptingly displayed rich china vases^ motto and presentation cups and saucers, glass dishes, and sundry other articles of a like character. " Any old coats, pantaloons or vests ?" said the man, as he placed, carefully, his basket on the floor. " Don't want any money. See here ! Beautiful !" And as he spoke, he took up a pair of vases and held them before my eyes. They were just the thing for my mantle pieces, and I covetted them on the instant. "What's the price?" I enquired. "Got an old coat?" was my only answer. " Don't want money." My husband was the possessor of a coat that had seen pretty good service, and which he had not worn for some time. In fact, it had been voted superannuated, and consigned to a dark corner of the clothes-press. The thought of this garment came very naturally into my mind, and with the thought a pleasant exhilaration of feeling, for I already saw the vases on my mantles, "Any old clothes?" repeated the vender of china ware. Without a word I left the dining room, and hurried up to where our large clothes-press stood, in the passage above. From this I soon abstracted the coat, and then descended with quick steps. The dull face of the old man brightened, the moment his eyes fell upon the garment. He seized it with a nervous movement, and seemed to take in its condition at a single glance. Ap- 12 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. parcntly, the examination was not very satisfac- tory, for he let the coat fall, in a careless man- ner, across a chair, giving his shoulders a shrug, Avhile a slight expression of contempt flitted over his countenance. " Not much good !" fell from his lips after a pause. By this time I had turned to his basket, and was examining, more carefully, its contents. Most prominent stood the china vases, upon which my heart was already set ; and instinct- ively I took them in my hands. " What will you give for the coat ?" said I. The old man gave his head a significant shake, as he replied — "No very good." " It's worth something," I returned. " Many a poor person would be glad to buy it for a small sum of money. It's only a little de- faced. I'm sure its richly worth four or five dollars." "Pho! Pho! Five dollar! Pho !" The old man seemed angry at my most unreasonable assuniption. " Well, well," said I, beginning to feel a little impatient, "just tell me what you will give for it." " What you want ?" he enquired, his manner visibly changing. " I want these vases, at any rate," I answered, holding up the articles I had mentioned. "Worth four, Hye dollar!" ejaculated the dealer, in well feigned surprise. I shook my head. He shrugged his shoulders, MY SPECULATION IN CHINA WARE. 13 and commenced searching his basket, from which, after a while, he took a china cup and saucer, on which I read, in gilt letters, " For my Hus- band." " Give you this," said he. It was now my time to show surprise ; I an- swered — "Indeed you won't, then. But I'll tell you what I will do ; I'll let you have the coat for the vases and this cup and saucer." To this proposition the man gave an instant and decided negative, and seemed half offended by my offer. He threw the coat, which was in his hands again, upon a chair, and stooping down took his basket on his arm. I was de- ceived by his manner, and began to think that I had proposed rather a hard bargain; so I said — •'• You can have the coat for the vases, if you care to make the exchange ; if not, why no harm is done." For the space of nearly half a minute, the old man stood in apparent irresolution, then he re- plied, as he set down his basket and took out the pair of vases — "I don't care; you shall have them." I took the vases and he took the coat. A mo- ment or two more, and I heard the street door close behind the dealer in china ware, with a very decided jar. "Ain't they beautiful, aunty?" said I to my old aunt Rachel, who had been a silent witness of the scene I have just described; and I held the pair of vases before her eyes. 14 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. " Why yes, they are rather pretty, Jane," re- plied aunt Rachel, a little coldly, as I thought. " Rather pretty ! They are beautiful," said I warmly. " See there !" And I placed them on the dining room mantle. " How much they will improve our parlors." " Not half so much as that old coat you as good as gave away would have improved the feelings as well as the looks of poor Mr. Bryan, who lives across the street," was the unexpected and rebuking answer of aunt Rachel. The words smote on my feelings. Mr. Bryan was a poor, but honest and industrious young man, upon whose daily labor a wife and five children were dependent. He went meanly clad, because he could not earn enough, in addition to what his family required, to buy comfortable clothing for himself. I saw, in an instant, what the true disposition of the coat should have been. The china vases would a little improve the appear- ance of my parlors; but how many pleasani feelings and hours and days of comfort, would the old coat have given to Mr. Bryan. I said no more. Aunt Rachel went on v/ith her knit- ting, and I took the vases down into the parlors and placed them on the mantles — one in each room. But they looked small, and seemed quite solitary. So I put one on each end of a single mantle. This did better; still, I was disap- pointed in the appearance they made, and a good deal displeased with myself I felt that I had made a bad bargain — that is, one from which I should obtain no real pleasure. For a while I sat opposite the mantle-piece, MY SPECULATION IN CHINA WARE. 15 looking at the vases — ^but, not admiringly ; then I left the parlor, and went about my household duties, but, with a pressure on my feelings. I was far, very far from being satisfied with myself. About an hour afterwards my husband came home. I did not take him into the parlor to show him my little purchase, for, I had no heart to do so. As we sat at the tea table, he said, addressing me — " You loiow that old coat of mine that is up in the clothes-press ?" I nodded my head in assent, but did not ven- ture to speak. " I've been thinking to-day," added my hus- band, " that it would be just the thing for Mr. Bryan, who lives opposite. I'ts rather too much worn for me, but will look quite decent on him, compared with the clothes he now wears. Don't you think it is a good thought ? We will, of course, make him a present of the garment." My eyes drooped to the table, and I felt the blood crimsoning my face. For a moment or two I remained silent, and then answered — " I'm sorry you didn't think of this before ; but it's too late now." " Too late ! Why ?" enquired my husband. "I sold the coat this afternoon," was my reply. " Sold it !" " Yes. A man came along with some hand- some china ornaments, and I sold the coat for a pair of vases to set on our mantle-pieces." There was an instant change in my husband's face. He disapproved of what I had done ; and, B 16 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. though he uttered no condemning words, his countenance gave too clear an index to his feelings. '' The coat would have done poor Mr. Byran a great deal more good than the vases will ever do Jane," spoke up aunt Kachel, with less regard for my feelings than was manifested by my hus- band. "I don't think," she continued, "that any body ought to sell old clothes for either money or nicknackeries to put on the mantle- pieces. Let them be given to the poor, and they'll do some good. There isn't a housekeeper in moderate circumstances that couldn't almost clothe some poor family, by giving away the cast off garments that every year accumulate on her hands." How sharply did I feel the rebuking spirit in these words of aunt Rachel. " What's done can't be helped now," said my husband kindly, interrupting, as he spoke, some further remarks that aunt Rachel evidently intended to make. "We must do better next time." " I must do better," was my quick remark, made in penitent tones. " I was very thought- less." To relieve my mind, my husband changed the subject of conversation; but, nothing could re- lieve the pressure upon my feelings, caused by a too acute consciousness of having done what in the eyes of my husband, looked like a want of true humanity. I could not bear that he should think me void of sympathy for others. The day following was Sunday. Church time came, and Mr. Smith went to the clothes press MY SrECULATION IN CHINA WARE. 17 for his best coat, which had been worn only for a few months. ^' Jane !" he called to me suddenly, in a voice that made me start. " Jane ! Where is my best coat?" '' In the clothes press," I replied, coming out from our chamber into the passage, as I spoke. " No ; it's not here," was his reply. " And, I shouldn't wonder if you had sold my good coat for those china vases." " No such thing !" I quickly answered, though my heart gave a great bound at his words ; and then sunk in my bosom with a low tremor of alarm. " Here's my old coat," said Mr. Smith, holding up that defaced garment — "Where is the new one ?" " The old clothes man has it, as sure as I live !" burst from my lips. " Well, that is a nice piece of work, I must confess !" This was all my husband said; but it was enough to smite me almost to the floor. Cover- ing my face with my hands, I dropped into a chair, and sat and sobbed for a while bitterly. " It can't be helped now, Jane," said Mr. Smith, at length, in a soothing voice. " The coat is gone, and there is no help for it. You will know better next time." That was all he said to me then, and I was grateful for his kind consideration. He saw that I was punished quite severely enough, and did not add to my pain by rebuke or complaint. An attempt was made during the week to re- 18 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. cover the coat, valued at some twenty dollars ; but the china ornament-man Avas not to be found — he had made too good a bargain to run the risk of having it broken. About an hour after the discovery of the loss of my husband's coat, I went quietly down into the parlor, and taking from the mantle-piece the china vases, worth, jDrobably, a dollar for the pair, concealed them under my apron, lest any one should see what I had; and, returning up stairs, hid them aw^ay in a dark closet, where they have ever since remained. The reader may be sure that I never forgot this, my first and last speculation in china ware. \ CHAPTER 11. SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS. Was there ever a good cook who hadn't some prominent fault that completely overshadowed her professional good qualities ? If my experi- ence is to answ^er the question, the reply will be — no. I had been married several years before I was fortunate enough to obtain a cook that could be trusted to boil a potato, or broil a steak. I felt as if completely made up when Margaret served her first dinner. The roast was just right, and all the vegetables were cooked and flavored as well as if I had done it myself — in fact, a little better. My husband eat with a relish not often exhibited, and praised almost every thing on the table. For a week, one good meal followed another in daily succession. We had hot cakes, light and fine-flavored, every morning for breakfast, with coffee not to be beaten — and chops or steaks steaming from the gridiron, that would have gladdened the heart of an epicure. Dinner was served, during the time, with a punctuality that was rarely a minute at fault, while every article of food brought upon the table, fairly tempted the appetite. Light rolls, rice cakes, or " Sally Luns," made without suggestion on my part, b2 (21) 22 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. usually met us at tea time. In fact, the very delight of Margaret's life appeared to be in cook- ing. She was born for a cook. Moreover, strange to say, Margaret was good- tempered, a most remarkable thing in a good cook ; and more remarkable still, was tidy in her person, and cleanly in her work. " She is a treasure," said I to my husband, one day, as we passed from the dining-room, after having partaken of one of her excellent din- ners. " She's too good," replied Mr. Smith — " too good to last. There must be some bad fault about her — good cooks always have bad faults — and I am looking for its appearance every day." " Don't talk so, Mr. Smith. There is no rea- son in the world why a good cook should not be as faultless as any one else." Even while I said this, certain misgivings in- truded themselves. My husband went to his store soon after. About three o'clock Margaret presented her- self, all dressed to go out, and said that she was going to see her sister, but would be back in time to get tea. She came back, as she promised, but, alas for my good cook ! The fault appeared. She was so much intoxicated that, in attempting to lift the kettle from the fire, she let it fall, and came near scalding herself dreadfully. Oh, dear! I shall never forget the sad disappointment of that hour. How the pleasant images of good dinners and comrorta]>le lireak f:\sts and 8Uj)pers Faded SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS. 23 from my vision. The old trouble was to come back again, for the faultless cook had mani- fested a fault that vitiated, for us, all her good qualities. On the next day, I told Margaret that we must part ; but she begged so hard to be kept in her place, and promised good behaviour in future so earnestly, that I was prevailed on to try her again. It was of no use, however — in less than a week she was drunk again, and I had to let her go. After that, for some months, we had burnt steaks, waxy potatoes, and dried roast beef to our hearts' content ; while such luxuries as muf- fins, hot cakes, and the like were not to be seen on our uninviting table. My next good cook had such a violent temper, that I was actually afraid to show my face in the kitchen. I bore with her until patience was no longer a virtue, and then she went. Biddy, who took charge of my "kitchen cabi- net," a year or so afterwards, proved herself a culinary artist of no ordinary merit. But, alas ! Biddy " kept a room ;" and so many strange dis- appearances of bars of soap, bowls of sugar, prints of butter, etc., took place, that I was forced to the unwilling conclusion that her room was simply a store room for the surplussage of mine. Some pretty strong evidence on this point coming to my mind, I dismissed Biddy, who was par- ticularly forward in declaring her honesty, al- thoup;li I had never accused her of beino: want- ing in that inestimable virtue. fSome of my experiences in cooks have been 24 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. amusing enough. Or, I should rather say, are amusing enough to tidnh about: they were rather annoying at the time of their occurrence. One of these experiences 1 will relate. I had obtain- ed a " treasure" in a new cook, who was not only good tempered and cleanly, but understood lier business reasonably well. Kitty was a little different from former incumbents of her office in this, that she took an interest in reading, and generally dipped into the morning paper before it found its way up stairs. To this, of course, I had no objection, but w^as rather pleased to see it. Time, however, which proves all things, showed my cook to be rather too literary in her inclinations. I often found her reading, when it w^as but reasonable for me to expect that she w^ould be working ; and overdone or burnt dishes occasionally marked the degree in which her mind was absorbed in her literary pleasures, which I discovered in time, were not of the highest order — such books as the " Mysteries of Paris" furnishin": the aliment that fed her imasri- nation. "Jane," said my husband to me one morning, as he was about leaving the house, " I believe I must invite my old friend Green to dine wdth me to-day. He will leave the city to-morrow, and I may not have the pleasure of a social hour with him again for years. Besides, I want to intro- duce him to you. We were intimate as young men, and much attached to each other. I would like you to know him." *" Invite him, by all means," was my reply. " I will send home a turlcey from market," SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS. - 25 said Mr. Smith, as lie stood holding on to the open door. " Tell Kitty to cook it just right. Mrs. Green, I am told, is a first-rate housekeeper, and I feel like showing you ofi* to the best ad- vantage." '' Don't look for too much," I replied, smiling, " lest you be disappointed." Mr. Smith went away, and I walked back to the kitchen door to say a word to Kitty. As I looked in, the sound of my feet on the floor caused her to start. She was standing near a windoAV, and at my appearance she hurriedly concealed something under her apron. " Kitty," said I, " we are to have company to dine with us to-day. Mr. Smith will send home a turkey, which you must dress and cook in the best manner. I will be down during the morn- ing to make some lemon puddings. Be sure to have a good fire in the range, and see that all the drafts are clear." ""^ Kitty promised that every thing should be right, and I went up stairs. In due time the marketing came home, ^bout eleven o'clock I repaired to the kitchen, and, much to my sur- prise, found all in disorder. " What in the world have you been doing all the morning ?" said I, feeling a little fretted. Kitty excused herself good naturedly, and commenced bustling about to put things to rights, while I got flour and other articles necessary for my purpose, and went to work at my lemon puddings, which were, in due time, ready for the oven. Giving all necessary directions as to their baking, and charging Kitty to be sure to have 2G CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. every thing on the table prcci.sely at our usual liour for dining, I went up into the nursery to look after the children, and to see about other matters requiring my attention. Time passed on until, to my surprise, I heard the clock strike one. I had yet to dress for dinner. " I wonder how Kitty is coming on ?" said I to myself. " I hope she will not let the puddings get all dried up." But, I felt too much in a hurry to go down and satisfy myself as to the state of affairs in the kitchen ; and took it for granted that all was right. A little while afterwards, I perceived an odor as of something burning. " What is that ?" came instinctively from my lips. " If Kitty has let the puddings burn !" Quick as thought I turned from my room, and went gliding down stairs. As I neared tiie kitchen, the smell of burned Hour, or pastry, grew stronger. All was silent below ; and I ap- proached in silence. On entering Kittj-'s domain, I perceived that lady seated in front of the range, Avith a brown covered pamphlet novel held close to her face, in the pages of which she was com- pletely lost. I never saw any one more entirely absorbed in a book. No sign of dinner was any wdiere to be seen. Upon the range was a kettle of water boiling over into the fire, and from one of the ovens poured forth a dark smoke, that told too plainly the ruin of my lemon puddings. And, to cap all, the turkey, yet guiltless of fire or dripping pan, was upon the iloor, in possession SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS. 27 of a strange cat, which had come in through the open window. Bending over the still entranced cook, I read the title of her book. It was " The Wandering Jew." " Kitty !" I don't much wonder, now, at the start she gave, for I presume there was not the zephyr's softness in my voice. "Oh, ma'am !" She caught her breath as her eyes rested upon the cat and the turkey. " In- deed, ma'am !" And then she made a spring towards puss, who, nimbly eluding her, passed out by the way through which she had come in. By this time I had jerked open the oven door, when there came rushing out a cloud of smoke, which instantly filled the room. My puddings were burned to a crisp ! As for the turkey, the cat had eaten off one side of the breast, and it was no longer fit for the table. " Well ! this is fine work !" said I, in an angry, yet despairing voice. "Fine work, upon my word !" " Oh, ma'am !" Kitty interrupted me by say- ing, "I'll run right off and buy another turkey, and have it cooked in time. Indeed I will, ma'am ! And I'll pay for it. It's all my fault ! oh dear ! dear me ! Now don't be angry, Mrs. Smith ! I'll have dinner all ready in time, and no one will be any the wisel* for this." " In time !" and I raised my finger towards the kitchen clock, the hands of which marked the period of half past one. Two o'clock was our regular dinner hour. " Mercy !" ejaculated the frightened cook, as 28 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. she sank back upon a chair ; " I thought it was only a little past eleven. I am sure it was only eleven when 1 sat down just to read a page or two while the puddings were in the oven !" The truth was, the " Wandering Jew," in the most exciting portion of which she happened to be, proved too much for her imagination. Her mind had taken no note of time, and two hours passed with the rapidity of a few minutes. " I don't exactly comprehend this," said my husband, as he sat down with his old friend, to dine off of broiled steak and potatoes, at half- past two o'clock. " It's all the fault of the ' Wandering Jew !' " I replied, making an effort to drive away, with a smile, the red signs of mortification that were in my face. " The Wandering Jew !" returned my husband, looking mystified. " Yes, the fault lies with that imaginary per- sonage," said I, "strange as it may seem." And then 1 related the mishajDS of the morning. For desert, we had some preserved fruit and cream, and a hearty laugh over the burnt puddings and disfigured turkey. Poor Kitty couldn't survive the mortification. She never smiled again in my house ; and, at the close of the week, removed to another home. CHAPTER III. LIGHT ON THE SUBJECT. " The oil's out, mum," said Hannah, the do- mestic who succeeded Kitty, pushing her head into the room where I sat sewing. " It can't be," I rephed. " Indade, mum, and it is. There isn't the full of a lamp left," was the positive answer. " Then, what have you done with it ?" said I, in a firm voice. "It isn't four days since a gal- lon was sent home from the store." " Four days ! It's more nor a week, mum !" " Don't tell me that, Hannah," I replied, firm- ly; "for I know better. I was out on last Monday, and told Brown to send us home a gallon." "' Sure, and it's burned, mum, thin ! What else could go with it f " It never was burned in our lamps," said I, in answer to this. "You've either Avasted it, or given it away." At this Hannah, as in honor bound, became highly indignant, and indulged in certain imper- tinences which I did not feel inclined to notice. But, as the oil was all gone, and no mistake ; and, as the prospect of sitting in darkness was not, by any means, an agreeable one — the only remedy was to order another gallon. c (29) ■ oO CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. Sometliing was wrong ; that was clear. The oil had never been burned. That evening, myself and husband talked over the matter, and both of us came to the conclu- sion, that it would never do. The evil must be remedied. A gallon of oil must not again dis- a})])ear in four days. '' Why,' said my husband, " it ought to last us at least a week and a hall." " Not quite so long/' I replied. " We burn a gallon a week." " Not fairly, I'm inclined to think. But four days is out of all conscience." I readily assented to this, adding some trite remark about the unconscionable wastefulness of domestics. On the next morning, as my husband arose from bed, he shivered in the chilly air^ saying, as he did so : " That girl's let the fire go out again in the heater! Isn't it too bad? This thing happens now every little while. I'm sure I've said enough to her about it. There's nothing wanted but a little attention." " It is too bad, indeed," I added. " There's that fishy smell again !" exclaimed Mr. Smith. " What can it be ?" " Fishy smell ! So there is." " Did you get any mackerel from the store yesterday ?" " None." " Perhaps Hannah ordered some ?" " No. I had a ham sent home, and told her to have a slice of that broiled for breakfast." LIGHT ON THE SUBJECT. 31 " I don't know what to make of it. Every now and then that same smell comes up through the register — particularly in the morning. I'll bet a sixpence there's some old fish tub in the cellar of which she's made kindUng." " That may be it/' said I. And, for want of a better reason, we agreed, for the time being, upon that hypothesis. At the end of another four daj^s, word came up that our best sperm oil, for which we paid a dollar and forty cents a gallon, was out again. " Impossible !" I ejaculated. " But it is mum," said Hannah. " There's not a scrimption left — not so much as the full of a thimble." " You must be mistaken. A gallon of oil has never been burned in this house in four days." " We burned the other gallon in four days," said Hannah, with provoking coolness. " The evenings are very long, and we have a great many lights. There's the parlor light, and the passage light, and the — " " It's no use for you to talk, Hannah," I re- plied, interrupting her. '^ No use in the world. A gallon of oil in four days has never gone by fair means in this house. So don't try to make me believe it — for I won't. I m too old a house- keeper for that." Finding that I was not to be convinced, Han- nah became angry, and said something about her not being a '' thafe." I was unmoved by this, however ; and told her, with as much stern- ness of manner as I could assume, that T should 32 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. hold her responsible for any future waste of the article; and tliat if she did not feel inchned to remain on such terras, she had better go. " Dade, thin, and 111 go to onst," was the girl's spirited answer. " Very well, Hannah. You are your own mistress in this respect," said I, coolly. " I'm not in the least troubled about lilling your place ; nor fearful of getting one who will waste a gal- lon of oil in four days." Hannah retired from my presence in high in- dignation, and I fully expected that slie would desert my house forthwith. But, no ; unlike some others of her class, she knew when she had a good place, and had sense enough to keep it as long as she could stay. In due time she cooled off, and I heard no more about her getting another place. " There's that fishy smell again !" exclaimed my husband, as he arose up in bed one morning, a day or two afterwards, and snuffed the air. "And, as I live, the fire in the heater is all out again ! I'll have some light on this subject, see if I don't. And he sprung upon the floor, at the same time hurriedly putting on his dressing gown and a jmir of slippers. '' Where are you going ?" said I, seeing him moving towards the door. " To find out where this fishy smell comes from," he replied, disappearing as he spoke. In about live minutes, Mr. Smith returned. "Well, if that don't beat all!" he exclaimed, as he re-entered the chamber. LIGHT ON THE SUBJECT. 3 o " What ?" I very naturally enquired. " I've found out all about that fishy smell," said he. " AVhat about it ? Where does it come from ?" "You wouldn't guess in a month of Sun- days ! Well, this is a great world ! Live and learn !" " Explain yourself, Mr. Smith. I'm all impa- tience." " I will ; and in a few words. The fire was out in the heater." "Yes." "And I very naturally took my way down to where I expected to find our lady at work in the re-knidling process." "Well?" "Sure enough, there she was, kindling the fire with a vengeance." " With what ?" I asked. " With a vengeance ?" " Yes, with a vengeance to my pocket. She had the oil can in her hands, and was pouring its contents freely into the furnace, in order to quicken combustion. I now understand all about this fishy smell." " And I all about the remarkable disappear- ance of a gallon of oil in four days. Kindling the fire with dollar and forty cent oil !" " Even so !" " What did you say to her, Mr. Smith?" " Nothing. But I rather think she'll not want me to look at her again, the huzzy !" " Kindling fire v/ith my best sperm oil ! Well, I can't get over that !" Something in this wise I continued to ejacu- c2 34 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. late, now and then, until my astonislimcnt fairly wore itself out. I didn't consider it worth while to say any tiling to Hannah when I went down stairs, think- ing it best to let the look my husband spoke of, do its work. By the way, I don't much wonder that she was frightened at his look — for he can — I^ut I forgot — I am speaking of my husband, and he might happen to read this. Of course, Hannah's days in my house were numbered. No faith was to be placed in a crea- ture who could so shamefully destroy a useful article 2)laced in her hands. If she would burn up the oil, it was but fair to infer that she would ;i.s remorselessly make way with other tmngs. So I parted with her. She begged me to let her jstay, and made all sorts of promises. But I was innnovable. Whether I bettered myself in the change, is somewhat doubtful. CHAPTER IV. CHEAP FURNITURE. One of the cardinal virtues, at least for house- keepers who are not overburdened in the matter of income, is economy. In the early part of our married life, Mr. Smith and myself were forced to the practice of this virtue, or incur debt, of which both of us had a natural horror. For a few years we lived in the plain style with which we had begun the world. But, when our cir- cumstances improved, we very naturally desired to improve the appearance of things in our household. Our cane seat chairs and ingrain carpet looked less and less attractive every day. And, when we went out to spend an evening, socially, with our friends, the contrast between home and abroad was strikingly apparent to our minds. " I think," said Mr. Smith to me, one day, " that it is time we re-furnished our parlors." '^ If you can afford the outlay," I remarked. " It won't cost a great deal," he returned. " Not over three hundred dollars," said I. Mr. Smith shook his head as he answered : " Half that sum ought to be sufficient. What will we want ?" "A dozen mahogany chairs to begin with," I replied. " There will be sixty dollars." (37) 38 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. '' You don't expect to pay five dollars a-piece for chairs ?" said my husband, in a tone of sur- prise. " I don't think you can get good ones for less." " Indeed we can. I was looking at a very handsome set yesterday ; and the man only asked four dollars for them. I don't in the least doubt that I could get them for three and a half" " And a dear bargain you would make of that, I do not in the least doubt. It is ^^oor economy, Mr. Smith, to buy cheap furniture. It costs a great deal more in the end, than good furniture, and never gives you any satisfaction." " But these were good chairs, Jane. As good as I would wish to look at. The man said they were from one of the best shops in the city, and of superior workmanship and finish." As I make it a point never to prolong an argument with my *husband, when I see his mind bent in one direction, I did not urge my view of the case any farther. It was settled, however, that we could afford to re-furnish our parlors in a better style, and that in the course of the coming week, we should go out together and select a Brussels carpet, a sofa, a dozen ma- hogany chairs, a centre table, &c. As I had foreseen from the beginning, my husband's ideas of economy were destined to mar everything. At one of the cabinet ware-rooms was a very neat, well-made set of chairs, for which five dollars and a half were asked, but which the dealer, seeing that he was beyond our mark, offered for five dollars. They were cheap at that pi'ice. But Mr. Smith coiild not see CHEAP FURNITURE. 39 tliat they were a whit hetter than the set of chairs just mentioned as offered for four dollars; and which he v/as satisfied could be bought for three and a ha^lf. So I went with him to look at them. They proved to be showy enough, if that were any recommendation, but had a com- mon look in my eyes. They were not to be com- pared with the set we had just been examining. " Now, are they not very beautiful, Jane ?" said my husband. To me they are quite as hand- some as those we were asked sixty dollars for." From this I could not but dissent, seeing which, the cunning dealer came quickly to my husband's side of the question with various con- vincing arguments, among the strongest of which was an abatement in the price of the chairs — he seeing it to be for his interest to offer them for three dollars and three-quarters a-piece. "I'll give you three and a-half," said Mr. Smith, promptly. " Too little, that, sir," returned the dealer. " I don't make a cent on them at three and three- quarters. They are fully equal, in every respect, to the chairs you were offered at five dollars. I know the manufacturer, and have had his articles often." " Say three and a-half, and its a bargain," was the only reply made to tliis by my economical husband. I was greatly in hopes that the man would decline this ofter ; but, was disappointed. He hesitated for some time, and, at last, said : " Well, I don't care, take them along ; though it is throwing them away. Such a bargain you 40 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. will never get again, if you live to be as old as Matliu.selah. But, now, don't you want some- thing else? I can sell you cheaper and better articles in the furniture line than you can get ill the city. Small profits and quick sales — I go in for the nimble sixpence." My husband was in the sphere of attraction, and I saw that it would take a stronger effort on jny part to draAV him out than I wished to make. 80, I jdelded with as good a grace as possible, and aided in the selection of a cheap sofa, a cheap, overgrown centime table, and tAvo or three other article that were almost " thrown away." Well, our p)arlor was furnished with its new dress in good time, and made quite a respectable appearance. Mr. Smith was delighted with every- thing ; the more particularly as the cost had been so moderate. I had my own thoughts on the subject; and looked very confidently for some evidences of imperfection in our great bar- gains. I was not very long kept in suspense. One morning, about two weeks after all had been fitted out so elegantly, while engaged in dusting the chairs, a part of the mahogany ornament in the back of one of them fell off. On the next day, another showed the same evi- dence of imperfect workmanship. A few eve- nings afterwards, as we sat at the centre table, one of our children leaned on it rather heavily, when there was a sudden crack, and the side upon which he was bearing his weight, swaged down the distance of half an inch or more. The next untoward event was the dropping of one of its feet by the sofa, and the warping up of a large CHEAP FURNITURE. 41 piece of veneering on the back. While lament- ing over this, we discovered a broken spring ready to make its way through the hair cloth covering. " So much for cheap furniture/' said I, in a tone of involuntary triumjDh. My husband looked at me half reproachfully^ and so I said no more. It was now needful to send for a cabinet maker, and submit our sofa and chairs to his handy workmanship. He quickly discovered other imperfections, and gave us the consoling information that our fine furniture was little above fourth-rate in quality, and dear at any price. A ten dollar bill was required to pay the damage they had already sustained, even under our careful hands. A more striking evidence of our folly in buy- ing cheap furniture was, however, yet to come. An intimate friend came in one evening to sit a few hours with us. After conversing for a time, both he and my husband took up books, and commenced reading, while I availed myself of the opportunity to write a brief letter. Our visitor, who was a pretty stout man, had the bad fault of leaning back in his chair, and balancing himself on its hind legs ; an experiment most trying to the best mahogahy chairs that were ever made. We were all sitting around the centre table, upon which burned a tall astral lamp, and I was getting absorbed in my letter, when suddenly there was a loud crash, followed by the breaking of the table from its centre, and the pitching 42 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEKPFR. over of the astral lamp, which, in falling, just gra7.cd my side, and went down, oil and all, upon our new carpet ! An instant more, and we were in total darkness. But, ere the light went out, a glance had revealed a scene that I shall never forget. Our visitor, whose weight, as he tried his usual balancing experiment, had caused the slender legs of his chair to snap off short, had fallen backwards. In trying to save himself, he had caught at the table, and wrenched that from its centre fastening. Startled by this sudden catastrophe, my husband had sprung to his feet, grasping his chair with the intent of drawing it away, when the top of the back came oft' in his hand. I saw all this at a single glance — and then we were shrouded in darkness. Of the scene that followed, I will not s^x^ak. My lady readers can, witout any eftbrt of the mind, imagine something of its unpleasant reality. As for our visitor, when lights were brought in, he was no where to be seen. I have a faint recollection of having heard the street door shut amid the confusion that succeeded the incident just described. About a week afterwards, the whole of our cheap furniture was sent to auction, where it brought less than half its first cost. It was then replaced with good articles, by good workmen, at a fair price ; not one of which has cost us, to this day, a single cent for repairs. A housekeeping friend of mine, committed, not long since, a similar error. Her husband could spare her a couple of hundred dollars for re-fur- nishing purposes ; but, as his business absorbed CHEAP FURNITURE. 43 nearly all of his time and thoughts, he left with her the selection of the new articles that were to beautify their parlors and chambers, merely saying to her : " Let what you get be good. It is cheapest in the end." Well, my friend had set her heart on a dozen chairs, a new sofa, centre table, and "what-not," for her parlors ; and on a dressing-bureau, mar- hogany bedstead, and wash-stand, for her cham- ber, besides a new chamber carpet. Her iirst visit was to the ware-rooms of one of our best cabinet makers ; but, his prices completely fright- ened her — for, at his rate, the articles she wanted would amount to more than all the money she had to spend, and leave nothing for the new chamber carpet. " I must buy cheaper," said she. " The cheapest is generally dearest in the end," returned the cabinet maker. " I don't know about that," remarked the lady, whose thoughts did not take in the meaning of the man's words. "All I know is, that I can get as good articles as I desire at lower prices than you ask." It did not once occur to my friend, that it would be wisest to lessen the number of articles, and get the remainder of the first quality. No ; her heart covered the whole inventory at first made out, and nothing less would answer. So she went to an auction store, and bought inferior articles at lower prices. I visited her soon after. She showed me her bargains, and, with an air of exultation, spoke of the cost. D 44 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. *' What do you think I paid for this?" said si 10, referring to a showy dressing-bureau ; and, as siie spoke, she took hold of the suspended looking-glass, and moved the upper portion of it forward. " Only seventeen dollars !" The words had scarcely passed her lips, ere the looking-glass broke away from one of the screws that held it in the standards, and fell, crashing, at our feet ! It cost just seven dollars to replace the glass. But, that was not all — over thirty dollars were paid during the first year for repairs. And this is only the beginning of troubles. Cheap furniture is, in most cases, the dearest that housekeepers can buy. It is always break- ing, and usually costs more, in a year or two, than the difference between its price and that of first-rate articles ; to say nothing of the vexation and want of satisfaction that always attends its possession. Better be content with fewer articles, if the purse be low, and have them good. While on this subject. I will incorporate in these " Confessions" an " Experience" of my sis- ter and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. John Jones. Mr. Jones is, in some respects, very much like Mr. Smith, and, as will be seen in the story about to be given, my sister's ideas of things and my own, run quite parallel to each other. The story has found its way, elsewhere, into print, for Mr. Jones, like myself, has a natural fondness for types. But its repetition here will do no harm, and brhig it before many who would not other- wise see it. CHAPTER y. IS IT ECOXOMY? The ^^ Experience" of my relative, Mr. John Jones, referred to in the preceding chapter, is given in what follows. After reading it, we think that few young housekeepers will commit the folly of indulging to any very great extent in cheap furniture. We had been married five years, and during the time had boarded for economy's sake. But the addition of one after another to our family, admonished us that it was getting time to enlarge our borders; and so we were determined to go to housekeeping. In matters of domestic econo- my both my wife and myself were a little '•' green," but I think that I was the greenest of the two. To get a house was our first concern, and to select furniture was our next. The house was found after two months' diligent search, and at the expense of a good deal of precious shoe leather. Save me from another siege at house- hunting ! I would about as soon undertake to build a suitable dwelling with my own hands, as to find one " exactly the thing" already up, and waiting with open doors for a tenant. All the really desirable houses that we found ticketed (45) 40 CONFESSIONS OF A IIOUSEKEErER. * "to let," were at least two prices above our limit, and most of those within our means we would hardly have lived in rent free. At last, however, we found a cosey little nest of a house, just built, and clean and neat as a new pin, from top to bottom. It suited us to a T. And now came the next most important business — selecting furniture. My wife's ideas had always been a little in advance of mine. That is, she liked to have every thing of the best quality; and had the weakness, so to speak, of desiring to make an appearance. As my income, at the time, was but moderate, and the prospect of an increase thereof not very flatter- ing, I felt like being exceedingly prudent in all outlays for furniture. " We must be content with things few and plain," said I, as we sat down one morning to figure up what we must get. " But let them be good," said my wife. " Strong and substantial," was my reply. " But we can't aflbrd to pay for much extra polish and filagree work." " I don't want any thing very extra, Mr. Jones," returned my v/ife, a little uneasily. " Though what I do have, I would like good. It's no economy, in the end, to buy cheap thino's." The emphasis on the word cheap, rather grated on my ear; for I was in favor of getting every thing as cheap as possible. " What kind of chairs did yow think of getting?" asked Mrs. Jones. "A handsome set of cane-seat," I replied, IS IT ECONOMY? 47 thinking that in this, at least, I would be even with her ideas on the subject of parlor chairs. But her face did not brighten. " What would you like ?" said I. " I believe it would be more economical in the end to get good stuffed seat, mahogany chairs/' replied Mrs. Jones. '^At ^Ye dollars a-piece, Ellen?" " Yes. Even at ^ve dollars a-piece. They would last us our life-time; while cane-seat chairs, if we get them, will have to be renewed two or three times, and cost a great deal more in the end, without being half so comfortable, or looking half-so well." " Sixty dollars for a dozen chairs, when very good ones can be had for twenty-four dollars ! Indeed, Ellen, we mustn't think of such a thing. We can't afford it. Remember, there are a great many other things to buy." " I know, dear ; but I am sure it will be much more economical in the end for us to diminish the number of articles, and add to the quality of what we do have. I am very much like the poor woman who preferred a cup of clear, strong, fragrant coffee, three times a week, to a decoc- tion of burnt rye every day. What I have, I do like good." "And so do I, Ellen. But, as I said before, there will be, diminish as we may, a great many things to buy, and we must make the cost of each as small as possible. We must not think of such extravagance as mahogany chairs now. At some other time we may get them." My wife here gave up the point, and, what I d2 18 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. thought a little remarkable, made no more points on the subject of furniture. I had every thing my own way ; I bought cheap to my heart's con- tent. It was only necessary for me to express my approval of an article, for her to assent to its purchase. As to patronizing your fashionable cabinet n.ialvers and high-priced upholsterers, we were not guilty of the lolly, but bought at reasonable rates from auction stores and at public sales. Our parlor carpets cost but ninety cents a yard, and were handsomer than those for which a lady of our acquaintance paid a dollar and thirty- eight. Our chairs were of a neat, fancy pattern, and had cost thirty dollars a dozen. We had hesitated for some time between a set at twenty- four dollars a dozen and these ; but the style being so much more attractive, we let our taste govern in the selection. The price of our sofa was eighteen dollars, and I thought it a really genteel affair, though my wife was not in rap- tures about it. A pair of card tables for fifteen dollars, and a marble-top centre table for fourteen, gave our parlors quite a handsome appearance. " I wouldn't ask any thing more comfortable or genteel than this," said I, when the parlors were all ^^ fixed" right. Mrs. Jones looked pleased with the appearance of things, but did not express herself extrava- gantly. In selecting our chamber furriiture, a hand- some dressing-l)ureau and French bedstead that my wife Avent to look at in the ware-room of a liigh-pi-iced cabinet maker, tempted her st ronglj*, IS IT ECONOMY? 49 and it was with some difficulty that I could get her ideas back to a regular maple four-poster, a plain, ten dollar bureau, and a two dollar dress- ing-glass. Twenty and thirty dollar mattresses, too, were in her mind, but when articles of the kind, just as good to wear, could be had at eight and ten dollars, Avhere was the use of wasting money in going higher ? The ratio of cost set down against the fore- going articles, was maintained from garret to kitchen; and I was agreeably disappointed to hnd, after the last bill for purchases was paid, that I was within the limit of expenditures I had proposed to make by over a hundred dollars. The change from a boarding-house to a com- fortable home was, indeed, pleasant. We could never get done talking about it. Every thing was so quiet, so new, so clean, and so orderly. " This is living," would drop from our lips a dozen times a week. One day, about three months after we had commenced housekeeping, I came home, and, on entering the parlor, the first thing that met my eyes was a large spot of white on the new sofa. A piece of the veneering had been knocked off, completely disfiguring it. " What did that ?" I asked of my wife. " In setting back a chair that I had dusted," she replied, " one of the feet touched the sofa lightly, when off dropped that veneer like a loose flake. I've been examining the sofa since, and find that it is a very bad piece of work. Just look here." And she drew me over to the place where my 50 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. eighteen dollar sofa stood, and pointed out sundry large seams that had gaped open, loose spots in the veneering, and riekety joints. I saw now, what I had not before seen, that the whole ar- ticle was of exceedingly common material and common workmanship. " A miserable piece of furniture !" said I. " It is, indeed," returned Mrs. Jones. " To buy an article like this, is little better than throwing money into the street." For a month the disfigured sofa remained in the parlor, a perfect eye-sore, when another piece of the veneering sloughed ojQf, and one of the feet became loose. It was then sent to a cabinet maker for repair; and cost for removing and mending just live dollars. Not long after this, the bureau had to take a like journey, for it had, strangely enough, fallen into sudden dilapidation. All the locks were out of order, half, the knobs were off, there was not a drawer that didn't require the most accu- rate balancing of forces in order to get it shut after it was once open, and it showed premoni- tory symptoms of shedding its skin like a snake. A five dollar bill was expended in putting this into something like iisahle order and respectable aspect. By this time a new set of castors was needed for the maple four-poster, which was ob- tained at the expense of two dollars. Moreover, the head-board to said four-poster, which, from its exceeding ugliness, had, from the first, been a terrible eye-sore to Mrs. Jones, as well as to myself, was, about tliis period, removed, and one of more sightly appearance sul^stituted, at the IS IT ECONOMY? 51 additional charge of six dollars. No tester frame had accompanied the cheap bedstead at its origi- nal purchase, and now my wife wished to have one, and also a light curtain above and valance below. All these, with trimmings, etc., to match, cost the round sum of ten dollars. " It looks very neat," said Mrs. Jones, after her curtains were up. " It does, indeed," said I. " Still," returned Mrs. Jones, " I would much rather have had a handsome mahogany French bedstead." " So would I," was my answer. " But you know they cost some thirty dollars, and w^e paid but sixteen for this." " Sixteen !" said my wife, turning quickly toward me. " It cost more than that/' " Oh, no. I have the bill in my desk," was my confident answer. " Sixteen was originally paid, T know," said Mrs. Jones. " But then, remember, what it has cost since. Two dollars for castors, six for a new head-board, and ten for tester and curtains. Thirty-four dollars in all ; when a very hand- some French bedstead, of good workmanship, can be bought for thirty dollars." I must own that I was taken somewhat aback by this array of figures " that don't lie." "And for twenty dollars we could have bought a neat, well made dressing-bureau, at Moore and Campion's, that would have lasted for twice as many years, and always looked in credit." " But ours, you know, only cost ten," said I. " The bureau, such as it is, cost ten, and the 52 CONFESSIONS OF A IIOUSKKEEFER. ^ glass two. Add five that we have already paid ior repairs, and the four that our maple bedstead has cost above the price of a handsome French one, and we will have the sum of twenty-one dollars, — enough to purchase as handsome a dressing-bureau as I would ask. So you see. Mr. Jones, that our cheap furniture is not gomg to turn out so cheap after all. And as for looks, why no one can say there is much to brag of." This was a new view of the case, and certainly one not very flattering to my economical vanity. I gave in, of course, and admitted that Mrs. Jones was right. But the dilapidations and expenses for repairs, to which I have just referred, were but as the "beginning of sorrows." It took about three years to show the full fruits of my error. By the end of that time, half my parlor chairs had beeii rendered useless in consequence of the back-breaking and seat-rending ordeals through which they had been called to pass. The sofa was unanimously condemned to the dining room, and the ninety cent carpet had gone on fading and defacing, until my wife said she was ashamed to put it even on her chambers. For repairs, our furniture had cost, up to this period, to say nothing of the perpetual annoyance of having it put out of order, and running for the cabinet maker and upholsterer, not less than a couple of hundred dollars. Finally, I grew desperate. " I'll have decent, well made furniture, let it cost what it will," said I, to Mrs. Jones. IS IT ECONOMY? 53 ^' You will find it cheapest in the end/' was her quiet reply. On the next day we went to a cabinet maker, whose reputation for good work stood among the liighest in the city; and ordered new parlor and chamber furniture — mahogany chairs, French bedstead, dressing-bureau and all, and as soon as they came home, cleared the house of all the old cheap (dear !) trash with which we had been worried since the day we commenced housekeep- ing. A good many years have passed since, and we have-not paid the first five dollar bill for repairs. All the drawers run as smoothly as railroad cars ; knobs are tight ; locks in prime order, and ve- neers cling as tightly to their places as if they had grown there. All is right and tight, and wears an orderly, genteel appearance ; and what is best of all, the cost of every thing we have, good as it is, is far below the real cost of what is inferior. " It is better — much better," said I to Mrs. Jones, the other day. " Better !" was her reply. " Yes, indeed, a thousand times better to have good things at once. Cheap furniture is dearest in the end. Every housekeeper ought to know this in the beginning. If we had known it, see what we would have saved." " If / had known it, you mean," said I. My wife looked kindly, not triumphantly, into my face, and smiled. When she again spoke, it was on another subject. CHAPTER VI. LIVING AT A CONVENIENT DISTANCE. TiiEKE are few of us who do not feel, at some time ill life, the desire for change. Indeed, change of place corresj^onding, as it does, in out- ward nature, to change of state in the mind, it is not at all surprising that we should, now and then, feel a strong desire to remove from the old, and get into new locations, and amid different external associations. Thus, we find, Jii many famiUes, an ever recurring tendency to removal. Lideed, I have some housekeeping friends who are rarely to be found in the same house, or in the same part of the city, in any two consecu- tive years. Three moves, Franklin used to say, were equal to a fire. There are some to whom I could point, who have been, if this holds true, as good as burned out, three or four times in the last ten years. But, I must not write too long a preface to my present story. Mr. Smith and myself can- not boast of larger organs of Inhabitativeness — I believe that is tjie word used by phrenologists — than many of our neighbors. Occasionally we have felt dissatisfied with the state of things around us, and become possessed of the demon of change. We have moved quite frequently, sometimes attaining superior comfort, and some (54) LIVING AT A CONVENIENT DISTANCE, 57 times, getting rather the worst of it for "the change." A few years ago, in the early spring-time, Mr. Smith said to me, one day : "I noticed, in riding out yesterday, a very pleasant country house on the Frankford Road, to let, and it struck me that it would be a fine thing for us, both as to health and comfort, to rent it for the summer season. What do you think of it?" " I alwaj^^s loved the country, you know," was my response. My heart had leaped at the proposition. " It is such a convenient distance from the city," said Mr. Smith. "How far?" "About four miles." " Do the stages pass frequently ?" "Every half hour; and the fare is only twelve and a half cents." " So low ! That is certainly an inducement." " Yes, it is. Suppose we go out and look at the house ?" "Very well," said I. And then w^e talked over the pleasures and advantage that w^ould result from a residence in the country, at such a convenient distance from the city. "On the next day we went to look at the place, and found much, both in the house and grounds, to attract us. There was a fine shaded lawn, and garden with a stock of small and large fruit. " What a delightful place for the children," I exclaimed. E 58 COXFESSIOXS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. ^ And at such a convenient distance from the city," said my husband. '' I can go in and out to business, and scarcely miss the time. But do you think you would like the country?" ^' O, yes. Tve always loved the country." '' We can move back into the city when the summer closes," said Mr. Smith. "AYhy not remain here permanently? It will be too expensive to keep both a city and country house," I returned. '^ It will be too dreary through the w^inter." " I don't think so. 1 always feel cheerful in the country. And, then, you know, the house is at such a convenient distance, and the stages pass the door at every half hour. You can get to business as easily as if we resided in the city." 1 was in the mood for a change, and so it hap- pened was Mr. Smith. The more we thought and talked about the matters, the more inclined were we to break up m the city, and go permor nently to the country. And, finally, we resolved to try the experiment. So the pleasant country house was taken, and the town house given up, and, in due time, we took our flight to where nature had just carpeted the earth in freshest green, and caused the buds to expand, and the trees of the forest to clothe themselves in verdure. How pleasant was every thing. A gardener had been employed to put the garden and lawn in order, and soon we were delighted to see the first shoots from seeds that had been planted, making their way through the ground. To me. LIVING AT A CONVENIENT DISTANCE. 69 all was delightful. I felt almost as light-hearted as a child, and never tired of expressing my pleasure at the change. " Come and see us/' said I, to one city friend and another, on meeting them. " We're in a most delightful place, and at such a convenient distance from the city. Just get into the Frank- ford omnibus, which starts from Hall's, in Second street above Market, every half hour, and you will come to our very door. And I shall be so delighted to have a visit from you." In moving from the city, I took with me two good domestics, who had lived in my familj^ for over a year. Each had expressed herself as de- lighted at the prospect of getting into the coun- try, and I was delighted to think they were so well satisfied, for I had feared lest they would be disinchned to accompany us. About a month after our removal, one of them, who had looked dissatisfied about something, came to me and said : ^ " I want to go back to the city, Mrs. Smith ; I don't like living in the country." "Very well," I replied. '^You must do as you please. But I thought you preferred this to the city ?" " I thought I would like it, but I don't. It's too lonesome." I did not persuade her to stay. That error I had once or twice, ere this, fallen into, and learned to avoid it in future. So she went back to the city, and I was left with but a single girl. Three days only elapsed before this one announced her intended departure. 60 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. " But you ^vill stay," said I, ^' until I can get some one in your place." " My week will be up on Saturday," was re- plied. " Can you get a girl by that time ?" " That leaves me only two days, Mary ; I'm afraid not." Mary looked unamiable enough at this an- swer. We said no more to each other. In tlie afternoon I went to the city to fmd a new domestic, if possible, but returned unsuccess- ful. Saturday came, and to my surprise and trou- ble, Mary iDcrsisted in going aAvay. So I was left, with my llimily of six persons, without any domestic at all. Sunday proved to me any thing but a day of rest. After washing and dressing the children, preparing breakfast, clearing away the table, making the beds, and putting the house to order, I set about getting dinner. This meal furnished and eaten, and the dishes washed and put away, I found myself not only completely tired out, but suffering from a most dreadful headache. I was lying down, about four o'clock, in a half- waking and sleeping state, with my head a little easier, when my husband, who was sitting by the window, exclaimed : " If there isn't Mr. and Mrs. Peters and their three children, getting out of the stage!" " Not coming here !" said I, starting up in bed, while, at the same moment, my headache re- turned with a tJirobbing intensity that almost bHnded me. " Yes, coming here," replied Mr. Smith. LIVING AT A CONVENIENT DISTANCE. 61 " How unfortunate !" came from my lips^ as I clasped my hands to my temples. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Peters were people for whom we had no particular friendship. We visited each other scarcely once a year, and had never reciprocated an evening to tea. True, I had, on the occasion of meeting Mrs. Peters, about a week before, while stopping in the city, said to her, while praising my new country home : " You must come and see me sometime during the summer." The invitation was intended as a compliment more than anything else. I didn't particularly care about a visit from her; and certainly had no idea that she would take me at my word. So much for insincerity. '^ Go down and ask them into the parlor," said I to Mr. Smith. "I will dress myself and join you in a little while." In about half an hour I left my room, feeling really quite unwell. I found my visitors walk- ing in the garden, and their children ranging about like wild colts, to the particular detriment of choice shrubbery and garden beds. " Oh, what a delightful place !" exclaimed Mrs. Peters, on my meeting her. " I really envy you ! You see that I have accepted your verj^ kind in- vitation. I said to my husband to-day, says I, wouldn't it be nice to make the Smiths a visit this afternoon. They live at such a convenient distance ; and it will be such a treat to the child- ren. Well, just as you like, said Mr. Peters. And so, as soon as dinner was over, we got ready and came out. Oh, I'm delighted ! What a e2 62 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. sweet spot you have cliosen. I shall come and see you ofteu." And thus she run on, while I smiled, and re- sponded with all due politeness, and to a certain extent, hypocritical pretence of pleasure at the visit. They had come to spend the afternoon, and take tea with us, of course, and, as the last stage w^ent hy at seven o'clock, I was soon under the necessity of leaving my guests, in order to engage in certain preliminary acts that looked towards an early supper. Oh, how my head did throb ; and with wdiat an effort did I drag my weary feet about ! But, the longest trial — the most painful ordeal has an end ; and the end of this came at length. Our visitors, after spending a few hours, and being served with tea, took their departure, assuring us, as they did so, that they had spent a delightfid afternoon, and w^ould be certain to come again soon. In ten minutes after they had left the house, I was in bed. Two w^hole weeks elapsed before I succeeded in getting a girl ; and six times during that period, w^e had friends out from the city to take tea with us ; and one young lady spent three whole days ! When the season of fruits came, as we had a few apple and pear trees, besides a strawberry bed, and a fine row of raspberry bushes, our city friends, especially those who had children, were even more particular in their attentions. Our own children, we could make understand the LiyiNG AT A CONVENIENT DISTANCE. 63 propriety of leaving the small fruit to be picked for table use, so that all could share in its enjoy- ment. But, visitors' children comprehended no- thing of this, and rifled our beds and bushes so constantly, that, although they would have given our table a fair supply of berries, in the season, we never once could get enough to be worth using, and so were forced to purchase our fruit in the city. After a destructive visitation of this nature, during strawberry time, I said to Mr. Smith, as he was leaving for the city one morning — '' I wish you would take a small basket with you, and bring out two or three quarts of straw- berries for tea. I've only tasted them once or twice, and it's hopeless to think of getting any from our garden." Well, when Mr. Smith came home with his two or three quarts of strawberries, we had six women and children, visitors from the city, to partake of them. Of course, our own children, who had been promised strawberries at tea time, and who had been looking for them, did'nt get a taste. And thus it happened over and over again. As the weather grew warmer and warmer, particular friends whom we were glad to see, and friends, so called, into whose houses we had rarely, if ever ventured, came out to get a '^ mouthful of fresh air," and to " see something green." We lived at "such a convenient dis- tance," that it was no trouble at all to run out paid look at us. Twice acrain during the summer, I was left G4 CONFESSIONS OF A UOUSEKEEFER. ^vitllout a single domestic. Girls didn't like to leave the city, where they had been used to meeting their acquaintances every few days ; and, therefore, it was hard to retain them. So it went on. I had poor help, and was overrun with com- pany, at such a rate, that I was completely worn out. I rarely heard the rumble of the aj^proach- ing stage that I did not get nervous. Early in August, Mr. Smith said to me, oiie evening after returning from the cit}' — on that very morning, a family of four had left me, after staying three days — " I met Mr. Gray this afternoon, and he told me that they w^ere coming out to see you to-mor- row. That he was going away for a while, and his wife thought that it would be such a pleasant time to redeem her promise of making you a visit." '- Oh dear ! What next !" I exclaimed in a distressed Aoice. "Is there to be no end to this?" " Not before frost, I presume," returned Mr. Smith, meaningly. " I wdsh frost would come along quickly, then," was my response. " But how long is Mr. Gray going to be absent from home ?" " He didn't say." " And w^e're to have his whole family, I sui> pose, during his absence." " Doubtless." '' Well, I call that taxing hospitalit}^ and good feeling a little too far. I don't want them here ! I've no room for them without incouAxnience to ourselves. Besides, my help is poor." LIVING AT A CONVEXIENT DISTANCE. 65 But, all my feelings of repugnance were of no avail. As I was sitting, on the next day, by a window, that overlooked the road, I saw the stage draw up, and issue therefrom Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, servant and ^ve children — two of the latter twin-babies. They had boxes, carpet bags, bundles, &c., indicating a prolonged sojourn, and one little boy dragged after him a pet dog, that came also to honor us with a visit. Down to meet them at the door, with as good a grace as possible, I hurried. Words of wel- come and pleasure were on my tongue, though I am not sure that my face did not belie my utterance. But, they were all too pleased to get into our snug country quarters, to perceive any drawback in their reception. I will not describe my experience during the next three weeks — for, Mr. Gray took the tour of the Lakes before returning, and was gone full three weeks, leaving his family to our care for the whole time. " Heaven be praised, that is over !" was my exclamation, when I saw the stage move off that bore them from our door. Frost at length came, and with it expired the visiting season. We were still at a convenient distance from the city; but, our friends, all at once, seemed to have forgotten us. " You are not going to move back, now," said a friend in surprise, to whom I mentioned in the following March our intention to return to the city. " Yes," I replied. "Just as spring is about opening? Why, CG CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. surely, after passing the dreary winter in the country, 3'ou will not come to the hot and dusty town to spend the summer? You are at such a convenient distance too; and your friends can visit you so easily." Yes, the distance was convenient ; and we had learned to appreciate that advantage. But back to the city we removed; and, when next we venture to the country, w^ill take good care to get beyond a convenient distance. CHAPTER VII. THE PICKED-UP DINNER. It was " washing day ;" tliat day of all days in the week most dreaded by housekeepers. We had a poor breakfast^ of course. Cook had to help with the washing, and, as washing was the important thing for the day, every thing else was doomed to suj0fer. The wash kettle was to her of greater moment than the tea kettle or coffee pot ; and the boiling of wash water first in con- sideration, compared with broiling the steak. The breakfast bell rung nearly half an hour later than usual. As I entered the dining room, I saw that nearly every thing was in disorder, and that the table was little over half set. Scarcely had I taken my seat, ere the bell was in my hand. " There's no sugar on the table, Kitty." These were my words, as the girl entered, in obedience to my summons. "Oh, I forgot!" she ejaculated, and hurriedly supplied the deficiency. Ting-a-ling-a-ling, went my bell, ere she had reached the kitchen. " There's no knife and fork for the steak," said I, as Kitty re-appeared. The knife and fork were furnished, but not with a very amiable grace. (69) 70 CONFESSIONS OF A UOUSEKEEPER. " What's the matter with this coffee f asked Mr. Smith, after sipping a spoonful or two. " It's got a queer taste." " I'm sure I don't know." It was i^lain that I was going to have another trying day ; and I began to feel a little worried. My reply w\as not, therefore, made in a very composed voice. Mr. Smith continued to sip his coffee with a spoon, and to taste the liquid doubtingly. At length he pushed his cu^) from him, saying : " It's no use ; I can't drink that ! I wish you would just taste it. I do believe Kitty has dropped a piece of soap into the coffee pot." By this time I had turned out a cup of the fluid for myself, and proceeded to try its quality. It certainly had a queer taste ; but, as to the substance to which it was indebted for its pecu- liar flavor, I was in total ignorance. My hus- band insisted that it was soap. I thought differ- ently; but we made no argument on the subject. Tiie steak was found, on trial, to be burned so badly that it w^as not fit to be eaten. And my husband had to make his meal of bread and but- ter and cold water. As for myself, this spoiling of our breakfast for no good reason, completely destroyed both my appetite and my temper. "You'd better get your dinner at an eating house, Mr. Smith," said I, as he arose from the tal:)le. "It's w^ashing day, and w^e shall have nothing comfortable." " Things will be no more comfortable for you than for me," was kindly replied by my hus- band. THE PICKED-UP DINNER. 71 "We shall only have a picked-up dinner/' said I. " I like a good picked-up dinner," answered Mr. Smith. "There is something so out of the ordinary routine of ribs, loins, and sirloins — something so comfortable and independent about it. No, you ca^nnot eat your picked-up dinner alone." " Drop the word good from your description, and the picked-up dinner will be altogether an- other affair," said I. " No, don't come home to- day, if you please ; for every thing promises to be most uncomfortable. Get yourself a good dinner at an eating house, and leave me to go through the day as well as I can." "And you are really in earnest?" said my husband, seriously. " I certainly am," was my reply. " Entirely in earnest. So, just obhge me by not coming home to dinner." Mr. Smith promised ; and there was so much off of my mind. I could not let him come home without seeing that he had a good dinner. But, almost any thing would do for me and the chil- dren. In some things, I am compelled to say that my husband is a little uncertain. His memory is not always to be depended on. Deeply absorbed in business, as he was at that time, he frequently let things of minor importance pass from his thoughts altogether. So it happened on the present occasion. He forgot that it was washing day, and that he had promised to dine down town. Punctually at half- F 72 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. ' past one he left his place of business, as usual, and took his way homeward. As he walked along, he met an old friend who lived in a neigh- boring town, and who was on a visit to our city. *' Why, Mr. Jones ! How glad I am to see you ! When did you arrive ?" And my husband grasped the hand of his friend eagerly. "Came in last evening," replied Mr. Jones. " How well you look, Smith ! How is your family ?" " Well — very well. When do you leave?" " By this afternoon's line." " So soon ? You make no stay at all ?" " I came on business, and must go back again with as little delay as possible." " Then you must go and dine with me, Jones. I won't take no for an answer. Want to have a long talk with you about old times." " Thank you, Mr. Smith," replied Jones. " But, as I don't happen to know your good lady, I hardly feel free to accept your invitation." " Don't hesitate for that. She'll be delighted to see you. Always glad to meet an}^ of my old friends. So come along. I've a dozen things to say to you." " I'm really afraid of intruding on your wife," said Mr. Jones, still holding back from the invi- tation. " Nonsense !" answered my husband. " My friends are hcr's. She will be delighted to see you. Tve talked of you to her a hundred times." At this Mr. Jones yielded. THE PICKED-UP DINNER. 73 " I can't promise you any thing extra/' said Mr. Smith, as they walked along. " Nothing more than a good, plain family dinner, and a warm welcome." "All I could ask or desire," returned Mr. Jones. It was a few minutes to two o'clock. The bell had rung for dinner ; and I was just rising to go to the dining room, when I heard the street door open, and the sound of my husband's voice in the passage. There was a man in company with him, for I distinctly heard the tread of a pair of feet. What could this mean ? I remained seat- ed, listening with attention. My husband entered the parlor with his com- panion, talking in a cheerful, animated strain ; and I heard him pull up the blinds and throw open the shutters. Presently he came tripping lightly up the stairs to my sitting room. " I've brought a friend home to dinner, Jane," said he, as coolly and as confidently as if it were not washing day ; and as if he had not told me on going out, that he would dine at an eating house. This was a little too much for my patience and forbearance. " Are you beside yourself, Mr. Smith ?" I re- plied, my face instantly becoming flushed, and my eyes glancing out upon him the sudden indig- nation I felt at such treatment. " Why, Jane ! Jane ! This is not kind in you," said my husband, with regret and dis- pleasure in his voice. " It is rather hard if a man can't ask an old friend home to dine with 74 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. . liini oiiee in five years, without asking the special permission of his Avife." " Mr. Smith ! Are you not aware that this is washing day ?" There was an instant change in my husband's countenance, lie seemed bewildered for a few moments. ^'And, moreover," I continued, "are you not aware that I was to have a picked-up dinner at home, and that you were to dine at an eating house ?" " I declare !" Mr. Smith struck his hands to- gether, and turned around once upon his heel. — " I entirely forgot about that." " What's to be done ?" said I, almost crying with vexation. " I've nothing for dinner but fried ham and eggs." " The best we can do is the best," returned Mr. Smith. " You can give Mr. Jones a hearty wel- come, and that will compensate for any defects in the dinner. I forewarned him that we should not entertain him very sumptuously." "You'd better tell him the whole truth at once," said I, in answer to this ; " and then take him to an eating house." But my good husband would hear to nothing of this. He had invited his old friend to dine with him ; and dine he must, if it was only on a piece of dry bread. " Pick up something. Do the best you can," he returned. " We can wait for half an hour." " I've nothing in the house, I tell you," was mv answer made in no very pleasant tones ; for THE PICKED-UP DINNER. 75 I felt very much irritated and outraged by my husband's thoughtless conduct. " There, there, Jane. Don't get excited about the matter," said he soothingly. But his words were not like oil to the troubled waters of my spirit. " I am excited," was my response. " How can I help being so ? It is too much ! You should have had more consideration." But, talking was of no use. Mr. Jones was in the parlor, and had come to take a family dinner with us. So, nothing was left but to put a good face on the matter; or, at least, to try and do so. " Dinner's on the table now," said I. '^ All is there that we can have to-day. So just invite your friend to the dining room, where you will find me." So saying, I took a little fellow by the hand, who always eat with us, and led him away, feel- ing, as my lady readers will very naturally sup- pose, in not the most amiable humor in the world. I had just got the child, who was pretty hungry, seated in his high chair, when ray hus- band and his guest made their appearance ; and I was introduced. Sorry am I to chronicle the fact — ^but truth compels me to make a faithful record — that my reception of the stranger was by no means gra- cious. I tried to smile ; but a smile was such a mockery of my real feelings, that every facial muscle refused to play the h} pocrite. The man was not welcome, and it was impossible for me to conceal this. "A plain family dinner, you see," sa,id Mr. f2 76 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. Smith, as we took our places at the meagre board. " We are plain people. Shall I help you to some of the ham and eggs ?" He tried to smile pleasantly, and to seem very much at his ease. But, the attempt was far from successful. " I want some ! Don't give him all !" screamed out the hungry child at my side, stretching out his I Kinds towards the poorly supplied dish, from which my husband was about supplyingour guest. My face, which was red enough before, now became like scarlet. A moment longer I re- mained at the table, and then rising up quickly took the impatient child in my arms, and carried liim screaming from the room. I did not return to grace the dinner table with my unattractive presence. Of what passed, particularly, between my husband and his friend Mr. Jones, who had left his luxurious dinner at the hotel to enjoy " a plain family dinner" with his old acquain- tance, I never ventured to make enquiry. They did not remain very long at the table ; nor very long in the house after finishing their frugal meal. I have heard since that Mr. Jones has ex- pressed commiseration for my husband, as the married partner of a real termigant. I don't much wonder at his indifierent opinion ; for, I rather think I must have shown in my face something of the indignant fire that was in me. Mr. Smith, who w^as too much in the habit of inviting people home to take a ^'family dinner" with him on the spur of the moincnt, has never committed that error since. Ilis mortification was too severe to be easily foroiotten. CHAPTER VIII. WHO IS KRISS KRINGLE? It was the day before Christmas — always a day of restless, hopeful excitement among the children ; and my thoughts were busy, as is usual at this season, with little plans for increas- ing the gladness of my happy household. The name of the good genius who presides over toj'S and sugar plums was often on my lips, but oftener on the lips of the children. '^ Who is Kriss Kringle, mamma ?" asked a pair of rosy lips, close to my ear, as I stood at the kitchen table, rolling out and cutting cakes. I turned at the question, and met the earnest gaze of a couple of bright eyes, the roguish owner of which had climbed into a chairr for the purpose of taking note of my doings. I kissed the sweet lips, but did not answer. " Say, mamma ? Who is Kriss Kringle ?" per- severed the little one. " Why, don't you know ?" said I, smiling. " No, mamma. \Yho is he ?" " Why, he is — he is — Kriss Kringle." " Oh, mamma ! Say, won't you tell me ?" " Ask papa when he comes home," I returned, evasivelv. I never like deceiving children in any thing. And yet, Christmas after Christmas, I have im- (77) 78 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. posed on tliein the pleasant fiction of Kriss Krin- gle, without suflering very severe pangs of con- science. Dear little creatures ! how I'ully they beHe\'ed, at ^rst, the story; how soberly and confidingly they hung their stockings in the chimney corner ; with what faith and joy did they receive their many gifts on the never-to-he- forgotten Christmas morning ! Yes, it is a pleasant fiction ; and if there be in it a leaven of wrong, it is indeed a small por- tion. " But why won't you tell me, mamma?" per- sisted my little interrogator. " Don't you know Kriss Kringle ?" " I never saw him, dear," said I. " Has papa seen him ?" " Ask him when he comes home." " I wnsh Krissy would bring me, Oh, such an elegant carriage and four horses, with a driver that could get down and go up again." "If I see him. 111 tell him to bring you just such a nice carriage." " And will he do it, mamma ?" The dear child clapped his hands together with delight. " I guess so." "- 1 wish I could see him," he said, more sober- ly and thoughtfully. And then, as if some new impression had crossed his mind, he hastened down from the chair, and went gliding from the room. Half an hour afterwards, as I came into the nursery, I saw my three " olive branches," clus- tered together in a corner, holding grave counsel on some subject of importance ; at least to them- WHO IS KRISS KRINGLE? 79 selves. They became silent at my presence ; but soon began to talk aloud. I listened to a few words, but perceived nothing of particular con- cern ; then turned my thoughts away. " Who is Kriss Kringie, papa ?" I heard my cherry-lipped boy asking of Mr. Smith, soon after he came home in the evening. The answer I did not hear. Enough that the enquirer did not appear satisfied therewith. At tea-time, the children were not in very good appetite, though in fine spirits. As soon as the evening meal was over, Mr. Smith went out to buy presents for our little ones, while I took upon myself the task of getting them off early to bed. A Christmas tree had been obtained during the day, and it stood in one of the parlors, on a table. Into this parlor the good genius was to descend during the night, and hang on the branches of the tree, or leave upon the table, his gifts for the children. This was our arrangement. The lit- tle ones expressed some doubts as to whether Kriss Kringle would come to this particular room ; and little " cherry lips" couldn't just see how the genius was going to get down the chim- ney, when the fire-place was closed up. " Never mind, love ; Kriss will find his way here," was my answer to all objections. " But how do you know, mother ? Have you sent him word ?" " Oh, I know." Thus I put aside their enquiries, and hurried them off to bed " Now go to sleep right quickly," said I, after 80 CONFESSIONS OF A IIOUSEKEF.PEi:. thev were snugly under their warm blankets and comforts ; " and to-morrow morning be up bright and early." And so I left them to their peaceful slumbers. An hour it was, or more, ere Mr. Smith re- turned, with his pockets well laden. I was in the parlor, where we had placed the Christmas tree, engaged in decorating it with rosettes, sugar toys, and the like. At this work I had been some fifteen or twenty minutes, and had, I will own, become a little nervous. My domestic had irone out, and I was alone in the house. Once or twice, as I sat in the silent room, I imagined that I heard a movement in the one adjoining. And several times I was sure tliat my ear de- tected something like the smothered breatJiing of a man. "All imagination," said I to myself. But again and again the same sounds stirred upon the silent air. " Could there be a robber concealed in the next room i The thought made me shudder. I was afraid to move from where I sat. What a relief when I heard my husband's key in the door, followed by the soimd of his well known tread in the pas- sage ! My fears vanished in a moment. As Mr. Smith stood near me, in the act of un- loading his pockets, he bent close to my ear and whispered : •' Will is under the table. I caught a glance of his bright eyes, just now." "What!" ^ . " It's true. And the other little rogues are in ■\7H0 IS KEISS KRINGLE? 81 the next room, peeping through the door, at this very moment." I was silent with surprise. " They're determined to know who Kriss Krin- gle is," added my husband ; then speaking aloud, he said : " Come, dear, I want to show you something up in the dining-room." I understood Mr. Smith, and arose up instant- ly, not so much as glancing towards the partly^- ojDened folding door. We were hardly in the dining room before we heard the light pattering of feet, and low, smoth- ered tittering on the stairway. Then all was still, and we descended to the parlors again, quite as much pleased with what had occurred as the little rogues were t|iemselves. " I declare ! Really, I thought them all sound asleep an hour ago," said I, on resuming my work of decorating the Christmas tree. " Who could have believed them cunning enough for this ? It's all Will's doings. He'll get through the world." " Aye will he," returned Mr. Smith. " Oh ! if you could have seen his face as I saw it, just peering from under the table cloth, his eyes as 1)right as stars, and full of merriment and de- light." " Bless his heart ! He's a dear little fellow 1" How could I help saying this ? " And the others ! You lost half the pleasure of the whole affair by not seeing them." " We shall have a frolic with the rogues to- fQorrow morning. I can see the triumph on 82 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. * Will's fiice. I understand now what all their whisperings meant this afternoon. They were concocting this plan. I couldn't have helieved it of them V" '^ Children are curious bodies," said Mr. Smith. " I thought I heard some one in the next room," I remarked, " while you were out, and became really nervous for a while. I heard the breathing of some one near me, also ; but tried to argue myself into the belief that it was only imagination." Thus we conned over the little incident, while we arranged the children's toys. '' I know who Kriss Kringle is ! I know !" was the triumphant affirmation of one and an- other of the children, as we gathered at the breakfast table next morning. " Do you, indeed ?" said I, trying to look grave. '^ Yes ; it is papa." " Papa, Kriss Kringle ! How can that be ?" " Oh, we know ! We found out !" " Indeed !" And w^e made, of course, a great wonder of this assertion. The merry elves ! What a hap py Christmas it was for them. Ever since, they have dated from the time when they found out who Kriss Kringle was. It is all to no purpose that we pleasantly suggest the possibility of their having dreamed of what they allege to have oc- curred under their actual vision ; they have re- corded it in their memories, and refer to it as a veritable fact. Dear children ! How little the}^ really ask of us, to make them happy. Did we give them but WHO IS KRISS KRINGLE? 83 a twentieth part of the time we devote to busi- ness^ care, and pleasure, how greatly would we promote their good, and increase the measure of their enjoyment. Not alone at Christmas time, but all the year should we remember and care for their pleasures ; for, the state of innocent pleasure, in children, is one in which good affec- tions are implanted, and these take root and grow, and produce fruit in after life. CHAPTER IX. NOT AT HOME. Never but once did I venture upon the utter- ance of that little white lie, " Not at home," and then I was well punished for my weakness and folly. It occurred at a time when there were in my iamily two new inmates : a niece from New York, and a raw Irish girl that I had taken a few days before, on trial. My niece, Agnes, was a young lady in her nineteenth year, the daughter of my brother. I had not seen her before since her school-girl days ; and knew little of her character. Her mother I had always esteemed as a right-think- ing, true-hearted woman. I was much pleased to iiave a visit from Agnes, and felt drawn toward her more and more every day. There was some- thing pure and good about her. " Now, Aggy, dear," said I to her, one morn- ing after breakfast, as we took our work and re- tired from the dining-room to one of the parlors, where I was occasionally in the habit of sitting, — '• we must sew for dear life until dinner time, so as to fmisli these two frocks for the children to wear this evening. It isn't right, I know, to impose on you in this way. But you sew so quick and neatly; and then it will help me (S4) NOT AT HOME. 87. through, a.nd leave me free to visit Girard Col- lege with jou this afternoon." " Don't speak of it, aunt," returned Agnes. — '' I'm never happier than when employed. And, besides, it's only fair that I should sew for you ill the morning, if you are to go pleasuring with me in the afternoon." Lightly the hours flew by, passed in cheerful; conversation. I found that the mind of my niece had been highly cultivated ; that her tastes were refined, and her moral sense acute. To say that I was pleased with her, would but half ex- press what I felt. There was to be a. juvenile party at the house of one of our acquaintances that evening, to Avhich the children were invited ; and we were at work in preparing di'esses and other matters suitable for them to appear in. Twelve o'clock came very quickly — too quickly for me, in fact ; for I had not accomplished near so much as I had hoped to do. It would require the most diligent application, through every mo- ment of time that intervened until the dinner hour, for. us to get through with what we were doing, so as to have the. afternoon to ourselves for the intended excursion. As the clock rung out the hour of noon, I ex- claimed : "Is it possible ! I had no idea that it was so late. How slowly I do seem to get along 1" Just at this moment the bell rung. " Bless me ! I hope we are not to have visitors this morning," said I, as I let my hands fall in 88 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. iTiy lap. I thought hurriedly for a moment, and then remarked, in a decided way : " Of course we cannot see any one. We are engaged." By this time I heard the footsteps of Mary on her way from the kitchen, and 1 very natu- rally passed quickly to the parlor door to mter- cept and give her my instructions. '' Say that Tm engaged," was on my tongue. But, somehow or other, I had not the courage to give these words utterance. The visitor might be a person to whom such an excuse for not appearing would seem unkind, or be an offence. In this uncertain state, my mind fell into confu- sion. Mary was before me, and awaiting the direction she saw that I was about giving. " Say that I'm not at home, if any one asks to see me," came in a sudden impulse from my lips. And then my cheeks flushed to think that I had instructed my servant to give utterance to a falsehood. " Yes, mim," answered the girl, glancing into my face with a knowing leer, that produced an instant sense of humiliation ; and away she went to do my bidding. I did not glance towards Agnes, as I returned to my seat and took up my work. I had not the courage to do this. That I had lowered myself in her estimation, I felt certain. I heard the street door open, and bent, invol- untarily, in a Hstening attitude. The voice of a lady uttered my name. '' She's not at home, mim," came distinctly on NOT AT HOME. 89 my ears, causing the flush on my cheeks to be- come still deeper. A murmur of voices followed. Then I heard the closing of the vestibule door, and Mary re- turning to the back parlor where we were sitting. " Who was it, Mary ?" I enquired, as the girl entered. " Mrs. — Mrs.— Now what was it ? Sure, and I've forgotten their names intirely." But, lack of memory did not long keep me in ignorance as to who were my visitors, for, as ill luck would have it, they had bethought them- selves of some message they wished to leave, arid, re-opening the vestibule door, left a-jar by Mary, followed her along the passage to the room they saw her enter. As they pushed open the door of the parlor, Mary heard them, and, turn- ing quickly, exclaimed, in consternation — " Och, murther !" A moment she stood, confronting, in no very graceful attitude, a couple of ladies, and then escaped to the kitchen. Here was a scene of embarrassment. Not among all my acquaintances were there, perhaps, two persons, whom I would have least desired to witness in me such a fault as the one of which I had been guilty. For a little while, I knew not what to say. I sat, overcome with mortifi- cation. At length, I arose, and said with an effort, " Walk in, ladies ! How are you this morn- ing ? I'm pleased to see you. Take chairs. My niece, Mrs. Williams, and Mrs. Glenn. I hope you will excuse us. We were — " g2 ^ ~ 90 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. . " Oil, no apologies, Mrs. Smith," returned one of the ladies, with a quiet smile, and an air of self-possession. "Pardon this intrusion. We un- derstood the servant that you were not at home." " Engaged, she meant," said I, a deeper crim- son suffusing my face. " The fact is, we are working for dear life, to get the children ready for a party to night, and wished to be excused iVom seeing any one." "Certainly — all right," returned Mrs. Wil- liams, "' I merely came in to say to your domes- tic (1 had forgotten it at the door) that my sister expected to leave for her home in New York in a day or tw^o, and would call here with me, to-morrow afternoon." " I shall be very happy to see her," said I, — " very happy. Do come in and sit dow^n for a little while. If I had only know^n it was you." Now that last sentence, spoken in embarrass- ment and mental confusion, was only making matters worse. It placed me in a false and des- picable light before my visitors; for in it was the savor of hypocrisy, which is foreign to my nature. " No, thank you," replied my visitors. " Good I" And they retired, leaving me so overcome w'ith shame, mortification, confusion, and distress, that I burst into tears. " To think that / sliould have done such a thing!" w^as my first remark, so soon as I had a little recovered my self-possession ; and I looked up, half timidly, into the face of my niece. I shall not soon forget the expression of surprise mornnig NOT AT HOME. 91 and pain that was in her fair young countenance. I had uttered a falsehood in her presence, and thus done violence to the good opinion she had formed of me. The beautiful ideal of her aunt, which had filled her mind, was blurred over; and her heart was sad in consequence. " Dear Aggy !" said I, throwing my work upon the floor, and bending earnestly towards her. — " Don't think too meanly of me for this little circumstance. I never was guilty of that thing before — never ! And well have I been punished for my thoughtless folly I spoke from impulse, ^nd not reflection, when I told Mary to say that I was not at home, and repented of what I had done almost as soon as the words passed my lips." Agnes looked at me for some moments, until her eyes filled with tears. Then she said in a low, sweet, earnest voice : " Mother always says, if she cannot see any one who calls, that she is engaged." " And so do I, dear," I returned. " This is my first offence against truth, and you may be sure that it will be the last." And it was mv last. When next I met Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Glenn, there was, in both of them, a reserve not seen before. I felt this change keenly. I had wronged myself in their good opinion ; and could not venture upon an explanation of my conduct ; for that, I felt, might only make matters worse. How often, since, has my cheek burned, as a vivid recollection came up before my mind ol what occurred on that morning ! I can never fors'et it. CHAPTER X. SHIRT BUTTONS. In a previous chapter, I gave tlie reader one of the Experiences of my sister s husband, Mr. John Jones. I now give another. There was a time in my married Ufe, (thus Mr. Jones writes in one of his " Confessions,") ^v\\Qn 1 was less annoj^ed if my bosom or wrist- band happened to be minus a button, than I am at present. But continual dropping will wear away a stone, and the ever recurring buttonless collar or wristband will wear out a man's pa- tience, be he naturally as enduring as the Man of Uz. I don't mean by this, that Mrs. Jones is a ne- glectful woman. Oh, no ! don't let that be im- agined for a moment. Mrs. Jones is a woman who has an eye for shirt buttons, and when that is said, a volume is told in a few words. But I don't care how careful a wife is, nor how good an eye she may have for shirt buttons, there will come a time, when, from some cause or other, she will momentarily abate her vigi- lance, and that will be the very time when Bet- ty's washing-board, or Nancy's sad-iron, has been at work upon the buttons. For a year or two after our marriage, I used to express impatience, whenever, in putting on (1)2} SHIKT BUTTONS. 93 a clean shirt, I foiincl a button gone. Mrs. Jones bore this for a v/hile without exhibiting much feeling. But it fretted her more than she per- mitted any one to see. At length, the constant recurrence of the evil — I didn't know as much then as I do now — annoyed me so that I passed from ejaculatory expressions of impatience into more decided and emphatic disapprobation, and to " Psha !" and " there it is again !" and the like w^ere added: '^ I declare, Mrs. Jones, this is too bad !" or '^ I've given up hoping for a shirt with a full complement of buttons — " or " If you can't sew the buttons on my shirt, Mrs. Jones, I will hire some one to do it." This last expression of displeasure I never ventured upon but once. I have always felt ashamed of it since, whenever a recollection of my unreasonableness and impatience in the early times of the shirt button trouble has crossed my mind. My wife took it so much to heart, and so earnestly avowed her constant solicitude in re- gard to the shirt buttons, that I resolved from that time, to bear the evil like a man, and instead of grumbling or complaining, make known the fact of a deficiency whenever it occurred, as a good joke. And so for a year or so it used to be when the buttons were missing : '' Buttons again, Mrs. Jones ;" or " D'ye see that T or " Here's the old story"- — Always said laughingly, and varied as to the mood or "fertility of fancy. But on so. grave a subject as shirt buttons, Mrs. Jones had no heart 94 co^^fEssiu^'s of a uousekeeper. for a joke. The fact that her vigihince had proved all in \a\n, and that, spite of constant care, a shirt had found its way into my drawer, lackhig its full complement of buttons, was some- thing too serious lor a smile or a jest, and my words, no matter how lightly spoken, would be felt as a reproof. Any allusion, therefore, to shirt buttons, was sure to produce a cloud upon the otherwise calm brow of Mrs. Jones. It was a sore subject, and could not be touched even by the liglit end of a feather without producing pain. What was I to do ? Put oiT with the lack oi" a shirt button uncomplainingly ? Pin my collar, if the little circular piece of bone or 'ivory were gone, and not hint at the omission? Yes ; I re- solved not to say a word more about shirt but- tons, but to bear the evil, Avhenever it occurred,, with the patience of a martyr. Many days had not passed after this resolution was taken, before, on changing my linen one morning, I found that there was a button less than the usual number on the bosom of my shirt. Mrs. Jones had been up on the evening before, half an hour after I was in bed, looking over my shirts, to see if every thing was in order. But even her sharp eyes had failed to discover the place left vacant by a deserting member of the shirt button fra- ternity. I knew she had done her best, and 1 pitied, rather than blamed her, for I wiis sensi- ble that a knowledge of the flict which had just come to light would trouble her a thousand times more than it did me. The breakfast hour passed without a discovery SHIRT BUTTONS. '95 by Mrs. Jones of the flict that there was a button off of the bosom of my shirt. But, when I came in at dinner time, her first words, looking at me, were : " Why, Mr. Jones, there's a button off your bosom." " I know," said I, indifferently. " It was off when I put the shirt on this morning. But it makes no difference — you can sew it on when the shirt next comes from the wash."- I was really sincere in what I said, and took some merit to myself for being as composed as I was on so agitating a subject. Judge of my sur- prise, then, to hear Mrs. Jones exclaim, with a flushed face, " Indeed, Mr. Jones, this is too much ! no difference, indeed ? A nice opinion people must have had of your wife, to see you going about with your bosom all gaping open in that style ?" " Nobody noticed it," said I in reply. " Don't you see that the edges lie perfectly smooth to- gether, as much so as if held by a button ?" But it was no use to say anything; Mrs. Jones was hurt at my not speaking of the button. " I'm sure," she said, " that I am always readv to do any thing for you. I never complain about sewing on your buttons." " Nonsense, Mrs. Jones ! don't take it so much to heart," I replied ; '' here, get your needle and thread, and you can have it all right in a minute. It's but a trifle — I'm sure I havn't thought about it since I put on the shirt this morning." But all would not do — Mrs. Jones' grief was too real ; and when I, losing to some extent, my patience, said fretfully, " I y/ish somebody would 90 CONFESSIONS OF A IIOUSEKEKPER. ' invent a shirt without buttons," she sighed deep- ly, and in a little Avhile I saw her handkerchief go quietly to her eyes. Again and again I tried the say-notlmig plane 5 l)Lit it worked worse, if any thing, than the other; for Mrs. Jones was sure to find out the truth, and then she would be dreadfully hurt about my omission to speak. And so the years have passed. Sometimes L fret a little when I find a shirt button off; some- times I ask mildly to have the omission supplied when I discover its existence ; sometimes I jest about it, and sometimes I bear the evil in silence. But the effects produced upon Mrs. Jones are about tlie same. Her equanimity of mind is dis- turbed, and she will look unhappy for hours. Never but once have I complained without a cause. But that one instance gave Mrs. Jones a triumph which has done much to sustain her in all her subsequent trials. We had some friends staying vrith us, and among the various matters of discussion that came up during the social evenings we spent to- gether, shirt buttons were, on one occasion, con- spicuous. To record all that was said about them would fill pages, and I will not, therefore, attempt even a brief record of all the allegations brou2:ht ai};ainst the useful little shirt button. The tinal decision was, that it must be the Apple of Discord in disguise. " A button off, as usual !" I muttered to myself the next morning, as I put on a clean shirt. Mrs. Jones had risen half an hour before me, and was down stairs giving some directions about break- fast, so that 1 could not ask to have it sewed on. SHIRT BUTTONS. 97 And after leaving my room, I thought it as well not to say any thing about it. In due time we gathered with our friends around the breakfast table. A sight of them reminded me of the con- versation the previous evening, and I felt an irresistible desire to allude to the missing shirt button as quite an apropos and amusing incident. So, speaking from the impulse of the moment, I said, glancing first at Mrs. Jones, then around the table, and then pointing down at my bosom, " The old story of shirt buttons again !" Instantly the color mounted to the cheeks and brow of Mrs. Jones ; then the color as quickly melted away, and a look of triumph passed over her face. She pushed back her chair quickl}^, and rising up, came round to where I sat, took hold of the button I had failed to see, and hold- ing it between her j&ngers, said, "Oh, yes, this is the old story, Mr. Jones !" I drew down my chin so as to get a low angle of vision, and sure enough, the button Avas there. A burst of laughter went around the table, in which Mrs. Jones most heartily joined ; and I laughed, too, as glad as she was, that the joke was all on her side. I have never, you may be sure, heard the last of this ; but it was a lucky inci- dent, for it has given Mrs. Jones something to fall back upon, and have her jest occasionally, when- ever I happen to discover that a button is among the misskig, and that she can, even at times, find it in her heart to jest on such a subject, is, I can assure you, a great gain. So much for shirt but- tons. I could say a great deal more, for the sub- ject is inexhaustible. But I will forbear. H CHAPTEK XL PAVEMENT WASHING IN WINTER. Two weeks of spring-like weather in mid-win- ter, and then the thermometer went hurrying down towards zero with alarming rapidity. Eve- ning closed in with a temperature so mild that lires were permitted to expire in the ashes ; and morning broke with a cold nor-wester, whistling through every crack and cranny, m a tone that made you shrink and shivdr. " Winter at last," said I, creeping forth from my warm bed, with a very natural feeling of reluctance. " Time," was the half asleep and half awake response of Mr. Smith, as he drew the clothes about his shoulders, and turned himself over for the enjoyment of his usual half hour morning nap. It was Saturday — that busiest day in the seven ; at least for housekeepers — and as late as half past seven o'clock, yet the house felt as cold as a barn. I stepped to the register to ascertain if the fire had been made in the heater. Against my liand came a pressure of air — cold air. " Too bad !" I murmured fretfully, " that girl has never touched the fire." So I gave the bell a pretty vigorous jerk. In a few minutes up eaine Nancy, the cook, in answer to my summons. (98) .l.rfC % \ PAVEMENT WASHING IN WINTER. 101 '^Yfhy hasn't Biddy made the fire in the heater ?" I asked. '• She has made it, mum." " There isn't a particle of heat coming up." " I heard her at work down there. I guess she's made it up, but it hasn't began to burn good yet." " Tell her that I want her." " She's washing the pavement, mum." " Washing the pavement !" " Yes, mum." " What possessed her to wash the pavement on a day like this ?" " It's the right day, mum. It's Saturday." " Saturday ! Don't she know that the water will freeze almost as soon as it touches the ground ? Go and tell her to come in this minute, and not throw another drop on the pavement." Nancy withdrew, and I kept on speaking to myself — " I never saw such creatures. No considera- tion in them ! Washing the pavement on a morn- ing like this ! Little do they care who falls on the ice ; or who has a broken arm, or a broken leer" Just as I had said this, I heard a crash, and an exclamation without, and hurrying to the window looked forth. Biddy's work was done-, and well done, for the pavement was one sheet of ice, as hard and smooth as glass, and as slip- pery as oil. Prostrate thereon was a grocer's bay, and just beyond the curb stone, in the gut- ter, lay the fragments of a jug of molasses. Stepping back quickly to where the bell rope ing ( 102 COKFESSIOXS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. hung against the Arall, I gave it a most deter- mined jerk. Scarcely had I done this, ere the door of the adjoining room, which was used as a nursery, opened, and Biddy appeared therein. "Why, Biddy!" I exclaimed, "what possessed you to throw water on the pavement this morn- ?" " Faix! And how was I to get it clane, mim, w^idout wather ?" coolly returned Biddy. " Clean !" " Yes, mim, clane." " There was no crying necessity to have it clean to-day. Didn't you see — " It's vSathurday, mim," interrupted Biddy, in a voice that showed the argument in her mind to be unanswerable. We always wash the pave- ment on Sathurday." " But it doesn't do to wash the pavement, I returned, now trying to put a little reason into her head, " when it is so cold that water will freeze as soon as it touches the ground. The bricks become as slippery as glass, and people can't walk on them without falling." " Och ! And what hev we till do wid the paple. Lot 'em look 'till their steps." " But, Biddy, that won't do. People don't ex- pect to find j)avements like glass ; and they slip, often, while unaware of danger. Just at this moment a poor lad fell, and broke his jug all to pieces." " Did he ! And less the pity for him. Wliy did'nt he walk along like an orderly, dacent body? Why didn't he look 'till his steps?" " Biddy," said I, seeing that it was useless to PAVEMENT WASHING IN WINTER. 103 hold an argument with her, — " Do you go this minute and throw ashes all over the j^avement." " Ashes on the clane pavement ! Mrs. Smith !" " Yes, Biddy ; and do it at once. There ! Somebody else has fallen." I sprung to the window in time to see a woman on the pavement, and the contents of her basket of marketing scattered all around her. " Go this minute and throw ashes over the pavement!" I called to Biddy in a voice of com- mand. The girl left the room with evident reluctance. The idea of scattering ashes over her clean pave- ment, v/as, to her, no very pleasant one. It seemed to me, as I sat looking down from my windows upon the slippery flags, and noted the difficulty which pedestrians had to cross them safely, that Biddy would never appear with her pan of ashes. '' Why don't the girl do as I directed ?" had just passed, in an impatient tone, from my lips, when two well dressed men came in view, one at each exteremity of the sheet of ice. They w^ere approaching, and stepped with evident uncon- sciousness of danger, upon the treacherous sur- face. I had a kind of presentiment that one or both would fall, and my instinct was not at fault. Suddenly the heels of one flew up, and he struck the pavement with a concussion that sprung his hat from his head, and sent it some feet in the air. In his efibrts to recover himself^ his legs became entangled in those of the other, and over he went, backwards, his head striking the ground with a terrible shock. h2 104 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. I started from the window, feeling, for an in- stant, faint and sick. In a few moments I re- turned, and looked ont again. Both the fallen ones liad regained their feet, and passed out of sight, and JJiddy, who had witnessed the last scene in this half comic, half tragic performance, was giving the pavement a plentiful coating of aslies and cinders. I may he permitted to remark, that I trust other housekeepers, wdiose pavements are washed on cold mornings — and their name, I had almost said, is legion — are as innocent as I was in the above case, and that the wrong to pedestrians lies at the door of thoughtless servants. But is it not our duty to see the w^roug has no further repetition ? It has been remarked that the residence of a truly humane man may be known by the ashes before his door on a slippery morning. If this be so, what are we to think of those who coolly sup- ply a sheet of ice to the side walk? CHAPTER XII. REGARD FOR THE POOR. We sometimes get^ by chance, as it were, glimpses of life altogether new, yet full of in- struction. I once had such a glimpse, and, at the time, put it upon record as a lesson for my- self as well as others. Its introduction into this series of " Confessions" will be quite in place. " How many children have you ?" I asked of a poor woman, one day, who, with her tray of fish on her head, stopped at my door with the hope of finding a customer. " Four," she replied. "All vounsT?" "Yes ma'am. The oldest is but seven years of age." " Have you a husband ?" I enquired. The woman replied in a changed voice : " Yes, ma'am. But he isn't much help to me. Like a great many other men, he drinks too much. If it wasn't for that, you wouldn't find me crying fish about the streets in the spring, and berries through the summer, to get bread for my children. He could support us all com- fortably, if he was only sober; for he has a good trade, and is a good workman. He used to earn ten and sometimes twelve dollars a week." (105) lOG CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. " ITow much do you make towards supporting your family V I asked. " Nearly all they get to live on, and that isn't much," she said bitterly. " My husband some- times pays the rent, and sometimes he doesn't even do that. I have made as high as four dol- hxrs in a week, but oftener two or three is the most I get." *' How in the world can you support yourself, husband, and four children on three dollars a week ?" " I have to do it," was her simple reply. " There are women who would be glad to get three dollars a week, and think themselves well off." " But how do you live on so small a sum ?" '• We have to deny ourselves almost every little comfort, and confine ourselves down to the mere necessaries of life. After those who can afford to pay good prices for their marketing have been supplied, w^e come in for a part of what remains. I often get meat enough for a few cents to last me for several days. And its the same way with vegetables. After the markets are ovot, the butchers and country people, wdiom we know, let us have lots of things for almost nothing, sooner than take them home. In this way we make our slender means go a great deal farther than they w^ould if we had to pay the highest market price for every thing. But, it often hap- pens that what we gain here is lost in the eager- ness we feel to sell whatever we have, especially when, from having w^alked and cried for a long time, we become much fatigued. Almost every REGARD FOR THE POOR. 107 one complains that we ask too macii for our things, if we happen to be one or t^yo cents above what somebody has paid in market, where there are almost as many different prices as there are persons who sell. And in consequence, almost every one tries to beat us down. " It often happens that, after I have walked for hours and sold but very little, I have parted with my whole stock at cost .to some tv/o or three ladies, who would not have bought from me at all if they hadn't known that they were making good bargains out of me ; and this because I could not bear up any longer. I think it very hard, sometimes, w^hen ladies, who have every thing in plenty, take off nearly all my profits, after I have toiled through the hot sun for hours, or shivered in the cold of winter. It is no doubt right enough for every one to be prudent, and buy things as low as possible ; but it has never seemed to me as quite just for a rich lady to beat down a poor fish-woman, or strawberrj^-woman, a cent or two on a bunch or basket, when that very cent made, perhaps, one- third, or one-half of her profits. " It was only yesterday that I stopped at a house to sell a bunch of fish. The lady took a fancy to a nice bunch of small rock, for which I asked her twenty cents. They had cost me just sixteen cents. ' Won't you take three fips ?' she asked. ' That leaves me too small a profit, madam,' I replied. ' You want too much profit,' she returned ; ' I saw just such a bunch of fish in market yesterday for three fips.' ' Yes, but remember,' I replied, ' that here are the fish at 108 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. your door. You noiUier have to send for them nor to bring them home yourself/ ' Oh, as to that,' she answered, ' I have a waiter whose - business it is to carry the marketing. It is all the same to me. So, if you expect to sell me your things, you must do it at the market prices. 1 will give you three fips for that launch of fish, and no more.' I had walked a great deal, and sold but little. I w as tired, and half sick with a dreadful headache. It was time for me to think about getting home. So I said, ' Well, ma am, I suppose you must take them, but it leaves me only a mere trifle for my profit.' A servant standing by took the fish, and the lady handed me a quarter, and held out her hand for the change. I first put into it a five cent piece. She continued holding it out, until I searched about in my pocket for a penny. This I Jiext placed in her hand. ' So you've cheated me out of a cent at last,' she said, half laughing and half in earnest ; ' you are a sad rogue.' A little boy was standing by. ' Here, Charley,' she said to him, 'is a penny I have just saved. You can buy a candy with it.' As I turned away from the door of the large, beautiful house in which that lady lived, I lelt something rising in my throat and choking me ; I had bitter thoughts of all my kind. " Happily, w^here I next stopped, I met with one more considerate. She bought two bunches of my fish at my ow^n price — sj)oke very kindly to me, and even w^ent so tar, seeing that 1 looked jaded out, to tell me to go down into her kitchen and rest mvself for a little while. REGARD FOR THE POOR. 109 Leaving my tub of fish in her yard, I accept- ed the kind oiFer. It so happened that the cook was making tea for some one in the house who was sick. The lady asked me if I would not like to have a cup. I said yes ; for my head was aching badly, and I felt faint ; and besides, I had not tasted a cup of tea for several days. She poured it out with her own hands, and with her own hands brought it to me. I think I never tasted such a cup of tea in my life. It was like cordial. God bless her ! — When I again went out upon the street my headache was gone, and I felt as fresh as ever I did in my life. Before I stopped at this kind lady's house, I was so worn down and out of heart, that I determined to go home, even though not more than half my fish were sold. But now I went on cheerful and with confidence. In an hour my tray was empty, and my fish sold at fair prices. *' You do not know, madam," continued the woman, "how much good a few kindly spoken words, that cost nothing, or a little generous re- gard for us, does our often discouraged hearts. But these we too rarely meet. Much oftener we are talked to harshly about our exorbitant prices — called a cheating set — or some such name that does not sound very pleasant to our ears. That there are many among us who have no honesty, nor, indeed, any care about what is right, is too true. But all are not so. To judge us all, then, by the worst of our class, is not right. It would not be well for the world if all were thus judged." CHAPTER XIII. SOMETHING MORE ABOUT COOKS. For sometime I had a treasure of a cook ; a fine Bucks county girl, whose strongest recom- mendation in my eyes, when I engaged her, was that she had never been out of sight of hind. But she left my house for a " better place," as she said. I might have bribed her to remain, by an offer of higher wages ; but, experience had demonstrated to my satisfaction, that this kind of bribery never turns out well. Your servant, in most instances, soon becomes your mistress — or, at least, makes bold efforts to assume that position. So, I let my Bucks county girl go to her " better place." As to how or why it was to be a better place, I did not make enquiry. That was her business. She was a free agent, and I did not attempt to influence her. In fact, being of rather an independent turn of mind myself, I sympathize with others in their independence, and rarely seek to interfere with a declared course of action. My new cook, unfortunately, had been out of eight of land, and that for weeks together. She was fresh from the Emerald Island. When she presented herself I saw in her but small promise. Having learned on enquiry that her name was A.lice Mahoney, I said : 110 SOMETHING MORE ABOUT COOKS. 113 ^' How long have you been in this country, Alice?" There was a moment or two of hesitation. Then she answered : " Sax months, mum." I learned afterwards that she had arrived only three days before. " Can you cook ?" I enquired. ^' Och, yis ! Ony thing, from a rib of bafe down till a parate." " You're sure of that, Alice ?" " Och ! sure, mum." '' Can you give me a reference T " I've got a character from Mrs. Jordan, where I lived in New York. I've only been here a few days. Biddy Jones knows me." And she produced a written testification of ability, signed " Mary Jones, No. — William street. New York." There was a suspicious look about this " character ;" but of course I had no means of deciding whether it were a true or false document. After some debate with myself, I finally de- cided to give Alice a trial. It so happened that on the very day she came, an old lady friend of my mother's, accompanied by her two daughters, both married and house- keepers, called to sjDcnd the afternoon and take tea. As they lived at some distance, I had tea quite early, not waiting for Mr. Smith, whose business kept him away pretty late. During the afternoon, my " butter man" came. Occasionally he brings some very nice country sausages, and I always make it a point to secure I 114 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. a few pounds when he does so. He had some on this occasron. " AHce," said I, as I entered the kitchen about four o'clock, " I want you to hurry and get tea ready as quickly as you can." " Tes, mum," was the ready reply. " And Alice," I added, " we'll have some of these sausages with the tea. They are very fine ones — better than we usually get. Be sure to cook them very nice." '' Yes, mum," promptly answered the girl, look- ing quite intelligent. A few more directions as to what we were to have were given, and then I went up to sit with my company. It was not my intention to leave all to the doubtful skill of my new cook, but, either the time passed very rapidly, or she was more prompt and active than is usual among cooks, for the tea bell rung before I w^as in expectation of hear- ing it. " Ah," said I, " there is our tea bell," and I arose, adding, " will you walk into the dining- room, ladies?" The words were no sooner uttered than a doubt as to all being as I could wish crossed my mind ; and I regretted that I had not first re- paired to the dining-room alone. But, as it was too late now, or, rather, I did not happen to have sufficient presence of mind to recall my invitation to the ladies to walk in to tea, until I had pre- ceded them a few minutes. Well, we were presently seated at the tea table. My practised eye instantly saw that the cloth SOMETHING MORE ABOUT COOKS. 115 was laid crookedly, and that the dishes were placed in a slovenly manner. I couldn't help a passing apology, on the ground of a new domestic, and then proceeded to the business of pouring out the tea. The cups were handed around, and I soon noticed that my guests were sipping from their spoons in a very unsatisfactory manner. I was in the act of fill- ing my own cup from the tea urn, when I missed the plate of sausages, about which I had boasted to my lady friends as something a little better than were usually to be obtained. So I rung the table bell. Alice presently made her appearance. "Alice," said I, "where are the sausages I told you to cook ? You surely hav'nt forgotten them r " Och, no indade, mum. They're there." " Where ? I don't see them." And my eyes ran around the table. "' They're wid the ta mum, sure !" " With the tea ?" " Sure, mum, they're wid the ta. Ye towld me yees wanted the sausages wid the ta ; and sure they're there. I biled 'em well." A light now flashed over my mind. Throwing up the lid of the tea urn, I thrust in a fork, which immediately came in contact with a hard substance. I drew it forth, and exhibited a single link of a well " biled" sausage. " Let me draw a veil over what followed. CHAPTER XIV. NOT A RAG ON THEIR BACKS. • There are, among the many things which Mr. Smith, like other men, will not understand, fre- (|uent difficulties about the children's clothing. lie seems to think that frocks and trowsers grow spontaneously ; or that the dry goods, once bought and brought into the house, will resolve into the shapes desired, and fit themselves to the children's backs, like Cindarella's suit in the nursery tale. Now, I never did claim to be a sprite ; and I am not sure that the experience of all housekeepers will bear me out in the opinion that the longer a w^oman is married, the less she becomes like a fairy. Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! Hood's Song of the Shirt, which every body has heard and admired, is certainly most eloquent and pathetic upon the sufferings and difficulties of sewing girls. " Much yet remains unsung," particularly in regard to the ceaseless labors of women who are as rich as Cornelia in muslin-rending, habit-cloth-destroy- ing, children's-plaid-rubbing — -jewels ! 1 am sure that the Roman matron never went shopping. I am sure that she did not undertake to keep her own children's clothing in repair ; for if she had, she could not have been ready, at a moment's warning, to put forward her troublesome charge (IIG) NOT A RAG ON THEIR BACKS. 117 as specimen jewels. Do all I can, my little com- forts never are " fit to be seen !" Many is the weary evening that I have been occupied, past the noon of night, in repairing the wear and tear of habiliments — abridging the volume of the elder children's clothes into nar- row dimensions for the next, or compiling a suit for one, out of the fringed raiment of two or three. Honest was the pride with which I have surveyed these industrious efforts, and sincere the thought that I had really accomplished some- thing. Depositing the various articles where the wearers elect would find them, I have retired to rest ; almost angry with Mr. Smith, who was asleep hours before me — asleep as unconcernedly as if an indestructible substance fabric had been invented for children's clothing. Well, after such a night's work, imagine me waking, Avith a complacent and happy sensation that, my work having been done on the day be- fore, the morning is open for new employment. Down stairs I come, full of the thoughts of the confusion I shall heajD on Mr. Smith's head. He, observe, told me, as he left me to retire, that I had much better go to bed, for all my work would amount tg nothing but loss of necessary rest. I am ready to show him triumphant evi- dence to the contrary, in the clothes, as good as new, in which his children are habited. Before I can speak, I discern a lurking smile in his face. My boy Will stands in a sheepish posture, with his back as close to the jam, as if he were a polypus growing there, and his life depended upon the adhesion. i2 118 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. My eldest girl — another of the laboriously iitted out of the night before, has a marvellous affection for the little stool, and the skirt of her frock seems drawn about her feet in a most un- ])ecoming manner. But the third, an inveterate little romp, uncon- scious of shame, is curveting about in the most abandoned manner, utterly indifferent to the fact she has — not, indeed, " a rag to her back" — for she is all rags ! One hour's play before my de- scent has utterly abolished all traces of my in- dustry, so far as she is concerned. I expostulate — at first more in sorrow than in anger — but as Mr. Smith's face expands into a broad laugh, it bepomes more anger than sorrow. The child on the stool looks as if she would laugh, if she dared. Lifting lier up suddenly, I discover that the whole front breadth of her frock is burned — past redemption. I say nothing — what can I say ? I have not words equal to the emergency. And the boy — boys are such copies of their fathers ! He actually forgets all embarrassment, and breaks out into a hearty laugh. I jerk him for- ward. Horror on horrors ! The unveiling of the Ba- varian statue, of which I read an account in the newspapers the other day, is nothing to it. The jamb, it appears, has supported something be- side?: the mantle shelf; ibr when I draw the young Smith forward, deprived of the fi'iendly aid of the wall, his teguments drop to the floor, and he stands unveiled ! One lell swoop at rude play has destroyed all my little innumerable KOT A RAG TO THEIR BACKS. 119 stitches ; and I km just where I was before I threaded a needle the night before ! Now I appeal to any body — any woman with the least experience, if this is not all too had ! And yet my husband insists that I have no need to be continually worrying myself with the needle. It is true that each of the children has four or five changes of clothes, which they might wear — but what is the use of their having things to " put right on — and tear right out !" I like to be prudent and saving. It was only the other day that Mr. Smith came in early, and found me busy; and commenced a regular oration. He said that every child in the house has a better wardrobe than he; and so he went on, and counted all off to me. He says — and men think they know so much — that if children have clothes they should wear them ; and when they are worn out, provide more, and not try to keep as many half-worn suits in repair, as there are new suits in a queen's wardrobe. But he likes, as well as any man, to see his children look neat, whatever he may say. And yet he pretends that children should have clothes so made that they can con- vert themselves into horses, and treat each other to rides without rending to pieces ! And he protests that it is all nonsense to undertake to keep children dressed in the fashion ! Truly I am tempted to say to the men as Job did to his friends : " No doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you !" Such plagues as they are sometimes ! But I could not help laughing after all, when, as I said before, he was lecturing me. The table was 120 CONFESSIONS OF A IIOUSEKEKPER. covered with work, done and in progress. He went on till out of breath. I answered : " Now you know the children have not a rag to their backs !" "I should think not," lie said, drily, as he looked about him. " The other morning finished up the rags on hand — but you are doing your best, with llinisy fniery, to get up a new assort- ment." " Now, that is unkind in you, Mr. Smith," said I, feeling hurt, and looking and speaking as I felt. " Keally unkind in you. I'm sure it's no pleasure for me to work, work, work, from morn- ing till night, until I'm worn down and good for nothing. I w ish my children to look decent at least ; and to do this at as small cost to you as possible. You can't charge me with wasting your property, at least." ^' There, there, dear ! That will do. Say no more about it," returned Mr. Smith, in a soothing voice. " I didn't mean to be unkind. Still, I do think that you are a little over-particular about the children's clothes, as I have said before — over-particular in the matter of having things just so. Better, a great deal, I think, spare a lew hours from extra work given to the clothing designed for their bodies, to that which is to ar- ray and beautify their minds." '^ Now, Mr. Smith !" I exclaimed, and then bending my face into my hands, gave way to in- vohmtary tears. That he should have said this ! - " ' ,., _ — 1 — Il l> ^^^^fSR 1 r CHAPTER XV. CURIOSITY. The curiosity of our sex is proverbial. Pro- verbs are generally based upon experience, and this one, I am ready to admit, is not without a good foundation to rest upon. Our sex are curious ; at least I am, and we are very apt to judge others by ourselves. I believe that I have never broken the seal nor peeped into a letter bearing the name of some other lady ; but, then, I will own to having, on more occasions than one, felt an exceedingly strong desire to know the contents of certain epistles in the hands of certain of my friends. The same feeling I have over and over again observed in my domestics, and, for this reason, have always been careful how I let my letters lie temptingly about. One chamber maid in my service, seemed to have a passion for reading other people's letters. More than once had I caught her rumaging in my drawers, or with some of my old letters in her hands ; and I could not help remarking that most of the letters left at the door by the penny post, had, if they pass- ed to me through her, a crumpled appearance. I suspected the cause of this, but did not detect my lady, until she had been some months in my family. (123) 124 CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER. One morning, after bre