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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6400a7a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67383 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67383) diff --git a/old/67383-0.txt b/old/67383-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f2166f5..0000000 --- a/old/67383-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5262 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Little Foxes, by Christopher Crowfield - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Little Foxes - -Author: Christopher Crowfield - -Release Date: February 12, 2022 [eBook #67383] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE FOXES *** - - - - - - Mrs. Stowe’s Writings. - - - _LITTLE FOXES._ - - One Volume. - - _HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS._ - - One Volume. - - _THE PEARL OF ORR’S ISLAND._ - - One Volume. - - _AGNES OF SORRENTO._ - - One Volume. - - _UNCLE TOM’S CABIN._ - - One Volume. - - _THE MINISTER’S WOOING._ - - One Volume. - - _OLDTOWN FOLKS._ - - One Volume. - - James R. Osgood, & Co., Publishers. - - - - - LITTLE FOXES. - - BY - - CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD, - AUTHOR OF “HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS.” - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON: - JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, - LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. - - 1875. - - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by - - HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, - -in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts - - - UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., - CAMBRIDGE. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - I. FAULT-FINDING 7 - - II. IRRITABILITY 53 - -III. REPRESSION 91 - - IV. PERSISTENCE 133 - - V. INTOLERANCE 176 - - VI. DISCOURTESY 218 - -VII. EXACTINGNESS 249 - - - - -LITTLE FOXES. - - - - -I. - -FAULT-FINDING. - - -“Papa, what are you going to give us this winter for our evening -readings?” said Jennie. - -“I am thinking, for one thing,” I replied, “of preaching a course of -household sermons from a very odd text prefixed to a discourse which I -found at the bottom of the pamphlet-barrel in the garret.” - -“Don’t say sermon, Papa,--it has such a dreadful sound; and on winter -evenings one wants something entertaining.” - -“Well, treatise, then,” said I, “or discourse, or essay, or prelection; -I’m not particular as to words.” - -“But what is the queer text that you found at the bottom of the -pamphlet-barrel?” - -“It was one preached upon by your mother’s great-great-grandfather, the -very savory and much-respected Simeon Shuttleworth, ‘on the occasion of -the melancholy defections and divisions among the godly in the town of -West Dofield’; and it runs thus,--‘_Take us the foxes, the little foxes, -that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes._’” - -“It’s a curious text enough; but I can’t imagine what you are going to -make of it.” - -“Simply an essay on Little Foxes,” said I, “by which I mean those -unsuspected, unwatched, insignificant _little_ causes, that nibble away -domestic happiness, and make home less than so noble an institution -should be. - -“You may build beautiful, convenient, attractive houses,--you may hang -the walls with lovely pictures and stud them with gems of Art; and there -may be living there together persons bound by blood and affection in one -common interest, leading a life common to themselves and apart from -others; and these persons may each one of them be possessed of good and -noble traits; there may be a common basis of affection, of generosity, -of good principle, of religion; and yet, through the influence of some -of these perverse, nibbling, insignificant little foxes, half the -clusters of happiness on these so promising vines may fail to come to -maturity. A little community of people, all of whom would be willing to -die for each other, may not be able to live happily together; that is, -they may have far less happiness than their circumstances, their fine -and excellent traits, entitle them to expect. - -“The reason for this in general is that home is a place not only of -strong affections, but of entire unreserves; it is life’s undress -rehearsal, its back-room, its dressing-room, from which we go forth to -more careful and guarded intercourse, leaving behind us much _débris_ of -cast-off and every-day clothing. Hence has arisen the common proverb, -‘No man is a hero to his _valet-de-chambre_’; and the common warning, -‘If you wish to keep your friend, don’t go and live with him.’” - -“Which is only another way of saying,” said my wife, “that we are all -human and imperfect; and the nearer you get to any human being, the more -defects you see. The characters that can stand the test of daily -intimacy are about as numerous as four-leaved clovers in a meadow; in -general, those who do not annoy you with positive faults bore you with -their insipidity. The evenness and beauty of a strong, well-defined -nature, perfectly governed and balanced, is about the last thing one is -likely to meet with in one’s researches into life.” - -“But what I have to say,” replied I, “is this,--that, family-life being -a state of unreserve, a state in which there are few of those barriers -and veils that keep people in the world from seeing each other’s defects -and mutually jarring and grating upon each other, it is remarkable that -it is entered upon and maintained generally with less reflection, less -care and forethought, than pertain to most kinds of business which men -and women set their hands to. A man does not undertake to run an engine -or manage a piece of machinery without some careful examination of its -parts and capabilities, and some inquiry whether he have the necessary -knowledge, skill, and strength to make it do itself and him justice. A -man does not try to play on the violin without seeing if his fingers are -long and flexible enough to bring out the harmonies and raise his -performance above the grade of dismal scraping to that of divine music. -What should we think of a man who should set a whole orchestra of -instruments upon playing together without the least provision or -forethought as to their chord, and then howl and tear his hair at the -result? It is not the fault of the instruments that they grate harsh -thunders together; they may each be noble and of celestial temper; but -united without regard to their nature, dire confusion is the result. -Still worse were it, if a man were supposed so stupid as to expect of -each instrument a _rôle_ opposed to its nature,--if he asked of the -octave-flute a bass solo, and condemned the trombone because it could -not do the work of the many-voiced violin. - -“Yet just so carelessly is the work of forming a family often performed. -A man and woman come together from some affinity, some partial accord of -their nature which has inspired mutual affection. There is generally -very little careful consideration of who and what they are,--no thought -of the reciprocal influence of mutual traits,--no previous chording and -testing of the instruments which are to make lifelong harmony or -discord,--and after a short period of engagement, in which all their -mutual relations are made as opposite as possible to those which must -follow marriage, these two furnish their house and begin life together. - -“Then in many cases the domestic roof is supposed at once to be the -proper refuge for relations and friends on both sides, who also are -introduced into the interior concert without any special consideration -of what is likely to be the operation of character on character, the -play of instrument with instrument;--then follow children, each of whom -is a separate entity, a separate will, a separate force in the circle; -and thus, with the lesser powers of servants and dependants, a family is -made up. And there is no wonder if all these chance-assorted -instruments, playing together, sometimes make quite as much discord as -harmony. For if the husband and wife chord, the wife’s sister or -husband’s mother may introduce a discord; and then again, each child of -marked character introduces another possibility of confusion. - -“The conservative forces of human nature are so strong and so various, -that with all these drawbacks the family state is after all the best and -purest happiness that earth affords. But then, with cultivation and -care, it might be a great deal happier. Very fair pears have been -raised by dropping a seed into a good soil and letting it alone for -years; but finer and choicer are raised by the watchings, tendings, -prunings of the gardener. Wild grape-vines bore very fine grapes, and an -abundance of them, before our friend Dr. Grant took up his abode at -Iona, and, studying the laws of Nature, conjured up new species of rarer -fruit and flavor out of the old. And so, if all the little foxes that -infest our domestic vine and fig-tree were once hunted out and killed, -we might have fairer clusters and fruit all winter.” - -“But, Papa,” said Jennie, “to come to the foxes; let’s know what they -are.” - -“Well, as the text says, _little_ foxes, the pet foxes of good people, -unsuspected little animals,--on the whole, often thought to be really -creditable little beasts, that may do good, and at all events cannot do -much harm. And as I have taken to the Puritanic order in my discourse, I -shall set them in sevens, as Noah did his clean beasts in the ark. Now -my seven little foxes are these:--Fault-Finding, Intolerance, -Reticence, Irritability, Exactingness, Discourtesy, Self-Will. And -here,” turning to my sermon, “is what I have to say about the first of -them.” - - -_FAULT-FINDING_,-- - -A most respectable little animal, that many people let run freely among -their domestic vines, under the notion that he helps the growth of the -grapes, and is the principal means of keeping them in order. - -Now it may safely be set down as a maxim, that nobody likes to be found -fault with, but everybody likes to find fault when things do not suit -him. - -Let my courteous reader ask him or herself if he or she does not -experience a relief and pleasure in finding fault with or about whatever -troubles them. - -This appears at first sight an anomaly in the provisions of Nature. -Generally we are so constituted that what it is a pleasure to us to do -it is a pleasure to our neighbor to have us do. It is a pleasure to -give, and a pleasure to receive. It is a pleasure to love, and a -pleasure to be loved; a pleasure to admire, a pleasure to be admired. It -is a pleasure also to find fault, but _not_ a pleasure to be found fault -with. Furthermore, those people whose sensitiveness of temperament leads -them to find the most fault are precisely those who can least bear to be -found fault with; they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and -lay them on other men’s shoulders, but they themselves cannot bear the -weight of a finger. - -Now the difficulty in the case is this: There are things in life that -need to be altered; and that things may be altered, they must be spoken -of to the people whose business it is to make the change. This opens -wide the door of fault-finding to well-disposed people, and gives them -latitude of conscience to impose on their fellows all the annoyances -which they themselves feel. The father and mother of a family are -fault-finders, _ex officio_; and to them flows back the tide of every -separate individual’s complaints in the domestic circle, till often the -whole air of the house is chilled and darkened by a drizzling Scotch -mist of querulousness. Very bad are these mists for grape-vines, and -produce mildew in many a fair cluster. - -Enthusius falls in love with Hermione, because she looks like a -moonbeam,--because she is ethereal as a summer cloud, _spirituelle_. He -commences forthwith the perpetual adoration system that precedes -marriage. He assures her that she is too good for this world, too -delicate and fair for any of the uses of poor mortality,--that she ought -to tread on roses, sleep on the clouds,--that she ought never to shed a -tear, know a fatigue, or make an exertion, but live apart in some -bright, ethereal sphere worthy of her charms. All which is duly chanted -in her ear in moonlight walks or sails, and so often repeated that a -sensible girl may be excused for believing that a little of it may be -true. - -Now comes marriage,--and it turns out that Enthusius is very particular -as to his coffee, that he is excessively disturbed if his meals are at -all irregular, and that he cannot be comfortable with any table -arrangements which do not resemble those of his notable mother, lately -deceased in the odor of sanctity; he also wants his house in perfect -order at all hours. Still he does not propose to provide a trained -housekeeper; it is all to be effected by means of certain raw Irish -girls, under the superintendence of this angel who was to tread on -roses, sleep on clouds, and never know an earthly care. Neither has -Enthusius ever considered it a part of a husband’s duty to bear personal -inconveniences in silence. He would freely shed his blood for -Hermione,--nay, has often frantically proposed the same in the hours of -courtship, when of course nobody wanted it done, and it could answer no -manner of use; but now to the idyllic dialogues of that period succeed -such as these:-- - -“My dear, this tea is smoked: can’t you get Jane into the way of making -it better?” - -“My dear, I have tried; but she will not do as I tell her.” - -“Well, all I know is, _other_ people can have good tea, and I should -think we might.” - -And again at dinner:-- - -“My dear, this mutton is overdone again; it is _always_ overdone.” - -“Not always, dear, because you recollect on Monday you said it was just -right.” - -“Well, _almost_ always.” - -“Well, my dear, the reason to-day was, I had company in the parlor, and -could not go out to caution Bridget, as I generally do. It’s very -difficult to get things done with such a girl.” - -“My mother’s things were always well done, no matter what her girl was.” - -Again: “My dear, you must speak to the servants about wasting the coal. -I never saw such a consumption of fuel in a family of our size”; or, “My -dear, how can you let Maggie tear the morning paper?” or, “My dear, I -shall actually have to give up coming to dinner, if my dinners cannot be -regular”; or, “My dear, I wish you would look at the way my shirts are -ironed,--it is perfectly scandalous”; or, “My dear, you must not let -Johnnie finger the mirror in the parlor”; or, “My dear, you must stop -the children from playing in the garret”, or, “My dear, you must see -that Maggie doesn’t leave the mat out on the railing when she sweeps the -front hall”; and so on, up stairs and down stairs, in the lady’s -chamber, in attic, garret, and cellar, “my dear” is to see that nothing -goes wrong, and she is found fault with when anything does. - -Yet Enthusius, when occasionally he finds his sometime angel in tears, -and she tells him he does not love her as he once did, repudiates the -charge with all his heart, and declares he loves her more than -ever,--and perhaps he does. The only difficulty is that she has passed -out of the plane of moonshine and poetry into that of actualities. While -she was considered an angel, a star, a bird, an evening cloud, of course -there was nothing to be found fault with in her; but now that the angel -has become chief business-partner in an earthly working firm, relations -are different. Enthusius could say the same things over again under the -same circumstances, but unfortunately now they never are in the same -circumstances. Enthusius is simply a man who is in the habit of speaking -from impulse, and saying a thing merely and only because he feels it at -the moment. Before marriage he worshipped and adored his wife as an -ideal being dwelling in the land of dreams and poetries, and did his -very best to make her unpractical and unfitted to enjoy the life to -which he was to introduce her after marriage. After marriage he still -yields unreflectingly to present impulses, which are no longer to -praise, but to criticise and condemn. The very sensibility to beauty and -love of elegance, which made him admire her before marriage, now -transferred to the arrangement of the domestic _ménage_, lead him daily -to perceive a hundred defects and find a hundred annoyances. - -Thus far we suppose an amiable, submissive wife, who is only grieved, -not provoked,--who has no sense of injustice, and meekly strives to make -good the hard conditions of her lot. Such poor, little, faded women have -we seen, looking for all the world like plants that have been nursed and -forced into bloom in the steam-heat of the conservatory, and are now -sickly and yellow, dropping leaf by leaf, in the dry, dusty parlor. - -But there is another side of the picture,--where the wife, provoked and -indignant, takes up the fault-finding trade in return, and with the keen -arrows of her woman’s wit searches and penetrates every joint of the -husband’s armor, showing herself full as unjust and far more capable in -this sort of conflict. - -Saddest of all sad things is it to see two once very dear friends -employing all that peculiar knowledge of each other which love had given -them only to harass and provoke,--thrusting and piercing with a -certainty of aim that only past habits of confidence and affection could -have put in their power, wounding their own hearts with every deadly -thrust they make at one another, and all for such inexpressibly -miserable trifles as usually form the openings of fault-finding dramas. - -For the contentions that loosen the very foundations of love, that -crumble away all its fine traceries and carved work, about what -miserable, worthless things do they commonly begin!--a dinner underdone, -too much oil consumed, a newspaper torn, a waste of coal or soap, a dish -broken!--and for this miserable sort of trash, very good, very generous, -very religious people will sometimes waste and throw away by -double-handfuls the very thing for which houses are built and coal -burned, and all the paraphernalia of a home established,--_their -happiness_. Better cold coffee, smoky tea, burnt meat, better any -inconvenience, any loss, than a loss of _love_; and nothing so surely -burns away love as constant fault-finding. - -For fault-finding once allowed as a habit between two near and dear -friends comes in time to establish a chronic soreness, so that the -mildest, the most reasonable suggestion, the gentlest implied reproof, -occasions burning irritation; and when this morbid stage has once set -in, the restoration of love seems wellnigh impossible. - -For example: Enthusius, having risen this morning in the best of humors, -in the most playful tones begs Hermione not to make the tails of her g’s -quite so long; and Hermione fires up with with-- - -“And, pray, what else wouldn’t you wish me to do? Perhaps you would be -so good, when you have leisure, as to make out an alphabetical list of -the things in me that need correcting.” - -“My dear, you are unreasonable.” - -“I don’t think so. I should like to get to the end of the requirements -of my lord and master sometimes.” - -“Now, my dear, you really are very silly.” - -“Please say something original, my dear. I have heard that till it has -lost the charm of novelty.” - -“Come now, Hermione, don’t let’s quarrel.” - -“My dear sir, who thinks of quarrelling? Not I; I’m sure I was only -asking to be directed. I trust some time, if I live to be ninety, to -suit your fastidious taste. I trust the coffee is right this morning, -_and_ the tea, _and_ the toast, _and_ the steak, _and_ the servants, -_and_ the front-hall mat, _and_ the upper-story hall-door, _and_ the -basement premises; and now I suppose I am to be trained in respect to my -general education. I shall set about the tails of my g’s at once, but -trust you will prepare a list of any other little things that need -emendation.” - -Enthusius pushes away his coffee, and drums on the table. - -“If I might be allowed one small criticism, my dear, I should observe -that it is not good manners to drum on the table,” says his fair -opposite. - -“Hermione, you are enough to drive a man frantic!” exclaims Enthusius, -rushing out with bitterness in his soul, and a determination to take his -dinner at Delmonico’s. - -Enthusius feels himself an abused man, and thinks there never was such a -sprite of a woman,--the most utterly unreasonable, provoking human being -he ever met with. What he does not think of is, that it is his own -inconsiderate, constant fault-finding that has made every nerve so -sensitive and sore, that the mildest suggestion of advice or reproof on -the most indifferent subject is impossible. He has not, to be sure, been -the guilty partner in this morning’s encounter; he has said only what -is fair and proper, and she has been unreasonable and cross; but, after -all, the fault is remotely his. - -When Enthusius awoke, after marriage, to find in his Hermione in very -deed only a bird, a star, a flower, but no housekeeper, why did he not -face the matter like an honest man? Why did he not remember all the fine -things about dependence and uselessness with which he had been filling -her head for a year or two, and in common honesty exact no more from her -than he had bargained for? Can a bird make a good business-manager? Can -a flower oversee Biddy and Mike, and impart to their uncircumcised ears -the high crafts and mysteries of elegant housekeeping? - -If his little wife has to learn her domestic _rôle_ of household duty, -as most girls do, by a thousand mortifications, a thousand perplexities, -a thousand failures, let him, in ordinary fairness, make it as easy to -her as possible. Let him remember with what admiring smiles, before -marriage, he received her pretty professions of utter helplessness and -incapacity in domestic matters, finding only poetry and grace in what, -after marriage, proved an annoyance. - -And if a man finds that he has a wife ill-adapted to wifely duties, does -it follow that the best thing he can do is to blurt out, without form or -ceremony, all the criticisms and corrections which may occur to him in -the many details of household life? He would not dare to speak with as -little preface, apology, or circumlocution to his business manager, to -his butcher, or his baker. When Enthusius was a bachelor, he never -criticised the table at his boarding-house without some reflection, and -studying to take unto himself acceptable words whereby to soften the -asperity of the criticism. The laws of society require that a man should -qualify, soften, and wisely time his admonitions to those he meets in -the outer world, or they will turn again and rend him. But to his own -wife, in his own house and home, he can find fault without ceremony or -softening. So he can; and he can awake, in the course of a year or two, -to find his wife a changed woman, and his home unendurable. He may find, -too, that unceremonious fault-finding is a game that two can play at, -and that a woman can shoot her arrows with far more precision and skill -than a man. - -But the fault lies not always on the side of the husband. Quite as often -is a devoted, patient, good-tempered man harassed and hunted and baited -by the inconsiderate fault-finding of a wife whose principal talent -seems to lie in the ability at first glance to discover and make -manifest the weak point in everything. - -We have seen the most generous, the most warm-hearted and obliging of -mortals, under this sort of training, made the most morose and -disobliging of husbands. Sure to be found fault with, whatever they do, -they have at last ceased doing. The disappointment of not pleasing they -have abated by not trying to please. - -We once knew a man who married a spoiled beauty, whose murmurs, -exactions, and caprices were infinite. He had at last, as a refuge to -his wearied nerves, settled down into a habit of utter disregard and -neglect; he treated her wishes and her complaints with equal -indifference, and went on with his life as nearly as possible as if she -did not exist. He silently provided for her what he thought proper, -without troubling himself to notice her requests or listen to her -grievances. Sickness came, but the heart of her husband was cold and -gone; there was no sympathy left to warm her. Death came, and he -breathed freely as a man released. He married again,--a woman with no -beauty, but much love and goodness,--a woman who asked little, blamed -seldom, and then with all the tact and address which the utmost -thoughtfulness could devise; and the passive, negligent husband became -the attentive, devoted slave of her will. He was in her hands as clay in -the hands of the potter; the least breath or suggestion of criticism -from her lips, who criticised so little and so thoughtfully, weighed -more with him than many out-spoken words. So different is the same human -being, according to the touch of the hand which plays upon him! - -I have spoken hitherto of fault-finding as between husband and wife: its -consequences are even worse as respects children. The habit once -suffered to grow up between the two that constitute the head of the -family descends and runs through all the branches. Children are more -hurt by indiscriminate, thoughtless fault-finding than by any other one -thing. Often a child has all the sensitiveness and all the -susceptibility of a grown person, added to the faults of childhood. -Nothing about him is right as yet; he is immature and faulty at all -points, and everybody feels at perfect liberty to criticise him to right -and left, above, below, and around, till he takes refuge either in -callous hardness or irritable moroseness. - -A bright, noisy boy rushes in from school, eager to tell his mother -something he has on his heart, and Number One cries out,--“O, you’ve -left the door open! I do wish you wouldn’t always leave the door open! -And do look at the mud on your shoes! How many times must I tell you to -wipe your feet?” - -“Now there you’ve thrown your cap on the sofa again. When will you learn -to hang it up?” - -“Don’t put your slate there; that isn’t the place for it.” - -“How dirty your hands are! what have you been doing?” - -“Don’t sit in that chair; you break the springs, jouncing.” - -“Child, how your hair looks! Do go up stairs and comb it.” - -“There, if you haven’t torn the braid all off your coat! Dear me, what a -boy!” - -“Don’t speak so loud; your voice goes through my head.” - -“I want to know, Jim, if it was you that broke up that barrel that I -have been saving for brown flour.” - -“I believe it was you, Jim, that hacked the edge of my razor.” - -“Jim’s been writing at my desk, and blotted three sheets of the best -paper.” - -Now the question is, if any of the grown people of the family had to run -the gantlet of a string of criticisms on themselves equally true as -those that salute unlucky Jim, would they be any better-natured about it -than he is? - -No; but they are grown-up people; they have rights that others are bound -to respect. Everybody cannot tell them exactly what he thinks about -everything they do. If every one could and did, would there not be -terrible reactions? - -Servants in general are only grown-up children, and the same -considerations apply to them. A raw, untrained Irish girl introduced -into an elegant house has her head bewildered in every direction. There -are the gas-pipes, the water-pipes, the whole paraphernalia of elegant -and delicate conveniences, about which a thousand little details are to -be learned, the neglect of any one of which may flood the house, or -poison it with foul air, or bring innumerable inconveniences. The -setting of a genteel table and the waiting upon it involve fifty -possibilities of mistake, each one of which will grate on the nerves of -a whole family. There is no wonder, then, that the occasions of -fault-finding in families are so constant and harassing; and there is no -wonder that mistress and maid often meet each other on the terms of the -bear and the man who fell together fifty feet down from the limb of a -high tree, and lay at the bottom of it, looking each other in the face -in helpless, growling despair. The mistress is rasped, irritated, -despairing, and with good reason: the maid is the same, and with equally -good reason. Yet let the mistress be suddenly introduced into a -printing-office, and required, with what little teaching could be given -her in a few rapid directions, to set up the editorial of a morning -paper, and it is probable she would be as stupid and bewildered as Biddy -in her beautifully arranged house. - -There are elegant houses which, from causes like these, are ever vexed -like the troubled sea that cannot rest. Literally, their table has -become a snare before them, and that which should have been for their -welfare a trap. Their gas and their water and their fire and their -elegances and ornaments, all in unskilled, blundering hands, seem only -so many guns in the hands of Satan, through which he fires at their -Christian graces day and night,--so that, if their house is kept in -order, their temper and religion are not. - -I am speaking now to the consciousness of thousands of women who are in -will and purpose real saints. Their souls go up to heaven,--its love, -its purity, its rest,--with every hymn and prayer and sacrament in -church; and they come home to be mortified, disgraced, and made to -despise themselves, for the unlovely tempers, the hasty words, the cross -looks, the universal nervous irritability, that result from this -constant jarring of finely toned chords under unskilled hands. - -Talk of hair-cloth shirts, and scourgings, and sleeping on ashes, as -means of saintship! there is no need of them in our country. Let a woman -once look at her domestic trials as her hair-cloth, her ashes, her -scourges,--accept them,--rejoice in them,--smile and be quiet, silent, -patient, and loving under them,--and the convent can teach her no more; -she is a victorious saint. - -When the damper of the furnace is turned the wrong way by Paddy, after -the five hundredth time of explanation, and the whole family awakes -coughing, sneezing, strangling,--when the gas is blown out in the -nursery by Biddy, who has been instructed every day for weeks in the -danger of such a proceeding,--when the tumblers on the dinner-table are -found dim and streaked, after weeks of training in the simple business -of washing and wiping,--when the ivory-handled knives and forks are left -soaking in hot dish-water, after incessant explanations of the -consequences,--when four or five half-civilized beings, above, below, -and all over the house, are constantly forgetting the most important -things at the very moment it is most necessary they should remember -them,--there is no hope for the mistress morally, unless she can in very -deed and truth accept her trials religiously, and conquer by accepting. -It is not apostles alone who can take pleasure in necessities and -distresses, but mothers and housewives also, if they would learn of the -Apostle, might say, “When I am weak, then am I strong.” - -The burden ceases to gall when we have learned how to carry it. We can -suffer patiently, if we see any good come of it, and say, as an old -black woman of our acquaintance did of an event that crossed her -purpose, “Well, Lord, if it’s _you_, send it along.” - -But that this may be done, that home-life, in our unsettled, changing -state of society, may become peaceful and restful, there is one -Christian grace, much treated of by mystic writers, that must return to -its honor in the Christian Church. I mean,--THE GRACE OF SILENCE. - -No words can express, no tongue can tell, the value of NOT SPEAKING. -“Speech is silvern, but silence is golden,” is an old and very precious -proverb. - -“But,” say many voices, “what is to become of us, if we may not speak? -Must we not correct our children and our servants and each other? Must -we let people go on doing wrong to the end of the chapter?” - -No; fault must be found; faults must be told, errors corrected. Reproof -and admonition are duties of householders to their families, and of all -true friends to one another. - -But, gentle reader, let us look over life, our own lives and the lives -of others, and ask, How much of the fault-finding which prevails has the -least tendency to do any good? How much of it is well-timed, -well-pointed, deliberate, and just, so spoken as to be effective? - -“A wise reprover upon an obedient ear” is one of the _rare_ things -spoken of by Solomon,--the rarest, perhaps, to be met with. How many -really religious people put any of their religion into their manner of -performing this most difficult office? We find fault with a stove or -furnace which creates heat only to go up chimney and not warm the house. -We say it is wasteful. Just so wasteful often seem prayer-meetings, -church-services, and sacraments; they create and excite lovely, gentle, -holy feelings,--but, if these do not pass out into the atmosphere of -daily life, and warm and clear the air of our homes, there is a great -waste in our religion. - -We have been on our knees, confessing humbly that we are as awkward in -heavenly things, as unfit for the Heavenly Jerusalem, as Biddy and -Mike, and the little beggar-girl on our door-steps, are for our parlors. -We have deplored our errors daily, hourly, and confessed that “the -remembrance of them is grievous unto us, the burden of them is -intolerable,” and then we draw near in the sacrament to that Incarnate -Divinity whose infinite love covers all our imperfections with the -mantle of His perfections. But when we return, do we take our servants -and children by the throat because they are as untrained and awkward and -careless in earthly things as we have been in heavenly? Does no -remembrance of Christ’s infinite patience temper our impatience, when we -have spoken seventy times seven, and our words have been disregarded? -There is no mistake as to the sincerity of the religion which the Church -excites. What we want is to have it _used_ in common life, instead of -going up like hot air in a fireplace to lose itself in the infinite -abysses above. - -In reproving and fault-finding, we have beautiful examples in Holy Writ. -When Saint Paul has a reproof to administer to delinquent Christians, -how does he temper it with gentleness and praise! how does he first make -honorable note of all the good there is to be spoken of! how does he -give assurance of his prayers and love!--and when at last the arrow -flies, it goes all the straighter to the mark for this carefulness. - -But there was a greater, a purer, a lovelier than Paul, who made His -home on earth with twelve plain men, ignorant, prejudiced, slow to -learn,--and who to the very day of His death were still contending on a -point which He had repeatedly explained, and troubling His last earthly -hours with the old contest, “Who should be greatest.” When all else -failed, on His knees before them as their servant, tenderly performing -for love the office of a slave, he said, “If I, your Lord and Master, -have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another’s feet.” - -When parents, employers, and masters learn to reprove in this spirit, -reproofs will be more effective than they now are. It was by the -exercise of this spirit that Fénelon transformed the proud, petulant, -irritable, selfish Duke of Burgundy, making him humble, gentle, tolerant -of others, and severe only to himself: it was he who had for his motto, -that “Perfection alone can bear with imperfection.” - -But apart from the fault-finding which has a definite aim, how much is -there that does not profess or intend or try to do anything more than -give vent to an irritated state of feeling! The nettle stings us, and we -toss it with both hands at our neighbor; the fire burns us, and we throw -coals and hot ashes at all and sundry of those about us. - -There is _fretfulness_, a mizzling, drizzling rain of discomforting -remark; there is _grumbling_, a northeast storm that never clears; there -is _scolding_, the thunder-storm with lightning and hail. All these are -worse than useless; they are positive _sins_, by whomsoever -indulged,--sins as great and real as many that are shuddered at in -polite society. - -All these are for the most part but the venting on our fellow-beings of -morbid feelings resulting from dyspepsia, overtaxed nerves, or general -ill health. - -A minister eats too much mince-pie, goes to his weekly lecture, and, -seeing only half a dozen people there, proceeds to grumble at those -half-dozen for the sins of such as stay away. “The Church is cold, there -is no interest in religion,” and so on: a simple outpouring of the -blues. - -You and I do in one week the work we ought to do in six; we overtax -nerve and brain, and then have weeks of darkness in which everything at -home seems running to destruction. The servants never were so careless, -the children never so noisy, the house never so disorderly, the State -never so ill-governed, the Church evidently going over to Antichrist. -The only thing, after all, in which the existing condition of affairs -differs from that of a week ago is, that we have used up our nervous -energy, and are looking at the world through blue spectacles. We ought -to resist the devil of fault-finding at this point, and cultivate -silence as a grace till our nerves are rested. There are times when no -one should trust himself to judge his neighbors, or reprove his children -and servants, or find fault with his friends,--for he is so sharp-set -that he cannot strike a note without striking too hard. Then is the time -to try the grace of silence, and, what is better than silence, the power -of prayer. - -But it being premised that we are _never_ to fret, never to grumble, -never to scold, and yet it being our duty in some way to make known and -get rectified the faults of others, it remains to ask how; and on this -head we will improvise a parable of two women. - -Mrs. Standfast is a woman of high tone, and possessed of a power of -moral principle that impresses one even as sublime. All her perceptions -of right and wrong are clear, exact, and minute; she is charitable to -the poor, kind to the sick and suffering, and devoutly and earnestly -religious. In all the minutiæ of woman’s life she manifests an -inconceivable precision and perfection. Everything she does is perfectly -done. She is true to all her promises to the very letter, and so -punctual that railroad time might be kept by her instead of a -chronometer. - -Yet, with all these excellent traits, Mrs. Standfast has not the faculty -of making a happy home. She is that most hopeless of fault-finders,--a -fault-finder from principle. She has a high, correct standard for -everything in the world, from the regulation of the thoughts down to the -spreading of a sheet or the hemming of a towel; and to this exact -standard she feels it her duty to bring every one in her household. She -does not often scold, she is not actually fretful, but she exercises -over her household a calm, inflexible severity, rebuking every fault; -she overlooks nothing, she excuses nothing, she will accept of nothing -in any part of her domain but absolute perfection; and her reproofs are -aimed with a true and steady point, and sent with a force that makes -them felt by the most obdurate. - -Hence, though she is rarely seen out of temper, and seldom or never -scolds, yet she drives every one around her to despair by the use of the -calmest and most elegant English. Her servants fear, but do not love -her. Her husband, an impulsive, generous man, somewhat inconsiderate and -careless in his habits, is at times perfectly desperate under the -accumulated load of her disapprobation. Her children regard her as -inhabiting some high, distant, unapproachable mountain-top of goodness, -whence she is always looking down with reproving eyes on naughty boys -and girls. They wonder how it is that so excellent a mamma should have -children who, let them try to be good as hard as they can, are always -sure to do something dreadful every day. - -The trouble with Mrs. Standfast is, not that she has a high standard, -and not that she purposes and means to bring every one up to it, but -that she does not take the right way. She has set it down in her mind -that to blame a wrong-doer is the only way to cure wrong. She has never -learned that it is as much her duty to praise as to blame, and that -people are drawn to do right by being praised when they do it, rather -than driven by being blamed when they do not. - -Right across the way from Mrs. Standfast is Mrs. Easy, a pretty little -creature, with not a tithe of her moral worth,--a merry, pleasure-loving -woman, of no particular force of principle, whose great object in life -is to avoid its disagreeables and to secure its pleasures. - -Little Mrs. Easy is adored by her husband, her children, her servants, -merely because it is her nature to say pleasant things to every one. It -is a mere tact of pleasing, which she uses without knowing it. While -Mrs. Standfast, surveying her well-set dining-table, runs her keen eye -over everything, and at last brings up with, “Jane, look at that black -spot on the salt-spoon! I am astonished at your carelessness!"--Mrs. -Easy would say, “Why, Jane, where _did_ you learn to set a table so -nicely? All looking beautifully, except,--ah! let’s see,--just give a -rub to this salt-spoon;--now all is quite perfect.” Mrs. Standfast’s -servants and children hear only of their failures; these are always -before them and her. Mrs. Easy’s servants hear of their successes. She -praises their good points; tells them they are doing well in this, that, -and the other particular; and finally exhorts them, on the strength of -having done so many things well, to improve in what is yet lacking. Mrs. -Easy’s husband feels that he is always a hero in her eyes, and her -children feel that they are dear good children, notwithstanding Mrs. -Easy sometimes has her little tiffs of displeasure, and scolds roundly -when something falls out as it should not. - -The two families show how much more may be done by a very ordinary -woman, through the mere instinct of praising and pleasing, than by the -greatest worth, piety, and principle, seeking to lift human nature by a -lever that never was meant to lift it by. - -The faults and mistakes of us poor human beings are as often perpetuated -by despair as by any other one thing. Have we not all been burdened by a -consciousness of faults that we were slow to correct because we felt -discouraged? Have we not been sensible of a real help sometimes from the -presence of a friend who thought well of us, believed in us, set our -virtues in the best light, and put our faults in the background? - -Let us depend upon it, that the flesh and blood that are in us,--the -needs, the wants, the despondencies,--are in each of our fellows, in -every awkward servant and careless child. - -Finally, let us all resolve,-- - -First, to attain to the grace of SILENCE. - -Second, to deem all FAULT-FINDING that does no good a SIN; and to -resolve, when we are happy ourselves, not to poison the atmosphere for -our neighbors by calling on them to remark every painful and -disagreeable feature of their daily life. - -Third, to practise the grace and virtue of PRAISE. We have all been -taught that it is our duty to praise God, but few of us have reflected -on our duty to praise men; and yet for the same reason that we should -praise the divine goodness it is our duty to praise human excellence. - -We should praise our friends,--our near and dear ones; we should look on -and think of their virtues till their faults fade away; and when we love -most, and see most to love, then only is the wise time wisely to speak -of what should still be altered. - -Parents should look out for occasions to commend their children, as -carefully as they seek to reprove their faults; and employers should -praise the good their servants do as strictly as they blame the evil. - -Whoever undertakes to use this weapon will find that praise goes farther -in many cases than blame. Watch till a blundering servant does something -well, and then praise him for it, and you will see a new fire lighted in -the eye, and often you will find that in that one respect at least you -have secured excellence thenceforward. - -When you blame, which should be seldom, let it be alone with the person, -quietly, considerately, and with all the tact you are possessed of. The -fashion of reproving children and servants in the presence of others -cannot be too much deprecated. Pride, stubbornness, and self-will are -aroused by this, while a more private reproof might be received with -thankfulness. - -As a general rule, I would say, treat children in these respects just as -you would grown people; they are grown people in miniature, and need as -careful consideration of their feelings as any of us. - -Lastly, let us all make a bead-roll, a holy rosary, of all that is good -and agreeable in our position, our surroundings, our daily lot, of all -that is good and agreeable in our friends, our children, our servants, -and charge ourselves to repeat it daily, till the habit of our minds be -to praise and to commend; and so doing, we shall catch and kill one -_Little Fox_ who hath destroyed many tender grapes. - - - - -II. - -IRRITABILITY. - - -It was that Christmas-day that did it; I’m quite convinced of that; and -the way it was is, what I am going to tell you. - -You see, among the various family customs of us Crowfields, the -observance of all sorts of _fêtes_ and festivals has always been a -matter of prime regard; and among all the festivals of the round ripe -year, none is so joyous and honored among us as Christmas. - -Let no one upon this prick up the ears of Archæology, and tell us that -by the latest calculations of chronologists our ivy-grown and -holly-mantled Christmas is all a hum,--that it has been demonstrated, by -all sorts of signs and tables, that the august event it celebrates did -not take place on the 25th of December. Supposing it be so, what have we -to do with that? If so awful, so joyous an event _ever_ took place on -our earth, it is surely worth commemoration. It is the _event_ we -celebrate, not the _time_. And if all Christians for eighteen hundred -years, while warring and wrangling on a thousand other points, have -agreed to give this one 25th of December to peace and good-will, who is -he that shall gainsay them, and for an historic scruple turn his back on -the friendly greetings of all Christendom? Such a man is capable of -re-writing Milton’s Christmas Hymn in the style of Sternhold and -Hopkins. - -In our house, however, Christmas has always been a high day, a day whose -expectation has held waking all the little eyes in our bird’s nest, when -as yet there were only little ones there, each sleeping with one eye -open, hoping to be the happy first to wish the merry Christmas and grasp -the wonderful stocking. - -This year our whole family train of married girls and boys, with the -various toddling tribes thereto belonging, held high festival around a -wonderful Christmas-tree, the getting-up and adorning of which had kept -my wife and Jennie and myself busy for a week beforehand. If the little -folks think these trees grow up in a night, without labor, they know as -little about them as they do about most of the other blessings which -rain down on their dear little thoughtless heads. Such scrambling and -clambering and fussing and tying and untying, such alterations and -rearrangements, such agilities in getting up and down and everywhere to -tie on tapers and gold balls and glittering things innumerable, to hang -airy dolls in graceful positions, to make branches bear stiffly up under -loads of pretty things which threaten to make the tapers turn bottom -upward! - -Part and parcel of all this was I, Christopher, most reckless of -rheumatism, most careless of dignity,--the round, bald top of my head to -be seen emerging everywhere from the thick boughs of the spruce, now -devising an airy settlement for some gossamer-robed doll, now adjusting -far back on a stiff branch Tom’s new little skates, now balancing bags -of sugar-plums and candy, and now combating desperately with some -contumacious taper that would turn slantwise or crosswise, or anywise -but upward, as a Christian taper should,--regardless of Mrs. Crowfield’s -gentle admonitions and suggestions, sitting up to most dissipated hours, -springing out of bed suddenly to change some arrangement in the middle -of the night, and up long before the lazy sun at dawn to execute still -other arrangements. If that Christmas-tree had been a fort to be taken, -or a campaign to be planned, I could not have spent more time and -strength on it. My zeal so far outran even that of sprightly Miss -Jennie, that she could account for it only by saucily suggesting that -papa must be fast getting into his second childhood. - -But didn’t we have a splendid lighting-up? Didn’t I and my youngest -grandson, little Tom, head the procession magnificent in paper -soldier-caps, blowing tin trumpets and beating drums, as we marched -round the twinkling glories of our Christmas-tree, all glittering with -red and blue and green tapers, and with a splendid angel on top with -great gold wings, the cutting-out and adjusting of which had held my -eyes waking for nights before? I had had oceans of trouble with that -angel, owing to an unlucky sprain in his left wing, which had required -constant surgical attention through the week, and which I feared might -fall loose again at the important and blissful moment of exhibition: but -no, the Fates were in our favor; the angel behaved beautifully, and kept -his wings as crisp as possible, and the tapers all burned splendidly, -and the little folks were as crazy with delight as my most ardent hopes -could have desired; and then we romped and played and frolicked as long -as little eyes could keep open, and long after; and so passed away our -Christmas. - -I had forgotten to speak of the Christmas-dinner, that solid feast of -fat things, on which we also luxuriated. Mrs. Crowfield outdid all -household traditions in that feast: the turkey and the chickens, the -jellies and the sauces, the pies and the pudding, behold, are they not -written in the tablets of Memory which remain to this day? - -The holidays passed away hilariously, and at New-Year’s I, according to -time-honored custom, went forth to make my calls and see my fair -friends, while my wife and daughters stayed at home to dispense the -hospitalities of the day to their gentlemen friends. All was merry, -cheerful, and it was agreed on all hands that a more joyous holiday -season had never flown over us. - -But, somehow, the week after, I began to be sensible of a running-down -in the wheels. I had an article to write for the “Atlantic,” but felt -mopish and could not write. My dinner had not its usual relish, and I -had an indefinite sense everywhere of something going wrong. My coal -bill came in, and I felt sure we were being extravagant, and that our -John Furnace wasted the coal. My grandsons and granddaughters came to -see us, and I discovered that they had high-pitched voices, and burst in -without wiping their shoes, and it suddenly occurred powerfully to my -mind that they were not being well brought up,--evidently, they were -growing up rude and noisy. I discovered several tumblers and plates with -the edges chipped, and made bitter reflections on the carelessness of -Irish servants;--our crockery was going to destruction, along with the -rest. Then, on opening one of my paper-drawers, I found that Jennie’s -one drawer of worsted had overflowed into two or three; Jennie was -growing careless; besides, worsted is dear, and girls knit away small -fortunes, without knowing it, on little duds that do nobody any good. -Moreover, Maggie had three times put my slippers into the hall-closet, -instead of leaving them where I wanted, under my study-table. Mrs. -Crowfield ought to look after things more; every servant, from end to -end of the house, was getting out of the traces, it was strange she did -not see it. - -All this I vented, from time to time, in short, crusty sayings and -doings, as freely as if I hadn’t just written an article on “Little -Foxes” in the last “Atlantic,” till at length my eyes were opened on my -own state and condition. - -It was evening, and I had just laid up the fire in the most approved -style of architecture, and, projecting my feet into my slippers, sat -spitefully cutting the leaves of a caustic review. - -Mrs. Crowfield took the tongs and altered the disposition of a stick. - -“My dear,” I said, “I do wish you’d let the fire alone,--you always put -it out.” - -“I was merely admitting a little air between the sticks,” said my wife. - -“You always make matters worse, when you touch the fire.” - -As if in contradiction, a bright tongue of flame darted up between the -sticks, and the fire began chattering and snapping defiance at me. Now, -if there’s anything which would provoke a saint, it is to be jeered and -snapped at in that way by a man’s own fire. It’s an unbearable -impertinence. I threw out my leg impatiently, and hit Rover, who yelped -a yelp that finished the upset of my nerves. I gave him a hearty kick, -that he might have something to yelp for, and in the movement upset -Jennie’s embroidery-basket. - -“Oh, papa!” - -“Confound your baskets and balls! they are everywhere, so that a man -can’t move; useless, wasteful things, too.” - -“Wasteful?” said Jennie, coloring indignantly; for if there’s anything -Jennie piques herself upon, it’s economy. - -“Yes, wasteful,--wasting time and money both. Here are hundreds of -shivering poor to be clothed, and Christian females sit and do nothing -but crochet worsted into useless knicknacks. If they would be working -for the poor, there would be some sense in it. But it’s all just alike, -no real Christianity in the world, nothing but organized selfishness and -self-indulgence.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs. Crowfield, “you are not well to-night. Things are -not quite so desperate as they appear. You haven’t got over -Christmas-week.” - -“I _am_ well. Never was better. But I can see, I hope, what’s before my -eyes; and the fact is, Mrs. Crowfield, things must not go on as they are -going. There must be more care, more attention to details. There’s -Maggie,--that girl never does what she is told. You are too slack with -her, Ma’am. She will light the fire with the last paper, and she won’t -put my slippers in the right place; and I can’t have my study made the -general catch-all and menagerie for Rover and Jennie, and her baskets -and balls, and for all the family litter.” - -Just at this moment I overheard a sort of aside from Jennie, who was -swelling with repressed indignation at my attack on her worsted. She sat -with her back to me, knitting energetically, and said, in a low, but -very decisive tone, as she twitched her yarn,-- - -“Now if _I_ should talk in that way, people would call me _cross_,--and -that’s the whole of it.” - -I pretended to be looking into the fire in an absent-minded state; but -Jennie’s words had started a new idea. Was _that_ it? Was that the whole -matter? Was it, then, a fact, that the house, the servants, Jennie and -her worsteds, Rover and Mrs. Crowfield, were all going on pretty much as -usual, and that the only difficulty was that I was _cross_? How many -times had I encouraged Rover to lie just where he was lying when I -kicked him! How many times, in better moods, had I complimented Jennie -on her neat little fancy-works, and declared that I liked the social -companionship of ladies’ work-baskets among my papers! Yes, it was -clear. After all, things were much as they had been; only I was cross. - -_Cross._ I put it to myself in that simple, old-fashioned word, instead -of saying that I was out of spirits, or nervous, or using any of the -other smooth phrases with which we good Christians cover up our little -sins of temper. “Here you are, Christopher,” said I to myself, “a -literary man, with a somewhat delicate nervous organization and a -sensitive stomach, and you have been eating like a sailor or a -ploughman; you have been gallivanting and merry-making and playing the -boy for two weeks; up at all sorts of irregular hours, and into all -sorts of boyish performances; and the consequence is, that, like a -thoughtless young scapegrace, you have used up in ten days the capital -of nervous energy that was meant to last you ten weeks. You can’t eat -your cake and have it too, Christopher. When the nervous-fluid, source -of cheerfulness, giver of pleasant sensations and pleasant views, is -all spent, you can’t feel cheerful; things cannot look as they did when -you were full of life and vigor. When the tide is out, there is nothing -but unsightly, ill-smelling tide-mud, and you can’t help it; but you -_can_ keep your senses,--you _can_ know what is the matter with -you,--you can keep from visiting your overdose of Christmas mincepies -and candies and jocularities on the heads of Mrs. Crowfield, Rover, and -Jennie, whether in the form of virulent morality, pungent criticisms, or -a free kick, such as you just gave the poor brute.” - -“Come here, Rover, poor dog!” said I, extending my hand to Rover, who -cowered at the farther corner of the room, eying me wistfully,--“come -here, you poor doggie, and make up with your master. There, there! Was -his master cross? Well, he knows it. We must forgive and forget, old -boy, mustn’t we?” And Rover nearly broke his own back and tore me to -pieces with his tumultuous tail-waggings. - -“As for you, puss,” I said to Jennie, “I am much obliged to you for your -free suggestion. You must take my cynical moralities for what they are -worth, and put your little traps into as many of my drawers as you -like.” - -In short, I made it up handsomely all around,--even apologizing to Mrs. -Crowfield, who, by the by, has summered and wintered me so many years, -and knows all my little seams and crinkles so well, that she took my -irritable, unreasonable spirit as tranquilly as if I had been a baby -cutting a new tooth. - -“Of course, Chris, I knew what the matter was; don’t disturb yourself,” -she said, as I began my apology; “we understand each other. But there is -one thing I have to say; and that is, that your article ought to be -ready.” - -“Ah, well, then,” said I, “like other great writers, I shall make -capital of my own sins, and treat of the second little family fox; and -his name is-- - - _IRRITABILITY._ - -IRRITABILITY is, more than most unlovely states, a sin of the flesh. It -is not, like envy, malice, spite, revenge, a vice which we may suppose -to belong equally to an embodied or a disembodied spirit. In fact, it -comes nearer to being physical depravity than anything I know of. There -are some bodily states, some conditions of the nerves, such that we -could not conceive of even an angelic spirit confined in a body thus -disordered as being able to do any more than simply endure. It is a -state of nervous torture; and the attacks which the wretched victim -makes on others are as much a result of disease as the snapping and -biting of a patient convulsed with hydrophobia. - -Then, again, there are other people who go through life loving and -beloved, desired in every circle, held up in the Church as examples of -the power of religion, who, after all, deserve no credit for these -things. Their spirits are lodged in an animal nature so tranquil, so -cheerful, all the sensations which come to them are so fresh and -vigorous and pleasant, that they cannot help viewing the world -charitably and seeing everything through a glorified medium. The -ill-temper of others does not provoke them; perplexing business never -sets their nerves to vibrating; and all their lives long they walk in -the serene sunshine of perfect animal health. - -Look at Rover there. He is never nervous, never cross, never snaps or -snarls, and is ready, the moment after the grossest affront, to wag the -tail of forgiveness,--all because kind Nature has put his dog’s body -together so that it always works harmoniously. If every person in the -world were gifted with a stomach and nerves like his, it would be a far -better and happier world, no doubt. The man said a good thing who made -the remark, that the foundation of all intellectual and moral worth must -be laid in a good healthy animal. - -Now I think it is undeniable that the peace and happiness of the -home-circle are very generally much invaded by the recurrence in its -members of these states of bodily irritability. Every person, if he -thinks the matter over, will see that his condition in life, the -character of his friends, his estimate of their virtues and failings, -his hopes and expectations, are all very much modified by these things. -Cannot we all remember going to bed as very ill-used, persecuted -individuals, all whose friends were unreasonable, whose life was full of -trials and crosses, and waking up on a bright bird-singing morning to -find all these illusions gone with the fogs of the night? Our friends -are nice people, after all; the little things that annoyed us look -ridiculous by bright sunshine and we are fortunate individuals. - -The philosophy of life, then, as far as this matter is concerned, must -consist of two things: first, to keep ourselves out of irritable bodily -states; and, second, to understand and control these states, when we -cannot ward them off. - -Of course, the first of these is the most important; and yet, of all -things, it seems to be least looked into and understood. We find -abundant rules for the government of the tongue and temper; it is a -slough into which, John Bunyan hath it, cart-loads of wholesome -instructions have been thrown; but how to get and keep that healthy -state of brain, stomach, and nerves which takes away the temptation to -ill-temper and anger is a subject which moral and religious teachers -seem scarcely to touch upon. - -Now, without running into technical, physiological language, it is -evident, as regards us human beings, that there is a power by which we -live and move and have our being,--by which the brain thinks and wills, -the stomach digests, the blood circulates, and all the different -provinces of the little man-kingdom do their work. This something--call -it nervous fluid, nervous power, vital energy, life-force, or anything -else that you will--is a perfectly understood, if not a definable thing. -It is plain, too, that people possess this force in very different -degrees; some generating it as a high pressure engine does steam, and -using it constantly, with an apparently inexhaustible flow and others -who have little, and spend it quickly. We have a common saying, that -this or that person is soon used up. Now most nervous irritable states -of temper are the mere physics’ result of a used-up condition. The -person has overspent his nervous energy,--like a man who should eat up -on Monday the whole food which was to keep him for a week, and go -growling and faint through the other days; or the quantity of nervous -force which was wanted to carry on the whole system in all its parts is -seized on by some one monopolizing portion, and used up to the loss and -detriment of the rest. Thus, with men of letters, an exorbitant brain -expends on its own wreckings what belongs to the other offices of the -body: the stomach has nothing to carry on digestion; the secretions are -badly made; and the imperfectly assimilated nourishment, that is -conveyed to every little nerve and tissue, carries with it an acrid, -irritating quality, producing general restlessness and discomfort. So -men and women go struggling on through their threescore and ten years, -scarcely one in a thousand knowing through life that perfect balance of -parts, that appropriate harmony of energies, that make a healthy, kindly -animal condition, predisposing to cheerfulness and good-will. - -We Americans are, in the first place, a nervous, excitable people. -Multitudes of children, probably the great majority in the upper walks -of life, are born into the world with weaknesses of the nervous -organization, or of the brain or stomach, which make them incapable of -any strong excitement or prolonged exertion without some lesion or -derangement; so that they are continually being checked, laid up, and -made invalids in the midst of their days. Life here in America is so -fervid, so fast, our climate is so stimulating, with its clear, bright -skies, its rapid and sudden changes of temperature, that the tendencies -to nervous disease are constantly aggravated. - -Under these circumstances, unless men and women make a conscience, a -religion, of saving and sparing something of themselves expressly for -home-life and home-consumption, it must follow that home will often be -merely a sort of refuge for us to creep into when we are used up and -irritable. - -Papa is up and off, after a hasty breakfast, and drives all day in his -business, putting into it all there is in him, letting it drink up brain -and nerve and body and soul, and coming home jaded and exhausted, so -that he cannot bear the cry of the baby, and the frolics and pattering -of the nursery seem horrid and needless confusion. The little ones say, -in their plain vernacular, “Papa is cross.” - -Mamma goes out to a party that keeps her up till one or two in the -morning, breathes bad air, eats indigestible food, and the next day is -so nervous that every straw and thread in her domestic path is -insufferable. - -Papas that pursue business thus day after day, and mammas that go into -company, as it is called, night after night, what is there left in or of -them to make an agreeable fireside with, to brighten their home and -inspire their children? - -True, the man says he cannot help himself,--business requires it. But -what is the need of rolling up money at the rate at which he is seeking -to do it? Why not have less, and take some time to enjoy his home, and -cheer up his wife, and form the minds of his children? Why spend himself -down to the last drop on the world, and give to the dearest friends he -has only the bitter dregs? - -Much of the preaching which the pulpit and the Church have levelled at -fashionable amusements has failed of any effect at all, because wrongly -put. A cannonade has been opened upon dancing, for example, and all for -reasons that will not, in the least, bear looking into. It is vain to -talk of dancing as a sin because practised in a dying world where souls -are passing into eternity. If dancing is a sin for this reason, so is -playing marbles, or frolicking with one’s children, or enjoying a good -dinner, or doing fifty other things which nobody ever dreamed of -objecting to. - -If the preacher were to say that anything is a sin which uses up the -strength we need for daily duties, and leaves us fagged out and -irritable at just those times and in just those places when and where we -need most to be healthy, cheerful, and self-possessed, he would say a -thing that none of his hearers would dispute. If he should add, that -dancing-parties, beginning at ten o’clock at night and ending at four -o’clock in the morning, do use up the strength, weaken the nerves, and -leave a person wholly unfit for any home duty, he would also be saying -what very few people would deny; and then his case would be made out. If -he should say that it is wrong to breathe bad air and fill the stomach -with unwholesome dainties, so as to make one restless, ill-natured, and -irritable for days, he would also say what few would deny, and his -preaching might have some hope of success. - -The true manner of judging of the worth of amusements is to try them by -their effects on the nerves and spirits the day after. True amusement -ought to be, as the word indicates, _recreation_,--something that -refreshes, turns us out anew, rests the mind and body by change, and -gives cheerfulness and alacrity to our return to duty. - -The true objection to all stimulants, alcoholic and narcotic, consists -simply in this,--that they are a form of overdraft on the nervous -energy, which helps us to use up in one hour the strength of whole -days. - -A man uses up all the fair, legal interest of nervous power by too much -business, too much care, or too much amusement. He has now a demand to -meet. He has a complicate account to make up, an essay or a sermon to -write, and he primes himself by a cup of coffee, a cigar, a glass of -spirits. This is exactly the procedure of a man who, having used the -interest of his money, begins to dip into the principal. The strength a -man gets in this way is just so much taken out of his life-blood; it is -borrowing of a merciless creditor, who will exact, in time, the pound of -flesh nearest his heart. - -Much of the irritability which spoils home happiness is the letting-down -from the over-excitement of stimulus. Some will drink coffee, when they -own every day that it makes them nervous; some will drug themselves with -tobacco, and some with alcohol, and, for a few hours of extra -brightness, give themselves and their friends many hours when amiability -or agreeableness is quite out of the question. There are people calling -themselves Christians who live in miserable thraldom, forever in debt to -Nature, forever overdrawing on their just resources, and using up their -patrimony, because they have not the moral courage to break away from a -miserable appetite. - -The same may be said of numberless indulgences of the palate, which tax -the stomach beyond its power, and bring on all the horrors of -indigestion. It is almost impossible for a confirmed dyspeptic to act -like a good Christian; but a good Christian ought not to become a -confirmed dyspeptic. Reasonable self-control, abstaining from all -unseasonable indulgence, may prevent or put an end to dyspepsia, and -many suffer and make their friends suffer only because they will persist -in eating what they know is hurtful to them. - -But it is not merely in worldly business, or fashionable amusements, or -the gratification of appetite, that people are tempted to overdraw and -use up in advance their life-force. It is done in ways more insidious, -because connected with our moral and religious faculties. There are -religious exaltations beyond the regular pulse and beatings of ordinary -nature, that quite as surely gravitate downward into the mire of -irritability. The ascent to the third heaven lets even the Apostle down -to a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet him. - -It is the temptation of natures in which the moral faculties predominate -to overdo in the outward expression and activities of religion till they -are used up and irritable, and have no strength left to set a good -example in domestic life. - -The Reverend Mr. X. in the pulpit to-day appears with the face of an -angel; he soars away into those regions of exalted devotion where his -people can but faintly gaze after him; he tells them of the victory that -overcometh the world, of an unmoved faith that fears no evil, of a -serenity of love that no outward event can ruffle; and all look after -him and wonder, and wish they could so soar. - -Alas! the exaltation which inspires these sublime conceptions, these -celestial ecstasies, is a double and treble draft on Nature,--and poor -Mrs. X. knows, when she hears him preaching, that days of miserable -reaction are before her. He has been a fortnight driving before a gale -of strong excitement, doing all the time twice or thrice as much as in -his ordinary state he could, and sustaining himself by the stimulus of -strong coffee. He has preached or exhorted every night, and conversed -with religious inquirers every day, seeming to himself to become -stronger and stronger, because every day more and more excitable and -excited. To his hearers, with his flushed sunken cheek and his -glittering eye, he looks like some spiritual being just trembling on his -flight for upper worlds; but to poor Mrs. X., whose husband he is, -things wear a very different aspect. Her woman and mother instincts -tell her that he is drawing on his life-capital with both hands, and -that the hours of a terrible settlement must come, and the days of -darkness will be many. He who spoke so beautifully of the peace of a -soul made perfect will not be able to bear the cry of his baby or the -pattering feet of any of the poor little X.s, who must be sent - - “Anywhere, anywhere, - Out of his sight”; - -he who discoursed so devoutly of perfect trust in God will be nervous -about the butcher’s bill, sure of going to ruin because both ends of the -salary don’t meet; and he who could so admiringly tell of the silence of -Jesus under provocation will but too often speak unadvisedly with his -lips. Poor Mr. X. will be morally insane for days or weeks, and -absolutely incapable of preaching Christ in the way that is the most -effective, by setting Him forth in his own daily example. - -What then? must we not do the work of the Lord? - -Yes, certainly; but the first work of the Lord, that for which provision -is to be made in the first place, is to set a good example as a -Christian man. Better labor for years steadily, diligently, doing every -day only what the night’s rest can repair, avoiding those cheating -stimulants that overtax Nature, and illustrating the sayings of the -pulpit by the daily life in the family, than to pass life in exaltations -and depressions, resulting from overstrained labors, supported by -unnatural stimulus. - -The same principles apply to hearers as to preachers. Religious services -must be judged of like amusements, by their effect on the life. If an -overdose of prayers, hymns, and sermons leaves us tired, nervous, and -cross, it is only not quite as bad as an overdose of fashionable folly. - -It could be wished that in every neighborhood there might be one or two -calm, sweet, daily services which should morning and evening unite for -a few solemn moments the hearts of all as in one family, and feed with a -constant, unnoticed, daily supply the lamp of faith and love. Such are -some of the daily prayer-meetings which for eight or ten years past have -held their even tenor in some of our New England cities, and such the -morning and evening services which we are glad to see obtaining in the -Episcopal churches. Everything which brings religion into habitual -contact with life, and makes it part of a healthy, cheerful average -living, we hail as a sign of a better day. Nothing is so good for health -as daily devotion. It is the best soother of the nerves, the best -antidote to care; and we trust erelong that all Christian people will be -of one mind in this, and that neighborhoods will be families gathering -daily around one altar, praying not for themselves merely, but for each -other. - -The conclusion of the whole matter is this: Set apart some provision to -make merry with _at home_, and guard that reserve as religiously as the -priests guarded the shew-bread in the temple. However great you are, -however good, however wide the general interests that you may control, -you gain nothing by neglecting home-duties. You must leave enough of -yourself to be able to bear and forbear, give and forgive, and be a -source of life and cheerfulness around the hearthstone. The great sign -given by the Prophets of the coming of the Millennium is,--what do you -suppose?--“He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and -the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the -earth with a curse.” - -Thus much on avoiding unhealthy, irritable states. - -But it still remains that a large number of people will be subject to -them unavoidably for these reasons. - -_First._ The use of tobacco, alcohol, and other kindred stimulants, for -so many generations, has vitiated the brain and nervous system of -modern civilized races so that it is not what it was in former times. -Michelet treats of this subject quite at large in some of his late -works; and we have to face the fact of a generation born with an -impaired nervous organization, who will need constant care and wisdom to -avoid unhealthy, morbid irritation. - -There is a temperament called the HYPOCHONDRIAC, to which many persons, -some of them the brightest, the most interesting, the most gifted, are -born heirs,--a want of balance of the nervous powers, which tends -constantly to periods of high excitement and of consequent -depression,--an unfortunate inheritance for the possessor, though -accompanied often with the greatest talents. Sometimes, too, it is the -unfortunate lot of those who have not talents, who bear its burdens and -its anguish without its rewards. - -People of this temperament are subject to fits of gloom and despondency, -of nervous irritability and suffering, which darken the aspect of the -whole world to them, which present lying reports of their friends, of -themselves, of the circumstances of their life, and of all with which -they have to do. - -Now the highest philosophy for persons thus afflicted is to _understand -themselves_ and their tendencies, to know that these fits of gloom and -depression are just as much a form of disease as a fever or a toothache, -to know that it is the peculiarity of the disease to fill the mind with -wretched illusions, to make them seem miserable and unlovely to -themselves, to make their nearest friends seem unjust and unkind, to -make all events appear to be going wrong and tending to destruction and -ruin. - -The evils and burdens of such a temperament are half removed when a man -once knows that he has it and recognizes it for a disease, and when he -does not trust himself to speak and act in those bitter hours as if -there were any truth in what he thinks and feels and sees. He who has -not attained to this wisdom overwhelms his friends and his family with -the waters of bitterness; he stings with unjust accusations, and makes -his fireside dreadful with fancies which are real to him, but false as -the ravings of fever. - -A sensible person, thus diseased, who has found out what ails him, will -shut his mouth resolutely, not to give utterance to the dark thoughts -that infest his soul. - -A lady of great brilliancy and wit, who was subject to these periods, -once said to me, “My dear sir, there are times when I know I am -possessed of the Devil, and then I never let myself speak.” And so this -wise woman carried her burden about with her in a determined, cheerful -reticence, leaving always the impression of a cheery, kindly temper, -when, if she had spoken out a tithe of what she thought and felt in her -morbid hours, she would have driven all her friends from her, and made -others as miserable as she was herself. She was a sunbeam, a life-giving -presence in every family, by the power of self-knowledge and -self-control. Such victories as this are the victories of real saints. - -But if the victim of these glooms is once tempted to lift their heavy -load by the use of _any stimulus whatever_, he or she is a lost man or -woman. It is from this sad class more than any other that the vast army -of drunkards and opium-eaters is recruited. Dr. Johnson, one of the most -brilliant examples of the hypochondriac temperament which literature -affords, has expressed a characteristic of the race, in what he says of -himself, that he could “_practise_ ABSTINENCE _but not_ TEMPERANCE.” -Hypochondriacs who begin to rely on stimulus, almost without exception -find this to be true. They cannot, they will not be moderate. Whatever -stimulant they take for relief will create an uncontrollable appetite, a -burning passion. The temperament itself lies in the direction of -insanity. It needs the most healthful, careful, even regimen and -management to keep it within the bounds of soundness; but the -introduction of stimulants deepens its gloom with the shadows of utter -despair. - -All parents, in the education of their children, should look out for and -understand the signs of this temperament. It appears in early childhood; -and a child inclined to fits of depression should be marked as a subject -of the most thoughtful, painstaking physical and moral training. All -over-excitement and stimulus should be carefully avoided, whether in the -way of study, amusement, or diet. Judicious education may do much to -mitigate the unavoidable pains and penalties of this most undesirable -inheritance. - -The second class of persons who need wisdom in the control of their -moods is that large class whose unfortunate circumstances make it -impossible for them to avoid constantly overdoing and overdrawing upon -their nervous energies, and who therefore are always exhausted and worn -out. Poor souls, who labor daily under a burden too heavy for them, and -whose fretfulness and impatience are looked upon with sorrow, not anger, -by pitying angels. Poor mothers, with families of little children -clinging round them, and a baby that never lets them sleep; hard-working -men, whose utmost toil, day and night, scarcely keeps the wolf from the -door; and all the hard-laboring, heavy-laden, on whom the burdens of -life press far beyond their strength. - -There are but two things we know of for these,--two only remedies for -the irritation that comes of these exhaustions; the habit of silence -towards men, and of speech towards God. The heart must utter itself or -burst; but let it learn to commune constantly and intimately with One -always present and always sympathizing. This is the great, the only -safeguard against fretfulness and complaint. Thus and thus only can -peace spring out of confusion, and the breaking chords of an overtaxed -nature be strung anew to a celestial harmony. - - - - -III. - -REPRESSION. - - -I am going now to write on another cause of family unhappiness, more -subtile than either of those before enumerated. - -In the General Confession of the Church, we poor mortals all unite in -saying two things: “We have left undone those things which we ought to -have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have -done.” These two heads exhaust the subject of human frailty. - -It is the things left undone which we ought to have done, the things -left unsaid which we ought to have said, that constitute the subject I -am now to treat of. - -I remember my school-day speculations over an old “Chemistry” I used to -study as a textbook, which informed me that a substance called Caloric -exists in all bodies. In some it exists in a latent state: it is there, -but it affects neither the senses nor the thermometer. Certain causes -develop it, when it raises the mercury and warms the hands. I remember -the awe and wonder with which, even then, I reflected on the vast amount -of blind, deaf, and dumb comfort which Nature had thus stowed away. How -mysterious it seemed to me that poor families every winter should be -shivering, freezing, and catching cold, when Nature had all this latent -caloric locked up in her store-closet,--when it was all around them, in -everything they touched and handled! - -In the spiritual world there is an exact analogy to this. There is a -great life-giving, warming power called Love, which exists in human -hearts dumb and unseen, but which has no real life, no warming power, -till set free by expression. - -Did you ever, in a raw, chilly day, just before a snow-storm, sit at -work in a room that was judiciously warmed by an exact thermometer? You -do not freeze, but you shiver; your fingers do not become numb with -cold, but you have all the while an uneasy craving for more positive -warmth. You look at the empty grate, walk mechanically towards it, and, -suddenly awaking, shiver to see that there is nothing there. You long -for a shawl or cloak; you draw yourself within yourself; you consult the -thermometer, and are vexed to find that there is nothing there to be -complained of,--it is standing most provokingly at the exact temperature -that all the good books and good doctors pronounce to be the proper -thing,--the golden mean of health; and yet perversely you shiver, and -feel as if the face of an open fire would be to you as the smile of an -angel. - -Such a lifelong chill, such an habitual shiver, is the lot of many -natures, which are not warm, when all ordinary rules tell them they -ought to be warm,--whose life is cold and barren and meagre,--which -never see the blaze of an open fire. - -I will illustrate my meaning by a page out of my own experience. - -I was twenty-one when I stood as groomsman for my youngest and favorite -sister Emily. I remember her now as she stood at the altar,--a pale, -sweet, flowery face, in a half-shimmer between smiles and tears, looking -out of vapory clouds of gauze and curls and all the vanishing mysteries -of a bridal morning. - -Everybody thought the marriage such a fortunate one!--for her husband -was handsome and manly, a man of worth, of principle good as gold and -solid as adamant,--and Emmy had always been such a flossy little kitten -of a pet, so full of all sorts of impulses, so sensitive and nervous, we -thought her kind, strong, composed, stately husband made just on purpose -for her. “It was quite a Providence,” sighed all the elderly ladies, who -sniffed tenderly, and wiped their eyes, according to approved custom, -during the marriage ceremony. - -I remember now the bustle of the day,--the confused whirl of white -gloves, kisses, bridemaids, and bride-cakes, the losing of trunk-keys -and breaking of lacings, the tears of mamma--God bless her!--and the -jokes of irreverent Christopher, who could, for the life of him, see -nothing so very dismal in the whole phantasmagoria, and only wished he -were as well off himself. - -And so Emmy was whirled away from us on the bridal tour, when her -letters came back to us almost every day, just like herself, merry, -frisky little bits of scratches,--as full of little nonsense-beads as a -glass of Champagne, and all ending with telling us how perfect he was, -and how good, and how well he took care of her, and how happy, etc., -etc. - -Then came letters from her new home. His house was not yet built; but -while it was building, they were to live with his mother, who was “such -a good woman,” and his sisters, who were also “such nice women.” - -But somehow, after this, a change came over Emmy’s letters. They grew -shorter; they seemed measured in their words; and in place of sparkling -nonsense and bubbling outbursts of glee, came anxiously worded praises -of her situation and surroundings, evidently written for the sake of -arguing herself into the belief that she was extremely happy. - -John, of course, was not as much with her now: he had his business to -attend to, which took him away all day, and at night he was very tired. -Still he was very good and thoughtful of her, and how thankful she ought -to be! And his mother was very good indeed, and did all for her that she -could reasonably expect,--of course she could not be like her own mamma; -and Mary and Jane were very kind,--“in their way,” she wrote, but -scratched it out, and wrote over it, “very kind indeed.” They were the -best people in the world,--a great deal better than she was; and she -should try to learn a great deal from them. - -“Poor little Em!” I said to myself, “I am afraid these very nice people -are slowly freezing and starving her.” And so, as I was going up into -the mountains for a summer tour, I thought I would accept some of John’s -many invitations and stop a day or two with them on my way, and see how -matters stood. John had been known among us in college as a taciturn -fellow, but good as gold. I had gained his friendship by a regular -siege, carrying parallel after parallel, till, when I came into the fort -at last, I found the treasures worth taking. - -I had little difficulty in finding Squire Evans’s house. It was _the_ -house of the village,--a true, model, New England house,--a square, -roomy, old-fashioned mansion, which stood on a hillside, under a group -of great, breezy old elms, whose wide, wind-swung arms arched over it -like a leafy firmament. Under this bower the substantial white house, -with all its window-blinds closed, with its neat white fences all tight -and trim, stood in its faultless green turfy yard, a perfect Pharisee -among houses. It looked like a house all finished, done, completed, -labelled, and set on a shelf for preservation; but, as is usual with -this kind of edifice in our dear New England, it had not the slightest -appearance of being lived in, not a door or window open, not a wink or -blink of life: the only suspicion of human habitation was the thin, -pale-blue smoke from the kitchen-chimney. - -And now for the people in the house. - -In making a New England visit in winter, was it ever your fortune to be -put to sleep in the glacial spare-chamber, that had been kept from time -immemorial as a refrigerator for guests,--that room which no ray of -daily sunshine and daily living ever warms, whose blinds are closed the -whole year round, whose fireplace knows only the complimentary blaze -which is kindled a few moments before bedtime in an atmosphere where you -can see your breath? Do you remember the process of getting warm in a -bed of most faultless material, with linen sheets and pillow-cases, -slippery and cold as ice? You did get warm at last, but you warmed your -bed by giving out all the heat of your own body. - -Such are some families where you visit. They are of the very best -quality, like your sheets, but so cold that it takes all the vitality -you have to get them warmed up to the talking-point. You think, the -first hour after your arrival, that they must have heard some report to -your disadvantage, or that you misunderstood your letter of invitation, -or that you came on the wrong day; but no, you find in due course that -you _were_ invited, you were expected, and they are doing for you the -best they know how, and treating you as they suppose a guest ought to be -treated. - -If you are a warm-hearted, jovial fellow, and go on feeling your way -discreetly, you gradually thaw quite a little place round yourself in -the domestic circle, till, by the time you are ready to leave, you -really begin to think it is agreeable to stay, and resolve that you will -come again. They are nice people; they like you; at last you have got -to feeling at home with them. - -Three months after, you go to see them again, when, lo! there you are, -back again just where you were at first. The little spot which you had -thawed out is frozen over again, and again you spend all your visit in -thawing it and getting your hosts limbered and in a state for -comfortable converse. - -The first evening that I spent in the wide, roomy front-parlor, with -Judge Evans, his wife, and daughters, fully accounted for the change in -Emmy’s letters. Rooms, I verily believe, get saturated with the aroma of -their spiritual atmosphere; and there are some so stately, so correct, -that they would paralyze even the friskiest kitten or the most impudent -Scotch terrier. At a glance, you perceive, on entering, that nothing but -correct deportment, an erect posture, and strictly didactic conversation -is possible there. - -The family, in fact, were all eminently didactic, bent on improvement, -laboriously useful. Not a good work or charitable enterprise could put -forth its head in the neighborhood, of which they were not the support -and life. Judge Evans was the stay and staff of the village and township -of ----; he bore up the pillars thereof. Mrs. Evans was known in the -gates for all the properties and deeds of the virtuous woman, as set -forth by Solomon; the heart of her husband did safely trust in her. But -when I saw them, that evening, sitting, in erect propriety, in their -respective corners each side of the great, stately fireplace, with its -tall, glistening brass andirons, its mantel adorned at either end with -plated candlesticks, with the snuffer-tray in the middle,--she so -collectedly measuring her words, talking in all those well-worn grooves -of correct conversation which are designed, as the phrase goes, to -“entertain strangers,” and the Misses Evans, in the best of grammar and -rhetoric, and in most proper time and way possible, showing themselves -for what they were, most high-principled, well-informed, intelligent -women,--I set myself to speculate on the cause of the extraordinary -sensation of stiffness and restraint which pervaded me, as if I had been -dipped in some petrifying spring and was beginning to feel myself -slightly crusting over on the exterior. - -This kind of conversation is such as admits quite easily of one’s -carrying on another course of thought within; and so, as I found myself -like a machine, striking in now and then in good time and tune, I looked -at Judge Evans, sitting there so serene, self-poised, and cold, and -began to wonder if he had ever been a boy, a young man,--if Mrs. Evans -ever was a girl,--if he was ever in love with her, and what he did when -he was. - -I thought of the lock of Emmy’s hair which I had observed in John’s -writing-desk in days when he was falling in love with her,--of sun dry -little movements in which at awkward moments I had detected my grave and -serious gentleman when I had stumbled accidentally upon the pair in -moonlight strolls or retired corners,--and wondered whether the models -of propriety before me had ever been convicted of any such human -weaknesses. Now, to be sure, I could as soon imagine the stately tongs -to walk up and kiss the shovel as conceive of any such bygone effusion -in those dignified individuals. But how did they get acquainted? how -came they ever to be married? - -I looked at John, and thought I saw him gradually stiffening and -subsiding into the very image of his father. As near as a young fellow -of twenty-five can resemble an old one of sixty-two, he was growing to -be exactly like him, with the same upright carriage, the same silence -and reserve. Then I looked at Emmy: she, too, was changed,--she, the -wild little pet, all of whose pretty individualities were dear to -us,--that little unpunctuated scrap of life’s poetry, full of little -exceptions referable to no exact rule, only to be tolerated under the -wide score of poetic license. Now, as she sat between the two Misses -Evans, I thought I could detect a bored, anxious expression on her -little mobile face,--an involuntary watchfulness and self-consciousness, -as if she were trying to be good on some quite new pattern. She seemed -nervous about some of my jokes, and her eye went apprehensively to her -mother-in-law in the corner; she tried hard to laugh and make things go -merrily for me; she seemed sometimes to look an apology for me to them, -and then again for them to me. For myself, I felt that perverse -inclination to shock people which sometimes comes over one in such -situations. I had a great mind to draw Emmy on to my knee and commence a -brotherly romp with her, to give John a thump on his very upright back, -and to propose to one of the Misses Evans to strike up a waltz, and get -the parlor into a general whirl, before the very face and eyes of -propriety in the corner: but “the spirits” were too strong for me; I -couldn’t do it. - -I remembered the innocent, saucy freedom with which Emmy used to treat -her John in the days of their engagement,--the little ways, half loving, -half mischievous, in which she alternately petted and domineered over -him. _Now_ she called him “Mr. Evans,” with an anxious affectation of -matronly gravity. Had they been lecturing her into these conjugal -proprieties? Probably not. I felt sure, by what I now experienced in -myself, that, were I to live in that family one week, all deviations -from the one accepted pattern of propriety would fall off, like -many-colored sumach-leaves after the first hard frost. I began to feel -myself slowly stiffening, my courage getting gently chilly. I tried to -tell a story, but had to mangle it greatly, because I felt in the air -around me that parts of it were too vernacular and emphatic; and then, -as a man who is freezing makes desperate efforts to throw off the -spell, and finds his brain beginning to turn, so I was beginning to be -slightly insane, and was haunted with a desire to say some horribly -improper or wicked thing which should start them all out of their -chairs. Though never given to profane expressions, I perfectly hankered -to let out a certain round, unvarnished, wicked word, which I knew would -create a tremendous commotion on the surface of this enchanted -mill-pond,--in fact, I was so afraid that I should make some such mad -demonstration, that I rose at an early hour and begged leave to retire. -Emmy sprang up with apparent relief, and offered to get my candle and -marshal me to my room. - -When she had ushered me into the chilly hospitality of that stately -apartment, she seemed suddenly disenchanted. She set down the candle, -ran to me, fell on my neck, nestled her little head under my coat, -laughing and crying, and calling me her dear old boy; she pulled my -whiskers, pinched my ear, rummaged my pockets, danced round me in a sort -of wild joy, stunning me with a volley of questions, without stopping to -hear the answer to one of them; in short, the wild little elf of old -days seemed suddenly to come back to me, as I sat down and drew her on -to my knee. - -“It does look so like home to see you, Chris!--dear, dear home!--and the -dear old folks! There never, never was such a home!--everybody there did -just what they wanted to, didn’t they, Chris?--and we love each other, -don’t we?” - -“Emmy,” said I, suddenly, and very improperly, “you aren’t happy here.” - -“Not happy?” she said, with a half-frightened look,--“what makes you say -so? O, you are mistaken. I have everything to make me happy. I should be -very unreasonable and wicked, if I were not. I am very, very happy, I -assure you. Of course, you know, everybody can’t be like our folks at -home. _That_ I should not expect, you know,--people’s ways are -different,--but then, when you know people are so good, and all that, -why, of course you must be thankful, be happy. It’s better for me to -learn to control my feelings, you know, and not give way to impulses. -They are all so good here, they never give way to their feelings,--they -always do right. O, they are quite wonderful!” - -“And agreeable?” said I. - -“O Chris, we mustn’t think so much of that. They certainly aren’t -pleasant and easy, as people at home are; but they are never cross, they -never scold, they always are good. And we oughtn’t to think so much of -living to be happy; we ought to think more of doing right, doing our -duty, don’t you think so?” - -“All undeniable truth, Emmy; but, for all that, John seems stiff as a -ramrod, and their front-parlor is like a tomb. You mustn’t let them -petrify him.” - -Her face clouded over a little. - -“John is different here from what he was at our house. He has been -brought up differently,--O, entirely differently from what we were; and -when he comes back into the old house, the old business, and the old -place between his father and mother and sisters, he goes back into the -old ways. He loves me all the same, but he does not show it in the same -ways, and I must learn, you know, to take it on trust. He is _very_ -busy,--works hard all day, and all for me; and mother says women are -unreasonable that ask any other proof of love from their husbands than -what they give by working for them all the time. She never lectures me, -but I know she thought I was a silly little petted child, and she told -me one day how she brought up John. She never petted him; she put him -away alone to sleep, from the time he was six months old; she never fed -him out of his regular hours when he was a baby, no matter how much he -cried; she never let him talk baby-talk, or have any baby-talk talked -to him, but was very careful to make him speak all his words plain from -the very first; she never encouraged him to express his love by kisses -or caresses, but taught him that the only proof of love was exact -obedience. I remember John’s telling me of his running to her once and -hugging her round the neck, when he had come in without wiping his -shoes, and she took off his arms and said: ‘My son, this isn’t the best -way to show love. I should be much better pleased to have you come in -quietly and wipe your shoes than to come and kiss me when you forget to -do what I say.’” - -“Dreadful old jade!” said I, irreverently, being then only twenty-three. - -“Now, Chris, I won’t have anything to say to you, if this is the way you -are going to talk,” said Emily, pouting, though a mischievous gleam -darted into her eyes. “Really, however, I think she carried things too -far, though she is so good. I only said it to excuse John, and show how -he was brought up.” - -“Poor fellow!” said I. “I know now why he is so hopelessly shut up, and -walled up. Never a warmer heart than he keeps stowed away there inside -of the fortress, with the drawbridge down and moat all round.” - -“They are all warm-hearted inside,” said Emily. “Would you think she -didn’t love him? Once when he was sick, she watched with him seventeen -nights without taking off her clothes; she scarcely would eat all the -time: Jane told me so. She loves him better than she loves herself. It’s -perfectly dreadful sometimes to see how intense she is when anything -concerns him; it’s her _principle_ that makes her so cold and quiet.” - -“And a devilish one it is!” said I. - -“Chris, you are really growing wicked!” - -“I use the word seriously, and in good faith,” said I. “Who but the -Father of Evil ever devised such plans for making goodness hateful, and -keeping the most-heavenly part of our nature so under lock and key that -for the greater part of our lives we get no use of it? Of what benefit -is a mine of love burning where it warms nobody, does nothing but -blister the soul within with its imprisoned heat? Love repressed grows -morbid, acts in a thousand perverse ways. These three women, I’ll -venture to say, are living in the family here like three frozen islands, -knowing as little of each other’s inner life as if parted by eternal -barriers of ice,--and all because a cursed principle in the heart of the -mother has made her bring them up in violence to Nature.” - -“Well,” said Emmy, “sometimes I do pity Jane; she is nearest my age, -and, naturally, I think she was something like me, or might have been. -The other day I remember her coming in looking so flushed and ill that I -couldn’t help asking if she were unwell. The tears came into her eyes; -but her mother looked up, in her cool, business-like way, and said, in -her dry voice,-- - -“‘Jane, what’s the matter?’ - -“‘O, my head aches dreadfully, and I have pains in all my limbs!’ - -“I wanted to jump and run to do something for her,--you know at our -house we feel that a sick person must be waited on,--but her mother only -said, in the same dry way,-- - -“‘Well, Jane, you’ve probably got a cold; go into the kitchen and make -yourself some good boneset tea, soak your feet in hot water, and go to -bed at once’; and Jane meekly departed. - -“I wanted to spring and do these things for her; but it’s curious, in -this house I never dare offer to do anything; and mother looked at me, -as she went out, with a significant nod,-- - -“‘That’s always _my_ way; if any of the children are sick, I never -coddle them; it’s best to teach them to make as light of it as -possible.’” - -“Dreadful!” said I. - -“Yes, it is dreadful,” said Emmy, drawing her breath, as if relieved -that she might speak her mind; “it’s dreadful to see these people, who I -know love each other, living side by side and never saying a loving, -tender word, never doing a little loving thing,--sick ones crawling off -alone like sick animals, persisting in being alone, bearing everything -alone. But I won’t let them; I will insist on forcing my way into their -rooms. I would go and sit with Jane, and pet her and hold her hand and -bathe her head, though I knew it made her horridly uncomfortable at -first; but I thought she ought to learn to be petted in a Christian way, -when she was sick. I will kiss her too, sometimes, though she takes it -just like a cat that isn’t used to being stroked, and calls me a silly -girl; but I know she is getting to like it. What is the use of people’s -loving each other in this horridly cold, stingy, silent way? If one of -them were dangerously ill now, or met with any serious accident, I know -there would be no end to what the others would do for her; if one of -them were to die, the others would be perfectly crushed: but it would -all go inward,--drop silently down into that dark, cold, frozen well; -they couldn’t speak to each other; they couldn’t comfort each other; -they have lost the power of expression; they absolutely _can’t_.” - -“Yes,” said I, “they are like the fakirs who have held up an arm till it -has become stiffened,--they cannot now change its position; like the -poor mutes, who, being deaf, have become dumb through disuse of the -organs of speech. Their education has been like those iron suits of -armor into which little boys were put in the Middle Ages, solid, -inflexible, put on in childhood, enlarged with every year’s growth, till -the warm human frame fitted the mould as if it had been melted and -poured into it. A person educated in this way is hopelessly crippled, -never will be what he might have been.” - -“O, don’t say that, Chris; think of John; think how good he is.” - -“I do think how good he is,"--with indignation,--“and how few know it, -too. I think; that, with the tenderest, truest, gentlest heart, the -utmost appreciation of human friendship, he has passed in the world for -a cold, proud, selfish man. If your frank, impulsive, incisive nature -had not unlocked gates and opened doors, he would never have known the -love of woman: and now he is but half disenchanted; he every day tends -to go back to stone.” - -“But I sha’n’t let him; O, indeed, I know the danger! I shall bring him -out. I shall work on them all. I know they are beginning to love me a -good deal: in the first place, because I belong to John, and everything -belonging to him is perfect; and in the second place--” - -“In the second place, because they expect to weave, day after day, the -fine cobweb lines of their cold system of repression around you, which -will harden and harden, and tighten and tighten, till you are as stiff -and shrouded as any of them. You remind me of our poor little duck: -don’t you remember him?” - -“Yes, poor fellow! how he would stay out, and swim round and round, -while the pond kept freezing and freezing, and his swimming-place grew -smaller and smaller every day; but he was such a plucky little fellow -that--” - -“That at last we found him one morning frozen tight in, and he has -limped ever since on his poor feet.” - -“O, but I won’t freeze in,” she said, laughing. - -“Take care, Emmy! You are sensitive, approbative, delicately organized; -your whole nature inclines you to give way and yield to the nature of -those around you. One little lone duck such as you, however -warm-blooded, light-hearted, cannot keep a whole pond from freezing. -While you have any influence, you must use it all to get John away from -these surroundings, where you can have him to yourself.” - -“O, you know we are building our house; we shall go to housekeeping -soon.” - -“Where? Close by, under the very guns of this fortress, where all your -housekeeping, all your little management, will be subject to daily -inspection.” - -“But mamma never interferes, never advises,--unless I ask advice.” - -“No, but she influences; she lives, she looks, she is there; and while -she is there, and while your home is within a stone’s throw, the old -spell will be on your husband, on your children, if you have any; you -will feel it in the air; it will constrain, it will sway you, it will -rule your house, it will bring up your children.” - -“O no! never! never! I never could! I never will! If God should give me -a dear little child, I will not let it grow up in these hateful ways!” - -“Then, Emmy, there will be a constant, still, undefined, but real -friction of your life-power from the silent grating of your wishes and -feelings on the cold, positive millstone of their opinion; it will be a -life-battle with a quiet, invisible, pervading spirit, who will never -show himself in fair fight, but who will be around you in the very air -you breathe, at your pillow when you lie down and when you rise. There -is so much in these friends of yours noble, wise, severely good,--their -aims are so high, their efficiency so great, their virtues so -many,--that they will act upon you with the force of a conscience, -subduing, drawing, insensibly constraining you into their moulds. They -have stronger wills, stronger natures than yours; and between the two -forces of your own nature and theirs you will be always oscillating, so -that you will never show what you can do, working either in your own way -or yet in theirs: your life will be a failure.” - -“O Chris, why do you discourage me?” - -“I am trying tonic treatment, Emily; I am showing you a real danger; I -am rousing you to flee from it. John is making money fast; there is no -reason why he should always remain buried in this town. Use your -influence as they do,--daily, hourly, constantly,--to predispose him to -take you to another sphere. Do not always shrink and yield; do not -conceal and assimilate and endeavor to persuade him and yourself that -you are happy; do not put the very best face to him on it all; do not -tolerate his relapses daily and hourly into his habitual, cold, -inexpressive manner; and don’t lay aside your own little impulsive, -out-spoken ways. Respect your own nature, and assert it; woo him, argue -with him; use all a woman’s weapons to keep him from falling back into -the old Castle Doubting where he lived till you let him out. Dispute -your mother’s hateful dogma, that love is to be taken for granted -without daily proof between lovers; cry down latent caloric in the -market; insist that the mere fact of being a wife is not enough,--that -the words spoken once, years ago, are not enough,--that love needs new -leaves every summer of life, as much as your elm-trees, and new branches -to grow broader and wider, and new flowers at the root to cover the -ground.” - -“O, but I have heard that there is no surer way to lose love than to be -exacting, and that it never comes for a woman’s reproaches.” - -“All true as Gospel, Emmy. I am not speaking of reproaches, or of -unreasonable self-assertion, or of ill-temper,--you could not use any of -these forces, if you would, you poor little chick! I am speaking now of -the highest duty we owe our friends, the noblest, the most sacred,--that -of keeping their own nobleness, goodness, pure and incorrupt. -Thoughtless, instinctive, unreasoning love and self-sacrifice, such as -many women long to bestow on husband and children, soil and lower the -very objects of their love. _You_ may grow saintly by self-sacrifice; -but do your husband and children grow saintly by accepting it without -return? I have seen a verse which says,-- - - ‘They who kneel at woman’s shrine - Breathe on it as they bow.’ - -Is not this true of all unreasoning love and self-devotion? If we _let_ -our friend become cold and selfish and exacting without a remonstrance, -we are no true lover, no true friend. Any good man soon learns to -discriminate between the remonstrance that comes from a woman’s love to -his soul, her concern for his honor, her anxiety for his moral -development, and the pettish cry which comes from her own personal -wants. It will be your own fault, if, for lack of anything you can do, -your husband relapses into these cold, undemonstrative habits which have -robbed his life of so much beauty and enjoyment. These dead, barren ways -of living are as unchristian as they are disagreeable; and you, as a -good little Christian sworn to fight heroically under Christ’s banner, -must make headway against this sort of family Antichrist, though it -comes with a show of superior sanctity and self-sacrifice. Remember, -dear, that the Master’s family had its outward tokens of love as well as -its inward life. The beloved leaned on His bosom; and the traitor could -not have had a sign for his treachery, had there not been a daily kiss -at meeting and parting with His children.” - -“I am glad you have said all this,” said Emily, “because now I feel -stronger for it. It does not now seem so selfish for me to want what it -is better for John to give. Yes, I must seek what will be best for him.” - -And so the little one, put on the track of self-sacrifice, began to see -her way clearer, as many little women of her sort do. Make them look on -self-assertion as one form of martyrdom, and they will come into it. - -But, for all my eloquence on this evening, the house was built in the -selfsame spot as projected; and the family life went on, under the -shadow of Judge Evans’s elms, much as if I had not spoken. Emmy became -mother of two fine, lovely boys, and waxed dimmer and fainter; while -with her physical decay came increasing need of the rule in the -household of mamma and sisters, who took her up energetically on eagles’ -wings, and kept her house, and managed her children: for what can be -done when a woman hovers half her time between life and death? - -At last I spoke out to John, that the climate and atmosphere were too -severe for her who had become so dear to him,--to them all; and then -they consented that the change much talked of and urged, but always -opposed by the parents, should be made. - -John bought a pretty cottage in our neighborhood, and brought his wife -and boys; and the effect of change of moral atmosphere verified all my -predictions. In a year we had our own blooming, joyous, impulsive little -Emily once more,--full of life, full of cheer, full of energy,--looking -to the ways of her household,--the merry companion of her growing -boys,--the blithe empress over her husband, who took to her genial sway -as in the old happy days of courtship. The nightmare was past, and John -was as joyous as any of us in his freedom. As Emmy said, he was turned -right side out for life; and we all admired the pattern. And that is the -end of my story. - -And now for the moral,--and that is, that life consists of two -parts,--_Expression_ and _Repression_,--each of which has its solemn -duties. To love, joy, hope, faith, pity, belongs the duty of -_expression_: to anger, envy, malice, revenge, and all uncharitableness, -belongs the duty of _repression_. - -Some very religious and moral people err by applying _repression_ to -both classes alike. They repress equally the expression of love and of -hatred, of pity and of anger. Such forget one great law, as true in the -moral world as in the physical,--that repression lessens and deadens. -Twice or thrice mowing will kill off the sturdiest crop of weeds; the -roots die for want of expression. A compress on a limb will stop its -growing; the surgeon knows this, and puts a tight bandage around a -tumor; but what if we put a tight bandage about the heart and lungs, as -some young ladies of my acquaintance do,--or bandage the feet, as they -do in China? And what if we bandage a nobler inner faculty, and wrap -_love_ in grave-clothes? - -But again there are others, and their number is legion,--perhaps you and -I, reader, may know something of it in ourselves,--who have an -instinctive habit of repression in regard to all that is noblest and -highest within them, which they do not feel in their lower and more -unworthy nature. - -It comes far easier to scold our friend in an angry moment than to say -how much we love, honor, and esteem him in a kindly mood. Wrath and -bitterness speak themselves and go with their own force; love is -shame-faced, looks shyly out of the window, lingers long at the -door-latch. - -How much freer utterance among many good Christians have anger, -contempt, and censoriousness, than tenderness and love! _I hate_ is said -loud and with all our force. _I love_ is said with a hesitating voice -and blushing cheek. - -In an angry mood we do an injury to a loving heart with good, strong, -free emphasis; but we stammer and hang back when our diviner nature -tells us to confess and ask pardon. Even when our heart is broken with -repentance, we haggle and linger long before we can - - “Throw away the worser part of it.” - -How many live a stingy and niggardly life in regard to their richest -inward treasures! They live with those they love dearly, whom a few more -words and deeds expressive of this love would make so much happier, -richer, and better; and they cannot, will not, turn the key and give it -out. People who in their very souls really do love, esteem, reverence, -almost worship each other, live a barren, chilly life side by side, -busy, anxious, preoccupied, letting their love go by as a matter of -course, a last year’s growth, with no present buds and blossoms. - -Are there not sons and daughters who have parents living with them as -angels unawares,--husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, in whom the -material for a beautiful life lies locked away in unfruitful -silence,--who give time to everything but the cultivation and expression -of mutual love? - -The time is coming, they think, in some far future, when they shall find -leisure to enjoy each other, to stop and rest side by side, to discover -to each other these hidden treasures which lie idle and unused. - -Alas! time flies and death steals on, and we reiterate the complaint of -one in Scripture,--“It came to pass, while thy servant was busy hither -and thither, the man was gone.” - -The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and -deeds left undone. “She never knew how I loved her.” “He never knew what -he was to me.” “I always meant to make more of our friendship.” “I did -not know what he was to me till he was gone.” Such words are the -poisoned arrows which cruel Death shoots backward at us from the door of -the sepulchre. - -How much more we might make of our family life, of our friendships, if -every secret thought of love blossomed into a deed! We are not now -speaking merely of personal caresses. These may or may not be the best -language of affection. Many are endowed with a delicacy, a -fastidiousness of physical organization, which shrinks away from too -much of these, repelled and overpowered. But there are words and looks -and little observances, thoughtfulnesses, watchful little attentions, -which speak of love, which make it manifest, and there is scarce a -family that might not be richer in heart-wealth for more of them. - -It is a mistake to suppose that relations must of course love each other -because they are relations. Love must be cultivated, and can be -increased by judicious culture, as wild fruits may double their bearing -under the hand of a gardener; and love can dwindle and die out by -neglect, as choice flower-seeds planted in poor soil dwindle and grow -single. - -Two causes in our Anglo-Saxon nature prevent this easy faculty and flow -of expression which strike one so pleasantly in the Italian or the -French life: the dread of flattery, and a constitutional shyness. - -“I perfectly longed to tell So-and-so how I admired her, the other day,” -says Miss X. - -“And why in the world didn’t you tell her?” - -“O, it would seem like flattery, you know.” - -Now what is flattery? - -Flattery is _insincere_ praise given from interested motives, not the -sincere utterance to a friend of what we deem good and lovely in him. - -And so, for fear of nattering, these dreadfully sincere people go on -side by side with those they love and admire, giving them all the time -the impression of utter indifference. Parents are so afraid of exciting -pride and vanity in their children by the expression of their love and -approbation, that a child sometimes goes sad and discouraged by their -side, and learns with surprise, in some chance way, that they are proud -and fond of him. There are times when the open expression of a father’s -love would be worth more than church or sermon to a boy; and his father -cannot utter it, will not show it. - -The other thing that represses the utterances of love is the -characteristic _shyness_ of the Anglo-Saxon blood. Oddly enough, a race -born of two demonstrative, out-spoken, nations--the German and the -French--has an habitual reserve that is like neither. There is a -powerlessness of utterance in our blood that we should fight against, -and struggle outward towards expression. We can educate ourselves to -it, if we know and feel the necessity; we can make it a Christian duty, -not only to love, but to be loving,--not only to be true friends, but to -_show_ ourselves friendly. We can make ourselves say the kind things -that rise in our hearts and tremble back on our lips,--do the gentle and -helpful deeds which we long to do and shrink back from; and, little by -little, it will grow easier,--the love spoken will bring back the answer -of love,--the kind deed will bring back a kind deed in return,--till the -hearts in the family-circle, instead of being so many frozen, icy -islands, shall be full of warm airs and echoing bird-voices answering -back and forth with a constant melody of love. - - - - -IV. - -PERSISTENCE. - - -My little foxes are interesting little beasts; and I only hope my reader -will not get tired of my charming menagerie before I have done showing -him their nice points. He must recollect there are seven of them, and as -yet we have shown up only three; so let him have patience. - -As before stated, little foxes are the little pet sins of us educated -good Christians, who hope that we are above and far out of sight of -stealing, lying, and those other gross evils against which we pray every -Sunday, when the Ten Commandments are read. They are not generally -considered of dignity enough to be fired at from the pulpit; they seem -to us too trifling to be remembered in church; they are like the red -spiders on plants,--too small for the perception of the naked eye, and -only to be known by the shrivelling and dropping of leaf after leaf that -ought to be green and flourishing. - -I have another little fox in my eye, who is most active and most -mischievous in despoiling the vines of domestic happiness,--in fact, who -has been guilty of destroying more grapes than anybody knows of. His -name I find it difficult to give with exactness. In my enumeration I -called him _Self-Will_; another name for him--perhaps a better -one--might be _Persistence_. - -Like many another, this fault is the over-action of a most necessary and -praiseworthy quality. The power of firmness is given to man as the very -granite foundation of life. Without it, there would be nothing -accomplished; all human plans would be unstable as water on an inclined -plane. In every well-constituted nature there must be a power of -tenacity, a gift of perseverance of will; and that man might not be -without a foundation for so needful a property, the Creator has laid it -in an animal faculty, which he possesses in common with the brutes. - -The animal power of firmness is a brute force, a matter of brain and -spinal cord, differing in different animals. The force by which a -bulldog holds on to an antagonist, the persistence with which a mule -will plant his four feet and set himself against blows and menaces, are -good examples of the pure animal phase of a property which exists in -human beings, and forms the foundation for that heroic endurance, for -that perseverance, which carries on all the great and noble enterprises -of life. - -The domestic fault we speak of is the wild, uncultured growth of this -faculty, the instinctive action of firmness uncontrolled by reason or -conscience,--in common parlance, the being “_set in one’s way_.” It is -the _animal_ instinct of being “set in one’s way” which we mean by -self-will or persistence; and in domestic life it does the more mischief -from its working as an instinct unwatched by reason and unchallenged by -conscience. - -In that pretty new cottage which you see on yonder knoll are a pair of -young people just in the midst of that happy bustle which attends the -formation of a first home in prosperous circumstances, and with all the -means of making it charming and agreeable. Carpenters, upholsterers, and -artificers await their will; and there remains for them only the -pleasant task of arranging and determining where all their pretty and -agreeable things shall be placed. Our Hero and Leander are decidedly -nice people, who have been through all the proper stages of being in -love with each other for the requisite and suitable time. They have -written each other a letter every day for two years, beginning with “My -dearest,” and ending with “Your own,” etc.; they have sent each other -flowers and rings and locks of hair; they have worn each other’s -pictures on their hearts; they have spent hours and hours talking over -all subjects under the sun, and are convinced that never was there such -sympathy of souls, such unanimity of opinion, such a just, reasonable, -perfect foundation for mutual esteem. - -Now it is quite true that people may have a perfect agreement and -sympathy in their higher intellectual nature,--may like the same books, -quote the same poetry, agree in the same principles, be united in the -same religion,--and nevertheless, when they come together in the -simplest affair of every-day business, may find themselves jarring and -impinging upon each other at every step, simply because there are to -each person, in respect of daily personal habits and personal likes and -dislikes, a thousand little individualities with which reason has -nothing to do, which are not subjects for the use of logic, and to which -they never think of applying the power of religion,--which can only be -set down as the positive ultimate facts of existence with two people. - -Suppose a blue-jay courts and wins and weds a Baltimore oriole. During -courtship there may have been delightful sympathetic conversation on the -charm of being free birds, the felicity of soaring in the blue summer -air. Mr. Jay may have been all humility and all ecstasy in comparing the -discordant screech of his own note with the warbling tenderness of Miss -Oriole. But, once united, the two commence business relations. He is -firmly convinced that a nest built among the reeds of a marsh is the -only reasonable nest for a bird; she is positive that she should die -there in a month of damp and rheumatism. She never heard of going to -housekeeping in anything but a nice little pendulous bag swinging down -from under the branches of a breezy elm; he is sure he should have water -on the brain before summer was over, from constant vertigo, in such -swaying, unsteady quarters,--he would be a sea-sick blue-jay on land, -and he cannot think of it. She knows now he don’t love her, or he never -would think of shutting her up in an old mouldy nest where she is sure -she shall have the chills; and _he_ knows she doesn’t love him, or she -never would want to make him uncomfortable all his days by tilting and -swinging him about as no decent bird ought to be swung. Both are -dead-set in their own way and opinion; and how is either to be convinced -that the way which seemeth right unto the other is not best? Nature -knows this, and therefore, in her feathered tribes, blue-jays do not -mate with orioles; and so bird-housekeeping goes on in peace. - -But men and women as diverse in their physical tastes and habits as -blue-jays and orioles are wooing and wedding every day, and coming to -the business of nest-building, _alias_ housekeeping, with predilections -as violent, and as incapable of any logical defence, as the oriole’s -partiality for a swing-nest and the jay’s preference of a nest among the -reeds. - -Our Hero and Leander, there, who are arranging their cottage to-day, are -examples just in point. They have both of them been only -children,--both the idols of circles where they have been universally -deferred to. Each in his or her own circle has been looked up to as a -model of good taste, and of course each has the habit of exercising and -indulging very distinct personal tastes. They truly, deeply esteem, -respect, and love each other, and for the very best of reasons,--because -there are sympathies of the very highest kind between them. Both are -generous and affectionate,--both are highly cultured in intellect and -taste,--both are earnestly religious; and yet, with all this, let me -tell you that the first year of their married life will be worthy to be -recorded as _a year of battles_. Yes, these friends so true, these -lovers so ardent, these individuals in themselves so admirable, cannot -come into the intimate relations of life without an effervescence as -great as that of an acid and alkali; and it will be impossible to decide -which is most in fault, the acid or the alkali, both being in their way -of the very best quality. - -The reason of it all is, that both are intensely “_set in their way_,” -and the ways of no two human beings are altogether coincident. Both of -them have the most sharply defined, exact tastes and preferences. In the -simplest matter both have _a way_,--an exact way,--which seems to be -dear to them as life’s blood. In the simplest appetite or taste they -know exactly what they want, and cannot, by any argument, persuasion, or -coaxing, be made to want anything else. - -For example, this morning dawns bright upon them, as she, in her tidy -morning wrapper and trimly laced boots, comes stepping over the bales -and boxes which are discharged on the verandah; while he, for joy of his -new acquisition, can hardly let her walk on her own pretty feet, and is -making every fond excuse to lift her over obstacles and carry her into -her new dwelling in triumph. - -Carpets are put down, the floors glow under the hands of obedient -workmen, and now the furniture is being wheeled in. - -“Put the piano in the bow-window,” says the lady. - -“No, not in the bow-window,” says the gentleman. - -“Why, my dear, of course it must go in the bow-window. How awkward it -would look anywhere else! I have always seen pianos in bow-windows.” - -“My love, certainly you would not think of spoiling that beautiful -prospect from the bow-window by blocking it up with the piano. The -proper place is just here, in the corner of the room. Now try it.” - -“My dear, I think it looks dreadfully there; it spoils the appearance of -the room.” - -“Well, for my part, my love, I think the appearance of the room would be -spoiled, if you filled up the bow-window. Think what a lovely place that -would be to sit in!” - -“Just as if we couldn’t sit there behind the piano, if we wanted to!” -says the lady. - -“But then, how much more ample and airy the room looks as you open the -door, and see through the bow-window down that little glen, and that -distant peep of the village-spire!” - -“But I never could be reconciled to the piano standing in the corner in -that way,” says the lady. “_I insist_ upon it, it ought to stand in the -bow-window: it’s the way mamma’s stands, and Aunt Jane’s, and Mrs. -Wilcox’s; everybody has their piano so.” - -“If it comes to _insisting_,” says the gentleman, “it strikes me that is -a game two can play at.” - -“Why, my dear, you know a lady’s parlor is her own ground.” - -“Not a married lady’s parlor, I imagine. I believe it is at least -equally her husband’s, as he expects to pass a good portion of his time -there.” - -“But I don’t think you ought to insist on an arrangement that really is -disagreeable to me,” says the lady. - -“And I don’t think you ought to insist on an arrangement that is really -disagreeable to me,” says the gentleman. - -And now Hero’s cheeks flush, and the spirit burns within, as she says,-- - -“Well, if you insist upon it I suppose it must be as you say; but I -shall never take any pleasure in playing on it”; and Hero sweeps from -the apartment, leaving the victor very unhappy in his conquest. - -He rushes after her, and finds her up-stairs sitting disconsolate and -weeping on a packing-box. - -“Now, Hero, how silly! Do have it your own way. I’ll give it up.” - -“No,--let it be as you say. I forgot that it was a wife’s duty to -submit.” - -“Nonsense, Hero! Do talk like a rational woman. Don’t let us quarrel -like children.” - -“But it’s so evident that I was in the right.” - -“My dear, I cannot concede that you were in the right; but I am willing -it should be as you say.” - -“Now I perfectly wonder, Leander, that you don’t see how awkward your -way is. It would make me nervous every time I came into the room, and it -would be so dark in that corner that I never could see the notes.” - -“And I wonder, Hero, that a woman of your taste don’t see how shutting -up that bow-window spoils the parlor. It’s the very prettiest feature of -the room.” - -And so round and round they go, stating and restating their arguments, -both getting more and more nervous and combative, both declaring -themselves perfectly ready to yield the point as an oppressive exaction, -but to do battle for their own opinion as right and reason,--the animal -instinct of self-will meanwhile rising and rising and growing stronger -and stronger on both sides. But meanwhile in the heat of argument some -side-issues and personal reflections fly out like splinters in the -shivering of lances. He tells her, in his heat, that her notions are -formed from deference to models in fashionable life, and that she has -no idea of adaptation,--and she tells him that he is domineering, and -dictatorial, and wanting to have everything his own way; and in fine, -this battle is fought off and on through the day, with occasional -armistices of kisses and makings-up,--treacherous truces, which are all -broken up by the fatal words, “My dear, after all, you must admit _I_ -was in the right,” which of course is the signal to fight the whole -battle over again. - -One such prolonged struggle is the parent of many lesser ones,--the -aforenamed splinters of injurious remark and accusation, which flew out -in the heat of argument, remaining and festering and giving rise to -nervous soreness; yet, where there is at the foundation real, genuine -love, and a good deal of it, the pleasure of making up so balances the -pain of the controversy that the two do not perceive exactly what they -are doing, nor suspect that so deep and wide a love as theirs can be -seriously affected by causes so insignificant. - -But the cause of difficulty in both, the silent, unwatched, intense -power of self-will in trifles, is all the while precipitating them into -new encounters. For example, in a bright hour between the showers, Hero -arranges for her Leander a repast of peace and good-will, and compounds -for him a salad which is a _chef d’œuvre_ among salads. Leander is also -bright and propitious; but after tasting the salad, he pushes it -silently away. - -“My dear, you don’t like your salad.” - -“No, my dear; I never eat anything with salad oil in it.” - -“Not eat salad oil! How absurd! I never heard of a salad without oil.” -And the lady looks disturbed. - -“But, my dear, as I tell you, I never take it. I prefer simple sugar and -vinegar.” - -“Sugar and vinegar! Why, Leander, I’m astonished! How very _bourgeois_! -You must really try to like my salad"--(spoken in a coaxing tone). - -“My dear, I _never_ try to like anything new, I am satisfied with my old -tastes.” - -“Well, Leander, I must say that is very ungracious and disobliging of -you.” - -“Why any more than for you to annoy me by forcing on me what I don’t -like?” - -“But you would like it, if you would only try. People never like olives -till they have eaten three or four, and then they become passionately -fond of them.” - -“Then I think they are very silly to go through all that trouble, when -there are enough things that they do like.” - -“Now, Leander, I don’t think that seems amiable or pleasant at all. I -think we ought to try to accommodate ourselves to the tastes of our -friends.” - -“Then, my dear, suppose you try to like your salad with sugar and -vinegar.” - -“But it’s so _gauche_ and unfashionable! Did you ever hear of a salad -made with sugar and vinegar on a table in good society?” - -“My mother’s table, I believe, was good society, and I learned to like -it there. The truth is, Hero, for a sensible woman, you are too fond of -mere fashionable and society notions.” - -“Yes, you told me that last week, and I think it was very unjust,--_very -unjust, indeed_"--(uttered with emphasis). - -“No more unjust than your telling me that I was dictatorial and -obstinate.” - -“Well, now, Leander, dear, you must confess that you are rather -obstinate.” - -“I don’t see the proof.” - -“You insist on your own ways and opinions so, heaven and earth won’t -turn you.” - -“Do I insist on mine more than you on yours?” - -“Certainly, you do.” - -“I don’t think so.” - -Hero casts up her eyes and repeats with expression,-- - - “O, wad some power the giftie gie us - To see oursels as others see us!” - -“Precisely,” says Leander. “I would that prayer were answered in your -case, my dear.” - -“I think you take pleasure in provoking me,” says the lady. - -“My dear, how silly and childish all this is!” says the gentleman. “Why -can’t we let each other alone?” - -“You began it.” - -“No, my dear, begging your pardon, I did not.” - -“Certainly, Leander, you did.” - -Now a conversation of this kind may go on hour after hour, as long as -the respective parties have breath and strength, both becoming secretly -more and more “set in their way.” On both sides is the consciousness -that they might end it at once by a very simple concession. - -She might say,--“Well, dear, you shall always have your salad as you -like”; and he might say,--“My dear, I will try to like your salad, if -you care much about it”; and if either of them would utter one of these -sentences, the other would soon follow. Either would give up, if the -other would set the example; but as it is, they remind us of nothing so -much as two cows that we have seen standing with locked horns in a -meadow, who can neither advance nor recede an inch. It is a mere -deadlock of the animal instinct of firmness; reason, conscience, -religion, have nothing to do with it. - -The questions debated in this style by our young couple were -surprisingly numerous; as, for example, whether their favorite copy of -Turner should hang in the parlor or in the library,--whether their pet -little landscape should hang against the wall, or be placed on an -easel,--whether the bust of the Venus de Milos should stand on the -marble table in the hall, or on a bracket in the library; all of which -points were debated with a breadth of survey, a richness of imagery, a -vigor of discussion, that would be perfectly astonishing to any one who -did not know how much two very self-willed argumentative people might -find to say on any point under heaven. Everything in classical -antiquity,--everything in Kugler’s “Hand-Book of Painting,"--every -opinion of living artists,--besides questions social, moral, and -religious,--all mingled in the grand _mêlée_: because there is nothing -in creation that is not somehow connected with everything else. - -Dr. Johnson has said,--“There are a thousand familiar disputes which -reason never can decide; questions that elude investigation, and make -logic ridiculous; cases where something must be done, and where little -can be said.” - -With all deference to the great moralist, we must say that this -statement argues a very limited knowledge of the resources of talk -possessed by two very cultivated and very self-willed persons fairly -pitted against each other in practical questions; the logic may indeed -be ridiculous, but such people as our Hero and Leander find no cases -under the sun where something is to be done, yet where little can be -said. And these wretched wranglings, this interminable labyrinth of -petty disputes, waste and crumble away that high ideal of truth and -tenderness, which the real, deep sympathies and actual worth of their -characters entitled them to form. Their married life is not what they -expected; at times they are startled by the reflection that they have -somehow grown unlovely to each other; and yet, if Leander goes away to -pass a week, and thinks of his Hero in the distance, he can compare no -other woman to her; and the days seem long and the house empty to Hero -while he is gone, both wonder at themselves when they look over their -petty bickerings, but neither knows exactly how to catch the little fox -that spoils their vines. - -It is astonishing how much we think about ourselves, yet to how little -purpose,--how very clever people will talk and wonder about themselves -and each other, and yet go on year after year, not knowing how to use -either themselves or each other,--not having as much practical -philosophy in the matter of their own characters and that of their -friends as they have in respect of the screws of their gas-fixtures or -the management of their water-pipes. - -“But _I_ won’t have any such scenes with _my_ wife,” says Don Positivo. -“I won’t marry one of your clever women; they are always positive and -disagreeable. _I_ look for a wife of a gentle and yielding nature, that -shall take her opinions from me, and accommodate her tastes to mine.” -And so Don Positivo goes and marries a pretty little pink-and-white -concern, so lisping and soft and delicate that he is quite sure she -cannot have a will of her own. She is the moon of his heavens, to shine -only by his reflected light. - -We would advise our gentlemen friends who wish to enjoy the felicity of -having their own way not to try the experiment with a pretty fool; for -the obstinacy of cleverness and reason is nothing to the obstinacy of -folly and inanity. - -Let our friend once get in the seat opposite to him at table a pretty -creature who cries for the moon, and insists that he don’t love her -because he doesn’t get it for her; and in vain may he display his -superior knowledge of astronomy, and prove to her that the moon is not -to be got. She listens with her head on one side, and after he has -talked himself quite out of breath, repeats the very same sentence she -began the discussion with, without variation or addition. - -If she wants darling Johnny taken away from school, because cruel -teachers will not give up the rules of the institution for his pleasure, -in vain does Don Positivo, in the most select and superior English, -enlighten her on the necessity of habits of self-control and order for a -boy,--the impossibility that a teacher should make exceptions for their -particular darling,--the absolute, perishing need that the boy should -begin to do something. She hears him all through, and then says, “I -don’t know anything about that. I know what I want; I want Johnny taken -away.” And so she weeps, sulks, storms, entreats, lies awake nights, has -long fits of sick-headache,--in short, shows that a pretty animal, -without reason or cultivation, can be, in her way, quite as formidable -an antagonist as the most clever of her sex. - -Leander can sometimes vanquish his Hero in fair fight by the weapons of -good logic, because she is a woman capable of appreciating reason, and -able to feel the force of the considerations he adduces; and when he -does vanquish and carry her captive by his bow and spear, he feels that -he has gained a victory over no ignoble antagonist, and he becomes a -hero in his own eyes. Though a woman of much will, still she is a woman -of much reason; and if he has many vexations with her pertinacity, he is -never without hope in her good sense; but alas for him whose wife has -only the animal instinct of firmness, without any development of the -judgment or reasoning faculties! The conflicts with a woman whom a man -respects and admires are often extremely trying; but the conflicts with -one whom he cannot help despising, become in the end simply disgusting. - -But the inquiry now arises, What shall be done with all the questions -Dr. Johnson speaks of, which reason cannot decide, which elude -investigation, and make logic ridiculous,--cases where something must be -done, and where little can be said? - -Read Mrs. Ellis’s “Wives of England,” and you have one solution of the -problem. The good women of England are there informed that there is to -be no discussion, that everything in the _ménage_ is to follow the rule -of the lord, and that the wife has but one hope, namely, that grace may -be given him to know exactly what his own will is. “_L’état, c’est -moi_,” is the lesson which every English husband learns of Mrs. Ellis, -and we should judge from the pictures of English novels that this -“awful right divine” is insisted on in detail in domestic life. - -Miss Edgeworth makes her magnificent General Clarendon talk about his -“commands” to his accomplished and elegant wife; and he rings the -parlor-bell with such an air, calls up and interrogates trembling -servants with such awful majesty, and lays about him generally in so -very military and tremendous a style, that we are not surprised that -poor little Cecilia is frightened into lying, being half out of her wits -in terror of so very martial a husband. - -During his hours of courtship he majestically informs her mother that he -never could consent to receive as _his_ wife any woman who has had -another attachment; and so the poor puss, like a naughty girl, conceals -a little schoolgirl flirtation of bygone days, and thus gives rise to -most agonizing and tragic scenes with her terrible lord, who petrifies -her one morning by suddenly drawing the bed-curtains and flapping an old -love-letter in her eyes, asking, in tones of suppressed thunder, -“Cecilia, is this your writing?” - -The more modern female novelists of England give us representations of -their view of the right divine no less stringent. In a very popular -story, called “Agatha’s Husband,” the plot is as follows. A man marries -a beautiful girl with a large fortune. Before the marriage, he discovers -that his brother, who has been guardian of the estate, has fraudulently -squandered the property, so that it can only be retrieved by the -strictest economy. For the sake of getting her heroine into a situation -to illustrate her moral, the authoress now makes her hero give a solemn -promise not to divulge to his wife or to any human being the fraud by -which she suffers. - -The plot of the story then proceeds to show how very badly the young -wife behaves when her husband takes her to mean lodgings, deprives her -of wonted luxuries and comforts, and obstinately refuses to give any -kind of sensible reason for his conduct. Instead of looking up to him -with blind faith and unquestioning obedience, following his directions -without inquiry, and believing not only without evidence, but against -apparent evidence, that he is the soul of honor and wisdom, this -perverse Agatha murmurs, complains, thinks herself very ill-used, and -occasionally is even wicked enough, in a very mild way, to say -so,--whereat her husband looks like a martyr and suffers in silence; and -thus we are treated to a volume of mutual distresses, which are at last -ended by the truth coming out, the abused husband mounting the throne in -glory, and the penitent wife falling in the dust at his feet, and -confessing what a wretch she has been all along to doubt him. - -The authoress of “Jane Eyre” describes the process of courtship in much -the same terms as one would describe the breaking of a horse. Shirley is -contumacious and self-willed, and Moore, her lover and tutor, gives her -“_Le Cheval dompté_” for a French lesson, as a gentle intimation of the -work he has in hand in paying her his addresses; and after long -struggling against his power, when at last she consents to his love, he -addresses her thus, under the figure of a very fierce leopardess:-- - -“Tame or wild, fierce or subdued, you are _mine_.” - -And she responds:-- - -“I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. Only his voice will I -follow, only his hand shall manage me, only at his feet will I repose.” - -The accomplished authoress of “Nathalie” represents the struggles of a -young girl engaged to a man far older than herself, extremely dark and -heroic, fond of behaving in a very unaccountable manner, and declaring, -nevertheless, in awful and mysterious tones, that he has such a passion -for being believed in, that, if any one of his friends, under the most -suspicious circumstances, admits _one doubt_ of his honor, all will be -over between them forever. - -After establishing his power over Nathalie fully, and amusing himself -quietly for a time with the contemplation of her perplexities and -anxieties, he at last unfolds to her the mysterious counsels of his will -by declaring to another of her lovers, in her presence, that he “has the -intention of asking this young lady to become his wife.” During the -engagement, however, he contrives to disturb her tranquillity by -insisting prematurely on the right divine of husbands, and, as she -proves fractious, announces to her, that, much as he loves her, he sees -no prospect of future happiness in their union, and that they had better -part. - -The rest of the story describes the struggles and anguish of the two, -who pass through a volume of distresses, he growing more cold, proud, -severe, and misanthropic than ever, all of which is supposed to be the -fault of naughty Miss Nathalie, who might have made a saint of him, -could she only have found her highest pleasure in letting him have his -own way. Her conscience distresses her; it is all her fault; at last, -worn out in the strife, she resolves to be a good girl, goes to his -library, finds him alone, and, in spite of an insulting reception, -humbles herself at his feet, gives up all her naughty pride, begs to be -allowed to wait on him as a handmaid, and is rewarded by his graciously -announcing, that, since she will stay with him at all events, she _may_ -stay as his wife; and the story leaves her in the last sentence sitting -in what we are informed is the only true place of happiness for a woman, -at her husband’s feet. - -This is the solution which the most cultivated women of England give of -the domestic problem. - -According to these fair interpreters of English ideas, the British lion -on his own domestic hearth, standing in awful majesty with his back to -the fire and his hands under his coat-tails, can be supposed to have no -such disreputable discussions as we have described; since his partner, -as Miss Bronté says, has learned to know her keeper, and her place at -his feet, and can conceive no happiness so great as hanging the picture -and setting the piano exactly as he likes. - -Of course this will be met with a general shriek of horror on the part -of our fair republican friends, and an equally general disclaimer on the -part of our American gentlemen, who, so far as we know, would be quite -embarrassed by the idea of assuming any such pronounced position at the -fireside. - -The genius of American institutions is not towards a _display_ of -authority. All needed authority exists among us, but exists silently, -with as little external manifestation as possible. - -Our President is but a fellow-citizen, personally the equal of other -citizens. We obey him because we have chosen him, and because we find it -convenient, in regulating our affairs, to have one final appeal and one -deciding voice. - -The position in which the Bible and the marriage service place the -husband in the family amounts to no more. He is the head of the family -in all that relates to its material interests, its legal relations, its -honor and standing in society; and no true woman who respects herself -would any more hesitate to promise to yield to him this position and the -deference it implies than an officer of state to yield to the President. -But because Mr. Lincoln is officially above Mr. Seward, it does not -follow that there can be nothing between them but absolute command on -the one part and prostrate submission on the other; neither does it -follow that the superior claims in all respects to regulate the affairs -and conduct of the inferior. There are still wide spheres of individual -freedom, as there are in the case of husband and wife; and no sensible -man but would feel himself ridiculous in entering another’s proper -sphere with the voice of authority. - -The inspired declaration, that “the husband is the head of the wife, -even as Christ is the head of the Church,” is certainly to be qualified -by the evident points of difference in the subjects spoken of. It -certainly does not mean that any man shall be invested with the rights -of omnipotence and omniscience, but simply that in the family state he -is the head and protector, even as in the Church is the Saviour. It is -merely the announcement of a great natural law of society which obtains -through all the tribes and races of men,--a great and obvious fact of -human existence. - -The silly and senseless reaction against this idea in some otherwise -sensible women is, I think, owing to the kind of extravagances and -overstatements to which we have alluded. It is as absurd to cavil at the -word _obey_ in the marriage ceremony as for a military officer to set -himself against the etiquette of the army, or a man to refuse the -freeman’s oath. - -Two young men every way on a footing of equality and friendship may be -one of them a battalion-commander and the other a staff-officer. It -would be alike absurd for the one to take airs about not obeying a man -every way his equal, and for the other to assume airs of lordly -dictation out of the sphere of his military duties. The mooting of the -question of marital authority between two well-bred, well-educated -Christian people of the nineteenth century is no less absurd. - -While the husband has a certain power confided to him for the support -and maintenance of the family, and for the preservation of those -relations which involve its good name and well-being before the world, -he has no claim to an authoritative exertion of will in reference to the -little personal tastes and habits of the interior. He has no divine -right to require that everything shall be arranged to please him, at the -expense of his wife’s preferences and feelings, any more than if he were -not the head of the household. In a thousand indifferent matters which -do not touch the credit and respectability of the family, he is just as -much bound sometimes to give up his own will and way for the comfort of -his wife as she is in certain other matters to submit to his decisions. -In a large number of cases the husband and wife stand as equal human -beings before God, and the indulgence of unchecked and inconsiderate -self-will on either side is a sin. - -It is my serious belief that writings such as we have been considering -do harm both to men and women, by insensibly inspiring in the one an -idea of a licensed prerogative of selfishness and self-will, and in the -other an irrational and indiscreet servility. - -Is it any benefit to a man to find in the wife of his bosom the -flatterer of his egotism, the acquiescent victim of his little selfish -exactions, to be nursed and petted and cajoled in all his faults and -fault-findings, and to see everybody falling prostrate before his will -in the domestic circle? Is this the true way to make him a manly and -Christ-like man? It is my belief that many so-called good wives have -been accessory to making their husbands very bad Christians. - -However, then, the little questions of difference in every-day life are -to be disposed of between two individuals, it is in the worst possible -taste and policy to undertake to settle them by mere authority. All -romance, all poetry, all beauty are over forever with a couple between -whom the struggle of mere authority has begun. No, there is no way out -of difficulties of this description but by the application, on both -sides, of good sense and religion to the little differences of life. - -A little reflection will enable any person to detect in himself that -_setness in trifles_ which is the result of the unwatched instinct of -self-will and to establish over himself a jealous guardianship. - -Every man and every woman, in their self-training and self-culture, -should study the art of _giving up in little things_ with a good grace. -The charm of polite society is formed by that sort of freedom and -facility in all the members of a circle which makes each one pliable to -the influences of the others, and sympathetic to slide into the moods -and tastes of others without a jar. - -In courteous and polished circles, there are no stiff railroad-tracks, -cutting straight through everything, and grating harsh thunders all -along their course, but smooth, meandering streams, tranquilly bending -hither and thither to every undulation of the flowery banks. What makes -the charm of polite society would make no less the charm of domestic -life; but it can come only by watchfulness and self-discipline in each -individual. - -Some people have much more to struggle with in this way than others. -Nature has made them precise and exact. They are punctilious in their -hours, rigid in their habits, pained by any deviation from regular rule. - -Now Nature is always perversely ordering that men and women of just -this disposition should become desperately enamored of their exact -opposites. The man of rules and formulas and hours has his heart carried -off by a gay, careless little chit, who never knows the day of the -month, tears up the newspaper, loses the door-key, and makes curl-papers -out of the last bill; or, _per contra_, our exact and precise little -woman, whose belongings are like the waxen cells of a bee, gives her -heart to some careless fellow, who enters her sanctum in muddy boots, -upsets all her little nice household divinities whenever he is going on -a hunting or fishing bout, and can see no manner of sense in the -discomposure she feels in the case. - -What can such couples do, if they do not adopt the compromise of reason -and sense,--if each arms his or her own peculiarities with the back -force of persistent self-will, and runs them over the territories of the -other? - -A sensible man and woman, finding themselves thus placed, can govern -themselves by a just philosophy, and, instead of carrying on a -life-battle, can modify their own tastes and requirements, turn their -eyes from traits which do not suit them to those which do, resolving, at -all events, however reasonable be the taste or propensity which they -sacrifice, to give up all rather than have domestic strife. - -There is one form which persistency takes that is peculiarly trying: I -mean that persistency of opinion which deems it necessary to stop and -raise an argument in self-defence on the slightest personal criticism. - -John tells his wife that she is half an hour late with her breakfast -this morning, and she indignantly denies it. - -“But look at my watch!” - -“Your watch isn’t right.” - -“I set it by railroad time.” - -“Well, that was a week ago; that watch of yours always gains.” - -“No, my dear, you’re mistaken.” - -“Indeed I’m not. Did I not hear you telling Mr. B---- about it?” - -“My dear, that was a year ago,--before I had it cleaned.” - -“How can you say so, John? It was only a month ago.” - -“My dear, you are mistaken.” - -And so the contest goes on, each striving for the last word. - -This love of the last word has made more bitterness in families and -spoiled more Christians than it is worth. A thousand little differences -of this kind would drop to the ground, if either party would let them -drop. Suppose John is mistaken in saying breakfast is late,--suppose -that fifty of the little criticisms which we make on one another are -well-or ill-founded, are they worth a discussion? Are they worth -ill-tempered words, such as are almost sure to grow out of a discussion? -Are they worth throwing away peace and love for? Are they worth the -destruction of the only fair ideal left on earth,--a quiet, happy home? -Better let the most unjust statements pass in silence than risk one’s -temper in a discussion upon them. - -Discussions, assuming the form of warm arguments, are never pleasant -ingredients of domestic life, never safe recreations between near -friends. They are, generally speaking, mere unsuspected vents for -self-will, and the cases are few where they do anything more than to -make both parties more positive in their own way than they were before. - -A calm comparison of opposing views, a fair statement of reasons on -either side, may be valuable; but when warmth and heat and love of -victory and pride of opinion come in, good temper and good manners are -too apt to step out. - -And now Christopher, having come to the end of his subject, pauses for a -sentence to close with. There are a few lines of a poet that sum up so -beautifully all he has been saying that he may be pardoned for closing -with them. - - “Alas! how light a cause may move - Dissension between hearts that love; - Hearts that the world has vainly tried, - And sorrow but more closely tied; - That stood the storm when waves were rough, - Yet in a sunny hour fall off, - Like ships that have gone down at sea - When heaven was all tranquillity! - A something light as air, a look, - A word unkind, or wrongly taken,-- - O, love that tempests never shook, - A breath, a touch like this hath shaken! - For ruder words will soon rush in - To spread the breach that words begin, - And eyes forget the gentle ray - They wore in courtship’s smiling day, - And voices lose the tone which shed - A tenderness round all they said,-- - Till, fast declining, one by one, - The sweetnesses of love are gone, - And hearts so lately mingled seem - Like broken clouds, or like the stream, - That, smiling, left the mountain-brow - As though its waters ne’er could sever, - Yet, ere it reach the plain below, - Breaks into floods that part forever.” - - - - -V. - -INTOLERANCE. - - -“And what are you going to preach about this month, Mr. Crowfield?” - -“I am going to give a sermon on _Intolerance_, Mrs. Crowfield.” - -“Religious intolerance?” - -“No,--domestic and family and educational intolerance,--one of the seven -deadly sins on which I am preaching,--one of ‘the foxes.’” - - * * * * * - -PEOPLE are apt to talk as if all the intolerance in life were got up and -expended in the religious world; whereas religious intolerance is only a -small branch of the radical, strong, all-pervading intolerance of human -nature. - -Physicians are quite as intolerant as theologians. They never have had -the power of burning at the stake for medical opinions, but they -certainly have shown the will. Politicians are intolerant. Philosophers -are intolerant, especially those who pique themselves on liberal -opinions. Painters and sculptors are intolerant. And housekeepers are -intolerant, virulently denunciatory concerning any departures from their -particular domestic creed. - -Mrs. Alexander Exact, seated at her domestic altar, gives homilies on -the degeneracy of modern housekeeping equal to the lamentations of Dr. -Holdfast as to the falling off from the good old faith. - -“Don’t tell me about pillow-cases made without felling,” says Mrs. -Alexander; “it’s slovenly and shiftless. I wouldn’t have such a -pillow-case in my house any more than I’d have vermin.” - -“But,” says a trembling young housekeeper, conscious of unfelled -pillow-cases at home, “don’t you think, Mrs. Alexander, that some of -these old traditions might be dispensed with? It really is not necessary -to do all the work that has been done so thoroughly and exactly,--to -double-stitch every wristband, fell every seam, count all the threads of -gathers, and take a stitch to every gather. It makes beautiful sewing, -to be sure; but when a woman has a family of little children and a small -income, if all her sewing is to be kept up in this perfect style, she -wears her life out in stitching. Had she not better slight a little, and -get air and exercise?” - -“Don’t tell me about air and exercise! What did my grandmother do? Why, -she did all her own work, and made grandfather’s ruffled shirts besides, -with the finest stitching and gathers; and she found exercise enough, I -warrant you. Women of this day are miserable, sickly, degenerate -creatures.” - -“But, my dear Madam, look at poor Mrs. Evans, over the way, with her -pale face and her eight little ones.” - -“Miserable manager,” said Mrs. Alexander. “If she’d get up at five -o’clock the year round, as I do, she’d find time enough to do things -properly, and be the better for it.” - -“But, my dear Madam, Mrs. Evans is a very delicately organized, nervous -woman.” - -“Nervous! Don’t tell me! Every woman now-a-days is nervous. She can’t -get up in the morning, because she’s nervous. She can’t do her sewing -decently, because she’s nervous. Why, I might have been as nervous as -she is, if I’d have petted and coddled myself as she does. But I get up -early, take a walk in the fresh air of a mile or so before breakfast, -and come home feeling the better for it. I do all my own sewing,--never -put out a stitch; and I flatter myself my things are made as they ought -to be. I always make my boys’ shirts and Mr. Exact’s, and they are made -as shirts ought to be,--and yet I find plenty of time for calling, -shopping, business, and company. It only requires management and -resolution.” - -“It is perfectly wonderful, to be sure, Mrs. Exact, to see all that you -do; but don’t you get very tired sometimes?” - -“No, not often. I remember, though, the week before last Christmas, I -made and baked eighteen pies and ten loaves of cake in one day, and I -was really quite worn out; but I didn’t give way to it. I told Mr. Exact -I thought it would rest me to take a drive into New York and attend the -Sanitary Fair; and so we did. I suppose Mrs. Evans would have thought -she must go to bed and coddle herself for a month.” - -“But, dear Mrs. Exact, when a woman is kept awake nights by crying -babies--” - -“There’s no need of having crying babies; my babies never cried; it’s -just as you begin with children. I might have had to be up and down -every hour of the night with mine, just as Mrs. Evans does; but I knew -better. I used to take ’em up about ten o’clock, and feed and make ’em -all comfortable; and that was the last of ’em, till I was ready to get -up in the morning. I never lost a night’s sleep with any of mine.” - -“Not when they were teething?” - -“No. I knew how to manage that. I used to lance their gums myself, and I -never had any trouble: it’s all in management. I weaned ’em all myself, -too: there’s no use in having any fuss in weaning children.” - -“Mrs. Exact, you are a wonderful manager; but it would be impossible to -bring up all babies so.” - -“You’ll never make me believe that: people only need to begin right. I’m -sure I’ve had a trial of eight.” - -“But there’s that one baby of Mrs. Evans’s makes more trouble than all -your eight. It cries every night so that somebody has to be up walking -with it; it wears out all the nurses, and keeps poor Mrs. Evans sick all -the time.” - -“Not the least need of it; nothing but shiftless management. Suppose I -had allowed my children to be walked with; I might have had terrible -times, too; but I began right. I set down my foot that they should lie -still, and they did; and if they cried, I never lighted a candle, or -took ’em up, or took any kind of notice of it; and so, after a little, -they went off to sleep. Babies very soon find out where they can take -advantage, and where they can’t. It’s nothing but temper makes babies -cry; and if I couldn’t hush ’em any other way, I should give ’em a few -good smart slaps, and they would soon learn to behave themselves.” - -“But, dear Mrs. Exact, you were a strong, healthy woman, and had strong, -healthy children.” - -“Well, isn’t that baby of Mrs. Evans’s healthy, I want to know? I’m sure -it is a great creature, and thrives and grows fat as fast as ever I saw -a child. You needn’t tell me anything is the matter with that child but -temper and its mother’s coddling management.” - -Now, in the neighborhood where she lives, Mrs. Alexander Exact is the -wonderful woman, the Lady Bountiful, the pattern female. Her cake never -rises on one side, or has a heavy streak in it. Her furs never get a -moth in them; her carpets never fade; her sweetmeats never ferment; her -servants never neglect their work; her children never get things out of -order; her babies never cry, never keep one awake o’ nights; and her -husband never in his life said, “My dear, there’s a button off my -shirt.” Flies never infest her kitchen, cockroaches and red ants never -invade her premises, a spider never had time to spin a web on one of her -walls. Everything in her establishment is shining with neatness, crisp -and bristling with absolute perfection,--and it is she, the -ever-up-and-dressed, unsleeping, wide-awake, omnipresent, never-tiring -Mrs. Exact, that does it all. - -Besides keeping her household ways thus immaculate, Mrs. Exact is on all -sorts of charitable committees, does all sorts of fancy-work for fairs; -and whatever she does is done perfectly. She is a most available, most -helpful, most benevolent woman, and general society has reason to -rejoice in her existence. - -But, for all this, Mrs. Exact is as intolerant as Torquemada or a -locomotive-engine. She has her own track, straight and inevitable; her -judgments and opinions cut through society in right lines, with all the -force of her example and all the steam of her energy, turning out -neither for the old nor the young, the weak nor the weary. She cannot, -and she will not, conceive the possibility that there may be other sorts -of natures than her own, and that other kinds of natures must have other -ways of living and doing. - -Good and useful as she is, she is terrible as an army with banners to -her poor, harassed, delicate, struggling neighbor across the way, who, -in addition to an aching, confused head, an aching back, sleepless, -harassed nights, and weary, sinking days, is burdened everywhere and -every hour with the thought that Mrs. Exact thinks all her troubles are -nothing but poor management, and that she might do just like her, if she -would. With very little self-confidence or self-assertion, she is -withered and paralyzed by this discouraging thought. _Is_ it, then, her -fault that this never-sleeping baby cries all night, and that all her -children never could and never would be brought up by those exact rules -which she hears of as so efficacious in the household over the way? The -thought of Mrs. Alexander Exact stands over her like a constable; the -remembrance of her is grievous; the burden of her opinion is heavier -than all her other burdens. - -Now the fact is, that Mrs. Exact comes of a long-lived, strong-backed, -strong-stomached race, with “limbs of British oak and nerves of wire.” -The shadow of a sensation of nervous pain or uneasiness never has been -known in her family for generations, and her judgments of poor little -Mrs. Evans are about as intelligent as those of a good stout Shanghai -hen on a humming-bird. Most useful and comfortable, these Shanghai -hens,--and very ornamental, and in a small way useful, these -humming-birds; but let them not regulate each other’s diet, or lay down -schemes for each other’s housekeeping. Has not one as much right to its -nature as the other? - -This intolerance of other people’s natures is one of the greatest causes -of domestic unhappiness. The perfect householders are they who make -their household rule so flexible that all sorts of differing natures may -find room to grow and expand and express themselves without infringing -upon others. - -Some women are endowed with a tact for understanding human nature and -guiding it. They give a sense of largeness and freedom; they find a -place for every one, see at once what every one is good for, and are -inspired by Nature with the happy wisdom of not wishing or asking of any -human being more than that human being was made to give. They have the -portion in due season for all: a bone for the dog; catnip for the cat; -cuttle-fish and hempseed for the bird; a book or review for their -bashful literary visitor; lively gossip for thoughtless Miss Seventeen; -knitting for Grandmamma; fishing-rods, boats, and gunpowder, for Young -Restless, whose beard is just beginning to grow;--and they never fall -into pets, because the canary-bird won’t relish the dog’s bone, or the -dog eat canary-seed, or young Miss Seventeen read old Mr. Sixty’s -review, or young Master Restless take delight in knitting-work, or old -Grandmamma feel complacency in guns and gunpowder. - -Again, there are others who lay the foundations of family life so -narrow, straight, and strict, that there is room in them only for -themselves and people exactly like themselves; and hence comes much -misery. - -A man and woman come together out of different families and races, often -united by only one or two sympathies, with many differences. Their first -wisdom would be to find out each other’s nature, and accommodate to it -as a fixed fact; instead of which, how many spend their lives in a -blind fight with an opposite nature, as good as their own in its way, -but not capable of meeting their requirements! - -A woman trained in an exact, thriving, business family, where her father -and brothers bore everything along with true worldly skill and energy, -falls in love with a literary man, who knows nothing of affairs, whose -life is in his library and his pen. Shall she vex and torment herself -and him because he is not a business man? Shall she constantly hold up -to him the example of her father and brothers, and how they would manage -in this and that case? or shall she say cheerily and once for all to -herself,--“My husband has no talent for business; that is not his forte; -but then he has talents far more interesting: I cannot have everything; -let him go on undisturbed, and do what he can do well, and let me try to -make up for what he cannot do; and if there be disabilities come on us -in consequence of what we neither of us can do, let us both take them -cheerfully”? - -In the same manner a man takes out of the bosom of an adoring family one -of those delicate, petted singing-birds that seem to be created simply -to adorn life and make it charming. Is it fair, after he has got her, to -compare her housekeeping, and her efficiency and capability in the -material part of life, with those of his mother and sisters, who are -strong-limbed, practical women, that have never thought about anything -but housekeeping from their cradle? Shall he all the while vex himself -and her with the remembrance of how his mother used to get up at five -o’clock and arrange all the business of the day,--how she kept all the -accounts,--how she saw to everything and settled everything,--how there -never were breakdowns or irregularities in her system? - -This would be unfair. If a man wanted such a housekeeper, why did he not -get one? There were plenty of single women, who understood washing, -ironing, clear-starching, cooking, and general housekeeping, better than -the little canary-bird which he fell in love with, and wanted for her -plumage and her song, for her merry tricks, for her bright eyes and -pretty ways. Now he has got his bird, let him keep it as something fine -and precious, to be cared for and watched over, and treated according to -the laws of its frail and delicate nature; and so treating it, he may -many years keep the charms which first won his heart. He may find, too, -if he watches and is careful, that a humming-bird can, in its own small, -dainty way, build a nest as efficiently as a turkey-gobbler, and hatch -her eggs and bring up her young in humming-bird fashion; but to do it, -she must be left unfrightened and undisturbed. - -But the evils of domestic intolerance increase with the birth of -children. As parents come together out of different families with -ill-assorted peculiarities, so children are born to them with natures -differing from their own and from each other. - -The parents seize on their first new child as a piece of special -property which they are forthwith to turn to their own account. The poor -little waif, just drifted on the shores of Time, has perhaps folded up -in it a character as positive as that of either parent; but, for all -that, its future course is marked out for it, all arranged and -predetermined. - -John has a perfect mania for literary distinction. His own education was -somewhat imperfect, but he is determined his children shall be -prodigies. His first-born turns out a girl, who is to write like Madame -de Staël,--to be an able, accomplished woman. He bores her with -literature from her earliest years, reads extracts from Milton to her -when she is only eight years old, and is secretly longing to be playing -with her doll’s wardrobe. He multiplies governesses, spares no expense, -and when, after all, his daughter turns out to be only a very pretty, -sensible, domestic girl, fond of cross-stitching embroidery, and with a -more decided vocation for sponge-cake and pickles than for poetry and -composition, he is disappointed and treats her coldly; and she is -unhappy and feels that she has vexed her parents, because she cannot be -what Nature never meant her to be. If John had taken meekly the present -that Mother Nature gave him, and humbly set himself to inquire what it -was and what it was good for, he might have had years of happiness with -a modest, amiable, and domestic daughter, to whom had been given the -instinct to study household good. - -But, again, a bustling, pickling, preserving, stocking-knitting, -universal-housekeeping woman has a daughter who dreams over her -knitting-work and hides a book under her sampler,--whose thoughts are -straying in Greece, Rome, Germany,--who is reading, studying, thinking, -writing, without knowing why; and the mother sets herself to fight this -nature, and to make the dreamy scholar into a driving, thorough-going, -exact woman-of-business. How many tears are shed, how much temper -wasted, how much time lost, in such encounters! - -Each of these natures, under judicious training, might be made to -complete itself by cultivation of that which it lacked. The born -housekeeper can never be made a genius, but she may add to her household -virtues some reasonable share of literary culture and appreciation,--and -the born scholar may learn to come down out of her clouds, and see -enough of this earth to walk its practical ways without stumbling; but -this must be done by tolerance of their nature,--by giving it play and -room,--first recognizing its existence and its rights, and then seeking -to add to it the properties it wants. - -A clever Yankee housekeeper, fruitful of resources, can work with any -tools or with no tools at all. If she absolutely cannot get a -tack-hammer with a claw on one end, she can take up carpet-nails with an -iron spoon, and drive them down with a flat-iron; and she has sense -enough not to scold, though she does her work with them at considerable -disadvantage. She knows that she is working with tools made for another -purpose, and never thinks of being angry at their unhandiness. She might -have equal patience with a daughter unhandy in physical things, but -acute and skilful in mental ones, if she once had the idea suggested to -her. - -An ambitious man has a son whom he destines to a learned profession. He -is to be the Daniel Webster of the family. The boy has a robust, -muscular frame, great physical vigor and enterprise, a brain bright and -active in all that may be acquired through the bodily senses, but which -is dull and confused and wandering when put to abstract book-knowledge. -He knows every ship at the wharf, her build, tonnage, and sailing -qualities; he knows every railroad-engine, its power, speed, and hours -of coming and going; he is always busy, sawing, hammering, planing, -digging, driving, making bargains, with his head full of plans, all -relating to something outward and physical. In all these matters his -mind works strongly, his ideas are clear, his observation acute, his -conversation sensible and worth listening to. But as to the distinction -between common nouns and proper nouns, between the subject and the -predicate of a sentence, between the relative pronoun and the -demonstrative adjective pronoun, between the perfect and the -preter-perfect tense, he is extremely dull and hazy. The region of -abstract ideas is to him a region of ghosts and shadows. Yet his youth -is mainly a dreary wilderness of uncomprehended, incomprehensible -studies, of privations, tasks, punishments, with a sense of continual -failure, disappointment, and disgrace, because his father is trying to -make a scholar and a literary man out of a boy whom Nature made to till -the soil or manage the material forces of the world. He might be a -farmer, an engineer, a pioneer of a new settlement, a sailor, a soldier, -a thriving man of business; but he grows up feeling that his nature is a -crime, and that he is good for nothing, because he is not good for what -he had been blindly predestined to before he was born. - -Another boy is a born mechanic; he understands machinery at a glance; he -is all the while pondering and studying and experimenting. But his -wheels and his axles and his pulleys are all swept away, as so much -irrelevant lumber; he is doomed to go into the Latin School, and spend -three or four years in trying to learn what he never can learn -well,--disheartened by always being at the tail of his class, and seeing -many a boy inferior to himself in general culture who is rising to -brilliant distinction simply because he can remember those hopeless, -bewildering Greek quantities and accents which he is constantly -forgetting,--as, for example, how properispomena become paroxytones when -the ultimate becomes long, and proparoxytones become paroxytones when -the ultimate becomes long, while paroxytones with a short penult remain -paroxytones. Each of this class of rules, however, having about sixteen -exceptions, which hold good except in three or four other exceptional -cases under them, the labyrinth becomes delightfully wilder and wilder; -and the crowning beauty of the whole is, that, when the bewildered boy -has swallowed the whole,--tail, scales, fins, and bones,--he then is -allowed to read the classics in peace, without the slightest occasion to -refer to them again during his college course. - -The great trouble with the so-called classical course of education is, -that it is made strictly for but one class of minds, which it drills in -respects for which they have by nature an aptitude, and to which it -presents scarcely enough of difficulty to make it a mental discipline, -while to another and equally valuable class of minds it presents -difficulties so great as actually to crush and discourage. There are, we -will venture to say, in every ten boys in Boston, four, and those not -the dullest or poorest in quality, who could never go through the -discipline of the Boston Latin School without such a strain on the brain -and nervous system as would leave them no power for anything else. - -A bright, intelligent boy, whose talents lay in the line of natural -philosophy and mechanics, passed with brilliant success through the -Boston English High School. He won the first medals, and felt all that -pride and enthusiasm which belong to a successful student. He entered -the Latin Classical School as the next step on his way to a collegiate -education. With a large philosophic and reasoning brain, he had a very -poor verbal and textual memory; and here he began to see himself -distanced by boys who had hitherto looked up to him. They could rattle -off catalogues of names; they could do so all the better from the habit -of not thinking of what they studied. They could commit the Latin -Grammar, coarse print and fine, and run through the interminable mazes -of Greek accents and Greek inflections. This boy of large mind and brain -found himself always behindhand, and became, in time, utterly -discouraged; no amount of study could place him on an equality with his -former inferiors. His health failed, and he dropped from school. Many a -fine fellow has been lost to himself, and lost to an educated life, by -just such a failure. The collegiate system is like a great coal-screen: -every piece not of a certain size must fall through. This may do well -enough for screening coal; but what if it were used indiscriminately for -a mixture of coal and diamonds? - -“Poor boy!” said Ole Bull, compassionately, when one sought to push a -schoolboy from the steps of an omnibus, where he was getting a -surreptitious ride. “Poor boy! let him stay. Who knows his trials? -Perhaps he studies Latin.” - -The witty Heinrich Heine says, in bitter remembrance of his early -sufferings,--“The Romans would never have conquered the world, if they -had had to learn their own language. They had leisure, because they were -born with the knowledge of what nouns form their accusatives in _im_.” - -Now we are not among those who decry the Greek and Latin classics. We -think it a glorious privilege to read both those grand old tongues, and -that an intelligent, cultivated man who is shut out from the converse of -the splendid minds of those olden times loses a part of his birthright; -and therefore it is that we mourn that but one dry, hard, technical -path, one sharp, straight, narrow way, is allowed into so goodly a land -of knowledge. We think there is no need that the study of Greek and -Latin should be made such a horror. There is many a man without a verbal -memory, who could neither recite in order the paradigms of the Greek -verbs, nor repeat the lists of nouns that form their accusative in one -termination or another, who, nevertheless, by the exercise of his -faculties of comparison and reasoning, could learn to read the Greek and -Latin classics so as to take their sense and enjoy their spirit; and -that is all that is worth caring for. We have known one young scholar, -who could not by any possibility repeat the lists of exceptions to the -rules in the Latin Grammar, who yet delightedly filled his private -note-book with quotations from the “Æneid,” and was making extracts of -literary gems from his Greek Reader, at the same time that he was every -day “screwed” by his tutor upon some technical point of the language. - -Is there not many a master of English, many a writer and orator, who -could not repeat from memory the list of nouns ending in _y_ that form -their plural in _ies_, with the exceptions under it? How many of us -could do this? Would it help a good writer and fluent speaker to know -the whole of Murray’s Grammar by heart, or does real knowledge of a -language ever come in this way? - -At present the rich stores of ancient literature are kept like the -savory stew which poor Dominie Sampson heard simmering in the witch’s -kettle. One may have much appetite, but there is but one way of getting -it. The Meg Merrilies of our educational system, with her harsh voice, -and her “Gape, sinner, and swallow,” is the only introduction,--and so, -many a one turns and runs frightened from the feast. - -This intolerant mode of teaching the classical languages is peculiar to -them alone. Multitudes of girls and boys are learning to read and to -speak German, French, and Italian, and to feel all the delights of -expatiating in the literature of a new language, purely because of a -simpler, more natural, less pedantic mode of teaching these languages. - -Intolerance in the established system of education works misery in -families, because family pride decrees that every boy of good status in -society, will he, nill he, shall go through college, or he almost -forfeits his position as a gentleman. - -“Not go to Cambridge!” says Scholasticus to his first-born. “Why, I went -there,--and my father, and his father, and his father before him. Look -at the Cambridge Catalogue and you will see the names of our family ever -since the College was founded!” - -“But I can’t learn Latin and Greek,” says young Scholasticus. “I can’t -remember all those rules and exceptions. I’ve tried, and I can’t. If you -could only know how my head feels when I try! And I won’t be at the foot -of the class all the time, if I have to get my living by digging.” - -Suppose, now, the boy is pushed on at the point of the bayonet to a kind -of knowledge in which he has no interest, communicated in a way that -requires faculties which Nature has not given him,--what occurs? - -He goes through his course, either shamming, _shirking_, _ponying_, all -the while consciously discredited and dishonored,--or else, putting -forth an effort that is a draft on all his nervous energy, he makes -merely a decent scholar, and loses his health for life. - -Now, if the principle of toleration were once admitted into classical -education,--if it were admitted that the great object is to read and -enjoy a language, and the stress of the teaching were placed on the few -things absolutely essential to this result,--if the tortoise were -allowed time to creep, and the bird permitted to fly, and the fish to -swim, towards the enchanted and divine sources of Helicon,--all might in -their own way arrive there, and rejoice in its flowers, its beauty, and -its coolness. - -“But,” say the advocates of the present system, “it is good mental -discipline.” - -I doubt it. It is mere waste of time. - -When a boy has learned that in the genitive plural of the first -declension of Greek nouns the final syllable is circumflexed, but to -this there are the following exceptions: 1. That feminine adjectives -and participles in-ος,-η,-ον are accented like the genitive masculine, -but other feminine adjectives and participles are perispomena in the -genitive plural; 2. That the substantives _chrestes_, _aphue_, -_etesiai_, and _chlounes_ in the genitive plural remain paroxytones, -(Kühner’s _Elementary Greek Grammar_, page 22,)--I say, when a boy has -learned this and twenty other things just like it, his mind has not been -one whit more disciplined than if he had learned the list of the old -thirteen States, the number and names of the newly adopted ones, the -times of their adoption, and the population, commerce, mineral and -agricultural wealth of each. These, too, are merely exercises of memory, -but they are exercises in what is of some interest and some use. - -The particulars above cited are of so little use in understanding the -Greek classics that I will venture to say that there are intelligent -English scholars, who have never read anything but Bohn’s translations, -who have more genuine knowledge of the spirit of the Greek mind, and the -peculiar idioms of the language, and more enthusiasm for it, than many a -poor fellow who has stumbled blindly through the originals with the -bayonet of the tutor at his heels, and his eyes and ears full of the -Scotch snuff of the Greek Grammar. - -What then? Shall we not learn these ancient tongues? By all means. “So -many times as I learn a language, so many times I become a man,” said -Charles V.; and he said rightly. Latin and Greek are foully belied by -the prejudices created by this technical, pedantic mode of teaching -them, which makes one ragged, prickly bundle of all the dry facts of the -language, and insists upon it that the boy shall not see one glimpse of -its beauty, glory, or interest, till he has swallowed and digested the -whole mass. Many die in this wilderness with their shoes worn out before -reaching the Promised Land of Plato and the Tragedians. - -“But,” say our college authorities, “look at England. An English -schoolboy learns three times the Latin and Greek that our boys learn, -and has them well drubbed in.” - -And English boys have three times more beef and pudding in their -constitution than American boys have, and three times less of nerves. -The difference of nature must be considered here; and the constant -influence flowing from English schools and universities must be tempered -by considering who we are, what sort of boys we have to deal with, what -treatment they can bear, and what are the needs of our growing American -society. - -The demands of actual life, the living, visible facts of practical -science, in so large and new a country as ours, require that the ideas -of the ancients should be given us in the shortest and most economical -way possible, and that scholastic technicalities should be reserved to -those whom Nature made with especial reference to their preservation. - -On no subject is there more intolerant judgment, and more suffering from -such intolerance, than on the much mooted one of the education of -children. - -Treatises on education require altogether too much of parents, and -impose burdens of responsibility on tender spirits which crush the life -and strength out of them. Parents have been talked to as if each child -came to them a soft, pulpy mass, which they were to pinch and pull and -pat and stroke into shape quite at their leisure,--and a good pattern -being placed before them, they were to proceed immediately to set up and -construct a good human being in conformity therewith. - -It is strange that believers in the divine inspiration of the Bible -should have entertained this idea, overlooking the constant and -affecting declaration of the great Heavenly Father that _He_ has -nourished and brought up children and they have rebelled against Him, -together with His constant appeals,--“What could have been done more to -my vineyard that I have not done in it? Wherefore, when I looked that it -should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?” If even God, -wiser, better, purer, more loving, admits Himself baffled in this great -work, is it expedient to say to human beings that the forming power, the -deciding force, of a child’s character is in their hands? - -Many a poor feeble woman’s health has been strained to breaking, and her -life darkened, by the laying on her shoulders of a burden of -responsibility that never ought to have been placed there; and many a -mother has been hindered from using such powers as God has given her, -because some preconceived mode of operation has been set up before her -which she could no more make effectual than David could wear the armor -of Saul. - -A gentle, loving, fragile creature marries a strong-willed, energetic -man, and by the laws of natural descent has a boy given to her of twice -her amount of will and energy. She is just as helpless, in the mere -struggle of will and authority with such a child, as she would be in a -physical wrestle with a six-foot man. - -What then? Has Nature left her helpless for her duties? Not if she -understands her nature, and acts in the line of it. She has no power of -command, but she has power of persuasion. She can neither bend nor break -the boy’s iron will, but she can melt it. She has tact to avoid the -conflict in which she would be worsted. She can charm, amuse, please, -and make willing; and her fine and subtile influences, weaving -themselves about him day after day, become more and more powerful. Let -her alone, and she will have her boy yet. - -But now some bustling mother-in-law or other privileged expounder says -to her,-- - -“My dear, it’s your solemn duty to break that boy’s will. I broke my -boy’s will short off. Keep your whip in sight, meet him at every turn, -fight him whenever he crosses you, never let him get one victory, and -finally his will will be wholly subdued.” - -Such advice is mischievous, because what it proposes is as utter an -impossibility to the woman’s nature as for a cow to scratch up worms for -her calf, or a hen to suckle her chickens. - -There are men and women of strong, resolute will who are gifted with the -power of governing the wills of others. Such persons can govern in this -way,--and their government, being in the line of their nature, acting -strongly, consistently, naturally, makes everything move harmoniously. -Let them be content with their own success, but let them not set up as -general education-doctors, or apply their experience to all possible -cases. - -Again, there are others, and among them some of the loveliest and purest -natures, who have no power of command. They have sufficient tenacity of -will as respects their own course, but have no compulsory power over -the wills of others. Many such women have been most successful mothers, -when they followed the line of their own natures, and did not undertake -what they never could do. - -_Influence_ is a slower acting force than authority. It seems weaker, -but in the long run it often effects more. It always does better than -mere force and authority without its gentle modifying power. - -She who obtains an absolute and perfect government over a child, so that -he obeys, certainly and almost mechanically produces effects which are -more appreciable in their immediate action on family life; her family -will be more orderly, her children in their childhood will do her more -credit. - -But she who has consciously no power of this kind, whose children are -often turbulent and unmanageable, need not despair if she feel that -through affection, reason, and conscience, she still retains a strong -_influence_ over them. If she cannot govern her boy, she can do even a -better thing if she can inspire him with a purpose to _govern himself_; -for a boy taught to govern himself is a better achievement than a boy -merely governed. - -If a mother, therefore, is high-principled, religious, affectionate, if -she never uses craft or deception, if she governs her temper and sets a -good example, let her hold on in good hope, though she cannot produce -the discipline of a man-of-war in her noisy little flock, or make all -move as smoothly as some other women to whom God has given another and -different talent; and let her not be discouraged, if she seem often to -accomplish but little in that arduous work of forming human character -wherein the great Creator of the world has declared Himself at times -baffled. - -Family tolerance must take great account of the stages and periods of -development and growth in children. - -The passage of a human being from one stage of development to another, -like the sun’s passage across the equator, frequently has its storms -and tempests. The change to manhood and womanhood often involves brain, -nerves, body, and soul in confusion; the child sometimes seems lost to -himself and his parents,--his very nature changing. In this sensitive -state come restless desires, unreasonable longings, unsettled purposes; -and the fatal habit of indulgence in deadly stimulants, ruining all the -life, often springs from the cravings of this transition period. - -Here must come in the patience of the saints. The restlessness must be -soothed, the family hearth must be tolerant enough to keep there the -boy, whom Satan will receive and cherish, if his mother does not. The -male element sometimes pours into a boy, like the tides in the Bay of -Fundy, with tumult and tossing. He is noisy, vociferous, uproarious, and -seems bent only on disturbance; he despises conventionalities, he hates -parlors, he longs for the woods, the sea, the converse of rough men, -and kicks at constraint of all kinds. Have patience now, let love have -its perfect work, and in a year or two, if no deadly physical habits set -in, a quiet, well-mannered gentleman will be evolved. Meanwhile, if he -does not wipe his shoes, and if he will fling his hat upon the floor, -and tear his clothes, and bang and hammer and shout, and cause general -confusion in his belongings, do not despair; for if you only get your -son, the hat and clothes and shoes and noise and confusion do not -matter. Any amount of toleration that keeps a boy contented at home is -treasure well expended at this time of life. - -One thing not enough reflected on is, that in this transition period -between childhood and maturity the heaviest draft and strain of school -education occurs. The boy is fitting for the university, the girl going -through the studies of the college senior year, and the brain-power, -which is working almost to the breaking-point to perfect the physical -change, has the additional labor of all the drill and discipline of -school. - -The girl is growing into a tall and shapely woman, and the poor brain is -put to it to find enough phosphate of lime, carbon, and other what not, -to build her fair edifice. The bills flow in upon her thick and fast; -she pays out hand over hand: if she had only her woman to build, she -might get along, but now come in demands for algebra, geometry, music, -language, and the poor brain-bank stops payment; some part of the work -is shabbily done, and a crooked spine or weakened lungs are the result. - -Boarding-schools, both for boys and girls, are for the most part -composed of young people in this most delicate, critical portion of -their physical, mental, and moral development, whose teachers are -expected to put them through one straight, severe course of drill, -without the slightest allowance for the great physical facts of their -being. No wonder they are difficult to manage, and that so many of them -drop, physically, mentally, and morally halt and maimed. It is not the -teacher’s fault; he but fulfils the parent’s requisition, which dooms -his child without appeal to a certain course simply because others have -gone through it. - -Finally, as my sermon is too long already, let me end with a single -reflection. Every human being has some handle by which he may be lifted, -some groove in which he was meant to run; and the great work of life, as -far as our relations with each other are concerned, is to lift each one -by his own proper handle, and run each one in his own proper groove. - - - - -VI. - -DISCOURTESY. - - -“For my part,” said my wife, “I think one of the greatest destroyers of -domestic peace is Discourtesy. People neglect, with their nearest -friends, those refinements and civilities which they practise with -strangers.” - -“My dear Madam, I am of another opinion,” said Bob Stephens. “The -restraints of etiquette, the formalities of ceremony, are tedious enough -in out-door life; but when a man comes home, he wants leave to take off -his tight boots and gloves, wear the gown and slippers, and speak his -mind freely without troubling his head where it hits. Home-life should -be the communion of people who have learned to understand each other, -who allow each other a generous latitude and freedom. One wants one -place where he may feel at liberty to be tired or dull or disagreeable -without ruining his character. Home is the place where we should expect -to live somewhat on the credit which a full knowledge of each other’s -goodness and worth inspires; and it is not necessary for intimate -friends to go every day through those civilities and attentions which -they practise with strangers, any more than it is necessary, among -literary people, to repeat the alphabet over every day before one begins -to read.” - -“Yes,” said Jennie, “when a young gentleman is paying his addresses, he -helps a young lady out of a carriage so tenderly, and holds back her -dress so adroitly, that not a particle of mud gets on it from the -wheels; but when the mutual understanding is complete, and the affection -perfect, and she is his wife, he sits still and holds the horse and lets -her climb out alone. To be sure, when pretty Miss Titmouse is visiting -them, he still shows himself gallant, flies from the carriage, and holds -back _her_ dress: that’s because he doesn’t love her nor she him, and -they are _not_ on the ground of mutual affection. When a gentleman is -only engaged, or a friend, if you hem him a cravat or mend his gloves, -he thanks you in the blandest manner; but when you are once sure of his -affection, he only says, ‘Very well; now I wish you would look over my -shirts, and mend that rip in my coat,--and be sure don’t forget it, as -you did yesterday.’ For all which reasons,” said Miss Jennie, with a -toss of her pretty head, “I mean to put off marrying as long as -possible, because I think it far more agreeable to have gentlemen -friends with whom I stand on the ground of ceremony and politeness than -to be restricted to one who is living on the credit of his affection. I -don’t want a man who gapes in my face, reads a newspaper all -breakfast-time while I want somebody to talk to, smokes cigars all the -evening, or reads to himself when I would like him to be entertaining, -and considers his affection for me as his right and title to make -himself generally disagreeable. If he has a bright face, and pleasant, -entertaining, gallant ways, I like to be among the ladies who may have -the benefit of them, and should take care how I lost my title to it by -coming with him on to the ground of domestic affection.” - -“Well, Miss Jennie,” said Bob, “it isn’t merely our sex who are guilty -of making themselves less agreeable after marriage. Your dapper little -fairy creatures, who dazzle us so with wondrous and fresh toilettes, who -are so trim and neat and sprightly and enchanting, what becomes of them -after marriage? If _he_ reads the newspaper at the breakfast-table, -perhaps it’s because there is a sleepy, dowdy woman opposite, in a faded -gingham wrapper, put on in the sacredness of domestic privacy, and -perhaps she has laid aside those crisp, sparkling, bright little sayings -and doings that used to make it impossible to look at or listen to -anybody else when she was about. Such things _are_, sometimes, among -the goddesses, I believe. Of course, Marianne and I know nothing of -these troubles; we, being a model pair, sit among the clouds and -speculate on all these matters as spectators merely.” - -“Well, you see what your principle leads to, carried out,” said Jennie. -“If home is merely the place where one may feel at liberty to be tired -or dull or disagreeable, without losing one’s character, I think the -women have far more right to avail themselves of the liberty than the -men; for all the lonesome, dull, disagreeable part of home-life comes -into their department. It is they who must keep awake with the baby, if -it frets; and if they do not feel spirits to make an attractive toilette -in the morning, or have not the airy, graceful fancies that they had -when they were girls, it is not so very much against them. A housekeeper -and nursery-maid cannot be expected to be quite as elegant in her -toilette and as entertaining in her ways as a girl without a care in -her father’s house; but I think that this is no excuse for husbands -neglecting the little civilities and attentions which they used to show -before marriage. They are strong and well and hearty; go out into the -world and hear and see a great deal that keeps their minds moving and -awake; and they ought to entertain their wives after marriage just as -their wives entertained them before. That’s the way my husband must do, -or I will never have one,--and it will be small loss, if I don’t,” said -Miss Jennie. - -“Well,” said Bob, “I must endeavor to initiate Charley Sedley in time.” - -“Charley Sedley, Bob!” said Jennie, with crimson indignation. “I wonder -you will always bring up that old story, when I’ve told you a hundred -times how disagreeable it is! Charley and I are good friends, but--” - -“There, there,” said Bob, “that will do; you don’t need to proceed -further.” - -“You only said that because you couldn’t answer my argument,” said -Jennie. - -“Well, my dear,” said Bob, “you know everything has two sides to it, and -I’ll admit that you have brought up the opposite side to mine quite -handsomely; but, for all that, I am convinced, that, if what I said was -not really the truth, yet the truth lies somewhere in the vicinity of -it. As I said before, so I say again, true love ought to beget a freedom -which shall do away with the necessity of ceremony, and much may and -ought to be tolerated among near and dear friends that would be -discourteous among strangers. I am just as sure of this as of anything -in the world.” - -“And yet,” said my wife, “there is certainly truth in the much quoted -lines of Cowper, on Friendship, where he says,-- - - “As similarity of mind, - Or something not to be defined, - First fixes our attention, - So manners decent and polite, - The same we practised at first sight, - Will save it from declension.” - -“Well, now,” said Bob, “I’ve seen enough of French politeness between -married people. When I was in Paris, I remember there was in our -boarding-house a Madame de Villiers, whose husband had conferred upon -her his name and the _de_ belonging to it, in consideration of a snug -little income which she brought to him by the marriage. His conduct -towards her was a perfect model of all the graces of civilized life. It -was true that he lived on her income, and spent it in promenading the -Boulevards, and visiting theatres and operas with divers fair friends of -easy morals; still all this was so courteously, so politely, so -diplomatically arranged with Madame, that it was quite worth while to be -neglected and cheated for the sake of having the thing done in so -finished and elegant a manner. According to his showing, Monsieur had -taken the neat little apartment for her in our _pension_, because his -circumstances were embarrassed, and he would be in despair to drag such -a creature into hardships which he described as terrific, and which he -was resolved heroically to endure alone. No, while a sous remained to -them, his adored Julie should have her apartment and the comforts of -life secured to her, while the barest attic should suffice for him. -Never did he visit her without kissing her hand with the homage due to a -princess, complimenting her on her good looks, bringing bonbons, -entertaining her with most ravishing small-talk of all the interesting -_on-dits_ in Paris; and these visits were most particularly frequent as -the time for receiving her quarterly instalments approached. And so -Madame adored him and could refuse him nothing, believed all his -stories, and was well content to live on a fourth of her own income for -the sake of so engaging a husband.” - -“Well,” said Jennie, “I don’t know to what purpose your anecdote is -related, but to me it means simply this: if a rascal, without heart, -without principle, without any good quality, can win and keep a woman’s -heart merely by being invariably polite and agreeable, while in her -presence, how much more might a man of sense and principle and real -affection do by the same means! I’m sure, if a man who neglects a woman, -and robs her of her money, nevertheless keeps her affections, merely -because whenever he sees her he is courteous and attentive, it certainly -shows that courtesy stands for a great deal in the matter of love.” - -“With foolish women,” said Bob. - -“Yes, and with sensible ones too,” said my wife. “Your Monsieur presents -a specimen of the French way of doing a bad thing; but I know a poor -woman whose husband did the same thing in English fashion, without -kisses or compliments. Instead of flattering, he swore at her, and took -her money away without the ceremony of presenting bonbons; and I assure -you, if the thing must be done at all, I would, for my part, much rather -have it done in the French than the English manner. The courtesy, as far -as it goes, is a good, and far better than nothing,--though, of course, -one would rather have substantial good with it. If one must be robbed, -one would rather have one’s money wheedled away agreeably, with kisses -and bonbons, than be knocked down and trampled upon.” - -“The mistake that is made on this subject,” said I, “is in comparing, as -people generally do, a polished rascal with a boorish good man; but the -polished rascal should be compared with the polished good man, and the -boorish rascal with the boorish good man, and then we get the true value -of the article. - -“It is true, as a general rule, that those races of men that are most -distinguished for outward urbanity and courtesy are the least -distinguished for truth and sincerity; and hence the well-known -alliterations, ‘fair and false,’ ‘smooth and slippery.’ The fair and -false Greek, the polished and wily Italian, the courteous and deceitful -Frenchman, are associations which, to the strong, downright, courageous -Anglo-Saxon, make up-and-down rudeness and blunt discourtesy a type of -truth and honesty. - -“No one can read French literature without feeling how the element of -courtesy pervades every department of life,--how carefully people avoid -being personally disagreeable in their intercourse. A domestic quarrel, -if we may trust French plays, is carried on with all the refinements of -good breeding, and insults are given with elegant civility. It seems -impossible to translate into French the direct and downright brutalities -which the English tongue allows. The whole intercourse of life is -arranged on the understanding that all personal contacts shall be smooth -and civil, and such as to obviate the necessity of personal jostle and -jar. - -“Does a Frenchman engage a clerk or other _employé_, and afterwards hear -a report to his disadvantage, the last thing he would think of would be -to tell a downright unpleasant truth to the man. He writes him a civil -note, and tells him, that, in consequence of an unexpected change of -business, he shall not need an assistant in that department, and much -regrets that this will deprive him of Monsieur’s agreeable society, etc. - -“A more striking example cannot be found of this sort of intercourse -than the representation in the life of Madame George Sand of the -proceedings between her father and his mother. There is all the romance -of affection between this mother and son. He writes her the most devoted -letters, he kisses her hand on every page, he is the very image of a -gallant, charming, lovable son, while at the same time he is secretly -making arrangements for a private marriage with a woman of low rank and -indifferent reputation,--a marriage which he knows would be like death -to his mother. He marries, lives with his wife, has one or two children -by her, before he will pain the heart of his adored mother by telling -her the truth. The adored mother suspects her son, but no trace of the -suspicion appears in her letters to him. The questions which an English -parent would level at him point-blank she is entirely too delicate to -address to her dear Maurice; but she puts them to the Prefect of Police, -and ferrets out the marriage through legal documents, while yet no trace -of this knowledge dims the affectionateness of her letters, or the -serenity of her reception of her son when he comes to bestow on her the -time which he can spare from his family cares. In an English or American -family there would have been a battle royal, an open rupture; whereas -this courteous son and mother go on for years with this polite drama, -she pretending to be deceived while she is not, and he supposing that he -is sparing her feelings by the deception. - -“Now it is the reaction from such a style of life on the truthful -Anglo-Saxon nature that leads to an undervaluing of courtesy, as if it -were of necessity opposed to sincerity. But it does not follow, because -all is not gold that glitters, that nothing that glitters is gold, and -because courtesy and delicacy of personal intercourse are often -perverted to deceit, that they are not valuable allies of truth. No -woman would prefer a slippery, plausible rascal to a rough, -unceremonious honest man; but of two men equally truthful, and -affectionate, every woman would prefer the courteous one.” - -“Well,” said Bob, “there is a loathsome, sickly stench of cowardice and -distrust about all this kind of French delicacy that is enough to drive -an honest fellow to the other extreme. True love ought to be a robust, -hardy plant, that can stand a free out-door life of sun and wind and -rain. People who are too delicate and courteous ever fully to speak -their minds to each other are apt to have stagnant residuums of -unpleasant feelings which breed all sorts of gnats and mosquitos. My -rule is, Say everything out as you go along; have your little tiffs, and -get over them; jar and jolt and rub a little, and learn to take rubs and -bear jolts. - -“If I take less thought and use less civility of expression, in -announcing to Marianne that her coffee is roasted too much, than I did -to old Mrs. Pollux when I boarded with her, it’s because I take it -Marianne is somewhat more a part of myself than old Mrs. Pollux -was,--that there is an intimacy and confidence between us which will -enable us to use the short-hand of life,--that she will not fall into a -passion or fly into hysterics, but will merely speak to cook in good -time. If I don’t thank her for mending my glove in just the style that I -did when I was a lover, it is because now she does that sort of thing -for me so often that it would be a downright bore to her to have me -always on my knees about it. All that I could think of to say about her -graceful handiness and her delicate needle-work has been said so often, -and is so well understood, that it has entirely lost the zest of -originality. Marianne and I have had sundry little battles, in which the -victory came out on both sides, each of us thinking the better of the -other for the vigor and spirit with which we conducted matters; and our -habit of perfect plain-speaking and truth-telling to each other is -better than all the delicacies that ever were hatched up in the hot-bed -of French sentiment.” - -“Perfectly true, perfectly right,” said I. “Every word good as gold. -Truth before all things; sincerity before all things: pure, clear, -diamond-bright sincerity is of more value than the gold of Ophir; the -foundation of all love must rest here. How those people do who live in -the nearest and dearest intimacy with friends who they believe will lie -to them for any purpose, even the most refined and delicate, is a -mystery to me. If I once know that my wife or my friend will tell me -only what they think will be agreeable to me, then I am at once lost, my -way is a pathless quicksand. But all this being premised, I still say -that we Anglo-Saxons might improve our domestic life, if we would graft -upon the strong stock of its homely sincerity the courteous graces of -the French character. - -“If anybody wishes to know exactly what I mean by this, let him read the -Memoir of De Tocqueville, whom I take to be the representative of the -French ideal man; and certainly the kind of family life which his -domestic letters disclose has a delicacy and a beauty which adorn its -solid worth. - -“What I have to say on this matter is, that it is very dangerous for any -individual man or any race of men continually to cry up the virtues to -which they are constitutionally inclined, and to be constantly dwelling -with reprobation on faults to which they have no manner of temptation. - -“I think that we of the English race may set it down as a general rule, -that we are in no danger of becoming hypocrites in domestic life through -an extra sense of politeness, and in some danger of becoming boors from -a rough, uncultivated instinct of sincerity. But to bring the matter to -a practical point, I will specify some particulars in which the -courtesy we show to strangers might with advantage be grafted into our -home-life. - -“In the first place, then, let us watch our course when we are -entertaining strangers whose good opinion we wish to propitiate. We -dress ourselves with care, we study what it will be agreeable to say, we -do not suffer our natural laziness to prevent our being very alert in -paying small attentions, we start across the room for an easier chair, -we stoop to pick up the fan, we search for the mislaid newspaper, and -all this for persons in whom we have no particular interest beyond the -passing hour; while with those friends whom we love and respect we too -often sit in our old faded habiliments, and let them get their own -chair, and look up their own newspaper, and fight their own way daily, -without any of this preventing care. - -“In the matter of personal adornment, especially, there are a great many -people who are chargeable with the same fault that I have already -spoken of in reference to household arrangements. They have a splendid -wardrobe for company, and a shabby and sordid one for domestic life. A -woman puts all her income into party-dresses, and thinks anything will -do to wear at home. All her old tumbled finery, her frayed, dirty silks -and soiled ribbons, are made to do duty for her hours of intercourse -with her dearest friends. Some seem to be really principled against -wearing a handsome dress in every-day life; they ‘cannot afford’ to be -well-dressed in private. Now what I should recommend would be to take -the money necessary for one or two party-dresses and spend it upon an -appropriate and tasteful home-toilette, and to make it an avowed object -to look prettily at home. - -“We men are a sort of stupid, blind animals: we know when we are -pleased, but we don’t know what it is that pleases us; we say we don’t -care anything about flowers, but if there is a flower-garden under our -window, somehow or other we are dimly conscious of it, and feel that -there is something pleasant there; and so when our wives and daughters -are prettily and tastefully attired, we know it, and it gladdens our -life far more than we are perhaps aware of.” - -“Well, Papa,” said Jennie, “I think the men ought to take just as much -pains to get themselves up nicely after marriage as the women. I think -there are such things as tumbled shirt-collars and frowzy hair and muddy -shoes brought into the domestic sanctuary, as well as frayed silks and -dirty ribbons.” - -“Certainly,” I said; “but you know we are the natural Hottentot, and you -are the missionaries who are to keep us from degenerating; we are the -clumsy, old, blind Vulcan, and you the fair Cytherea, the bearers of the -magic cestus, and therefore it is to you that this head more -particularly belongs. - -“Now I maintain that in family-life there should be an effort not only -to be neat and decent in the arrangement of our person, but to be also -what the French call _coquette_,--or to put it in plain English, there -should be an endeavor to make ourselves look handsome in the eyes of our -dearest friends. - -“Many worthy women, who would not for the world be found wanting in the -matter of personal neatness, seem somehow to have the notion that any -study of the arts of personal beauty in family-life is unmatronly; they -buy their clothes with simple reference to economy, and have them made -up without any question of becomingness; and hence marriage sometimes -transforms a charming, trim, tripping young lady into a waddling matron -whose every-day toilette suggests only the idea of a feather-bed tied -round with a string. For my part, I do not believe that the summary -banishment of the Graces from the domestic circle as soon as the first -baby makes its appearance is at all conducive to domestic affection. Nor -do I think that there is any need of so doing. These good housewives -are in danger, like other saints, of falling into the error of -neglecting the body through too much thoughtfulness for others and too -little for themselves. If a woman ever had any attractiveness, let her -try and keep it, setting it down as one of her domestic talents. As for -my erring brothers who violate the domestic sanctuary by tousled hair, -tumbled linen, and muddy shoes, I deliver them over to Miss Jennie -without benefit of clergy. - -“My second head is, that there should be in family-life the same -delicacy in the avoidance of disagreeable topics that characterizes the -intercourse of refined society among strangers. - -“I do not think that it makes family-life more sincere, or any more -honest, to have the members of a domestic circle feel a freedom to blurt -out in each other’s faces, without thought or care, all the disagreeable -things that may occur to them: as, for example, ‘How horridly you look -this morning! What’s the matter with you?’--‘Is there a pimple coming on -your nose? or what is that spot?’--‘What made you buy such a dreadfully -unbecoming dress? It sets like a witch! Who cut it?’--‘What makes you -wear that pair of old shoes?’--‘Holloa, Bess! is that your party-rig? I -should think you were going out for a walking advertisement of a -flower-store!’--Observations of this kind between husbands and wives, -brothers and sisters, or intimate friends, do not indicate sincerity, -but obtuseness; and the person who remarks on the pimple on your nose is -in many cases just as apt to deceive you as the most accomplished -Frenchwoman who avoids disagreeable topics in your presence. - -“Many families seem to think that it is a proof of family union and -good-nature that they can pick each other to pieces, joke on each -other’s feelings and infirmities, and treat each other with a general -tally-ho-ing rudeness without any offence or ill-feeling. If there is a -limping sister, there is a never-failing supply of jokes on -‘Dot-and-go-one’; and so with other defects and peculiarities of mind or -manners. Now the perfect good-nature and mutual confidence which allow -all this liberty are certainly admirable; but the liberty itself is far -from making home-life interesting or agreeable. - -“Jokes upon personal or mental infirmities, and a general habit of -saying things in jest which would be the height of rudeness if said in -earnest, are all habits which take from the delicacy of family -affection. - -“In all this rough playing with edge-tools many are hit and hurt who are -ashamed or afraid to complain. And after all, what possible good or -benefit comes from it? Courage to say disagreeable things, when it is -necessary to say them for the highest good of the person addressed, is a -sublime quality; but a careless habit of saying them, in the mere -freedom of family intercourse, is certainly as great a spoiler of the -domestic vines as any fox running. - -“There is one point under this head which I enlarge upon for the benefit -of my own sex: I mean table-criticisms. The conduct of housekeeping, in -the present state of domestic service, certainly requires great -allowance; and the habit of unceremonious comment on the cooking and -appointments of the table, in which some husbands habitually allow -themselves, is the most unpardonable form of domestic rudeness. If a -wife has philosophy enough not to mind it, so much the worse for her -husband, as it confirms him in an unseemly habit, embarrassing to guests -and a bad example to children. If she has no feelings that he is bound -to respect, he should at least respect decorum and good taste, and -confine the discussion of such matters to private intercourse, and not -initiate every guest and child into the grating and greasing of the -wheels of the domestic machinery. - -“Another thing in which families might imitate the politeness of -strangers is a wise reticence with regard to the asking of questions and -the offering of advice. - -“A large family includes many persons of different tastes, habits, modes -of thinking and acting, and it would be wise and well to leave to each -one that measure of freedom in these respects which the laws of general -politeness require. Brothers and sisters may love each other very much, -and yet not enough to make joint-stock of all their ideas, plans, -wishes, schemes, friendships. There are in every family-circle -individuals whom a certain sensitiveness of nature inclines to quietness -and reserve; and there are very well-meaning families where no such -quietness or reserve is possible. Nobody can be let alone, nobody may -have a secret, nobody can move in any direction, without a host of -inquiries and comments, ‘Who is your letter from? Let’s see.’--‘My -letter is from So-and-So.’--‘_He_ writing to you? I didn’t know that. -What’s he writing about?’--‘Where did you go yesterday? What did you -buy? What did you give for it? What are you going to do with -it?’--‘Seems to me that’s an odd way to do. I shouldn’t do so.’--‘Look -here, Mary; Sarah’s going to have a dress of silk tissue this spring. -Now I think they’re too dear,--don’t you?’ - -“I recollect seeing in some author a description of a true gentleman, in -which, among other traits, he was characterized as the man that asks the -fewest questions. This trait of refined society might be adopted into -home-life in a far greater degree than it is, and make it far more -agreeable. - -“If there is perfect unreserve and mutual confidence, let it show itself -in free communications coming unsolicited. It may fairly be presumed, -that, if there is anything our intimate friends wish us to know, they -will tell us of it,--and that when we are on close and confidential -terms with persons, and there are topics on which they do not speak to -us, it is because for some reason they prefer to keep silence concerning -them; and the delicacy that respects a friend’s silence is one of the -charms of life. - -“As with the asking of questions, so with the offering of advice, there -should be among friends a wise reticence. - -“Some families are always calling each other to account at every step of -the day. ‘What did you put on that dress for? Why didn’t you wear -that?’--‘What did you do this for? Why didn’t you do that?’--‘Now _I_ -should advise you to do thus and so.’--And these comments and criticisms -and advices are accompanied with an energy of feeling that makes it -rather difficult to disregard them. - -“Now it is no matter how dear and how good our friends may be, if they -abridge our liberty and fetter the free exercise of our life, it is -inevitable that we shall come to enjoying ourselves much better where -they are not than where they are; and one of the reasons why brothers -and sisters or children so often diverge from the family-circle in the -choice of confidants is, that extraneous friends are bound by certain -laws of delicacy not to push inquiries, criticisms, or advice too far. - -“Parents would do well to remember in time when their children have -grown up into independent human beings, and use with a wise moderation -those advisory and admonitory powers with which they guided their -earlier days. Let us give everybody a right to live his own life, as far -as possible, and avoid imposing our own personalities on another. - -“If I were to picture a perfect family, it should be a union of people -of individual and marked character, who through love have come to a -perfect appreciation of each other, and who so wisely understand -themselves and one another that each may move freely along his or her -own track without jar or jostle,--a family where affection is always -sympathetic and receptive, but never inquisitive,--where all personal -delicacies are respected,--and where there is a sense of privacy and -seclusion in following one’s own course, unchallenged by the -watchfulness of others, yet withal a sense of society and support in a -knowledge of the kind dispositions and interpretations of all around. - -“In treating of family discourtesies, I have avoided speaking of those -which come from ill-temper and brute selfishness, because these are sins -more than mistakes. An angry person is generally impolite; and where -contention and ill-will are, there can be no courtesy. What I have -mentioned are rather the lackings of good and often admirable people, -who merely need to consider in their family-life a little more of -whatsoever things are lovely. With such the mere admission of anything -to be pursued as a duty secures the purpose; only in their somewhat -earnest pursuit of the substantials of life they drop and pass by the -little things that give it sweetness and perfume. To such a word is -enough, and that word is said.” - - - - -VII. - -EXACTINGNESS. - - -At length I am arrived at my seventh fox,--the last of the domestic -quadrupeds against which I have vowed a crusade,--and here opens the -chase of him. I call him - - _EXACTINGNESS_. - -And having done this, I drop the metaphor, for fear of chasing it beyond -the rules of graceful rhetoric, and shall proceed to define the trait. - -All the other domestic faults of which I have treated have relation to -the manner in which the ends of life are pursued; but this one is an -underlying, false, and diseased state of conception as to the very ends -and purposes of life itself. - -If a piano is tuned to exact concert pitch, the majority of voices must -fall below it; for which reason, most people indulgently allow their -pianos to be tuned a little below this point, in accommodation to the -average power of the human voice. Persons of only ordinary powers of -voice would be considered absolute monomaniacs, who should insist on -having their pianos tuned to accord with any abstract notion of -propriety or perfection,--rendering themselves wretched by persistently -singing all their pieces miserably out of tune in consequence. - -Yet there are persons who keep the requirements of life strained up -always at concert pitch, and are thus worn out and made miserable all -their days by the grating of a perpetual discord. - -There is a faculty of the human mind to which phrenologists have given -the name of _Ideality_, which is at the foundation of this exactingness. -Ideality is the faculty by which we conceive of and long for perfection; -and at a glance it will be seen, that, so far from being an evil -ingredient of human nature, it is the one element of progress that -distinguishes man’s nature from that of the brute. While animals go on -from generation to generation, learning nothing and forgetting nothing, -practising their small circle of the arts of life no better and no worse -from year to year, man is driven by ideality to constant invention and -alteration, whence come arts, sciences, and the whole progress of -society. Ideality induces discontent with present attainments, -possessions, and performances, and hence come better and better ones. So -in morals, ideality constantly incites to higher and nobler modes of -living and thinking, and is the faculty to which the most effective -teachings of the great Master of Christianity are addressed. To be -dissatisfied with present attainments, with earthly things and scenes, -to aspire and press on to something forever fair, yet forever receding -before our steps,--this is the teaching of Christianity, and the work of -the Christian. - -But every faculty has its own instinctive, wild growth, which, like the -spontaneous produce of the earth, is crude and weedy. - -Revenge, says Lord Bacon, is a sort of wild justice, obstinacy is -untutored firmness,--and so exactingness is untrained ideality; and a -vast deal of misery, social and domestic, comes, not of the faculty, but -of its untrained exercise. - -The faculty which is ever conceiving and desiring something better and -more perfect must be modified in its action by good sense, patience, and -conscience, or it induces a morbid, discontented spirit, which courses -through the veins of individual and family life like a subtle poison. - -In a certain neighborhood are two families whose social and domestic -_animus_ illustrates the difference between ideality and the want of it. - -The Daytons are a large, easy-natured, joyous race, hospitable, kindly, -and friendly. - -Nothing about their establishment is much above mediocrity. The grounds -are tolerably kept, the table is tolerably fair, the servants moderately -good, and the family character and attainments of the same average -level. - -Mrs. Dayton is a decent housekeeper, and so her bread be not sour, her -butter not frowy, the food abundant, and the table-cloth and dishes -clean, she troubles her head little with the niceties and refinements of -the _ménage_. - -She accepts her children as they come from the hand of Nature, simply -opening her eyes to discern what they _are_, never raising the query -what she would have had them,--forming no very high expectations -concerning them and well content with whatever develops. - -A visitor in the family can easily see a thousand defects in the conduct -of affairs, in the management of the children, and in this, that, and -the other portion of the household arrangements; but he can see and -feel, also, a perfect comfortableness in the domestic atmosphere that -almost atones for any defects. He can see that in a thousand respects -things might be better done, if the family were not perfectly content to -have them as they are, and that each individual member might make higher -attainments in various directions, were there not such entire -satisfaction with what is already attained. - -Trying each other by very moderate standards and measurements, there is -great mutual complacency. The oldest boy does not get an appointment in -college,--they never expected he would; but he was a respectable -scholar, and they receive him with acclamations such as another family -would bestow on a valedictorian. The daughters do not profess, as we are -told, to draw like artists, but some very moderate performances in the -line of the fine arts are dwelt on with much innocent pleasure. They -thrum a few tunes on the piano, and the whole family listen and approve. -All unite in singing in a somewhat uncultured manner a few psalm-tunes -or songs, and take more comfort in them than many amateurs do in their -well-drilled performances. - -So goes the world with the Daytons; and when you visit them, if you -often feel that you could ask more and suggest much improvement, yet you -cannot help enjoying the quiet satisfaction which breathes around you. - -Now right across the way from the Daytons live the Mores; and the Mores -are the very opposites of the Daytons. - -Everything about their establishment is brought to the highest point of -culture. The carriage-drive never shows a weed, the lawn is velvet, the -flower-beds ever-blooming, the fruit-trees and vines grow exactly like -the patterns in the best pomological treatises. Within doors the -housekeeping is faultless,--all seems to be moving in time and -tune,--the table is more than good, it is superlative,--every article is -in its way a model,--the children appear to you to be growing up after -the most patent-right method, duly trained, snipped, and cultured, like -the pear-trees and grape-vines. Nothing is left to accident, or done -without much laborious consideration of the best manner of doing it; and -the consequences, in the eyes of their simple, unsophisticated -neighbors, are very wonderful. - -Nevertheless this is not a happy family. All their perfections do not -begin to afford them one tithe of the satisfaction that the Daytons -derive from their ragged and scrambling performances. - -The two daughters, Jane and Maria, had naturally very sweet voices, and -when they were little, trilled tunes in a very pleasant and bird-like -manner. But now, having been instructed by the best masters, and heard -the very first artists, they never sing or play; the piano is shut, and -their voices are dumb. If you request a song, they tell you that they -never sing now; papa has such an exquisite taste, he takes no interest -in any common music; in short, having heard Jenny Lind, Grisi, Alboni, -Mario, and others of the tuneful shell, this family have concluded to -abide in silence. As to any music that _they_ could make, it isn’t to be -thought of. - -For the same reason, the daughters, after attending a quarter or two on -the drawing-exercises of a celebrated teacher, threw up their pencils in -disgust, and tore up very pretty and agreeable sketches which were the -marvel of their good-natured admiring neighbors. If they could draw like -Signor Scratchalini, if they could hope to become perfect artists, they -tell you, they would have persevered; but they have taken lessons enough -to learn that drawing is the labor of a lifetime, and, not having a -lifetime to give to it, they resolve to do nothing at all. - -They have also, for a similar reason, given up letter-writing. If their -chirography were as elegant as Charlotte Cushman’s,--if they were -perfect mistresses of polite English,--if they were gifted with wit, -humor, and fancy, like the first masters of style,--they would take -pleasure in epistolary composition, and be good correspondents; but -anything short of that is so intolerable, that, except in cases of life -and death or urgent business, you cannot get a line out of them. Yet -they write very fair, agreeable, womanly letters, and would write much -better ones, if they allowed themselves a little more practice. - -Mrs. More is devoured by care. She sits with a clouded brow in her -elegant, well-regulated house; and when you talk with her, you are -surprised to learn that everything in it is in the most dreadful -disorder from one end to the other. You ask for particulars, and find -that the disorder has relation to exquisite standards of the ways of -doing things, derived from observation of life in the most subdivided -state of European service,--to all of which she has not as yet been able -to raise her domestics. You compliment her on her cook, and she -responds, in plaintive accents, “She can do a few things decently, but -she is nothing of a cook.” You refer with enthusiasm to her bread, her -coffee, her muffins and hot rolls, and she listens and sighs. “Yes,” she -admits, “these are eatable,--not bad; but you should have seen the rolls -at a certain _café_ in Paris, and the bread at a certain nobleman’s in -England, where they had a bakery in the castle, and a French baker, who -did nothing all the while but to refine and perfect the idea of bread. -When she thinks of these things, everything in comparison is so coarse -and rough!--but then she has learned to be comfortable.” Thus, in every -department of housekeeping, to this too well-instructed person, - - “Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.” - -Not a thing in her wide and apparently beautifully kept establishment is -ever done well enough to elicit from her more than a sigh of toleration. -“I suppose it must do,” she faintly breathes, when pool human nature, -having tried and tried again, evidently has got to the boundaries of -its capabilities; “you may let it go, Jane; I never expect to be -suited.” - -The poor woman, in the midst of possessions and attainments which excite -the envy of her neighbors, is utterly restless and wretched, and feels -herself always baffled and unsuccessful. Her exacting nature makes her -dissatisfied with herself in everything that she undertakes, and equally -dissatisfied with others. In the whole family there is little of that -pleasure which comes from the consciousness of mutual admiration and -esteem, because each one is pitched to so exquisite a tone that each is -afraid to touch another for fear of making discord. They are afraid of -each other everywhere. They cannot sing to each other, play to each -other, write to each other; they cannot even converse together with any -freedom, because each knows that the others are so dismally well -informed and critically instructed. - -Though all agree in a secret contempt for their neighbors over the way, -as living in a most heathenish state of ignorant contentment, yet it is -a fact that the elegant brother John will often, on the sly, slip into -the Daytons’ to spend an evening, and join them in singing glees and -catches to their old rattling piano, and have a jolly time of it, which -he remembers in contrast with the dull, silent hours at home. Kate -Dayton has an uncultivated voice, which often falls from pitch; but she -has a perfectly infectious gayety of good-nature, and when she is once -at the piano, and all join in some merry troll, he begins to think that -there may be something better even than good singing; and then they have -dances and charades and games, all in such contented, jolly, impromptu -ignorance of the unities of time, place, and circumstance, that he -sometimes doubts, where ignorance is such bliss, whether it isn’t in -truth folly to be wise. - -Jane and Maria laugh at John for his partiality to the Daytons, and yet -they themselves feel the same attraction. At the Daytons’ they somehow -find themselves heroines; their drawings are so admired, their singing -is so charming to these simple ears, that they are often beguiled into -giving pleasure with their own despised acquirements; and Jane, somehow, -is very tolerant of the devoted attention of Will Dayton, a joyous, -honest-hearted fellow, whom, in her heart of hearts, she likes none the -worse for being unexacting and simple enough to think her a wonder of -taste and accomplishments. Will, of course, is the farthest possible -from the Admirable Crichtons and exquisite Sir Philip Sidneys whom Mrs. -More and the young ladies talk up at their leisure, and adorn with -feathers from every royal and celestial bird, when they are discussing -theoretic possible husbands. He is not in any way distinguished, except -for a kind heart, strong native good sense, and a manly energy that has -carried him straight into the very heart of many a citadel of life, -before which the superior and more refined Mr. John had set himself -down to deliberate upon the best and most elegant way of taking it. -Will’s plain, homely intelligence has often in five minutes disentangled -some ethereal snarl in which these exquisite Mores had spun themselves -up, and brought them to his own way of thinking by that sort of -disenchanting process which honest, practical sense sometimes exerts -over ideality. - -The fact is, however, that in each of these families there is a natural -defect which requires something from the other for completeness. Taking -happiness as the standard, the Daytons have it as against the Mores. -Taking attainment as the standard, the Mores have it as against the -Daytons. A portion of the discontented ideality of the Mores would -stimulate the Daytons to refine and perfect many things which might -easily be made better, did they care enough to have them so; and a -portion of the Daytons’ self-satisfied contentment would make the -attainments and refinements of the Mores of some practical use in -advancing their own happiness. - -But between these two classes of natures lies another, to which has been -given an equal share of ideality,--in which the conception and the -desire of excellence are equally strong, but in which a discriminating -common-sense acts like a balance-wheel in machinery. What is the reason -that the most exacting idealists never make themselves unhappy about not -being able to fly like a bird or swim like a fish? Because common-sense -teaches them that these accomplishments are so utterly out of the -question that they never arise to the mind as objects of desire. In -these well-balanced minds we speak of, common-sense runs an instinctive -line all through life between the attainable and the unattainable, and -sets the key of desire accordingly. - -Common-sense teaches that there is no one branch of human art or science -in which perfection is not a point forever receding. A botanist gravely -assures us, that to become perfect in the knowledge of one branch of -seaweeds would take all the time and strength of a man for a lifetime. -There is no limit to music, to the fine arts. There is never a time when -the gardener can rest, saying that his garden is perfect. Housekeeping, -cooking, sewing, knitting, may all, for aught we know, be pushed on -forever, without exhausting the capabilities for better doing. - -But while attainment in everything is endless, circumstances forbid the -greater part of human beings from attaining in any direction the half of -what they see would be desirable; and the difference between the -miserable idealist and the contented realist often is, not that both do -not see what needs to be done for perfection, but that, seeing it, one -is satisfied with the attainable, and the other forever frets and wears -himself out on the unattainable. - -The principal of a large and complicated public institution was -complimented on maintaining such uniformity of cheerfulness amid such a -diversity of cares. “I’ve made up my mind to be satisfied, when things -are done _half_ as well as I would have them,” was his answer; and the -same philosophy would apply with cheering results to the domestic -sphere. - -There is a saying which one often hears among common people, that such -and such a one are persons who never could be happy, unless everything -went “_just so_,"--that is, in accordance with their highest -conceptions. - -When these persons are women, and undertake the sway of a home empire, -they are sure to be miserable, and to make others so; for home is a -place where by no kind of magic possible to woman can everything be -always made to go “just so.” - -We may read treatises on education,--and very excellent ones there are. -We may read very nice stories illustrating home management, in which -book-children and book-servants all work into the author’s plan with -obliging unanimity; but every real child and real servant is an -uncompromising fact, whose working into our ideal of life cannot be -predicted with any degree of certainty. A husband is another absolute -fact, of whose conformity to any ideal conceptions no positive account -can be given. So, when a person has the most charming theories of -education, the most complete ideals of life, it is often his lot to sit -bound hand and foot and see them all trampled under the heel of opposing -circumstances. - -Nothing is easier than to make an ideal garden. We lay out our grounds, -dig, plant, transplant, manure. We read catalogues of roses till we are -bewildered with their lustrous glories. We set out plum, pear, and -peach, we luxuriate in advance on bushels of choicest grapes, and our -theoretic garden is Paradise Regained. But in the actual garden there -are cut-worms for every cabbage, squash-bugs for all the melons, slugs -and rose-bugs for the roses, curculios for the plums, fire-blight for -pears, yellows for peaches, mildew for grapes, and late and early -frosts, droughts, winds, and hail-storms here and there for all. - -The garden and the family are fair pictures of each other. Both are -capable of the most ravishing representations on paper; and the rules -and directions for creating beauty and perfection in both can be made so -apparently plain that he who runneth may read, and it would seem that a -fool need not err therein; and yet the actual results are always halting -miles away behind expectation and desire. - -It would be an incalculable gain to domestic happiness, if people would -begin the concert of life with their instruments tuned to a very low -pitch: they who receive the most happiness are generally they who demand -and expect the least. - -Ideality often becomes an insidious mental and moral disease, acting all -the more subtly from its alliances with what is highest and noblest -within us. Shall we not aspire to be perfect? Shall we be content with -low measures and low standards in anything? To these inquiries there -seems of course to be but one answer; yet the individual driven forward -in blind, unreasoning aspiration becomes wearied, bewildered, -discontented, restless, fretful, and miserable. - -An unhappy person can never make others happy. The creators and -governors of a home, who are themselves restless and inharmonious, -cannot make harmony and peace. This is the secret reason why many a -pure, good, conscientious person is only a source of uneasiness in -family life. They are exacting, discontented, unhappy; and spread the -discontent and unhappiness about them. They are, to begin with, on poor -terms with themselves; they do not like themselves; they do not like -their own appearance, manners, education, accomplishments; on all these -points they try themselves by ideal standards, and find themselves -wanting. In morals, in religion, too, the same introverted scrutiny -detects only errors and evils, till all life seems to them a miserable, -hopeless failure, and they wish they had never been born. They are angry -and disgusted with themselves; there is no self-toleration or -self-endurance. And persons in a chronic quarrel with themselves are -very apt to quarrel with others. That exacting nature which has no -patience with one’s own inevitable frailties and errors has none for -those of others; and thus the great motive by which Christianity -enforces tolerance of the faults of others loses its hold. There are -people who make no allowances either for themselves or anybody else, but -are equally angry and disgusted with both. - -Now it is important that those finely strung natures in which ideality -largely predominates should begin life by a religious care and restraint -of this faculty. As the case often stands, however, religion only -intensifies the difficulty, by adding stringency to exaction and -censoriousness, driving the subject up with an unremitting strain till -the very cords of reason sometimes snap. Yet, properly understood and -used, religion is the only cure for the evil of diseased ideality. The -Christian religion is the only one that ever proposed to give to all -human beings, however various the range of their nature and desires, the -great underlying gift of _rest_. Its Author, with a strength of -assurance which only supreme Divinity can justify, promises _rest_ to -all persons, under all circumstances, with all sorts of natures, all -sorts of wants, and all sorts of defects. The invitation is as wide as -the human race: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, -and I will give you REST.” - -Now this is the more remarkable, as this gracious promise is accompanied -by the presentation of a standard of perfection which is more ideal and -exacting than any other that has ever been placed before -mankind,--which, in so many words, sets up absolute perfection as the -only true goal of aspiration. - -The problem which Jesus proposes to human nature is endless aspiration -steadied by endless peace,--a perfectly restful, yet unceasing effort -after a good which is never to be attained till we attain a higher and -more perfect form of existence. It is because this problem is insolvable -by any human wisdom, that He says that they who take His yoke upon them -must learn of Him, for He alone can make the perfect yoke easy and its -burden light. - -The first lesson in this benignant school must lie like a strong, broad -foundation under every structure on which we wish to rear a happy -life,--and that is, that the full gratification of the faculty of -ideality is never to be expected in this present stage of existence, but -is to be transferred to a future life. Ideality, with its incessant, -restless longings and yearnings, is snubbed and turned out of doors by -human philosophy, when philosophy becomes middle-aged and sulky with -repeated disappointments,--it is berated as a cheat and a liar,--told to -hold its tongue and take itself elsewhere; but Christianity bids it be -of good cheer, still to aspire and hope and prophesy, and points to a -future where all its dreams shall be outdone by reality. - -A full faith in such a perfect future--a perfect faith that God has -planted in man no desire which he cannot train to complete enjoyment in -that future--gives the mind rest and contentment to postpone for a while -gratifications that will certainly come at last. - -Such a faith is better even than that native philosophical good sense -which restrains the ideal calculations and hopes of some; for it has a -wider scope and a deeper power. - -We have seen in our time a woman gifted with all those faculties which -rejoice in the refinements of society, dispensing the elegant -hospitalities of a bountiful home, joyful and giving joy. A sudden -reverse has swept all this away, the wealth on which it was based has -melted like a fog-bank in a warm morning, and we have seen her with her -little family beginning life again in the log-cabin of a Western -settlement. We have seen her sitting in the door of the one room that -took the place of parlor, bed-room, nursery, and cheerfully making her -children’s morning toilette by the help of the one tin wash-bowl that -takes the place of her well-arranged bathing-and dressing-rooms; and -yet, as she twined their curls over her fingers, she had a laugh and a -jest and cheerful word for all. The few morning-glories that she was -training over her rude porch seemed as much a source of delight to her -as her former greenhouse and garden; and the adjustment of the one or -two shelves whereon were the half-dozen books left of the library, her -husband’s private papers, and her own and her children’s wardrobe, was -entered into daily with a zealous interest as if she had never known a -wider sphere. - -Such facility of accommodation to life’s reverses is sometimes supposed -to be merely the result of a hopeful and cheerful temperament; in this -case it was purely the work of religion. In early life, this same woman -had been the discontented slave of ideality, had sighed with vain -longings in the midst of real and substantial comfort, had felt even the -creasing of the rose-leaves of her pillow an intolerable annoyance. Now -she has resigned herself to the work and toil of life as the soldier -does to the duties of the camp, satisfied to do and to bear, enjoying -with a free heart the small daily pleasures which spring up like -wild-flowers amid daily toils and annoyances, and looking to the end of -the campaign for rest and congenial scenes. - -This woman has within her the powers and gifts of an artist; but her -pencils and her colors are resolutely laid away, and she sits hour after -hour darning her children’s stockings and turning and arranging a scanty -wardrobe which no ingenuity can make more than decent. She was a -beautiful musician; but a musical instrument is now a thing of the past; -she only lulls her baby to sleep with snatches of the songs which used -to form the attraction of brilliant salons. She feels that a world of -tastes and talents are lying dormant in her while she is doing the daily -work of a nurse, cook, and seamstress; but she remembers WHO took upon -Him the form of a servant before her, and she has full faith that her -beautiful gifts, like bulbs sleeping under ground, shall come up and -blossom again in that fair future which He has promised. Therefore it is -that she has no sighs for the present or the past,--no quarrel with her -life, or her lot in it; she is in harmony with herself and with all -around her; her husband looks upon her as a fair daily miracle, and her -children rise up and call her blessed. - -But, having laid the broad foundation of faith in a better life, as the -basis on which to ground our present happiness, we who are of the ideal -nature must proceed to build thereon wisely. - -In the first place, we must cultivate the duty of _self-patience_ and -self-toleration. Of all the religionists and moralists who ever taught, -Fénelon is the only one who has distinctly formulated the duty which a -self-educator owes to himself. HAVE PATIENCE WITH YOURSELF is a -direction often occurring in his writings, and a most important one it -is,--because patience with ourselves is essential, if we would have -patience with others. Let us look through the world. Who are the people -easiest to be pleased, most sunny, most urbane, most tolerant? Are they -not persons from constitution and temperament on good terms with -themselves,--people who do not ask much of themselves or try themselves -severely, and who therefore are in a good humor for looking upon others? -But how is a person who is conscious of a hundred daily faults and -errors to have patience with himself? The question may be answered by -asking, What would you say to a child who fretted, scolded, dashed down -his slate, and threw his book on the floor, because he made mistakes in -his arithmetic? You would say, of course, “You are but a learner; it is -not to be expected that you will not make mistakes; all children do. -Have patience.” Just as you would talk to that child, talk to yourself. -Be reconciled to a lot of inevitable imperfection; be content to try -continually, and often to fail. It is the inevitable condition of human -existence, and is to be accepted as such. A patient acceptance of -mortifications and of defeats of our life’s labor, is often more -efficacious for our moral advancement than even our victories. - -In the next place, we must school ourselves not to look with restless -desire to degrees of excellence in any department of life which -circumstances evidently forbid our attaining. For a woman with plenty of -money and plenty of well-trained servants to be content to have -fly-specked windows, or littered rooms, or a slovenly-ordered table, is -a sin. But in a woman in feeble health, incumbered with a flock of -restless little ones, and whose circumstances allow her to keep but one -servant, it may be a piece of moral heroism to shut her eyes on many -such things, while securing mere essentials to life and health. It may -be a virtue in her not to push neatness to such lengths as to wear -herself out, or to break down her only servant, and to be resigned to -have her tastes and preferences for order, cleanliness, and beauty -crossed, as she would resign herself to any other affliction. No -purgatory can be more severe to people of a thorough and exact nature -than to be so situated that they can only half do everything they -undertake; yet such is the fiery trial to which many a one is subjected. -Life seems to drive them along without giving them time for anything; -everything is ragged, hasty performance, of which the mind most keenly -sees and feels the raggedness and hastiness. Even one thing done as it -really ought to be done would be a rest and refreshment to the soul; but -nowhere, in any department of its undertakings, is there any such thing -to be perceived. - -But there are cases where a great deal of wear and tear can be saved to -the nerves by a considerate making up of one’s mind as to how much in -certain circumstances had better be undertaken at all. Let the -circumstances of life be surveyed, the objects we are pursuing arranged -and counted, and see if there are not things here and there that may be -thrown out of our plans entirely, that others may be better done. - -What if the whole care of expensive table luxuries, like cake and -preserves, be thrown out of a housekeeper’s budget, in order that the -essential articles of cookery may be better prepared? What if ruffling, -embroidery, and the entire department of kindred fine arts, be thrown -out of her calculations, in providing for the clothing of a family? Many -a feeble woman has died of too much ruffling, as she patiently sat up -night after night sewing the thread of a precious, invaluable life into -elaborate articles which her children were none the healthier or more -virtuous for wearing. - -Ideality is constantly ramifying and extending the department of the -toilette and the needle into a world of work and worry, wherein -distracted women wander up and down, seeing no end anywhere. The -sewing-machine was announced as a relief to these toils; but has it -proved so? We trow not. It only amounts to this,--that now there can be -seventy-two tucks on each little petticoat, instead of fifteen, as -before, and that twice as many garments are made up and held to be -necessary as formerly. The women still sew to the limit of human -endurance; and still the old proverb holds good, that woman’s work is -never done. - -In the matter of dress, much wear and tear of spirit and nerves may be -saved by not beginning to go in certain directions, well knowing that -they will take us beyond our resources of time, strength, and money. - -There is one word of fear in the vocabulary of women of our time which -must be pondered advisedly,--TRIMMING. In old times a good garment was -enough; now-a-days a garment is nothing without trimming. Everything, -from the first article that the baby wears up to the elaborate dress of -the bride, must be trimmed at a rate that makes the trimming more than -the original article. A dress can be made in a day, but it cannot be -trimmed under two or three days. Let a faithful, conscientious woman -make up her mind how much of all this burden of life she will assume, -remembering wisely that there is no end to ideality in anything, and -that the only way to deal with many perplexing parts of life is to leave -them out altogether. - -Mrs. Kirkland, in her very amusing account of her log-cabin experiences, -tells us of the great disquiet and inconvenience she had in attempting -to arrange in her lowly abode a most convenient clothes-press, which was -manifestly too large for the establishment. Having labored with the -cumbersome convenience for a great length of time, and with much -discomfort, she at last resigned the ordering of it to a brawny-armed -damsel of the forest, who began by pitching it out of doors, with the -comprehensive remark, that, “where there wasn’t room for a thing, there -wasn’t.” - -The wisdom which inspired the remark of this rustic maiden might have -saved the lives of many matrons who have worn themselves out in vain -attempts to make comforts and conveniences out of things which they had -better have thrown out of doors altogether. - -True, it requires some judgment to know what, among objects commonly -pursued in any department, we really ought to reject; and it requires -independence and steadiness to say, “I will not begin to try to do -certain things that others are doing, and that, perhaps, they expect of -me”; but there comes great leisure and quietness of spirit from the gaps -thus made. When the unwieldy clothes-press was once cast out, everything -in the log-cabin could have room. - -A mother, who is anxiously trying to reconcile the watchful care and -training of her little ones with the maintenance of fashionable calls -and parties, may lose her life in the effort to do both, and do both in -so imperfect a manner as never to give her a moment’s peace. But on the -morrow after she comes to the serious and Christian resolve, “The -training of my children is all that I _can_ do well, and henceforth it -shall be my _sole_ object,” there falls into her tumultuous life a -Sabbath pause of peace and leisure. It is true that she is still doing a -work in which absolute perfection ever recedes; but she can make -relative attainments far nearer the standard than before. - -Lastly, under the head of ideality let us resolve _to be satisfied with -our own past doings, when at the time of doing we used all the light God -gave us, and did all in our power_. - -The backward action of ideality is often full as tormenting as its -forward and prospective movements. The moment a thing is done and over, -one would think that good sense would lead us to drop it like a stone in -the ocean; but the morbid idealist cannot cut loose from the past. - -“Was that, after all, the _best_ thing? Would it not have been better so -or so?” And the self-tormented individual lies wakeful, during weary -night-hours, revolving a thousand possibilities, and conjuring up a -thousand vague perhapses. “If I had only done _so_ now, perhaps this -result would have followed, or that would not”; and as there is never -any saying but that so it might have turned out, the labyrinth and the -discontent are alike endless. - -Now there is grand good sense in the Apostle’s direction, “Forgetting -the things that are behind, press forward.” The idealist should charge -himself, as with an oath of God, to let the past alone as an -accomplished fact, solely concerning himself with the inquiry, “Did I -not do the best I _then_ knew how?” - -The maxim of the Quietists is, that, when we have acted according to -the best light we have, we have expressed the will of God under those -circumstances,--since, had it been otherwise, more and different light -would have been given us; and with the will of God done by ourselves as -by Himself, it is our duty to be content. - - * * * * * - -Having written thus far in my article, and finding nothing more at hand -to add to it, I went into the parlor to read it to Jenny and Mrs. -Crowfield. I found the former engaged in the task of binding sixty yards -of quilling, (so I think she called it,) which were absolutely necessary -for perfecting a dress; and the latter was braiding one of seven little -petticoats, stamped with elaborate patterns, which she had taken from -Marianne, because that virtuous matron was ruining her eyes and health -in a blind push to get them done before October. - -Both approved and admired my piece, and I thought of Saint Anthony’s -preaching the fishes:-- - - The sermon now ended, - Each turned and descended; - The pikes went on stealing, - The eels went on eeling. - Much delighted were they, - But preferred the old way. - - - THE END. - - - Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE FOXES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Little Foxes</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Christopher Crowfield</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 12, 2022 [eBook #67383]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE FOXES ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="cb">Mrs. Stowe’s Writings.</p> - -<p class="c"> -———<br /> -<i>LITTLE FOXES.</i><br /> -<br /> -One Volume.<br /> -———<br /> -<i>HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS.</i><br /> - -One Volume.<br /><br /> -———<br /> - -<i>THE PEARL OF ORR’S ISLAND.</i><br /> - -One Volume.<br /> -———<br /> - -<i>AGNES OF SORRENTO.</i><br /> - -One Volume.<br /><br /> -———<br /> - -<i>UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.</i><br /> - -One Volume.<br /> -———<br /> - -<i>THE MINISTER’S WOOING.</i><br /> - -One Volume.<br /> -———<br /> - -<i>OLDTOWN FOLKS.</i><br /> - -One Volume.<br /> -——— -<br /><b> -James R. Osgood, & Co., Publishers.</b></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="title"> - -<h1> -LITTLE FOXES.</h1> - -<p class="c"> -BY<br /> -<br /> -CHRISTOPHER CROWFIELD,<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “HOUSE AND HOME PAPERS.”</small><br /> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="250" -alt="" /> -<br /> -<br /><br /> -BOSTON:<br /> -JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,<br /> -<span class="smcap">Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.</span><br /> -1875.<br /> -<br /> -<br /><small> -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by<br /> -<br /> -HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,<br /> -<br /> -in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co.,<br /> -Cambridge.</span></small><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table cellpadding="3"> -<tr><td colspan="2">  </td><td><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#I">I.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#I">Fault-Finding</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#II">II.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#II">Irritability</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_53">53</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#III">III.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#III">Repression</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_91">91</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#IV">IV.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#IV">Persistence</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#V">V.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#V">Intolerance</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#VI">VI.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#VI">Discourtesy</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_218">218</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#VII">VII.</a></td><td class="pdd"><a href="#VII">Exactingness</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_249">249</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></p> - -<h1>LITTLE FOXES.</h1> - -<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I.<br /><br /> -FAULT-FINDING.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“P</span>APA, what are you going to give us this winter for our evening -readings?” said Jennie.</p> - -<p>“I am thinking, for one thing,” I replied, “of preaching a course of -household sermons from a very odd text prefixed to a discourse which I -found at the bottom of the pamphlet-barrel in the garret.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say sermon, Papa,—it has such a dreadful sound; and on winter -evenings one wants something entertaining.”</p> - -<p>“Well, treatise, then,” said I, “or discourse, or essay, or prelection; -I’m not particular as to words.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span></p> - -<p>“But what is the queer text that you found at the bottom of the -pamphlet-barrel?”</p> - -<p>“It was one preached upon by your mother’s great-great-grandfather, the -very savory and much-respected Simeon Shuttleworth, ‘on the occasion of -the melancholy defections and divisions among the godly in the town of -West Dofield’; and it runs thus,—‘<i>Take us the foxes, the little foxes, -that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.</i>’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“It’s a curious text enough; but I can’t imagine what you are going to -make of it.”</p> - -<p>“Simply an essay on Little Foxes,” said I, “by which I mean those -unsuspected, unwatched, insignificant <i>little</i> causes, that nibble away -domestic happiness, and make home less than so noble an institution -should be.</p> - -<p>“You may build beautiful, convenient, attractive houses,—you may hang -the walls with lovely pictures and stud them with gems of Art; and there -may be living there together persons bound by blood and affection in one -common<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> interest, leading a life common to themselves and apart from -others; and these persons may each one of them be possessed of good and -noble traits; there may be a common basis of affection, of generosity, -of good principle, of religion; and yet, through the influence of some -of these perverse, nibbling, insignificant little foxes, half the -clusters of happiness on these so promising vines may fail to come to -maturity. A little community of people, all of whom would be willing to -die for each other, may not be able to live happily together; that is, -they may have far less happiness than their circumstances, their fine -and excellent traits, entitle them to expect.</p> - -<p>“The reason for this in general is that home is a place not only of -strong affections, but of entire unreserves; it is life’s undress -rehearsal, its back-room, its dressing-room, from which we go forth to -more careful and guarded intercourse, leaving behind us much <i>débris</i> of -cast-off and every-day clothing. Hence has arisen the common proverb, -‘No man is a hero to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> <i>valet-de-chambre</i>’; and the common warning, -‘If you wish to keep your friend, don’t go and live with him.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Which is only another way of saying,” said my wife, “that we are all -human and imperfect; and the nearer you get to any human being, the more -defects you see. The characters that can stand the test of daily -intimacy are about as numerous as four-leaved clovers in a meadow; in -general, those who do not annoy you with positive faults bore you with -their insipidity. The evenness and beauty of a strong, well-defined -nature, perfectly governed and balanced, is about the last thing one is -likely to meet with in one’s researches into life.”</p> - -<p>“But what I have to say,” replied I, “is this,—that, family-life being -a state of unreserve, a state in which there are few of those barriers -and veils that keep people in the world from seeing each other’s defects -and mutually jarring and grating upon each other, it is remarkable that -it is entered upon and maintained generally<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> with less reflection, less -care and forethought, than pertain to most kinds of business which men -and women set their hands to. A man does not undertake to run an engine -or manage a piece of machinery without some careful examination of its -parts and capabilities, and some inquiry whether he have the necessary -knowledge, skill, and strength to make it do itself and him justice. A -man does not try to play on the violin without seeing if his fingers are -long and flexible enough to bring out the harmonies and raise his -performance above the grade of dismal scraping to that of divine music. -What should we think of a man who should set a whole orchestra of -instruments upon playing together without the least provision or -forethought as to their chord, and then howl and tear his hair at the -result? It is not the fault of the instruments that they grate harsh -thunders together; they may each be noble and of celestial temper; but -united without regard to their nature, dire confusion is the result. -Still<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> worse were it, if a man were supposed so stupid as to expect of -each instrument a <i>rôle</i> opposed to its nature,—if he asked of the -octave-flute a bass solo, and condemned the trombone because it could -not do the work of the many-voiced violin.</p> - -<p>“Yet just so carelessly is the work of forming a family often performed. -A man and woman come together from some affinity, some partial accord of -their nature which has inspired mutual affection. There is generally -very little careful consideration of who and what they are,—no thought -of the reciprocal influence of mutual traits,—no previous chording and -testing of the instruments which are to make lifelong harmony or -discord,—and after a short period of engagement, in which all their -mutual relations are made as opposite as possible to those which must -follow marriage, these two furnish their house and begin life together.</p> - -<p>“Then in many cases the domestic roof is supposed at once to be the -proper refuge for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> relations and friends on both sides, who also are -introduced into the interior concert without any special consideration -of what is likely to be the operation of character on character, the -play of instrument with instrument;—then follow children, each of whom -is a separate entity, a separate will, a separate force in the circle; -and thus, with the lesser powers of servants and dependants, a family is -made up. And there is no wonder if all these chance-assorted -instruments, playing together, sometimes make quite as much discord as -harmony. For if the husband and wife chord, the wife’s sister or -husband’s mother may introduce a discord; and then again, each child of -marked character introduces another possibility of confusion.</p> - -<p>“The conservative forces of human nature are so strong and so various, -that with all these drawbacks the family state is after all the best and -purest happiness that earth affords. But then, with cultivation and -care, it might be a great deal happier. Very fair pears have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> -raised by dropping a seed into a good soil and letting it alone for -years; but finer and choicer are raised by the watchings, tendings, -prunings of the gardener. Wild grape-vines bore very fine grapes, and an -abundance of them, before our friend Dr. Grant took up his abode at -Iona, and, studying the laws of Nature, conjured up new species of rarer -fruit and flavor out of the old. And so, if all the little foxes that -infest our domestic vine and fig-tree were once hunted out and killed, -we might have fairer clusters and fruit all winter.”</p> - -<p>“But, Papa,” said Jennie, “to come to the foxes; let’s know what they -are.”</p> - -<p>“Well, as the text says, <i>little</i> foxes, the pet foxes of good people, -unsuspected little animals,—on the whole, often thought to be really -creditable little beasts, that may do good, and at all events cannot do -much harm. And as I have taken to the Puritanic order in my discourse, I -shall set them in sevens, as Noah did his clean beasts in the ark. Now -my seven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> little foxes are these:—Fault-Finding, Intolerance, -Reticence, Irritability, Exactingness, Discourtesy, Self-Will. And -here,” turning to my sermon, “is what I have to say about the first of -them.”</p> - -<p class="cspc"><i>FAULT-FINDING</i>,—</p> - -<p class="nind">A most respectable little animal, that many people let run freely among -their domestic vines, under the notion that he helps the growth of the -grapes, and is the principal means of keeping them in order.</p> - -<p>Now it may safely be set down as a maxim, that nobody likes to be found -fault with, but everybody likes to find fault when things do not suit -him.</p> - -<p>Let my courteous reader ask him or herself if he or she does not -experience a relief and pleasure in finding fault with or about whatever -troubles them.</p> - -<p>This appears at first sight an anomaly in the provisions of Nature. -Generally we are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> so constituted that what it is a pleasure to us to do -it is a pleasure to our neighbor to have us do. It is a pleasure to -give, and a pleasure to receive. It is a pleasure to love, and a -pleasure to be loved; a pleasure to admire, a pleasure to be admired. It -is a pleasure also to find fault, but <i>not</i> a pleasure to be found fault -with. Furthermore, those people whose sensitiveness of temperament leads -them to find the most fault are precisely those who can least bear to be -found fault with; they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and -lay them on other men’s shoulders, but they themselves cannot bear the -weight of a finger.</p> - -<p>Now the difficulty in the case is this: There are things in life that -need to be altered; and that things may be altered, they must be spoken -of to the people whose business it is to make the change. This opens -wide the door of fault-finding to well-disposed people, and gives them -latitude of conscience to impose on their fellows all the annoyances -which they them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span>selves feel. The father and mother of a family are -fault-finders, <i>ex officio</i>; and to them flows back the tide of every -separate individual’s complaints in the domestic circle, till often the -whole air of the house is chilled and darkened by a drizzling Scotch -mist of querulousness. Very bad are these mists for grape-vines, and -produce mildew in many a fair cluster.</p> - -<p>Enthusius falls in love with Hermione, because she looks like a -moonbeam,—because she is ethereal as a summer cloud, <i>spirituelle</i>. He -commences forthwith the perpetual adoration system that precedes -marriage. He assures her that she is too good for this world, too -delicate and fair for any of the uses of poor mortality,—that she ought -to tread on roses, sleep on the clouds,—that she ought never to shed a -tear, know a fatigue, or make an exertion, but live apart in some -bright, ethereal sphere worthy of her charms. All which is duly chanted -in her ear in moonlight walks or sails, and so often repeated that a -sensible girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> may be excused for believing that a little of it may be -true.</p> - -<p>Now comes marriage,—and it turns out that Enthusius is very particular -as to his coffee, that he is excessively disturbed if his meals are at -all irregular, and that he cannot be comfortable with any table -arrangements which do not resemble those of his notable mother, lately -deceased in the odor of sanctity; he also wants his house in perfect -order at all hours. Still he does not propose to provide a trained -housekeeper; it is all to be effected by means of certain raw Irish -girls, under the superintendence of this angel who was to tread on -roses, sleep on clouds, and never know an earthly care. Neither has -Enthusius ever considered it a part of a husband’s duty to bear personal -inconveniences in silence. He would freely shed his blood for -Hermione,—nay, has often frantically proposed the same in the hours of -courtship, when of course nobody wanted it done, and it could answer no -manner of use; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> now to the idyllic dialogues of that period succeed -such as these:—</p> - -<p>“My dear, this tea is smoked: can’t you get Jane into the way of making -it better?”</p> - -<p>“My dear, I have tried; but she will not do as I tell her.”</p> - -<p>“Well, all I know is, <i>other</i> people can have good tea, and I should -think we might.”</p> - -<p>And again at dinner:—</p> - -<p>“My dear, this mutton is overdone again; it is <i>always</i> overdone.”</p> - -<p>“Not always, dear, because you recollect on Monday you said it was just -right.”</p> - -<p>“Well, <i>almost</i> always.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, the reason to-day was, I had company in the parlor, and -could not go out to caution Bridget, as I generally do. It’s very -difficult to get things done with such a girl.”</p> - -<p>“My mother’s things were always well done, no matter what her girl was.”</p> - -<p>Again: “My dear, you must speak to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> servants about wasting the coal. -I never saw such a consumption of fuel in a family of our size”; or, “My -dear, how can you let Maggie tear the morning paper?” or, “My dear, I -shall actually have to give up coming to dinner, if my dinners cannot be -regular”; or, “My dear, I wish you would look at the way my shirts are -ironed,—it is perfectly scandalous”; or, “My dear, you must not let -Johnnie finger the mirror in the parlor”; or, “My dear, you must stop -the children from playing in the garret”, or, “My dear, you must see -that Maggie doesn’t leave the mat out on the railing when she sweeps the -front hall”; and so on, up stairs and down stairs, in the lady’s -chamber, in attic, garret, and cellar, “my dear” is to see that nothing -goes wrong, and she is found fault with when anything does.</p> - -<p>Yet Enthusius, when occasionally he finds his sometime angel in tears, -and she tells him he does not love her as he once did, repudiates the -charge with all his heart, and declares<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span> he loves her more than -ever,—and perhaps he does. The only difficulty is that she has passed -out of the plane of moonshine and poetry into that of actualities. While -she was considered an angel, a star, a bird, an evening cloud, of course -there was nothing to be found fault with in her; but now that the angel -has become chief business-partner in an earthly working firm, relations -are different. Enthusius could say the same things over again under the -same circumstances, but unfortunately now they never are in the same -circumstances. Enthusius is simply a man who is in the habit of speaking -from impulse, and saying a thing merely and only because he feels it at -the moment. Before marriage he worshipped and adored his wife as an -ideal being dwelling in the land of dreams and poetries, and did his -very best to make her unpractical and unfitted to enjoy the life to -which he was to introduce her after marriage. After marriage he still -yields unreflectingly to present impulses, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> are no longer to -praise, but to criticise and condemn. The very sensibility to beauty and -love of elegance, which made him admire her before marriage, now -transferred to the arrangement of the domestic <i>ménage</i>, lead him daily -to perceive a hundred defects and find a hundred annoyances.</p> - -<p>Thus far we suppose an amiable, submissive wife, who is only grieved, -not provoked,—who has no sense of injustice, and meekly strives to make -good the hard conditions of her lot. Such poor, little, faded women have -we seen, looking for all the world like plants that have been nursed and -forced into bloom in the steam-heat of the conservatory, and are now -sickly and yellow, dropping leaf by leaf, in the dry, dusty parlor.</p> - -<p>But there is another side of the picture,—where the wife, provoked and -indignant, takes up the fault-finding trade in return, and with the keen -arrows of her woman’s wit searches and penetrates every joint of the -husban<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span>d’s armor, showing herself full as unjust and far more capable in -this sort of conflict.</p> - -<p>Saddest of all sad things is it to see two once very dear friends -employing all that peculiar knowledge of each other which love had given -them only to harass and provoke,—thrusting and piercing with a -certainty of aim that only past habits of confidence and affection could -have put in their power, wounding their own hearts with every deadly -thrust they make at one another, and all for such inexpressibly -miserable trifles as usually form the openings of fault-finding dramas.</p> - -<p>For the contentions that loosen the very foundations of love, that -crumble away all its fine traceries and carved work, about what -miserable, worthless things do they commonly begin!—a dinner underdone, -too much oil consumed, a newspaper torn, a waste of coal or soap, a dish -broken!—and for this miserable sort of trash, very good, very generous, -very religious people will sometimes waste and throw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> away by -double-handfuls the very thing for which houses are built and coal -burned, and all the paraphernalia of a home established,—<i>their -happiness</i>. Better cold coffee, smoky tea, burnt meat, better any -inconvenience, any loss, than a loss of <i>love</i>; and nothing so surely -burns away love as constant fault-finding.</p> - -<p>For fault-finding once allowed as a habit between two near and dear -friends comes in time to establish a chronic soreness, so that the -mildest, the most reasonable suggestion, the gentlest implied reproof, -occasions burning irritation; and when this morbid stage has once set -in, the restoration of love seems wellnigh impossible.</p> - -<p>For example: Enthusius, having risen this morning in the best of humors, -in the most playful tones begs Hermione not to make the tails of her g’s -quite so long; and Hermione fires up with with—</p> - -<p>“And, pray, what else wouldn’t you wish me to do? Perhaps you would be -so good,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> when you have leisure, as to make out an alphabetical list of -the things in me that need correcting.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, you are unreasonable.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so. I should like to get to the end of the requirements -of my lord and master sometimes.”</p> - -<p>“Now, my dear, you really are very silly.”</p> - -<p>“Please say something original, my dear. I have heard that till it has -lost the charm of novelty.”</p> - -<p>“Come now, Hermione, don’t let’s quarrel.”</p> - -<p>“My dear sir, who thinks of quarrelling? Not I; I’m sure I was only -asking to be directed. I trust some time, if I live to be ninety, to -suit your fastidious taste. I trust the coffee is right this morning, -<i>and</i> the tea, <i>and</i> the toast, <i>and</i> the steak, <i>and</i> the servants, -<i>and</i> the front-hall mat, <i>and</i> the upper-story hall-door, <i>and</i> the -basement premises; and now I suppose I am to be trained in respect to my -general education. I shall set about the tails of my g’s at once, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> -trust you will prepare a list of any other little things that need -emendation.”</p> - -<p>Enthusius pushes away his coffee, and drums on the table.</p> - -<p>“If I might be allowed one small criticism, my dear, I should observe -that it is not good manners to drum on the table,” says his fair -opposite.</p> - -<p>“Hermione, you are enough to drive a man frantic!” exclaims Enthusius, -rushing out with bitterness in his soul, and a determination to take his -dinner at Delmonico’s.</p> - -<p>Enthusius feels himself an abused man, and thinks there never was such a -sprite of a woman,—the most utterly unreasonable, provoking human being -he ever met with. What he does not think of is, that it is his own -inconsiderate, constant fault-finding that has made every nerve so -sensitive and sore, that the mildest suggestion of advice or reproof on -the most indifferent subject is impossible. He has not, to be sure, been -the guilty partner in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> morning’s encounter; he has said only what -is fair and proper, and she has been unreasonable and cross; but, after -all, the fault is remotely his.</p> - -<p>When Enthusius awoke, after marriage, to find in his Hermione in very -deed only a bird, a star, a flower, but no housekeeper, why did he not -face the matter like an honest man? Why did he not remember all the fine -things about dependence and uselessness with which he had been filling -her head for a year or two, and in common honesty exact no more from her -than he had bargained for? Can a bird make a good business-manager? Can -a flower oversee Biddy and Mike, and impart to their uncircumcised ears -the high crafts and mysteries of elegant housekeeping?</p> - -<p>If his little wife has to learn her domestic <i>rôle</i> of household duty, -as most girls do, by a thousand mortifications, a thousand perplexities, -a thousand failures, let him, in ordinary fairness, make it as easy to -her as possible. Let<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> him remember with what admiring smiles, before -marriage, he received her pretty professions of utter helplessness and -incapacity in domestic matters, finding only poetry and grace in what, -after marriage, proved an annoyance.</p> - -<p>And if a man finds that he has a wife ill-adapted to wifely duties, does -it follow that the best thing he can do is to blurt out, without form or -ceremony, all the criticisms and corrections which may occur to him in -the many details of household life? He would not dare to speak with as -little preface, apology, or circumlocution to his business manager, to -his butcher, or his baker. When Enthusius was a bachelor, he never -criticised the table at his boarding-house without some reflection, and -studying to take unto himself acceptable words whereby to soften the -asperity of the criticism. The laws of society require that a man should -qualify, soften, and wisely time his admonitions to those he meets in -the outer world, or they will turn again and rend him. But to his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> -wife, in his own house and home, he can find fault without ceremony or -softening. So he can; and he can awake, in the course of a year or two, -to find his wife a changed woman, and his home unendurable. He may find, -too, that unceremonious fault-finding is a game that two can play at, -and that a woman can shoot her arrows with far more precision and skill -than a man.</p> - -<p>But the fault lies not always on the side of the husband. Quite as often -is a devoted, patient, good-tempered man harassed and hunted and baited -by the inconsiderate fault-finding of a wife whose principal talent -seems to lie in the ability at first glance to discover and make -manifest the weak point in everything.</p> - -<p>We have seen the most generous, the most warm-hearted and obliging of -mortals, under this sort of training, made the most morose and -disobliging of husbands. Sure to be found fault with, whatever they do, -they have at last ceased doing. The disappointment of not pleasing they -have abated by not trying to please.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> - -<p>We once knew a man who married a spoiled beauty, whose murmurs, -exactions, and caprices were infinite. He had at last, as a refuge to -his wearied nerves, settled down into a habit of utter disregard and -neglect; he treated her wishes and her complaints with equal -indifference, and went on with his life as nearly as possible as if she -did not exist. He silently provided for her what he thought proper, -without troubling himself to notice her requests or listen to her -grievances. Sickness came, but the heart of her husband was cold and -gone; there was no sympathy left to warm her. Death came, and he -breathed freely as a man released. He married again,—a woman with no -beauty, but much love and goodness,—a woman who asked little, blamed -seldom, and then with all the tact and address which the utmost -thoughtfulness could devise; and the passive, negligent husband became -the attentive, devoted slave of her will. He was in her hands as clay in -the hands of the potter; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> least breath or suggestion of criticism -from her lips, who criticised so little and so thoughtfully, weighed -more with him than many out-spoken words. So different is the same human -being, according to the touch of the hand which plays upon him!</p> - -<p>I have spoken hitherto of fault-finding as between husband and wife: its -consequences are even worse as respects children. The habit once -suffered to grow up between the two that constitute the head of the -family descends and runs through all the branches. Children are more -hurt by indiscriminate, thoughtless fault-finding than by any other one -thing. Often a child has all the sensitiveness and all the -susceptibility of a grown person, added to the faults of childhood. -Nothing about him is right as yet; he is immature and faulty at all -points, and everybody feels at perfect liberty to criticise him to right -and left, above, below, and around, till he takes refuge either in -callous hardness or irritable moroseness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></p> - -<p>A bright, noisy boy rushes in from school, eager to tell his mother -something he has on his heart, and Number One cries out,—“O, you’ve -left the door open! I do wish you wouldn’t always leave the door open! -And do look at the mud on your shoes! How many times must I tell you to -wipe your feet?”</p> - -<p>“Now there you’ve thrown your cap on the sofa again. When will you learn -to hang it up?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t put your slate there; that isn’t the place for it.”</p> - -<p>“How dirty your hands are! what have you been doing?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t sit in that chair; you break the springs, jouncing.”</p> - -<p>“Child, how your hair looks! Do go up stairs and comb it.”</p> - -<p>“There, if you haven’t torn the braid all off your coat! Dear me, what a -boy!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t speak so loud; your voice goes through my head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I want to know, Jim, if it was you that broke up that barrel that I -have been saving for brown flour.”</p> - -<p>“I believe it was you, Jim, that hacked the edge of my razor.”</p> - -<p>“Jim’s been writing at my desk, and blotted three sheets of the best -paper.”</p> - -<p>Now the question is, if any of the grown people of the family had to run -the gantlet of a string of criticisms on themselves equally true as -those that salute unlucky Jim, would they be any better-natured about it -than he is?</p> - -<p>No; but they are grown-up people; they have rights that others are bound -to respect. Everybody cannot tell them exactly what he thinks about -everything they do. If every one could and did, would there not be -terrible reactions?</p> - -<p>Servants in general are only grown-up children, and the same -considerations apply to them. A raw, untrained Irish girl introduced -into an elegant house has her head bewildered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> in every direction. There -are the gas-pipes, the water-pipes, the whole paraphernalia of elegant -and delicate conveniences, about which a thousand little details are to -be learned, the neglect of any one of which may flood the house, or -poison it with foul air, or bring innumerable inconveniences. The -setting of a genteel table and the waiting upon it involve fifty -possibilities of mistake, each one of which will grate on the nerves of -a whole family. There is no wonder, then, that the occasions of -fault-finding in families are so constant and harassing; and there is no -wonder that mistress and maid often meet each other on the terms of the -bear and the man who fell together fifty feet down from the limb of a -high tree, and lay at the bottom of it, looking each other in the face -in helpless, growling despair. The mistress is rasped, irritated, -despairing, and with good reason: the maid is the same, and with equally -good reason. Yet let the mistress be suddenly introduced into a -printing-office, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> required, with what little teaching could be given -her in a few rapid directions, to set up the editorial of a morning -paper, and it is probable she would be as stupid and bewildered as Biddy -in her beautifully arranged house.</p> - -<p>There are elegant houses which, from causes like these, are ever vexed -like the troubled sea that cannot rest. Literally, their table has -become a snare before them, and that which should have been for their -welfare a trap. Their gas and their water and their fire and their -elegances and ornaments, all in unskilled, blundering hands, seem only -so many guns in the hands of Satan, through which he fires at their -Christian graces day and night,—so that, if their house is kept in -order, their temper and religion are not.</p> - -<p>I am speaking now to the consciousness of thousands of women who are in -will and purpose real saints. Their souls go up to heaven,—its love, -its purity, its rest,—with every hymn and prayer and sacrament in -church;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> and they come home to be mortified, disgraced, and made to -despise themselves, for the unlovely tempers, the hasty words, the cross -looks, the universal nervous irritability, that result from this -constant jarring of finely toned chords under unskilled hands.</p> - -<p>Talk of hair-cloth shirts, and scourgings, and sleeping on ashes, as -means of saintship! there is no need of them in our country. Let a woman -once look at her domestic trials as her hair-cloth, her ashes, her -scourges,—accept them,—rejoice in them,—smile and be quiet, silent, -patient, and loving under them,—and the convent can teach her no more; -she is a victorious saint.</p> - -<p>When the damper of the furnace is turned the wrong way by Paddy, after -the five hundredth time of explanation, and the whole family awakes -coughing, sneezing, strangling,—when the gas is blown out in the -nursery by Biddy, who has been instructed every day for weeks in the -danger of such a proceeding,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span>—when the tumblers on the dinner-table are -found dim and streaked, after weeks of training in the simple business -of washing and wiping,—when the ivory-handled knives and forks are left -soaking in hot dish-water, after incessant explanations of the -consequences,—when four or five half-civilized beings, above, below, -and all over the house, are constantly forgetting the most important -things at the very moment it is most necessary they should remember -them,—there is no hope for the mistress morally, unless she can in very -deed and truth accept her trials religiously, and conquer by accepting. -It is not apostles alone who can take pleasure in necessities and -distresses, but mothers and housewives also, if they would learn of the -Apostle, might say, “When I am weak, then am I strong.”</p> - -<p>The burden ceases to gall when we have learned how to carry it. We can -suffer patiently, if we see any good come of it, and say, as an old -black woman of our acquaint<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span>ance did of an event that crossed her -purpose, “Well, Lord, if it’s <i>you</i>, send it along.”</p> - -<p>But that this may be done, that home-life, in our unsettled, changing -state of society, may become peaceful and restful, there is one -Christian grace, much treated of by mystic writers, that must return to -its honor in the Christian Church. I mean,—<small>THE GRACE OF SILENCE</small>.</p> - -<p>No words can express, no tongue can tell, the value of <small>NOT SPEAKING</small>. -“Speech is silvern, but silence is golden,” is an old and very precious -proverb.</p> - -<p>“But,” say many voices, “what is to become of us, if we may not speak? -Must we not correct our children and our servants and each other? Must -we let people go on doing wrong to the end of the chapter?”</p> - -<p>No; fault must be found; faults must be told, errors corrected. Reproof -and admonition are duties of householders to their families, and of all -true friends to one another.</p> - -<p>But, gentle reader, let us look over life, our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> own lives and the lives -of others, and ask, How much of the fault-finding which prevails has the -least tendency to do any good? How much of it is well-timed, -well-pointed, deliberate, and just, so spoken as to be effective?</p> - -<p>“A wise reprover upon an obedient ear” is one of the <i>rare</i> things -spoken of by Solomon,—the rarest, perhaps, to be met with. How many -really religious people put any of their religion into their manner of -performing this most difficult office? We find fault with a stove or -furnace which creates heat only to go up chimney and not warm the house. -We say it is wasteful. Just so wasteful often seem prayer-meetings, -church-services, and sacraments; they create and excite lovely, gentle, -holy feelings,—but, if these do not pass out into the atmosphere of -daily life, and warm and clear the air of our homes, there is a great -waste in our religion.</p> - -<p>We have been on our knees, confessing humbly that we are as awkward in -heavenly things,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> as unfit for the Heavenly Jerusalem, as Biddy and -Mike, and the little beggar-girl on our door-steps, are for our parlors. -We have deplored our errors daily, hourly, and confessed that “the -remembrance of them is grievous unto us, the burden of them is -intolerable,” and then we draw near in the sacrament to that Incarnate -Divinity whose infinite love covers all our imperfections with the -mantle of His perfections. But when we return, do we take our servants -and children by the throat because they are as untrained and awkward and -careless in earthly things as we have been in heavenly? Does no -remembrance of Christ’s infinite patience temper our impatience, when we -have spoken seventy times seven, and our words have been disregarded? -There is no mistake as to the sincerity of the religion which the Church -excites. What we want is to have it <i>used</i> in common life, instead of -going up like hot air in a fireplace to lose itself in the infinite -abysses above.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<p>In reproving and fault-finding, we have beautiful examples in Holy Writ. -When Saint Paul has a reproof to administer to delinquent Christians, -how does he temper it with gentleness and praise! how does he first make -honorable note of all the good there is to be spoken of! how does he -give assurance of his prayers and love!—and when at last the arrow -flies, it goes all the straighter to the mark for this carefulness.</p> - -<p>But there was a greater, a purer, a lovelier than Paul, who made His -home on earth with twelve plain men, ignorant, prejudiced, slow to -learn,—and who to the very day of His death were still contending on a -point which He had repeatedly explained, and troubling His last earthly -hours with the old contest, “Who should be greatest.” When all else -failed, on His knees before them as their servant, tenderly performing -for love the office of a slave, he said, “If I, your Lord and Master, -have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another’s feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>When parents, employers, and masters learn to reprove in this spirit, -reproofs will be more effective than they now are. It was by the -exercise of this spirit that Fénelon transformed the proud, petulant, -irritable, selfish Duke of Burgundy, making him humble, gentle, tolerant -of others, and severe only to himself: it was he who had for his motto, -that “Perfection alone can bear with imperfection.”</p> - -<p>But apart from the fault-finding which has a definite aim, how much is -there that does not profess or intend or try to do anything more than -give vent to an irritated state of feeling! The nettle stings us, and we -toss it with both hands at our neighbor; the fire burns us, and we throw -coals and hot ashes at all and sundry of those about us.</p> - -<p>There is <i>fretfulness</i>, a mizzling, drizzling rain of discomforting -remark; there is <i>grumbling</i>, a northeast storm that never clears; there -is <i>scolding</i>, the thunder-storm with lightning and hail. All these are -worse than useless; they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> are positive <i>sins</i>, by whomsoever -indulged,—sins as great and real as many that are shuddered at in -polite society.</p> - -<p>All these are for the most part but the venting on our fellow-beings of -morbid feelings resulting from dyspepsia, overtaxed nerves, or general -ill health.</p> - -<p>A minister eats too much mince-pie, goes to his weekly lecture, and, -seeing only half a dozen people there, proceeds to grumble at those -half-dozen for the sins of such as stay away. “The Church is cold, there -is no interest in religion,” and so on: a simple outpouring of the -blues.</p> - -<p>You and I do in one week the work we ought to do in six; we overtax -nerve and brain, and then have weeks of darkness in which everything at -home seems running to destruction. The servants never were so careless, -the children never so noisy, the house never so disorderly, the State -never so ill-governed, the Church evidently going over to Antichrist. -The only thing, after all, in which the existing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> condition of affairs -differs from that of a week ago is, that we have used up our nervous -energy, and are looking at the world through blue spectacles. We ought -to resist the devil of fault-finding at this point, and cultivate -silence as a grace till our nerves are rested. There are times when no -one should trust himself to judge his neighbors, or reprove his children -and servants, or find fault with his friends,—for he is so sharp-set -that he cannot strike a note without striking too hard. Then is the time -to try the grace of silence, and, what is better than silence, the power -of prayer.</p> - -<p>But it being premised that we are <i>never</i> to fret, never to grumble, -never to scold, and yet it being our duty in some way to make known and -get rectified the faults of others, it remains to ask how; and on this -head we will improvise a parable of two women.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Standfast is a woman of high tone, and possessed of a power of -moral principle that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> impresses one even as sublime. All her perceptions -of right and wrong are clear, exact, and minute; she is charitable to -the poor, kind to the sick and suffering, and devoutly and earnestly -religious. In all the minutiæ of woman’s life she manifests an -inconceivable precision and perfection. Everything she does is perfectly -done. She is true to all her promises to the very letter, and so -punctual that railroad time might be kept by her instead of a -chronometer.</p> - -<p>Yet, with all these excellent traits, Mrs. Standfast has not the faculty -of making a happy home. She is that most hopeless of fault-finders,—a -fault-finder from principle. She has a high, correct standard for -everything in the world, from the regulation of the thoughts down to the -spreading of a sheet or the hemming of a towel; and to this exact -standard she feels it her duty to bring every one in her household. She -does not often scold, she is not actually fretful, but she exercises -over her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> household a calm, inflexible severity, rebuking every fault; -she overlooks nothing, she excuses nothing, she will accept of nothing -in any part of her domain but absolute perfection; and her reproofs are -aimed with a true and steady point, and sent with a force that makes -them felt by the most obdurate.</p> - -<p>Hence, though she is rarely seen out of temper, and seldom or never -scolds, yet she drives every one around her to despair by the use of the -calmest and most elegant English. Her servants fear, but do not love -her. Her husband, an impulsive, generous man, somewhat inconsiderate and -careless in his habits, is at times perfectly desperate under the -accumulated load of her disapprobation. Her children regard her as -inhabiting some high, distant, unapproachable mountain-top of goodness, -whence she is always looking down with reproving eyes on naughty boys -and girls. They wonder how it is that so excellent a mamma should have -children who, let them try to be good as hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> as they can, are always -sure to do something dreadful every day.</p> - -<p>The trouble with Mrs. Standfast is, not that she has a high standard, -and not that she purposes and means to bring every one up to it, but -that she does not take the right way. She has set it down in her mind -that to blame a wrong-doer is the only way to cure wrong. She has never -learned that it is as much her duty to praise as to blame, and that -people are drawn to do right by being praised when they do it, rather -than driven by being blamed when they do not.</p> - -<p>Right across the way from Mrs. Standfast is Mrs. Easy, a pretty little -creature, with not a tithe of her moral worth,—a merry, pleasure-loving -woman, of no particular force of principle, whose great object in life -is to avoid its disagreeables and to secure its pleasures.</p> - -<p>Little Mrs. Easy is adored by her husband, her children, her servants, -merely because it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> is her nature to say pleasant things to every one. It -is a mere tact of pleasing, which she uses without knowing it. While -Mrs. Standfast, surveying her well-set dining-table, runs her keen eye -over everything, and at last brings up with, “Jane, look at that black -spot on the salt-spoon! I am astonished at your carelessness!"—Mrs. -Easy would say, “Why, Jane, where <i>did</i> you learn to set a table so -nicely? All looking beautifully, except,—ah! let’s see,—just give a -rub to this salt-spoon;—now all is quite perfect.” Mrs. Standfast’s -servants and children hear only of their failures; these are always -before them and her. Mrs. Easy’s servants hear of their successes. She -praises their good points; tells them they are doing well in this, that, -and the other particular; and finally exhorts them, on the strength of -having done so many things well, to improve in what is yet lacking. Mrs. -Easy’s husband feels that he is always a hero in her eyes, and her -children feel that they are dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span> good children, notwithstanding Mrs. -Easy sometimes has her little tiffs of displeasure, and scolds roundly -when something falls out as it should not.</p> - -<p>The two families show how much more may be done by a very ordinary -woman, through the mere instinct of praising and pleasing, than by the -greatest worth, piety, and principle, seeking to lift human nature by a -lever that never was meant to lift it by.</p> - -<p>The faults and mistakes of us poor human beings are as often perpetuated -by despair as by any other one thing. Have we not all been burdened by a -consciousness of faults that we were slow to correct because we felt -discouraged? Have we not been sensible of a real help sometimes from the -presence of a friend who thought well of us, believed in us, set our -virtues in the best light, and put our faults in the background?</p> - -<p>Let us depend upon it, that the flesh and blood that are in us,—the -needs, the wants,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> the despondencies,—are in each of our fellows, in -every awkward servant and careless child.</p> - -<p>Finally, let us all resolve,—</p> - -<p>First, to attain to the grace of <small>SILENCE</small>.</p> - -<p>Second, to deem all <small>FAULT-FINDING</small> that does no good a <small>SIN</small>; and to -resolve, when we are happy ourselves, not to poison the atmosphere for -our neighbors by calling on them to remark every painful and -disagreeable feature of their daily life.</p> - -<p>Third, to practise the grace and virtue of <small>PRAISE</small>. We have all been -taught that it is our duty to praise God, but few of us have reflected -on our duty to praise men; and yet for the same reason that we should -praise the divine goodness it is our duty to praise human excellence.</p> - -<p>We should praise our friends,—our near and dear ones; we should look on -and think of their virtues till their faults fade away; and when we love -most, and see most to love, then only is the wise time wisely to speak -of what should still be altered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></p> - -<p>Parents should look out for occasions to commend their children, as -carefully as they seek to reprove their faults; and employers should -praise the good their servants do as strictly as they blame the evil.</p> - -<p>Whoever undertakes to use this weapon will find that praise goes farther -in many cases than blame. Watch till a blundering servant does something -well, and then praise him for it, and you will see a new fire lighted in -the eye, and often you will find that in that one respect at least you -have secured excellence thenceforward.</p> - -<p>When you blame, which should be seldom, let it be alone with the person, -quietly, considerately, and with all the tact you are possessed of. The -fashion of reproving children and servants in the presence of others -cannot be too much deprecated. Pride, stubbornness, and self-will are -aroused by this, while a more private reproof might be received with -thankfulness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> - -<p>As a general rule, I would say, treat children in these respects just as -you would grown people; they are grown people in miniature, and need as -careful consideration of their feelings as any of us.</p> - -<p>Lastly, let us all make a bead-roll, a holy rosary, of all that is good -and agreeable in our position, our surroundings, our daily lot, of all -that is good and agreeable in our friends, our children, our servants, -and charge ourselves to repeat it daily, till the habit of our minds be -to praise and to commend; and so doing, we shall catch and kill one -<i>Little Fox</i> who hath destroyed many tender grapes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II.<br /><br /> -IRRITABILITY.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was that Christmas-day that did it; I’m quite convinced of that; and -the way it was is, what I am going to tell you.</p> - -<p>You see, among the various family customs of us Crowfields, the -observance of all sorts of <i>fêtes</i> and festivals has always been a -matter of prime regard; and among all the festivals of the round ripe -year, none is so joyous and honored among us as Christmas.</p> - -<p>Let no one upon this prick up the ears of Archæology, and tell us that -by the latest calculations of chronologists our ivy-grown and -holly-mantled Christmas is all a hum,—that it has been demonstrated, by -all sorts of signs and tables, that the august event it celebrates did -not take place on the 25th of December. Supposing it be so, what have we -to do with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> that? If so awful, so joyous an event <i>ever</i> took place on -our earth, it is surely worth commemoration. It is the <i>event</i> we -celebrate, not the <i>time</i>. And if all Christians for eighteen hundred -years, while warring and wrangling on a thousand other points, have -agreed to give this one 25th of December to peace and good-will, who is -he that shall gainsay them, and for an historic scruple turn his back on -the friendly greetings of all Christendom? Such a man is capable of -re-writing Milton’s Christmas Hymn in the style of Sternhold and -Hopkins.</p> - -<p>In our house, however, Christmas has always been a high day, a day whose -expectation has held waking all the little eyes in our bird’s nest, when -as yet there were only little ones there, each sleeping with one eye -open, hoping to be the happy first to wish the merry Christmas and grasp -the wonderful stocking.</p> - -<p>This year our whole family train of married girls and boys, with the -various toddling tribes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> thereto belonging, held high festival around a -wonderful Christmas-tree, the getting-up and adorning of which had kept -my wife and Jennie and myself busy for a week beforehand. If the little -folks think these trees grow up in a night, without labor, they know as -little about them as they do about most of the other blessings which -rain down on their dear little thoughtless heads. Such scrambling and -clambering and fussing and tying and untying, such alterations and -rearrangements, such agilities in getting up and down and everywhere to -tie on tapers and gold balls and glittering things innumerable, to hang -airy dolls in graceful positions, to make branches bear stiffly up under -loads of pretty things which threaten to make the tapers turn bottom -upward!</p> - -<p>Part and parcel of all this was I, Christopher, most reckless of -rheumatism, most careless of dignity,—the round, bald top of my head to -be seen emerging everywhere from the thick boughs of the spruce, now -devising<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> an airy settlement for some gossamer-robed doll, now adjusting -far back on a stiff branch Tom’s new little skates, now balancing bags -of sugar-plums and candy, and now combating desperately with some -contumacious taper that would turn slantwise or crosswise, or anywise -but upward, as a Christian taper should,—regardless of Mrs. Crowfield’s -gentle admonitions and suggestions, sitting up to most dissipated hours, -springing out of bed suddenly to change some arrangement in the middle -of the night, and up long before the lazy sun at dawn to execute still -other arrangements. If that Christmas-tree had been a fort to be taken, -or a campaign to be planned, I could not have spent more time and -strength on it. My zeal so far outran even that of sprightly Miss -Jennie, that she could account for it only by saucily suggesting that -papa must be fast getting into his second childhood.</p> - -<p>But didn’t we have a splendid lighting-up? Didn’t I and my youngest -grandson, little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> Tom, head the procession magnificent in paper -soldier-caps, blowing tin trumpets and beating drums, as we marched -round the twinkling glories of our Christmas-tree, all glittering with -red and blue and green tapers, and with a splendid angel on top with -great gold wings, the cutting-out and adjusting of which had held my -eyes waking for nights before? I had had oceans of trouble with that -angel, owing to an unlucky sprain in his left wing, which had required -constant surgical attention through the week, and which I feared might -fall loose again at the important and blissful moment of exhibition: but -no, the Fates were in our favor; the angel behaved beautifully, and kept -his wings as crisp as possible, and the tapers all burned splendidly, -and the little folks were as crazy with delight as my most ardent hopes -could have desired; and then we romped and played and frolicked as long -as little eyes could keep open, and long after; and so passed away our -Christmas.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></p> - -<p>I had forgotten to speak of the Christmas-dinner, that solid feast of -fat things, on which we also luxuriated. Mrs. Crowfield outdid all -household traditions in that feast: the turkey and the chickens, the -jellies and the sauces, the pies and the pudding, behold, are they not -written in the tablets of Memory which remain to this day?</p> - -<p>The holidays passed away hilariously, and at New-Year’s I, according to -time-honored custom, went forth to make my calls and see my fair -friends, while my wife and daughters stayed at home to dispense the -hospitalities of the day to their gentlemen friends. All was merry, -cheerful, and it was agreed on all hands that a more joyous holiday -season had never flown over us.</p> - -<p>But, somehow, the week after, I began to be sensible of a running-down -in the wheels. I had an article to write for the “Atlantic,” but felt -mopish and could not write. My dinner had not its usual relish, and I -had an in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span>definite sense everywhere of something going wrong. My coal -bill came in, and I felt sure we were being extravagant, and that our -John Furnace wasted the coal. My grandsons and granddaughters came to -see us, and I discovered that they had high-pitched voices, and burst in -without wiping their shoes, and it suddenly occurred powerfully to my -mind that they were not being well brought up,—evidently, they were -growing up rude and noisy. I discovered several tumblers and plates with -the edges chipped, and made bitter reflections on the carelessness of -Irish servants;—our crockery was going to destruction, along with the -rest. Then, on opening one of my paper-drawers, I found that Jennie’s -one drawer of worsted had overflowed into two or three; Jennie was -growing careless; besides, worsted is dear, and girls knit away small -fortunes, without knowing it, on little duds that do nobody any good. -Moreover, Maggie had three times put my slippers into the hall-closet, -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span>stead of leaving them where I wanted, under my study-table. Mrs. -Crowfield ought to look after things more; every servant, from end to -end of the house, was getting out of the traces, it was strange she did -not see it.</p> - -<p>All this I vented, from time to time, in short, crusty sayings and -doings, as freely as if I hadn’t just written an article on “Little -Foxes” in the last “Atlantic,” till at length my eyes were opened on my -own state and condition.</p> - -<p>It was evening, and I had just laid up the fire in the most approved -style of architecture, and, projecting my feet into my slippers, sat -spitefully cutting the leaves of a caustic review.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Crowfield took the tongs and altered the disposition of a stick.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” I said, “I do wish you’d let the fire alone,—you always put -it out.”</p> - -<p>“I was merely admitting a little air between the sticks,” said my wife.</p> - -<p>“You always make matters worse, when you touch the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>As if in contradiction, a bright tongue of flame darted up between the -sticks, and the fire began chattering and snapping defiance at me. Now, -if there’s anything which would provoke a saint, it is to be jeered and -snapped at in that way by a man’s own fire. It’s an unbearable -impertinence. I threw out my leg impatiently, and hit Rover, who yelped -a yelp that finished the upset of my nerves. I gave him a hearty kick, -that he might have something to yelp for, and in the movement upset -Jennie’s embroidery-basket.</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa!”</p> - -<p>“Confound your baskets and balls! they are everywhere, so that a man -can’t move; useless, wasteful things, too.”</p> - -<p>“Wasteful?” said Jennie, coloring indignantly; for if there’s anything -Jennie piques herself upon, it’s economy.</p> - -<p>“Yes, wasteful,—wasting time and money both. Here are hundreds of -shivering poor to be clothed, and Christian females sit and do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> nothing -but crochet worsted into useless knicknacks. If they would be working -for the poor, there would be some sense in it. But it’s all just alike, -no real Christianity in the world, nothing but organized selfishness and -self-indulgence.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs. Crowfield, “you are not well to-night. Things are -not quite so desperate as they appear. You haven’t got over -Christmas-week.”</p> - -<p>“I <i>am</i> well. Never was better. But I can see, I hope, what’s before my -eyes; and the fact is, Mrs. Crowfield, things must not go on as they are -going. There must be more care, more attention to details. There’s -Maggie,—that girl never does what she is told. You are too slack with -her, Ma’am. She will light the fire with the last paper, and she won’t -put my slippers in the right place; and I can’t have my study made the -general catch-all and menagerie for Rover and Jennie, and her baskets -and balls, and for all the family litter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Just at this moment I overheard a sort of aside from Jennie, who was -swelling with repressed indignation at my attack on her worsted. She sat -with her back to me, knitting energetically, and said, in a low, but -very decisive tone, as she twitched her yarn,—</p> - -<p>“Now if <i>I</i> should talk in that way, people would call me <i>cross</i>,—and -that’s the whole of it.”</p> - -<p>I pretended to be looking into the fire in an absent-minded state; but -Jennie’s words had started a new idea. Was <i>that</i> it? Was that the whole -matter? Was it, then, a fact, that the house, the servants, Jennie and -her worsteds, Rover and Mrs. Crowfield, were all going on pretty much as -usual, and that the only difficulty was that I was <i>cross</i>? How many -times had I encouraged Rover to lie just where he was lying when I -kicked him! How many times, in better moods, had I complimented Jennie -on her neat little fancy-works, and declared that I liked the social -companionship of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> ladies’ work-baskets among my papers! Yes, it was -clear. After all, things were much as they had been; only I was cross.</p> - -<p><i>Cross.</i> I put it to myself in that simple, old-fashioned word, instead -of saying that I was out of spirits, or nervous, or using any of the -other smooth phrases with which we good Christians cover up our little -sins of temper. “Here you are, Christopher,” said I to myself, “a -literary man, with a somewhat delicate nervous organization and a -sensitive stomach, and you have been eating like a sailor or a -ploughman; you have been gallivanting and merry-making and playing the -boy for two weeks; up at all sorts of irregular hours, and into all -sorts of boyish performances; and the consequence is, that, like a -thoughtless young scapegrace, you have used up in ten days the capital -of nervous energy that was meant to last you ten weeks. You can’t eat -your cake and have it too, Christopher. When the nervous-fluid, source -of cheerfulness, giver of pleasant sensa<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span>tions and pleasant views, is -all spent, you can’t feel cheerful; things cannot look as they did when -you were full of life and vigor. When the tide is out, there is nothing -but unsightly, ill-smelling tide-mud, and you can’t help it; but you -<i>can</i> keep your senses,—you <i>can</i> know what is the matter with -you,—you can keep from visiting your overdose of Christmas mincepies -and candies and jocularities on the heads of Mrs. Crowfield, Rover, and -Jennie, whether in the form of virulent morality, pungent criticisms, or -a free kick, such as you just gave the poor brute.”</p> - -<p>“Come here, Rover, poor dog!” said I, extending my hand to Rover, who -cowered at the farther corner of the room, eying me wistfully,—“come -here, you poor doggie, and make up with your master. There, there! Was -his master cross? Well, he knows it. We must forgive and forget, old -boy, mustn’t we?” And Rover nearly broke his own back and tore me to -pieces with his tumultuous tail-waggings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span></p> - -<p>“As for you, puss,” I said to Jennie, “I am much obliged to you for your -free suggestion. You must take my cynical moralities for what they are -worth, and put your little traps into as many of my drawers as you -like.”</p> - -<p>In short, I made it up handsomely all around,—even apologizing to Mrs. -Crowfield, who, by the by, has summered and wintered me so many years, -and knows all my little seams and crinkles so well, that she took my -irritable, unreasonable spirit as tranquilly as if I had been a baby -cutting a new tooth.</p> - -<p>“Of course, Chris, I knew what the matter was; don’t disturb yourself,” -she said, as I began my apology; “we understand each other. But there is -one thing I have to say; and that is, that your article ought to be -ready.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, then,” said I, “like other great writers, I shall make -capital of my own sins, and treat of the second little family fox; and -his name is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span>—</p> - -<p class="cspc"> -<i>IRRITABILITY.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Irritability</span> is, more than most unlovely states, a sin of the flesh. It -is not, like envy, malice, spite, revenge, a vice which we may suppose -to belong equally to an embodied or a disembodied spirit. In fact, it -comes nearer to being physical depravity than anything I know of. There -are some bodily states, some conditions of the nerves, such that we -could not conceive of even an angelic spirit confined in a body thus -disordered as being able to do any more than simply endure. It is a -state of nervous torture; and the attacks which the wretched victim -makes on others are as much a result of disease as the snapping and -biting of a patient convulsed with hydrophobia.</p> - -<p>Then, again, there are other people who go through life loving and -beloved, desired in every circle, held up in the Church as examples of -the power of religion, who, after all, deserve no credit for these -things. Their spirits<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> are lodged in an animal nature so tranquil, so -cheerful, all the sensations which come to them are so fresh and -vigorous and pleasant, that they cannot help viewing the world -charitably and seeing everything through a glorified medium. The -ill-temper of others does not provoke them; perplexing business never -sets their nerves to vibrating; and all their lives long they walk in -the serene sunshine of perfect animal health.</p> - -<p>Look at Rover there. He is never nervous, never cross, never snaps or -snarls, and is ready, the moment after the grossest affront, to wag the -tail of forgiveness,—all because kind Nature has put his dog’s body -together so that it always works harmoniously. If every person in the -world were gifted with a stomach and nerves like his, it would be a far -better and happier world, no doubt. The man said a good thing who made -the remark, that the foundation of all intellectual and moral worth must -be laid in a good healthy animal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span></p> - -<p>Now I think it is undeniable that the peace and happiness of the -home-circle are very generally much invaded by the recurrence in its -members of these states of bodily irritability. Every person, if he -thinks the matter over, will see that his condition in life, the -character of his friends, his estimate of their virtues and failings, -his hopes and expectations, are all very much modified by these things. -Cannot we all remember going to bed as very ill-used, persecuted -individuals, all whose friends were unreasonable, whose life was full of -trials and crosses, and waking up on a bright bird-singing morning to -find all these illusions gone with the fogs of the night? Our friends -are nice people, after all; the little things that annoyed us look -ridiculous by bright sunshine and we are fortunate individuals.</p> - -<p>The philosophy of life, then, as far as this matter is concerned, must -consist of two things: first, to keep ourselves out of irritable bodily -states; and, second, to understand and con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span>trol these states, when we -cannot ward them off.</p> - -<p>Of course, the first of these is the most important; and yet, of all -things, it seems to be least looked into and understood. We find -abundant rules for the government of the tongue and temper; it is a -slough into which, John Bunyan hath it, cart-loads of wholesome -instructions have been thrown; but how to get and keep that healthy -state of brain, stomach, and nerves which takes away the temptation to -ill-temper and anger is a subject which moral and religious teachers -seem scarcely to touch upon.</p> - -<p>Now, without running into technical, physiological language, it is -evident, as regards us human beings, that there is a power by which we -live and move and have our being,—by which the brain thinks and wills, -the stomach digests, the blood circulates, and all the different -provinces of the little man-kingdom do their work. This something—call -it nervous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> fluid, nervous power, vital energy, life-force, or anything -else that you will—is a perfectly understood, if not a definable thing. -It is plain, too, that people possess this force in very different -degrees; some generating it as a high pressure engine does steam, and -using it constantly, with an apparently inexhaustible flow and others -who have little, and spend it quickly. We have a common saying, that -this or that person is soon used up. Now most nervous irritable states -of temper are the mere physics’ result of a used-up condition. The -person has overspent his nervous energy,—like a man who should eat up -on Monday the whole food which was to keep him for a week, and go -growling and faint through the other days; or the quantity of nervous -force which was wanted to carry on the whole system in all its parts is -seized on by some one monopolizing portion, and used up to the loss and -detriment of the rest. Thus, with men of letters, an exorbitant brain -expends on its own wreckings what be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span>longs to the other offices of the -body: the stomach has nothing to carry on digestion; the secretions are -badly made; and the imperfectly assimilated nourishment, that is -conveyed to every little nerve and tissue, carries with it an acrid, -irritating quality, producing general restlessness and discomfort. So -men and women go struggling on through their threescore and ten years, -scarcely one in a thousand knowing through life that perfect balance of -parts, that appropriate harmony of energies, that make a healthy, kindly -animal condition, predisposing to cheerfulness and good-will.</p> - -<p>We Americans are, in the first place, a nervous, excitable people. -Multitudes of children, probably the great majority in the upper walks -of life, are born into the world with weaknesses of the nervous -organization, or of the brain or stomach, which make them incapable of -any strong excitement or prolonged exertion without some lesion or -derangement; so that they are continually being checked, laid up, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> -made invalids in the midst of their days. Life here in America is so -fervid, so fast, our climate is so stimulating, with its clear, bright -skies, its rapid and sudden changes of temperature, that the tendencies -to nervous disease are constantly aggravated.</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances, unless men and women make a conscience, a -religion, of saving and sparing something of themselves expressly for -home-life and home-consumption, it must follow that home will often be -merely a sort of refuge for us to creep into when we are used up and -irritable.</p> - -<p>Papa is up and off, after a hasty breakfast, and drives all day in his -business, putting into it all there is in him, letting it drink up brain -and nerve and body and soul, and coming home jaded and exhausted, so -that he cannot bear the cry of the baby, and the frolics and pattering -of the nursery seem horrid and needless confusion. The little ones say, -in their plain vernacular, “Papa is cross.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Mamma goes out to a party that keeps her up till one or two in the -morning, breathes bad air, eats indigestible food, and the next day is -so nervous that every straw and thread in her domestic path is -insufferable.</p> - -<p>Papas that pursue business thus day after day, and mammas that go into -company, as it is called, night after night, what is there left in or of -them to make an agreeable fireside with, to brighten their home and -inspire their children?</p> - -<p>True, the man says he cannot help himself,—business requires it. But -what is the need of rolling up money at the rate at which he is seeking -to do it? Why not have less, and take some time to enjoy his home, and -cheer up his wife, and form the minds of his children? Why spend himself -down to the last drop on the world, and give to the dearest friends he -has only the bitter dregs?</p> - -<p>Much of the preaching which the pulpit and the Church have levelled at -fashionable amuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span>ments has failed of any effect at all, because wrongly -put. A cannonade has been opened upon dancing, for example, and all for -reasons that will not, in the least, bear looking into. It is vain to -talk of dancing as a sin because practised in a dying world where souls -are passing into eternity. If dancing is a sin for this reason, so is -playing marbles, or frolicking with one’s children, or enjoying a good -dinner, or doing fifty other things which nobody ever dreamed of -objecting to.</p> - -<p>If the preacher were to say that anything is a sin which uses up the -strength we need for daily duties, and leaves us fagged out and -irritable at just those times and in just those places when and where we -need most to be healthy, cheerful, and self-possessed, he would say a -thing that none of his hearers would dispute. If he should add, that -dancing-parties, beginning at ten o’clock at night and ending at four -o’clock in the morning, do use up the strength, weaken the nerves, and -leave a person wholly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> unfit for any home duty, he would also be saying -what very few people would deny; and then his case would be made out. If -he should say that it is wrong to breathe bad air and fill the stomach -with unwholesome dainties, so as to make one restless, ill-natured, and -irritable for days, he would also say what few would deny, and his -preaching might have some hope of success.</p> - -<p>The true manner of judging of the worth of amusements is to try them by -their effects on the nerves and spirits the day after. True amusement -ought to be, as the word indicates, <i>recreation</i>,—something that -refreshes, turns us out anew, rests the mind and body by change, and -gives cheerfulness and alacrity to our return to duty.</p> - -<p>The true objection to all stimulants, alcoholic and narcotic, consists -simply in this,—that they are a form of overdraft on the nervous -energy, which helps us to use up in one hour the strength of whole -days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>A man uses up all the fair, legal interest of nervous power by too much -business, too much care, or too much amusement. He has now a demand to -meet. He has a complicate account to make up, an essay or a sermon to -write, and he primes himself by a cup of coffee, a cigar, a glass of -spirits. This is exactly the procedure of a man who, having used the -interest of his money, begins to dip into the principal. The strength a -man gets in this way is just so much taken out of his life-blood; it is -borrowing of a merciless creditor, who will exact, in time, the pound of -flesh nearest his heart.</p> - -<p>Much of the irritability which spoils home happiness is the letting-down -from the over-excitement of stimulus. Some will drink coffee, when they -own every day that it makes them nervous; some will drug themselves with -tobacco, and some with alcohol, and, for a few hours of extra -brightness, give themselves and their friends many hours when amiability -or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> agreeableness is quite out of the question. There are people calling -themselves Christians who live in miserable thraldom, forever in debt to -Nature, forever overdrawing on their just resources, and using up their -patrimony, because they have not the moral courage to break away from a -miserable appetite.</p> - -<p>The same may be said of numberless indulgences of the palate, which tax -the stomach beyond its power, and bring on all the horrors of -indigestion. It is almost impossible for a confirmed dyspeptic to act -like a good Christian; but a good Christian ought not to become a -confirmed dyspeptic. Reasonable self-control, abstaining from all -unseasonable indulgence, may prevent or put an end to dyspepsia, and -many suffer and make their friends suffer only because they will persist -in eating what they know is hurtful to them.</p> - -<p>But it is not merely in worldly business, or fashionable amusements, or -the gratification of appetite, that people are tempted to overdraw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> and -use up in advance their life-force. It is done in ways more insidious, -because connected with our moral and religious faculties. There are -religious exaltations beyond the regular pulse and beatings of ordinary -nature, that quite as surely gravitate downward into the mire of -irritability. The ascent to the third heaven lets even the Apostle down -to a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet him.</p> - -<p>It is the temptation of natures in which the moral faculties predominate -to overdo in the outward expression and activities of religion till they -are used up and irritable, and have no strength left to set a good -example in domestic life.</p> - -<p>The Reverend Mr. X. in the pulpit to-day appears with the face of an -angel; he soars away into those regions of exalted devotion where his -people can but faintly gaze after him; he tells them of the victory that -overcometh the world, of an unmoved faith that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> fears no evil, of a -serenity of love that no outward event can ruffle; and all look after -him and wonder, and wish they could so soar.</p> - -<p>Alas! the exaltation which inspires these sublime conceptions, these -celestial ecstasies, is a double and treble draft on Nature,—and poor -Mrs. X. knows, when she hears him preaching, that days of miserable -reaction are before her. He has been a fortnight driving before a gale -of strong excitement, doing all the time twice or thrice as much as in -his ordinary state he could, and sustaining himself by the stimulus of -strong coffee. He has preached or exhorted every night, and conversed -with religious inquirers every day, seeming to himself to become -stronger and stronger, because every day more and more excitable and -excited. To his hearers, with his flushed sunken cheek and his -glittering eye, he looks like some spiritual being just trembling on his -flight for upper worlds; but to poor Mrs. X., whose husband he is, -things wear a very dif<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span>ferent aspect. Her woman and mother instincts -tell her that he is drawing on his life-capital with both hands, and -that the hours of a terrible settlement must come, and the days of -darkness will be many. He who spoke so beautifully of the peace of a -soul made perfect will not be able to bear the cry of his baby or the -pattering feet of any of the poor little X.s, who must be sent</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Anywhere, anywhere,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Out of his sight”;<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">he who discoursed so devoutly of perfect trust in God will be nervous -about the butcher’s bill, sure of going to ruin because both ends of the -salary don’t meet; and he who could so admiringly tell of the silence of -Jesus under provocation will but too often speak unadvisedly with his -lips. Poor Mr. X. will be morally insane for days or weeks, and -absolutely incapable of preaching Christ in the way that is the most -effective, by setting Him forth in his own daily example.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span></p> - -<p>What then? must we not do the work of the Lord?</p> - -<p>Yes, certainly; but the first work of the Lord, that for which provision -is to be made in the first place, is to set a good example as a -Christian man. Better labor for years steadily, diligently, doing every -day only what the night’s rest can repair, avoiding those cheating -stimulants that overtax Nature, and illustrating the sayings of the -pulpit by the daily life in the family, than to pass life in exaltations -and depressions, resulting from overstrained labors, supported by -unnatural stimulus.</p> - -<p>The same principles apply to hearers as to preachers. Religious services -must be judged of like amusements, by their effect on the life. If an -overdose of prayers, hymns, and sermons leaves us tired, nervous, and -cross, it is only not quite as bad as an overdose of fashionable folly.</p> - -<p>It could be wished that in every neighborhood there might be one or two -calm, sweet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> daily services which should morning and evening unite for -a few solemn moments the hearts of all as in one family, and feed with a -constant, unnoticed, daily supply the lamp of faith and love. Such are -some of the daily prayer-meetings which for eight or ten years past have -held their even tenor in some of our New England cities, and such the -morning and evening services which we are glad to see obtaining in the -Episcopal churches. Everything which brings religion into habitual -contact with life, and makes it part of a healthy, cheerful average -living, we hail as a sign of a better day. Nothing is so good for health -as daily devotion. It is the best soother of the nerves, the best -antidote to care; and we trust erelong that all Christian people will be -of one mind in this, and that neighborhoods will be families gathering -daily around one altar, praying not for themselves merely, but for each -other.</p> - -<p>The conclusion of the whole matter is this: Set apart some provision to -make merry with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> <i>at home</i>, and guard that reserve as religiously as the -priests guarded the shew-bread in the temple. However great you are, -however good, however wide the general interests that you may control, -you gain nothing by neglecting home-duties. You must leave enough of -yourself to be able to bear and forbear, give and forgive, and be a -source of life and cheerfulness around the hearthstone. The great sign -given by the Prophets of the coming of the Millennium is,—what do you -suppose?—“He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and -the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the -earth with a curse.”</p> - -<p>Thus much on avoiding unhealthy, irritable states.</p> - -<p>But it still remains that a large number of people will be subject to -them unavoidably for these reasons.</p> - -<p><i>First.</i> The use of tobacco, alcohol, and other kindred stimulants, for -so many generations, has vitiated the brain and nervous system of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> -modern civilized races so that it is not what it was in former times. -Michelet treats of this subject quite at large in some of his late -works; and we have to face the fact of a generation born with an -impaired nervous organization, who will need constant care and wisdom to -avoid unhealthy, morbid irritation.</p> - -<p>There is a temperament called the <small>HYPOCHONDRIAC</small>, to which many persons, -some of them the brightest, the most interesting, the most gifted, are -born heirs,—a want of balance of the nervous powers, which tends -constantly to periods of high excitement and of consequent -depression,—an unfortunate inheritance for the possessor, though -accompanied often with the greatest talents. Sometimes, too, it is the -unfortunate lot of those who have not talents, who bear its burdens and -its anguish without its rewards.</p> - -<p>People of this temperament are subject to fits of gloom and despondency, -of nervous irritability and suffering, which darken the aspect<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> of the -whole world to them, which present lying reports of their friends, of -themselves, of the circumstances of their life, and of all with which -they have to do.</p> - -<p>Now the highest philosophy for persons thus afflicted is to <i>understand -themselves</i> and their tendencies, to know that these fits of gloom and -depression are just as much a form of disease as a fever or a toothache, -to know that it is the peculiarity of the disease to fill the mind with -wretched illusions, to make them seem miserable and unlovely to -themselves, to make their nearest friends seem unjust and unkind, to -make all events appear to be going wrong and tending to destruction and -ruin.</p> - -<p>The evils and burdens of such a temperament are half removed when a man -once knows that he has it and recognizes it for a disease, and when he -does not trust himself to speak and act in those bitter hours as if -there were any truth in what he thinks and feels and sees. He who has -not attained to this wisdom over<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span>whelms his friends and his family with -the waters of bitterness; he stings with unjust accusations, and makes -his fireside dreadful with fancies which are real to him, but false as -the ravings of fever.</p> - -<p>A sensible person, thus diseased, who has found out what ails him, will -shut his mouth resolutely, not to give utterance to the dark thoughts -that infest his soul.</p> - -<p>A lady of great brilliancy and wit, who was subject to these periods, -once said to me, “My dear sir, there are times when I know I am -possessed of the Devil, and then I never let myself speak.” And so this -wise woman carried her burden about with her in a determined, cheerful -reticence, leaving always the impression of a cheery, kindly temper, -when, if she had spoken out a tithe of what she thought and felt in her -morbid hours, she would have driven all her friends from her, and made -others as miserable as she was herself. She was a sunbeam, a life-giving -presence in every family,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> by the power of self-knowledge and -self-control. Such victories as this are the victories of real saints.</p> - -<p>But if the victim of these glooms is once tempted to lift their heavy -load by the use of <i>any stimulus whatever</i>, he or she is a lost man or -woman. It is from this sad class more than any other that the vast army -of drunkards and opium-eaters is recruited. Dr. Johnson, one of the most -brilliant examples of the hypochondriac temperament which literature -affords, has expressed a characteristic of the race, in what he says of -himself, that he could “<i>practise</i> <small>ABSTINENCE</small> <i>but not</i> <small>TEMPERANCE</small>.” -Hypochondriacs who begin to rely on stimulus, almost without exception -find this to be true. They cannot, they will not be moderate. Whatever -stimulant they take for relief will create an uncontrollable appetite, a -burning passion. The temperament itself lies in the direction of -insanity. It needs the most healthful, careful, even regimen and -management to keep it within the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> bounds of soundness; but the -introduction of stimulants deepens its gloom with the shadows of utter -despair.</p> - -<p>All parents, in the education of their children, should look out for and -understand the signs of this temperament. It appears in early childhood; -and a child inclined to fits of depression should be marked as a subject -of the most thoughtful, painstaking physical and moral training. All -over-excitement and stimulus should be carefully avoided, whether in the -way of study, amusement, or diet. Judicious education may do much to -mitigate the unavoidable pains and penalties of this most undesirable -inheritance.</p> - -<p>The second class of persons who need wisdom in the control of their -moods is that large class whose unfortunate circumstances make it -impossible for them to avoid constantly overdoing and overdrawing upon -their nervous energies, and who therefore are always exhausted and worn -out. Poor souls, who labor daily<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> under a burden too heavy for them, and -whose fretfulness and impatience are looked upon with sorrow, not anger, -by pitying angels. Poor mothers, with families of little children -clinging round them, and a baby that never lets them sleep; hard-working -men, whose utmost toil, day and night, scarcely keeps the wolf from the -door; and all the hard-laboring, heavy-laden, on whom the burdens of -life press far beyond their strength.</p> - -<p>There are but two things we know of for these,—two only remedies for -the irritation that comes of these exhaustions; the habit of silence -towards men, and of speech towards God. The heart must utter itself or -burst; but let it learn to commune constantly and intimately with One -always present and always sympathizing. This is the great, the only -safeguard against fretfulness and complaint. Thus and thus only can -peace spring out of confusion, and the breaking chords of an overtaxed -nature be strung anew to a celestial harmony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III.<br /><br /> -REPRESSION.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> AM going now to write on another cause of family unhappiness, more -subtile than either of those before enumerated.</p> - -<p>In the General Confession of the Church, we poor mortals all unite in -saying two things: “We have left undone those things which we ought to -have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have -done.” These two heads exhaust the subject of human frailty.</p> - -<p>It is the things left undone which we ought to have done, the things -left unsaid which we ought to have said, that constitute the subject I -am now to treat of.</p> - -<p>I remember my school-day speculations over an old “Chemistry” I used to -study as a textbook, which informed me that a substance<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> called Caloric -exists in all bodies. In some it exists in a latent state: it is there, -but it affects neither the senses nor the thermometer. Certain causes -develop it, when it raises the mercury and warms the hands. I remember -the awe and wonder with which, even then, I reflected on the vast amount -of blind, deaf, and dumb comfort which Nature had thus stowed away. How -mysterious it seemed to me that poor families every winter should be -shivering, freezing, and catching cold, when Nature had all this latent -caloric locked up in her store-closet,—when it was all around them, in -everything they touched and handled!</p> - -<p>In the spiritual world there is an exact analogy to this. There is a -great life-giving, warming power called Love, which exists in human -hearts dumb and unseen, but which has no real life, no warming power, -till set free by expression.</p> - -<p>Did you ever, in a raw, chilly day, just before a snow-storm, sit at -work in a room that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> was judiciously warmed by an exact thermometer? You -do not freeze, but you shiver; your fingers do not become numb with -cold, but you have all the while an uneasy craving for more positive -warmth. You look at the empty grate, walk mechanically towards it, and, -suddenly awaking, shiver to see that there is nothing there. You long -for a shawl or cloak; you draw yourself within yourself; you consult the -thermometer, and are vexed to find that there is nothing there to be -complained of,—it is standing most provokingly at the exact temperature -that all the good books and good doctors pronounce to be the proper -thing,—the golden mean of health; and yet perversely you shiver, and -feel as if the face of an open fire would be to you as the smile of an -angel.</p> - -<p>Such a lifelong chill, such an habitual shiver, is the lot of many -natures, which are not warm, when all ordinary rules tell them they -ought to be warm,—whose life is cold and barren and meagre,—which -never see the blaze of an open fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span></p> - -<p>I will illustrate my meaning by a page out of my own experience.</p> - -<p>I was twenty-one when I stood as groomsman for my youngest and favorite -sister Emily. I remember her now as she stood at the altar,—a pale, -sweet, flowery face, in a half-shimmer between smiles and tears, looking -out of vapory clouds of gauze and curls and all the vanishing mysteries -of a bridal morning.</p> - -<p>Everybody thought the marriage such a fortunate one!—for her husband -was handsome and manly, a man of worth, of principle good as gold and -solid as adamant,—and Emmy had always been such a flossy little kitten -of a pet, so full of all sorts of impulses, so sensitive and nervous, we -thought her kind, strong, composed, stately husband made just on purpose -for her. “It was quite a Providence,” sighed all the elderly ladies, who -sniffed tenderly, and wiped their eyes, according to approved custom, -during the marriage ceremony.</p> - -<p>I remember now the bustle of the day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span>—the confused whirl of white -gloves, kisses, bridemaids, and bride-cakes, the losing of trunk-keys -and breaking of lacings, the tears of mamma—God bless her!—and the -jokes of irreverent Christopher, who could, for the life of him, see -nothing so very dismal in the whole phantasmagoria, and only wished he -were as well off himself.</p> - -<p>And so Emmy was whirled away from us on the bridal tour, when her -letters came back to us almost every day, just like herself, merry, -frisky little bits of scratches,—as full of little nonsense-beads as a -glass of Champagne, and all ending with telling us how perfect he was, -and how good, and how well he took care of her, and how happy, etc., -etc.</p> - -<p>Then came letters from her new home. His house was not yet built; but -while it was building, they were to live with his mother, who was “such -a good woman,” and his sisters, who were also “such nice women.”</p> - -<p>But somehow, after this, a change came over<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> Emmy’s letters. They grew -shorter; they seemed measured in their words; and in place of sparkling -nonsense and bubbling outbursts of glee, came anxiously worded praises -of her situation and surroundings, evidently written for the sake of -arguing herself into the belief that she was extremely happy.</p> - -<p>John, of course, was not as much with her now: he had his business to -attend to, which took him away all day, and at night he was very tired. -Still he was very good and thoughtful of her, and how thankful she ought -to be! And his mother was very good indeed, and did all for her that she -could reasonably expect,—of course she could not be like her own mamma; -and Mary and Jane were very kind,—“in their way,” she wrote, but -scratched it out, and wrote over it, “very kind indeed.” They were the -best people in the world,—a great deal better than she was; and she -should try to learn a great deal from them.</p> - -<p>“Poor little Em!” I said to myself, “I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> afraid these very nice people -are slowly freezing and starving her.” And so, as I was going up into -the mountains for a summer tour, I thought I would accept some of John’s -many invitations and stop a day or two with them on my way, and see how -matters stood. John had been known among us in college as a taciturn -fellow, but good as gold. I had gained his friendship by a regular -siege, carrying parallel after parallel, till, when I came into the fort -at last, I found the treasures worth taking.</p> - -<p>I had little difficulty in finding Squire Evans’s house. It was <i>the</i> -house of the village,—a true, model, New England house,—a square, -roomy, old-fashioned mansion, which stood on a hillside, under a group -of great, breezy old elms, whose wide, wind-swung arms arched over it -like a leafy firmament. Under this bower the substantial white house, -with all its window-blinds closed, with its neat white fences all tight -and trim, stood in its faultless green turfy yard, a perfect Pharisee -among houses. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> looked like a house all finished, done, completed, -labelled, and set on a shelf for preservation; but, as is usual with -this kind of edifice in our dear New England, it had not the slightest -appearance of being lived in, not a door or window open, not a wink or -blink of life: the only suspicion of human habitation was the thin, -pale-blue smoke from the kitchen-chimney.</p> - -<p>And now for the people in the house.</p> - -<p>In making a New England visit in winter, was it ever your fortune to be -put to sleep in the glacial spare-chamber, that had been kept from time -immemorial as a refrigerator for guests,—that room which no ray of -daily sunshine and daily living ever warms, whose blinds are closed the -whole year round, whose fireplace knows only the complimentary blaze -which is kindled a few moments before bedtime in an atmosphere where you -can see your breath? Do you remember the process of getting warm in a -bed of most faultless material, with linen sheets and pillow-cases, -slippery and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> cold as ice? You did get warm at last, but you warmed your -bed by giving out all the heat of your own body.</p> - -<p>Such are some families where you visit. They are of the very best -quality, like your sheets, but so cold that it takes all the vitality -you have to get them warmed up to the talking-point. You think, the -first hour after your arrival, that they must have heard some report to -your disadvantage, or that you misunderstood your letter of invitation, -or that you came on the wrong day; but no, you find in due course that -you <i>were</i> invited, you were expected, and they are doing for you the -best they know how, and treating you as they suppose a guest ought to be -treated.</p> - -<p>If you are a warm-hearted, jovial fellow, and go on feeling your way -discreetly, you gradually thaw quite a little place round yourself in -the domestic circle, till, by the time you are ready to leave, you -really begin to think it is agreeable to stay, and resolve that you will -come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> again. They are nice people; they like you; at last you have got -to feeling at home with them.</p> - -<p>Three months after, you go to see them again, when, lo! there you are, -back again just where you were at first. The little spot which you had -thawed out is frozen over again, and again you spend all your visit in -thawing it and getting your hosts limbered and in a state for -comfortable converse.</p> - -<p>The first evening that I spent in the wide, roomy front-parlor, with -Judge Evans, his wife, and daughters, fully accounted for the change in -Emmy’s letters. Rooms, I verily believe, get saturated with the aroma of -their spiritual atmosphere; and there are some so stately, so correct, -that they would paralyze even the friskiest kitten or the most impudent -Scotch terrier. At a glance, you perceive, on entering, that nothing but -correct deportment, an erect posture, and strictly didactic conversation -is possible there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span></p> - -<p>The family, in fact, were all eminently didactic, bent on improvement, -laboriously useful. Not a good work or charitable enterprise could put -forth its head in the neighborhood, of which they were not the support -and life. Judge Evans was the stay and staff of the village and township -of ——; he bore up the pillars thereof. Mrs. Evans was known in the -gates for all the properties and deeds of the virtuous woman, as set -forth by Solomon; the heart of her husband did safely trust in her. But -when I saw them, that evening, sitting, in erect propriety, in their -respective corners each side of the great, stately fireplace, with its -tall, glistening brass andirons, its mantel adorned at either end with -plated candlesticks, with the snuffer-tray in the middle,—she so -collectedly measuring her words, talking in all those well-worn grooves -of correct conversation which are designed, as the phrase goes, to -“entertain strangers,” and the Misses Evans, in the best of grammar and -rhetoric, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> in most proper time and way possible, showing themselves -for what they were, most high-principled, well-informed, intelligent -women,—I set myself to speculate on the cause of the extraordinary -sensation of stiffness and restraint which pervaded me, as if I had been -dipped in some petrifying spring and was beginning to feel myself -slightly crusting over on the exterior.</p> - -<p>This kind of conversation is such as admits quite easily of one’s -carrying on another course of thought within; and so, as I found myself -like a machine, striking in now and then in good time and tune, I looked -at Judge Evans, sitting there so serene, self-poised, and cold, and -began to wonder if he had ever been a boy, a young man,—if Mrs. Evans -ever was a girl,—if he was ever in love with her, and what he did when -he was.</p> - -<p>I thought of the lock of Emmy’s hair which I had observed in John’s -writing-desk in days when he was falling in love with her,—of sun<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> dry -little movements in which at awkward moments I had detected my grave and -serious gentleman when I had stumbled accidentally upon the pair in -moonlight strolls or retired corners,—and wondered whether the models -of propriety before me had ever been convicted of any such human -weaknesses. Now, to be sure, I could as soon imagine the stately tongs -to walk up and kiss the shovel as conceive of any such bygone effusion -in those dignified individuals. But how did they get acquainted? how -came they ever to be married?</p> - -<p>I looked at John, and thought I saw him gradually stiffening and -subsiding into the very image of his father. As near as a young fellow -of twenty-five can resemble an old one of sixty-two, he was growing to -be exactly like him, with the same upright carriage, the same silence -and reserve. Then I looked at Emmy: she, too, was changed,—she, the -wild little pet, all of whose pretty individualities were dear to -us,—that little unpunctuated scrap of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> life’s poetry, full of little -exceptions referable to no exact rule, only to be tolerated under the -wide score of poetic license. Now, as she sat between the two Misses -Evans, I thought I could detect a bored, anxious expression on her -little mobile face,—an involuntary watchfulness and self-consciousness, -as if she were trying to be good on some quite new pattern. She seemed -nervous about some of my jokes, and her eye went apprehensively to her -mother-in-law in the corner; she tried hard to laugh and make things go -merrily for me; she seemed sometimes to look an apology for me to them, -and then again for them to me. For myself, I felt that perverse -inclination to shock people which sometimes comes over one in such -situations. I had a great mind to draw Emmy on to my knee and commence a -brotherly romp with her, to give John a thump on his very upright back, -and to propose to one of the Misses Evans to strike up a waltz, and get -the parlor into a general whirl, before the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> face and eyes of -propriety in the corner: but “the spirits” were too strong for me; I -couldn’t do it.</p> - -<p>I remembered the innocent, saucy freedom with which Emmy used to treat -her John in the days of their engagement,—the little ways, half loving, -half mischievous, in which she alternately petted and domineered over -him. <i>Now</i> she called him “Mr. Evans,” with an anxious affectation of -matronly gravity. Had they been lecturing her into these conjugal -proprieties? Probably not. I felt sure, by what I now experienced in -myself, that, were I to live in that family one week, all deviations -from the one accepted pattern of propriety would fall off, like -many-colored sumach-leaves after the first hard frost. I began to feel -myself slowly stiffening, my courage getting gently chilly. I tried to -tell a story, but had to mangle it greatly, because I felt in the air -around me that parts of it were too vernacular and emphatic; and then, -as a man who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> is freezing makes desperate efforts to throw off the -spell, and finds his brain beginning to turn, so I was beginning to be -slightly insane, and was haunted with a desire to say some horribly -improper or wicked thing which should start them all out of their -chairs. Though never given to profane expressions, I perfectly hankered -to let out a certain round, unvarnished, wicked word, which I knew would -create a tremendous commotion on the surface of this enchanted -mill-pond,—in fact, I was so afraid that I should make some such mad -demonstration, that I rose at an early hour and begged leave to retire. -Emmy sprang up with apparent relief, and offered to get my candle and -marshal me to my room.</p> - -<p>When she had ushered me into the chilly hospitality of that stately -apartment, she seemed suddenly disenchanted. She set down the candle, -ran to me, fell on my neck, nestled her little head under my coat, -laughing and crying, and calling me her dear old boy; she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> pulled my -whiskers, pinched my ear, rummaged my pockets, danced round me in a sort -of wild joy, stunning me with a volley of questions, without stopping to -hear the answer to one of them; in short, the wild little elf of old -days seemed suddenly to come back to me, as I sat down and drew her on -to my knee.</p> - -<p>“It does look so like home to see you, Chris!—dear, dear home!—and the -dear old folks! There never, never was such a home!—everybody there did -just what they wanted to, didn’t they, Chris?—and we love each other, -don’t we?”</p> - -<p>“Emmy,” said I, suddenly, and very improperly, “you aren’t happy here.”</p> - -<p>“Not happy?” she said, with a half-frightened look,—“what makes you say -so? O, you are mistaken. I have everything to make me happy. I should be -very unreasonable and wicked, if I were not. I am very, very happy, I -assure you. Of course, you know, everybody<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> can’t be like our folks at -home. <i>That</i> I should not expect, you know,—people’s ways are -different,—but then, when you know people are so good, and all that, -why, of course you must be thankful, be happy. It’s better for me to -learn to control my feelings, you know, and not give way to impulses. -They are all so good here, they never give way to their feelings,—they -always do right. O, they are quite wonderful!”</p> - -<p>“And agreeable?” said I.</p> - -<p>“O Chris, we mustn’t think so much of that. They certainly aren’t -pleasant and easy, as people at home are; but they are never cross, they -never scold, they always are good. And we oughtn’t to think so much of -living to be happy; we ought to think more of doing right, doing our -duty, don’t you think so?”</p> - -<p>“All undeniable truth, Emmy; but, for all that, John seems stiff as a -ramrod, and their front-parlor is like a tomb. You mustn’t let them -petrify him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Her face clouded over a little.</p> - -<p>“John is different here from what he was at our house. He has been -brought up differently,—O, entirely differently from what we were; and -when he comes back into the old house, the old business, and the old -place between his father and mother and sisters, he goes back into the -old ways. He loves me all the same, but he does not show it in the same -ways, and I must learn, you know, to take it on trust. He is <i>very</i> -busy,—works hard all day, and all for me; and mother says women are -unreasonable that ask any other proof of love from their husbands than -what they give by working for them all the time. She never lectures me, -but I know she thought I was a silly little petted child, and she told -me one day how she brought up John. She never petted him; she put him -away alone to sleep, from the time he was six months old; she never fed -him out of his regular hours when he was a baby, no matter how much he -cried; she never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> let him talk baby-talk, or have any baby-talk talked -to him, but was very careful to make him speak all his words plain from -the very first; she never encouraged him to express his love by kisses -or caresses, but taught him that the only proof of love was exact -obedience. I remember John’s telling me of his running to her once and -hugging her round the neck, when he had come in without wiping his -shoes, and she took off his arms and said: ‘My son, this isn’t the best -way to show love. I should be much better pleased to have you come in -quietly and wipe your shoes than to come and kiss me when you forget to -do what I say.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Dreadful old jade!” said I, irreverently, being then only twenty-three.</p> - -<p>“Now, Chris, I won’t have anything to say to you, if this is the way you -are going to talk,” said Emily, pouting, though a mischievous gleam -darted into her eyes. “Really, however, I think she carried things too -far, though she is so good. I only said it to excuse John, and show how -he was brought up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Poor fellow!” said I. “I know now why he is so hopelessly shut up, and -walled up. Never a warmer heart than he keeps stowed away there inside -of the fortress, with the drawbridge down and moat all round.”</p> - -<p>“They are all warm-hearted inside,” said Emily. “Would you think she -didn’t love him? Once when he was sick, she watched with him seventeen -nights without taking off her clothes; she scarcely would eat all the -time: Jane told me so. She loves him better than she loves herself. It’s -perfectly dreadful sometimes to see how intense she is when anything -concerns him; it’s her <i>principle</i> that makes her so cold and quiet.”</p> - -<p>“And a devilish one it is!” said I.</p> - -<p>“Chris, you are really growing wicked!”</p> - -<p>“I use the word seriously, and in good faith,” said I. “Who but the -Father of Evil ever devised such plans for making goodness hateful, and -keeping the most-heavenly part of our nature so under lock and key that -for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> greater part of our lives we get no use of it? Of what benefit -is a mine of love burning where it warms nobody, does nothing but -blister the soul within with its imprisoned heat? Love repressed grows -morbid, acts in a thousand perverse ways. These three women, I’ll -venture to say, are living in the family here like three frozen islands, -knowing as little of each other’s inner life as if parted by eternal -barriers of ice,—and all because a cursed principle in the heart of the -mother has made her bring them up in violence to Nature.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Emmy, “sometimes I do pity Jane; she is nearest my age, -and, naturally, I think she was something like me, or might have been. -The other day I remember her coming in looking so flushed and ill that I -couldn’t help asking if she were unwell. The tears came into her eyes; -but her mother looked up, in her cool, business-like way, and said, in -her dry voice,—</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Jane, what’s the matter?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>O, my head aches dreadfully, and I have pains in all my limbs!’</p> - -<p>“I wanted to jump and run to do something for her,—you know at our -house we feel that a sick person must be waited on,—but her mother only -said, in the same dry way,—</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Well, Jane, you’ve probably got a cold; go into the kitchen and make -yourself some good boneset tea, soak your feet in hot water, and go to -bed at once’; and Jane meekly departed.</p> - -<p>“I wanted to spring and do these things for her; but it’s curious, in -this house I never dare offer to do anything; and mother looked at me, -as she went out, with a significant nod,—</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>That’s always <i>my</i> way; if any of the children are sick, I never -coddle them; it’s best to teach them to make as light of it as -possible.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Dreadful!” said I.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is dreadful,” said Emmy, drawing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> her breath, as if relieved -that she might speak her mind; “it’s dreadful to see these people, who I -know love each other, living side by side and never saying a loving, -tender word, never doing a little loving thing,—sick ones crawling off -alone like sick animals, persisting in being alone, bearing everything -alone. But I won’t let them; I will insist on forcing my way into their -rooms. I would go and sit with Jane, and pet her and hold her hand and -bathe her head, though I knew it made her horridly uncomfortable at -first; but I thought she ought to learn to be petted in a Christian way, -when she was sick. I will kiss her too, sometimes, though she takes it -just like a cat that isn’t used to being stroked, and calls me a silly -girl; but I know she is getting to like it. What is the use of people’s -loving each other in this horridly cold, stingy, silent way? If one of -them were dangerously ill now, or met with any serious accident, I know -there would be no end to what the others would do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> for her; if one of -them were to die, the others would be perfectly crushed: but it would -all go inward,—drop silently down into that dark, cold, frozen well; -they couldn’t speak to each other; they couldn’t comfort each other; -they have lost the power of expression; they absolutely <i>can’t</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I, “they are like the fakirs who have held up an arm till it -has become stiffened,—they cannot now change its position; like the -poor mutes, who, being deaf, have become dumb through disuse of the -organs of speech. Their education has been like those iron suits of -armor into which little boys were put in the Middle Ages, solid, -inflexible, put on in childhood, enlarged with every year’s growth, till -the warm human frame fitted the mould as if it had been melted and -poured into it. A person educated in this way is hopelessly crippled, -never will be what he might have been.”</p> - -<p>“O, don’t say that, Chris; think of John; think how good he is.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I do think how good he is,"—with indignation,—“and how few know it, -too. I think; that, with the tenderest, truest, gentlest heart, the -utmost appreciation of human friendship, he has passed in the world for -a cold, proud, selfish man. If your frank, impulsive, incisive nature -had not unlocked gates and opened doors, he would never have known the -love of woman: and now he is but half disenchanted; he every day tends -to go back to stone.”</p> - -<p>“But I sha’n’t let him; O, indeed, I know the danger! I shall bring him -out. I shall work on them all. I know they are beginning to love me a -good deal: in the first place, because I belong to John, and everything -belonging to him is perfect; and in the second place—”</p> - -<p>“In the second place, because they expect to weave, day after day, the -fine cobweb lines of their cold system of repression around you, which -will harden and harden, and tighten and tighten, till you are as stiff -and shrouded as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> any of them. You remind me of our poor little duck: -don’t you remember him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, poor fellow! how he would stay out, and swim round and round, -while the pond kept freezing and freezing, and his swimming-place grew -smaller and smaller every day; but he was such a plucky little fellow -that—”</p> - -<p>“That at last we found him one morning frozen tight in, and he has -limped ever since on his poor feet.”</p> - -<p>“O, but I won’t freeze in,” she said, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Take care, Emmy! You are sensitive, approbative, delicately organized; -your whole nature inclines you to give way and yield to the nature of -those around you. One little lone duck such as you, however -warm-blooded, light-hearted, cannot keep a whole pond from freezing. -While you have any influence, you must use it all to get John away from -these surroundings, where you can have him to yourself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“O, you know we are building our house; we shall go to housekeeping -soon.”</p> - -<p>“Where? Close by, under the very guns of this fortress, where all your -housekeeping, all your little management, will be subject to daily -inspection.”</p> - -<p>“But mamma never interferes, never advises,—unless I ask advice.”</p> - -<p>“No, but she influences; she lives, she looks, she is there; and while -she is there, and while your home is within a stone’s throw, the old -spell will be on your husband, on your children, if you have any; you -will feel it in the air; it will constrain, it will sway you, it will -rule your house, it will bring up your children.”</p> - -<p>“O no! never! never! I never could! I never will! If God should give me -a dear little child, I will not let it grow up in these hateful ways!”</p> - -<p>“Then, Emmy, there will be a constant, still, undefined, but real -friction of your life-power from the silent grating of your wishes and -feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span>ings on the cold, positive millstone of their opinion; it will be a -life-battle with a quiet, invisible, pervading spirit, who will never -show himself in fair fight, but who will be around you in the very air -you breathe, at your pillow when you lie down and when you rise. There -is so much in these friends of yours noble, wise, severely good,—their -aims are so high, their efficiency so great, their virtues so -many,—that they will act upon you with the force of a conscience, -subduing, drawing, insensibly constraining you into their moulds. They -have stronger wills, stronger natures than yours; and between the two -forces of your own nature and theirs you will be always oscillating, so -that you will never show what you can do, working either in your own way -or yet in theirs: your life will be a failure.”</p> - -<p>“O Chris, why do you discourage me?”</p> - -<p>“I am trying tonic treatment, Emily; I am showing you a real danger; I -am rousing you to flee from it. John is making money fast;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> there is no -reason why he should always remain buried in this town. Use your -influence as they do,—daily, hourly, constantly,—to predispose him to -take you to another sphere. Do not always shrink and yield; do not -conceal and assimilate and endeavor to persuade him and yourself that -you are happy; do not put the very best face to him on it all; do not -tolerate his relapses daily and hourly into his habitual, cold, -inexpressive manner; and don’t lay aside your own little impulsive, -out-spoken ways. Respect your own nature, and assert it; woo him, argue -with him; use all a woman’s weapons to keep him from falling back into -the old Castle Doubting where he lived till you let him out. Dispute -your mother’s hateful dogma, that love is to be taken for granted -without daily proof between lovers; cry down latent caloric in the -market; insist that the mere fact of being a wife is not enough,—that -the words spoken once, years ago, are not enough,—that love needs new<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> -leaves every summer of life, as much as your elm-trees, and new branches -to grow broader and wider, and new flowers at the root to cover the -ground.”</p> - -<p>“O, but I have heard that there is no surer way to lose love than to be -exacting, and that it never comes for a woman’s reproaches.”</p> - -<p>“All true as Gospel, Emmy. I am not speaking of reproaches, or of -unreasonable self-assertion, or of ill-temper,—you could not use any of -these forces, if you would, you poor little chick! I am speaking now of -the highest duty we owe our friends, the noblest, the most sacred,—that -of keeping their own nobleness, goodness, pure and incorrupt. -Thoughtless, instinctive, unreasoning love and self-sacrifice, such as -many women long to bestow on husband and children, soil and lower the -very objects of their love. <i>You</i> may grow saintly by self-sacrifice; -but do your husband and children grow saintly by accepting it without -return? I have seen a verse which says,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span>—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘They who kneel at woman’s shrine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Breathe on it as they bow.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Is not this true of all unreasoning love and self-devotion? If we <i>let</i> -our friend become cold and selfish and exacting without a remonstrance, -we are no true lover, no true friend. Any good man soon learns to -discriminate between the remonstrance that comes from a woman’s love to -his soul, her concern for his honor, her anxiety for his moral -development, and the pettish cry which comes from her own personal -wants. It will be your own fault, if, for lack of anything you can do, -your husband relapses into these cold, undemonstrative habits which have -robbed his life of so much beauty and enjoyment. These dead, barren ways -of living are as unchristian as they are disagreeable; and you, as a -good little Christian sworn to fight heroically under Christ’s banner, -must make headway against this sort of family Antichrist, though it -comes with a show of superior sanctity and self-sacrifice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> Remember, -dear, that the Master’s family had its outward tokens of love as well as -its inward life. The beloved leaned on His bosom; and the traitor could -not have had a sign for his treachery, had there not been a daily kiss -at meeting and parting with His children.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad you have said all this,” said Emily, “because now I feel -stronger for it. It does not now seem so selfish for me to want what it -is better for John to give. Yes, I must seek what will be best for him.”</p> - -<p>And so the little one, put on the track of self-sacrifice, began to see -her way clearer, as many little women of her sort do. Make them look on -self-assertion as one form of martyrdom, and they will come into it.</p> - -<p>But, for all my eloquence on this evening, the house was built in the -selfsame spot as projected; and the family life went on, under the -shadow of Judge Evans’s elms, much as if I had not spoken. Emmy became -mother of two fine, lovely boys, and waxed dimmer and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> fainter; while -with her physical decay came increasing need of the rule in the -household of mamma and sisters, who took her up energetically on eagles’ -wings, and kept her house, and managed her children: for what can be -done when a woman hovers half her time between life and death?</p> - -<p>At last I spoke out to John, that the climate and atmosphere were too -severe for her who had become so dear to him,—to them all; and then -they consented that the change much talked of and urged, but always -opposed by the parents, should be made.</p> - -<p>John bought a pretty cottage in our neighborhood, and brought his wife -and boys; and the effect of change of moral atmosphere verified all my -predictions. In a year we had our own blooming, joyous, impulsive little -Emily once more,—full of life, full of cheer, full of energy,—looking -to the ways of her household,—the merry companion of her growing -boys,—the blithe empress over her husband,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> who took to her genial sway -as in the old happy days of courtship. The nightmare was past, and John -was as joyous as any of us in his freedom. As Emmy said, he was turned -right side out for life; and we all admired the pattern. And that is the -end of my story.</p> - -<p>And now for the moral,—and that is, that life consists of two -parts,—<i>Expression</i> and <i>Repression</i>,—each of which has its solemn -duties. To love, joy, hope, faith, pity, belongs the duty of -<i>expression</i>: to anger, envy, malice, revenge, and all uncharitableness, -belongs the duty of <i>repression</i>.</p> - -<p>Some very religious and moral people err by applying <i>repression</i> to -both classes alike. They repress equally the expression of love and of -hatred, of pity and of anger. Such forget one great law, as true in the -moral world as in the physical,—that repression lessens and deadens. -Twice or thrice mowing will kill off the sturdiest crop of weeds; the -roots die for want of expression. A compress<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> on a limb will stop its -growing; the surgeon knows this, and puts a tight bandage around a -tumor; but what if we put a tight bandage about the heart and lungs, as -some young ladies of my acquaintance do,—or bandage the feet, as they -do in China? And what if we bandage a nobler inner faculty, and wrap -<i>love</i> in grave-clothes?</p> - -<p>But again there are others, and their number is legion,—perhaps you and -I, reader, may know something of it in ourselves,—who have an -instinctive habit of repression in regard to all that is noblest and -highest within them, which they do not feel in their lower and more -unworthy nature.</p> - -<p>It comes far easier to scold our friend in an angry moment than to say -how much we love, honor, and esteem him in a kindly mood. Wrath and -bitterness speak themselves and go with their own force; love is -shame-faced, looks shyly out of the window, lingers long at the -door-latch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> - -<p>How much freer utterance among many good Christians have anger, -contempt, and censoriousness, than tenderness and love! <i>I hate</i> is said -loud and with all our force. <i>I love</i> is said with a hesitating voice -and blushing cheek.</p> - -<p>In an angry mood we do an injury to a loving heart with good, strong, -free emphasis; but we stammer and hang back when our diviner nature -tells us to confess and ask pardon. Even when our heart is broken with -repentance, we haggle and linger long before we can</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Throw away the worser part of it.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>How many live a stingy and niggardly life in regard to their richest -inward treasures! They live with those they love dearly, whom a few more -words and deeds expressive of this love would make so much happier, -richer, and better; and they cannot, will not, turn the key and give it -out. People who in their very souls really do love, esteem, reverence, -almost worship each other, live a barren, chilly life<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> side by side, -busy, anxious, preoccupied, letting their love go by as a matter of -course, a last year’s growth, with no present buds and blossoms.</p> - -<p>Are there not sons and daughters who have parents living with them as -angels unawares,—husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, in whom the -material for a beautiful life lies locked away in unfruitful -silence,—who give time to everything but the cultivation and expression -of mutual love?</p> - -<p>The time is coming, they think, in some far future, when they shall find -leisure to enjoy each other, to stop and rest side by side, to discover -to each other these hidden treasures which lie idle and unused.</p> - -<p>Alas! time flies and death steals on, and we reiterate the complaint of -one in Scripture,—“It came to pass, while thy servant was busy hither -and thither, the man was gone.”</p> - -<p>The bitterest tears shed over graves are for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> words left unsaid and -deeds left undone. “She never knew how I loved her.” “He never knew what -he was to me.” “I always meant to make more of our friendship.” “I did -not know what he was to me till he was gone.” Such words are the -poisoned arrows which cruel Death shoots backward at us from the door of -the sepulchre.</p> - -<p>How much more we might make of our family life, of our friendships, if -every secret thought of love blossomed into a deed! We are not now -speaking merely of personal caresses. These may or may not be the best -language of affection. Many are endowed with a delicacy, a -fastidiousness of physical organization, which shrinks away from too -much of these, repelled and overpowered. But there are words and looks -and little observances, thoughtfulnesses, watchful little attentions, -which speak of love, which make it manifest, and there is scarce a -family that might not be richer in heart-wealth for more of them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span></p> - -<p>It is a mistake to suppose that relations must of course love each other -because they are relations. Love must be cultivated, and can be -increased by judicious culture, as wild fruits may double their bearing -under the hand of a gardener; and love can dwindle and die out by -neglect, as choice flower-seeds planted in poor soil dwindle and grow -single.</p> - -<p>Two causes in our Anglo-Saxon nature prevent this easy faculty and flow -of expression which strike one so pleasantly in the Italian or the -French life: the dread of flattery, and a constitutional shyness.</p> - -<p>“I perfectly longed to tell So-and-so how I admired her, the other day,” -says Miss X.</p> - -<p>“And why in the world didn’t you tell her?”</p> - -<p>“O, it would seem like flattery, you know.”</p> - -<p>Now what is flattery?</p> - -<p>Flattery is <i>insincere</i> praise given from interested motives, not the -sincere utterance to a friend of what we deem good and lovely in him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span></p> - -<p>And so, for fear of nattering, these dreadfully sincere people go on -side by side with those they love and admire, giving them all the time -the impression of utter indifference. Parents are so afraid of exciting -pride and vanity in their children by the expression of their love and -approbation, that a child sometimes goes sad and discouraged by their -side, and learns with surprise, in some chance way, that they are proud -and fond of him. There are times when the open expression of a father’s -love would be worth more than church or sermon to a boy; and his father -cannot utter it, will not show it.</p> - -<p>The other thing that represses the utterances of love is the -characteristic <i>shyness</i> of the Anglo-Saxon blood. Oddly enough, a race -born of two demonstrative, out-spoken, nations—the German and the -French—has an habitual reserve that is like neither. There is a -powerlessness of utterance in our blood that we should fight against, -and struggle outward<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> towards expression. We can educate ourselves to -it, if we know and feel the necessity; we can make it a Christian duty, -not only to love, but to be loving,—not only to be true friends, but to -<i>show</i> ourselves friendly. We can make ourselves say the kind things -that rise in our hearts and tremble back on our lips,—do the gentle and -helpful deeds which we long to do and shrink back from; and, little by -little, it will grow easier,—the love spoken will bring back the answer -of love,—the kind deed will bring back a kind deed in return,—till the -hearts in the family-circle, instead of being so many frozen, icy -islands, shall be full of warm airs and echoing bird-voices answering -back and forth with a constant melody of love.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV.<br /><br /> -PERSISTENCE.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>Y little foxes are interesting little beasts; and I only hope my reader -will not get tired of my charming menagerie before I have done showing -him their nice points. He must recollect there are seven of them, and as -yet we have shown up only three; so let him have patience.</p> - -<p>As before stated, little foxes are the little pet sins of us educated -good Christians, who hope that we are above and far out of sight of -stealing, lying, and those other gross evils against which we pray every -Sunday, when the Ten Commandments are read. They are not generally -considered of dignity enough to be fired at from the pulpit; they seem -to us too trifling to be remembered in church; they are like the red -spiders on plants,—too small for the per<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span>ception of the naked eye, and -only to be known by the shrivelling and dropping of leaf after leaf that -ought to be green and flourishing.</p> - -<p>I have another little fox in my eye, who is most active and most -mischievous in despoiling the vines of domestic happiness,—in fact, who -has been guilty of destroying more grapes than anybody knows of. His -name I find it difficult to give with exactness. In my enumeration I -called him <i>Self-Will</i>; another name for him—perhaps a better -one—might be <i>Persistence</i>.</p> - -<p>Like many another, this fault is the over-action of a most necessary and -praiseworthy quality. The power of firmness is given to man as the very -granite foundation of life. Without it, there would be nothing -accomplished; all human plans would be unstable as water on an inclined -plane. In every well-constituted nature there must be a power of -tenacity, a gift of perseverance of will; and that man might not be -without a foundation<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> for so needful a property, the Creator has laid it -in an animal faculty, which he possesses in common with the brutes.</p> - -<p>The animal power of firmness is a brute force, a matter of brain and -spinal cord, differing in different animals. The force by which a -bulldog holds on to an antagonist, the persistence with which a mule -will plant his four feet and set himself against blows and menaces, are -good examples of the pure animal phase of a property which exists in -human beings, and forms the foundation for that heroic endurance, for -that perseverance, which carries on all the great and noble enterprises -of life.</p> - -<p>The domestic fault we speak of is the wild, uncultured growth of this -faculty, the instinctive action of firmness uncontrolled by reason or -conscience,—in common parlance, the being “<i>set in one’s way</i>.” It is -the <i>animal</i> instinct of being “set in one’s way” which we mean by -self-will or persistence; and in domestic life it does the more mischief -from its working as an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> instinct unwatched by reason and unchallenged by -conscience.</p> - -<p>In that pretty new cottage which you see on yonder knoll are a pair of -young people just in the midst of that happy bustle which attends the -formation of a first home in prosperous circumstances, and with all the -means of making it charming and agreeable. Carpenters, upholsterers, and -artificers await their will; and there remains for them only the -pleasant task of arranging and determining where all their pretty and -agreeable things shall be placed. Our Hero and Leander are decidedly -nice people, who have been through all the proper stages of being in -love with each other for the requisite and suitable time. They have -written each other a letter every day for two years, beginning with “My -dearest,” and ending with “Your own,” etc.; they have sent each other -flowers and rings and locks of hair; they have worn each other’s -pictures on their hearts; they have spent hours and hours talking over<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> -all subjects under the sun, and are convinced that never was there such -sympathy of souls, such unanimity of opinion, such a just, reasonable, -perfect foundation for mutual esteem.</p> - -<p>Now it is quite true that people may have a perfect agreement and -sympathy in their higher intellectual nature,—may like the same books, -quote the same poetry, agree in the same principles, be united in the -same religion,—and nevertheless, when they come together in the -simplest affair of every-day business, may find themselves jarring and -impinging upon each other at every step, simply because there are to -each person, in respect of daily personal habits and personal likes and -dislikes, a thousand little individualities with which reason has -nothing to do, which are not subjects for the use of logic, and to which -they never think of applying the power of religion,—which can only be -set down as the positive ultimate facts of existence with two people.</p> - -<p>Suppose a blue-jay courts and wins and weds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> a Baltimore oriole. During -courtship there may have been delightful sympathetic conversation on the -charm of being free birds, the felicity of soaring in the blue summer -air. Mr. Jay may have been all humility and all ecstasy in comparing the -discordant screech of his own note with the warbling tenderness of Miss -Oriole. But, once united, the two commence business relations. He is -firmly convinced that a nest built among the reeds of a marsh is the -only reasonable nest for a bird; she is positive that she should die -there in a month of damp and rheumatism. She never heard of going to -housekeeping in anything but a nice little pendulous bag swinging down -from under the branches of a breezy elm; he is sure he should have water -on the brain before summer was over, from constant vertigo, in such -swaying, unsteady quarters,—he would be a sea-sick blue-jay on land, -and he cannot think of it. She knows now he don’t love her, or he never -would think of shutting her up in an old mouldy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> nest where she is sure -she shall have the chills; and <i>he</i> knows she doesn’t love him, or she -never would want to make him uncomfortable all his days by tilting and -swinging him about as no decent bird ought to be swung. Both are -dead-set in their own way and opinion; and how is either to be convinced -that the way which seemeth right unto the other is not best? Nature -knows this, and therefore, in her feathered tribes, blue-jays do not -mate with orioles; and so bird-housekeeping goes on in peace.</p> - -<p>But men and women as diverse in their physical tastes and habits as -blue-jays and orioles are wooing and wedding every day, and coming to -the business of nest-building, <i>alias</i> housekeeping, with predilections -as violent, and as incapable of any logical defence, as the oriole’s -partiality for a swing-nest and the jay’s preference of a nest among the -reeds.</p> - -<p>Our Hero and Leander, there, who are arranging their cottage to-day, are -examples just in point. They have both of them been only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> -children,—both the idols of circles where they have been universally -deferred to. Each in his or her own circle has been looked up to as a -model of good taste, and of course each has the habit of exercising and -indulging very distinct personal tastes. They truly, deeply esteem, -respect, and love each other, and for the very best of reasons,—because -there are sympathies of the very highest kind between them. Both are -generous and affectionate,—both are highly cultured in intellect and -taste,—both are earnestly religious; and yet, with all this, let me -tell you that the first year of their married life will be worthy to be -recorded as <i>a year of battles</i>. Yes, these friends so true, these -lovers so ardent, these individuals in themselves so admirable, cannot -come into the intimate relations of life without an effervescence as -great as that of an acid and alkali; and it will be impossible to decide -which is most in fault, the acid or the alkali, both being in their way -of the very best quality.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<p>The reason of it all is, that both are intensely “<i>set in their way</i>,” -and the ways of no two human beings are altogether coincident. Both of -them have the most sharply defined, exact tastes and preferences. In the -simplest matter both have <i>a way</i>,—an exact way,—which seems to be -dear to them as life’s blood. In the simplest appetite or taste they -know exactly what they want, and cannot, by any argument, persuasion, or -coaxing, be made to want anything else.</p> - -<p>For example, this morning dawns bright upon them, as she, in her tidy -morning wrapper and trimly laced boots, comes stepping over the bales -and boxes which are discharged on the verandah; while he, for joy of his -new acquisition, can hardly let her walk on her own pretty feet, and is -making every fond excuse to lift her over obstacles and carry her into -her new dwelling in triumph.</p> - -<p>Carpets are put down, the floors glow under the hands of obedient -workmen, and now the furniture is being wheeled in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Put the piano in the bow-window,” says the lady.</p> - -<p>“No, not in the bow-window,” says the gentleman.</p> - -<p>“Why, my dear, of course it must go in the bow-window. How awkward it -would look anywhere else! I have always seen pianos in bow-windows.”</p> - -<p>“My love, certainly you would not think of spoiling that beautiful -prospect from the bow-window by blocking it up with the piano. The -proper place is just here, in the corner of the room. Now try it.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, I think it looks dreadfully there; it spoils the appearance of -the room.”</p> - -<p>“Well, for my part, my love, I think the appearance of the room would be -spoiled, if you filled up the bow-window. Think what a lovely place that -would be to sit in!”</p> - -<p>“Just as if we couldn’t sit there behind the piano, if we wanted to!” -says the lady.</p> - -<p>“But then, how much more ample and airy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> the room looks as you open the -door, and see through the bow-window down that little glen, and that -distant peep of the village-spire!”</p> - -<p>“But I never could be reconciled to the piano standing in the corner in -that way,” says the lady. “<i>I insist</i> upon it, it ought to stand in the -bow-window: it’s the way mamma’s stands, and Aunt Jane’s, and Mrs. -Wilcox’s; everybody has their piano so.”</p> - -<p>“If it comes to <i>insisting</i>,” says the gentleman, “it strikes me that is -a game two can play at.”</p> - -<p>“Why, my dear, you know a lady’s parlor is her own ground.”</p> - -<p>“Not a married lady’s parlor, I imagine. I believe it is at least -equally her husband’s, as he expects to pass a good portion of his time -there.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t think you ought to insist on an arrangement that really is -disagreeable to me,” says the lady.</p> - -<p>“And I don’t think you ought to insist on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> an arrangement that is really -disagreeable to me,” says the gentleman.</p> - -<p>And now Hero’s cheeks flush, and the spirit burns within, as she says,—</p> - -<p>“Well, if you insist upon it I suppose it must be as you say; but I -shall never take any pleasure in playing on it”; and Hero sweeps from -the apartment, leaving the victor very unhappy in his conquest.</p> - -<p>He rushes after her, and finds her up-stairs sitting disconsolate and -weeping on a packing-box.</p> - -<p>“Now, Hero, how silly! Do have it your own way. I’ll give it up.”</p> - -<p>“No,—let it be as you say. I forgot that it was a wife’s duty to -submit.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, Hero! Do talk like a rational woman. Don’t let us quarrel -like children.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s so evident that I was in the right.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, I cannot concede that you were in the right; but I am willing -it should be as you say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Now I perfectly wonder, Leander, that you don’t see how awkward your -way is. It would make me nervous every time I came into the room, and it -would be so dark in that corner that I never could see the notes.”</p> - -<p>“And I wonder, Hero, that a woman of your taste don’t see how shutting -up that bow-window spoils the parlor. It’s the very prettiest feature of -the room.”</p> - -<p>And so round and round they go, stating and restating their arguments, -both getting more and more nervous and combative, both declaring -themselves perfectly ready to yield the point as an oppressive exaction, -but to do battle for their own opinion as right and reason,—the animal -instinct of self-will meanwhile rising and rising and growing stronger -and stronger on both sides. But meanwhile in the heat of argument some -side-issues and personal reflections fly out like splinters in the -shivering of lances. He tells her, in his heat, that her notions are -formed from deference to models<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> in fashionable life, and that she has -no idea of adaptation,—and she tells him that he is domineering, and -dictatorial, and wanting to have everything his own way; and in fine, -this battle is fought off and on through the day, with occasional -armistices of kisses and makings-up,—treacherous truces, which are all -broken up by the fatal words, “My dear, after all, you must admit <i>I</i> -was in the right,” which of course is the signal to fight the whole -battle over again.</p> - -<p>One such prolonged struggle is the parent of many lesser ones,—the -aforenamed splinters of injurious remark and accusation, which flew out -in the heat of argument, remaining and festering and giving rise to -nervous soreness; yet, where there is at the foundation real, genuine -love, and a good deal of it, the pleasure of making up so balances the -pain of the controversy that the two do not perceive exactly what they -are doing, nor suspect that so deep and wide a love as theirs can be -seriously affected by causes so insignificant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span></p> - -<p>But the cause of difficulty in both, the silent, unwatched, intense -power of self-will in trifles, is all the while precipitating them into -new encounters. For example, in a bright hour between the showers, Hero -arranges for her Leander a repast of peace and good-will, and compounds -for him a salad which is a <i>chef d’œuvre</i> among salads. Leander is also -bright and propitious; but after tasting the salad, he pushes it -silently away.</p> - -<p>“My dear, you don’t like your salad.”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear; I never eat anything with salad oil in it.”</p> - -<p>“Not eat salad oil! How absurd! I never heard of a salad without oil.” -And the lady looks disturbed.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear, as I tell you, I never take it. I prefer simple sugar and -vinegar.”</p> - -<p>“Sugar and vinegar! Why, Leander, I’m astonished! How very <i>bourgeois</i>! -You must really try to like my salad"—(spoken in a coaxing tone).<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear, I <i>never</i> try to like anything new, I am satisfied with my old -tastes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Leander, I must say that is very ungracious and disobliging of -you.”</p> - -<p>“Why any more than for you to annoy me by forcing on me what I don’t -like?”</p> - -<p>“But you would like it, if you would only try. People never like olives -till they have eaten three or four, and then they become passionately -fond of them.”</p> - -<p>“Then I think they are very silly to go through all that trouble, when -there are enough things that they do like.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Leander, I don’t think that seems amiable or pleasant at all. I -think we ought to try to accommodate ourselves to the tastes of our -friends.”</p> - -<p>“Then, my dear, suppose you try to like your salad with sugar and -vinegar.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s so <i>gauche</i> and unfashionable! Did you ever hear of a salad -made with sugar and vinegar on a table in good society?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“My mother’s table, I believe, was good society, and I learned to like -it there. The truth is, Hero, for a sensible woman, you are too fond of -mere fashionable and society notions.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you told me that last week, and I think it was very unjust,—<i>very -unjust, indeed</i>"—(uttered with emphasis).</p> - -<p>“No more unjust than your telling me that I was dictatorial and -obstinate.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, Leander, dear, you must confess that you are rather -obstinate.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see the proof.”</p> - -<p>“You insist on your own ways and opinions so, heaven and earth won’t -turn you.”</p> - -<p>“Do I insist on mine more than you on yours?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, you do.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> - -<p>Hero casts up her eyes and repeats with expression,—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“O, wad some power the giftie gie us<br /></span> -<span class="i1">To see oursels as others see us!”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p>“Precisely,” says Leander. “I would that prayer were answered in your -case, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“I think you take pleasure in provoking me,” says the lady.</p> - -<p>“My dear, how silly and childish all this is!” says the gentleman. “Why -can’t we let each other alone?”</p> - -<p>“You began it.”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear, begging your pardon, I did not.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, Leander, you did.”</p> - -<p>Now a conversation of this kind may go on hour after hour, as long as -the respective parties have breath and strength, both becoming secretly -more and more “set in their way.” On both sides is the consciousness -that they might end it at once by a very simple concession.</p> - -<p>She might say,—“Well, dear, you shall always have your salad as you -like”; and he might say,—“My dear, I will try to like your salad, if -you care much about it”; and if either<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> of them would utter one of these -sentences, the other would soon follow. Either would give up, if the -other would set the example; but as it is, they remind us of nothing so -much as two cows that we have seen standing with locked horns in a -meadow, who can neither advance nor recede an inch. It is a mere -deadlock of the animal instinct of firmness; reason, conscience, -religion, have nothing to do with it.</p> - -<p>The questions debated in this style by our young couple were -surprisingly numerous; as, for example, whether their favorite copy of -Turner should hang in the parlor or in the library,—whether their pet -little landscape should hang against the wall, or be placed on an -easel,—whether the bust of the Venus de Milos should stand on the -marble table in the hall, or on a bracket in the library; all of which -points were debated with a breadth of survey, a richness of imagery, a -vigor of discussion, that would be perfectly astonishing to any one who -did not know how much two very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> self-willed argumentative people might -find to say on any point under heaven. Everything in classical -antiquity,—everything in Kugler’s “Hand-Book of Painting,"—every -opinion of living artists,—besides questions social, moral, and -religious,—all mingled in the grand <i>mêlée</i>: because there is nothing -in creation that is not somehow connected with everything else.</p> - -<p>Dr. Johnson has said,—“There are a thousand familiar disputes which -reason never can decide; questions that elude investigation, and make -logic ridiculous; cases where something must be done, and where little -can be said.”</p> - -<p>With all deference to the great moralist, we must say that this -statement argues a very limited knowledge of the resources of talk -possessed by two very cultivated and very self-willed persons fairly -pitted against each other in practical questions; the logic may indeed -be ridiculous, but such people as our Hero and Leander find no cases -under the sun where something is to be done, yet where little can be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> -said. And these wretched wranglings, this interminable labyrinth of -petty disputes, waste and crumble away that high ideal of truth and -tenderness, which the real, deep sympathies and actual worth of their -characters entitled them to form. Their married life is not what they -expected; at times they are startled by the reflection that they have -somehow grown unlovely to each other; and yet, if Leander goes away to -pass a week, and thinks of his Hero in the distance, he can compare no -other woman to her; and the days seem long and the house empty to Hero -while he is gone, both wonder at themselves when they look over their -petty bickerings, but neither knows exactly how to catch the little fox -that spoils their vines.</p> - -<p>It is astonishing how much we think about ourselves, yet to how little -purpose,—how very clever people will talk and wonder about themselves -and each other, and yet go on year after year, not knowing how to use -either themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> or each other,—not having as much practical -philosophy in the matter of their own characters and that of their -friends as they have in respect of the screws of their gas-fixtures or -the management of their water-pipes.</p> - -<p>“But <i>I</i> won’t have any such scenes with <i>my</i> wife,” says Don Positivo. -“I won’t marry one of your clever women; they are always positive and -disagreeable. <i>I</i> look for a wife of a gentle and yielding nature, that -shall take her opinions from me, and accommodate her tastes to mine.” -And so Don Positivo goes and marries a pretty little pink-and-white -concern, so lisping and soft and delicate that he is quite sure she -cannot have a will of her own. She is the moon of his heavens, to shine -only by his reflected light.</p> - -<p>We would advise our gentlemen friends who wish to enjoy the felicity of -having their own way not to try the experiment with a pretty fool; for -the obstinacy of cleverness and reason is nothing to the obstinacy of -folly and inanity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span></p> - -<p>Let our friend once get in the seat opposite to him at table a pretty -creature who cries for the moon, and insists that he don’t love her -because he doesn’t get it for her; and in vain may he display his -superior knowledge of astronomy, and prove to her that the moon is not -to be got. She listens with her head on one side, and after he has -talked himself quite out of breath, repeats the very same sentence she -began the discussion with, without variation or addition.</p> - -<p>If she wants darling Johnny taken away from school, because cruel -teachers will not give up the rules of the institution for his pleasure, -in vain does Don Positivo, in the most select and superior English, -enlighten her on the necessity of habits of self-control and order for a -boy,—the impossibility that a teacher should make exceptions for their -particular darling,—the absolute, perishing need that the boy should -begin to do something. She hears him all through, and then says, “I -don’t know anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> about that. I know what I want; I want Johnny taken -away.” And so she weeps, sulks, storms, entreats, lies awake nights, has -long fits of sick-headache,—in short, shows that a pretty animal, -without reason or cultivation, can be, in her way, quite as formidable -an antagonist as the most clever of her sex.</p> - -<p>Leander can sometimes vanquish his Hero in fair fight by the weapons of -good logic, because she is a woman capable of appreciating reason, and -able to feel the force of the considerations he adduces; and when he -does vanquish and carry her captive by his bow and spear, he feels that -he has gained a victory over no ignoble antagonist, and he becomes a -hero in his own eyes. Though a woman of much will, still she is a woman -of much reason; and if he has many vexations with her pertinacity, he is -never without hope in her good sense; but alas for him whose wife has -only the animal instinct of firmness, without any development of the -judgment or reasoning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> faculties! The conflicts with a woman whom a man -respects and admires are often extremely trying; but the conflicts with -one whom he cannot help despising, become in the end simply disgusting.</p> - -<p>But the inquiry now arises, What shall be done with all the questions -Dr. Johnson speaks of, which reason cannot decide, which elude -investigation, and make logic ridiculous,—cases where something must be -done, and where little can be said?</p> - -<p>Read Mrs. Ellis’s “Wives of England,” and you have one solution of the -problem. The good women of England are there informed that there is to -be no discussion, that everything in the <i>ménage</i> is to follow the rule -of the lord, and that the wife has but one hope, namely, that grace may -be given him to know exactly what his own will is. “<i>L’état, c’est -moi</i>,” is the lesson which every English husband learns of Mrs. Ellis, -and we should judge from the pictures of English novels that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> -“awful right divine” is insisted on in detail in domestic life.</p> - -<p>Miss Edgeworth makes her magnificent General Clarendon talk about his -“commands” to his accomplished and elegant wife; and he rings the -parlor-bell with such an air, calls up and interrogates trembling -servants with such awful majesty, and lays about him generally in so -very military and tremendous a style, that we are not surprised that -poor little Cecilia is frightened into lying, being half out of her wits -in terror of so very martial a husband.</p> - -<p>During his hours of courtship he majestically informs her mother that he -never could consent to receive as <i>his</i> wife any woman who has had -another attachment; and so the poor puss, like a naughty girl, conceals -a little schoolgirl flirtation of bygone days, and thus gives rise to -most agonizing and tragic scenes with her terrible lord, who petrifies -her one morning by suddenly drawing the bed-curtains and flapping an old -love-letter in her eyes, asking,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> in tones of suppressed thunder, -“Cecilia, is this your writing?”</p> - -<p>The more modern female novelists of England give us representations of -their view of the right divine no less stringent. In a very popular -story, called “Agatha’s Husband,” the plot is as follows. A man marries -a beautiful girl with a large fortune. Before the marriage, he discovers -that his brother, who has been guardian of the estate, has fraudulently -squandered the property, so that it can only be retrieved by the -strictest economy. For the sake of getting her heroine into a situation -to illustrate her moral, the authoress now makes her hero give a solemn -promise not to divulge to his wife or to any human being the fraud by -which she suffers.</p> - -<p>The plot of the story then proceeds to show how very badly the young -wife behaves when her husband takes her to mean lodgings, deprives her -of wonted luxuries and comforts, and obstinately refuses to give any -kind of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> sensible reason for his conduct. Instead of looking up to him -with blind faith and unquestioning obedience, following his directions -without inquiry, and believing not only without evidence, but against -apparent evidence, that he is the soul of honor and wisdom, this -perverse Agatha murmurs, complains, thinks herself very ill-used, and -occasionally is even wicked enough, in a very mild way, to say -so,—whereat her husband looks like a martyr and suffers in silence; and -thus we are treated to a volume of mutual distresses, which are at last -ended by the truth coming out, the abused husband mounting the throne in -glory, and the penitent wife falling in the dust at his feet, and -confessing what a wretch she has been all along to doubt him.</p> - -<p>The authoress of “Jane Eyre” describes the process of courtship in much -the same terms as one would describe the breaking of a horse. Shirley is -contumacious and self-willed, and Moore, her lover and tutor, gives her -“<i>Le Cheval<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> dompté</i>” for a French lesson, as a gentle intimation of the -work he has in hand in paying her his addresses; and after long -struggling against his power, when at last she consents to his love, he -addresses her thus, under the figure of a very fierce leopardess:—</p> - -<p>“Tame or wild, fierce or subdued, you are <i>mine</i>.”</p> - -<p>And she responds:—</p> - -<p>“I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. Only his voice will I -follow, only his hand shall manage me, only at his feet will I repose.”</p> - -<p>The accomplished authoress of “Nathalie” represents the struggles of a -young girl engaged to a man far older than herself, extremely dark and -heroic, fond of behaving in a very unaccountable manner, and declaring, -nevertheless, in awful and mysterious tones, that he has such a passion -for being believed in, that, if any one of his friends, under the most -suspicious circumstances, admits <i>one doubt</i> of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> honor, all will be -over between them forever.</p> - -<p>After establishing his power over Nathalie fully, and amusing himself -quietly for a time with the contemplation of her perplexities and -anxieties, he at last unfolds to her the mysterious counsels of his will -by declaring to another of her lovers, in her presence, that he “has the -intention of asking this young lady to become his wife.” During the -engagement, however, he contrives to disturb her tranquillity by -insisting prematurely on the right divine of husbands, and, as she -proves fractious, announces to her, that, much as he loves her, he sees -no prospect of future happiness in their union, and that they had better -part.</p> - -<p>The rest of the story describes the struggles and anguish of the two, -who pass through a volume of distresses, he growing more cold, proud, -severe, and misanthropic than ever, all of which is supposed to be the -fault of naughty Miss Nathalie, who might have made a saint<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> of him, -could she only have found her highest pleasure in letting him have his -own way. Her conscience distresses her; it is all her fault; at last, -worn out in the strife, she resolves to be a good girl, goes to his -library, finds him alone, and, in spite of an insulting reception, -humbles herself at his feet, gives up all her naughty pride, begs to be -allowed to wait on him as a handmaid, and is rewarded by his graciously -announcing, that, since she will stay with him at all events, she <i>may</i> -stay as his wife; and the story leaves her in the last sentence sitting -in what we are informed is the only true place of happiness for a woman, -at her husband’s feet.</p> - -<p>This is the solution which the most cultivated women of England give of -the domestic problem.</p> - -<p>According to these fair interpreters of English ideas, the British lion -on his own domestic hearth, standing in awful majesty with his back to -the fire and his hands under his coat-tails,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> can be supposed to have no -such disreputable discussions as we have described; since his partner, -as Miss Bronté says, has learned to know her keeper, and her place at -his feet, and can conceive no happiness so great as hanging the picture -and setting the piano exactly as he likes.</p> - -<p>Of course this will be met with a general shriek of horror on the part -of our fair republican friends, and an equally general disclaimer on the -part of our American gentlemen, who, so far as we know, would be quite -embarrassed by the idea of assuming any such pronounced position at the -fireside.</p> - -<p>The genius of American institutions is not towards a <i>display</i> of -authority. All needed authority exists among us, but exists silently, -with as little external manifestation as possible.</p> - -<p>Our President is but a fellow-citizen, personally the equal of other -citizens. We obey him because we have chosen him, and because we find it -convenient, in regulating our affairs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> to have one final appeal and one -deciding voice.</p> - -<p>The position in which the Bible and the marriage service place the -husband in the family amounts to no more. He is the head of the family -in all that relates to its material interests, its legal relations, its -honor and standing in society; and no true woman who respects herself -would any more hesitate to promise to yield to him this position and the -deference it implies than an officer of state to yield to the President. -But because Mr. Lincoln is officially above Mr. Seward, it does not -follow that there can be nothing between them but absolute command on -the one part and prostrate submission on the other; neither does it -follow that the superior claims in all respects to regulate the affairs -and conduct of the inferior. There are still wide spheres of individual -freedom, as there are in the case of husband and wife; and no sensible -man but would feel himself ridiculous in entering another’s proper -sphere with the voice of authority.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<p>The inspired declaration, that “the husband is the head of the wife, -even as Christ is the head of the Church,” is certainly to be qualified -by the evident points of difference in the subjects spoken of. It -certainly does not mean that any man shall be invested with the rights -of omnipotence and omniscience, but simply that in the family state he -is the head and protector, even as in the Church is the Saviour. It is -merely the announcement of a great natural law of society which obtains -through all the tribes and races of men,—a great and obvious fact of -human existence.</p> - -<p>The silly and senseless reaction against this idea in some otherwise -sensible women is, I think, owing to the kind of extravagances and -overstatements to which we have alluded. It is as absurd to cavil at the -word <i>obey</i> in the marriage ceremony as for a military officer to set -himself against the etiquette of the army, or a man to refuse the -freeman’s oath.</p> - -<p>Two young men every way on a footing of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> equality and friendship may be -one of them a battalion-commander and the other a staff-officer. It -would be alike absurd for the one to take airs about not obeying a man -every way his equal, and for the other to assume airs of lordly -dictation out of the sphere of his military duties. The mooting of the -question of marital authority between two well-bred, well-educated -Christian people of the nineteenth century is no less absurd.</p> - -<p>While the husband has a certain power confided to him for the support -and maintenance of the family, and for the preservation of those -relations which involve its good name and well-being before the world, -he has no claim to an authoritative exertion of will in reference to the -little personal tastes and habits of the interior. He has no divine -right to require that everything shall be arranged to please him, at the -expense of his wife’s preferences and feelings, any more than if he were -not the head of the household. In a thousand indifferent matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> which -do not touch the credit and respectability of the family, he is just as -much bound sometimes to give up his own will and way for the comfort of -his wife as she is in certain other matters to submit to his decisions. -In a large number of cases the husband and wife stand as equal human -beings before God, and the indulgence of unchecked and inconsiderate -self-will on either side is a sin.</p> - -<p>It is my serious belief that writings such as we have been considering -do harm both to men and women, by insensibly inspiring in the one an -idea of a licensed prerogative of selfishness and self-will, and in the -other an irrational and indiscreet servility.</p> - -<p>Is it any benefit to a man to find in the wife of his bosom the -flatterer of his egotism, the acquiescent victim of his little selfish -exactions, to be nursed and petted and cajoled in all his faults and -fault-findings, and to see everybody falling prostrate before his will -in the domestic circle? Is this the true way to make him a manly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> -Christ-like man? It is my belief that many so-called good wives have -been accessory to making their husbands very bad Christians.</p> - -<p>However, then, the little questions of difference in every-day life are -to be disposed of between two individuals, it is in the worst possible -taste and policy to undertake to settle them by mere authority. All -romance, all poetry, all beauty are over forever with a couple between -whom the struggle of mere authority has begun. No, there is no way out -of difficulties of this description but by the application, on both -sides, of good sense and religion to the little differences of life.</p> - -<p>A little reflection will enable any person to detect in himself that -<i>setness in trifles</i> which is the result of the unwatched instinct of -self-will and to establish over himself a jealous guardianship.</p> - -<p>Every man and every woman, in their self-training and self-culture, -should study the art of <i>giving up in little things</i> with a good grace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> -The charm of polite society is formed by that sort of freedom and -facility in all the members of a circle which makes each one pliable to -the influences of the others, and sympathetic to slide into the moods -and tastes of others without a jar.</p> - -<p>In courteous and polished circles, there are no stiff railroad-tracks, -cutting straight through everything, and grating harsh thunders all -along their course, but smooth, meandering streams, tranquilly bending -hither and thither to every undulation of the flowery banks. What makes -the charm of polite society would make no less the charm of domestic -life; but it can come only by watchfulness and self-discipline in each -individual.</p> - -<p>Some people have much more to struggle with in this way than others. -Nature has made them precise and exact. They are punctilious in their -hours, rigid in their habits, pained by any deviation from regular rule.</p> - -<p>Now Nature is always perversely ordering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> that men and women of just -this disposition should become desperately enamored of their exact -opposites. The man of rules and formulas and hours has his heart carried -off by a gay, careless little chit, who never knows the day of the -month, tears up the newspaper, loses the door-key, and makes curl-papers -out of the last bill; or, <i>per contra</i>, our exact and precise little -woman, whose belongings are like the waxen cells of a bee, gives her -heart to some careless fellow, who enters her sanctum in muddy boots, -upsets all her little nice household divinities whenever he is going on -a hunting or fishing bout, and can see no manner of sense in the -discomposure she feels in the case.</p> - -<p>What can such couples do, if they do not adopt the compromise of reason -and sense,—if each arms his or her own peculiarities with the back -force of persistent self-will, and runs them over the territories of the -other?</p> - -<p>A sensible man and woman, finding them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span>selves thus placed, can govern -themselves by a just philosophy, and, instead of carrying on a -life-battle, can modify their own tastes and requirements, turn their -eyes from traits which do not suit them to those which do, resolving, at -all events, however reasonable be the taste or propensity which they -sacrifice, to give up all rather than have domestic strife.</p> - -<p>There is one form which persistency takes that is peculiarly trying: I -mean that persistency of opinion which deems it necessary to stop and -raise an argument in self-defence on the slightest personal criticism.</p> - -<p>John tells his wife that she is half an hour late with her breakfast -this morning, and she indignantly denies it.</p> - -<p>“But look at my watch!”</p> - -<p>“Your watch isn’t right.”</p> - -<p>“I set it by railroad time.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that was a week ago; that watch of yours always gains.”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear, you’re mistaken.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I’m not. Did I not hear you telling Mr. B—— about it?”</p> - -<p>“My dear, that was a year ago,—before I had it cleaned.”</p> - -<p>“How can you say so, John? It was only a month ago.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, you are mistaken.”</p> - -<p>And so the contest goes on, each striving for the last word.</p> - -<p>This love of the last word has made more bitterness in families and -spoiled more Christians than it is worth. A thousand little differences -of this kind would drop to the ground, if either party would let them -drop. Suppose John is mistaken in saying breakfast is late,—suppose -that fifty of the little criticisms which we make on one another are -well-or ill-founded, are they worth a discussion? Are they worth -ill-tempered words, such as are almost sure to grow out of a discussion? -Are they worth throwing away peace and love for? Are they worth the -destruction of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> only fair ideal left on earth,—a quiet, happy home? -Better let the most unjust statements pass in silence than risk one’s -temper in a discussion upon them.</p> - -<p>Discussions, assuming the form of warm arguments, are never pleasant -ingredients of domestic life, never safe recreations between near -friends. They are, generally speaking, mere unsuspected vents for -self-will, and the cases are few where they do anything more than to -make both parties more positive in their own way than they were before.</p> - -<p>A calm comparison of opposing views, a fair statement of reasons on -either side, may be valuable; but when warmth and heat and love of -victory and pride of opinion come in, good temper and good manners are -too apt to step out.</p> - -<p>And now Christopher, having come to the end of his subject, pauses for a -sentence to close with. There are a few lines of a poet that sum up so -beautifully all he has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> saying that he may be pardoned for closing -with them.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Alas! how light a cause may move<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Dissension between hearts that love;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Hearts that the world has vainly tried,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And sorrow but more closely tied;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">That stood the storm when waves were rough,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Yet in a sunny hour fall off,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Like ships that have gone down at sea<br /></span> -<span class="i1">When heaven was all tranquillity!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">A something light as air, a look,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">A word unkind, or wrongly taken,—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">O, love that tempests never shook,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">A breath, a touch like this hath shaken!<br /></span> -<span class="i1">For ruder words will soon rush in<br /></span> -<span class="i1">To spread the breach that words begin,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And eyes forget the gentle ray<br /></span> -<span class="i1">They wore in courtship’s smiling day,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And voices lose the tone which shed<br /></span> -<span class="i1">A tenderness round all they said,—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Till, fast declining, one by one,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The sweetnesses of love are gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And hearts so lately mingled seem<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Like broken clouds, or like the stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">That, smiling, left the mountain-brow<br /></span> -<span class="i1">As though its waters ne’er could sever,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Yet, ere it reach the plain below,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Breaks into floods that part forever.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V.<br /><br /> -INTOLERANCE.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“A</span>ND what are you going to preach about this month, Mr. Crowfield?”</p> - -<p>“I am going to give a sermon on <i>Intolerance</i>, Mrs. Crowfield.”</p> - -<p>“Religious intolerance?”</p> - -<p>“No,—domestic and family and educational intolerance,—one of the seven -deadly sins on which I am preaching,—one of ‘the foxes.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>  </p> - -<p><span class="smcap">People</span> are apt to talk as if all the intolerance in life were got up and -expended in the religious world; whereas religious intolerance is only a -small branch of the radical, strong, all-pervading intolerance of human -nature.</p> - -<p>Physicians are quite as intolerant as theologians. They never have had -the power of burning at the stake for medical opinions, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> they -certainly have shown the will. Politicians are intolerant. Philosophers -are intolerant, especially those who pique themselves on liberal -opinions. Painters and sculptors are intolerant. And housekeepers are -intolerant, virulently denunciatory concerning any departures from their -particular domestic creed.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Alexander Exact, seated at her domestic altar, gives homilies on -the degeneracy of modern housekeeping equal to the lamentations of Dr. -Holdfast as to the falling off from the good old faith.</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me about pillow-cases made without felling,” says Mrs. -Alexander; “it’s slovenly and shiftless. I wouldn’t have such a -pillow-case in my house any more than I’d have vermin.”</p> - -<p>“But,” says a trembling young housekeeper, conscious of unfelled -pillow-cases at home, “don’t you think, Mrs. Alexander, that some of -these old traditions might be dispensed with? It really is not necessary -to do all the work<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> that has been done so thoroughly and exactly,—to -double-stitch every wristband, fell every seam, count all the threads of -gathers, and take a stitch to every gather. It makes beautiful sewing, -to be sure; but when a woman has a family of little children and a small -income, if all her sewing is to be kept up in this perfect style, she -wears her life out in stitching. Had she not better slight a little, and -get air and exercise?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me about air and exercise! What did my grandmother do? Why, -she did all her own work, and made grandfather’s ruffled shirts besides, -with the finest stitching and gathers; and she found exercise enough, I -warrant you. Women of this day are miserable, sickly, degenerate -creatures.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Madam, look at poor Mrs. Evans, over the way, with her -pale face and her eight little ones.”</p> - -<p>“Miserable manager,” said Mrs. Alexander. “If she’d get up at five -o’clock the year round,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> as I do, she’d find time enough to do things -properly, and be the better for it.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Madam, Mrs. Evans is a very delicately organized, nervous -woman.”</p> - -<p>“Nervous! Don’t tell me! Every woman now-a-days is nervous. She can’t -get up in the morning, because she’s nervous. She can’t do her sewing -decently, because she’s nervous. Why, I might have been as nervous as -she is, if I’d have petted and coddled myself as she does. But I get up -early, take a walk in the fresh air of a mile or so before breakfast, -and come home feeling the better for it. I do all my own sewing,—never -put out a stitch; and I flatter myself my things are made as they ought -to be. I always make my boys’ shirts and Mr. Exact’s, and they are made -as shirts ought to be,—and yet I find plenty of time for calling, -shopping, business, and company. It only requires management and -resolution.”</p> - -<p>“It is perfectly wonderful, to be sure, Mrs. Exact, to see all that you -do; but don’t you get very tired sometimes?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No, not often. I remember, though, the week before last Christmas, I -made and baked eighteen pies and ten loaves of cake in one day, and I -was really quite worn out; but I didn’t give way to it. I told Mr. Exact -I thought it would rest me to take a drive into New York and attend the -Sanitary Fair; and so we did. I suppose Mrs. Evans would have thought -she must go to bed and coddle herself for a month.”</p> - -<p>“But, dear Mrs. Exact, when a woman is kept awake nights by crying -babies—”</p> - -<p>“There’s no need of having crying babies; my babies never cried; it’s -just as you begin with children. I might have had to be up and down -every hour of the night with mine, just as Mrs. Evans does; but I knew -better. I used to take ’em up about ten o’clock, and feed and make ’em -all comfortable; and that was the last of ’em, till I was ready to get -up in the morning. I never lost a night’s sleep with any of mine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Not when they were teething?”</p> - -<p>“No. I knew how to manage that. I used to lance their gums myself, and I -never had any trouble: it’s all in management. I weaned ’em all myself, -too: there’s no use in having any fuss in weaning children.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Exact, you are a wonderful manager; but it would be impossible to -bring up all babies so.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll never make me believe that: people only need to begin right. I’m -sure I’ve had a trial of eight.”</p> - -<p>“But there’s that one baby of Mrs. Evans’s makes more trouble than all -your eight. It cries every night so that somebody has to be up walking -with it; it wears out all the nurses, and keeps poor Mrs. Evans sick all -the time.”</p> - -<p>“Not the least need of it; nothing but shiftless management. Suppose I -had allowed my children to be walked with; I might have had terrible -times, too; but I began right. I set down my foot that they should lie -still, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> they did; and if they cried, I never lighted a candle, or -took ’em up, or took any kind of notice of it; and so, after a little, -they went off to sleep. Babies very soon find out where they can take -advantage, and where they can’t. It’s nothing but temper makes babies -cry; and if I couldn’t hush ’em any other way, I should give ’em a few -good smart slaps, and they would soon learn to behave themselves.”</p> - -<p>“But, dear Mrs. Exact, you were a strong, healthy woman, and had strong, -healthy children.”</p> - -<p>“Well, isn’t that baby of Mrs. Evans’s healthy, I want to know? I’m sure -it is a great creature, and thrives and grows fat as fast as ever I saw -a child. You needn’t tell me anything is the matter with that child but -temper and its mother’s coddling management.”</p> - -<p>Now, in the neighborhood where she lives, Mrs. Alexander Exact is the -wonderful woman, the Lady Bountiful, the pattern female. Her cake never -rises on one side, or has a heavy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span> streak in it. Her furs never get a -moth in them; her carpets never fade; her sweetmeats never ferment; her -servants never neglect their work; her children never get things out of -order; her babies never cry, never keep one awake o’ nights; and her -husband never in his life said, “My dear, there’s a button off my -shirt.” Flies never infest her kitchen, cockroaches and red ants never -invade her premises, a spider never had time to spin a web on one of her -walls. Everything in her establishment is shining with neatness, crisp -and bristling with absolute perfection,—and it is she, the -ever-up-and-dressed, unsleeping, wide-awake, omnipresent, never-tiring -Mrs. Exact, that does it all.</p> - -<p>Besides keeping her household ways thus immaculate, Mrs. Exact is on all -sorts of charitable committees, does all sorts of fancy-work for fairs; -and whatever she does is done perfectly. She is a most available, most -helpful, most benevolent woman, and general society has reason to -rejoice in her existence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span></p> - -<p>But, for all this, Mrs. Exact is as intolerant as Torquemada or a -locomotive-engine. She has her own track, straight and inevitable; her -judgments and opinions cut through society in right lines, with all the -force of her example and all the steam of her energy, turning out -neither for the old nor the young, the weak nor the weary. She cannot, -and she will not, conceive the possibility that there may be other sorts -of natures than her own, and that other kinds of natures must have other -ways of living and doing.</p> - -<p>Good and useful as she is, she is terrible as an army with banners to -her poor, harassed, delicate, struggling neighbor across the way, who, -in addition to an aching, confused head, an aching back, sleepless, -harassed nights, and weary, sinking days, is burdened everywhere and -every hour with the thought that Mrs. Exact thinks all her troubles are -nothing but poor management, and that she might do just like her, if she -would. With very little self-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span>confidence or self-assertion, she is -withered and paralyzed by this discouraging thought. <i>Is</i> it, then, her -fault that this never-sleeping baby cries all night, and that all her -children never could and never would be brought up by those exact rules -which she hears of as so efficacious in the household over the way? The -thought of Mrs. Alexander Exact stands over her like a constable; the -remembrance of her is grievous; the burden of her opinion is heavier -than all her other burdens.</p> - -<p>Now the fact is, that Mrs. Exact comes of a long-lived, strong-backed, -strong-stomached race, with “limbs of British oak and nerves of wire.” -The shadow of a sensation of nervous pain or uneasiness never has been -known in her family for generations, and her judgments of poor little -Mrs. Evans are about as intelligent as those of a good stout Shanghai -hen on a humming-bird. Most useful and comfortable, these Shanghai -hens,—and very ornamental, and in a small way useful, these -hum<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span>ming-birds; but let them not regulate each other’s diet, or lay down -schemes for each other’s housekeeping. Has not one as much right to its -nature as the other?</p> - -<p>This intolerance of other people’s natures is one of the greatest causes -of domestic unhappiness. The perfect householders are they who make -their household rule so flexible that all sorts of differing natures may -find room to grow and expand and express themselves without infringing -upon others.</p> - -<p>Some women are endowed with a tact for understanding human nature and -guiding it. They give a sense of largeness and freedom; they find a -place for every one, see at once what every one is good for, and are -inspired by Nature with the happy wisdom of not wishing or asking of any -human being more than that human being was made to give. They have the -portion in due season for all: a bone for the dog; catnip for the cat; -cuttle-fish and hempseed for the bird; a book or review for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> their -bashful literary visitor; lively gossip for thoughtless Miss Seventeen; -knitting for Grandmamma; fishing-rods, boats, and gunpowder, for Young -Restless, whose beard is just beginning to grow;—and they never fall -into pets, because the canary-bird won’t relish the dog’s bone, or the -dog eat canary-seed, or young Miss Seventeen read old Mr. Sixty’s -review, or young Master Restless take delight in knitting-work, or old -Grandmamma feel complacency in guns and gunpowder.</p> - -<p>Again, there are others who lay the foundations of family life so -narrow, straight, and strict, that there is room in them only for -themselves and people exactly like themselves; and hence comes much -misery.</p> - -<p>A man and woman come together out of different families and races, often -united by only one or two sympathies, with many differences. Their first -wisdom would be to find out each other’s nature, and accommodate to it -as a fixed fact; instead of which, how many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span> spend their lives in a -blind fight with an opposite nature, as good as their own in its way, -but not capable of meeting their requirements!</p> - -<p>A woman trained in an exact, thriving, business family, where her father -and brothers bore everything along with true worldly skill and energy, -falls in love with a literary man, who knows nothing of affairs, whose -life is in his library and his pen. Shall she vex and torment herself -and him because he is not a business man? Shall she constantly hold up -to him the example of her father and brothers, and how they would manage -in this and that case? or shall she say cheerily and once for all to -herself,—“My husband has no talent for business; that is not his forte; -but then he has talents far more interesting: I cannot have everything; -let him go on undisturbed, and do what he can do well, and let me try to -make up for what he cannot do; and if there be disabilities come on us -in consequence of what we neither of us can do, let us both take them -cheerfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span>”?</p> - -<p>In the same manner a man takes out of the bosom of an adoring family one -of those delicate, petted singing-birds that seem to be created simply -to adorn life and make it charming. Is it fair, after he has got her, to -compare her housekeeping, and her efficiency and capability in the -material part of life, with those of his mother and sisters, who are -strong-limbed, practical women, that have never thought about anything -but housekeeping from their cradle? Shall he all the while vex himself -and her with the remembrance of how his mother used to get up at five -o’clock and arrange all the business of the day,—how she kept all the -accounts,—how she saw to everything and settled everything,—how there -never were breakdowns or irregularities in her system?</p> - -<p>This would be unfair. If a man wanted such a housekeeper, why did he not -get one? There were plenty of single women, who understood washing, -ironing, clear-starching, cooking, and general housekeeping, better than -the little <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span>canary-bird which he fell in love with, and wanted for her -plumage and her song, for her merry tricks, for her bright eyes and -pretty ways. Now he has got his bird, let him keep it as something fine -and precious, to be cared for and watched over, and treated according to -the laws of its frail and delicate nature; and so treating it, he may -many years keep the charms which first won his heart. He may find, too, -if he watches and is careful, that a humming-bird can, in its own small, -dainty way, build a nest as efficiently as a turkey-gobbler, and hatch -her eggs and bring up her young in humming-bird fashion; but to do it, -she must be left unfrightened and undisturbed.</p> - -<p>But the evils of domestic intolerance increase with the birth of -children. As parents come together out of different families with -ill-assorted peculiarities, so children are born to them with natures -differing from their own and from each other.</p> - -<p>The parents seize on their first new child as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> a piece of special -property which they are forthwith to turn to their own account. The poor -little waif, just drifted on the shores of Time, has perhaps folded up -in it a character as positive as that of either parent; but, for all -that, its future course is marked out for it, all arranged and -predetermined.</p> - -<p>John has a perfect mania for literary distinction. His own education was -somewhat imperfect, but he is determined his children shall be -prodigies. His first-born turns out a girl, who is to write like Madame -de Staël,—to be an able, accomplished woman. He bores her with -literature from her earliest years, reads extracts from Milton to her -when she is only eight years old, and is secretly longing to be playing -with her doll’s wardrobe. He multiplies governesses, spares no expense, -and when, after all, his daughter turns out to be only a very pretty, -sensible, domestic girl, fond of cross-stitching embroidery, and with a -more decided vocation for sponge-cake and pickles than for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> poetry and -composition, he is disappointed and treats her coldly; and she is -unhappy and feels that she has vexed her parents, because she cannot be -what Nature never meant her to be. If John had taken meekly the present -that Mother Nature gave him, and humbly set himself to inquire what it -was and what it was good for, he might have had years of happiness with -a modest, amiable, and domestic daughter, to whom had been given the -instinct to study household good.</p> - -<p>But, again, a bustling, pickling, preserving, stocking-knitting, -universal-housekeeping woman has a daughter who dreams over her -knitting-work and hides a book under her sampler,—whose thoughts are -straying in Greece, Rome, Germany,—who is reading, studying, thinking, -writing, without knowing why; and the mother sets herself to fight this -nature, and to make the dreamy scholar into a driving, thorough-going, -exact woman-of-business. How many tears are shed, how much temper -wasted, how much time lost, in such encounters!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span></p> - -<p>Each of these natures, under judicious training, might be made to -complete itself by cultivation of that which it lacked. The born -housekeeper can never be made a genius, but she may add to her household -virtues some reasonable share of literary culture and appreciation,—and -the born scholar may learn to come down out of her clouds, and see -enough of this earth to walk its practical ways without stumbling; but -this must be done by tolerance of their nature,—by giving it play and -room,—first recognizing its existence and its rights, and then seeking -to add to it the properties it wants.</p> - -<p>A clever Yankee housekeeper, fruitful of resources, can work with any -tools or with no tools at all. If she absolutely cannot get a -tack-hammer with a claw on one end, she can take up carpet-nails with an -iron spoon, and drive them down with a flat-iron; and she has sense -enough not to scold, though she does her work with them at considerable -disadvantage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> She knows that she is working with tools made for another -purpose, and never thinks of being angry at their unhandiness. She might -have equal patience with a daughter unhandy in physical things, but -acute and skilful in mental ones, if she once had the idea suggested to -her.</p> - -<p>An ambitious man has a son whom he destines to a learned profession. He -is to be the Daniel Webster of the family. The boy has a robust, -muscular frame, great physical vigor and enterprise, a brain bright and -active in all that may be acquired through the bodily senses, but which -is dull and confused and wandering when put to abstract book-knowledge. -He knows every ship at the wharf, her build, tonnage, and sailing -qualities; he knows every railroad-engine, its power, speed, and hours -of coming and going; he is always busy, sawing, hammering, planing, -digging, driving, making bargains, with his head full of plans, all -relating to something outward and physical. In all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> these matters his -mind works strongly, his ideas are clear, his observation acute, his -conversation sensible and worth listening to. But as to the distinction -between common nouns and proper nouns, between the subject and the -predicate of a sentence, between the relative pronoun and the -demonstrative adjective pronoun, between the perfect and the -preter-perfect tense, he is extremely dull and hazy. The region of -abstract ideas is to him a region of ghosts and shadows. Yet his youth -is mainly a dreary wilderness of uncomprehended, incomprehensible -studies, of privations, tasks, punishments, with a sense of continual -failure, disappointment, and disgrace, because his father is trying to -make a scholar and a literary man out of a boy whom Nature made to till -the soil or manage the material forces of the world. He might be a -farmer, an engineer, a pioneer of a new settlement, a sailor, a soldier, -a thriving man of business; but he grows up feeling that his nature is a -crime, and that he is good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> for nothing, because he is not good for what -he had been blindly predestined to before he was born.</p> - -<p>Another boy is a born mechanic; he understands machinery at a glance; he -is all the while pondering and studying and experimenting. But his -wheels and his axles and his pulleys are all swept away, as so much -irrelevant lumber; he is doomed to go into the Latin School, and spend -three or four years in trying to learn what he never can learn -well,—disheartened by always being at the tail of his class, and seeing -many a boy inferior to himself in general culture who is rising to -brilliant distinction simply because he can remember those hopeless, -bewildering Greek quantities and accents which he is constantly -forgetting,—as, for example, how properispomena become paroxytones when -the ultimate becomes long, and proparoxytones become paroxytones when -the ultimate becomes long, while paroxytones with a short penult remain -paroxytones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> Each of this class of rules, however, having about sixteen -exceptions, which hold good except in three or four other exceptional -cases under them, the labyrinth becomes delightfully wilder and wilder; -and the crowning beauty of the whole is, that, when the bewildered boy -has swallowed the whole,—tail, scales, fins, and bones,—he then is -allowed to read the classics in peace, without the slightest occasion to -refer to them again during his college course.</p> - -<p>The great trouble with the so-called classical course of education is, -that it is made strictly for but one class of minds, which it drills in -respects for which they have by nature an aptitude, and to which it -presents scarcely enough of difficulty to make it a mental discipline, -while to another and equally valuable class of minds it presents -difficulties so great as actually to crush and discourage. There are, we -will venture to say, in every ten boys in Boston, four, and those not -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> dullest or poorest in quality, who could never go through the -discipline of the Boston Latin School without such a strain on the brain -and nervous system as would leave them no power for anything else.</p> - -<p>A bright, intelligent boy, whose talents lay in the line of natural -philosophy and mechanics, passed with brilliant success through the -Boston English High School. He won the first medals, and felt all that -pride and enthusiasm which belong to a successful student. He entered -the Latin Classical School as the next step on his way to a collegiate -education. With a large philosophic and reasoning brain, he had a very -poor verbal and textual memory; and here he began to see himself -distanced by boys who had hitherto looked up to him. They could rattle -off catalogues of names; they could do so all the better from the habit -of not thinking of what they studied. They could commit the Latin -Grammar, coarse print and fine, and run through the interminable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> mazes -of Greek accents and Greek inflections. This boy of large mind and brain -found himself always behindhand, and became, in time, utterly -discouraged; no amount of study could place him on an equality with his -former inferiors. His health failed, and he dropped from school. Many a -fine fellow has been lost to himself, and lost to an educated life, by -just such a failure. The collegiate system is like a great coal-screen: -every piece not of a certain size must fall through. This may do well -enough for screening coal; but what if it were used indiscriminately for -a mixture of coal and diamonds?</p> - -<p>“Poor boy!” said Ole Bull, compassionately, when one sought to push a -schoolboy from the steps of an omnibus, where he was getting a -surreptitious ride. “Poor boy! let him stay. Who knows his trials? -Perhaps he studies Latin.”</p> - -<p>The witty Heinrich Heine says, in bitter remembrance of his early -sufferings,—“The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> Romans would never have conquered the world, if they -had had to learn their own language. They had leisure, because they were -born with the knowledge of what nouns form their accusatives in <i>im</i>.”</p> - -<p>Now we are not among those who decry the Greek and Latin classics. We -think it a glorious privilege to read both those grand old tongues, and -that an intelligent, cultivated man who is shut out from the converse of -the splendid minds of those olden times loses a part of his birthright; -and therefore it is that we mourn that but one dry, hard, technical -path, one sharp, straight, narrow way, is allowed into so goodly a land -of knowledge. We think there is no need that the study of Greek and -Latin should be made such a horror. There is many a man without a verbal -memory, who could neither recite in order the paradigms of the Greek -verbs, nor repeat the lists of nouns that form their accusative in one -termination or another, who, nevertheless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> by the exercise of his -faculties of comparison and reasoning, could learn to read the Greek and -Latin classics so as to take their sense and enjoy their spirit; and -that is all that is worth caring for. We have known one young scholar, -who could not by any possibility repeat the lists of exceptions to the -rules in the Latin Grammar, who yet delightedly filled his private -note-book with quotations from the “Æneid,” and was making extracts of -literary gems from his Greek Reader, at the same time that he was every -day “screwed” by his tutor upon some technical point of the language.</p> - -<p>Is there not many a master of English, many a writer and orator, who -could not repeat from memory the list of nouns ending in <i>y</i> that form -their plural in <i>ies</i>, with the exceptions under it? How many of us -could do this? Would it help a good writer and fluent speaker to know -the whole of Murray’s Grammar by heart, or does real knowledge of a -language ever come in this way?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span></p> - -<p>At present the rich stores of ancient literature are kept like the -savory stew which poor Dominie Sampson heard simmering in the witch’s -kettle. One may have much appetite, but there is but one way of getting -it. The Meg Merrilies of our educational system, with her harsh voice, -and her “Gape, sinner, and swallow,” is the only introduction,—and so, -many a one turns and runs frightened from the feast.</p> - -<p>This intolerant mode of teaching the classical languages is peculiar to -them alone. Multitudes of girls and boys are learning to read and to -speak German, French, and Italian, and to feel all the delights of -expatiating in the literature of a new language, purely because of a -simpler, more natural, less pedantic mode of teaching these languages.</p> - -<p>Intolerance in the established system of education works misery in -families, because family pride decrees that every boy of good status in -society, will he, nill he, shall go through col<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span>lege, or he almost -forfeits his position as a gentleman.</p> - -<p>“Not go to Cambridge!” says Scholasticus to his first-born. “Why, I went -there,—and my father, and his father, and his father before him. Look -at the Cambridge Catalogue and you will see the names of our family ever -since the College was founded!”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t learn Latin and Greek,” says young Scholasticus. “I can’t -remember all those rules and exceptions. I’ve tried, and I can’t. If you -could only know how my head feels when I try! And I won’t be at the foot -of the class all the time, if I have to get my living by digging.”</p> - -<p>Suppose, now, the boy is pushed on at the point of the bayonet to a kind -of knowledge in which he has no interest, communicated in a way that -requires faculties which Nature has not given him,—what occurs?</p> - -<p>He goes through his course, either shamming, <i>shirking</i>, <i>ponying</i>, all -the while consciously dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span>credited and dishonored,—or else, putting -forth an effort that is a draft on all his nervous energy, he makes -merely a decent scholar, and loses his health for life.</p> - -<p>Now, if the principle of toleration were once admitted into classical -education,—if it were admitted that the great object is to read and -enjoy a language, and the stress of the teaching were placed on the few -things absolutely essential to this result,—if the tortoise were -allowed time to creep, and the bird permitted to fly, and the fish to -swim, towards the enchanted and divine sources of Helicon,—all might in -their own way arrive there, and rejoice in its flowers, its beauty, and -its coolness.</p> - -<p>“But,” say the advocates of the present system, “it is good mental -discipline.”</p> - -<p>I doubt it. It is mere waste of time.</p> - -<p>When a boy has learned that in the genitive plural of the first -declension of Greek nouns the final syllable is circumflexed, but to -this there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> are the following exceptions: 1. That feminine adjectives -and participles in-ος,-η,-ον are accented like the genitive masculine, -but other feminine adjectives and participles are perispomena in the -genitive plural; 2. That the substantives <i>chrestes</i>, <i>aphue</i>, -<i>etesiai</i>, and <i>chlounes</i> in the genitive plural remain paroxytones, -(Kühner’s <i>Elementary Greek Grammar</i>, page 22,)—I say, when a boy has -learned this and twenty other things just like it, his mind has not been -one whit more disciplined than if he had learned the list of the old -thirteen States, the number and names of the newly adopted ones, the -times of their adoption, and the population, commerce, mineral and -agricultural wealth of each. These, too, are merely exercises of memory, -but they are exercises in what is of some interest and some use.</p> - -<p>The particulars above cited are of so little use in understanding the -Greek classics that I will venture to say that there are intelligent -English scholars, who have never read <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span>anything but Bohn’s translations, -who have more genuine knowledge of the spirit of the Greek mind, and the -peculiar idioms of the language, and more enthusiasm for it, than many a -poor fellow who has stumbled blindly through the originals with the -bayonet of the tutor at his heels, and his eyes and ears full of the -Scotch snuff of the Greek Grammar.</p> - -<p>What then? Shall we not learn these ancient tongues? By all means. “So -many times as I learn a language, so many times I become a man,” said -Charles V.; and he said rightly. Latin and Greek are foully belied by -the prejudices created by this technical, pedantic mode of teaching -them, which makes one ragged, prickly bundle of all the dry facts of the -language, and insists upon it that the boy shall not see one glimpse of -its beauty, glory, or interest, till he has swallowed and digested the -whole mass. Many die in this wilderness with their shoes worn out before -reaching the Promised Land of Plato and the Tragedians.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span></p> - -<p>“But,” say our college authorities, “look at England. An English -schoolboy learns three times the Latin and Greek that our boys learn, -and has them well drubbed in.”</p> - -<p>And English boys have three times more beef and pudding in their -constitution than American boys have, and three times less of nerves. -The difference of nature must be considered here; and the constant -influence flowing from English schools and universities must be tempered -by considering who we are, what sort of boys we have to deal with, what -treatment they can bear, and what are the needs of our growing American -society.</p> - -<p>The demands of actual life, the living, visible facts of practical -science, in so large and new a country as ours, require that the ideas -of the ancients should be given us in the shortest and most economical -way possible, and that scholastic technicalities should be reserved to -those whom Nature made with especial reference to their preservation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span></p> - -<p>On no subject is there more intolerant judgment, and more suffering from -such intolerance, than on the much mooted one of the education of -children.</p> - -<p>Treatises on education require altogether too much of parents, and -impose burdens of responsibility on tender spirits which crush the life -and strength out of them. Parents have been talked to as if each child -came to them a soft, pulpy mass, which they were to pinch and pull and -pat and stroke into shape quite at their leisure,—and a good pattern -being placed before them, they were to proceed immediately to set up and -construct a good human being in conformity therewith.</p> - -<p>It is strange that believers in the divine inspiration of the Bible -should have entertained this idea, overlooking the constant and -affecting declaration of the great Heavenly Father that <i>He</i> has -nourished and brought up children and they have rebelled against Him, -together with His constant appeals,—“What could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> have been done more to -my vineyard that I have not done in it? Wherefore, when I looked that it -should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?” If even God, -wiser, better, purer, more loving, admits Himself baffled in this great -work, is it expedient to say to human beings that the forming power, the -deciding force, of a child’s character is in their hands?</p> - -<p>Many a poor feeble woman’s health has been strained to breaking, and her -life darkened, by the laying on her shoulders of a burden of -responsibility that never ought to have been placed there; and many a -mother has been hindered from using such powers as God has given her, -because some preconceived mode of operation has been set up before her -which she could no more make effectual than David could wear the armor -of Saul.</p> - -<p>A gentle, loving, fragile creature marries a strong-willed, energetic -man, and by the laws of natural descent has a boy given to her of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> twice -her amount of will and energy. She is just as helpless, in the mere -struggle of will and authority with such a child, as she would be in a -physical wrestle with a six-foot man.</p> - -<p>What then? Has Nature left her helpless for her duties? Not if she -understands her nature, and acts in the line of it. She has no power of -command, but she has power of persuasion. She can neither bend nor break -the boy’s iron will, but she can melt it. She has tact to avoid the -conflict in which she would be worsted. She can charm, amuse, please, -and make willing; and her fine and subtile influences, weaving -themselves about him day after day, become more and more powerful. Let -her alone, and she will have her boy yet.</p> - -<p>But now some bustling mother-in-law or other privileged expounder says -to her,—</p> - -<p>“My dear, it’s your solemn duty to break that boy’s will. I broke my -boy’s will short off. Keep your whip in sight, meet him at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> every turn, -fight him whenever he crosses you, never let him get one victory, and -finally his will will be wholly subdued.”</p> - -<p>Such advice is mischievous, because what it proposes is as utter an -impossibility to the woman’s nature as for a cow to scratch up worms for -her calf, or a hen to suckle her chickens.</p> - -<p>There are men and women of strong, resolute will who are gifted with the -power of governing the wills of others. Such persons can govern in this -way,—and their government, being in the line of their nature, acting -strongly, consistently, naturally, makes everything move harmoniously. -Let them be content with their own success, but let them not set up as -general education-doctors, or apply their experience to all possible -cases.</p> - -<p>Again, there are others, and among them some of the loveliest and purest -natures, who have no power of command. They have sufficient tenacity of -will as respects their own course, but have no compulsory power over -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> wills of others. Many such women have been most successful mothers, -when they followed the line of their own natures, and did not undertake -what they never could do.</p> - -<p><i>Influence</i> is a slower acting force than authority. It seems weaker, -but in the long run it often effects more. It always does better than -mere force and authority without its gentle modifying power.</p> - -<p>She who obtains an absolute and perfect government over a child, so that -he obeys, certainly and almost mechanically produces effects which are -more appreciable in their immediate action on family life; her family -will be more orderly, her children in their childhood will do her more -credit.</p> - -<p>But she who has consciously no power of this kind, whose children are -often turbulent and unmanageable, need not despair if she feel that -through affection, reason, and conscience, she still retains a strong -<i>influence</i> over them. If she cannot govern her boy, she can<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> do even a -better thing if she can inspire him with a purpose to <i>govern himself</i>; -for a boy taught to govern himself is a better achievement than a boy -merely governed.</p> - -<p>If a mother, therefore, is high-principled, religious, affectionate, if -she never uses craft or deception, if she governs her temper and sets a -good example, let her hold on in good hope, though she cannot produce -the discipline of a man-of-war in her noisy little flock, or make all -move as smoothly as some other women to whom God has given another and -different talent; and let her not be discouraged, if she seem often to -accomplish but little in that arduous work of forming human character -wherein the great Creator of the world has declared Himself at times -baffled.</p> - -<p>Family tolerance must take great account of the stages and periods of -development and growth in children.</p> - -<p>The passage of a human being from one stage of development to another, -like the sun’s pas<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span>sage across the equator, frequently has its storms -and tempests. The change to manhood and womanhood often involves brain, -nerves, body, and soul in confusion; the child sometimes seems lost to -himself and his parents,—his very nature changing. In this sensitive -state come restless desires, unreasonable longings, unsettled purposes; -and the fatal habit of indulgence in deadly stimulants, ruining all the -life, often springs from the cravings of this transition period.</p> - -<p>Here must come in the patience of the saints. The restlessness must be -soothed, the family hearth must be tolerant enough to keep there the -boy, whom Satan will receive and cherish, if his mother does not. The -male element sometimes pours into a boy, like the tides in the Bay of -Fundy, with tumult and tossing. He is noisy, vociferous, uproarious, and -seems bent only on disturbance; he despises conventionalities, he hates -parlors, he longs for the woods, the sea, the converse of rough men,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> -and kicks at constraint of all kinds. Have patience now, let love have -its perfect work, and in a year or two, if no deadly physical habits set -in, a quiet, well-mannered gentleman will be evolved. Meanwhile, if he -does not wipe his shoes, and if he will fling his hat upon the floor, -and tear his clothes, and bang and hammer and shout, and cause general -confusion in his belongings, do not despair; for if you only get your -son, the hat and clothes and shoes and noise and confusion do not -matter. Any amount of toleration that keeps a boy contented at home is -treasure well expended at this time of life.</p> - -<p>One thing not enough reflected on is, that in this transition period -between childhood and maturity the heaviest draft and strain of school -education occurs. The boy is fitting for the university, the girl going -through the studies of the college senior year, and the brain-power, -which is working almost to the breaking-point to perfect the physical -change, has the addi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span>tional labor of all the drill and discipline of -school.</p> - -<p>The girl is growing into a tall and shapely woman, and the poor brain is -put to it to find enough phosphate of lime, carbon, and other what not, -to build her fair edifice. The bills flow in upon her thick and fast; -she pays out hand over hand: if she had only her woman to build, she -might get along, but now come in demands for algebra, geometry, music, -language, and the poor brain-bank stops payment; some part of the work -is shabbily done, and a crooked spine or weakened lungs are the result.</p> - -<p>Boarding-schools, both for boys and girls, are for the most part -composed of young people in this most delicate, critical portion of -their physical, mental, and moral development, whose teachers are -expected to put them through one straight, severe course of drill, -without the slightest allowance for the great physical facts of their -being. No wonder they are difficult to manage, and that so many of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> them -drop, physically, mentally, and morally halt and maimed. It is not the -teacher’s fault; he but fulfils the parent’s requisition, which dooms -his child without appeal to a certain course simply because others have -gone through it.</p> - -<p>Finally, as my sermon is too long already, let me end with a single -reflection. Every human being has some handle by which he may be lifted, -some groove in which he was meant to run; and the great work of life, as -far as our relations with each other are concerned, is to lift each one -by his own proper handle, and run each one in his own proper groove.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI.<br /><br /> -DISCOURTESY.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“F</span>OR my part,” said my wife, “I think one of the greatest destroyers of -domestic peace is Discourtesy. People neglect, with their nearest -friends, those refinements and civilities which they practise with -strangers.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Madam, I am of another opinion,” said Bob Stephens. “The -restraints of etiquette, the formalities of ceremony, are tedious enough -in out-door life; but when a man comes home, he wants leave to take off -his tight boots and gloves, wear the gown and slippers, and speak his -mind freely without troubling his head where it hits. Home-life should -be the communion of people who have learned to understand each other, -who allow each other a generous latitude and freedom. One wants one -place where he may feel at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> liberty to be tired or dull or disagreeable -without ruining his character. Home is the place where we should expect -to live somewhat on the credit which a full knowledge of each other’s -goodness and worth inspires; and it is not necessary for intimate -friends to go every day through those civilities and attentions which -they practise with strangers, any more than it is necessary, among -literary people, to repeat the alphabet over every day before one begins -to read.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Jennie, “when a young gentleman is paying his addresses, he -helps a young lady out of a carriage so tenderly, and holds back her -dress so adroitly, that not a particle of mud gets on it from the -wheels; but when the mutual understanding is complete, and the affection -perfect, and she is his wife, he sits still and holds the horse and lets -her climb out alone. To be sure, when pretty Miss Titmouse is visiting -them, he still shows himself gallant, flies from the carriage, and holds -back<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> <i>her</i> dress: that’s because he doesn’t love her nor she him, and -they are <i>not</i> on the ground of mutual affection. When a gentleman is -only engaged, or a friend, if you hem him a cravat or mend his gloves, -he thanks you in the blandest manner; but when you are once sure of his -affection, he only says, ‘Very well; now I wish you would look over my -shirts, and mend that rip in my coat,—and be sure don’t forget it, as -you did yesterday.’ For all which reasons,” said Miss Jennie, with a -toss of her pretty head, “I mean to put off marrying as long as -possible, because I think it far more agreeable to have gentlemen -friends with whom I stand on the ground of ceremony and politeness than -to be restricted to one who is living on the credit of his affection. I -don’t want a man who gapes in my face, reads a newspaper all -breakfast-time while I want somebody to talk to, smokes cigars all the -evening, or reads to himself when I would like him to be entertaining, -and considers his affec<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span>tion for me as his right and title to make -himself generally disagreeable. If he has a bright face, and pleasant, -entertaining, gallant ways, I like to be among the ladies who may have -the benefit of them, and should take care how I lost my title to it by -coming with him on to the ground of domestic affection.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Miss Jennie,” said Bob, “it isn’t merely our sex who are guilty -of making themselves less agreeable after marriage. Your dapper little -fairy creatures, who dazzle us so with wondrous and fresh toilettes, who -are so trim and neat and sprightly and enchanting, what becomes of them -after marriage? If <i>he</i> reads the newspaper at the breakfast-table, -perhaps it’s because there is a sleepy, dowdy woman opposite, in a faded -gingham wrapper, put on in the sacredness of domestic privacy, and -perhaps she has laid aside those crisp, sparkling, bright little sayings -and doings that used to make it impossible to look at or listen to -anybody else when she was about. Such things<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> <i>are</i>, sometimes, among -the goddesses, I believe. Of course, Marianne and I know nothing of -these troubles; we, being a model pair, sit among the clouds and -speculate on all these matters as spectators merely.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see what your principle leads to, carried out,” said Jennie. -“If home is merely the place where one may feel at liberty to be tired -or dull or disagreeable, without losing one’s character, I think the -women have far more right to avail themselves of the liberty than the -men; for all the lonesome, dull, disagreeable part of home-life comes -into their department. It is they who must keep awake with the baby, if -it frets; and if they do not feel spirits to make an attractive toilette -in the morning, or have not the airy, graceful fancies that they had -when they were girls, it is not so very much against them. A housekeeper -and nursery-maid cannot be expected to be quite as elegant in her -toilette and as entertaining in her ways as a girl without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> care in -her father’s house; but I think that this is no excuse for husbands -neglecting the little civilities and attentions which they used to show -before marriage. They are strong and well and hearty; go out into the -world and hear and see a great deal that keeps their minds moving and -awake; and they ought to entertain their wives after marriage just as -their wives entertained them before. That’s the way my husband must do, -or I will never have one,—and it will be small loss, if I don’t,” said -Miss Jennie.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Bob, “I must endeavor to initiate Charley Sedley in time.”</p> - -<p>“Charley Sedley, Bob!” said Jennie, with crimson indignation. “I wonder -you will always bring up that old story, when I’ve told you a hundred -times how disagreeable it is! Charley and I are good friends, but—”</p> - -<p>“There, there,” said Bob, “that will do; you don’t need to proceed -further.”</p> - -<p>“You only said that because you couldn’t answer my argument,” said -Jennie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” said Bob, “you know everything has two sides to it, and -I’ll admit that you have brought up the opposite side to mine quite -handsomely; but, for all that, I am convinced, that, if what I said was -not really the truth, yet the truth lies somewhere in the vicinity of -it. As I said before, so I say again, true love ought to beget a freedom -which shall do away with the necessity of ceremony, and much may and -ought to be tolerated among near and dear friends that would be -discourteous among strangers. I am just as sure of this as of anything -in the world.”</p> - -<p>“And yet,” said my wife, “there is certainly truth in the much quoted -lines of Cowper, on Friendship, where he says,—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“As similarity of mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Or something not to be defined,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">First fixes our attention,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">So manners decent and polite,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The same we practised at first sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Will save it from declension.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“Well, now,” said Bob, “I’ve seen enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span> of French politeness between -married people. When I was in Paris, I remember there was in our -boarding-house a Madame de Villiers, whose husband had conferred upon -her his name and the <i>de</i> belonging to it, in consideration of a snug -little income which she brought to him by the marriage. His conduct -towards her was a perfect model of all the graces of civilized life. It -was true that he lived on her income, and spent it in promenading the -Boulevards, and visiting theatres and operas with divers fair friends of -easy morals; still all this was so courteously, so politely, so -diplomatically arranged with Madame, that it was quite worth while to be -neglected and cheated for the sake of having the thing done in so -finished and elegant a manner. According to his showing, Monsieur had -taken the neat little apartment for her in our <i>pension</i>, because his -circumstances were embarrassed, and he would be in despair to drag such -a creature into hardships which he described as terrific, and which he -was re<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span>solved heroically to endure alone. No, while a sous remained to -them, his adored Julie should have her apartment and the comforts of -life secured to her, while the barest attic should suffice for him. -Never did he visit her without kissing her hand with the homage due to a -princess, complimenting her on her good looks, bringing bonbons, -entertaining her with most ravishing small-talk of all the interesting -<i>on-dits</i> in Paris; and these visits were most particularly frequent as -the time for receiving her quarterly instalments approached. And so -Madame adored him and could refuse him nothing, believed all his -stories, and was well content to live on a fourth of her own income for -the sake of so engaging a husband.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Jennie, “I don’t know to what purpose your anecdote is -related, but to me it means simply this: if a rascal, without heart, -without principle, without any good quality, can win and keep a woman’s -heart merely by being invariably polite and agreeable, while in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> -presence, how much more might a man of sense and principle and real -affection do by the same means! I’m sure, if a man who neglects a woman, -and robs her of her money, nevertheless keeps her affections, merely -because whenever he sees her he is courteous and attentive, it certainly -shows that courtesy stands for a great deal in the matter of love.”</p> - -<p>“With foolish women,” said Bob.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and with sensible ones too,” said my wife. “Your Monsieur presents -a specimen of the French way of doing a bad thing; but I know a poor -woman whose husband did the same thing in English fashion, without -kisses or compliments. Instead of flattering, he swore at her, and took -her money away without the ceremony of presenting bonbons; and I assure -you, if the thing must be done at all, I would, for my part, much rather -have it done in the French than the English manner. The courtesy, as far -as it goes, is a good, and far better than nothing,—though, of course, -one would rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> have substantial good with it. If one must be robbed, -one would rather have one’s money wheedled away agreeably, with kisses -and bonbons, than be knocked down and trampled upon.”</p> - -<p>“The mistake that is made on this subject,” said I, “is in comparing, as -people generally do, a polished rascal with a boorish good man; but the -polished rascal should be compared with the polished good man, and the -boorish rascal with the boorish good man, and then we get the true value -of the article.</p> - -<p>“It is true, as a general rule, that those races of men that are most -distinguished for outward urbanity and courtesy are the least -distinguished for truth and sincerity; and hence the well-known -alliterations, ‘fair and false,’ ‘smooth and slippery.’ The fair and -false Greek, the polished and wily Italian, the courteous and deceitful -Frenchman, are associations which, to the strong, downright, courageous -Anglo-Saxon, make up-and-down rudeness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span> blunt discourtesy a type of -truth and honesty.</p> - -<p>“No one can read French literature without feeling how the element of -courtesy pervades every department of life,—how carefully people avoid -being personally disagreeable in their intercourse. A domestic quarrel, -if we may trust French plays, is carried on with all the refinements of -good breeding, and insults are given with elegant civility. It seems -impossible to translate into French the direct and downright brutalities -which the English tongue allows. The whole intercourse of life is -arranged on the understanding that all personal contacts shall be smooth -and civil, and such as to obviate the necessity of personal jostle and -jar.</p> - -<p>“Does a Frenchman engage a clerk or other <i>employé</i>, and afterwards hear -a report to his disadvantage, the last thing he would think of would be -to tell a downright unpleasant truth to the man. He writes him a civil -note, and tells him, that, in consequence of an unex<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span>pected change of -business, he shall not need an assistant in that department, and much -regrets that this will deprive him of Monsieur’s agreeable society, etc.</p> - -<p>“A more striking example cannot be found of this sort of intercourse -than the representation in the life of Madame George Sand of the -proceedings between her father and his mother. There is all the romance -of affection between this mother and son. He writes her the most devoted -letters, he kisses her hand on every page, he is the very image of a -gallant, charming, lovable son, while at the same time he is secretly -making arrangements for a private marriage with a woman of low rank and -indifferent reputation,—a marriage which he knows would be like death -to his mother. He marries, lives with his wife, has one or two children -by her, before he will pain the heart of his adored mother by telling -her the truth. The adored mother suspects her son, but no trace of the -suspicion appears in her letters to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> him. The questions which an English -parent would level at him point-blank she is entirely too delicate to -address to her dear Maurice; but she puts them to the Prefect of Police, -and ferrets out the marriage through legal documents, while yet no trace -of this knowledge dims the affectionateness of her letters, or the -serenity of her reception of her son when he comes to bestow on her the -time which he can spare from his family cares. In an English or American -family there would have been a battle royal, an open rupture; whereas -this courteous son and mother go on for years with this polite drama, -she pretending to be deceived while she is not, and he supposing that he -is sparing her feelings by the deception.</p> - -<p>“Now it is the reaction from such a style of life on the truthful -Anglo-Saxon nature that leads to an undervaluing of courtesy, as if it -were of necessity opposed to sincerity. But it does not follow, because -all is not gold that glitters, that nothing that glitters is gold, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> -because courtesy and delicacy of personal intercourse are often -perverted to deceit, that they are not valuable allies of truth. No -woman would prefer a slippery, plausible rascal to a rough, -unceremonious honest man; but of two men equally truthful, and -affectionate, every woman would prefer the courteous one.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Bob, “there is a loathsome, sickly stench of cowardice and -distrust about all this kind of French delicacy that is enough to drive -an honest fellow to the other extreme. True love ought to be a robust, -hardy plant, that can stand a free out-door life of sun and wind and -rain. People who are too delicate and courteous ever fully to speak -their minds to each other are apt to have stagnant residuums of -unpleasant feelings which breed all sorts of gnats and mosquitos. My -rule is, Say everything out as you go along; have your little tiffs, and -get over them; jar and jolt and rub a little, and learn to take rubs and -bear jolts.</p> - -<p>“If I take less thought and use less civility<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span> of expression, in -announcing to Marianne that her coffee is roasted too much, than I did -to old Mrs. Pollux when I boarded with her, it’s because I take it -Marianne is somewhat more a part of myself than old Mrs. Pollux -was,—that there is an intimacy and confidence between us which will -enable us to use the short-hand of life,—that she will not fall into a -passion or fly into hysterics, but will merely speak to cook in good -time. If I don’t thank her for mending my glove in just the style that I -did when I was a lover, it is because now she does that sort of thing -for me so often that it would be a downright bore to her to have me -always on my knees about it. All that I could think of to say about her -graceful handiness and her delicate needle-work has been said so often, -and is so well understood, that it has entirely lost the zest of -originality. Marianne and I have had sundry little battles, in which the -victory came out on both sides, each of us thinking the better of the -other for the vigor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> and spirit with which we conducted matters; and our -habit of perfect plain-speaking and truth-telling to each other is -better than all the delicacies that ever were hatched up in the hot-bed -of French sentiment.”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly true, perfectly right,” said I. “Every word good as gold. -Truth before all things; sincerity before all things: pure, clear, -diamond-bright sincerity is of more value than the gold of Ophir; the -foundation of all love must rest here. How those people do who live in -the nearest and dearest intimacy with friends who they believe will lie -to them for any purpose, even the most refined and delicate, is a -mystery to me. If I once know that my wife or my friend will tell me -only what they think will be agreeable to me, then I am at once lost, my -way is a pathless quicksand. But all this being premised, I still say -that we Anglo-Saxons might improve our domestic life, if we would graft -upon the strong stock of its homely sincerity the courteous graces of -the French character.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span></p> - -<p>“If anybody wishes to know exactly what I mean by this, let him read the -Memoir of De Tocqueville, whom I take to be the representative of the -French ideal man; and certainly the kind of family life which his -domestic letters disclose has a delicacy and a beauty which adorn its -solid worth.</p> - -<p>“What I have to say on this matter is, that it is very dangerous for any -individual man or any race of men continually to cry up the virtues to -which they are constitutionally inclined, and to be constantly dwelling -with reprobation on faults to which they have no manner of temptation.</p> - -<p>“I think that we of the English race may set it down as a general rule, -that we are in no danger of becoming hypocrites in domestic life through -an extra sense of politeness, and in some danger of becoming boors from -a rough, uncultivated instinct of sincerity. But to bring the matter to -a practical point, I will specify some particulars in which the -courtesy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> we show to strangers might with advantage be grafted into our -home-life.</p> - -<p>“In the first place, then, let us watch our course when we are -entertaining strangers whose good opinion we wish to propitiate. We -dress ourselves with care, we study what it will be agreeable to say, we -do not suffer our natural laziness to prevent our being very alert in -paying small attentions, we start across the room for an easier chair, -we stoop to pick up the fan, we search for the mislaid newspaper, and -all this for persons in whom we have no particular interest beyond the -passing hour; while with those friends whom we love and respect we too -often sit in our old faded habiliments, and let them get their own -chair, and look up their own newspaper, and fight their own way daily, -without any of this preventing care.</p> - -<p>“In the matter of personal adornment, especially, there are a great many -people who are chargeable with the same fault that I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> already -spoken of in reference to household arrangements. They have a splendid -wardrobe for company, and a shabby and sordid one for domestic life. A -woman puts all her income into party-dresses, and thinks anything will -do to wear at home. All her old tumbled finery, her frayed, dirty silks -and soiled ribbons, are made to do duty for her hours of intercourse -with her dearest friends. Some seem to be really principled against -wearing a handsome dress in every-day life; they ‘cannot afford’ to be -well-dressed in private. Now what I should recommend would be to take -the money necessary for one or two party-dresses and spend it upon an -appropriate and tasteful home-toilette, and to make it an avowed object -to look prettily at home.</p> - -<p>“We men are a sort of stupid, blind animals: we know when we are -pleased, but we don’t know what it is that pleases us; we say we don’t -care anything about flowers, but if there is a flower-garden under our -window, somehow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> or other we are dimly conscious of it, and feel that -there is something pleasant there; and so when our wives and daughters -are prettily and tastefully attired, we know it, and it gladdens our -life far more than we are perhaps aware of.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Papa,” said Jennie, “I think the men ought to take just as much -pains to get themselves up nicely after marriage as the women. I think -there are such things as tumbled shirt-collars and frowzy hair and muddy -shoes brought into the domestic sanctuary, as well as frayed silks and -dirty ribbons.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” I said; “but you know we are the natural Hottentot, and you -are the missionaries who are to keep us from degenerating; we are the -clumsy, old, blind Vulcan, and you the fair Cytherea, the bearers of the -magic cestus, and therefore it is to you that this head more -particularly belongs.</p> - -<p>“Now I maintain that in family-life there should be an effort not only -to be neat and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span> decent in the arrangement of our person, but to be also -what the French call <i>coquette</i>,—or to put it in plain English, there -should be an endeavor to make ourselves look handsome in the eyes of our -dearest friends.</p> - -<p>“Many worthy women, who would not for the world be found wanting in the -matter of personal neatness, seem somehow to have the notion that any -study of the arts of personal beauty in family-life is unmatronly; they -buy their clothes with simple reference to economy, and have them made -up without any question of becomingness; and hence marriage sometimes -transforms a charming, trim, tripping young lady into a waddling matron -whose every-day toilette suggests only the idea of a feather-bed tied -round with a string. For my part, I do not believe that the summary -banishment of the Graces from the domestic circle as soon as the first -baby makes its appearance is at all conducive to domestic affection. Nor -do I think that there is any need of so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> doing. These good housewives -are in danger, like other saints, of falling into the error of -neglecting the body through too much thoughtfulness for others and too -little for themselves. If a woman ever had any attractiveness, let her -try and keep it, setting it down as one of her domestic talents. As for -my erring brothers who violate the domestic sanctuary by tousled hair, -tumbled linen, and muddy shoes, I deliver them over to Miss Jennie -without benefit of clergy.</p> - -<p>“My second head is, that there should be in family-life the same -delicacy in the avoidance of disagreeable topics that characterizes the -intercourse of refined society among strangers.</p> - -<p>“I do not think that it makes family-life more sincere, or any more -honest, to have the members of a domestic circle feel a freedom to blurt -out in each other’s faces, without thought or care, all the disagreeable -things that may occur to them: as, for example,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> ‘How horridly you look -this morning! What’s the matter with you?’—‘Is there a pimple coming on -your nose? or what is that spot?’—‘What made you buy such a dreadfully -unbecoming dress? It sets like a witch! Who cut it?’—‘What makes you -wear that pair of old shoes?’—‘Holloa, Bess! is that your party-rig? I -should think you were going out for a walking advertisement of a -flower-store!’—Observations of this kind between husbands and wives, -brothers and sisters, or intimate friends, do not indicate sincerity, -but obtuseness; and the person who remarks on the pimple on your nose is -in many cases just as apt to deceive you as the most accomplished -Frenchwoman who avoids disagreeable topics in your presence.</p> - -<p>“Many families seem to think that it is a proof of family union and -good-nature that they can pick each other to pieces, joke on each -other’s feelings and infirmities, and treat each other with a general -tally-ho-ing rudeness with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span>out any offence or ill-feeling. If there is a -limping sister, there is a never-failing supply of jokes on -‘Dot-and-go-one’; and so with other defects and peculiarities of mind or -manners. Now the perfect good-nature and mutual confidence which allow -all this liberty are certainly admirable; but the liberty itself is far -from making home-life interesting or agreeable.</p> - -<p>“Jokes upon personal or mental infirmities, and a general habit of -saying things in jest which would be the height of rudeness if said in -earnest, are all habits which take from the delicacy of family -affection.</p> - -<p>“In all this rough playing with edge-tools many are hit and hurt who are -ashamed or afraid to complain. And after all, what possible good or -benefit comes from it? Courage to say disagreeable things, when it is -necessary to say them for the highest good of the person addressed, is a -sublime quality; but a careless habit of saying them, in the mere<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span> -freedom of family intercourse, is certainly as great a spoiler of the -domestic vines as any fox running.</p> - -<p>“There is one point under this head which I enlarge upon for the benefit -of my own sex: I mean table-criticisms. The conduct of housekeeping, in -the present state of domestic service, certainly requires great -allowance; and the habit of unceremonious comment on the cooking and -appointments of the table, in which some husbands habitually allow -themselves, is the most unpardonable form of domestic rudeness. If a -wife has philosophy enough not to mind it, so much the worse for her -husband, as it confirms him in an unseemly habit, embarrassing to guests -and a bad example to children. If she has no feelings that he is bound -to respect, he should at least respect decorum and good taste, and -confine the discussion of such matters to private intercourse, and not -initiate every guest and child into the grating and greasing of the -wheels of the domestic machinery.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Another thing in which families might imitate the politeness of -strangers is a wise reticence with regard to the asking of questions and -the offering of advice.</p> - -<p>“A large family includes many persons of different tastes, habits, modes -of thinking and acting, and it would be wise and well to leave to each -one that measure of freedom in these respects which the laws of general -politeness require. Brothers and sisters may love each other very much, -and yet not enough to make joint-stock of all their ideas, plans, -wishes, schemes, friendships. There are in every family-circle -individuals whom a certain sensitiveness of nature inclines to quietness -and reserve; and there are very well-meaning families where no such -quietness or reserve is possible. Nobody can be let alone, nobody may -have a secret, nobody can move in any direction, without a host of -inquiries and comments, ‘Who is your letter from? Let’s see.’—‘My -letter is from So-and-So.’—‘<i>He</i> writing to you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span> I didn’t know that. -What’s he writing about?’—‘Where did you go yesterday? What did you -buy? What did you give for it? What are you going to do with -it?’—‘Seems to me that’s an odd way to do. I shouldn’t do so.’—‘Look -here, Mary; Sarah’s going to have a dress of silk tissue this spring. -Now I think they’re too dear,—don’t you?’</p> - -<p>“I recollect seeing in some author a description of a true gentleman, in -which, among other traits, he was characterized as the man that asks the -fewest questions. This trait of refined society might be adopted into -home-life in a far greater degree than it is, and make it far more -agreeable.</p> - -<p>“If there is perfect unreserve and mutual confidence, let it show itself -in free communications coming unsolicited. It may fairly be presumed, -that, if there is anything our intimate friends wish us to know, they -will tell us of it,—and that when we are on close and confidential -terms with persons, and there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span> topics on which they do not speak to -us, it is because for some reason they prefer to keep silence concerning -them; and the delicacy that respects a friend’s silence is one of the -charms of life.</p> - -<p>“As with the asking of questions, so with the offering of advice, there -should be among friends a wise reticence.</p> - -<p>“Some families are always calling each other to account at every step of -the day. ‘What did you put on that dress for? Why didn’t you wear -that?’—‘What did you do this for? Why didn’t you do that?’—‘Now <i>I</i> -should advise you to do thus and so.’—And these comments and criticisms -and advices are accompanied with an energy of feeling that makes it -rather difficult to disregard them.</p> - -<p>“Now it is no matter how dear and how good our friends may be, if they -abridge our liberty and fetter the free exercise of our life, it is -inevitable that we shall come to enjoying ourselves much better where -they are not than<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span> where they are; and one of the reasons why brothers -and sisters or children so often diverge from the family-circle in the -choice of confidants is, that extraneous friends are bound by certain -laws of delicacy not to push inquiries, criticisms, or advice too far.</p> - -<p>“Parents would do well to remember in time when their children have -grown up into independent human beings, and use with a wise moderation -those advisory and admonitory powers with which they guided their -earlier days. Let us give everybody a right to live his own life, as far -as possible, and avoid imposing our own personalities on another.</p> - -<p>“If I were to picture a perfect family, it should be a union of people -of individual and marked character, who through love have come to a -perfect appreciation of each other, and who so wisely understand -themselves and one another that each may move freely along his or her -own track without jar or jostle,—a family where affection is always -sympathetic and receptive, but never inquisitive,—where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> all personal -delicacies are respected,—and where there is a sense of privacy and -seclusion in following one’s own course, unchallenged by the -watchfulness of others, yet withal a sense of society and support in a -knowledge of the kind dispositions and interpretations of all around.</p> - -<p>“In treating of family discourtesies, I have avoided speaking of those -which come from ill-temper and brute selfishness, because these are sins -more than mistakes. An angry person is generally impolite; and where -contention and ill-will are, there can be no courtesy. What I have -mentioned are rather the lackings of good and often admirable people, -who merely need to consider in their family-life a little more of -whatsoever things are lovely. With such the mere admission of anything -to be pursued as a duty secures the purpose; only in their somewhat -earnest pursuit of the substantials of life they drop and pass by the -little things that give it sweetness and perfume. To such a word is -enough, and that word is said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII.<br /><br /> -EXACTINGNESS.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>T length I am arrived at my seventh fox,—the last of the domestic -quadrupeds against which I have vowed a crusade,—and here opens the -chase of him. I call him</p> - -<p class="cspc"> -<i>EXACTINGNESS</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">And having done this, I drop the metaphor, for fear of chasing it beyond -the rules of graceful rhetoric, and shall proceed to define the trait.</p> - -<p>All the other domestic faults of which I have treated have relation to -the manner in which the ends of life are pursued; but this one is an -underlying, false, and diseased state of conception as to the very ends -and purposes of life itself.</p> - -<p>If a piano is tuned to exact concert pitch, the majority of voices must -fall below it; for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> which reason, most people indulgently allow their -pianos to be tuned a little below this point, in accommodation to the -average power of the human voice. Persons of only ordinary powers of -voice would be considered absolute monomaniacs, who should insist on -having their pianos tuned to accord with any abstract notion of -propriety or perfection,—rendering themselves wretched by persistently -singing all their pieces miserably out of tune in consequence.</p> - -<p>Yet there are persons who keep the requirements of life strained up -always at concert pitch, and are thus worn out and made miserable all -their days by the grating of a perpetual discord.</p> - -<p>There is a faculty of the human mind to which phrenologists have given -the name of <i>Ideality</i>, which is at the foundation of this exactingness. -Ideality is the faculty by which we conceive of and long for perfection; -and at a glance it will be seen, that, so far from being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> an evil -ingredient of human nature, it is the one element of progress that -distinguishes man’s nature from that of the brute. While animals go on -from generation to generation, learning nothing and forgetting nothing, -practising their small circle of the arts of life no better and no worse -from year to year, man is driven by ideality to constant invention and -alteration, whence come arts, sciences, and the whole progress of -society. Ideality induces discontent with present attainments, -possessions, and performances, and hence come better and better ones. So -in morals, ideality constantly incites to higher and nobler modes of -living and thinking, and is the faculty to which the most effective -teachings of the great Master of Christianity are addressed. To be -dissatisfied with present attainments, with earthly things and scenes, -to aspire and press on to something forever fair, yet forever receding -before our steps,—this is the teaching of Christianity, and the work of -the Christian.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span></p> - -<p>But every faculty has its own instinctive, wild growth, which, like the -spontaneous produce of the earth, is crude and weedy.</p> - -<p>Revenge, says Lord Bacon, is a sort of wild justice, obstinacy is -untutored firmness,—and so exactingness is untrained ideality; and a -vast deal of misery, social and domestic, comes, not of the faculty, but -of its untrained exercise.</p> - -<p>The faculty which is ever conceiving and desiring something better and -more perfect must be modified in its action by good sense, patience, and -conscience, or it induces a morbid, discontented spirit, which courses -through the veins of individual and family life like a subtle poison.</p> - -<p>In a certain neighborhood are two families whose social and domestic -<i>animus</i> illustrates the difference between ideality and the want of it.</p> - -<p>The Daytons are a large, easy-natured, joyous race, hospitable, kindly, -and friendly.</p> - -<p>Nothing about their establishment is much<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> above mediocrity. The grounds -are tolerably kept, the table is tolerably fair, the servants moderately -good, and the family character and attainments of the same average -level.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dayton is a decent housekeeper, and so her bread be not sour, her -butter not frowy, the food abundant, and the table-cloth and dishes -clean, she troubles her head little with the niceties and refinements of -the <i>ménage</i>.</p> - -<p>She accepts her children as they come from the hand of Nature, simply -opening her eyes to discern what they <i>are</i>, never raising the query -what she would have had them,—forming no very high expectations -concerning them and well content with whatever develops.</p> - -<p>A visitor in the family can easily see a thousand defects in the conduct -of affairs, in the management of the children, and in this, that, and -the other portion of the household arrangements; but he can see and -feel, also, a perfect comfortableness in the domestic atmosphere that -almost atones for any defects. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span> can see that in a thousand respects -things might be better done, if the family were not perfectly content to -have them as they are, and that each individual member might make higher -attainments in various directions, were there not such entire -satisfaction with what is already attained.</p> - -<p>Trying each other by very moderate standards and measurements, there is -great mutual complacency. The oldest boy does not get an appointment in -college,—they never expected he would; but he was a respectable -scholar, and they receive him with acclamations such as another family -would bestow on a valedictorian. The daughters do not profess, as we are -told, to draw like artists, but some very moderate performances in the -line of the fine arts are dwelt on with much innocent pleasure. They -thrum a few tunes on the piano, and the whole family listen and approve. -All unite in singing in a somewhat uncultured manner a few psalm-tunes -or songs, and take more com<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span>fort in them than many amateurs do in their -well-drilled performances.</p> - -<p>So goes the world with the Daytons; and when you visit them, if you -often feel that you could ask more and suggest much improvement, yet you -cannot help enjoying the quiet satisfaction which breathes around you.</p> - -<p>Now right across the way from the Daytons live the Mores; and the Mores -are the very opposites of the Daytons.</p> - -<p>Everything about their establishment is brought to the highest point of -culture. The carriage-drive never shows a weed, the lawn is velvet, the -flower-beds ever-blooming, the fruit-trees and vines grow exactly like -the patterns in the best pomological treatises. Within doors the -housekeeping is faultless,—all seems to be moving in time and -tune,—the table is more than good, it is superlative,—every article is -in its way a model,—the children appear to you to be growing up after -the most patent-right method, duly trained, snipped, and cul<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span>tured, like -the pear-trees and grape-vines. Nothing is left to accident, or done -without much laborious consideration of the best manner of doing it; and -the consequences, in the eyes of their simple, unsophisticated -neighbors, are very wonderful.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless this is not a happy family. All their perfections do not -begin to afford them one tithe of the satisfaction that the Daytons -derive from their ragged and scrambling performances.</p> - -<p>The two daughters, Jane and Maria, had naturally very sweet voices, and -when they were little, trilled tunes in a very pleasant and bird-like -manner. But now, having been instructed by the best masters, and heard -the very first artists, they never sing or play; the piano is shut, and -their voices are dumb. If you request a song, they tell you that they -never sing now; papa has such an exquisite taste, he takes no interest -in any common music; in short, having heard Jenny Lind, Grisi, Alboni, -Mario,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span> and others of the tuneful shell, this family have concluded to -abide in silence. As to any music that <i>they</i> could make, it isn’t to be -thought of.</p> - -<p>For the same reason, the daughters, after attending a quarter or two on -the drawing-exercises of a celebrated teacher, threw up their pencils in -disgust, and tore up very pretty and agreeable sketches which were the -marvel of their good-natured admiring neighbors. If they could draw like -Signor Scratchalini, if they could hope to become perfect artists, they -tell you, they would have persevered; but they have taken lessons enough -to learn that drawing is the labor of a lifetime, and, not having a -lifetime to give to it, they resolve to do nothing at all.</p> - -<p>They have also, for a similar reason, given up letter-writing. If their -chirography were as elegant as Charlotte Cushman’s,—if they were -perfect mistresses of polite English,—if they were gifted with wit, -humor, and fancy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> like the first masters of style,—they would take -pleasure in epistolary composition, and be good correspondents; but -anything short of that is so intolerable, that, except in cases of life -and death or urgent business, you cannot get a line out of them. Yet -they write very fair, agreeable, womanly letters, and would write much -better ones, if they allowed themselves a little more practice.</p> - -<p>Mrs. More is devoured by care. She sits with a clouded brow in her -elegant, well-regulated house; and when you talk with her, you are -surprised to learn that everything in it is in the most dreadful -disorder from one end to the other. You ask for particulars, and find -that the disorder has relation to exquisite standards of the ways of -doing things, derived from observation of life in the most subdivided -state of European service,—to all of which she has not as yet been able -to raise her domestics. You compliment her on her cook, and she -responds, in plaintive accents, “She can do a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span> few things decently, but -she is nothing of a cook.” You refer with enthusiasm to her bread, her -coffee, her muffins and hot rolls, and she listens and sighs. “Yes,” she -admits, “these are eatable,—not bad; but you should have seen the rolls -at a certain <i>café</i> in Paris, and the bread at a certain nobleman’s in -England, where they had a bakery in the castle, and a French baker, who -did nothing all the while but to refine and perfect the idea of bread. -When she thinks of these things, everything in comparison is so coarse -and rough!—but then she has learned to be comfortable.” Thus, in every -department of housekeeping, to this too well-instructed person,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Not a thing in her wide and apparently beautifully kept establishment is -ever done well enough to elicit from her more than a sigh of toleration. -“I suppose it must do,” she faintly breathes, when pool human nature, -having tried and tried again, evidently has got to the boun<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span>daries of -its capabilities; “you may let it go, Jane; I never expect to be -suited.”</p> - -<p>The poor woman, in the midst of possessions and attainments which excite -the envy of her neighbors, is utterly restless and wretched, and feels -herself always baffled and unsuccessful. Her exacting nature makes her -dissatisfied with herself in everything that she undertakes, and equally -dissatisfied with others. In the whole family there is little of that -pleasure which comes from the consciousness of mutual admiration and -esteem, because each one is pitched to so exquisite a tone that each is -afraid to touch another for fear of making discord. They are afraid of -each other everywhere. They cannot sing to each other, play to each -other, write to each other; they cannot even converse together with any -freedom, because each knows that the others are so dismally well -informed and critically instructed.</p> - -<p>Though all agree in a secret contempt for their neighbors over the way, -as living in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> most heathenish state of ignorant contentment, yet it is -a fact that the elegant brother John will often, on the sly, slip into -the Daytons’ to spend an evening, and join them in singing glees and -catches to their old rattling piano, and have a jolly time of it, which -he remembers in contrast with the dull, silent hours at home. Kate -Dayton has an uncultivated voice, which often falls from pitch; but she -has a perfectly infectious gayety of good-nature, and when she is once -at the piano, and all join in some merry troll, he begins to think that -there may be something better even than good singing; and then they have -dances and charades and games, all in such contented, jolly, impromptu -ignorance of the unities of time, place, and circumstance, that he -sometimes doubts, where ignorance is such bliss, whether it isn’t in -truth folly to be wise.</p> - -<p>Jane and Maria laugh at John for his partiality to the Daytons, and yet -they themselves feel the same attraction. At the Daytons<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span>’ they somehow -find themselves heroines; their drawings are so admired, their singing -is so charming to these simple ears, that they are often beguiled into -giving pleasure with their own despised acquirements; and Jane, somehow, -is very tolerant of the devoted attention of Will Dayton, a joyous, -honest-hearted fellow, whom, in her heart of hearts, she likes none the -worse for being unexacting and simple enough to think her a wonder of -taste and accomplishments. Will, of course, is the farthest possible -from the Admirable Crichtons and exquisite Sir Philip Sidneys whom Mrs. -More and the young ladies talk up at their leisure, and adorn with -feathers from every royal and celestial bird, when they are discussing -theoretic possible husbands. He is not in any way distinguished, except -for a kind heart, strong native good sense, and a manly energy that has -carried him straight into the very heart of many a citadel of life, -before which the superior and more refined Mr. John had set himself -down<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span> to deliberate upon the best and most elegant way of taking it. -Will’s plain, homely intelligence has often in five minutes disentangled -some ethereal snarl in which these exquisite Mores had spun themselves -up, and brought them to his own way of thinking by that sort of -disenchanting process which honest, practical sense sometimes exerts -over ideality.</p> - -<p>The fact is, however, that in each of these families there is a natural -defect which requires something from the other for completeness. Taking -happiness as the standard, the Daytons have it as against the Mores. -Taking attainment as the standard, the Mores have it as against the -Daytons. A portion of the discontented ideality of the Mores would -stimulate the Daytons to refine and perfect many things which might -easily be made better, did they care enough to have them so; and a -portion of the Daytons’ self-satisfied contentment would make the -attainments and refinements of the Mores of some practical use in -advancing their own happiness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span></p> - -<p>But between these two classes of natures lies another, to which has been -given an equal share of ideality,—in which the conception and the -desire of excellence are equally strong, but in which a discriminating -common-sense acts like a balance-wheel in machinery. What is the reason -that the most exacting idealists never make themselves unhappy about not -being able to fly like a bird or swim like a fish? Because common-sense -teaches them that these accomplishments are so utterly out of the -question that they never arise to the mind as objects of desire. In -these well-balanced minds we speak of, common-sense runs an instinctive -line all through life between the attainable and the unattainable, and -sets the key of desire accordingly.</p> - -<p>Common-sense teaches that there is no one branch of human art or science -in which perfection is not a point forever receding. A botanist gravely -assures us, that to become perfect in the knowledge of one branch of -sea<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span>weeds would take all the time and strength of a man for a lifetime. -There is no limit to music, to the fine arts. There is never a time when -the gardener can rest, saying that his garden is perfect. Housekeeping, -cooking, sewing, knitting, may all, for aught we know, be pushed on -forever, without exhausting the capabilities for better doing.</p> - -<p>But while attainment in everything is endless, circumstances forbid the -greater part of human beings from attaining in any direction the half of -what they see would be desirable; and the difference between the -miserable idealist and the contented realist often is, not that both do -not see what needs to be done for perfection, but that, seeing it, one -is satisfied with the attainable, and the other forever frets and wears -himself out on the unattainable.</p> - -<p>The principal of a large and complicated public institution was -complimented on maintaining such uniformity of cheerfulness amid such a -diversity of cares. “I’ve made up my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span> mind to be satisfied, when things -are done <i>half</i> as well as I would have them,” was his answer; and the -same philosophy would apply with cheering results to the domestic -sphere.</p> - -<p>There is a saying which one often hears among common people, that such -and such a one are persons who never could be happy, unless everything -went “<i>just so</i>,"—that is, in accordance with their highest -conceptions.</p> - -<p>When these persons are women, and undertake the sway of a home empire, -they are sure to be miserable, and to make others so; for home is a -place where by no kind of magic possible to woman can everything be -always made to go “just so.”</p> - -<p>We may read treatises on education,—and very excellent ones there are. -We may read very nice stories illustrating home management, in which -book-children and book-servants all work into the author’s plan with -obliging unanimity; but every real child and real servant is an -uncompromising fact, whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span> working into our ideal of life cannot be -predicted with any degree of certainty. A husband is another absolute -fact, of whose conformity to any ideal conceptions no positive account -can be given. So, when a person has the most charming theories of -education, the most complete ideals of life, it is often his lot to sit -bound hand and foot and see them all trampled under the heel of opposing -circumstances.</p> - -<p>Nothing is easier than to make an ideal garden. We lay out our grounds, -dig, plant, transplant, manure. We read catalogues of roses till we are -bewildered with their lustrous glories. We set out plum, pear, and -peach, we luxuriate in advance on bushels of choicest grapes, and our -theoretic garden is Paradise Regained. But in the actual garden there -are cut-worms for every cabbage, squash-bugs for all the melons, slugs -and rose-bugs for the roses, curculios for the plums, fire-blight for -pears, yellows for peaches, mildew for grapes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span> and late and early -frosts, droughts, winds, and hail-storms here and there for all.</p> - -<p>The garden and the family are fair pictures of each other. Both are -capable of the most ravishing representations on paper; and the rules -and directions for creating beauty and perfection in both can be made so -apparently plain that he who runneth may read, and it would seem that a -fool need not err therein; and yet the actual results are always halting -miles away behind expectation and desire.</p> - -<p>It would be an incalculable gain to domestic happiness, if people would -begin the concert of life with their instruments tuned to a very low -pitch: they who receive the most happiness are generally they who demand -and expect the least.</p> - -<p>Ideality often becomes an insidious mental and moral disease, acting all -the more subtly from its alliances with what is highest and noblest -within us. Shall we not aspire to be perfect? Shall we be content with -low meas<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span>ures and low standards in anything? To these inquiries there -seems of course to be but one answer; yet the individual driven forward -in blind, unreasoning aspiration becomes wearied, bewildered, -discontented, restless, fretful, and miserable.</p> - -<p>An unhappy person can never make others happy. The creators and -governors of a home, who are themselves restless and inharmonious, -cannot make harmony and peace. This is the secret reason why many a -pure, good, conscientious person is only a source of uneasiness in -family life. They are exacting, discontented, unhappy; and spread the -discontent and unhappiness about them. They are, to begin with, on poor -terms with themselves; they do not like themselves; they do not like -their own appearance, manners, education, accomplishments; on all these -points they try themselves by ideal standards, and find themselves -wanting. In morals, in religion, too, the same introverted scrutiny -detects only errors and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> evils, till all life seems to them a miserable, -hopeless failure, and they wish they had never been born. They are angry -and disgusted with themselves; there is no self-toleration or -self-endurance. And persons in a chronic quarrel with themselves are -very apt to quarrel with others. That exacting nature which has no -patience with one’s own inevitable frailties and errors has none for -those of others; and thus the great motive by which Christianity -enforces tolerance of the faults of others loses its hold. There are -people who make no allowances either for themselves or anybody else, but -are equally angry and disgusted with both.</p> - -<p>Now it is important that those finely strung natures in which ideality -largely predominates should begin life by a religious care and restraint -of this faculty. As the case often stands, however, religion only -intensifies the difficulty, by adding stringency to exaction and -censoriousness, driving the subject up with an unremitting strain till -the very cords of rea<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span>son sometimes snap. Yet, properly understood and -used, religion is the only cure for the evil of diseased ideality. The -Christian religion is the only one that ever proposed to give to all -human beings, however various the range of their nature and desires, the -great underlying gift of <i>rest</i>. Its Author, with a strength of -assurance which only supreme Divinity can justify, promises <i>rest</i> to -all persons, under all circumstances, with all sorts of natures, all -sorts of wants, and all sorts of defects. The invitation is as wide as -the human race: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, -and I will give you <small>REST</small>.”</p> - -<p>Now this is the more remarkable, as this gracious promise is accompanied -by the presentation of a standard of perfection which is more ideal and -exacting than any other that has ever been placed before -mankind,—which, in so many words, sets up absolute perfection as the -only true goal of aspiration.</p> - -<p>The problem which Jesus proposes to human<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> nature is endless aspiration -steadied by endless peace,—a perfectly restful, yet unceasing effort -after a good which is never to be attained till we attain a higher and -more perfect form of existence. It is because this problem is insolvable -by any human wisdom, that He says that they who take His yoke upon them -must learn of Him, for He alone can make the perfect yoke easy and its -burden light.</p> - -<p>The first lesson in this benignant school must lie like a strong, broad -foundation under every structure on which we wish to rear a happy -life,—and that is, that the full gratification of the faculty of -ideality is never to be expected in this present stage of existence, but -is to be transferred to a future life. Ideality, with its incessant, -restless longings and yearnings, is snubbed and turned out of doors by -human philosophy, when philosophy becomes middle-aged and sulky with -repeated disappointments,—it is berated as a cheat and a liar,—told to -hold its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> tongue and take itself elsewhere; but Christianity bids it be -of good cheer, still to aspire and hope and prophesy, and points to a -future where all its dreams shall be outdone by reality.</p> - -<p>A full faith in such a perfect future—a perfect faith that God has -planted in man no desire which he cannot train to complete enjoyment in -that future—gives the mind rest and contentment to postpone for a while -gratifications that will certainly come at last.</p> - -<p>Such a faith is better even than that native philosophical good sense -which restrains the ideal calculations and hopes of some; for it has a -wider scope and a deeper power.</p> - -<p>We have seen in our time a woman gifted with all those faculties which -rejoice in the refinements of society, dispensing the elegant -hospitalities of a bountiful home, joyful and giving joy. A sudden -reverse has swept all this away, the wealth on which it was based has -melted like a fog-bank in a warm morning, and we have seen her with her -little family beginning life again in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span> the log-cabin of a Western -settlement. We have seen her sitting in the door of the one room that -took the place of parlor, bed-room, nursery, and cheerfully making her -children’s morning toilette by the help of the one tin wash-bowl that -takes the place of her well-arranged bathing-and dressing-rooms; and -yet, as she twined their curls over her fingers, she had a laugh and a -jest and cheerful word for all. The few morning-glories that she was -training over her rude porch seemed as much a source of delight to her -as her former greenhouse and garden; and the adjustment of the one or -two shelves whereon were the half-dozen books left of the library, her -husband’s private papers, and her own and her children’s wardrobe, was -entered into daily with a zealous interest as if she had never known a -wider sphere.</p> - -<p>Such facility of accommodation to life’s reverses is sometimes supposed -to be merely the result of a hopeful and cheerful temperament; in this -case it was purely the work of religion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span> In early life, this same woman -had been the discontented slave of ideality, had sighed with vain -longings in the midst of real and substantial comfort, had felt even the -creasing of the rose-leaves of her pillow an intolerable annoyance. Now -she has resigned herself to the work and toil of life as the soldier -does to the duties of the camp, satisfied to do and to bear, enjoying -with a free heart the small daily pleasures which spring up like -wild-flowers amid daily toils and annoyances, and looking to the end of -the campaign for rest and congenial scenes.</p> - -<p>This woman has within her the powers and gifts of an artist; but her -pencils and her colors are resolutely laid away, and she sits hour after -hour darning her children’s stockings and turning and arranging a scanty -wardrobe which no ingenuity can make more than decent. She was a -beautiful musician; but a musical instrument is now a thing of the past; -she only lulls her baby to sleep with snatches of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span> songs which used -to form the attraction of brilliant salons. She feels that a world of -tastes and talents are lying dormant in her while she is doing the daily -work of a nurse, cook, and seamstress; but she remembers <span class="smcap">Who</span> took upon -Him the form of a servant before her, and she has full faith that her -beautiful gifts, like bulbs sleeping under ground, shall come up and -blossom again in that fair future which He has promised. Therefore it is -that she has no sighs for the present or the past,—no quarrel with her -life, or her lot in it; she is in harmony with herself and with all -around her; her husband looks upon her as a fair daily miracle, and her -children rise up and call her blessed.</p> - -<p>But, having laid the broad foundation of faith in a better life, as the -basis on which to ground our present happiness, we who are of the ideal -nature must proceed to build thereon wisely.</p> - -<p>In the first place, we must cultivate the duty of <i>self-patience</i> and -self-toleration. Of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span> the religionists and moralists who ever taught, -Fénelon is the only one who has distinctly formulated the duty which a -self-educator owes to himself. <span class="smcap">Have patience with yourself</span> is a -direction often occurring in his writings, and a most important one it -is,—because patience with ourselves is essential, if we would have -patience with others. Let us look through the world. Who are the people -easiest to be pleased, most sunny, most urbane, most tolerant? Are they -not persons from constitution and temperament on good terms with -themselves,—people who do not ask much of themselves or try themselves -severely, and who therefore are in a good humor for looking upon others? -But how is a person who is conscious of a hundred daily faults and -errors to have patience with himself? The question may be answered by -asking, What would you say to a child who fretted, scolded, dashed down -his slate, and threw his book on the floor, because he made mistakes in -his arithmetic?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span> You would say, of course, “You are but a learner; it is -not to be expected that you will not make mistakes; all children do. -Have patience.” Just as you would talk to that child, talk to yourself. -Be reconciled to a lot of inevitable imperfection; be content to try -continually, and often to fail. It is the inevitable condition of human -existence, and is to be accepted as such. A patient acceptance of -mortifications and of defeats of our life’s labor, is often more -efficacious for our moral advancement than even our victories.</p> - -<p>In the next place, we must school ourselves not to look with restless -desire to degrees of excellence in any department of life which -circumstances evidently forbid our attaining. For a woman with plenty of -money and plenty of well-trained servants to be content to have -fly-specked windows, or littered rooms, or a slovenly-ordered table, is -a sin. But in a woman in feeble health, incumbered with a flock of -restless little ones, and whose circumstances allow her to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> keep but one -servant, it may be a piece of moral heroism to shut her eyes on many -such things, while securing mere essentials to life and health. It may -be a virtue in her not to push neatness to such lengths as to wear -herself out, or to break down her only servant, and to be resigned to -have her tastes and preferences for order, cleanliness, and beauty -crossed, as she would resign herself to any other affliction. No -purgatory can be more severe to people of a thorough and exact nature -than to be so situated that they can only half do everything they -undertake; yet such is the fiery trial to which many a one is subjected. -Life seems to drive them along without giving them time for anything; -everything is ragged, hasty performance, of which the mind most keenly -sees and feels the raggedness and hastiness. Even one thing done as it -really ought to be done would be a rest and refreshment to the soul; but -nowhere, in any department of its undertakings, is there any such thing -to be perceived.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span></p> - -<p>But there are cases where a great deal of wear and tear can be saved to -the nerves by a considerate making up of one’s mind as to how much in -certain circumstances had better be undertaken at all. Let the -circumstances of life be surveyed, the objects we are pursuing arranged -and counted, and see if there are not things here and there that may be -thrown out of our plans entirely, that others may be better done.</p> - -<p>What if the whole care of expensive table luxuries, like cake and -preserves, be thrown out of a housekeeper’s budget, in order that the -essential articles of cookery may be better prepared? What if ruffling, -embroidery, and the entire department of kindred fine arts, be thrown -out of her calculations, in providing for the clothing of a family? Many -a feeble woman has died of too much ruffling, as she patiently sat up -night after night sewing the thread of a precious, invaluable life into -elaborate articles which her children were none the healthier or more -virtuous for wearing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span></p> - -<p>Ideality is constantly ramifying and extending the department of the -toilette and the needle into a world of work and worry, wherein -distracted women wander up and down, seeing no end anywhere. The -sewing-machine was announced as a relief to these toils; but has it -proved so? We trow not. It only amounts to this,—that now there can be -seventy-two tucks on each little petticoat, instead of fifteen, as -before, and that twice as many garments are made up and held to be -necessary as formerly. The women still sew to the limit of human -endurance; and still the old proverb holds good, that woman’s work is -never done.</p> - -<p>In the matter of dress, much wear and tear of spirit and nerves may be -saved by not beginning to go in certain directions, well knowing that -they will take us beyond our resources of time, strength, and money.</p> - -<p>There is one word of fear in the vocabulary of women of our time which -must be pondered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span> advisedly,—<small>TRIMMING</small>. In old times a good garment was -enough; now-a-days a garment is nothing without trimming. Everything, -from the first article that the baby wears up to the elaborate dress of -the bride, must be trimmed at a rate that makes the trimming more than -the original article. A dress can be made in a day, but it cannot be -trimmed under two or three days. Let a faithful, conscientious woman -make up her mind how much of all this burden of life she will assume, -remembering wisely that there is no end to ideality in anything, and -that the only way to deal with many perplexing parts of life is to leave -them out altogether.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kirkland, in her very amusing account of her log-cabin experiences, -tells us of the great disquiet and inconvenience she had in attempting -to arrange in her lowly abode a most convenient clothes-press, which was -manifestly too large for the establishment. Having labored with the -cumbersome convenience for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> a great length of time, and with much -discomfort, she at last resigned the ordering of it to a brawny-armed -damsel of the forest, who began by pitching it out of doors, with the -comprehensive remark, that, “where there wasn’t room for a thing, there -wasn’t.”</p> - -<p>The wisdom which inspired the remark of this rustic maiden might have -saved the lives of many matrons who have worn themselves out in vain -attempts to make comforts and conveniences out of things which they had -better have thrown out of doors altogether.</p> - -<p>True, it requires some judgment to know what, among objects commonly -pursued in any department, we really ought to reject; and it requires -independence and steadiness to say, “I will not begin to try to do -certain things that others are doing, and that, perhaps, they expect of -me”; but there comes great leisure and quietness of spirit from the gaps -thus made. When the unwieldy clothes-press was once cast out, everything -in the log-cabin could have room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span></p> - -<p>A mother, who is anxiously trying to reconcile the watchful care and -training of her little ones with the maintenance of fashionable calls -and parties, may lose her life in the effort to do both, and do both in -so imperfect a manner as never to give her a moment’s peace. But on the -morrow after she comes to the serious and Christian resolve, “The -training of my children is all that I <i>can</i> do well, and henceforth it -shall be my <i>sole</i> object,” there falls into her tumultuous life a -Sabbath pause of peace and leisure. It is true that she is still doing a -work in which absolute perfection ever recedes; but she can make -relative attainments far nearer the standard than before.</p> - -<p>Lastly, under the head of ideality let us resolve <i>to be satisfied with -our own past doings, when at the time of doing we used all the light God -gave us, and did all in our power</i>.</p> - -<p>The backward action of ideality is often full as tormenting as its -forward and prospective movements. The moment a thing is done and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span> over, -one would think that good sense would lead us to drop it like a stone in -the ocean; but the morbid idealist cannot cut loose from the past.</p> - -<p>“Was that, after all, the <i>best</i> thing? Would it not have been better so -or so?” And the self-tormented individual lies wakeful, during weary -night-hours, revolving a thousand possibilities, and conjuring up a -thousand vague perhapses. “If I had only done <i>so</i> now, perhaps this -result would have followed, or that would not”; and as there is never -any saying but that so it might have turned out, the labyrinth and the -discontent are alike endless.</p> - -<p>Now there is grand good sense in the Apostle’s direction, “Forgetting -the things that are behind, press forward.” The idealist should charge -himself, as with an oath of God, to let the past alone as an -accomplished fact, solely concerning himself with the inquiry, “Did I -not do the best I <i>then</i> knew how?”</p> - -<p>The maxim of the Quietists is, that, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span> we have acted according to -the best light we have, we have expressed the will of God under those -circumstances,—since, had it been otherwise, more and different light -would have been given us; and with the will of God done by ourselves as -by Himself, it is our duty to be content.</p> - -<p>  </p> - -<p>Having written thus far in my article, and finding nothing more at hand -to add to it, I went into the parlor to read it to Jenny and Mrs. -Crowfield. I found the former engaged in the task of binding sixty yards -of quilling, (so I think she called it,) which were absolutely necessary -for perfecting a dress; and the latter was braiding one of seven little -petticoats, stamped with elaborate patterns, which she had taken from -Marianne, because that virtuous matron was ruining her eyes and health -in a blind push to get them done before October.</p> - -<p>Both approved and admired my piece, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span> I thought of Saint Anthony’s -preaching the fishes:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sermon now ended,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each turned and descended;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pikes went on stealing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eels went on eeling.<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Much delighted were they,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">But preferred the old way.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">THE END.<br /><br /><br /> -<small>Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.</small></p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE FOXES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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