Читать книгу: «The Young Woman's Guide», страница 8

CHAPTER XVII
FRUGALITY AND ECONOMY

Economy becoming old fashioned. The Creator's example. Frugality and economy should be early inculcated. Spending two pence to save one, not always wrong. Examples of disregarding economy. Wasting small things. Good habits as well as bad ones, go by companies. This chapter particularly necessary to the young. Frugality and economy of our grand-mothers.

Economy is another old fashioned word, which, like the thing for which it stands, is fast going into disrepute; and in these days, it will require no little moral courage in him who has any thing of reputation at stake, to commend it—and above all, to commend it to young women. What have they to do with economy? thousands might be disposed to ask, were the subject urged upon their attention.

"Is there not something connected with the idea of economy, which tends, necessarily, to narrow the mind and contract the heart?" This question, too, is often asked, even by those whom age and experience should have taught better things.

I am pained to find the rising generation so prone to discard both frugality and economy, and to regard them as synonymous with narrowness, and meanness, and stinginess. There cannot possibly be a greater mistake.

May I not ask, without incurring the charge of irreverence, if there is any thing more obvious, in the works of the Creator, than his wonderful frugality and good economy? Where, in his domain, is any thing wasted? Where, indeed, is not every thing saved and appropriated to the best possible purpose? And will any one presume to regard his operations as narrow, or mean, or stingy?

What can be more abundant, for example, than air and water? Yet is there one particle too much of either of them? Is there one particle more than is just necessary to render the earth what it was designed to be? Such a thing may be said, I acknowledge, by the ignorant, and short-sighted, and incautious. They vent their occasional complaints, even against the Ruler of the skies, because the windows of heaven are, for a time, shut up, and the rain falls not; and yet these very persons are constrained to admit, in their more sober moments, that all is ordered about right.

Be this as it may, however, there can be no doubt that a just measure of frugality and economy is a cardinal virtue, and should be early inculcated, even though it cost us some time and effort.

A great deal has been said, and no small number of words wasted, in endeavoring to show the folly of spending two pence to save one; whereas, to do so, in some circumstances, may be our highest wisdom. If it be important to learn the art of saving—the art of being frugal—then the art should be acquired, even if it costs something in the acquisition. No one thinks of reaping the full reward of adult labor in any occupation, the moment he begins to put his hand to it, as a mere apprentice. Does he not thus, in learning his occupation or trade—especially during the first years—spend two pence to save one? Does not all preparation for the future, obviously involve the same necessity?

I do not, certainly undertake to say that it is always proper—or indeed, that it is often so—to spend more, in order to save less. I only contend that it is sometimes so; and that to do so, may not only be a matter of propriety, but also a duty.

Let me give an example. Young women are sometimes apt to acquire a habit of being wasteful in regard to small things, such as pins, needles, &c. Yet, to teach them, in these days of refinement, always to pick up pins when they see them lying before them on the floor or elsewhere, and put them into a pin-cushion, or in some suitable place, would no doubt be considered as quite unreasonable.

But would not such a habit be exceedingly useful? Am I to be told that it would be a great waste, since the value of the time consumed in thus picking up pins and needles, would be more than twice the value of the articles saved? Am I to be told that this is not only spending two pence to save one, but that it is actually wicked? If so, by what art shall a wasteful young woman be taught good habits?

I would certainly urge a young girl who was careless about pins, needles, &c., to form the habit of picking up every one she found. I would do so, to prevent her prodigal habits from extending to other matters, and affecting and injuring her whole character. But I would also do so, to cure the bad habit already existing. More than even this; I advise every young woman who finds herself addicted to habits which are opposed to a just frugality and economy, to begin the work of eradicating them, without waiting for the promptings of her mother and friends. Nor let her, for a moment, fear the imputation of meanness; it is sufficient for her that she is doing what she knows to be right.

Good habits, as well as bad ones, like virtues and vices, are apt to go in company. If one is allowed, others are apt to follow. First, those most nearly related; next, those more remotely so; and finally, perhaps, the whole company.

I would not dwell long on a subject like this, in a book for young women, were I not assured that the case requires it. I see young women every where, especially among the middling and higher classes, and in great numbers too, exceedingly improvident; and not a few of them, wasteful. The world seems to be regarded as a great store-house which can never be exhausted, let them be as extravagant as they may. They forget, entirely, the vulgar but correct adage, that "always taking out of the meal tub, and never putting in, soon comes to the bottom"-and seem to take it for granted there is no bottom to their resources.

Our grand-mothers—our great grand-mothers, rather—were not ashamed of frugality or economy. They were neither afraid nor unwilling to do what they knew to be right, simply because it happened to be unfashionable. I am not, indeed, either constitutionally or by age, one of those who place the golden age exclusively in the past. I can see errors in the conduct of our grand-mothers. But I also see in them excellencies; many virtues of the sterner, more sober sort, which have been bartered for modern customs—not to say vices—at a very great loss by the exchange. What we have thus lost, I should be glad, were it possible, to restore.

CHAPTER XVIII
SYSTEM

General neglect of system in families. Successful efforts of a few schools. Why the effects they produce a not permanent. Importance of right education. Here and there system may be found. Blessedness of having a mother who systematic. Let no person ever despair of reformation. How to begin the work.

There is hardly any thing which the majority of our young women hate—frugality and economy, and the study of themselves, perhaps, excepted—so much as system. In this respect a few of our best schools have, within a few years, attempted something; and, in a few instances, with success. I could mention several schools for females, whose teachers have done much more good by the habits of order and system they have inculcated and endeavored to form, than by the sciences they have taught.

The tendency of this excellent feature of a few of our institutions is, however, pretty effectually counteracted by the general feeling of the public, that the school is but a place of painful though necessary restraint; and that when it is over, study is over—and with it, all the system which had been either inculcated or practised. And though not a few who have been thus compelled to live by system, for two or three years, see plainly its excellent effects, and both they and their parents acknowledge them, still the school is no sooner terminated, than every thing of the kind is very likely to become as though it had never been.

So long, however, as home is home, and all the associations therewith are as delightful as they now are—and so long as the greater number of our families live at random, regarding order as constraint, and method and system as slavery—just so long will the feelings of the young of each rising generation, revolt at every thing like order and system; and though for the sake of peace, as well as other and various reasons, they may be willing to conform to both, for a time, yet will they sigh, internally, for the hour when their bondage shall cease, and the day of their emancipation arrive. It is not in human nature, to look back to the scenes, and customs, and methods—if methods they deserve to be called, where all is at random—of early life, without a fondness for, and an inward desire to return to them; and there are few so hardened as not to do it whenever an opportunity occurs. How important, then—how supremely so—is right education! How important to sow, in the earliest years, the seeds of a love of order and system! How important to young women, especially, that this work should not be deferred; since if it is so, it is most likely to be deferred forever.

I know, full well, that here and there a house-keeper, convinced in her conscience that she can do vastly more for herself and others, as well as do it better, by means of system, than without it, attempts something like innovation upon the usual random course which prevails about her. She resolves to have her hours of labor, her hours of recreation, and her hours of reading and visiting. She believes life is long enough for all the purposes of life. She is resolved to be systematic on Sabbath and on week days; in the common details of the family; in dress; and in regard to the hours of rising, meals and rest. But she has a herculean task to accomplish—no small part of which is, to bring her husband and the other members of her family to co-operate with her. Yet, amid every discouragement, she perseveres, and at length succeeds. Is not such a victory worth securing?

Let the young woman who has such a person as I have just described, for her mother, rejoice in it. She can never be too grateful, not only to her mother, but to God. Her life is likely to be of thrice the usual value. Our daughters who are blessed with such mothers, may become as polished corner stones in a temple—worthy of themselves, of those who educate them, and of God.

But let not those who have been less fortunate, in respect to maternal training and influence, utterly despair. Convinced of the general correctness of the views here advanced, and desirous of entering on the work of reform, let them take courage, and begin it immediately. Though the mother, by her influence in the early formation of character, is almost omnipotent, she is not quite so. Though the Ethiopian cannot change his skin, nor the leopard his spots, still it is not utterly impossible for those to do well who have been long accustomed to do evil. "What has been done," you know, "can be done." Make this maxim your motto, and go forward in the work of self-education. But remember to begin, in the first place, with the smaller matters of life; and to conquer in one point or place of action, before you begin with another. And, lastly, remember not to rely wholly on your own strength. You are, indeed, to work—and to work with all your might; but it is always God that worketh in you, when any thing effectual is accomplished, in the way of improvement.

CHAPTER XIX
PUNCTUALITY

Evil of being one minute too late. Examples to illustrate the importance of punctuality. Case of a mother at Lowell. Her adventure. General habits which led to such a disaster. Condition of a family trained to despise punctuality.

No system can be carried on without both order and punctuality. I have already said something, incidentally, on both of these topics; but their importance entitles them to a separate consideration.

The importance of strict punctuality could be shown by appealing to hundreds of authorities; but I prefer an appeal to the good sense of my readers.

How painful it is, in a thousand instances of life, to be but one minute too late; and how much evil it may, indeed, often does occasion, both to ourselves and others!

"Think of the difference," says a spirited writer, "between arriving with a letter one minute before the post-office is closed, and arriving one minute after; between being at the stage-office a quarter of an hour too soon, and reaching there a quarter of an hour too late; between shaking a friend heartily by the hand as he steps on board his vessel bound to the Indies, and arriving at the pier when the vessel is under weigh, and stretching her wide canvass to the winds! Think of this, and a thousand such instances, and be determined, through life, to be in time."

Allow me to illustrate the important subject of which I am now treating, by the case of a young mother. She wishes to go from Boston to Lowell. She leaves Boston in the cars which go at eleven, and reach Lowell soon after twelve. She goes to spend the afternoon with a sick friend there, resolving to return at five—the hour when the last cars leave Lowell for Boston. Her infant is left, for the time, in the hands of a maiden sister—the husband being engaged in his shop, and hardly knowing of her departure.

She spends the afternoon with her friend, and her services are very acceptable. But ere she is aware, the bell at the railroad depot rings for passengers to Boston. A few moments are spent in getting ready and in exchanging the parting salutation with those friends who, though aware of the danger of her being left, have not the honest plainness to urge her to make speed. She is, at length, under way; but on arriving at the depot, lo! the cars have started, and are twenty or thirty rods distant.

What can she do? "Time and tide," and railroad cars, "wait for none." It is in vain that she waves her handkerchief; the swift-footed vehicles move on, and are soon out of sight! She returns, much distressed, to the house of her sick friend, unfit to render her any further service-to say nothing of the mischief she is likely to do by exciting her painful sympathies.

But how and when is she to get home? There are no public means of conveyance back to the city till to-morrow morning, and the expense of a private conveyance seems to her quite beyond her means.

How could I be so late? she says to herself. How could I run the risk of being thus left? Why was I not in season? What will my husband think—especially as I came off without saying any thing to him about coming? But this, though much to distress her, is not all, nor the most. Her poor bade! what will become of that? Her friends endeavor to soothe her by diverting her mind—but to no purpose, or nearly none: she is half distracted, and can do nothing but mourn over her folly in being so late.

But the weather is mild, and all is propitious without, except that it is likely to be rather dark; and by means of the efforts of thoughtful friends, a coach is fitted out with a careful driver, to carry her home this very evening. It will take five hours in all; and as it is now six, she will reach home at about eleven. The infant will not greatly suffer before that time.

Finding herself fairly on the road, her feelings are somewhat composed, and she just now begins to think what her husband will do, when he comes from the shop at seven, and finds she has not arrived. She is afraid he will be at the extra pains and expense to come after her; and perhaps in the darkness pass by her, and go on to Lowell.

And her fears are partly realized. After much anxiety and some complaining—which, however, I will not undertake to justify—the husband is on the road with a vehicle, going to Lowell to assist her in getting home. They meet about half way from place to place, and the drivers recognize each other—though rather more than, in the darkness, could have been expected. The coach from Lowell returns, and that from Boston, taking in both passengers, wheels them back in haste to their home. In their joy to find matters no worse, they forget to recriminate each other, and think only of the timid sister with whom the infant was left in charge: for in the hurry of getting off, the husband had made no provision for quieting her fears of being alone. She passes the time, however, in much less mental agitation than might have been expected, and takes as good care as she can, of a fretful, crying, half-starved babe. As the clock strikes one, the family are all quiet in bed, and endeavoring to sleep.

How much uneasiness is here caused by being just about one minute (and no more) too late! And whence came it? Not by her not knowing she was running a risk by being tardy. Not that she had no apprehensions of evil. Not because her conscience was uneducated, or unfaithful. It was neither, nor any of these. There was, in the first place, a little want of decision. She suffered herself to vacillate between a sense of duty and the inclination to say a few words more, or bestow another parting kiss. And in the second place, it was the wretched habit she had always indulged, of delaying and deferring every thing she put her head or her hand to, till the very last moment.

I will give you a brief but correct account of her general habits. Not that the picture is a very uncommon one, but that you may view it in connection with the anecdote I have related, and thus get a tolerable idea of the inconveniences to which the wretched habit of which I have spoken, is continually exposing her.

She makes it a rule—no, I will not say that, for she has no rules, but she has a sort of expectation on the subject—to rise at five o'clock. Yet I do not suppose she is up at five, six times in the year. She is never awake at that timer or but seldom, unless she is awakened. Her husband, indeed, makes it a sort of rule to wake her at that hour; but he, alas, poor man! has no roles for himself or others; and if he undertakes to awaken her at five, it is usually ten or fifteen minutes afterward; and if she is let alone, she is often in bed till half past five—oftener, indeed, than up earlier. The breakfast hour is six; but I never knew the family to sit down at six. It is ten minutes, fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, and sometimes forty-five minutes after six, before the breakfast is on the table. The fire will not burn, and the tea is not ready; or the milk or cream for the latter has not arrived; or something or other is the matter—so she says, and so she believes—and indeed sometimes so it is.

The dinner time is half past twelve-that is, professedly so; but it is not once in twenty times that they sit down much before one o'clock—and I have known it to be even later. So it is with supper; and I might add, with every thing else. If an engagement is made, directly or indirectly, positively or only implied, it is never fulfilled at the time. She is never in her seat at church, till almost every body else is in, and the services have commenced; although the kind, but too indulgent parson waits some five or ten minutes for his whole congregation—whom, alas! he has unwittingly trained to delay. In short, she does nothing, and performs nothing, punctually, not even going to bed; for this is deferred to a very late hour-sometimes till near midnight.

Now herein is the secret—the foundation, rather—of her trouble at Lowell. Had she been trained to punctuality in other things, she would, in all probability, have been punctual there. The misfortune which I have described, is but a specimen of what is ever and anon occurring in the history of her life.

Nor are her sufferings—though they are severe—from her unhappy habit, the end of the matter. I have already more than intimated that her companion has caught the disease; but it is still more visible in the conduct of her sons and daughters. They, like herself, seldom do any thing at the proper time. They are never punctual in their engagements, nor decided in their conduct. I know not, however, what the daughters may yet do—several of them being quite young. If they should chance to meet with better instructions than they are accustomed to receive—should take warning, and do all they can in the way of self-improvement—they may be able to break the chains of an inveterate and almost unconquerable habit, and make themselves useful in their day and generation.

I do think, most sincerely, that if all the rest of the world were disorderly, or fell short in matters of punctuality, the young woman should not do so. Let her, in every duty, learn to be in time. Let her resolve to do every thing a little before the time arrives; nothing, a moment after it.

The keeper of a boarding house, who is at the same time the principal of one of our most flourishing schools for both males and females, makes it a point to have every one of his boarders in their seats at dinner, when the clock strikes twelve, which is the appointed hour.

And the late principal of a very highly distinguished female school in Boston, used to have every exercise regulated by a clock kept in the room; and whatever else was going on—whether it was finished or unfinished—whenever the hour for another exercise arrived, it was attended to. The whole school, as if with one impulse, seemed to obey the hour, rather than the teacher. Such order and punctuality, every where and in every thing, constitute the beauty of life; and I was going to say, the beauty of heaven—of which this life should be a sort of emblem. Heaven, in any event, is not only a world of order, but of punctuality also; and she who goes there, must be prepared to observe both, or it will be no heaven to her.

As I have strongly insisted in respect to the formation of other important habits, so in regard to this. It must be commenced in the smaller matters of life. Let the young woman be in time—that is, be punctual—in the performance of what she regards as trifles, and when she becomes a matron, she will seldom be tardy in what are deemed the weightier matters.

I have spoken of the importance of punctuality, and have strongly insisted that whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well. I am now about to insist, with equal earnestness, that what is worth beginning and performing well, is worth doing thoroughly, or finishing.

Some young women never do any thing thoroughly—even the smallest matters. All their lives long, they live, as it were, by halves, and do things by halves. If they commence reading a book, unless it is something very enticing and exciting, they neither read it thoroughly nor finish it. Their dress is never put on thoroughly; and even their meals are not thoroughly eaten.

In regard to what is last mentioned, they fail in two respects. Either through fear that they shall be unfashionable, if they use their teeth, or from sheer carelessness in their habits, they never masticate their food thoroughly; and they never seem to get through eating. The true way is, to finish a meal in a reasonable time, and then let the matter rest; and never be found eating between meals. Whereas, the class of persons of whom I am speaking, seem never to begin or end a meal. They are nibbling, if food chance to fall in their way, all their lives long.

But—to return to other habits than those which pertain to eating and drinking—this want of thoroughness, of which I am speaking, wherever it exists in a young woman, will show itself in all or nearly all she does.

Suppose she is washing dishes, for example; something is left unwashed which ought to have been washed; something is left only partly washed; or the whole being done in a hurry, something is not set away in its place, and along comes a child and knocks it over and breaks it.

Perhaps site is sewing. She is anxious to get her work along; and though she know, how it ought to be done, she ventures to slight it especially if it is the property of another. Or having done it well till she comes near the end, the place where, perhaps, every thing ought to be particularly firm and secure—ought to be done thoroughly—she leaves a portion of it half done; and the garment gives way before it is half worn.

Or she is cooking; and though every thing else is well boiled, a single article is not well done—which gives an appearance of negligence to the whole. At any rate, it is not done well; and she gets the credit of not being a thorough house-keeper.

"For who hath despised the day of small things?" is a scriptural inquiry on a most important subject; and were it not likely to be construed into a want of reverence for sacred things, the same inquiry might be made in regard to the matter before us. There is a universal disposition abroad to despise small matters, and to stigmatize him who defends their importance.

One might suppose a young woman would find out the mischiefs that result from a want of thoroughness, by the inconvenience which inevitably results from it. It is not very convenient or comfortable, to be obliged to do a thing wholly over again, or suffer from want, because a piece of work, very trifling in itself, was not done thoroughly. Nor is it very convenient to go and wash one's hands every time a lamp is used, because it was not thoroughly cleaned or duly put in order, when it should have been. Nor is it easy to clean an elegant carpet which has become soiled, or replace a valuable astral lamp, or mirror, which has been broken, simply for the want of thorough attention in those who have the care of these things. These little inconveniences, constantly recurring, might rouse a person to reflection, one would think, as effectually as occasional larger ones. We do not, however, always find it so.

Young people ought to consider what a host of evils sometimes result from a slight neglect. The trite saying—"For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; and for want of a horse, the rider was lost"—will, however, illustrate this part of my subject. Had the single nail which was omitted—the last one—been driven, and driven properly; had the work, in short, been done thoroughly, the shoe, horse and rider might all have been preserved.

Do not dread the imputation of being over-nice or whimsical, if you do your work thoroughly. You must learn to regard your own sense of right—your regard to duty—as a thing of far more importance than either the sneers or the approbation of thousands of the unthinking. I have heard an individual of great worth and respectability complain of a young friend of his, because he made it a point to finish thoroughly every thing he undertook, and charge him with having what he called a mania for finishing, I remember, too, a very worthy, and, in the main, excellent farmer, who used to complain of a very conscientious son of his, because, forsooth, he was determined to finish every thing he began, in the best possible manner, without paying much regard to the opinions of others. But these facts only show that wise and good men may not fully understand the nature and power of habit—or the necessity of being thorough in small as well as larger matters. The first individual I have named, was forever suffering from his own want of thoroughness—and was miserable through life; and the last would have been far happier all his life time, had he been as much disposed to finish the things he undertook, as his son.