Enquire Within Upon Everything Part 198

viii. Remember what Poor Richard says, "Buy what thou hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessaries."

ix. "At a great pennyworth, pause awhile." He means, perhaps, that the cheapness is apparent only, and not real; or the bargain, by straightening thee in thy business, may do thee more harm than good; for in another place he says, "Many have been ruined by buying good pennyworths."

x. "It is foolish to lay out money in the purchase of repentance;"

and yet this folly is practised every day at auctions for want of minding the Almanack.

2612. Cash and Credit.

If you would get rich, don't deal in bill books. Credit is the "Tempter in a new shape." Buy goods on trust, and you will purchase a thousand articles that cash would never have dreamed of. A s.h.i.+lling in the hand looks larger than ten s.h.i.+llings seen through the perspective of a three months' bill. Cash is practical, while credit takes horribly to taste and romance. Let cash buy a dinner, and you will have a beef-steak flanked with onions. Send credit to market, and he will return with eight pairs of woodc.o.c.ks and a peck of mushrooms.

Credit believes in diamond pins and champagne suppers. Cash is more easily satisfied. Give him three meals a day, and he doesn't care much if two of them are made up of roasted potatoes and a little salt. Cash is a good adviser, while credit is a good fellow to be on visiting terms with. If you want double chins and contentment, do business with cash.

2613. Hints upon Money Matters.

Have a supply of change in hand--s.h.i.+llings, sixpences, halfpence. This will obviate the various inconveniences of keeping people at the door, sending out at unreasonable times, and running or calling after any inmate in the house, supposed to be better provided with "the needful." The tradespeople with whom you regularly deal will always give you extra change, _when_ you are making purchases or paying bills; while those to whom you apply for it, on a sudden emergency, may neither be willing nor able to do so. Some housekeepers object to this arrangement, that, "as soon as five-pound notes or sovereigns are changed, they always seem to go, without their understanding how;" but to such persons I would humbly intimate, that this is rather the fault of their _not getting understanding_, than any inevitable consequence of _getting change_.

The fact is, that it is the necessity of parting with your money which obliges you to get the larger pieces changed, and not the circ.u.mstance of having smaller coin that _necessitates_ your parting with your money, though it certainly facilitates your doing so when the necessity arrives. However, as it is easier to count a few sovereigns than many s.h.i.+llings, and loose money is most objectionable, it is well to put up reserve change in small collective packets, and to replenish the housekeeping purse from these daily or weekly, as may be most convenient.

[DEATH DOES NOT BLOW A TRUMPET.]

2614. Save Time and Trouble.

If Money for daily expenses has to pa.s.s through the hands of a servant, it is a time-and-trouble-saving plan to settle with her _every_ night, and to make up her cash in hand to a certain _similar_ sum. This will prevent such puzzling calculations as the following:

"Let me see: I gave you 10s. on Sat.u.r.day, and 9d. the day before.

Was it 9d.? No, it must have been 11d., for I gave you 1s., and you gave me 1d. out for the beggar; then there was 6s. 6d. on Monday, and 8d. you owed me from last money; and then the 1s. 6d. your master gave you for a parcel--you brought him 2d. back, and 3d-1/2.

out of the butcher's bill; no--_you_ had to give 3-1/2d. to the butcher, but you came to me for the 1/2d., and I had no coppers, so we still owe him the 1/2d.; by the way, don't forget to pay him the next time you go. Then there's the baker--no, I paid the baker myself, and I _think_ the housemaid paid the b.u.t.ter-man; but you got in the cheese the day before, and I have a sort of recollection that I may possibly owe you for _that_, all but a few pence you must have had left of mine, that I told you to take from off the chimney-piece. Well, cook, I think that's _nearly_ all! Now how do your accounts stand?"

This the poor cook, who _is_ a cook, and _not_ a conjuror, finds it no easy matter to discover; all that she is quite certain of is, that her disburs.e.m.e.nts have somewhat exceeded her receipts, and being an honest woman, though a poor one, she wishes to cheat neither her mistress nor herself; but what with her memory and her want of it, her involved payments, and different receipts; what she owed her mistress, and what her mistress owes her; what she got from her master, and what was partly settled by the housemaid; the balance from the butcher's bill, and the intricacies of the cheese account, the poor woman is perfectly bewildered.

She counts again and again; recapitulates her mistress's data and her own; sums upwards, backwards, and forwards, and endeavours to explain the differences between them; then, if she can read and write, she brings her slate to "explain the explanation," and the united calculations of maid and mistress, which are after all entirely unavailing to produce a more correct account, probably consume more time, and are expressed in more words, than would suffice to fill another volume like the present. Two minutes' daily reckoning from a _regular_ sum in hand would do the business effectually, and prevent either party from being out of pocket or out of temper. Thus, for instance, the maid has her usual sum of five s.h.i.+llings to account for; she pays during the day, for:

s. d.

Bread 1 9 Beer 0 6 Vegetables and fruit 0 10 Milk 0 4 Matches 0 1 Parcel 1 0 ______ Total 4 6

This is easily reckoned, even by the unlearned; the mistress enters the items in her day-book, takes the remaining sixpence, and again gives her servant 5s., in convenient change, to be as readily accounted for on the succeeding day.

_Home Truths for Home Peace_; or, _Muddle Defeated._

[TIME BRINGS EVERYTHING TO THOSE WHO CAN WAIT.]

2615. Don't Run in Debt.

"Don't run in debt;"--never mind, never mind If your clothes are faded and torn: Mend them up, make them do; it is better by far Than to have the heart weary and worn.

Who'll love you the more for the shape of your hat, Or your ruff, or the tie of your shoe, The cut of your vest, or your boots, or cravat, If they know you're in debt for the new?

There's no comfort, I tell you, in walking the street In fine clothes, if you know you're in debt, And feel that, perchance, you some tradesman may meet, Who will sneer--"They're not paid for yet."

Good friends, let me beg of you, don't run in debt; If the chairs and the sofas are old, They will fit your back better than any new set, Unless they are paid for--with gold; If the house is too small, draw the closer together, Keep it warm with a hearty good-will; A big one unpaid for, in all kinds of weather, Will send to your warm heart a chill.

Don't run in debt--now, dear girls, take a hint, if the fas.h.i.+ons have changed since last season, Old Nature is out in the very same tint, And old Nature, we think, has some reason; But just say to your friend, that you cannot afford To spend time to keep up with the fas.h.i.+on; That your purse is too light and your honour too bright, To be tarnished with such silly pa.s.sion.

Men, don't run in debt--let your friends, if they can.

Have fine houses, and feathers, and flowers: But, unless they are paid for, be more of a man Than to envy their suns.h.i.+ny hours.

If you've money to spare, I have nothing to say-- Spend your silver and gold as you please; But mind you, the man who his bill has to pay Is the man who is never at ease.

Kind husbands, don't run into debt any more; 'Twill fill your wives' cup full of sorrow To know that a neighbour may call at your door, With a claim you must settle to-morrow Oh! take my advice--it is good, it is true!

But, lest you may some of you doubt it, I'll whisper a secret now, seeing 'tis you-- I have tried it, and know all about it, _The chain of a debtor is heavy and cold.

Its links all corrosion and rust; Gild it o'er as you will, it is never of gold, Then spurn it aside with disgust_.

2616. Carving, Ceremonies of the Table, &c.

A dinner-table should be well laid, well lighted, and always afford a little spare room. It is better to invite one friend less in number, than to destroy the comfort of the whole party.

2617. The Laying out of a Table.

The laying out of a table must greatly depend upon the nature of the dinner or supper, the taste of the host, the description of the company, and the appliances possessed. It would be useless, therefore, to lay down specific rules. The whiteness of the table-cloth, the clearness of gla.s.s, the polish of plate, and the judicious distribution of ornamental groups of fruits and flowers, are matters deserving the utmost attention.

2618. A Sideboard.

A sideboard will greatly relieve a crowded table, upon which may be placed many things incidental to the successive courses, until they are required.

2619. Menu.

A bill of fare or Menu at large dinner parties, where there are several courses, should be provided neatly inscribed upon small tablets, and distributed about the table, that the diners may know what there is to come.

2620. Napkins.

Napkins should be folded neatly. The French method, which is very easy, of folding the napkin like a fan, placing it in a gla.s.s, and spreading out the upper part, is very pleasing. But the English method of folding is like a slipper, and placing the bread inside its folds is convenient as well as neat.

[AS THE VIRTUE IS IN THE TREE, SUCH IS THE FRUIT.]

2621. Bread.

Bread should be cut into thick squares, the last thing after the table is laid. If cut too early it becomes dry. A tray should he provided, in which there should be a further supply of bread, new, stale, and brown. For cheese, pulled bread should be provided.

2622. Carving-knives.

Carving-knives should be "put in edge" before the dinner commences, for nothing irritates a good carver, or perplexes a bad one, more than a knife which refuses to perform its office; and there is nothing more annoying to the company than to see the carving-knife gliding to and fro over the steel while the dinner is getting cold, and their appet.i.tes are being exhausted by delay.