Thrift Part 26

He became intemperate; and his intemperance made her necessitous. She made many efforts to abstain from shop-work; but her pecuniary necessities forced her back into the shop. The family was large; and every moment was required at home. I have known her, after the close of a hard day's work, sit up nearly all night for several nights together was.h.i.+ng and mending clothes. My father could have no comfort there.

These domestic obligations, which in a well-regulated house (even in that of a working man, where there are prudence and good management) would be done so as not to annoy the husband, were to my father a sort of annoyance; and he, from an ignorant and mistaken notion, sought comfort in an alehouse. My mother's ignorance of household duties; my father's consequent irritability and intemperance; the frightful poverty; the constant quarrelling; the pernicious example to my brothers and sisters; the bad effect upon the future conduct of my brothers,--one and all of us being forced out to work so young that our feeble earnings would produce only 1_s_. a week,--cold and hunger, and the innumerable sufferings of my childhood, crowd upon my mind and overpower me. They keep alive a deep anxiety for the emanc.i.p.ation of thousands of families in this great town (Birmingham) and neighbourhood, who are in a similar state of horrible misery. My own experience tells me that the instruction of the females in the work of a house, in teaching them to produce cheerfulness and comfort at the fireside, would prevent a great amount of misery and crime. There would be fewer drunken husbands and disobedient children. As a working man, within my own observation, female education is disgracefully neglected. I attach more importance to it than to anything else; for woman imparts the first impressions to the young susceptible mind; she models the child from which is formed the future man."

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ART OF LIVING.

"Deem no man, in any age, Gentle for his lineage.

Though he be not highly born, He is gentle if he doth What 'longeth to a gentleman."--_Chaucer_.

"Every one is the son of his own work."--_Cervantes_.

"Serve a n.o.ble disposition, though poor; the time comes that he will repay thee."--_George Herbert_.

"Although men are accused for not knowing their own weakness, yet perhaps as few know their own strength. It is in men as in soils, where sometimes there is a vein of gold, which the owner knows not of."--_Swift_.

"Let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy."--_Cibber_.

The Art of Living deserves a place among the Fine Arts. Like Literature, it may be ranked with the Humanities. It is the art of turning the means of living to the best account,--of making the best of everything. It is the art of extracting from life its highest enjoyment, and, through it, of reaching its highest results.

To live happily, the exercise of no small degree of art is required.

Like poetry and painting, the art of living comes chiefly by nature; but all can cultivate and develop it. It can be fostered by parents and teachers, and perfected by self-culture. Without intelligence, it cannot exist.

Happiness is not, like a large and beautiful gem, so uncommon and rare, that all search for it is vain, all efforts to obtain it hopeless; but it consists of a series of smaller and commoner gems, grouped and set together, forming a pleasing and graceful whole. Happiness consists in the enjoyment of little pleasures scattered along the common path of life, which, in the eager search for some great and exciting joy, we are apt to overlook. It finds delight in the performance of common duties, faithfully and honourably fulfilled.

The art of living is abundantly exemplified in actual life. Take two men of equal means,--one of whom knows the art of living, and the other not.

The one has the seeing-eye and the intelligent mind. Nature is ever new to him, and full of beauty. He can live in the present, rehea.r.s.e the past, or antic.i.p.ate the glory of the future. With him, life has a deep meaning, and requires the performance of duties which are satisfactory to his conscience, and are therefore pleasurable. He improves himself, acts upon his age, helps to elevate the depressed cla.s.ses, and is active in every good work. His hand is never tired, his mind is never weary. He goes through life joyfully, helping others to its enjoyment.

Intelligence, ever expanding, gives him every day fresh insight into men and things. He lays down his life full of honour and blessing, and his greatest monument is the good deeds he has done, and the beneficent example he has set before his fellow-creatures.

The other has comparatively little pleasure in life. He has scarcely reached manhood, ere he has exhausted its enjoyments. Money has done everything that it could for him. Yet he feels life to be vacant and cheerless. Travelling does him no good; for, for him history has no meaning. He is only alive to the impositions of innkeepers and couriers, and the disagreeableness of travelling for days amidst great mountains, among peasants and sheep, cramped up in a carriage. Picture galleries he feels to be a bore, and he looks into them because other people do.

These "pleasures" soon tire him, and he becomes _blase_. When he grows old, and has run the round of fas.h.i.+onable dissipations, and there is nothing left which he can relish, life becomes a masquerade, in which he recognizes only knaves, hypocrites, and flatterers. Though he does not enjoy life, yet he is terrified to leave it. Then the curtain falls.

With all his wealth, life has been to him a failure, for he has not known the Art of Living, without which life cannot be enjoyed.

It is not wealth that gives the true zest to life,--but reflection, appreciation, taste, culture. Above all, the seeing eye and the feeling heart are indispensable. With these, the humblest lot may be made blest.

Labour and toil may be a.s.sociated with the highest thoughts and the purest tastes. The lot of labour may thus become elevated and enn.o.bled.

Montaigne observes that "all moral philosophy is as applicable to a vulgar and private life as to the most splendid. Every man carries the entire form of the human condition within him."

Even in material comfort, good taste is a real economist, as well as an enhancer of joy. Scarcely have you pa.s.sed the doorstep of your friend's house, when you can detect whether taste presides within it or not.

There is an air of neatness, order, arrangement, grace, and refinement, that gives a thrill of pleasure, though you cannot define it, or explain how it is. There is a flower in the window, or a picture against the wall, that marks the home of taste. A bird sings at the window-sill; books lie about; and the furniture, though common, is tidy, suitable, and, it may be, even elegant.

The art of living extends to all the economies of the household. It selects wholesome food, and serves it with taste. There is no profusion; the fare may be very humble, but it has a savour about it; everything is so clean and neat, the water so sparkles in the gla.s.s, that you do not desire richer viands, or a more exciting beverage. Look into another house, and you will see profusion enough, without either taste or order.

The expenditure is larger, and yet you do not feel "at home" there. The atmosphere seems to be full of discomfort. Books, hats, shawls, and stockings in course of repair, are strewn about. Two or three chairs are loaded with goods. The rooms are hugger-mugger. No matter how much money is spent, it does not mend matters. Taste is wanting, for the manager of the household has not yet learnt the Art of Living.

You see the same contrast in cottage life. The lot of poverty is sweetened by taste. It selects the healthiest, openest neighbourhood, where the air is pure and the streets are clean. You see, at a glance, by the sanded doorstep, and the window-panes without a speck,--perhaps blooming roses or geraniums s.h.i.+ning through them,--that the tenant within, however poor, knows the art of making the best of his lot. How different from the foul cottage-dwellings you see elsewhere; with the dirty children playing in the gutters; the slattern-like women lounging by the door-cheek; and the air of sullen poverty that seems to pervade the place. And yet the weekly income in the former home may be no greater, perhaps even less, than in that of the other.

How is it, that of two men, working in the same field or in the same shop, one is merry as a lark,--always cheerful, well-clad, and as clean as his work will allow him to be,--comes out on Sunday mornings in his best suit, to go to church with his family,--is never without a penny in his purse, and has something besides in the savings bank,--is a reader of books and a subscriber to a newspaper, besides taking in some literary journal for family reading; whilst the other man, with equal or even superior weekly wages, comes to work in the mornings sour and sad,--is always full of grumbling,--is badly clad and badly shod,--is never seen out of his house on Sundays till about midday, when he appears in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, his face unwashed, his hair unkempt, his eyes bleared and bloodshot,--his children left to run about the gutters, with no one apparently to care for them,--is always at his last coin, except on Sat.u.r.day night, and then he has a long score of borrowings to repay,--belongs to no club, has nothing saved, but lives literally from hand to mouth,--reads none, thinks none, but only toils, eats, drinks, and sleeps;--why is it that there is so remarkable a difference between these two men?

Simply for this reason,--that the one has the intelligence and the art to extract joy and happiness from life,--to be happy himself, and to make those about him happy; whereas the other has not cultivated his intelligence, and knows nothing whatever of the art of either making himself or his family happy. With the one, life is a scene of loving, helping, and sympathizing,--of carefulness, forethought, and calculation--of reflection, action, and duty;--with the other, it is only a rough scramble for meat and drink; duty is not thought of, reflection is banished, prudent forethought is never for a moment entertained.

But look to the result; the former is respected by his fellow-workmen and beloved by his family,--he is an example of well-being and well-doing to all who are within reach of his influence; whereas the other is as unreflective and miserable, as nature will allow him to be,--he is shunned by good men,--his family are afraid at the sound of his footsteps, his wife perhaps trembling at his approach,--he dies without leaving any regrets behind him, except, it may be, on the part of his family, who are left to be maintained by the charity of the public, or by the pittance doled out by the overseers.

For these reasons, it is worth every man's while to study the important Art of living happily. Even the poorest man may by this means extract an increased amount of joy and blessing from life. The world need not be "a vale of tears," unless we ourselves will it to be so. We have the command, to a great extent, over our own lot. At all events, our mind is our own possession; we can cherish happy thoughts there; we can regulate and control our tempers and dispositions to a considerable extent; we can educate ourselves, and bring out the better part of our nature, which in most men is allowed to sleep a deep sleep; we can read good books, cherish pure thoughts, and lead lives of peace, temperance, and virtue, so as to secure the respect of good men, and transmit the blessing of a faithful example to our successors.

The Art of Living is best exhibited in the Home. The first condition of a happy home, where good influences prevail over bad ones, is Comfort.

Where there are carking cares, querulousness, untidiness, slovenliness, and dirt, there can be little comfort either for man or woman. The husband who has been working all day, expects to have something as a compensation for his toil. The least that his wife can do for him, is to make his house snug, clean, and tidy, against his home-coming at eve.

That is the truest economy--the best housekeeping--the worthiest domestic management--which makes the home so pleasant and agreeable, that a man feels when approaching it, that he is about to enter a sanctuary; and that, when there, there is no alehouse attraction that can draw him away from it.

Some say that we wors.h.i.+p Comfort too much. The word is essentially English, and is said to be untranslateable, in its full meaning, into any foreign language. It is intimately connected with the Fireside. In warmer climes, people contrive to live out of doors. They sun themselves in the streets. Half their life is in public. The genial air woos them forth, and keeps them abroad. They enter their houses merely to eat and sleep. They can scarcely be said to _live_ there.

How different is it with us! The raw air without, during so many months of the year, drives us within doors. Hence we cultivate all manner of home pleasures. Hence the host of delightful a.s.sociations which rise up in the mind at the mention of the word Home. Hence our household G.o.d, Comfort.

We are not satisfied merely with a home. It must be comfortable. The most wretched, indeed, are those who have no homes--the homeless! But not less wretched are those whose homes are without comfort--those of whom Charles Lamb once said, "The homes of the very poor are no homes."

It is Comfort, then, that is the soul of the home--its essential principle--its vital element.

Comfort does not mean merely warmth, good furniture, good eating and drinking. It means something higher than this. It means cleanliness, pure air, order, frugality,--in a word, house-thrift and domestic government. Comfort is the soil in which the human being grows,--not only physically, but morally. Comfort lies, indeed, at the root of many virtues.

Wealth is not necessary for comfort. Luxury requires wealth, but not comfort. A poor man's home, moderately supplied with the necessaries of life, presided over by a cleanly, frugal housewife, may contain all the elements of comfortable living. Comfortlessness is for the most part caused, not so much by the absence of sufficient means, as by the absence of the requisite knowledge of domestic management.

Comfort, it must be admitted, is in a great measure _relative_. What is comfort to one man, would be misery to another. Even the commonest mechanic of this day would consider it miserable to live after the style of the n.o.bles a few centuries ago; to sleep on straw beds, and live in rooms littered with rushes. William the Conqueror had neither a s.h.i.+rt to his back, nor a pane of gla.s.s to his windows. Queen Elizabeth was one of the first to wear silk stockings. The Queens before her were stockingless.

Comfort depends as much on persons as on "things." It is out of the character and temper of those who govern homes, that the feeling of comfort arises, much more than out of handsome furniture, heated rooms, or household luxuries and conveniences.

Comfortable people are kindly-tempered. Good temper may be set down as an invariable condition of comfort. There must be peace, mutual forbearance, mutual help, and a disposition to make the best of everything. "Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith."

Comfortable people are persons of common sense, discretion, prudence, and economy. They have a natural affinity for honesty and justice, goodness and truth. They do not run into debt,--for that is a species of dishonesty. They live within their means, and lay by something for a rainy day. They provide for the things of their own household,--yet they are not wanting in hospitality and benevolence on fitting occasions. And what they do, is done without ostentation.

Comfortable people do everything in order. They are systematic, steady, sober, industrious. They dress comfortably. They adapt themselves to the season,--neither s.h.i.+vering in winter, nor perspiring in summer. They do not toil after a "fas.h.i.+onable appearance." They expend more on warm stockings than on gold rings; and prefer healthy, good bedding, to gaudy window-curtains. Their chairs are solid, not gimcrack. They will bear sitting upon, though they may not be ornamental.

The organization of the home depends for the most part upon woman. She is necessarily the manager of every family and household. How much, therefore, must depend upon her intelligent co-operation! Man's life revolves round woman. She is the sun of his social system. She is the queen of domestic life. The comfort of every home mainly depends upon her,--upon her character, her temper, her power of organization, and her business management. A man may be economical; but unless there be economy at home, his frugality will be comparatively useless. "A man cannot thrive," the proverb says, "unless his wife let him."

House-thrift is homely, but beneficent. Though unseen of the world, it makes many people happy. It works upon individuals; and by elevating them, it elevates society itself. It is in fact a receipt of infallible efficacy, for conferring the greatest possible happiness upon the greatest possible number. Without it legislation, benevolence, and philanthropy are mere palliatives, sometimes worse than useless, because they hold out hopes which are for the most part disappointed.

How happy does a man go forth to his labour or his business, and how doubly happy does he return from it, when he knows that his means are carefully husbanded and wisely applied by a judicious and well-managing wife. Such a woman is not only a power in her own house, but her example goes forth amongst her neighbours, and she stands before them as a model and a pattern. The habits of her children are formed after her habits: her actual life becomes the model after which they unconsciously mould themselves; for example always speaks more eloquently than words: it is instruction in action--wisdom at work.

First amongst woman's qualities is the intelligent use of her hands and fingers. Every one knows how useful, how indispensable to the comfort of a household, is the tidy, managing, handy woman. Pestalozzi, with his usual sagacity, has observed, that half the education of a woman comes through her fingers. There are wisdom and virtue at her finger-ends. But intellect must also accompany thrift: they must go hand in hand. A woman must not only be clever with her fingers, but possessed of the power of organizing household work.

There must be Method. The late Sir Arthur Helps observed, that "as women are at present educated, they are for the most part thoroughly deficient in _method_. But this surely might be remedied by training. To take a very humble and simple instance. Why is it that a man-cook is always better than a woman-cook? Simply because a man is more methodical in his arrangements, and relies more upon his weights and measures. An eminent physician told me that he thought women were absolutely deficient in the appreciation of time. But this I hold to be merely one instance of their general want of accuracy, for which there are easy remedies: that is, easy if begun early enough."

Accordingly, to manage a household efficiently, there must be Method.

Without this, work cannot be got through satisfactorily either in offices, workshops, or households. By arranging work properly, by doing everything at the right time, with a view to the economy of labour, a large amount of business can be accomplished. Muddle flies before method; and hugger-mugger disappears. There is also a method in spending--in laying out money,--which is as valuable to the housewife, as method is in accomplis.h.i.+ng her work. Money slips through the fingers of some people like quicksilver. We have already seen that many men are spendthrifts. But many women are the same. At least they do not know how to expend their husband's earnings to the best advantage. You observe things very much out of place--frills and ruffles and ill-darned stockings--fine bonnets and clouted shoes--silk gowns and dirty petticoats; while the husband goes about ragged and torn, with scarcely a clean thing about him.

Industry is of course essential. This is the soul of business; but, without method, industry will be less productive. Industry may sometimes look like confusion. But the methodical and industrious woman gets through her work in a quiet, steady style,--without fuss, or noise, or dust-clouds.

Prudence is another important household qualification. Prudence comes from cultivated judgment: it means practical wisdom. It has reference to fitness, to propriety; it judges of the right thing to be done, and of the right way of doing it. It calculates the means, order, time, and method of doing. Prudence learns much from experience, quickened by knowledge.