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Title: Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper
Author: T. S. Arthur
Posting Date: August 30, 2009 [EBook #4622]
Release Date: November, 2003
First Posted: February 20, 2002
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRIALS, CONFESSIONS OF HOUSEKEEPER ***
Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
TRIALS AND CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER.
BY
T. S. Arthur
PHILADELPHIA:
1859.
INTRODUCTION.
UNDER the title of Confessions of a Housekeeper, a portion of the
matter in this volume has already appeared. The book is now
considerably increased, and the range of subjects made to embrace
the grave and instructive, as well as the agreeable and amusing. The
author is sure, that no lady reader, familiar with the trials,
perplexities, and incidents of housekeeping, can fail to recognize
many of her own experiences, for nearly every picture that is here
presented, has been drawn from life.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. MY
SPECULATION
IN
CHINA
WARE
. II.
SOMETHING
ABOUT
COOKS
.
III
.
LIGHT
ON
THE
SUBJECT
. IV.
CHEAP
FURNITURE
. V. IS IT ECONOMY? VI.
LIVING
AT A
CONVENIENT
DISTANCE
.
VII
.
THE
PICKED-UP
DINNER
.
VIII
.
WHO
IS
KRISS
KRINGLE? IX.
NOT
AT
HOME
. X.
SHIRT
BUTTONS
. XI.
PAVEMENT
WASHING
IN
WINTER
.
XII
.
REGARD
FOR
THE
POOR
.
XIII
.
SOMETHING
MORE
ABOUT
COOKS
.
XIV
.
NOT
A
RAG
ON
THEIR
BACKS
. XV.
CURIOSITY
.
XVI
.
HOUSE
CLEANING
.
XVII
.
BROILING
A
LOBSTER
.
XVIII
.
THE
STRAWBERRY-WOMAN
.
XIX
.
LOTS
OF
THINGS
. XX. A
CURE
FOR
LOW
SPIRITS
.
XXI
. A
BARGAIN
.
XXII
. A
PEEVISH
DAY
AND
ITS
CONSEQUENCES
.
XXIII
.
WORDS
.
XXIV
.
MAY
BE SO.
XXV
. “
THE
POOR
CHILD
DIED”
XXVI
.
THE
RIVAL
BONNETS
.
XXVII
. MY
WASHERMAN
.
XXVIII
. MY
BORROWING
NEIGHBOR
.
XXIX
.
EXPERIENCE
IN
TAKING
BOARDERS
.
XXX
.
TWO
WAYS
WITH
DOMESTICS
.
XXXI
. A
MOTHER’S
DUTY
.
CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER.
CHAPTER I.
MY SPECULATION IN CHINA WARE.
THIS happened a very few years after, my marriage, and is one of
those feeling incidents in life that we never forget. My husband’s
income was moderate, and we found it necessary to deny ourselves
many little articles of ornament and luxury, to the end that there
might be no serious abatement in the comforts of life. In furnishing
our house, we had been obliged to content ourselves mainly with
things useful. Our parlor could boast of nine cane-seat chairs; one
high-backed cane-seat rocking chair; a pair of card tables; a pair
of ottomans, the covers for which I had worked in worsted; and a few
illustrated books upon the card tables. There were no pictures on
the walls, nor ornaments on the mantle pieces.
For a time after my marriage with Mr. Smith, I did not think much
about the plainness of our style of living; but after a while,
contracts between my own parlors and those of one or two friends,
would take place in my mind; and I often found myself wishing that
we could afford a set of candelabras, a pair of china vases, or some
choice pieces of Bohemian glass. In fact, I set my heart on
something of the kind, though I concealed the weakness from my
husband.
Time stole on, and one increase after another to our family, kept up
the necessity for careful expenditure, and at no time was there
money enough in the purse to justify any outlay beyond what the
wants of the household required. So my mantel pieces remained bare
as at first, notwithstanding the desire for something to put on them
still remained active.
One afternoon, as I sat at work renovating an old garment, with the
hope of making it look almost “as good as new,” my cook entered and
said—
“There’s a man down stairs, Mrs. Smith, with a basket full of the
most beautiful glass dishes and china ornaments that you ever did
see; and he says that he will sell them for old clothes.”
“For old clothes?” I responded, but half comprehending what the girl
meant.
“Yes ma’am. If you have got an old coat, or a pair of pantaloons
that ain’t good for nothing, he will buy them, and pay you in glass
or china.”
I paused for a moment to think, and then said—
“Tell him to come up into the dining room, Mary.”
The girl went down stairs, and soon came back in company with a dull
looking old man, who carried on his arm a large basket, in which
were temptingly displayed rich china vases, motto and presentation
cups and saucers, glass dishes, and sundry other articles of a like
character.
“Any old coats, pantaloons or vests?” said the man, as he placed,
carefully, his basket on the floor. “Don’t want any money. See here!
Beautiful!”
And as he spoke, he took up a pair of vases and held them before my
eyes. They were just the thing for my mantle pieces, and I covetted
them on the instant.
“What’s the price?” I enquired.
“Got an old coat?” was my only answer. “Don’t want money.”
My husband was the possessor of a coat that had seen pretty good
service, and which he had not worn for some time. In fact, it had
been voted superannuated, and consigned to a dark corner of the
clothes-press. The thought of this garment came very naturally into
my mind, and with the thought a pleasant exhilaration of feeling,
for I already saw the vases on my mantles.
“Any old clothes?” repeated the vender of china ware.
Without a word I left the dining room, and hurried up to where our
large clothes-press stood, in the passage above. From this I soon
abstracted the coat, and then descended with quick steps.
The dull face of the old man brightened, the moment his eyes fell
upon the garment. He seized it with a nervous movement, and seemed
to take in its condition at a single glance. Apparently, the
examination was not very satisfactory, for he let the coat fall, in
a careless manner, across a chair, giving his shoulders a shrug,
while a slight expression of contempt flitted over his countenance.
“Not much good!” fell from his lips after a pause.
By this time I had turned to his basket, and was examining, more