By Lina Orman Cooper, Author of "Our Home Rulers," Etc.
"Domestic economy consists in spending a penny to save a pound. Political economy consists in spending a pound to save a penny."
Such is an aphorism left us by one of the wisest of men. It exactly defines the principle on which I shall deal with the subject of this paper. Real economy means good management, and is quite apart from penuriousness. It implies proper regulation of a household, and careful disposition or arrangement of work. We can be thrifty of our talents, time, and money without being niggardly, for frugality need never descend into parsimony if we are watchful. There are more precious things than £ s. d., after all, and looking after those other things makes us sympathetic and original.
For instance, the real House Economical suggests sunshine and purity. Without these, smallness of rent will be more than counter-balanced by increase in doctors' fees. Of necessity, it must be liberally and variously supplied, or satiety follows. It is true that red herrings offer a larger amount of nutriment for a given sum of money than any other kind of animal food. Yet it would not be really economical to feed our households continually on halfpenny herrings. A farthing dip is the cheapest light obtainable—but eyes would be ruined if we provided nothing but single candles in our establishments. Spices and condiments are rather adjuncts of food than necessities, yet they are medicinal in their properties and of extreme value in rendering food more palatable and stimulating a jaded appetite. So far for food—for it is with food we generally find a tendency to save begins.
True economy consists in maintaining the standard of health in a family at its highest. Expenditure towards this end can never be extravagant, even if it ranges from thick curtains over our doors to silk mufflers in windy weather. Not to provide our children with warm underclothing on the score of expense is the height of extravagance; to be content without sanitary surroundings and labour-saving appliances the depth of foolishness.
The House Economical may first of all be beautiful. A horizon that is bounded by a need for thrift more often than not tends to greyness and gloom. This should not be. Lovely surroundings are of economic value in keeping spirits up to a certain point. Digestion is promoted by eating in a bright, airy dining-room. A well-arranged bedroom may be productive of sleep.
Comfortable homes are economical ones, in the best sense of the word, saving time, fatigue, and temper. One hour's opportune rest on a Chesterfield may save hours of malaise and headache. The House Economical will have rules sufficiently elastic to allow of such occasional pauses in work—"come-apart-and-rest-for-a-while" possibilities—if called for.
One great principle in the House Economical is never to spend money on unwanted things because they happen to be seen. Another is, when wanted, to get the best procurable. "Cheap and nasty" is a very true union of words. Yet we must remember that some inexpensive substitutes are quite as good as costly things. A copper kettle, for instance, looks just as well and wears longer than a silver one. A1 plate lasts a lifetime if taken care of. Serge is more useful than satin, and just as suitable in its way.
"She looketh well to the ways of her household" was said of the virtuous woman of old. In the House Economical we must most closely follow her example in its ingle-nooks. Our average cook thinks it good to use only lumps of orrell in the range, ignoring the possibilities of saving in any form. Now all housekeepers know that pokers should be absent from the hearth if we would limit coal bills; that cinders, sifted and washed, are most useful fuel for frying and laundry work; that a judicious admixture of wet slack with wood or "nuts" is advisable. There are two economical ways of building and maintaining good fires in our parlours. One is to ignite at the top and suffer to burn downwards. The other is to lay and light after the usual fashion and "backen" with a bucket of damp coal dust. Either procedure gives a fire that will burn for hours without attention, if not "raked" by Mary Jane. We need not, like the ghost in Hamlet, "be condemned to fast in fires" even in the House Economical, if we see that every hearth burns its own cinders—that the kitchen stove consumes every bit of table refuse—and that the coal man delivers eight bags of slack with every ton of coal.