God be thanked, thought I, that there is one who “judgeth not as man judgeth;” who holdeth evenly the scales of justice; who weigheth against our sins the whirlpool of our temptations; who forgetteth never the countless struggles for the victory, ere the desponding, weary heart shuts out the light of Heaven.
MRS. ZEBEDEE SMITH’S PHILOSOPHY.
Dear me! how expensive it is to be poor. Every time I go out, my best bib and tucker has to go on. If Zebedee were worth a cool million, I might wear a coal-hod on my head, if I chose, with perfect impunity. There was that old nabob’s wife at the lecture, the other night, in a dress that might have been made for Noah’s great grandmother. She can afford it! Now, if it rains knives and forks, I must sport a ten dollar hat, a forty-dollar dress, and a hundred dollar shawl. If I go to a concert, I must take the highest priced seat, and ride there and back, just to let “Tom, Dick, and Harry” see that I can afford it. Then we must hire the most expensive pew in the broad-aisle of a tip-top church, and give orders to the sexton not to admit any strangers into it who look snobbish! Then my little children, Napoleon Bonaparte and Donna Maria Smith, can’t go to a public school, because, you know, we shouldn’t have to pay anything.
Then if I go shopping, to buy a paper of needles, I have to get a little chap to bring them home, because it wouldn’t answer for me to be seen carrying a bundle through the streets. We have to keep three servants where one might do; and Zebedee’s coats have to be sent to the tailor when they want a button sewed on, for the look of the thing.
Then if I go to the sea-shore in summer, I can’t take my comfort, as rich people do, in gingham dresses, loose shoes, and cambric sun-bonnets. No! I have to be done up by ten o’clock in a Swiss-muslin dress and a French cap; and my Napoleon Bonaparte and Donna Maria can’t go off the piazza, because the big rocks and little pebbles cut their toes so badly through their patent kid slippers.
Then if Zebedee goes a fishing, he dare not put on a linen coat for the price of his reputation. No, indeed! Why, he never goes to the barn-yard without drawing on his white kids. Then he orders the most ruinous wines at dinner, and fees those white jackets till his purse is as empty as an egg-shell. I declare it is abominably expensive. I don’t believe rich people have the least idea how much it costs poor people to live!
A LANCE COUCHED FOR THE CHILDREN.
You have a pretty, attractive child; she is warm-hearted and affectionate, but vivacious and full of life. With judicious management, and a firm, steady rein, she is a very loveable one. You take her with you on a visit, or to make a call. You are busy, talking with the friend you went to see. A gentleman comes in and throws himself indolently on the sofa. His eye falls upon little Kitty. He is just in the mood to be amused, and makes up his mind to banter her a little, for the sake of drawing her out. So he says—
“Jemima, dear—come here!”
The child blushes, and regards him as if uncertain whether he intended to address her. He repeats his request, with a laugh. She replies, “My name is Kitty, not Jemima,” which her tormentor contradicts. Kitty looks puzzled (just as he intended she should), but it is only for a moment. She sees he is quizzing her. Well, Miss Kitty likes a frolic, if that is what he wants; so she gives him a pert answer—he laughs uproariously, and rattles fun round her little ears like a hail storm; Kitty has plenty of answers ready for him, and he enjoys the sport amazingly.