“When a new house passes out of the hands of the carpenters, the painters and paper-hangers take their place. In selecting your paper-hangings, keep in view these considerations. If the ceiling is low, oak paper, or any dark paper, will make it apparently lower still; or if a room be defectively lighted, a dark shade aggravates the evil. Papers of large designs are unsuited for a small room, making it look smaller; and, generally, papers with a variety of colors and showy patterns are inconsistent with elegance. Striped papers are better adapted for rooms with low ceilings. When you have pictures to hang on the walls, floral devices in the paper are particularly unsuitable. Paper of a uniform color, such as light or dark green, is admirably adapted for pictures. The paint of doors and windows should harmonize with the paper-hangings.”
XXXV.
VISITING FOR ONE’S OWN CONVENIENCE.
THERE are very few housekeepers in cities or large towns who will not, at the first glance, understand precisely what this means; and, however many may have been tempted to indulge in this style of visiting, and perhaps often yielded to the temptation, there will be none found, we venture to say, who will not heartily protest against it, when practised upon themselves.
We have before us a letter from a lady on this subject, and think we cannot do better than to transcribe part of it for the benefit of our young friends, as it presents the subject in a clear and very forcible manner:—
“Do not, by any means, imagine that I would say a word against friendly visits, for mutual enjoyment and the cultivation of true friendship. I gladly welcome to my house all who come to see me, and delight to do them honor in every way hospitality can suggest. My friends are sure of a cordial welcome at all times, and I never make a visit I do not wish returned. So much by way of parenthesis.
“Now for a statement of grievances. It is my misfortune (or fortune) to have been brought up in a rural town, about thirty miles from the city where I have resided since my marriage, five years ago. I am a young housekeeper, not yet of sufficient experience to take matters as easily as older and more experienced matrons can, and therefore am more easily disturbed by untoward events.
“The people living in my native town and thereabouts, who are in the least acquainted with me or my husband, find it vastly convenient, when they come to the city, once or twice a year, or oftener, to shop, do errands of various kinds, or attend conventions,—of which we have legions,—to come directly to my house, with all the freedom of brothers and sisters, and stay till their mission to the city, whatever it may be, is accomplished, with no thought or inquiry of how it may conflict with my plans and convenience, or whether my health is sufficient to enable me to bear the addition to my work. And still worse, they never give any notice of their coming; but arrive, perhaps, in the noon train, just as I am dishing up dinner for my small family, with their strong country appetites, whetted by their morning ride, and expect a good dinner and a hearty welcome. If it were only one or two who take such liberties, I would not mind it; but as one after another makes my house their hotel, it becomes a weariness to the flesh. Nor is this all. The hardest and most annoying of all is to have a woman come bringing a young child, and remain till she has made her purchases for a large family. This of course takes two or more days. The child is left in my care, while the mother is only in the house at meal-times. The child is home-sick, lonely, and fretful, and completely wears me out, mentally and bodily; and I have no means of redress. When the mother leaves, she says, ‘Now come and make me a visit,’ well knowing that I never will.
“I might speak of the annoyance of rising two hours earlier than usual to get breakfast in season for an early morning train; but I forbear, hoping you will help those who suffer from this cruel and heartless practice.”
This victim of a selfish and heartless custom has so well portrayed the annoyances that spring naturally from it, that few words of ours are needed. But, in justice to the writer, we must assure our readers that this is no fancy sketch; the half of what the landladies of these gratuitous hotels are called upon—no, compelled—to endure has not been told. Happy, if when sick, without help, or unable to afford to keep any, they do not find it necessary to furnish two or three extra meals, at different parts of the day, after the family have been fed, the table and dishes all cleansed, and the weary provider has just sat down to that large basket of long-delayed mending. Long delayed! And why? Because the time and strength which might have been given to that work have been frittered away for those who have no legitimate claim upon either, and who, perhaps, taking notes of everything which their presence compels the lady of the house to neglect, go away and requite her hospitality by criticising her housekeeping and remarking upon her inefficiency! Or it may be, these long-suffering ladies are rung up at midnight to receive unscrupulous and untimely guests; or, instead of one child to look after, they are expected to act as nurse to three or four. We have tried and known it all, and confess we don’t like it.
Aside from the fatigue and inconvenience, the pecuniary tax is often much heavier than the poor victim can afford to pay. We think the meanest kind of pilfering is that practised by self-constituted guests. We would ride, in the darkest night, over the roughest corduroy roads ever seen at the West in her earliest days, until we found a log-tavern, on the edge of a “clearing,” with no private room, no eatable food, and a bed already fully inhabited, before we would thus trespass on any one upon whom we had not strong claims of hearty love or relationship, and especially without warning. And one who has ever tried this alternative, will acknowledge that we could not well express our abhorrence of the practice of “visiting for one’s own convenience” more forcibly.