Early rising should be one of the well-understood rules of the house, for the servants at least. As soon as up, on Monday morning, the laundress’s first work is to light the fire, if the laundry is separate from the kitchen; if not, the cook, of course, attends to that. The furnace is then to be well shaken and cleaned out, fresh coal added, and the ashes sifted and removed; which, if done every day, as it should be, is but a small item comparatively. Sweeping the front stairs, hall, doorsteps, sidewalk, and gutters comes next in order. By this time the fire and water will be in a proper state to commence washing; and that once begun, the laundress should be exempt from any other duty, save to feed the furnace, until the washing is finished and the clothes brought in and folded.
On Tuesday the same routine, while the fire is kindling and the irons heating; after that the laundress gives her undivided attention to her ironing. She should be up in season to finish sweeping stairs, hall, etc., and commence her washing and ironing by seven; and then, unless the washing is very large, an ordinarily bright girl should have all finished by Tuesday night, and be ready to give her full time to the chamber-work,—making beds, sweeping, dusting, washing windows, etc., during the remainder of the week.
The waitress is often expected to take charge of the furnace, but we cannot think it is desirable. If there is a fire to be lighted in the parlor or sitting-room, to remove the ashes, wash the hearth, and have the rooms dusted and in readiness for the family, and then put her table in order, is all that she will be likely to do well. Besides, after working in the cellar over the furnace, she cannot be fit to wait on the table without taking more time to free her hair and dress from ashes and dirt than she can spare, if you would have the breakfast served promptly. And what is more disgusting than an untidy waitress? The waitress should have charge of parlor, dining-room, silver, answering the bell, and on Monday and Tuesday do the chamber-work.
Where but two servants are kept,—and we are inclined to think the fewer servants the better the work is done,—of course the two must divide the work, each assisting in the washing and ironing, but the cook still retaining the charge of the meals.
II.
MARCH.
THE morning sun shines brightly, the air is mild and balmy; you go about your early cares with a cheerful spirit; and, after seeing that the “pickings up,” the brushing and dusting, which are a daily necessity, are faithfully performed, you sit down to your sewing, your books, or your writing in a satisfied and comfortable state of mind. But in a few hours the sky grows dark; grim and threatening clouds obscure the sun; the wind sweeps round the house with long, wailing moans, or short, fierce gusts, while you shiveringly draw the warm breakfast shawl closer about you, and find that you have suddenly passed into a far less genial atmosphere than you enjoyed in the morning.
March may come in a very mild and gentle manner, but don’t trust it. It is “fooling you.” Its smiles are quickly followed by frowns, and the bright, warm sunlight all too soon will be forced to give place to fierce winds and drifting snows. We are quite as well pleased when this, the first month of spring, appears in its own proper character,—windy, stormy, and bitter cold,—for then we hope that it will make its exit in a gentler mood.
Yes, this is truly March,—cold, raw, and blustering March,—which, with the early days of April, before the winds have fairly died out, is the terror of all careful housekeepers,—insuring an abundance of extra work; for its winds and storms will force an entrance into every part of the house, however securely guarded. No burglar’s alarm can promise safety from this insidious foe. Windows, pictures, and furniture, so nicely cleaned and polished but a few hours since, require a repetition of the same work many times a day. No month in the whole year demands such incessant use of dusters, brushes, and brooms,—such unslumbering watchfulness.
Why not clean once a day and then let the dust be till next morning?
Because, if allowed to remain, it soils your hands and dresses, spoils your pictures, finds lodgment in your finely carved statuary, or settles in the graceful designs or rich upholstery of your furniture. Once snugly secreted in woollen or plush, dust is not easily removed, but becomes the favorite resort for moths, affording abundant material for all their wants. There is no month in the whole year which so completely makes you the slave of the broom and dusting-brush. If there is a carpenter ingenious enough to build a house so tight that it can defy the searching winds of March, he would most certainly be a universal favorite among all housekeepers. Under the doors, from the top, bottom, and sides of the windows, in at the key-holes,—everywhere the dust finds an entrance. No table, chair, or shelf may be touched without showing the presence of this subtle enemy. Each book, picture, or article of dress acknowledges its power. Was it not in the month of March that the plague of dust tormented the Egyptians? Unless some learned interpreter of the Bible can prove the contrary, we are inclined to accept this idea. There is no other season of the year when one feels so little courage, for we cannot “rest from our labors.” However faithfully the work may be done, an hour will destroy all trace of our industry. Then why attempt to do it? Why not let all cleaning cease till March gives place to its betters, and then have a general purification?