The ancient Britons had a pleasing arrangement which they called “The Truce of God.” By this, there was no fighting whatever, no matter what the provocation, between sunset on Wednesday and sunrise on Monday. This gave time for other affairs, and for the exercise of patience, toleration, and other virtues of the same ilk.
Many a household might take a leaf from this book to good advantage. Settle all differences after dinner, since at no time of the day is man in more reasonable mood, and ordain a “Truce of God” from dawn until after dinner.
No dinner, however beautifully cooked and served, no fine raiment, however costly and becoming, can ever atone, in the memory of a man, for the wild and untamed morning which too often prevails in the American household. His mind, distraught with business cares, harks back to his home—with pleasure? None too often, more’s the pity.
Some one has said that, in order to make a gentleman, one must begin with the grandfather. It is equally true that a good and proper breakfast begins the night before—or, better yet, the morning before.
Careful, systematic planning in advance lightens immeasurably the burden of housekeeping, and, many a time, makes the actual work nothing but fun. Those who have tried the experiment of planning meals for the entire week are enthusiastic in praise of the system. It secures variety, simplifies marketing, arranges for left-overs, and gives many an hour of peace and comfort which could not be had otherwise.
Even if a woman be her own maid, as, according to statistics, eighty-five per cent. of us are, a dainty, hygienic, satisfying breakfast is hers and her lord’s for little more than the asking. By careful preparation in advance, the morning labor is reduced to a minimum; by the intelligent use of lists and memoranda, the weary and reluctant body is saved many an unnecessary step.
An alarm clock of the “intermittent” sort insures early rising, a dash of cold water on the face is a physical and mental tonic of the most agreeable kind, and one hour in the morning is worth two at night, as the grandmothers of all of us have often said.
Fruit, usually, may be prepared for serving the night before, and will be improved by a few hours in the refrigerator. Cereals should be soaked over night in the water in which they are to be cooked, and a few hours’ cooking in the afternoon will injure very few cereals destined for the breakfast table the next morning. Codfish balls and many other things will be none the worse for a night’s waiting; the table can be set, and everything made ready for a perfect breakfast, which half an hour of intelligent effort in the morning will readily evolve.
A plea is made for the use of the chafing-dish, which is fully as attractive at the breakfast table as in the “wee sma’ hours” in which it usually shines; for a white apron instead of a gingham one when “my lady” is also the cook; for a crisp, clean shirt-waist instead of an abominable dressing-sack; for smooth, tidy hair, instead of unkempt locks; for a collar and a belt, and a persistent, if determined, cheerfulness.
In the long run, these things pay, and with compound interest at that. They involve a certain amount of labor, a great deal of careful planning, eternal getting-up when it is far more pleasant to abide in dreamland, quite often a despairing weariness, if not a headache, and no small draft upon one’s power of self-denial and self-sacrifice.