Spirit is now a very fashionable word. To act with spirit, to speak with spirit, means only to act rashly, and to talk indiscreetly. An able man shows his spirit by gentle words and resolute actions; he is neither hot nor timid.
XIII.
ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES.
It is well to combine amusement with instruction, whether you write for young or old.—Anonymous.
I.—ELDER BLUNT AND SISTER SCRUB.
he house of the excellent Squire Scrub was the itinerant's home; and a right sweet, pleasant home it would have been but for a certain unfortunate weakness of the every other way excellent Sister Scrub. The weakness I allude to was, or at least it was suspected to be, the love of praise. Now the good sister was really worthy of high praise, and she often received it; but she had a way of disparaging herself and her performances which some people thought was intended to invite praise. No housewife kept her floors looking so clean and her walls so well whitewashed as she. Every board was scrubbed and scoured till further scrubbing and scouring would have been labor wasted. No one could look on her white ash floor and not admire the polish her industry gave it. The "Squire" was a good provider, and Sister Scrub was an excellent cook; and so their table groaned under a burden of good things on all occasions when good cheer was demanded. And yet you could never enter the house and sit half an hour without being reminded that "Husband held Court yesterday, and she couldn't keep the house decent." If you sat down to eat with them, she was sorry she "hadn't anything fit to eat." She had been scrubbing, or washing, or ironing, or she had been half sick, and she hadn't got such and such things that she ought to have. Nor did it matter how bountiful or how well prepared the repast really was, there was always something deficient, the want of which furnished a text for a disparaging discourse on the occasion. I remember once that we sat down to a table that a king might have been happy to enjoy. There was the light snow-white bread; there were the potatoes reeking in butter; there were chickens swimming in gravy; there were the onions and the turnips, and I was sure Sister Scrub had gratified her ambition for once. We sat down, and a blessing was asked; instantly the good sister began; she was afraid her coffee was too much burned, or that the water had been smoked, or that she hadn't roasted the chicken enough. There ought to have been some salad, and it was too bad that there was nothing nice to offer us.
We, of course, endured those unjustifiable apologies as well as the could, simply remarking that everything was really nice, and proving by our acts that the repast was tempting to our appetites.