To one who has long been accustomed to a retired and solitary life, an occasional glimpse of the busy world and its ways, a peep "through the loopholes of the retreat," has a relish and an interest scarcely to be appreciated by the actual participants in the turmoil and bustle of those scenes.
In the quiet routine of rural life, undisturbed by great excitements, and to a great measure removed from the influences of stirring events, it is almost impossible to keep pace with the changes that are constantly taking place in the great outer world. I think this must be more especially true of our American society than of any other nation. We are such a restless race, so impatient of monotony, so eager for excitement and variety, that what is most in vogue to-day is forgotten to-morrow, and the most earnest pursuits of the present are liable to be rapidly superseded by others of a widely different nature.
After an absence of only a few months from the social circle with which it is my delight occasionally to mingle, I often find myself much in the predicament of poor Rip Van Winkle, after his long repose in "Sleepy Hollow," and dare not, upon my reappearance, open my lips until I have listened long enough to catch the key-note, as it were, of the topics at present engaging attention, lest my remarks and inquiries may appear as ill-timed and excite as much surprise as did those of that redoubtable victim of vagrancy and the broomstick.
Among all the changes that have come over our American world, since we who are now grandmothers could call ourselves young, there are none more utterly astounding—perhaps because, having long claimed our careful attention, they are more familiar and interesting to us—than those embraced in the household and home economy. Now, although I am not disposed to undervalue the improvements of modern times, or to decry the advance of modern ideas in other departments, I am wholly unwilling to yield the palm to modern housekeeping. In spite of every advantage furnished by the superior appliances of these days, and every facility offered by the inventive genius of our people in labor-saving machinery adapted to each department of domestic life, I insist that our housekeepers are inferior in all the qualities that contribute to the comfort of home to their mothers, and that their mothers were less efficient than their grandmothers. There has been a gradual but steady decline in the art of housekeeping, and a more rapid but equally constant increase in the expense thereof. Indeed, this last item looms up in dimensions and glares upon us with an aspect nothing less than appalling to dames like myself, who cherish antiquated notions on these subjects.
"Henry, why in the world do you not marry?" I said the other day to a highly-esteemed young friend, whom I had known from his childhood, and who is richly endowed, as I well know, with every quality necessary to make a home happy. "Why in the world do you not marry? It is a positive wrong to society, that so much domestic virtue as you possess should remain unappropriated. You are now well established in business, with every prospect of success, and you really ought to be thinking of making a home for yourself."
"I wish I dare indulge such an aspiration," he replied with something very like a regretful sigh; "but, to tell you the truth, such a step as taking a wife to myself under my present circumstances would be ruinous. My business is indeed, as you say, well established, and—within certain, not very extensive, limits—prosperous. By close attention and strict fidelity to its interests, diligent industry, and careful economy, I realize annually a very comfortable income; not large, but, under these conditions, quite sure; as years advance, this will probably increase slowly and surely. Now, if I were to marry, just imagine what a load of expense would be incurred at once! You know as well as I the manner of life I should be required to adopt, by any young lady of the class among whom I should look for a wife; and I really am not in a position to incur such a burden now, nor can I hope to be for a long time to come."
This was said in a tone of despondency and deep feeling, and I could not but sympathize with my young friend, compelled thus reluctantly to suppress the dearest aspirations of youth; nor could I avoid deploring the exigencies that constrain the greater portion of worthy young men in our country, to relinquish the hope of a happy home of their own, which would be their strongest stimulant to exertion and their best shield against temptation.
It is long since I have been in the habit of witnessing the gambols of the gay world; but I happened not long since to peep in upon a sort of fandango at the house of one of my friends, and, bless my heart, what costumes! My surprise would beggar description. I happened to be standing near the mistress of the house, and remarked to her that I was not aware this was to be a fancy party.
"And it is not," she replied.
"But you do not mean to tell me," I exclaimed in dismay, "that these are the ordinary costumes for full dress at parties?"