272 



Womari's Cares at Home. 



XI. 



Woman's Cares at Home. 



We have repeatedly met with the following remarks 

 in our exchange papers, but cannot tell where they 

 originally appeared. We trust our male readers wil' 

 not cast them aside with barely the inquiry, what they 

 have to do with Jigriculture or Rural Economy? Many 

 a wife may think there is quite as much truth as poetry 

 in them.— Ed. 



My heart always "stirs within me" when 

 I read selections made by editors of news- 

 papers, which are designed for us married 

 ladies, setting forth our duty in relation to 

 "making our homes happy to our husbands — 

 that we should always welcome them with 

 a cheerful smile when they come in from 

 the cares and fatigue of the day, and do all 

 we can to make married life pleasant to 

 them," &c. Now this is all well, I acknow- 

 ledge, and I trust I strive to reduce that 

 theory to practice. But allow me to inquire 

 if the cares and fatigues of the wife are al- 

 ways appreciated by the husband ] 



Shall I give a short sketch of domestic 

 life as it is; not of course describing a 

 family as it should be, but I wish to give a 

 fair example of every-day life at home. 



My neighbour, Mr. Benson, is a lawyer 

 by profession, and is what the world calls a 

 respectable man. His income is small, but 

 he married a lady who was able to furnish 

 their small house handsomely, and they have 

 some hopes of property in reversion. 



Mrs. B has been a wife twelve years, 



and is the mother of five children, the young- 

 est but a babe, and the family are as happy 

 as the larger portion of families. 



It is a Monday morning, and this speaks 

 "unutterable things" to a New England, 

 wife, who has been married a dozen years. 

 Mr. Benson has had his breakfast in season — 

 has kissed the children and gone to the office, 

 where the boy has a good fire — the books 

 and papers were all in order, and Mr. B. sits 

 down to answer a few agreeable demands 

 upon his time, which will evidently turn 

 into cash. He goes home to his dinner 

 punctually at one o'clock; it is ready for 

 him — he takes it quietly, perhaps frolics ten 

 minutes with the baby, and then hurries 

 back to his office. At the hour for tea he 

 goes home — everything is cheerful, and to 

 quote the simple rhyme of an old song : 



The hearth was clean, the fire was clear, 



The kettle on for tea ; 

 Benson was in his rocking chair, 



As blest as man could be. 



But how has it been with Mrs. Benson 

 through the day? She has an ill-natured 

 girl in the kitchen, who will do half the 



work only, at nine shillings per week. Mon- 

 day morning at eight o'clock — four children 

 must be ready for school — Mrs. Benson must 

 sponge their faces and smooth their hair — 

 see that books, slates, pencils, paper, pocket 

 handkerchiefs, — yes four of them, — all are 

 in order, and now the baby is crying — the 

 fire is low — it is time Sally should begin to 

 wash — the parlor, the chamber, the break- 

 fast things are all waiting. Well, by a song 

 to the baby, who lies kicking in the cradle — 

 a smile to smooth ruffled Sally, and with all 

 the energy she can summon, things are 

 straightened out, and the lofty pile of a 

 week's wearing begins to grow less; but 

 the time shortens with it — it is almost din- 

 ner time — by some accident the joint of 

 meat is frozen — company calls — Mr. Benson 

 forgot to get any eggs on Saturday. Mrs. 

 B. must do the next best way — the bell rings 

 twelve — the door opens, and in rush the 

 children from school. John has torn his 

 pantaloons. Mary must have some money 

 then to get a thimble, she has just lost hers. 

 William has cut his finger with a piece of 

 glass, and is calling loudly for his mother. 



Poor Mrs. Benson endeavours to keep 

 cheerful, and to look delighted in the hub- 

 bub; and now the dinner, by her efforts 

 alone, is upon the table; her husband comes 

 in, and perhaps wonders why the " pie is 

 not a little better warmed;" and with this 

 comment, and a smile on the baby, he is off" 

 till it is time for tea. I forbear to finish the 

 day, Mr. Editor, and I shall say the atler- 

 noon is made up of little trials, too small to 

 mention, but large enough to try the faith 

 and patience of all the patriarchs. 



Now, sir, this wife surely has borne the 

 "burden and heat of the day!" her limbs 

 are wearied, her whole energy of mind and 

 body exhausted, and she is exhorted to "wel- 

 come her husband with a smile." She does 

 it, for woman's love is stronger than death. 

 I would ask, should not Mr. Benson give his 

 wife a smile'? What has he done to lighten 

 her cares through the day? How is it? In 

 nine cases out of ten, he wishes Mrs. Ben- 

 son would put all those noisy children to 

 bed ; he should be glad to have her tell Da- 

 vid to go to the post office for letters and 

 papers; and at length, when half way be- 

 tween sleeping, he looks at his pale, ex- 

 hausted help male, and exclaims, " Well, 

 wife, you begin to look a little fatigued." 



I pray you now, Mr. Editor, to be more 

 just, and now and then exhort husbands to 

 do their part towards making home more 

 agreeable to their wives, when the latter 

 have, like Atlas, borne a world of cares and 

 vexations through the day. 



