I HAVE a very excellent friend, who married some ten years ago, andnow has her own cares and troubles in a domestic establishmentconsisting of her husband and herself, five children, and twoservants. Like a large majority of those similarly situated, Mrs.Martinet finds her natural stock of patience altogether inadequateto the demand therefor; and that there is an extensive demand willbe at once inferred when I mention that four of her five childrenare boys.
I do not think Mrs. Martinet's family government by any meansperfect, though she has certainly very much improved it, and gets onwith far more comfort to herself and all around her than she did.For the improvement at which I have hinted, I take some credit tomyself, though I am by no means certain, that, were I situated as myfriend is, I should govern my family as well as she governs hers. Iam aware that a maiden lady, like myself, young or old, it mattersnot to tell the reader which, can look down from the quiet regionswhere she lives, and see how easy it would be for the wife andmother to reduce all to order in her turbulent household. But I amat the same time conscious of the difficulties that beset the wifeand mother in the incessant, exhausting, and health-destroyingnature of her duties, and how her mind, from these causes, mustnaturally lose its clear-seeing qualities when most they are needed,and its calm and even temper when its exercise is of mostconsequence. Too little allowance, I am satisfied, is made for themother, who, with a shattered nervous system, and suffering too,often, from physical prostration, is ever in the midst of her littlefamily of restless spirits, and compelled to administer to theirthousand wants, to guide, guard, protect, govern, and restrain theirevil passions, when of all things, repose and quiet of body andmind, for even a brief season, would be the greatest blessing shecould ask.
I have seen a wife and mother, thus situated, betrayed into a hastyexpression, or lose her self-command so far as to speak with fretfulimpatience to a child who rather needed to be soothed by a calmlyspoken word; and I have seen her even-minded husband, who knew notwhat it was to feel a pain, or to suffer from nervous prostration,reprove that wife with a look that called the tears to her eyes. Shewas wrong, but he was wrong in a greater degree. The over-tried wifeneeded her husband's sustaining patience, and gently spoken counsel,not his cold reproof.
Husbands, as far as my observation gives me the ability to judge,have far less consideration for, and patience with their wives, thanthey are entitled to receive. If any should know best the wife'strials, sufferings, and incessant exhausting duties, it is thehusband, and he, of all others, should be the last to censure, if,from very prostration of body and mind, she be sometimes betrayedinto hasty words, that generally do more harm among children anddomestics than total silence in regard to what is wrong. But this isa digression.
One day, I called to see Mrs. Martinet, and found her in a verydisturbed state of mind.
"I am almost worried to death, Kate!" she said, soon after I camein.
"You look unhappy," I returned. "What has happened?"
"What is always happening," she replied. "Scarcely a day passes overmy head that my patience is not tried to the utmost. I must letevery body in the house do just as he or she likes, or else there isa disturbance. I am not allowed to speak out my own mind, withoutsome one's being offended."
"It is a great trial, as well as responsibility to have the chargeof a family," I remarked.
"Indeed, and you may well say that. No one knows what it is but shewho has the trial. The greatest trouble is with your domestics. As aclass, they are, with few exceptions, dirty, careless, and impudent.I sometimes think it gives them pleasure to interfere with yourhousehold arrangements and throw all into disorder. This seemsespecially to be the spirit of my present cook. My husband isparticular about having his meals at the hour, and is never pleasedwhen irregularities occur, although he does not often say any thing;this I told Hannah, when she first came, and have scolded her aboutbeing behindhand a dozen times since; and yet we do not have a mealat the hour oftener than two or three times a week.
"This morning, Mr. Martinet asked me if I wouldn't be particular inseeing that dinner was on the table exactly at two o'clock. As soonas he was gone, I went down into the kitchen and said, 'Do, formercy's sake, Hannah, have dinner ready at the hour to-day. Mr.Martinet particularly desires it.' Hannah made no answer. It is oneof her disagreeable habits, when you speak to her. 'Did you hearme?' I asked, quite out of patience with her. The creature looked upat me with an impudent face and said, pertly, 'I'm not deaf.' 'Then,why didn't you answer me when I spoke? It's a very ugly habit thatyou have of not replying when any one addresses you. How is it to beknown that you hear what is said?' The spirit in which Hannah met myrequest to have dinner ready in time, satisfied me that she would somanage as to throw it off beyond the regular hour. I left thekitchen feeling, as you may well suppose, exceedingly worried."
Just then the door of the room in which we were sitting was thrownopen with a bang, and in bounded Harry, Mrs. Martinet's eldestboy--a wild young scape-grace of a fellow--and whooping out somecomplaint against his sister. His mother, startled and annoyed bythe rude interruption, ordered him to leave the room instantly. ButHarry stood his ground without moving an eyelash.
"Do you hear?" And Mrs. Martinet stamped with her foot, to givestronger emphasis to her words.
"Lizzy snatched my top-cord out of my hands, and won't give it tome!"
"Go out of this room!"
"Shan't Lizzy give me my top-cord?"
"Go out, I tell you!"
"I want my top-cord."
"Go out!"
My poor friend's face was red, and her voice trembling with passion.With each renewed order for the child to leave the room, she stampedwith her foot upon the floor. Harry, instead of going out as he wasdirected to do, kept advancing nearer and nearer, as he repeated hiscomplaint, until he came close up to where we were sitting.
"Didn't I tell you to go out!" exclaimed his mother, losing allpatience.
As she spoke, she arose hastily, and seizing him by the arm,dragged, rather than led him from the room.
"I never saw such a child!" she said, returning after closing thedoor upon Harry. "Nothing does but force. You might talk to him allday without moving him an inch, when he gets in one of these moods."
Bang went the door open, and, "I (sic) wan't my top-cord!" followedin louder and more passionate tones than before.
"Isn't it beyond all endurance!" cried my friend, springing up andrushing across the room.
The passionate child, who had been spoiled by injudiciousmanagement, got a sound whipping and was shut up in a room byhimself. After performing this rather unpleasant task, Mrs. Martinetreturned to the parlour, flushed, excited, and trembling in everynerve.
"I expect that boy will kill me yet," she said, as she sank,panting, into a chair. "It is surprising how stubborn andself-willed he grows. I don't know how to account for it. He neverhas his own way--I never yield an inch to him when he gets in theseterrible humours. Oh, dear! I feel sometimes like giving up indespair."
I did not make a reply, for I could not say any thing that would nothave been a reproof of her impatient temper. After my friend hadgrown calmer, she renewed her narrative about the dinner.
"As I was saying, when that boy interrupted us, I left the kitchenvery much worried, and felt worried all the morning. Several times Iwent down to see how things were coming on, but it was plain thatHannah did not mean to have dinner at the hour. When it was time toput the meat on to roast, the fire was all down in the range. Halfan hour was lost in renewing it. As I expected, when my husband camehome for his dinner, at the regular time, the table was not evenset.
"'Bless me!' he said, 'isn't dinner ready? I told you that I wishedit at the hour, particularly. I have a business engagement athalf-past two, that must be met. It is too bad! I am out of allpatience with these irregularities. I can't wait, of course.'
"And saying this, Mr. Martinet turned upon his heel and left thehouse. As you may suppose, I did not feel very comfortable, nor in avery good humour with Hannah. When she made her appearance to setthe table, which was not for a quarter of an hour, I gave her aboutas good a setting down, I reckon, as she ever had in her life. Ofcourse, I was paid back in impudence which I could not stand, andtherefore gave her notice to quit. If ever a woman was tried beyondendurance, I am. My very life is becoming a burden to me. The worstpart of it is, there is no prospect of a change for the better.Things, instead of growing better, grow worse."
"It is not so bad as that, I hope," I could not help remarking."Have you never thought of a remedy for the evils of which youcomplain?"
"A remedy, Kate! What remedy is there?"
Mrs. Martinet looked at me curiously.
"If not a remedy, there is, I am sure, a palliative," I returned,feeling doubtful of the effect of what I had it in my mind toexpress.
"What is the remedy or palliative of which you speak. Name it, forgoodness' sake! Like a drowning man, I will clutch it, if it be buta straw."
"The remedy is patience." My voice slightly faltered as I spoke.
Instantly the colour deepened on the face of Mrs. Martinet. But ourclose intimacy, and her knowledge of the fact that I was really afriend, prevented her from being offended.
"Patience!" she said, after she had a little recovered herself."Patience is no remedy. To endure is not to cure."
"In that, perhaps, you are mistaken," I returned. "The effect ofpatience is to cure domestic evils. A calm exterior and a gentle,yet firm voice, will in nine cases in ten, effect more than the mostpassionate outbreak of indignant feelings. I have seen it tried overand over again, and I am sure of the effect."
"I should like to have seen the effect of a gentle voice upon myHarry, just now."
"Forgive me for saying," I answered to this, "that in my opinion, ifyou had met his passionate outbreak at the wrong he had suffered inlosing his top-cord, in a different manner from what you did, thatthe effect would have been of a like different character."
My friend's face coloured more deeply, and her lips trembled. Butshe had good sense, and this kept her from being offended at what Isaid. I went on--
"There is no virtue more necessary in the management of a householdthan patience. It accomplishes almost every thing. Yet it is a hardvirtue to practise, and I am by no means sure that, if I were inyour place, I would practise it any better than you do. But it is ofsuch vital importance to the order, comfort, and well-being of afamily, to be able patiently and calmly to meet every disturbing anddisorderly circumstance, that it is worth a struggle to attain thestate of mind requisite to do so. To meet passion with passion doesno good, but harm. The mind, when disturbed from any cause, isdisturbed more deeply when it meets an opposing mind in a similarstate. This is as true of children as of grown persons, and perhapsmore so, for their reason is not matured, and therefore there isnothing to balance their minds. It is also more true of those whohave not learned, from reason, to control themselves, as is the casewith too large a portion of our domestics; who need to be treatedwith almost as much forbearance and consideration as children."
These remarks produced a visible effect upon Mrs. Martinet. Shebecame silent and reflective, and continued so, to a great extent,during the half-hour that I remained.
Nearly two weeks elapsed before I called upon my friend again. Ifound her, happily, in a calmer state of mind than upon my previousvisit. We were in the midst of a pleasant conversation, half an hourafter I had come in, when one of the children, a boy between sevenand eight years old, came into the room and made some complaintagainst his brother. The little fellow was excited, and broke inupon our quiet chitchat with a rude jar that I felt quite sensibly.I expected, of course, to hear him ordered from the room instantly.That had been my friend's usual proceeding when these interruptionsoccurred; at least it had been so when I happened to be a visitor.But instead of this, she said in a low, mild, soothing voice,
"Well, never mind, Willy. You stay in the parlour with us, whereHarry can't trouble you."
This was just the proposition, above all others, to please thechild. His face brightened, and he came and nestled up closely tohis mother, who was sitting on a corner of the sofa. Drawing an armaround him, she went on with the remarks she happened to be makingwhen the interruption of his entrance occurred. No very long timeelapsed before the parlour door flew open, and Harry entered,asking, as he did so, in a loud voice, for Willy.
"Willy is here. What do you want with him?" said the mother, in aquiet, but firm tone.
"I want him to come and play."
"You were not kind to Willy, and he doesn't wish to play with you."
"Come, Willy, and play, and I will be kind," said Harry.
"Will you let me be the master sometimes?" asked the little fellow,raising himself up from where he remained seated beside his mother.
"Yes, you shall be master, sometimes."
"Then I'll play," and Willy sprang from the sofa and bounded fromthe room, as happy as he could be.
The mother smiled, and looking into my face, as soon as we werealone, said--
"You see, Kate, that I am trying your remedy, patience."
"With most happy results, I am glad to see."
"With better results than I could have believed, certainly.Gentleness, consideration, and firmness, I find do a great deal, andtheir exercise leaves my own mind in a good state. There is a powerin patience that I did not believe it possessed. I can do more by amildly spoken word, than by the most emphatic command uttered in apassion. This is the experience of a few weeks. But, alas! Kate, tobe able to exercise patience--how hard a thing that is! It requiresconstant watchfulness and a constant effort. Every hour I findmyself betrayed into the utterance of some hasty word, and feel itspowerlessness compared to those that are most gently spoken."
"Do you get on with your domestics any better than you did?"
"Oh, yes! Far better."
"I suppose you sent Hannah away some time ago?"
"No. I have her yet."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, and she does very well."
"Does she get your meals ready in time?"
"She is punctual to the minute."
"Really she must have changed for the better! And is this, too, theresult of patience and forbearance on your part?"
"I suppose so. What you said in regard to having patience, at yourlast visit, struck me forcibly, and caused me to feel humbled andself-condemned. The more I thought of it, the more satisfied was Ithat you were right. But it was one thing to see the use ofpatience, and another thing to exercise it. To be patient amid theturbulence, ill-tempers, and disobedience of children, and theirregularities, carelessness and neglect of domestics, seemed athing impossible. I was in this state of doubt as to my ability toexercise the virtue so much needed in my household, when Hannah cameto the door of the room where I was sitting in no very happy mood,and notified me of some want in the kitchen in an exceedinglyprovoking way. I was about replying sharply and angrily; butsuddenly checking myself, I said in a quiet, mild way, 'Very well,Hannah. I will see that it is supplied.'
"The girl stood for some moments, looking at me with an expressionof surprise on her face, and then walked away. This was a victoryover myself, and I felt, also, a victory over her. Not half an hourelapsed, before, on passing near the kitchen, she said to me, in avery respectful manner:
"'I forgot to tell you, this morning, that the tea was all out. ButI can run round to the store and get some in a few minutes.'
"'Do so, if you please, Hannah,' I returned, without evincing theslightest feeling of annoyance at her neglect; 'and try, if you can,to have tea ready precisely at six o'clock.'
"'I will have it ready, ma'am,' she replied. And it was ready.
"Had I not exercised patience and self-control, the interview wouldhave been something after this fashion: about ten minutes beforetea-time, Hannah would have come to me and said, with provokingcoolness--
"'The tea's all out.'
"To which I would have replied sharply--
"'Why, in the name of goodness, did not you say so this morning? Youknew that you had used the last drawing! I declare you are the mostprovoking creature I ever knew. You'll have to go to the store andget some.'
"'I'm not fit to be seen in the street,' she would in allprobability have replied.
"And then I, losing all patience, would have soundly scolded her,and gained nothing but a sick-headache, perhaps, for my pains. Tea,in all probability, would have been served at about eight o'clock.You see the difference."
"And a very material one it is."
"Isn't it? As you well said, there is a power in patience undreamedof by those who seek not its exercise. Next morning, when I had anyoccasion to speak to Hannah, I did so with much mildness, and if Ihad occasion to find fault, requested a change rather thanenunciated a reproof. The girl changed as if by magic. She becamerespectful in her manner toward me, and evinced a constant anxietyto do every thing as I wished to have it done. Not once since havewe had a meal as much as ten minutes later than the appointed time."
I could not but express the happiness I felt at the change, and urgemy excellent friend to persevere. This she has done, and the wholeaspect of things in her family has changed.
There are times, however, when, from ill-health, or a return of oldstates, she recedes again into fretfulness; but the reaction uponher is so immediate and perceptible, that she is driven inself-defence to patience and forbearance, the result of which isorder and quiet in her family just in the degree that patience andforbearance are exercised.
THE END.
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