THE ETIQUETTE, ECONOMIES AND ETHICS OF THE HOME. IN TWENTY-SIX LESSON-CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER I.-MARRIAGE.

THE CEREMONY-CARDS OF INVITATION-WEDDING REFRESH

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MENTS-RECEPTION-GIFTS.

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life, to strengthen each other for all labor, to rest each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent, unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting."-George Eliot.

N all countries the importance accorded to the institution of marriage marks the grade of its civilization. Out of its purity and stability spring the ennobling morals and manners of a nation. And, as the conditions which precede and accompany marriage, stand in the same relation to social life and manners, as cause to effect, it may be well to consider, for a moment, the principles which underlie the family relationship.

What is true marriage? Discarding romantic definitions on the one hand and conventional on the other, it is desirable to look at the essential qualities which distinguish manhood and womanhood. It will be generally agreed that man embodies the positive, executive, constructive and outworking forces; woman, the interior, the affectional, the creative and the spiritual. He is centrifugal in tendency, she centripetal. To him is given those qualities which prompt him to wrestle with nature and conquer her secrets and her gifts; she, to apply, conserve and adorn them. Each is a perfect individual, with a dual nature, masculine and feminine; in the one the first predominates, in the other the second. But few persons are so balanced and rounded as to stand alone, symmetrical and self-sufficing, without the other, the counterpart and complement. This want inheres in the very constitution of nature. Throughout the visible universe, these wonderful dual forces play and interplay. Weaving in and out of atoms and stars, dew-drops and spheres, through them is life evolved and change and growth made manifest.

To man, woman is the representative of love; to her he stands for wisdom. Yet must he be loving enough and she wise enough to meet and mingle in thought and aspiration. To make this practicable both must possess good health, intelligence, similar views, aims and moral development. In any walk of life, rich or poor, high or humble, these things are necessary as the foundations of a happy marriage. One thing more, that mysterious and unfathomable mutual attraction which makes one more welcome and beautiful in the eyes of the other than all the world beside,

this is the cement and seal of that union which may then survive and surmount all trials and vicissitudes, possibly that last and greatest change which men call death.

"So, if its flame burns pure and bright, here where our air is dark and dense,

And nothing in this world of night, lives with a living so intense,When it shall reach its home at length, how bright its light! how strong its strength!"

Given these essentials and a determination to be happy together even in a very modest style of life, there is hope that this home may be a lesser sun giving warmth and light to the more desolate ones of earth.

With all these, still a young man has no right to marry unless he has some pursuit by means of which he can provide for a home and a family. It may be farming, or mining or carpentry or commercial pursuits, or one of the professions, it should be something which is secure enough to make sure of a livelihood, if not in one place, then another. And the girl deserves to suffer, as she doubtless will, who marries a man who has nothing but vague expectations to live upon.

It is not enough that he has inherited means or hopes to do so. In the exigencies of life all may be swept away in a day. Unless he be so equipped for contingencies that his manhood is equal to any emergency, unless he be able and willing to work and knows how to work, he has no right to ask a woman to mortgage her future to his good intentions. The most sacred of all trusts, no man should assume it lightly. Some there are who think the time may come when all candidates to the holy order of matrimony may have to submit to give proof of fitness to a jury of their peers, before society shall decide that they are proper subjects to take upon themselves the duties and honors of marriage.

And the wife? Tender, graceful, lovely and loving, she must be more than that. Good health, sound views of life and housewifely training must be hers. She too, needs a jury of wise and noble matrons. Is she learned in the higher mathematics, in science and art? She is about to confront problems deeper than Euclid ever propounded. Has she learned how to be healthy and to keep so? Are her muscles welldeveloped, her nerves steady and her brain cool and clear? Has she a knowledge of the essentials of houskeeping? can she bake bread, roast meat, keep the house in order and make and mend necessary clothing? Is she ready to be a helpmeet and companion to the man whom she marries? Above all, does she realize that it is within her power to elevate and stimulate his higher nature, to rouse the angel and tame the savage, to incite him to grow into a nobler type of man? Then let the bells ring joyfully at such a bridal!

Because marriage is so important the ceremony is properly surrounded by customs distinctive from those belonging to any other. It is not only an epoch in the lives of two persons, but society at large has an interest in it, and in them. It is fitting that they should stand apart and testify in a manner more or less public that they have taken a step of such im

port. The community has its rights and demands its safeguards. If the links that bind two of its members together are wreathed with roses, not the less should they be worn only after due deliberation, and then let them be strong as adamant. If the festival be crowned with gayety and brilliance, yet is it a sacrament, rather than an entertainment. The history of the past proves that none of its civil requirements are unimportant.

Of the various ways of celebrating marriage, it is perhaps as well to consider the most ceremonious. Our hero and heroine have had months of preparation, during which they have shown but ill-concealed indifference to anything except their own concerns. David and Dora were young, they loved one another tenderly, they were full of hope and happiness. Other marriages might prove failures, this should be perfect. They knew the secret of happiness, they had found the one flawless diamond in a world of imperfection.

"Fancy gave it gilding more golden than of gold." Well-born and well-reared, they had apparently set out upon their life journey under cloudless skies.

Aunt Ruth it was who attended to all the proprieties and conventionalities, Aunt Ruth, whose multiform knowledge of the world taught her just what to do. She it was who discretely announced the engagement when friends had a right to know it, who attended to the trousseau, the ordering of cards and sending out invitations. She advised Mrs. Porter not to buy a whole cargo of clothing for Dora, as if that damsel was about to set sail for some heathen shore where clothing had not yet been introduced. "A large quantity of dresses will go out of fashion before they are half worn out," said she, "It always seems to me that a girl over-supplied wanted to get all she could before leaving home or that she had no hope of ever having it replaced when it should be gone.

Get Dora something more in a year or two, not now." And Dora had the good sense to agree with her aunt.

The engagement ring, as Dora herself had insisted upon, was simply a plain and heavy circlet of gold. "There should be no ostentation in that, if David were worth a million," said she, "It is a token of our affection and not a thing to be admired and envied."

Before marriage David and Dora were not in the habit of appearing too much in public together. Neither were there any marks of devotion when they did appear. Curious and critical eyes are only too ready to look quizzically upon those who wear their hearts upon their sleeves, and delicacy is really at the root of any etiquette worth the name. But, like other well-conducted American girls, Dora was in the habit of riding out with David and of going to concerts with him unattended. In a large city, this would have been out of place. The innate sense of propriety of a well-bred and wellintentioned American girl is absolutely trusted and seldom is the trust unworthily placed. Sad, indeed, would be that state of society outside of a large city where evil is rampant, which should doubt the refinement of a young woman, merely because she walked and rode unattended and at seemly hours with the gentleman whom she expected soon to marry. That healthy purity and modesty which naturally wins confidence and respect, clothes her like a coat of mail. May it never be assailed by the degrading suspicions imported from a more corrupt social state.

Yet Dora had not been much in society without her mother or aunt ; certainly not while in her teens, so that light gossip which touches the unpleasant edges of conduct had never soiled her young life.

Her manners as well as character, had, under the mother's companionship, received that stamp of grace and dignity as beautiful and becoming in youth as in age.

Sixteen days before the wedding, the cards were ready to

at 24 Chestnut street, at half-past four.

and chose the latter as being simpler of the two. Had the ceremony taken place at home, the form of invitation would have been the same, with the exception, that in place of Trinity church on the last line, the residence would have been engraved thus, 24 Chestnut street, Roseville, 1887, which of course would be omitted were the dwelling unnumbered or in the country, since every guest is then supposed to know where it is situated.

Between the issuing of the invitations and the ceremony Dora did not appear upon the street. The last days were kept sacred to the home, to the memories of sweet and happy girlhood, to long visits in "mother's room," and to resting from excitement and fatigue. Together mother and daughter reviewed the past and the future, and the heart of the one was as an open book to the other. Those hours of tender confidence became holy memories in other days when there was no mother to whom to turn. Every word came up in times of perplexity as a help and strength.

At last came the day, the very hour. Dressed in soft folds of India muslin pure and spotless as her own young life, with eyes gleaming like stars under the flowing veil that enveloped her like a cloud, Dora was ready for the bridal. White, fragrant rosebuds formed the wreath and the bouquet. No jewels were worn, none would have suited her loveliness. Youth, beauty, tenderness, happiness, what gems could equal these or enhance their luster?

Four ushers had been selected and as many bridesmaids, one of the former, the "best man," being master of ceremonies. Early at church to see that a few tall plants and flowers were rightly arranged and the organist in readiness, he drew a white satin ribbon across the center aisle to designate the seats reserved for invited guests in front. These as they arrived, were escorted to their places, the nearer kinspeople of both families having the preference.

At the arrival of the bridal cortege, the organist, at a signal from the chief usher, began the wedding march as the party

entered the door where it was met by the ushers who preceded them up the aisle. After them came the bridesmaids, then two little girls, one a sister of Dora and one a cousin, clad in white, trimmed one with pink and one with blue, who, half turning to the middle of the aisle strewed it with blossoms for the footseps of the advancing bride.

The cortege halted a moment in the vestibule to arrange the procession. Following the four bridesmaids, relatives of David and Dora, and the flower-maidens, was seen the bride leaning upon the right arm of her father, while the groom stepped from the vestry at the right with chief usher, ready to meet his bride. As the slowly moving procession paused at the head of the aisle two of the ushers stepped to the right and two to the left, the bridesmaids also separating, and all standing a little back of the bride and groom. David was then able to give his right arm to Dora without the awkwardness of turning.

It was a charming sight. The bridesmaids were costumed in short, simply made dresses of pink and blue, and carried bouquets harmonizing with their colors, the gift of the groom. The little maidens, living pictures in their broad-brimmed hats looped with flowers and quaint muslin frocks, stood at the extremities of the group, adorning the solemnity of the place with the grace of childhood.

All the party wore white gloves, though it had been optional with David whether to use them or not. He wore a black frock coat and vest, light gray trousers and a white necktie.

"No gentleman wears a dress-coat in the day-time," said Aunt Ruth in the preliminary conferences. "If a man chooses to look like a hotel waiter he must do it by gaslight." And Aunt Ruth was an oracle.

Then the ceremony began. The low, sweet tones of the organ faded into tremulous silence when the voice of the clergyman was heard. Standing at the right of Dora, with the ushers at his right and before the clergyman who faced the body of the house, David was ready, with the plain circlet which had been the seal of the less ceremonious but equally sacred compact, to take Dora from the hand of her father. Previous to putting on her left-hand glove she had cut off the third finger of the left hand, but had put on that also, so that the cincture hardly showed. The severed glove-finger was deftly pulled off at the right moment by the first bridesmaid, and the finger left free to receive the badge of wifehood. The responses followed, a few more words and the ceremony

was over.

Only those most nearly connected stepped forward to give congratulations, and it is needless to say they were not prefaced by kissing in public. The procession immediately reformed as in entering the church. The newly married pair come, as they went, in a carriage accompanied only by the chief usher. This important personage, in the meantime, was supposed to have given the clergyman his fee, and to have had the custody of David's hat during the ceremony. Their carriage was immediately followed by those occcupied by Dora's parents and the remaing ushers and bridesmaids, all of whom were expected to be ready to receive guests on their way from the church. These were dressed in handsome street costumes of every color.

Standing in the bay-window of the parlor the bride and groom received their friends with that cordial serenity which at least simulated an ease they did not feel. They were supported by the bridal party of bridesmaids and children, the ushers being occupied in escorting the ladies to the newly married pair. After fitting congratulations each guest made way for the next in order.

Soon after all the guests had arrived the dining-room door was thrown open for refreshments. These consisted of:

Bouillon.

Roast Chicken. Jellied Tongue.

Sandwiches of Potted Salmon, Veal and Ham. Salads of Chicken and Lobster with Blanched Lettuce. Bride's Cake.

Fruit, Almond, Pound and Assorted Cakes.
Jellies of Lemon and Wine.
Vanilla, Chocolate and Neapolitan Cream.
Bananas, Malaga Grapes, Bonbons.
Coffee.

The table was prettily decorated with flowers, and looked very inviting. There were three or four waiters in the regulation dress with white gloves, who helped the newly married pair first of all.

The refreshments had been mainly prepared at home under Mrs. Porter's skillful supervision. The bouillon was made the previous day, the tongue boiled and the chickens roasted. The fruit cake had been baked the week before. It was not difficult to mince and pound fish and meat for sandwiches or to make the jellies. The caterer had provided the rest. There was variety enough and a superfluity of material. At such times a housekeeper fears to have the appearance of scrimping. Small paper boxes tied with white ribbon and filled with cake were ready for such as chose to take them upon leaving. The ushers were careful to see that all were well served and helped to entertain the guests.

In an hour or so all but the more intimate friends of the family withdrew. The bride had quietly disappeared with her bridesmaids who presided over her change of dress. She came down stairs robed in a costume of quiet tint, rich, elegantly fitting but unostentatious in every particular. Everything harmonized or contrasted in neutral tints,-gloves, hat, bonnet and wrap. Everything bespoke the refined, high-bred lady. Nothing called attention to her marriage. It had been her study to avoid the rude gaze of prying curiosity. David, likewise, donned a suit unnoticable for its plainness and fitted for traveling. There was neither flurry nor great display of feeling at the leave-taking. If the mother shed a few tears at the first real departure from her home of the girl she had reared as the apple of her eye, it was in the privacy of her room; before others appeared a smiling face. The day marked the change in her daughter's pathway, but that change had already taken place. This was the ceremony, half sad and half joyful, in commemoration of the fact that the change had come which all the world must recognize.

The real sorrow which will always visit that happy home circle that loses a cherished daughter, comes when the parents first learn that she loves another, absolutely and irrevocably, more than she loves themselves. And this must be so, even when, as in this instance, the one selected, let us believe,-out of all the world, on whom the heart of the daughter is to lean through life, was staunch, manly and true. The sorrow, primarily, is in the break. Never more, through all time, could she be what she had been to father and mother, brothers and sisters. An indefinable veil had fallen between which none might raise. And so under all the feasting and congratulations, merriment and pleasure taking quivered the low, minor chord of tender sadness.

"My daughter, my little one, is mine no longer," sighed the mother; nor can she ever be."

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Aunt Ruth beguiled the evening by a description of a quiet wedding at home which she had lately attended. Neither ushers nor bridesmaids were needed. The parents received their guests at the door of the parlor which had been divested of all light furniture to give sufficient room. Between the front windows and a little in front extended a floral arch from

NERVOUS DAYS.

"Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace."-Thomson. What woman has not felt the rarefaction of a day when her nerves seem so delicately poised that a feather's weight on the wrong side of the balance sends everything skyward and she feels as though she should "fly all to pieces." The children's voices seem keyed on a higher note than usual; the canary's song is shriller, and however sweet are the bells that chime they all seem jangled and out of tune.

Aunt Ruth also told Florence, Dora's younger sister, in answer to questions, that it would have been perfectly proper for David himself to go up the aisle with Dora, instead of her father, but it was not so customary in a church wedding. She described the dress of a widow who marries the second time to be of some light, delicate tint like lavender or silver gray, but never white. Nor could she wear the long, white veil, reserved for the maiden bride. The father, she said, in all cases would pay for the engraving, cards of invitation, carriages to the church, when these were needed, in fact everything that related to his daughter up to the time when she became more closely related to another than to himself.

The wedding presents were only shown to the more intimate friends of the family. Mrs. Porter refused to allow them to be paraded on exhibition, a practice which she looked upon as ostentatious and vulgar. Though often observed by what is termed "our best society," Mr. and Mrs. Porter could not in this way consent to cheapen their pride and refinement.

In looking over these gifts with David, Dora was glad to see that none were so costly as to load her with a burden of obligation, and that scarcely one but came from a person to whom she would gladly have given some token of remembrance. She hastened to send to each giver a note of thanks upon the reception of the gift. Touched and pleased by the spontaneous tribute which amiability as well as custom had called out, Dora deeply felt, for the first time perhaps, that "the whole human family is bathed with an element of love like a fine ether." -Hester M. Poole.

Original in GoOD HOUSEKEEping.

IT IS WELL TO REMEMBERThat happiness is not perfection unless it is shared. That great possessions may bring great misfortunes. That a foolish friend does more harm than a wise enemy. That the hardest thing to empty out of the heart is conceit.

When such a day comes to the mother and home-keeper, her smallest cares are burdens almost too heavy to be borne; she sees, in the sudden keenness of her mental vision, all the duties of a far-reaching future spread out as in a panoramic view and brought by the lens of her distorted fancy within touching distance.

I remember such a day, now several summers past, when the sunlight and flowers were calling me to come out and keep them company, but I resolutely shut my heart to their enticing, feeling that life was all too short and its stern duties too many for me to waste a moment in paths of pleasantness. My daughter Grace, then a little maiden of three years, watched my hurrying steps and nervous fingers until she could bear it no longer, and cried out: "Mamma, mamma, what are you in such a ‘cully' for?"

"Mamma must hurry, dear, she has so much to do." "What is so much,' mamma?" said the little questioner, and I, in a most convincing way, enumerated about half a hundred bits of work that would take me a month to accomplish, and then this small philosopher made answer: "But you don't have to do it all to-day!”

I flung aside my sewing and, taking my little preacher by the hand, went out and spent a pleasant half-hour under the trees, where, with my clearer vision, I realized that I had allowed my 66 sea of troubles" to roll towards me until I was in danger of being overwhelmed, when a tiny hand and voice had stayed the tide.

But though we cannot always see the hand nor hear the voice, the remedy is certainly somewhere for each and every one of us, and it is a positive duty to ourselves and to those about us to seek and use the one best suited to our needs, as the feeling, if encouraged, soon rusts out the finest spirit and corrodes the heart.

One will find her surcease from sorrow in a poem from a favorite author, or a lively chat with a neighbor; while to another there is a

"Pleasure in the pathless woods," and only in the solitude of nature can she find balm for her fretted soul, when she yields herself to the

means.

That good temper, like a sunny day, sheds a brightness over everything.

That one of the causes that leads us to misfortune is that we live according to the example of others.

The frightened amazement upon the boys' faces was a revelation to her, and as her hand fell she explained apologetically, "Somehow, boys, your tongues do wag on me awful to-day."

-Lillian Park Wethers

Original in GoOD HOUSEKEEPING.

MOLLY BISHOP'S FAMILY.

FROM BABYHOOD TO MEN AND WOMEN.

A HOME STORY OF LIFE'S VICISSITUdes.

meal but as the meal itself, as they did when they were rather rare luxuries, being more expensive than most kinds of food."

Meg enjoyed the idea. She had heard her mother talk of

KEEPING," ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER XXII.

MRS. WELLES'S PLANS-MEG'S DIARY.

OLLY had begged Mrs. Welles not to add in any way to the allowance she had considered sufficient for Meg. She had somewhat regretted that her daughter was going in company with a woman of large means; she would have liked her to know something of the thrifty life a student usually has to live, because she knew in this way only could she acquire an intimate knowledge of London life and ways. Living in expensive lodgings she would never do this, but of course she could not quarrel with the opportunity she had, and therefore when accepting Mrs. Welles's offer she only said: "She is going under too luxurious auspices; I wish she could live something of the life that you and I did, part of the time at least."

Mrs. Welles laughed and said: "I don't suppose Meg will quarrel with her chances of enjoying some of the luxuries of London life."

Nothing more was said; but when Meg and Mrs. Welles had paid their tribute to the sea (for both suffered sea sickness) and could begin to believe that life was worth living, Mrs. Welles told Meg of a project she had, leaving her to decide on it. Happily Mrs. Welles, strong willed, clear minded woman as she was, had not the manner of treating young people as if they could not have a will or taste, but must submit themselves entirely to their elders,-a manner that is always exasperating to the youthful mind.

"Meg, I have been thinking of a little plan, and Cuthbert is quite willing we should carry it out, but as you have come with me for a year's enjoyment as well as study, I will do nothing to disappoint you. If you object to roughing it, say so, and the plan shall drop. Mr. Welles, as you know, has to go to Russia to see to affairs there and may be away some months. My plan is to put Lois for study with my old friend Madame Ferani, who is a thorough artist and excellent woman, and who will tell me, quite regardless of whether she will thereby gain or lose a pupil, whether Lois has the remarkable talent she seems to have, or not. If, after a trial, Madame Ferani thinks it worth while to give her more than the usual advantages, I meant to enter her as a pupil in Madame Ferani's studio, and arrange my own course according to it. I had some thought of taking a furnished house midway between the studio and the South Kensington Museum, so as to suit you both. We could then lead a homelike life, see friends, etc.

"Now it is only the latter part of the programme that I thought I would alter. Your mother wished you might live just the old life she and I lived. I said nothing, but her words roused old memories, and the idea grew upon me. I, too, would like to renew my youth in that way. There was no privation but, of course, no luxuries whatever. We used to plan and economize for every pleasure we enjoyed, and yet what happy days they were! I don't care to go back to the economy unless I can do it just in the old neighborhood, but I must say I would like to see if Cambridge sausages and pigeon pies will taste as good now, eaten, not as part of a

economical pleasures they had, until that part of her mother's life seemed as familiar as her own; and she had almost regretted that Mrs. Welles's means made it natural to lead the conventional life of well-to-do people.

"Then that is settled. We will go to the Alexandre Hotel. Dear me, don't I remember its being built, and thinking what a very luxurious place it was. Luxurious hotels were not so general when I was a girl as now. Comfort and dingyness sufficed then. And when Cuthbert and I stayed there the last time we were in London, how he did abuse it! and certainly it did not seem anything very splendid by the side of the more modern houses. But it will never lose its charming situation. The front windows look into Hyde Park, Rotten Row and the Drive. That alone is worth a great deal, but when you sally forth, turn to your right and in three minutes you are at Hyde Park corner; in five at Picadilly. Turn to your left and ten minutes' walk (if you can resist looking about you) will take you to South Kensington Museum.

"But delightful as the situation is, I should not care to make a home there for more than a few days, so I propose we stay there for a week and from there look out for lodgings in some of the smaller streets in Kensington or Brompton, where we can be as Bohemian as we like. Shall we do that?"

"I shall be delighted."

And the more Meg thought of the matter, the more delighted she was, and made a resolution to keep a diary for her mother and mail it once a week. This she began on board the steamer and continued faithfully all through her stay in London. It was very bright reading for any one, and who will not understand the pleasure it was (not unmixed with tears, however,) for Molly to read Meg's wanderings in the neighborhood she had known so well; how Mrs. Welles pointed out their favorite bun shop, the pastry cook's where they had bought their dainties, the small circulating library to which they had subscribed, and told her how few of these had changed hands in all the years that had passed. She even described how the young woman in the pastry cook's who used to be called the "Knightsbridge beauty" had become a still coquettish spinster who wore her hair in exactly the same way as when Molly had admired her, only that the tendril-like locks that had made her youthful brow so charming, made the faded, sunken temples look still older. All the pretty little ways she had had, Mrs. Welles said she had still, only some how they did not look so pretty at forty as at twenty or so.

All this and very much more Molly read in that dear diary, with tears and smiles. But this part of her experiences followed some time after her settlement in London, but quite as amusing was the account of their life on shipboard and their landing.

"You remember, dear mother," wrote Meg from Liverpool, "dear Aunt Charlotte's sensitiveness about the English climate, how she protested against Mr. Welles's abuse of it. Well, she has given in at last, and declares she will never defend it again, it did serve her such a bad trick. The day before we landed was so lovely! There was a party of young girls on board, so enthusiastic about everything, and as every bit of land with a name came in view, they had a bit to quote or a novel to refer to in which it was mentioned, and Mrs. Welles was delighted with them. We came in sight of the Skelligs about 10 o'clock at night, but there was a lovely moon so they were visible, and these girls were in raptures."