at I sat down to say to you, my dear
child: Don't make housekeeping such a complex affair that you must give
to it all your time and strength, leaving no place for the 'better
part.' Don't fill your house with furniture too fine to be used, and
don't try to have everything in the latest fashion. I see many
beautiful things and read of many more, but nothing is half so
beautiful to me as the things that were new fifty years ago and are
still in daily use. Of planning houses I know but little. For one
thing, I should say, have the kitchen and working departments as close
at hand as possible. This will save many weary steps, whether you do
your own work or leave it with servants, the best of whom need constant
watching and encouragement, or they will not make life any easier or
better worth living."
"Isn't this rather a solemn letter?" Jack inquired.
"Yes; it's a solemn subject."
"_Shall_ you 'do your own work'?"
"Of course I shall. How can I help it?
'Each hath a work that no other can do;'
but just precisely what my own work will be I am not at present
prepared to say."
"Is Aunt Melville as solemn as Aunt Jerusha?"
"Aunt Melville assures her dear niece that 'the last plans are
absolutely beyond criticism: the rooms are large and elegant, the
modern conveniences perfect, the kitchen and servants' quarters
isolated from the rest of the house'--"
"That won't suit the other aunty."
"The porte cochere and side entrance most convenient and the front
entrance sufficiently distinguished by the tower. I particularly like
the porte cochere at the side. If none of your callers came on foot
there would be no objection to having it at the front entrance, but it
isn't pleasant to be compelled to walk up the carriage-way. As you
see, this is a brick house, and I am persuaded you ought to build of
bricks. It will cost ten or fifteen per cent. more--possibly
twenty--but in building a permanent home you ought not to consider the
cost for a moment.'"
"That's a comfortable doctrine, if everybody would live up to it," said
Jack.
"Yes; and like a good many other comfortable doctrines, it contains too
much truth to be rejected--not enough to be accepted. We _must_ count
the cost, but if we limit ourselves to a certain outlay, and positively
refuse to go beyond that, we shall regret it as long as we live. We may
leave some things unfinished, but whatever is done past alteration,
either in size or quality, must
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