people cushion
corners and shrink aside from brier-pricks. We do ourselves actual
physical harm when we lose temper; the tart speech takes virtue out of
us. A woman would better fatigue herself by righting an untidy chamber
than scold a servant for neglecting it. Foreigners comment surprisedly
upon the "anxious faces" of American women even of the better class.
The inchoate condition of our domestic service has undoubtedly much
to do with the premature seams that mar what would else be fair and
sweet, but I incline to the belief that more is due to a certain
irritableness which is a national characteristic,--a restless desire
to set everything right. The zeal for reform is commendable, but not
always according to knowledge. Certain forms of folly cure themselves,
if not flattered by grave rebuke, and others do not come within the
province of her who has her hands full already. It is easier for us
all to find fault than to overlook. It "just drives our woman-reformer
wild to hear some people talk!" The least aggressive of us knows for
herself the impotent vexation of attempting to convince one who is too
dull, or too dogged, to see reason. Why, then, yield to the
disposition to attempt the impracticable? If we would live worthily
and live long, we must school ourselves in the minor details of
self-control and everyday philosophy that make up a useful and
well-balanced life.

CHAPTER XIV.

"BUTTERED PARSNIPS."

I shall never forget the first time I heard the homely proverb, once
better known than now, "Fine words butter no parsnips."

A bitter-tongued old lady, with an eye like a hawk's, and a certain
suspicious turn of the head to this side and that which reminded one
of the same bird of prey, was discussing a new neighbor.

"I don't hold with meaching ways at any time and in anybody," said the
thin croak, made more husky by snuff, a pinch of which she held
between thumb and finger, the joined digits punctuating her
strictures. "And she's one of the fair-and-softy sort. A pleasant word
to this one, and a smile to that, and always recollecting who is sick,
and who is away from home, and ready to talk about what pleases you,
and not herself, and praising your biscuits and your bonnets and your
babies, and listening to you while you are talking as if there was
nobody else upon earth."

Like the octogenarian whose teeth gave out before his dry toast, she
"hadn't finished, but she stopped" there, being clean o