We live in an age which may well be called the age of the purveyor; and, if we continue travelling along the road upon which we have entered, the time cannot be far distant when it will be held ridiculous to do anything at all for ourselves. To appreciate, to criticize, to display taste in selection—these are the hall-marks of to-day, and home is but another name for a private restaurant. Homes such as those in which Goldsmith and Dickens delighted are now calculated to bring a blush to the cheeks of the superior and the “artistic.” Of few of our fine ladies can it be said that “they are excellent Housewives, and as capable of descending to the kitchen with propriety as of acting in their exalted stations with dignity.”
We are nowadays far more willing to applaud and reward the woman who throws her “Letters”—real or imaginary—before the eyes of the bored and lazy world, than the one who is merely efficient in the sphere allotted to her sex by nature. An occasional grant, such as Stow records as being made by Henry VIII., would do much to remedy[2] the position of the housewife. King Henry’s grant was of an estate in Leadenhall Street to “Mistris Cornewallies, widdow, and her heires, in reward of Fine Puddings by her made.”
But suppers have gone out—not the midnight meals of the Strand and Piccadilly—cider has gone out, and home-cured hams, with home-brewed ale and home-stilled cordials, have gone the way of Mrs. Primrose’s gooseberry wine and Mr. Frank Churchill’s spruce beer.
Little economies are now as unfashionable as quiet generosity, hospitality, and comfort. If it is not beneath the dignity of a man to spend enjoyable hours of labour in laboratory or malthouse, in sick-ward or workshop, woman need not feel degraded by the apportionment to her of those duties which are more immediately bound up with the creation of happy and refreshing homes.
A private latch-key is no doubt part of the universal birthright, but it does not in itself afford a sufficient aim in life. To be able to discourse cleverly of Browning and Wagner is an accomplishment easily acquired, and affords pleasure to no one. To acquire a reputation for the excellence of our home-made gooseberry wine, of our home-baked bread, or of our home-brewed beer is much more difficult and much more worthy. There is more scope for the use of brains in housewifery than in almost any of the other careers open to women, and this possibly is why so many women are fighting shy of it. In housewifery there can be but little pretence, for no ignorance may remain hid. Bluff and a ready tongue or pen go a long way towards creating many a “brilliant reputation” in the “artistic” and vapid world which lives at clubs and restaurants, and runs societies for improving other people. But no bluff will ever avail in the presence of the food or drink in the preparation of which our skill has been employed. The products of housewifery speak for themselves; they are no empty expressions of sentiments which may be false or true.
We are nowadays far more willing to applaud and reward the woman who throws her “Letters”—real or imaginary—before the eyes of the bored and lazy world, than the one who is merely efficient in the sphere allotted to her sex by nature. An occasional grant, such as Stow records as being made by Henry VIII., would do much to remedy[2] the position of the housewife. King Henry’s grant was of an estate in Leadenhall Street to “Mistris Cornewallies, widdow, and her heires, in reward of Fine Puddings by her made.”
But suppers have gone out—not the midnight meals of the Strand and Piccadilly—cider has gone out, and home-cured hams, with home-brewed ale and home-stilled cordials, have gone the way of Mrs. Primrose’s gooseberry wine and Mr. Frank Churchill’s spruce beer.
Little economies are now as unfashionable as quiet generosity, hospitality, and comfort. If it is not beneath the dignity of a man to spend enjoyable hours of labour in laboratory or malthouse, in sick-ward or workshop, woman need not feel degraded by the apportionment to her of those duties which are more immediately bound up with the creation of happy and refreshing homes.
A private latch-key is no doubt part of the universal birthright, but it does not in itself afford a sufficient aim in life. To be able to discourse cleverly of Browning and Wagner is an accomplishment easily acquired, and affords pleasure to no one. To acquire a reputation for the excellence of our home-made gooseberry wine, of our home-baked bread, or of our home-brewed beer is much more difficult and much more worthy. There is more scope for the use of brains in housewifery than in almost any of the other careers open to women, and this possibly is why so many women are fighting shy of it. In housewifery there can be but little pretence, for no ignorance may remain hid. Bluff and a ready tongue or pen go a long way towards creating many a “brilliant reputation” in the “artistic” and vapid world which lives at clubs and restaurants, and runs societies for improving other people. But no bluff will ever avail in the presence of the food or drink in the preparation of which our skill has been employed. The products of housewifery speak for themselves; they are no empty expressions of sentiments which may be false or true.
