From Mrs. John.

DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE.


MR. ARCHITECT: Dear Sir,--Yesterday afternoon Sister Jane and I went
out after May-flowers. We didn't find any, but on our way home met the
schoolmaster, a friend of Jane's, who knew where they grew and offered
himself as a guide. I was too tired to walk any farther, so they went
off without me. Coming into the house, I was taken all aback by the
sight of John lying on my best lounge, his muddy boots on his feet,
his hat on the floor, and your last letter crumpled savagely in his
hand. I was vexed, thankful, and--frightened.

I've taught the baby, who is only twenty-nine months old, to hang up
his little cap, and not to climb into the chairs with his shoes on,
but I can't make a model husband of John. He is as good as gold, but
will leave his hat on the floor, his coat on the nearest chair, and
never keeps himself or any of his things in order in the house. He
says it's born with him; comes from a long line of ancestors (he's
been reading Darwin lately) who lived in houses without any cupboards
or drawers or closets, and he could no more put away his hat and coat
when he comes in than a blue-jay could build a hang-bird's nest. Yes;
I was vexed, but thankful, too, that Jane was out of sight. Of all
people in the world; she has the least mercy for anything like
domestic untidiness. I only hope she will some time have a house and a
husband of her own; if one doesn't shine and the other shake, her
practice will fall a long way behind her preaching. Let me warn you
now, not to attempt making any plans for her. It will be worry and