"A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite's Life," one of the most charming, as
well as one of the most helpful of Adeline D.T. Whitney's books, was
sent into the world over a quarter-century ago. But age cannot wither
nor custom stale, nor render old-fashioned the delightful volume with
its many quaint and original ideas. Others besides girls have learned
the practical truth of one sentence which, for the good it has done,
deserves to be written in letters of gold:

"_Something must be crowded out._"

More than one perplexed and conscientious worker has, like myself,
written it out in large text and tacked it up in sewing-room, kitchen,
or over a desk.

In the beginning, I want to guard what may seem to be a weak point by
stating, first and above all, that this is not an excuse for slighting
or "slurring over" our legitimate work.

One easygoing housekeeper used to say that, in her opinion, there was
a genius in slighting. Her home attested the fact that she had reduced
the habit of leaving things undone to a science, but it is doubtful if
the so-called genius differed largely from that which forms a
prominent characteristic of the porcine mother, and enables her to
enjoy her home and little ones with apparent indifference to the fact
that outsiders denominate one a sty, and her offspring small pigs.

Not very long ago I was frequently brought into contact with a woman
who has, as all her friends acknowledge, a faculty for "turning off
work." She has a jaunty knack of pinning trimming on a hat, which,
although bare and stiff in the start, evolves into a toque or capote