And what will women, what will the house-mothers, do when they feel
this truth? Certainly not as they now do. Now it is their custom to
fill in every chink and crevice of leisure time with sewing. "Look,"
said a young mother to me: "I made all these myself, when holding the
baby, or by sitting up nights." They were children's clothes,
beautifully made, and literally covered with ruffles and embroidery.
Oh the thousands of stitches! The ruffles ran up and down, and over
and across, and three times round. Being white, the garments were of
course changed daily. In the intervals of baby-tending, the mother
snatched a few minutes here and a few minutes there to starch, iron,
flute, or crimp a ruffle, or to finish off a dress of her own. This
"finishing off" was carried on for weeks. When her baby was asleep, or
was good, or had its little ruffles all fluted, and its little
sister's little ruffles were all fluted, then would she seize the
opportunity to stitch, to plait, to flounce, to pucker, and to braid.
Wherever a hand's breadth of the original material was left visible,
some bow, or band, or queer device, was fashioned and sewed on. This
zealous individual, by improving every moment, by sitting up nights,
by working with the baby across her lap, accomplished her task. The
dress was finished, and worn with unutterable complacency. It is this
last part which is the worst part. They have no misgivings, these
mothers. They expect your warm approval. "I can't get a minute's time
to read," said this industrious person; and, on another occasion,
"I'll own up, I don't know any thing about taking care of children."
Swift, speaking of women, said that they "employ more thought, memory,
and application to become fools than would serve to make them wise and
useful;" and perhaps he spoke truly. For suppose this young mother had
been as eager to gain ideas as she was to accomplish a bias band, a
French fold, or a flounce. Suppose that, in the intervals of