as supported something besides the mantle
shelf; for when I draw the young Smith forward, deprived of the
friendly aid of the wall, his teguments drop to the floor, and _he_
stands unveiled! One fell swoop at rude play has destroyed all my
little innumerable stitches; and I am just where I was before I
threaded a needle the night before!

Now I appeal to any body--any woman with the least experience, if
this is not all _too bad_! And yet my husband insists that I have no
need to be continually worrying myself with the needle. It _is_ true
that each of the children has four or five changes of clothes, which
they might wear--but what is the use of their having things to "put
right on--and tear right out!" I like to be prudent and saving. It
was only the other day that Mr. Smith came in early, and found me
busy; and commenced a regular oration. He said that every child in
the house has a better wardrobe than he; and so he went on, and
counted all off to me. He says--and men think they know _so
much_--that if children have clothes they should wear them; and when
they are worn out, provide more, and not try to keep as many
half-worn suits in repair, as there are new suits in a queen's
wardrobe. But he likes, as well as any man, to see his children look
neat, whatever he may say. And yet he pretends that children should
have clothes so made that they can convert themselves into horses,
and treat each other to rides without rending to pieces! And he
protests that it is all nonsense to undertake to keep children
dressed in the fashion! Truly I am tempted to say to the men as Job
did to his friends: "No doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom
shall die with you!"

Such plagues as they are sometimes! But I could not help laughing
after all, when, as I said before, he was lecturing me. The table
was covered with work, done and in progress. He went on till out of
breath. I answered:

"Now you know the children have not a rag to their backs!"

"I should think not," he said, drily, as he looked about him. "The
other morning finished up the rags on hand--but you are doing your
best, with flimsy finery, to get up a new assortment."

"Now, that is unkind in you, Mr. Smith," said I, feeling hurt, and
looking and speaking as I felt. "Really unkind in you. I'm sure it's
no pleasure for me to work, work, work, from morning till night,
until I'm worn down and good for nothing. I wish my children to look
decent at least; and to do this