Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper

Cheap furniture.

One of the cardinal virtues, at least for housekeepers who are not overburdened in the matter of income, is economy.  In the early part of our married life, Mr. Smith and myself were forced to the practice of this virtue, or incur debt, of which both of us had a natural horror.  For a few years we lived in the plain style with which we had begun the world.  But, when our circumstances improved, we very naturally desired to improve the appearance of things in our household.  Our cane seat chairs and ingrain carpet looked less and less attractive every day.  And, when we went out to spend an evening, socially, with our friends, the contrast between home and abroad was strikingly apparent to our minds.

“I think,” said Mr. Smith to me, one day, “that it is time we re-furnished our parlors.”

“If you can afford the outlay,” I remarked.

“It won’t cost a great deal,” he returned.

“Not over three hundred dollars,” said I.

Mr. Smith shook his head as he answered:  “Half that sum ought to be sufficient.  What will we want?”

“A dozen mahogany chairs to begin with,” I replied.  “There will be sixty dollars.”

“You don’t expect to pay five dollars a-piece for chairs?” said my husband, in a tone of surprise.

“I don’t think you can get good ones for less.”

“Indeed we can.  I was looking at a very handsome set yesterday; and the man only asked four dollars for them.  I don’t in the least doubt that I could get them for three and a half.”

“And a dear bargain you would make of that, I do not in the least doubt.  It is poor economy, Mr. Smith, to buy cheap furniture.  It costs a great deal more in the end, than good furniture, and never gives you any satisfaction.”

“But these were good chairs, Jane.  As good as I would wish to look at.  The man said they were from one of the best shops in the city, and of superior workmanship and finish.”

As I make it a point never to prolong an argument with my husband, when I see his mind bent in one direction, I did not urge my view of the case any farther.  It was settled, however, that we could afford to re-furnish our parlors in a better style, and that in the course of the coming week, we should go out together and select a Brussels carpet, a sofa, a dozen mahogany chairs, a centre table, &c.

As I had foreseen from the beginning, my husband’s ideas of economy were destined to mar everything.  At one of the cabinet ware-rooms was a very neat, well-made set of chairs, for which five dollars and a half were asked, but which the dealer, seeing that he was beyond our mark, offered for five dollars.  They were cheap at that price.  But Mr. Smith could not see that they were a whit better than the set of chairs just mentioned as offered for four dollars; and which he was satisfied could be bought for three and a half.  So I went with him to look at them.  They proved to be showy enough, if that were any recommendation, but had a common look in my eyes.  They were not to be compared with the set we had just been examining.

“Now, are they not very beautiful, Jane?” said my husband.  “To me they are quite as handsome as those we were asked sixty dollars for.”

From this I could not but dissent, seeing which, the cunning dealer came quickly to my husband’s side of the question with various convincing arguments, among the strongest of which was an abatement in the price of the chairs—­he seeing it to be for his interest to offer them for three dollars and three-quarters a-piece.

“I’ll give you three and a-half,” said Mr. Smith, promptly.

“Too little, that, sir,” returned the dealer.  “I don’t make a cent on them at three and three-quarters.  They are fully equal, in every respect, to the chairs you were offered at five dollars.  I know the manufacturer, and have had his articles often.”

“Say three and a-half, and it’s a bargain,” was the only reply made to this by my economical husband.

I was greatly in hopes that the man would decline this offer; but, was disappointed.  He hesitated for some time, and, at last, said: 

“Well, I don’t care, take them along; though it is throwing them away.  Such a bargain you will never get again, if you live to be as old as Mathuselah.  But, now, don’t you want something else?  I can sell you cheaper and better articles in the furniture line than you can get in the city.  Small profits and quick sales—­I go in for the nimble sixpence.”

My husband was in the sphere of attraction, and I saw that it would take a stronger effort on my part to draw him out than I wished to make.  So, I yielded with as good a grace as possible, and aided in the selection of a cheap sofa, a cheap, overgrown centre table, and two or three other article that were almost “thrown away.”

Well, our parlor was furnished with its new dress in good time, and made quite a respectable appearance.  Mr. Smith was delighted with everything; the more particularly as the cost had been so moderate.  I had my own thoughts on the subject; and looked very confidently for some evidences of imperfection in our great bargains.  I was not very long kept in suspense.  One morning, about two weeks after all had been fitted out so elegantly, while engaged in dusting the chairs, a part of the mahogany ornament in the back of one of them fell off.  On the next day, another showed the same evidence of imperfect workmanship.  A few evenings afterwards, as we sat at the centre table, one of our children leaned on it rather heavily, when there was a sudden crack, and the side upon which he was bearing his weight, swayed down the distance of half an inch or more.  The next untoward event was the dropping of one of its feet by the sofa, and the warping up of a large piece of veneering on the back.  While lamenting over this, we discovered a broken spring ready to make its way through the hair cloth covering.

“So much for cheap furniture,” said I, in a tone of involuntary triumph.

My husband looked at me half reproachfully, and so I said no more.

It was now needful to send for a cabinet maker, and submit our sofa and chairs to his handy workmanship.  He quickly discovered other imperfections, and gave us the consoling information that our fine furniture was little above fourth-rate in quality, and dear at any price.  A ten dollar bill was required to pay the damage they had already sustained, even under our careful hands.

A more striking evidence of our folly in buying cheap furniture was, however, yet to come.  An intimate friend came in one evening to sit a few hours with us.  After conversing for a time, both he and my husband took up books, and commenced reading, while I availed myself of the opportunity to write a brief letter.  Our visitor, who was a pretty stout man, had the bad fault of leaning back in his chair, and balancing himself on its hind legs; an experiment most trying to the best (sic) mahogahy chairs that were ever made.

We were all sitting around the centre table, upon which burned a tall astral lamp, and I was getting absorbed in my letter, when suddenly there was a loud crash, followed by the breaking of the table from its centre, and the pitching over of the astral lamp, which, in falling, just grazed my side, and went down, oil and all, upon our new carpet!  An instant more, and we were in total darkness.  But, ere the light went out, a glance had revealed a scene that I shall never forget.  Our visitor, whose weight, as he tried his usual balancing experiment, had caused the slender legs of his chair to snap off short, had fallen backwards.  In trying to save himself, he had caught at the table, and wrenched that from its centre fastening.  Startled by this sudden catastrophe, my husband had sprung to his feet, grasping his chair with the intent of drawing it away, when the top of the back came off in his hand.  I saw all this at a single glance—­and then we were shrouded in darkness.

Of the scene that followed, I will not speak.  My lady readers can, (sic) witout any effort of the mind, imagine something of its unpleasant reality.  As for our visitor, when lights were brought in, he was no where to be seen.  I have a faint recollection of having heard the street door shut amid the confusion that succeeded the incident just described.

About a week afterwards, the whole of our cheap furniture was sent to auction, where it brought less than half its first cost.  It was then replaced with good articles, by good workmen, at a fair price; not one of which has cost us, to this day, a single cent for repairs.

A housekeeping friend of mine, committed, not, long since, a similar error.  Her husband could spare her a couple of hundred dollars for re-furnishing purposes; but, as his business absorbed nearly all of his time and thoughts, he left with her the selection of the new articles that were to beautify their parlors and chambers, merely saying to her: 

“Let what you get be good.  It is cheapest in the end.”

Well, my friend had set her heart on a dozen chairs, a new sofa, centre table, and “what-not,” for her parlors; and on a dressing-bureau, mahogany bedstead, and wash-stand, for her chamber, besides a new chamber carpet.  Her first visit was to the ware-rooms of one of our best cabinet makers; but, his prices completely frightened her—­for, at his rate, the articles she wanted would amount to more than all the money she had to spend, and leave nothing for the new chamber carpet.

“I must buy cheaper,” said she.

“The cheapest is generally dearest in the end,” returned the cabinet maker.

“I don’t know about that,” remarked the lady, whose thoughts did not take in the meaning of the man’s words.  “All I know is, that I can get as good articles as I desire at lower prices than you ask.”

It did not once occur to my friend, that it would be wisest to lessen the number of articles, and get the remainder of the first quality.  No; her heart covered the whole inventory at first made out, and nothing less would answer.  So she went to an auction store, and bought inferior articles at lower prices.  I visited her soon after.  She showed me her bargains, and, with an air of exultation, spoke of the cost.

“What do you think I paid for this?” said she, referring to a showy dressing-bureau; and, as she spoke, she took hold of the suspended looking-glass, and moved the upper portion of it forward.  “Only seventeen dollars!”

The words had scarcely passed her lips, ere the looking-glass broke away from one of the screws that held it in the standards, and fell, crashing, at our feet!

It cost just seven dollars to replace the glass.  But, that was not all—­over thirty dollars were paid during the first year for repairs.  And this is only the beginning of troubles.

Cheap furniture is, in most cases, the dearest that housekeepers can buy.  It is always breaking, and usually costs more, in a year or two, than the difference between its price and that of first-rate articles; to say nothing of the vexation and want of satisfaction that always attends its possession.  Better be content with fewer articles, if the purse be low, and have them good.

While on this subject, I will incorporate in these “Confessions” an “Experience” of my sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. John Jones.  Mr. Jones is, in some respects, very much like Mr. Smith, and, as will be seen in the story about to be given, my sister’s ideas of things and my own, run quite parallel to each other.  The story has found its way, elsewhere, into print, for Mr. Jones, like myself, has a natural fondness for types.  But its repetition here will do no harm, and bring it before many who would not otherwise see it.