Unnecessary Work of Women.
By Elizabeth Cummings
I AM convinced that at least one quarter of the work performed by women is unnecessary, and that the world would get on quite as well without it. It is like the ottoman cover I once saw a lady work. She was all bent up, and was putting her eyes out counting stitches. “I don’t get any time for reading,” she said plaintively, as she picked up some beads on a needle. “You must have a great deal of leisure.” And yet she had spent more time embroidering a ridiculous dog on a piece of broadcloth than would have sufficed to read twenty good books. It did not have the poor merit of being economical, for the price of the materials would have bought enough handsome damask for two covers. A friend of mine tells of seeing a squaw seat herself by the town pump, unroll a bundle of calico, cut out a dress, make it, put it on, and walk off, all in about two hours. I have always regretted that he did not continue the story by telling me that the squaw spent her abundant leisure beautifully. I would not have women reduce their sewing to quite so simple a performance; but a good deal would be gained if they thought more about living and less about its accidents. The transcendent fact is what we are, not what we accumulate or possess. Even knowledge may be so used that it is merely an ornament which keeps up a twinkling about the mind, like bright jewels in pretty ears, and is only a possession, and not a part of ourselves. To fill time, to pass it busily, is not to use it. Labor in itself is not worthy. The meanest work that makes home a lovely, sacred place is consecrated, and fit for the hands of a queen; but delicate work that ministers to no human need, even if it has artistic merit to recommend it, if it consumes the hours a woman ought to use training her mind to think, and her eyes to see, and making her brain something more than a mere filling for her skull, is but busy idleness and a waste of time. I hope the day will come when every woman who can read will be ashamed of the “column for ladies” printed in some of our papers, and which tells with more sarcastic emphasis than any words of mine how some women choose to spend their leisure. Surely, if they have time to follow intricate directions for making all sorts of trimming, not so good as that sold in the shops at two cents a yard, they may, if they will, find a few moments in which to read a book.—Elizabeth Cummings.