MRS. JONES’ “MISSION.”

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 4, 1868

MRS. JONES’ “MISSION.”

Mrs. Jones is a pattern of economy. She is as charitable, too, as she is saving. She often says, dear creature, that if it was not for the union of these two qualities in her, she would be unable to give as much as she wished, for “with six children, and an extravagant husband,” as she pointedly remarks, “a woman must be very rich, or very thrifty, to have much to spare in benevolence.”

It is for this reason that she is so fond of Sewing Societies. Others may give money, but she gives her time. Besides, these reunions afford a healthful relaxation from the onerous cares of a household. Indeed, she finds them so pleasant, and has so many arguments in their favor, that I am often tempted to wonder why Providence instituted the family relation at all. A grand world-wide Sewing Society, in which all the sex might have participated eternally, it appears to me would have been a far wiser arrangement, if my wife and her friends are right.

This winter she has been particularly enthusiastic in behalf of her favorite charity. Early in the season, she pronounced, after inspecting the breast-bone of a goose, that the weather would be unusually severe; and she set about, accordingly, arranging for extra meetings of the Sewing Society, so as to make up an unusual supply of clothing to give away. In the ardor of her zeal, after the first snow in December, she joined a second Sewing Society, besides devoting one afternoon a week to begging materials from our richer neighbors. In this way the tender-hearted creature has managed, all winter, to indulge in charity about a third of her time without spending a cent.

It is true that my own wardrobe has suffered a little in consequence. Last week, I could not find a pair of stockings in my drawer, which had not a hole in them. My overcoat has long had two of the principal buttons off, so that it is impossible for me to keep warm in it. I lately missed my silver change, all at once, and on investigation, found that my pocket was worn through. But these are trivial matters. Every body must suffer in some shape, or there is no merit in their charity: and so I flatter myself I thus share vicariously in my wife’s benevolence.

The other day, on coming home at an earlier hour than usual, I found the servant, who had charge of the children, in quite a fright. Little Harry, a child still in petticoats, was ill, and with the croup. He had been getting rapidly worse, ever since dinner; and the poor woman had no experience of the disease. “Shure,” said she, “I’d have run after the mistress long ago, if I’d known where she was. But she’s gone out, she says, in search of poor little children, that have no warm clothes the day.”

I looked at my suffering boy. To my surprise I saw that his little arms were bare, for his apron was a thin summer one, with short sleeves. I turned sternly to his nurse, and accusing her of carelessness, told her I did not wonder Harry had the croup, if she allowed him to go dressed in that way, during such bitter weather. “Holy Mother,” she said, lifting up her hands, “it’s not the fault of meself; for them same are the warmest aprons he has, shure: the blessed child,” she continued, kissing him, “he’s been blue with the cold this two months.”

“You don’t mean to say,” I cried, “that he has no better clothing?”

“Indade I do,” she answered, vehemently, “and I’ll take my oath to it. Nor the other children ayther, for that matter. The mistress hasn’t the time, yer honor knows, to make aprons for them, seeing that she has a ‘mission,’ as she says, for the destitute entirely.”

I could not make up my mind, whether this was simplicity, or satire. But there was no time to speculate about it. The little sufferer was growing worse every moment. Fortunately, from having shared so long the care-taking of the children, I knew pretty well what to do; and so, while I despatched the other servant for the doctor, I and the nurse began to sponge Harry’s chest and bathe his feet. Thank God! the child came around at last; his breathing grew more regular; and when the physician arrived, all danger was over.

Mrs. Jones returned about dusk, by which time the invalid had sunk into a peaceful sleep, and was smiling sweetly in his dreams. She was quite affected at first. But she soon rebuked herself for this weakness, saying that it was perhaps her very absence, since that absence was in a good cause, which had saved the child’s life. For Mrs. Jones, being a bit of a theologian, says that there is retribution, as well for good as evil, in this world, even if not in the next.

Yet somehow, I am prejudiced enough to wish that she would stay more at home. But when I once expressed a desire to this effect, she said I wanted to make “a law for her conscience,” and to degrade her into a mere household drudge. “Woman” she added, “has a higher mission.”

Perhaps she has. I own that I don’t know much about such abstruse questions. Only, if some Sewing Society would take pity on my poor children, I would receive it as a favor; for I know no place where a few warm garments are wanted worse.