University of Virginia Library

BE CHEERFUL AT THE TABLE.

"THE JOURNAL OF HEALTH" says that talking at the table is one of the very best digesters. This, then, accounts for the tremendous appetite everybody has for the Sunday dinner. We never could understand why, with scarcely any exercise on Sunday, the dinner of that day should be heartier and more anxiously sought for by the diner than any other dinner. Many real good Christian people will sacrifice Sunday school, where it is a noon session, in order to get home for something to eat. Although the breakfast has been later than any other of the week, still noon brings a most ravenous appetite. But it is all explained now. Talking at table does it. Everybody knows that the Sunday breakfast is the longest on the floor, and is more talked over than any breakfast of the week. This is the way it comes about. The children are to be got up, and got ready for church. It is immaterial how long people have been married: the woman always gets the breakfast ready as soon as she has called the children. They don't come, as a general thing, when they are called; but no woman allows this to influence her actions. She gets the breakfast just as punctually as if she had never had to wait an hour or so for a dilatory family. This is the grandest illustration of the sublime faith of woman to be found on record. With one or two

of the older children about her, she sits down to the meal. The surroundings of the breakfast would make it a repast of lead, were it not for the conversation, which flows smoothly on. And the great variety of subjects discussed is an important element in the development of the gastric juices. There's her husband, who, seeing the breakfast about ready, thoughtfully arranges his shaving articles, and falls to lathering his face just as he is called to the table. It occurs to him that there should be some explanation of why the meal is always brought on just as he gets to shaving; and he demands it. Then she wants to know why people will persist in shaving when they know the breakfast is right before them. Thus is one subject disposed of. Then there is the boy who is bound to have two cups of coffee. He has to be met on the very first opening of the rebellion.

"You sha'n't have another cup of coffee. One cup is enough for you. You are so nervous now, there's no living with you."

"I want it, I tell you."

"And I tell you you sha'n't have it."

"I will have it."

"What's that, sir?"

No response.

"Don't you never let me hear you talk like that again, sir, or I'll give you something that'll make your tongue civil."

There's the other boy, who perceives that there is not sugar enough in his cup, and hits upon the bold expedient of declaring that there has been no sugar put in at all.

"I know better. You stir it up, and you'll find it sweet enough."

"But I am stirring it up; an' there ain't no sugar in it at all."

"There's all you'll get; and you can drink it, or leave it alone. I've got something else to do besides doctoring you for worms."

Then the father sits down, and is being helped, when another child comes in, and, seeing his mother occupied, backs up to her to have his apron buttoned.

The temerity of this proceeding, although somewhere near its thousandth performance, never becomes sufficiently familiar to be understood by the mother; and she hastily observes,—

"Get away from here: don't you see I'm busy?"

The child sniffles.

"Shut up that yawp, or I'll give you something to sniffle for," volunteers the father.

"Why don't you snap the young one's head off, and be done with it?" retorts the mother, dropping her occupation to attend to the apron.

The father stares morosely around the table. A moment of silence succeeds. Then, the mother's affectionate eye catching the vacant expression on

the face of the oldest boy,—who has a piece of bread poised uncertainly in the air, and is evidently allowing his mind to stray beyond the home-circle,—she observes,—

"Come now, stupid! finish your breakfast, and get ready for church; and don't sit here gormandizing all the forenoon."

He returns to business at once, and another pause follows. Then comes the following:—"Take your fingers out of that dish!"

"Stop mussing!"

"Where's your collar?"

"Have you washed back of your ears?"

"Why on earth don't you sit up straight?"

"I'll box your ears till they ring if you drop another thing on that floor."

"Get out of that butter!"

"Stop muxin' that bread! One would think you were a drove of young hogs to see you at the table."

"Come, now, get right away from this table! You've eaten enough for twenty people. I sha'n't have you muxing and gauming up the victuals. Clear out, I tell you, and get your Sunday-school lessons!"

Appropriate responses being made to these observations by the parties addressed, the family adjourn from the table, to meet again at dinner with rousing appetites.

Let's have more conversation at meals, if we wish to enjoy perfect digestion.