Nevertheless, I repeat it—­let him have his “den,” and one in which he can find more comfort and enjoyment than in any other haunt.  We mistake—­the most affectionate of us—­in attributing to our sons’ sensibilities the robustness or wiry insensitiveness that belongs to their physical conformation.  Timely gifts are not thrown away upon them; each tasteful contribution to their well-being and happiness is a seed set in good soil.

A dear friend, in whose judgment I have put much faith, put it well when she gave her reason for rectifying only the glaring disorders of her boy’s apartments while he was out of them, and letting the rest go.

“They must be clean and bright,” she remarked, with tender forbearance.  “But I never meddle with his books and papers, or do anything that will, in his opinion, mar the individuality of his quarters.  He likes to feel that they have the impress of himself, you see.  Rigid surveillance, or the appearance of it, would irk him.  For a long time it annoyed me that he preferred his imprint to mine.  A pile of pamphlets on the carpet within easy reach of his chair was a grievance; his boxing gloves were an eyesore when left upon his table, and he might find some other place for his dumb-bells than the exact middle of the room.  Then, by degrees, I thought my way to the stable verity whereupon I now rest, that the boy is worth more than the room.”

CHAPTER XXXV.

HOMELY, BUT IMPORTANT.

The French woman dresses herself with a view to pleasing the cultivated eye.  She consults her complexion, height, figure and carriage, in color, make and trimming.  Her apparel partakes of her individuality.

The American woman wears her clothes, as clothing, and has them made up of certain materials and in various ways, because dressmakers and fashion-plates prescribe what are this season’s “styles.”

Dissimilarities as marked prevail in the cookery of the two nations.  Daintiness and flavor take the rank of other considerations with the French cook; with the American,—­fillingness!  I can use no substitute for the word that will convey the right idea.

The human machine (of American manufacture) must be greased regularly and plied with fuel or it will not go.  And “go” is the genius of American institutions.  Cookery with us is means to an end; therefore, as much a matter of economy of time and toil as building a road.  Almost every cottage has specimens of fine art on the walls in the shape of pictures “done” by Jane or Eliza, or embroidery upon lambrequin, portiere, or tidy.  It occurs to Jane and Eliza as seldom as to their fore-mothers, that cooking is an art in itself, that may be “fine” to exquisiteness.  In their eyes, it is an ugly necessity, to be got over as expeditiously as “the men-folks” will allow, their coarser natures demanding more and richer filling than women’s.  It follows that dishes