Marion Harland's Complete Cook Book: A Practical and Exhaustive Manual of Cookery and Housekeeping

Sunday coat and hat, and to lay off her apron. When I spoke to her of the absurdity and inconvenience of this, she confessed, blushingly, that the porter at the grocery was “keeping company with her,” and “it was nat’ral a gurrel should want to look her best when she was like to see him.” “Ah,” I said, “doesn’t he know what your position is in my house? Has he never seen you in cap and apron?” “Shure, mem! Every day when he fetches the groceries.” “Then, if he is a sensible fellow, he will respect you all the more for not pretending to be what you are not. Since he knows what your business is, show him that you are not ashamed of it. You are as respectable in your place as he is in his—as I am in mine—always providing that you respect your service and yourself.” Call the distinctive dress of your maid a “uniform,” not a livery. Point out to her the examples of trained nurses, of railway conductors, of the very porters who “keep company” with her; the policemen she admires afar off; the soldiers, whose brass buttons dazzle her imagination. Remind her that saleswomen in fashionable shops wear the black gown, white apron, deep linen collar and cuffs and pride themselves upon looking their best in them. Especially make her comprehend (if you can, for the ways of the untrained mind are past finding out), that she has an honorable calling and need not be ashamed to advertise it. Congratulate yourself, above all, that a sensible fashion holds back Bridget and Dinah from the “exercise of their own taste in dress.” The modification of that taste wrought by the neat and modest costume prescribed by a majority of modern housewives may be in itself a good thing, sparing the eyes of spectators of her toilettes when she becomes “Mrs.” and independent, and the purse of the porter, or truckman, or mechanic, who will have to pay for them. I have laid stress upon the advantages of long terms of service, to maid and to