PLAIN TALK
AND
FRIENDLY ADVICE TO DOMESTICS;
t,ustl OA Vgmt Latttro.
" Glory and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, - there all the honor eies."
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY.
K0. 13 WINTER STREET.
1855.
WITH
I 
3'P31
. P3
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Mas,achusetts.
Ste,reotyped by
HOBART & ROBBINS,
'ew England Type and Steeotye Founlr,
o.T.o. 
AMERICAN HOUSEKEEPERS,
WHOSE TRIALS AND DIFFICULTIES HAVE ENLISTED THE AUTHOR'S SYMPATHY, -
WHOSE VEXATIONS SHE HAS SHARED, - WHOSE LABORS SHE HOPES TO
LIGHTEN, —BUT WHOSE COuPERATION SHE EARNESTLY DESIRES,
IS RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED.
go
11  
I_ L.B3 
10 
CONTE N T S.
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
WEAT TE AUTHOR HASf TO SAY ABOUT HERSELF, AND WHY S$l
HAS WRITTEN A BOo  ~OR DOEONSTIOCS AND HQUSEKEEPERS,  7
CHAPTER I.
To MDERVANTS. - HOW TO BEGIN RIGHT. -- ARTuN  A
THE BOTTOM IN  ORDER TO REACH THE TOP OF TE LADDER.
- To BE SYSTEMATIC AND ORDERLY. - MARY AND  JANE. -
FANNY FAIHVEN, ETC.....................15
CHAPTER II.
GRAND DOINGS IN THE KITCHEN AT MRS. MATIn'L — MRS.
MAvERICK, AND THE WAY HER GIRLS IMPOSED UPON HER, 45
CHAPTER  III.
ELIZABETH LAWNEY'S CLUB. -HER m     COUSELS. -  SARA,
THo MODEL SERVANT.................       654
CHAPTER IV.
WAGES. - MARGARET AND BRIDGET. - HANNAH PECK,.... 67
CHAPTER V.
ECONOMY. - THE UNTHRIFTY GIRL. - A COMMON EXPERIENCE. -
"WOFUL WASTE MAKES WOFUL WANT,"...........79
1*
I 
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VI.
MRs. SUMNER, AND TE BEHAVIOR OF HER GmL DUNG HER
lINN S,.................. 111
CHAPTER VII.
ON MNNES. - IMPORTANT DiRECTIONs.-JOHN, THE NEW MAN.
— HOLLOA, WHAT DO  YOU WANT? -SINGING  NANCY AND
THE SHOEMAK......................123
CHAPTER VIII.
DRESS.- WHAT IS BECOMING AND ATTRACTIVE.- THE GIRLS
AT TE COUmRY TAVERN..................140
CHAPTER IX.
To NuRsERY- S, AND MOTHERS,.............148
CHAPTER X.
To BOYS AND MEN-SERVANTS.- THE LAWYER AND THE DOCTOR.
- STONE-WALL BY THE DAY AND BY THE JOB.- MR. WETH HRBEE'S MEN. - -JACK KEYES, TIM DOOLiTTLE, ETC. - CON CISE DnmoTIONS...................                  159
CHAPTER XI.
TM.,............................ 196
CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION,.........................205
VI 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
WHAT THE AUTHOR HAS TO SAY ABOUT HERSELF, AND WHY SHE
HAS WRITTEN A BOOK FOR DOMESTICS AND HOUSEKEEPERS.
TiE writer of these pages is not aware of the existence of any book written expressly for the guidance
and encouragement of servants. And she is sensible
of the difficulty of so addressing them, as to gain their
confidence, and give no offence to their natural prejudice. This difficulty it is, doubtless, which has deterred abler pens from undertaking a task so apparently thankless. But she believes her honest and
earnest desire to improve the condition, as well as the
efficiency and usefulness, of the large class of people
filling the various and responsible grades of service,
will not be entirely unappreciated. She trues in the
good sense inherent, to some degree, in every rational
person, to discover evidence enough here that she is
indeed their friend; that she knows how to sympathize with them in their toils and trials, as well as 
INTRODUCTORY.
how, candidly and plainly, to reprove them for their
faults and follies. Such a relationship once estab lished between them, she can have no fear for the
result.
It matters little to the reader or the public who
the writer is, but it is quite proper that they should
know what she is, that they may be the better able to
judge if her age and experience give her a right to
volunteer "Plain  Talk and Friendly Advice"  to
hundreds   she hopes thousands - of people of whom
she knows nothing personally, but in whose welfare
and well-doing she feels, nevertheless, a warm and
hearty interest.
First, then, she confesses she is not old. Old ladies
rarely write books, although they talk often whole
volumes of wisdom, quite unconsciously. Neither is
she very young. Young ladies, not out of their teens,
have written very fine works of fiction, although of
little practical value in every-day life. Being a wife
and a mother,- one of the two heads of a family having, happily, but one heart, - lhaving, from her girlhood, shared the cares of housekeeping with an invalid
mother, and kept house herself since her marriage,
being a young New England matron- a "Yankee," if
you please, - the author considers herself at about the
8 
INTRODUCTORY.
right age, and as having the degree of experience
which should enable her to speak advisedly, candidly,
and acceptably concerning the duties and relations of
servants, with whom she has had much to do. To
more or less than that she does not aim.
The term, servant, admits of a great variety of
definition. Properly, it means a person that attends
upon another, and is subject to his commands and obedient to his wishes. Service is voluntary time and
labor spent in the employ of another, receiving, in payment therefor, board and wages- the relation of servant and master ceasing at the option of either party.
In a legal sense, agents, stewards, bailiffs, etc., are
servants, being subject to the direction of those who
employ them.  Ministers of the gospel are called servants of Christ.    The high  ministers  of state  are
servants of the king or queen. Admirals, captains,
and generals, are servants of the government, subject
to explicit and detailed orders, and are bound, upon
penalty of death or disgrace, to obey implicitly.
The proportion of servants to employers, taking the
world at large, is probably as five to one, and perhaps ten to one. The most learned and accomplished
men freely and honorably occupy the position of hired
servants; that is, sell their time and talents for pay.
9 
INTRODUCTORY.
As in any other civil contract, the relation requires
literal fulfilment on both sides. The employer is to
pay the exact amount stipulated for the exact and
faithful service performed.
As the Goddess of Fortune is represented to be
blind, thus distributing the riches of this world with
no apparent discrimination,- often making wealthy the
most sordid or most vacant-minded of men, and withholding it from thousands of the most gifted of earth,
so, in the relation of master and servant, mistress and
maid, ay, king and chamberlain, president and private secretary; if the principle of fitness were somehow to obtain rule, a complete exchange of places
would not unfrequently be necessary; but as our
common Lord and Master orders the affairs of this
world wisely, through his providence, and "doeth all
things well," it is not for us to object to the dispensations of honor and wealth. Paul, the apostle, says:
"Servants, obey your masters, for this is right! "
Certainly it is right; for in so doing you are but fulfilling your part of the contract. It is sheer folly for
servants to look upon their position as disgraceful or
degrading.   Only vice and crime can disgrace you.
You can only be degraded by the indulgence of low
and evil propensities. Honesty, fidelity, and an oblig
10 
INTRODU CTO RY.
ing deportment will as surely advance and ennoble, as
their opposites will sink and ruin you.
Instances might be multiplied of faithful and willing
servants rising to positions of honor and responsibility.
In our country, especially, where reward follows merit
more surely and speedily than in any other, it is, I
was going to say, rather the rule than the exception.
In the densely populated countries of the Old World,
where lands and titles are handed down from generation to generation, and the conditions of class and
caste are strictly observed, servitude seems also to be
hereditary.   Still, the law is immutable that merit
has, or shall have, its reward in due time. Shiftless
and thriftless servants, like shiftless and thriftless
masters, never advance or improve their condition.
The law is as immutable as the other.
That man or woman whose time and ability to labor
is hired and paid for, but who shirks every job possible
to avoid, rendering only a miserable eye-service and
lip-service, never succeeded in long deceiving his or her
employer, but only made themselves objects of disgust
and aversion. The person who accepts the position
and pay of a servant, should understand in the outset
that she is not employed to sit in the parlor, to receive guests, to give advice, to sit at the same table
11 
INTRODUCTORY.
or sleep in the same bed with her mistress. Yet,
strange and unaccountable as it may appear, many,
otherwise sensible persons, seem desirous to conceal or
disallow their position as servant while yet receiving
the wages of one. This indicates either stupidity or
impudence, which may indeed be corrected, but cannot
be endured without making the position of both mistress and servant equally inconsistent and absurd.
It should be observed that when speaking of "master"
or "mistress," it is not intended to represent a puffedup and aristocratic person, sitting on a high chair in
state, and giving off orders in a loud voice and with
pompous manner. There are, possibly, some such;
but we are supposing, always, that master and mistress are gentleman and lady; that they preside over
their household with dignity and propriety, with
goodness of heart and kindness of manner; asking
nothing unreasonable, and as solicitous for the welfare
of their domestics as of their own comfort.
If you go out to service, then, go with the purpose
of doing your duty in your position and character of
servant; of doing it faithfully and with your best
ability, with a single eye to your employer's interest
In no surer way can you advance your own.
In the following pages the reader will not find
12 
INTRODUCTORY.
minute rules for doing all sorts of work. The object
is to point out plainly and faithfully the prominent
errors of servants, and, incidentally,  some  of the
errors of housekeepers - to show how easily a spirit
of discontent and insubordination can make mountains
of mole-hills, and turn the pleasure of a household into
bitterness; and how easy, on the other hand, order,
contentment, and cheerfulness, may make the necessary labors and duties of life.
We address, chiefly, country domestics, who have
not the benefit of the example of skilful fellow-servants, such as are found in the cities, and who perhaps
for the first time seek a place, feeling awkward and
abashed, ignorant of the duties required of them, and
of the manners necessary to ensure them success.
Housekeepers will, we think, consult their interest
by supplying their servants with a copy, or at least
having it within their reach, and those who can read
will read it piecemeal' to those who cannot, and its directions and advice will be discussed, criticized and
reasoned upon, below stairs, till they are satisfied the
principles laid down are correct and reasonable; and
the result will be, we trust, our housekeeping friends
will find themselves better served;  their cares sensi bly lessened, the daily routine of duties going along
2
13 
INTROD U CTO RY.
smoothly; scolding superseded by satisfaction, and
the whole household manifestly happier from being
wiser, and understanding fully and clearly the relative
duties and courtesies due from each to the other.
14 
CHAPTER I.
TO MAID-SELRVANTS.
ROW TO BEGIN RIGHT. - STARTING AT THE BOTTOM IN ORDER TO
REACH THE TOP OF THE LADDER.-TO BE SYSTEMATIC AND ORDERLY.
- MARY AND JANE. -FANNY FAIRHAVEN, ETC.
TAKING it for granted you are young and
untaught, I would remind you, at the startingpoint, that the surest way to success is by
beginning at the foot of the ladder and climbing up, as do clerks, apprentices and artisans,
who become eminent in their several professions. Be content at first with small wages,
seeking rather a situation where you will be
rightly  and  skilfuly taught.   Never mind
though you be foot-sore and weary, though
you look back at the end of the week and think
your work has been toil and drudgery, with but
little pay, if you can see that you are one step
advanced in household skill. Well-educated
young men are content to work their entire 
BEGINNING RIGHT.
first year without wages, if they can thus
secure a situation in a first-class store, where
they can be thoroughly taught in the theory
and practice of trade. I wish to excite your
ambition; to urge you not only to prepare
yourself to earn the highest wages your capacity
can command, but to gain yourself the name
of being the most faithful, reliable and desirable domestic of your class.   Honored and
valued by your employers, you will be held up
as a pattern to others. Instead of being cast
about from one place to another, uncertain of
employment, you will be sure of constant occupation as long as health remains, and at wages
such as, if you are prudent and economical as
you should be, will enable you to lay by in the
savings-bank a sum sufficient perhaps to furnish a neat cottage for yourself in after life.
You are, of course, willing and desirous to
please your employer; but people in cities and
villages live so differently from those in small
farming communities, that, with the best will
in the world, a girl who has seen but little of
life may make so many blunders, and commit so
many breaches of good manners, as to be a trial
to the kindest and most lenient mistress.
16 
BEGINNING RIGHT;
If you go to the house to offer your services,
be certain your dress is plain and tidy, not
wearing your holiday costume. The honesty
of your face and general neatness of person
will go far towards a sufficient recommendation.
Knock at the side or back door, and inquire
for the lady of the house. When she appears,
ask modestly if she wishes to hire a girl,
presenting your references, if you have them.
In answer to her inquiries concerning your
capability, do not rate yourself too high, but
tell the honest truth, and in no case lay claim
to qualifications you do not possess; for, if your
acquirements are put to the test, your failure
would cause a double disappointment, and suspicion would follow you. If you frankly own
your ignorance of work in which you know
yourself unskilled, surely the most unreasonable
mistress can find no fault until, after patient
effort to teach you, she finds you incompetent.
If your services are accepted, make definite
conditions as to the wages you are to receive,
for a certain number-of weeks at least.  Having agreed as to the time when you are expected
to commence at your new place, do not fail to
be at your post to a minute. Present yourself
2*
17 
BEGINNING RIGHT.
and your luggage again at the kitchen door,
knocking for admission, as you are still a
stranger. You should remember, at all times,
to go in and out at this door, and instruct your
friends, who are likely to call upon you, to do
the same. You may save yourself much mortification by knowing at once y6ur position in
the house, and being willing to take it. Neither should you assume airs of familiarity with
the family and the premises, and go bustling
about from cellar to garret, as if you were expected to take an inventory of everything in
the house in the first half-hour after your
arrival; but, asking to be shown your room,
assist in getting your luggage into it, put your
things away quickly and neatly, and then, seeking your new mistress, show her more by actions
than words that you are ready to begin work.
Listen in silence while she informs you of your
duties, that you may understand them, and
remember each article and its proper place, as
they are shown to you. If you feel a little
homesick for the first day or two, as will be
quite natural in a new and untried place, strive
to be as cheerfuil as possible.  Get interested
in your work, by giving your mind to it, and
18 
BE SYSTEIMATIC. 
you will soon be happy and contented from a
consciousness of doing your best, and you will
relieve your mistress of the anxiety she has
felt, ever since your arrival, that you might not
answer her purpose; for, be assured, she has
been watching to see whether you were apt,
willing, neat and expeditious, or clumsy, sullen,
slovenly and slow.
To do your work easily and well, learn first
of all to be systematic. Do one piece of work
at a time, and at the right time, as a general
rule. When you have had more practice and
experience you will readily learn how expert
housekeepers carry on several operations together. Order and system will save you an untold
number of steps, and will prevent your forgetting important items of the work. Do not
delay one thing after another till the last
moment, and thus be hurried as the dinner
hour, perhaps, approaches, and you find to
your dismay but little or nothing accomplished.
This, of course, would confuse you, till, flushed
and worried, you would dodge about nervously
from cupboard to stove, and from cellar to sink,
upsetting everything about you, pouring your
gravy by mistake down the drain, and the slop
19 
BE SBY$ s'.
into the butter-boat; and then you would
cry with vexation, and declare there never was
a girl so ill-used and miserable in the world
A systematic arrangement of your work will
remiedy all this. Rise early, comb your hair,
and do it up firmly and neatly, that you may
present a tidy appearance. Make your bed,
and open your window, that your room may be
sweet and fresh.  Wash your hands and face
before you so much as make your fire. This
advice may seem insulting to many a neat and
cleanly girl; but in more than one instance
has the writer been compelled not only to give
the command daily, but to dismiss the girl because she could not be sure it would be obeyed.
What can be more repulsive than a dirty housemaid?  Who could swallow the daintiest morsel prepared with unwashed hands? Put on
your tea-kettle, and fill up the dish-kettle. Always keep hot water on the stove or range.
Scarcely a half-hour passes that it is not wanted.
You will then be ready to wash the dishes the
moment the table is cleared, and no time is
lost heating water that should have been over
the fire and hot before.
20 
MALY AND JANE.
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MARY AND JANE.
"What an easy time of it you have!" says
Jane to Mary, a neighbor's girl, with whom
she was on intimate terms-" what an easy
time! I wish I had your place. You are
never at work, never in a hurry, and always
look so cool and comfortable! Your kitchen
is as neat as a pin, already. Why, mine is all
in a hubbub, and my dishes are not even
touched."
"That's the very thing, Jane! I have often
thought I would tell you how hard you make
your work. Now you have no more to do than
I have; the families are the same in number,
and your mistress certainly helps you twice as
much as mine does me. If you won't be offended, I will tell you where the difference is:
"My mother died when I was young, and
I was bound out by my guardian, fortunately,
to as good a mistress as ever lived. She was
as kind to me as any mother to her child, but
very strict; and I have often cried with envy
as I looked out of my kitchen window and saw
girls of my own age strolling in the streets, or
spending their time idly, but, as it then seemed
21 
MARY AND JANE.
to me, very pleasantly.   My mistress would
say:' Mary, I am to fit you to earn your living by the labor of your hands, and I should
be doing you great injustice did I indulge you
in all your childish whims. You will thank
me, when you are grown up, that I have prepared you to be a useful woman, instead of
yielding to your wish to go to dancing-school,
singing-school, and all the other inviting places
and amusements, which would so distract your
thoughts from your work, that it would be distasteful, even hateful, to you.' She gave me
a good education, taught me to read, and write,
and cipher; I have a good idea of geography,
and can keep accounts like a book-keeper.
She taught me to fit and make my own dresses,
to sew neatly; and, more than that, she taught
me how to do housework to the best advantage,
making it easy to myself and satisfactory to
the family."
"Now you are coming to it," says Jane;
"I want to know how you do up your work so
like magic."
Mary (laughing.) Let me tell my story
in my own way, and you will hear. She taught
me to wash my dishes clean, changing the
22 
MARY AND JANE.
water as soon as it became greasy, never failing
to rinse them; to be sure my knives and tins
were thoroughly dried before putting away,
and, in setting the dishes up in the closet, not
to pile them up helter-skelter, but to put each
saucer, platter, and different-sized plate, in
its proper place. It takes a moment longer at
the time, but it saves much more when they
are again wanted. "A place for everything,
and everything in its place," was her motto,
and she insisted upon my putting it constantly in practice. In this way, I knew where
each article was to be found, and could put my
hand upon it in the dark. She made me wash
out my towels always after use, and hang them
to dry. If I made a bed, I was to make it
each day as carefully as though a king were to
sleep on it. If I swept a room, I was taught
first to remove every garment that might have
been carelessly left upon the chairs, to shut
all the drawers of the bureau closely, to prevent dust getting in; the corners were to be
dusted out with a small brush or wing; and I
was told that the after-dusting was a part of
the same job.
Jane. But this a'n't telling me how you
23 
FARY AND JANE.
get your work along so easy; instead of that,
you are only showing what a sight of work you
did, and how particular you had to do it.
Mary. Wait a minute. Don't you see
that, by doing my work well, I never have to do
it over twice? If I take a dish from the closet,
it has not to be washed again, before being fit
to use. My knives have not gathered rust,
requiring double the labor of the first rubbing.
But, to go back a little, and begin the day
right: I rise betimes in the morning, never
allowing myself to be called; and, having
righted my room, and made myself tidy, I
sweep the kitchen, and sometimes wash the
floor.
Jane. Wash the floor before breakfast!
Well, if that is n't getting into the suds "betimes," as you call it!
Mary. And why not, pray? Then it is
done, and off your mind; and it makes both
myself and mistress good-natured, for all day,
to see how neat we are, to begin the day with.
Having done this, there is still an hour or two,
in summer, before breakfast; and, instead of
loitering about, waiting for the folks to get up,
and leaving all the work to come in the heat
-24 
MARY AND JANE.
of the day, I hasten forward such as can be
done -prepare the material for baking, and,
indeed, frequently get it all done before the
coffee goes on the table, and  Jane.  Well, if you really do all your work
before breakfast, do out with it!
Mary. It's just as I tell you, Jane; and,
if you will try it a few times, you will be
astonished at the result. Look, for yourself,
at my ironing, -pointing to bars hanging full
of fresh and smoothly-ironed  linen, -that
was all done before breakfast. If it is neither
baking nor ironing-day, t- wash and make
ready the potatoes, and such vegetables as
may be prepared beforehand, for dinner. I
use my time to advantage, also, while the
family are at breakfast, washing, perhaps, such
dishes as have been used in preparing the meal.
I don't wait to be told, but go on in earnest to
complete the work marked out for the day;
and, though I do not say it to boast, my work
is every day half done before yours fairly commences.
"0, dear, dear!  I see it all; but I never
can do it," sighed Jane.   "My mistress says
you are worth two such girls as I, and reads
3
25 
MARY AND JANE.
me long lectures, after the same fashion as
yours; says I make the work very hard for
myself, lose the best part of the day, never
have a fire at the proper time, meals always
late, often out of bread, and always out of yeast.
How I wish I had been brought up like you!
I certainly work the hardest, though my work
is always in a higgledy-piggledy.   But she
scolds me most because I don't happen to remember anything she tells me."
"That's because you are careless, and are
thinking of something else while she is giving
directions," replia Mary.   "If you will only
learn to have your mind on your work, you
can at the same time carry on ironing, getting
the dinner, baking "
Jane.  Baking!  my gracious! there's my
two loaves left in the oven-and the unfortunateJane rushed out of the house, and scratched
across the garden like a distracted cat, reaching the house just in time to see her mistress,
with rueful and vexed countenance, drawing
forth from the oven the two loaves dismally
blackened  and  burnt.   Let  us  hope  she
"turned over a new leaf" from that time, and
26 
FANNY FAIRHAVEN.
in the end became as careful and efficient as
the praiseworthy Mary.
It is almost an invariable rule, that a new
girl commences operations by finding all the
fault she can with the one whose place she
takes, espying dirt in every corner, discovering wastefulness in every cupboard, and signs
of negligence and slackness everywhere. This
trick may impose upon an inexperienced housekeeper; but an older one smiles as she remembers the fault-finding of the berated one
upon her coming, and that her excuse for leaving things in an equally ngligent state was,
that they were as clean as she found them.
"A  new broom sweeps clean" is a proverb
often applied to domestics.
FANNY FAIRHIAVEN
was one of these "new brooms."   She was
an American girl; came well recommended;
was honest, quick with her hands, a good cook,
and understood housework generally.   But
Fanny was one of the nervous, fidgety sort,
that are always "in a stew."   She thought
herself neat. Not a speck of dust could she
tolerate, if one were to judge from the way
27 
FANNY FAIRHAVEN.
she made the dust fly the first few days; not
a tarnished tin let rest in peace in the pantry,
not a dingy table in the kitchen. My spring
cleaning had been but a little time completed.
MIy pantry was in apple-pie orders; but the
house was an old one. The tables had been
in use twenty-five years, and some of my tins
been handed down from a past generation.
Fanny wrinkled up her forehead in wellfeigned despair.  Soap and sand were in instant requisition. Katy, her predecessor, was
made to shoulder the sin of all the scratches
and indentations caused by  a regiment of
Bridgets, Katys and black Nancys, who by
turns had reigned queen of the kitchen ever
since my remembrance. Rusty knives were
fished up from unknown depths; iron spoons
were drawn forth from the litter of the woodbox; meat-skewers, which had been used for
window-fastenings in place of broken springs,
were snatched down in a rage; porcelain-lined
kettles, blackened by age and carelessness,
were scraped and scratched till they could be
called porcelain no longer; iron pots were
scrupulously scrubbed inside and out; dishcloths, stove-rags and milldewed towels flew
28 
FANNY FAIRHAVEN.
into one general rubbish-heap with the discarded tins, mended crockery and old-fashioned
stove ware. Such a renovation! The old
paint stains upon the window-glass, which had
withstood the washings and scrubbings of
twenty years and more, came off as if by
magic. The cracked or puttied panes were
doomed, and made no resistance. The leaning
window-blinds were nailed into upright positions, and tied fast. The floor was a picture
of the "wreck of matter." One needed to
go on tip-toe in rubbers, holding up their skirts
bloomer high to escape contamination.  From
what cracks and corners she evoked all that
dirt and rubbish is to this day a mystery. Lucy,
my second girl, fled from the kitchen in dismay. The bread had been smelt of to know
if it was sweet; the butter closely examined,
and pronounced unfit for table use; the meat
had been kept too long; the vegetables were
sprouting in the cellar, and, indeed, the whole
premises were found to be in a most woful
plight. Never suppose I was spared for tolerating such dirty, lazy girls as I had employed.
"Never mind," said I to myself, "the squall
will soon blow over." Washing-day came.
a*
29 
FANNY FAIRHAVEN.
Was ever such a washing seen?  Towel, and
napkin, and table-cloth drawers had been indiscriminately emptied.  0, the white linen
and snowy garments I was to have under Fanny's dynasty! Ironing-day next, and, as Lucy
came up from her work, I saw she was full of
suppressed merriment    Going below, there
hung row upon row of linen on clothes-frames
spread out to their widest extent. Every bar
held a double thickness, every chair was
wheeled into line, and hung full. The children's dresses, aprons, drawers and skirts, were
displayed to the best advantage, all around the
walls of the kitchen, on every nail and peg to
be found. Fanny was evidently bent upon
making a show to impress me with the fact that
she had performed a tremendous washing and
ironing.
Fanny's fit of neatness and smartness soon
passed away.  Her fretfulness increased.  Her
room was too small and too warm; the stairs
were too narrow and steep; her room had
but one window-  mine had two.   Fanny
stayed a month; but as nothing could be made
to suit her, she had leave to go, and then I
hired lHlannah to come and make the kitchen
tidy for a new girl.
30 
TO PREPARE A ROOM FOR GUESTS.   31
Don't follow the example of Fanny Fairhaven. Make your kitchen, pantry and cupboards as neat as you please, without any remark.  Your mistress has eyes, and if you
keep them neat, be sure she will appreciate it,
and no fear but you will have marks of her
approval.   Do  not expect constant praise,
however, for your well-doing. There may be
reasons for withholding it. It might draw
upon you the envy and ill-will of your fellowservants, or it might be fostering a pride and
self-conceit, which she knows should be checked.
Let your own approving conscience, and the
knowledge that you are giving pleasure and
satisfaction, be sufficient.
Be tidy and thorough in all your work.
Never throw dish-water out of the kitchen
window, nor upon the ground near the door,
nor egg-shells, fish-bones, &c.; but burn them,
or place them about the roots of the grapevine, or some fruit tree. I would about as soon
have a dirty kitchen as a back-yard made un sightly and foul with rags, paper, and refuse
from the kitchen.
When a sleeping-room is to be prepared for
the reception of guests, your duty is to see 
32    TO PREPARE A ROOM FOR GUESTS.
that the bed is properly made with the right
quality of linen and quantity of bedding; that
the room is clean, free from dust and cobwebs
about the windows and corners,-for in sum mer cobwebs are made in a day; that there
are no rain-stains upon the window-seats, or
finger-marks upon the door; that the sink furniture is in perfect order; soap in the soap dish; tumblers and mugs where they belong,
and the proper towels- coarse ones for the
feet and fine ones for the face - upon the
towel-stand. Soft and hard water in sufficient
quantity should be provided. The room should
be well aired. If the weather is warm, leave
the window open, and close the blinds. If cold,
close the windows as soon as the room has been
sufficiently ventilated; open the blinds, that it
may look cheerful and pleasant, and mnake just
fire enough to diffuse a comfortable warmth.
While the guests remain you should see that
they are never without water, or in want
of clean towels.  Say to them   " If anything
is wanting will you please tell me." Take
the opportunity, when they ace at breakfast or
in the parlor, to make the bed and "right up"
the room, very carefully handling any garment 
TO PREPARE A ROOM FOR GUESTS.
you may have to move. Careless, slovenly
girls often do much mischief,-spilling water,
upsetting lamps, flirting over cologne bottles,
and rumpling dresses. Remember that to appropriate to yourself the smallest item of property belonging to a guest is to do a double
wrong. You commit the sin of stealing, and
in a manner disgrace your employer's house.
Should the guest come to her room during
the time you are at work, ask her if you shall
leave the room. If she bids you remain, finish
your work as quietly and quickly as possible,
making no conversation, only answering questions with civility, and leaving the moment
your work is completed. If sure your mistress
does not want you, and that your services are
not needed elsewhere, offer such assistance as
you are capable of giving, to help her in dressing, &c.; but do not stand looking on after
she has dismissed you by thanking you for your
services. Never seem to expect a fee, however useful or efficient you may have been.
Never inquire the price of any article given you.
It is very ill-bred. Thank the giver in a pleasant tone, even though the gift be of but little
value. If you do not receive one, be satisfied
33
4 
HOW TO SET A TABLE.
that you have done your duty to your mistress' guest, and you may be sure you will be
kindly remembered when the visit is thought of.
To shut up a room properly, after the guests
have gone, take away the bed-linen and soiled
towels, empty the pitchers, wash all the sink
furniture, shut down the cover, sweep and dust
the room, close the blinds, shut the windows,
and draw down the shades, leaving the articles of furniture square in their several places.
In moving chairs, tables, trunks, &c., be careful not to strike the walls, displacing paint and
paper.
To "set the table" in proper order, see
that the table itself stands square and true
with the room, that the cloth is not awry,
wrong side up, or soiled. If for breakfast or
tea, put on the tea-tray and mats for the tea
and coffee, both square with the table. Place
your cups and saucers on the front of the tray,
with a cup and spoon in each saucer, that the
lady presiding may have as little trouble as
possible. The sugar and slop bowl and creamer
must be placed at the back side or beyond the cups, the sugar-tongs on the lid of
the sugar-bowl, and the cream-spoon in the
34
I 
HOW TO SET A TABLE.
pitcher. Place your plates at equal distances;
lIty the knives and forks in a regular manner; your napkin at the right side of each
plate. See that a butter-knife is beside the
butter-plate, and a table-spoon beside each
dish requiring one. For dinner you should
place a tumbler at the right side of each plate,
the castor in the centre of the table, a saltcellar between every two plates, a little in
advance, with a salt-spoon for each one.   If
not provided in sufficient numbers for this arrangement, place them at each corner of the
table between two large spoons crossed. Place
the soup or fish before the lady who presides,
and the principal dish of meat before the gentleman.  The  carving-knife, fork, steel and
stand, should be beside the plate of the person
who carves.  It is your duty t. see that the
castor is clean and properly supplied, the saltcellars neat, always full, and nicely stamped
for each meal, and the mustard and salt spoons
bright.
I know of no one duty more difficult to teach
a domestic than always to set a table handsomely, and yet no part of our housekeeping
affairs conies so immediately under the notice
35 
WAITING ON TABLE.
of guests and strangers, except possibly the
cooking. But even should the viands be of
the best kinds, and cooked " to a turn," yet, if
the dishes be huddled on to the table in an awkward and careless way, spoons and forks
sprawling about, and platters all askew, it
would make an orderly person nervous, and
the meal would be but half enjoyed. Nothing
marks the accomplished housekeeper more certainly than the style of her tables; and a girl
who has been taught how to do what I have
endeavored to describe, has learned  a very
necessary and important branch of her business-something that will be valuable to her
as a domestic.  " She can set a table well," is
more than can be said of hundreds of otherwise very good and capable girls.  Make this,
then, one of your first lessons, and when thoroughly learned always do it as well as you
know how.
If you wait on table, be sure your hands
are clean, and your hair tidly.  A clean white
apron is always proper and becoming. Stand
at the left side of the lady of the house, and
in presenting articles, step to the left side of
the persons at table, that they may conveniently
36 
WAITING ON TABLE.
help themselves with the right hand. Be careful never to touch the food upon a plate with
your thumb, and never take hold of the top or
drinking edge of a tumbler. Be careful to
hand bread and fill tumblers without being
called. Pay no attention to the conversation,
but keep your attention directed to the wants
of those at table. Never speak when handing
anything to a guest, as, for instance, "Will
you take a biscuit?"
I have seen untutored girls go round a long
table, saying to each one, " Hlave a piece of
cake?" till it became ludicrous. Be very
careful not to spill tea, soup, or any liquid,
and do not fill tumblers to the brim. In removing covers, always lift and turn them up,
that the steam may not drop on the table-cloth
or ladies' dresses. Pass the tea on a small
waiter, carrying it Moth a firm steady hand.
When about the ordinary work of the house,
never be ashamed to be seen at it, or from
false   pride refuse to do anything because disagreeable or dirty.  Such work must be done,
and which is most proper, that you or your
mistress should do it? I have known girls
utterly refuse -losing their places in conse             4
37 
PROVISION FOR TABLE.
quence - to wash the outside of the windows
for fear the neighbors should see; as though
the neighbors did not know it was their business, and the only shamne could be their not
doing it! In the country, this work is always
done by women, and is as much a part of their
duty as any in-door work. What mistress cannot remember, in her experience, some girl
who looked blank at being told to draw  a child
across the street, or fetch a bundle of extra
size? And who has not many a time performed such office herself, rather than test the
obedience of such foolishly-proud girls?
A sensible girl will never comment upon the
style of living in her new place. If she complains of the food, it is the surest sign that she
has been indifferently fed at home. American
girls are more given to this fault than others.
But few families keep more than three domestics: the cook, or more properly the kitchengirl, the nursery-girl and chamber-maid combined in one, and a boy, or man. It is often
inconvenient, as the family breakfast early and
dine at noon, to have an entirely separate meal
for the servants; but the meats are sent from
the first table to the second, a portion of the
38 
PROVISION FOR TABLE.
vegetables being kept warm in the kitchen.
The mistress of the house, in many, if not most
families, has still to oversee the nice cooking,
and make the puddings, cake, best pastry,
sweetmeats, and pickles, with her own hands.
Be it known, moreover, that she is at all times
liable to thrice the company that people are,
with the same number of acquaintances, living in the city -coming unexpectedly, too
and expecting a good dinner or supper, per
haps, at short notice. She must keep her deli
cacies always on hand, and, perhaps, every
day in the week bring them forth. She cannot
send these to the second table; for, instead of
being content with a moderate portion, the
brandy peaches would be dished around by
saucers full, the rich fruit-cake eaten like so
much gingerbread, and the puffs take the place
of a hearty meal of bread and butter. If she
were to substitute some plainer cake, and less
expensive sweetmeat, or a good pudding for
the ice-cream and custards, more dissatisfac tion would be felt than if a plain and substan tial fare only was the prescribed rule for the
kitchen.   She would very likely be reported
close and stingy. Perhaps the next time she
39 
PROVISION FOR TABLE.
applied for a girl, she would find the story had
been  circulated  by her domestics, that she
half starved them, for want of food they could
eat.   No  consideration is given to the time
and labor of the mistress to prepare these
dainties, nor to the great expense of feeding
hungry men and girls upon such unsubstantial
food, making their board amount to double
their wages, nor to the folly of acquiring a
disrelish for plain and healthy food.
"I never eat fish -  corn-bread don't agree
with me - mutton tastes woolly - I want
green tea twice a day" -says a troublesome
man, or a dainty girl; and, unless the meats
happen to look just to their notion, their dinner
is made of bread and butter, finished off with
a whole pie, or half a pudding.
"Did they eat salt meat in the other room?"
is the querulous complaint, if a good boiled
dinner, or a dish of ham, makes its appearance
say once in a fortnight;  and yet these very
men-servants and girls have often sat down to
a meal under their old father's roof, where a
junk of salt pork, with cold vegetables garnishing the same platter, and a plate of rye-andIndian bread, comprised the homely but whole
40 
LOCKS AND KEYS.
some  fare.   In  a gentleman's family,  the
man-servant is often the most fastidious and
difficult to please of any one in the house. It
is much better that servants have a table of
their own, with their meals at a separate hour
from the family; but when there are but one
or two domestics, it adds too much to the work.
Girls are sometimes quite astonished, and
imagine the mistress suspicious of their honesty, because she keeps her store-room under
lock and key; and report that she doles out
the tea by the canister, the coffee, sugar, &c.,
by the week's supply;- as if a prudent housekeeper would keep open a store-room containing her wines, fruits, sweetmeats, and the
accumulated groceries for a year's use. True,
she may have honest and faithful domestics,
with whom she could trust money uncounted;
but, in such changing times as these, she can
place no dependence upon their stay, and the
next comer may not be so trusty.
A case recently occurred in Boston, of a
family who were perplexed to account for the
rapid disappearance of their stores of flour, sugar, butter, lard, &c.; and even the coal in
the cellar went off like dew before the sun.
4*
41 
BEGINNING RIGHT.
It became so alarming that they concluded to
dismiss the girl, although they could make no
discoveries tending to criminate her.  On the
same day in which the girl was dismissed, another applied for the situation, and was employed. But the depredations continued, and,
no clue being found, she was also sent away,
and, chancing to meet a girl in search of a
place, told her to go to the one she had just
left, as it was a "first-rate place for stealings."
She then let her in to their plan of operations,
which was that the girl should accumulate in
a basket during the day such articles as she
could easily abstract while at work, and the
next morning at four o'clock at messenger was
to be found at the back-door to receive the
plunder!
The girl who had thus been initiated into
this graceless system of robbery reported the
whole to the family; and the two thieves were
at once arrested, and lodged in jail, to await a
criminal trial and ignominious punishment.
"Begin as you can hold out," is the safe
but homely adage which governs many a housekeeper. She may have one girl who would
scorn to touch the value of a pin that did not
42 
NOT TO BE TALKATIVE.
belong to her; and another, to whom locks
and bolts are no barrier.
"I won't live where people lock up their
eider! " said an indignant cook, who lived
with a friend of mine; yet she knew that her
predecessor had stolen the key, and, before
discovered, had become dead drunk on the
l,ooking wine and brandy kept in the storeroom; and that in the house was a man-sergant whom cider made so cross and savage,
that his poor wife, who was nurse in the same
family, begged of her mistress, with tears in
her eyes, to have it put under lock and key.
Can you wonder that young wives say,
"Do let us break up house-keeping, and go
to board?" or that smart, active young women
think, "I won't have the plague of a girl;
I will do my own work?"
A talkative servant is never considered a
desirable inmate in any family. If your mistress must stay in the kitchen to oversee the
work, or to assist on busy days, the work is
enough, without adding to her fatigue by a
stream of gossip of no possible interest to her.
What can she care about your long story of
Aunt Cynthia, Cousin Hiram, or even your
43 
FORMER EMPLOYERS.
neighbor Mrs. Brown's affairs? Or, if it happens that you have ever lived out before, do
not offend her ear by constant quotations of
the doings and sayings of your last mistress.
Nothing is more common, or more provoking,
than for a girl who has once lived in a family
where she was tolerated for a time in her own
way, perhaps, to continually quote that mistress, as: " At Squire Britton's the girls
never had to work after dinner. Mrs. Britton
did n't care what we did, or where we went,
if we did our work. I was never found fault
with, or called a poor cook, while I lived at
Squire Britton's."
Why did you not stay there, then? is the
puzzling question that may be asked such
girls.
Your account of "Mrs. Britton's," or any
other person's management, will in no wise
alter your mistress' regulations; and, if she
is a lady, she will never question you about
your former employers, and will feel bound to
reprove you if you report, anything to their
disparagement.
44 
CHAPTER II.
GRAND DOINGS IN THE KITCHEN AT MRS. MARTIN'S.- MRS. MAY   ERICK, AND THIE'WAY HER GIRLS IMPOSED UPON HER.
KITTY and Polly were the two new girls at
Mrs. Martin's. Shortly after they came, Mrs.
M., who had a large establishment, and kept
four or five girls, was to be necessarily absent
one night till very late. No sooner had the
top of the carriage disappeared down the hill,
than the girls who had been there longest, and
consequently felt "at home,"  snapped their
fingers significantly, tumbled the tea-things
out of the way in a twinkling, gave each other
sly pokes, romped and " cut up" in such a
mysterious way altogether, as to put the new
girls to their wits' end to guess what was to
come next.
Polly was ordered to fetch a peck-basket of
the family apples from the cellar, and Kitty
was to go with her, and bring a hufge pitcher
of cider. On their return, they found sundry 
KITTY AND POLLY.
plates of cake, nuts, and pie, displayed in the
cupboard, ready for use, brought from - nobody knew where. This being accomplished,
the damsels who had been forwarding these
preparations, rushed boisterously up stairs,
followed by the wondering Kitty and Polly,
where they began hastily to discuss each other's finery, and to make the gayest toilet their
stock of dresses and ribbons could furnish.
They then condescended to let the unsophisticated new-comers into the secret that they
had sent for their beaus, and were to have a
high time.
" When the cat's away,
The mice will play,
sang Sophy, in great glee; and, going into the
front chambers, she soon reappeared, "prinked
out," to Kitty and Polly's horror, in the fine
lace collar, and sleeves, and expensive bracelet, belonging to Miss Bell Martin.  Kitty
remonstrated against her wearing them; but
Sophy told her she was a chicken, and that
there was "no harm." The others also borrowed various articles from their mistress'
wardrobe, which ill-assorted with their own
dress; and, thus tricked out in fine feathers,
46. 
THE BEAUS COME.
they went below just in time to greet three
strapping young blades, who were at the door.
They were forthwith ushered in, with a pro fusion of obeisances, and salutations, borrowed,
like their finery, from the other part of the
house, and just about as becoming. Kitty and
Polly were duly presented, and were obliged
to participate in and countenance this stolen
merry-making; one of the youths saying that,
"as their fellows were n't here, he would see
'em  safe home! "- which facetious remark
caused a general guffaw. Various rude games,
with the rural accompaniment of "forfeits,"
were then introduced, and prolonged to a late
hour; interrupted only by recourse to the good
cheer, the cider, especially, being generously
patronized. At length, it being deemed most
prudent to separate, the youngsters declared
their resolution of having a parting salute all
round. A general scramble ensued. Kitty
and Polly effected their escape; but, alas for
Sophy!  When the beaus were gone, she discoveredl the rich bracelet broken upon the
hearth, and the collar and sleeves badly torn!
What was to be done? Sophy WIvas going to
thrust them into the fire, but Kitty secured
47 
48        SORROWFUL REFLECTIONS.
them; and the girls went to bed, sad and dismayed at the mischief they had done. Kitty
and Polly roomed together; but they were too
much excited by the events of the evening to
sleep, and their consciences rather troubled
them, because they had joined in the sports of
this clandestine party.
"Kitty, do you believe if Mrs. Martin had
been at home, the girls would have treated
with apples, cider, cake and nuts?"
"so,  indeed, I don't, Polly; and every
nut nearly choked me.   I  kept  thinking
that the receiver is as bad as the thief;
though, to be sure, I suppose she would be
willing they should have apples and cider.
But how in the world is Sophy going to get
over the ruining of Miss Bell's fine laces, and
the breaking of the bracelet? I'm I glad I
a'n't in her shoes! - though she might have
expected as much, for she had no business to
touch them. I can't help being sorry for her,
anyhow."
Polly.  And then letting their beaus stay
so late! Goodness! would n't Mrs. HIammond
snap them up?   She used to say:  "A beau
is a disagreeable appendage to a girl, at best, 
MRS. MAVERICK'S GIRLS.
while she is at work ill a family.  It is bad
enough to have her thoughts upon hinm all the
time, instead of her work, without his coming
to the house in the day-time, hindering her,
and, perhaps, wanting her to go off' to ride."
Kitty.  Yes, indeed!  I would like to see
them staying in her house till ten o'clock,
even!  She'd send them away, quick metre,
after nine, if they did n't know enough to go
by that time. And then to think of their talking of sending for an aunt and cousin to come
here and stay two or three days -just as if they
were keeping house for themselves! Well, it
is a fact that some girls do impose upon their
mistresses awfully.  These girls are no worse
than Mrs. Maverick's, as I know of.  You
know they live out of town, and keep a great
deal of help.   " A  gentleman farmer," I believe they call Mr. Maverick. I was fairly
ashamed of my fellow-servants there.  They
had n't a bit of conscience, or principle.  They
didn't care how much they wasted, nor how
much they broke, if Mrs. Maverick did n't find
it out,  and scold them.   Their work was
merely done so as to pass; and they seemed
to think "I forgot it" a good enough excuse
49 
THEIR CARELESSNESS.
for any mischief, or carelessness. They leagued
together to hide each other's faults; nobody
knew who did any mischief;  and, yet, they
wouldn't help each other in their work, to
prevent actual destruction of property.   One
Sunday,  Mrs. Maverick being gone out of
town, a dreadful thunder-storm arose. All
the windows in the parlor and front chambers
were open; and, the chamber-maid being also
gone, not one of all the girls so much as thought
of shutting them, though they must have
known the carpets, curtains, and perhaps even
beds and dresses, might be ruined. I had been
to church, and got back too late to do any
good.  When I scolded, because they were so
lazy and heedless, and called them up stairs
to see the pools of water standing on the carpets, they only laughed, and said it wasn't
their work. If you could only have seen, too,
how boldly they took the nicest food for their
own use, saving the thickest cream, the tenderest steak, and the mealiest potatoes, for
themselves, and sending the second-best to
the parlor table! They even went so far, when
eggs were scarce, as to hide them as fast as
they came in from the barn; and, long after
50 
HOW THEY IMPOSED UPON HER.
they had to do without in the parlor, they
had them, boiled, fried and poached, in the
kitchen.
Polly.  Why  did n't you tell  Mrs.  Maverick?
Kitty.  I knew I ought  to;  but did n't
like to make the girls all hate me. But she
suspected where the eggs went to, and I knew
she'd find out in time.  When  ironing, the
girls used to spend double the time and care
on their own dresses and skirts that they did
on hers, and hang them where they would be
least brushed against, and soonest aired. And
then  their  carelessness  about  fire,-why,
matches were scattered about everywhere!
MIrs. Maverick was very particular, and used
to charge each one to keep their matches in
a little glass vial in their rooms; but, for all
that, she used to find them in chairs, in drawers,
on the floor, and even on their beds. She once
had her house nearly burned by a girl's setting
fire to her holder, and then wrapping it up
in the ironing-sheet, and thrusting it into a
drawer.  I saw Maggy, an Irish girl, light a
lamp with a whole newspaper twisted into a
wad, and throw it, all blazing, on the floor,
51 
WHAT BEFELL.
never stopping to put it out, or see what mischief it might do. Mrs. Maverick was a very
kind mistress, and gave handsome presents;
and yet those girls would band together, and,
if one was reproved, would make common
cause, and threaten to leave. But, once they
got nicely come up with. They got into one
of their tantrums - when she was sick, too -
and said, if Maggy was dismissed, they should
go too. Sure enough! she quietly counted
out their money to every one, and told them
to go at once. You ought to have seen their
blank faces! They thought, because she was
sick, she would yield the point, and why,
I declare! if you a'n't fast asleep!
The next morning there was a great wonderment among the girls. Sophy was missing! Very early, while the household were
yet asleep, she had got up, hurriedly got her
things together, left the house, and was no more
seen. At breakfast-time the news reached Mrs.
Martin. Immediately afterwards she summoned
the girls into her sitting-room, and elicited the
whole story of the last evening's performance.
52 
WHAT  BEFELL.
Kitty produced the broken bracelet and torn
lace, and told the affair just as it occurred,
truthfully and ingenuously. Miss Bell listened
in silent amazement and disgust, as the truth
came out, by close questioning of the other
girls, that her costliest ornaments, her rarest
articles of apparel, even her cherished presents, had again and again been overhauled and
worn by those graceless and unprincipled girls
during her absence.
Kitty and Polly were dismissed to their
work;  but the others were  immediately dis
charged fromn the house, in disgrace.
5*
53 
CIIAPTER  III.
ELIZABETH LAW.NEY'S CLUB. - HER EVIL COUNSELS. - SARAII, THE
IODEL SERVANT.
I AM sorry to say it is nothing uncommon
for the hired girls of a village to have some
special place of resort, where on certain evenings they run together, and hold a sort of club
meeting, discussing their fancied grievances,
boasting of their impertinences and faithlessness -to say nothing of more criminal practices - towards  their  respective  employers,
and encouraging each other in such conduct,
instead of planning to better their condition,
and assisting each other by good counsels.
Some one, more brazen and unprincipled than
the others, is usually the leader, and who, having a propensity for evil, with a reputation to
correspond, is desirous to make all the girls
she can influence as vicious and intractable
as herself. 
ELIZABETH LAWN EY'S CLUB.
W'hat village has not been the theatre of a
scene like the following?  The meeting a Sunday evening gathering of Irish girls, though I
fear there would be but few Saralis found in
them, who would strive to overcome by good
precepts and example the always stronger influence of evil.
Elizabeth. Now, girls, you all know what
we bound ourselves to do t' other evening when
we was here.  If one of ye flinch we won't
spake to ye again. Here's Caty's sister Susan
-she's a green one, sure, and she must know
what it is: first, wAe won't be giving the mistress the fashion of asking, leave when we want
to go out. Soon as the work is done we'll
fling on our things and go.
Sash.  But what if she should have company, or be going herself?
E1liz.  Divil take her! she's no business
to be having a houseful of company every ither
night, or be wanting to go out nather. I want
ly- liberty, and like to stay at home no better
than her ladyship, and sure it's me that's been
at work all day, and not herself.
Susy cast an inquiring glance at Caty, but
55 
56       ELIZABETH LAWNEY'S CLUB.
Caty nodded that it was all right, and Elizabeth went on.
"We won't do anything out of the kitchen.
Our mistress can take care of the front part
of the house aisy; and sure if she don't like
the fun of house-cleaning, Old Peg  will be
mighty glad of the job. In the city a cook's
a cook, and a chaiber-miaid's a chamber-maid;
but in this mane counthlry place ourselves it is
that's a kitchen-girl, chamber-maid and nursery-girl altogether entirely, bad'cess to it 
I won't do it.  It's  not me that'll empty
slops, or wash windows, or wait on table; and
if one of ye will be such fools as to be doing
it, I hope ye may always have to."
Sarah. But, Elizabeth, wev should all lose our
places. Not a mistress would bear it. I know
well enough, and so do you, that country ways
and country work is different from city doings.
A citylady, with her houseful of servants, doni't
put her hand to anything; but country ladies
have to workl, too.  When we clean house, they
wash the dishles, and get the dinner, and do a
good deal of our work, and every day plan for
and help us along.
Eliz. HIelp us along, indade! faith, they 
ELIZABETH LAWNEY'S CLUB.
jist come into the kitchen, and prowl into the
closets, and haul out more dirty dishes than
themselves could wash in a week, and pick up
more little messes of grease and gravy, and
"try out" this, and "try out" that, till niver
a tin is left that a'n't been used! and they
pry about and poke their ould noses into every
corner, and bring out more plates of bread,
and bits of butter, and scraps of mneat, we
have tucked away, blast'em! than we could
ate up in a month. For one, I like to have
my mistress stay in the parlor, and be after
minding business of her own,  and not be
pra,ching to me about wastefulness and sich
like, the whole blessed time. Ye needn't set
yourself above us just because ye have a good
place, and yer mistress ye happen to like. It's
a fool of ye she makes, and it's not sich as ye
that's a raal Irish girl at all.
Girls, it's Sundays we are to have to ourselves. Sure six days is enough to work, and
the seventh that belongs to us.  Faith! it is so
pleasant to  wake up Sunday morning, and
hurry off to Jeoi O'Doolie's at the cross-roads.
Is n't it the six miles' walk we enjoy? Is n't
it a glorious time we have, ating and dhrink
57 
58       ELIZABETH LAWNEY' S CLUB.
ing, and telling all that's happened the week
back, and is n't it here that we finish off the
evening, and have a shindy widcl the boys,
arrah!
Catjy. Indade it's fun; but 0 dear! it's
next day I can hardly stand, let alone working,
for being so fashed; and thin my mistress tells
me it is not right to get so tired walking for
pleasure that I can't work.
Eliz. 0, yes! that's it. Ye might work
till ye are ready to drap, Sunday or any day,
and not a rap would she care how tired was
your bones!
Susy.  A living shame it is for you, Caty,
to sit and hear your good mistress slandered
so! Only the last time the priest was here,
it was she kept her little boy from his learning,
and hired a horse and wagon, and sent ye to
mnass, and all for that ye had been sick the
day before, and it was yer blood that mustn't
get heated wid walking.
Bridget. Ay, there was Sarah, such a
spalpeen, she must be afther staying at home,
only for her mistress was poorly, and afraid
she was the babby would cry if Elle left it to
get the dinner. 
ELIZABETH LAWNEY'S CLUB.
Eliz.  That's right, girls. WNhen the priest
comes it's to mass we'11 all go, no matter what's
to hinder. It's not'Lizabeth Lawney that'11l
stay at homre for washing-day, company, sick
folks, nor crying babbies;  and when I go to a
new place - which is pretty often, too, ha, ha!
-I lets'em find it out jist; and it's not me
that gives in never. When I lies I lie and
stick to it, and it's  thrue,  every  blessed
word of it.  And if it was my mistress saw
me do it wid her own eyes, " Glory be to God,
mna'am!" says I, "and sure it never was myself that did it;" and it's every word she believes thrue as her gospel. If ye only lie
strong, it's as good as a blessed truth, and
ye'11 never be caught, and nobody know the
differ. But niver one of ye steal. It's above
stealing I'd be myself. It's the danger of being found out.  It's the disgrace of the consequence of losing my character. Never live
wvid a mistress that'1 think yees a thief if ye
jist only want a needleful of thread, or a few
pins, wildout the throuble of asking, and be always watching ye if ye give a starving childer
a little sugar or tea for its mamma, when, indade, they've plenty, and never could miss it;
59 
60        ELIZABETH LAW,VNEY' S CLUB.
or say ye have been hooking, if ye help yourselves to apples or cake, or take a sip of the
wine, when, sure, it could do nobody no har-rm.
Another thing: it's not mOeself at all thlat's
going to run for home the minute the bell rings
for nine o'clock.  AIy mistress says, "Now,
Elizabeth, you may go early, so as to come
home when the bell rings, as I wish to retire
in good season."   Why don't she go to bed,
then?  It isn't for me she need be waiting, as
if she was going to light me to bed jist.
Susy.  0, I would n't be let stay out till
after nine! It's against the rules of the house;
and, Caty, mother said she wouldn't let us
work where the lady (iid nit look after us, and
see what comp(any we kept; and how could
she if we stayed out late at night?  We shall
have bad stories after us, and no la(dy would
hire lus, anvl what  woul'l poor mother  say
then?
Caty.  TIoul4 yer foolish little tongue!  It
can't hurt ye to hear.
Eiliz.  Niv-er's the use of mincing matters.
Mlyself alone 1knows what we'11ll do and what we
won't, at all aL- all. It was at lme verylast place,
my mistress was sick a month, and that very day 
ELIZABETH LAWNEY'S CLUB.
she had got out to see her mother, and mighty
glad she was to tread green grass again, and get
a mouthful of fresh air, whin one of the nabors, who niver had anything of her own, and
was always fast to borrow, sent in for a butterspatter. Thinks I, no ye don't, honey! and
it was not me that would give it to her. But
her little brat must up and run like a lamplighter, and tell his mother that Elizabeth
would n't let Mrs. B. have the spatter.  Did n't
she send me word, by the same token, that I
must; and did n't I send back again, and sure
and faith I won't?   There's spunk for ye
now!
Sarah. And, uncivil and bold that you are,
you couldn't face it out. You lost a good
place, and that's all the good you got.
Eliz. Yes, and I paid her. Didn't she lave
a gallon of iligant raspberry jam on the table to
cool?  I knew I should have to budge, and
didn't I throw away, down where she could
niver see'emn again, more than I should get
if I stayed a yea(r- the whole gallon entirely!
and did n't I put on my things, and watch for
her coming, and go out and tell her I would n't
stay another minute underherroof, she abused me
0
61 
62       ELIZABETH LAWNEY'S CLUB.
so?  Och! but I was sorry it was in't washingday.  I like to tramp and lave'ein all in confusion wid a big wash in the tubs, it makes
'em so mad.   But she was sick, and that was
about as good. But it's no such wages can be
got here, and it was my own fingers got burnt
that time, and she was a good mistress, and
learned me many new things; but I'm a Irish
gal thrue for ye, and niver gives in.
(Here Elizabeth is called out.)
Sarah. 0, girls! girls! don't mindElizabeth's
talk at all.  She will only bring you to harm.
Did n't she have to leave that town, for nobody
would hire her? Did n't it take fivee dollars out
of her pocket to carry her far enough for the story
not to follow her?  Don't she own her wages are
not so good? Don't every lady in town hate
to see her coming to their house, because she's
making mischief everywhere she goes? And
don't they say to us they cannot keep us if
we associate with her, for her principles are
bad?  Sly mistress says, " Honesty is the best
policy." If you tell lies the mistress won't
know when you tell the truth. Don't take so
much as a button or needle, but ask your miistress, and it's her whole boxful she'11 give you 
ELIZABETH LAWNEY' S CLUB.
rather than have you steal from her.  And it's
just as bad to give away the flour, sugar, or
tea, as to steal money.   Don't believe that
your mistress is your enemy, and that all you
can filch from her is clear gain, and what work
you can shirk from is something to brag of.
What would become of us if nobody would
hire us? Sure you won't forget so soon the
poor bits cabins with the mud floors, in dear
ould Ireland, where we were hungry childer
with scarce a rag to cover us!  Be kind and
useful to the mistress, and
Eliz. (just come in). Yes! be just such a
fool as Sarah. If yer mistress comes in wet
and cold, run like a nagur and untie her things,
take off her wet cloak, pull off her rubbers,
and place her chair by the fire- her dainty
fingers must n't touch wet or cold things at all.
Bridget. And stay away from mass, if a
busy day it is, or mistress is sick, or babby
cries!
Caty. And stay at home from a party,'cause
Ellen, the nurse, is out, and mistress would be
alone with the child.
Sarah. And what have I lost by it, girls?
Is n't my mistress kind and good as a mother
63 
64       ELIZABETII LAWNEY' S CLUB.
to me? Don't she nurse me when the doctor
makes me sick, and dress ugly-looking blis ters, find mc medicine, and watch me that I
don't go about the work too soon; and when
my cousin was killed, did n't she stay at
home fronm her mother's birthday party, and
send me home, and give me money for the
funeral? And don't she buy all my clothes
cheaper than I could, at the store, and show
me how to make them? And did n't she give
me this nice Thibet dress, because, she said, I
was so willing to give my convenience to hers?
Have any of ye got such a dress now?
Bridget. 0, well, if we could have Thibet
dresses for presents, we could stay at home and
play good too.
Sarah. Out with ye!-would you be making believe when ye don't mean it?  That's
not the way to deserve it. You must love
your mistress - oblige her, for that you like to
see her happy, and a smile on her winsome
face, and her bright eyes thanking ye all the
time.  Live with her till she feels and you
feel that you belong to her.  MAy mistress says
she loves her faithful and honest servants next
to her children. 
WHICH TO FOLLOW.
Eliz. Come, girls, let's go home. Sarah
preaches like a heretic parson.   She's only a
half-breed Irish girl any way.
VWhose advice and example would it be safest
and wisest to follow?  Which of the two do you
prefer to be like, and take the results as they
would be sure to follow? There can be but one
answer. Sarah is the MODEL SERVANT; conscientious, truthful, sincere, faithful and obliging; fulfilling her part of the bargain honestly, and earning  the money she receives,
besides winning the sincere regard and affection of the family, manifested in many ways
valuable to her, and grateful to her feelings.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, is a most unhappy girl; not simply unfortunate, for an
evil propensity she cannot help, but wilfully
and maliciously wicked and false. She expects
all the wages agreed upon to be paid her, but
is herself committing a constant fraud upon
her employers.   She steals the time which
she sold to them  for so mluch a month; she
shirks the work she was employed to perform;
she abuses the confidence placed in her honesty, stealing and giving away what is not hers;
6'
65 
WHICH TO FOLLOW.
and carries on a miserable system of petty
warfare against her mistress; thwarting her
wishes, doing everything exactly different from
the way she was desired to do it; becoming
bolder in her disobedience, and more impertinent in her replies, till at length the patience
of the mistress is exhausted, and she is turned
off, or goes off herself, with abuse upon her
tongue, and enmity in her heart, to seek another place with fair promises, and enact the
same shocking course over again and again.
66 
CHAPTER IV.
WAGES. - MARGARET AND BRIDGET. - HANNAH PECK.
THERE is no greater error than for a girl to
expect some standard amount of wages - the
same that is allowed to girls who are experienced, capable and trusty- without any regard to her ability to earn what she demands.
A young girl, who has not been taught how to
manage the details of family work easily and
in the best manner, should by no means expect
the same pay as one who has it all by heart,
and the ability to do it without constant oversight. She may work early and late, to be
sure, and be ever so willing and stout,- both
valuable qualities,-and be of very little profit
to her mistress after all.   It is what she
can accomplish,  and what her services are
really worth, which should be considered. It
is nothing uncommon in the country, where
help is scarce, for an untutored and ignorant 
MARGARET AND BRIDGET.
Irish girl to insist that she must have six dollars a month, because "her cousin Margaret
gets it" —Margaret, by the way, having been
in this country some dozen years; and being
bright and smart, and having been under
good tutelage, has become  an experienced
cook.  Bridget's "strength" does but endanger the household utensils, and her "willingness" enable the mistress to tell her the same
thing a dozen times, she being just as willing
with her "yes, ma'am," to be told again, or
that the lady may do it herself- a careless,
heedless girl, who has no judgment, and can
only relieve one fronm the merest drudgery of
housework, arnd making one half the work she
does.
Bridget is no fictitious character.  She had
heard, while yet in Ireland, what fabulous
wages were paid Irish girls in America, -stories which were corroborated at the instant of
telling, perhaps, by a handsome remittance, in
the shape of Enoch Train & Co.'s draft for
5 or ~10 on the Bank of Dublin.   So Bridget packed her slender wardrobe, and, with
some of the guineas got by one of the drafts
sent by Margaret, purchased her steerage ticket
68 
BRIDGET JUST ARRIVED.
for Boston, and, sure enough, soon found herself in the land of promise.  It fell to my lot
to have Bridget sent to me almost from the
ship, through M]argaret's intercession. She
was sixteen, short and thick, and wearing habitually rather a dazed expression of countenance, as though not yet recovered from her
astonishment at finding the natives white, or
that dollars were not dug up here like potatoes,
a dozen to the hill. She never outgrew the
puzzled and vacant air while living with me,
and she acted very much in accordance with
her looks.
In spite of her unpromising appearance, I
was willing to try what could be made of her.
A dollar and a half a week was the least it had
ever entered her head to demand, and upon
that rock we had nearly broken off before we
commenced.    She, however,  concluded  to
go to work, her money being exhausted,
for a dollar a week, on trial; but manifestly
with a mental reservation and protest, and with
her chronic perplexity on the increase.
After three days of experiment- on Bridget's part, to comprehend the uses of the most
common articles, and the way to use them, and
69 
A DOLLAR AND A HALF.
on my part, as to the elasticity of my patience
and the probable limit of my continuance in
well-doing- Bridget struck for higher wages!
"And Saint Pathrick knows I wark from
morning till night, ma'am.   I ironed, sure,
all day Tuesday and Wednesday, and'dade I
did n't get through thin, nather. 0, worrah!
but I must be having a dollar and a half,
what Margaret gets."
It was my turn to look puzzled.  This moving appeal for more wages convinced me that
Bridget had not been aware she was more a
hindrance than a help to me; that I had given
up all my time to assist and teach her;
that I had to undo about all she had undertaken,
or do it over after her, and that I could very
much easier have done all my work alone.
This was discouraging.
"Bridget," said I, "listen. If you should
go to a dressmaker to get her to make you a
gown, and the common price was a dollar and
a half, and you had to fit it, and baste it,
and pick out her sewing and do it over again,
would you think she had earned the dollar and
a half, and that you ought to pay it?"
" I'Dade and that I wouldn't, sure."
70 
HARD TO UNDERSTAND.
"Very well: serve her right, too, for expecting pay for what she could not do, -and
that is precisely your case, Bridget.   You
want pay for doing my work, and yet you do
not do it, nor do you know how.   I do the
work, and, in addition, am trying to teach you.
In justice, you ought to pay me something for
my pains; but to encourage and stimulate
you to apply yourself, and learn to be useful,
I am boarding you and giving you a dollar a
week-giving it, you understand-and here
you ask for more wages, just as if you were
cheated out of your dues."
"Faix, and I don't ondherstand at all, if it
a'n't the wark I'11 be paid for, and don't I
wark as many hours as Margaret?"
"Yes, Bridget; workl all day, doing nothing
right, and, consequently, your work is worth
nothing so far. What you have spoiled is of more
value than anything you have yet done, and is a
loss to me by so much. When Margaret was
with me, I had only to say,'Margaret, we will
have roast-beef, with the proper vegetables,
and a plum-pudding, for dinner to-day,'  and
the dinner was off my mind, and I could em
71 
72   "YES, MA'AM, I'M JUST DOING IT."
ploy myself as I choose, till dinner-time, free
from all care, and sure that everything would
come on to the table at the proper time, and
in good condition. But, since you have been
with me, my first thought in the morning is,
that I must hurry up, or you will put your
coffee on before the water has boiled, or put
the muffins in the oven, and either let the fire
go out, or make such a roaring one, to hurry
a belated breakfast, as to burn them to a crisp.
Well, breakfast over, and the table cleared, I
must still keep my watch, or the plate of butter would be left to run to a liquid near the hot
stove, the meat stand hours uncovered, free to
flies and dust, the unstrained milk gather a
thick cream, crusted by dirt and struggling
insects; and, though I reprove you day by day
for such carelessness, you have not improved
in any one respect.
"When  dinner is to be thought of, I must
hasten to the kitchen, and ask:'Bridget,
have you put your beef in to roast?'
"'Yes, ma'am, I'm just doing it,' you reply; though it is half an hour beyond the time
I told you.
"'  Put your potato-water on attwelve o'clock, 
INCREASE OF WAGES.
and your potatoes in at half-past twelve, being
sure the water boils.  Will you remember?'
'Yes, ma'am, I certainly will.'
"At half-past twelve I again go to the kitchen, and find the potato-kettle standing on the
stove-hearth.
' Bridget,  how  is this -  did you not
promise the water should certainly be boiling?'
"' And, troth, ma'am, so it did boil; and I
took it off to wait for the time!'
"No, Bridget, I am not going to pay you
any more than at present, until my time can be
more at my disposal. If I have not explained
clearly how little use you are to me, I despair
of doing so.  If it were  not necessary that
you should keep doing, in order to learn,
I should vastly prefer doing it all. I will pay
you what you earn, willingly; and shall rejoice for your sake and my own when the time
comes that I can give you as much as Margaret gets."
It is no less an error for ladies to withhold
a        fairl y-deserved increase of wages.   If a girl
has, firom the beginning, evinced a desire to
learn and oblige, and has constantly improved,
until, by her quickness and industry, she re               7
73 
INCREASE OF WAGES.
lieves you of much of your care, and, perhaps,
saves the board and wages of a second girl,
does she not earn and deserve an increase of
the pay you first stipulated to give?  Self-interest, if not a sense of justice, will suggest to
most ladies the propriety and necessity of at
judicious increase of wages, if they would
retain reliable and trusty help.
The ladies of a village will sometimes make
a rule among themselves that they will not pay
to exceed six dollars a month to any girl, and
call any lady to account who transcends this
arbitrary and absurd regulation. It is quite as
indiscriminating as for all girls, good, bad and
indifferent, to claim the same amount of wages.
If either rule were to obtain permanency, there
would be an end to any inducement for the
trustworthy and capable to maintain their good
reputation by continuing to do well, or for the
ignorant and careless to endeavor to improve.
It is manifestly just to pay higher wages to
a capable girl, who does the work for a family
of eight or ten persons, than could be afforded
to one who performed the same offices for three
or four only.
Said a neighbor to me the other day:  "Is
74 
HANNAH PECK.
it possible you pay Hannah Peck half a dollar
eaery week for doing your washing, when she
goes only at eight o'clock, and gets done by
noon? Why, they say she goes in the afternoon of the same day and does Madam Grey's
ironing, and gets half a dollar more!  That's
equal to a man's wages."
"Yes; and she has a man's energy and
powers of endurance. She knows how to do
her work well and quick, spends no idle moments, indulges in no gossip, finds no fault
with the number of pieces, expects to wash
dirty clothes, not all clean ones, wastes no
soap, burns only enough wood to do her work,
waits upon herself instead of calling upon the
kitchen-girl to spend half her time running for
her; and, instead of being all day in the suds,
keeping the kitchen drenched in slops and uninhabitable from steam, as you say, she is done
by noon, her floor washed, her dress changed;
and, having had her dinner, she says goodby, with a pleasant smile, and goes to Madam
Grey's, where she bakes, and irons, and accomplishes more than many a girl wonld with
the whole day before her.
"Two weeks ago Hannah could not come to
76 
WIDOW TOWN.
do my washing, as she had her sister's sick
child to nurse.
"I sent for Widow Town. She came at six.
Had an early breakfast prepared expressly for
her. She could not drink coffee; must have
fresh meat (at Judge Jones' they generally
had broiled chicken); asked for cheese (they
always had cheese at Judge Jones'). She
started her fire, using nearly as much wood for
her first kettle as Hannah would for her whole
wash; soap, ditto. She complained of the
tubs, and of the hard water; said she was
sure the clothes had been worn a fortnight;
that it must be we had a two weeks' washing;
our wash-bench was too high; our clothesbasket too old to be decent; our clothes-line
was in an awful unhandy place; and ended by
wondering why girls would live with people
who kept two tables, and said she knew lots
of girls who had good wages, but had little
to do, and could run in the streets half the
time.
"She wanted a lunch at ten, with old hyson
tea (only mean, stingy people drank black),
dinner at one, a cup of tea again at three (at
her regular washing-places they kept the tea hot
76 
A USEFUL WOMAN.
for her all the time), supper at five; and then,
asking for some sweet milk and a few slices of
bread, as she had no time to cook at home
(Mrs. Judge Jones often gave her a whole loaf),
she took her departure, without having washed
the floor.
"The washing was the same in size that
Hannah gets out by noon. I need not ask
which of the two is best worth the half-dollar."
This same Hannah lived with me several
years ago. She is an American woman, then
thirty, strong, healthy, good-tempered, busy
as a bee from morning till night, obliging, respectful, thoroughly educated to her work -
she was "worth her weight in gold."  Blind
and inconsiderate was I! She knew her capability, and demanded higher wages; which
she well deserved. We did not give it, and
she went to the city, where she became headmanager of a house full of servants, and received three dollars a week.   High wages for
a woman, I know; but it would have been
money in our pocket to have paid it from that
time to the present. The time, and money,
and horse-flesh, spent in running after girls to
replace the incapables and the intractables;
7*
77 
A USEFUL WOMAN.
the cook-stoves, iron-ware, and crockery, destroyed, and the wood unnecessarily burned,
would much more than pay the difference in
expense, to say nothing of the wear and tear
of patience, and the comfort of having a woman
so capable and respectable in your household.
Hllannah is now a land-holder, has money in
the bank;  enough to shield her from poverty,
should the evil day come when she could not
work. But she is not idle. She has an aged
mother to support, besides brothers' and sisters' children to help on in the world; and a
better, happier, or more useful woman, in her
sphere of life, one seldom meets.
78 
CI-IAPTER V.
ECONOIY. - THE UNTHRIFTY GIRL. - A COMMON EXPERIENCE.         " WOFUL WASTE MAKES WOFUL WANT."
A WiSE economy lies at the very foundation
of all prosperity, all peace, quiet and happiness. This is true in regard to individuals,
communities, and nations. WAVhere there is
great waste and extravagance, there must come
great want and distress, sooner or later. Hiowever industrious a person or family may be, if
their expenses are not regulated with a careful economy, and kept within the income,from whatever source it is derived,- there
will comne a cruel pinch, as sure as effect follows cause. This is so self-evident that it
would seem only necessary to mention the subject inr this connection; but I too well know
the reasoning of servants,-  if it may be called
so, and provided their consciences ever trouble
them,- which is, in brief:  "The famnily can 
WASTEFUL HABITS.
afford it. They are rich; it is nothing to me."
The servant who satisfies himself with so miserable and wicked an excuse, for wasting the
property of his employer, deserves a punishmnent equal to that meted out to the actual
thief.
There is an old saying, current among farmers, that, "A  womnan can throw out with a
teaspoon faster than a man can throw in with
a shovel." This is literally true. A wasteful
woman is an enemy to her husband.  Tie has
the misery to see the fruits of his industry
frittered away upon trifles of no value, or
squandered upon luxuries which he cannot
afford.  The mortgage upon his farm remains
unpaid, while his wife is running up ruinous
bills at the stores.  So, on the other hand, a
foolish and spendthrift husband not only squanders his substance without benefit to himself,
but wastes the means of makling wife -and children comfortable and happy.
Servants often contract wasteful habits while
at service, because, as they think, the loss is
not theirs. But they are miiistaken.  The habit
sticks to theim through life; and their subsequent poverty and thriftlessness would seem
80 
FOOD DESTROYED.
to be compensative punishment for their criminal waste of property put into their stewardship.  Think not I am too harsh and severe in
my denunciations of the extravagance of servants. Mlore food is literally thrown away, in
many families, than would suffice to make comfortable a dozen starving wretches.
In hotels, often, and especially those in cities,
the waste of good food and stores is amazing.
Is it nothing to you that you are wickedly
wasting what might suffice to keep a fellowcreature from suffering and death? Did not
lie who could create bread, and who miraculously fed the five thousand with five loaves
and two small fishes, afterwards command
the disciples to gather up the fragments, that
nothing be lost?  Many excellent families, of
but moderate means, are compelled to do without domestics, because they double the family
expenditures, and can never be taught that
frugality under such circumsttances is a virtue,
and not meanness. This difficulty often originates in their exaggerated notions of wealth,
ais much as from their confounding the terms
frugality and parsimony. Frugal people are,
as a rule, the most systematically generous
81 
82       THE POOR MOST WASTEFUL.
and liberal, -giving from principle, and often
taking pains to discover worthy objects of
charity; whereas, your extravagant and wasteful people have nothing left to give; but are
generally growing poorer and poorer, as the
natural and inevitable result.
A throwing away recklessly both what is
your own and what is entrusted to your care
is no sign that you have always been used to
plenty.   I have always observed that girls
from good respectable families are the most
saving and economical.   "Waste  not,  want
not," has been early instilled into their minds;
and, mark it where you will, there is less real
waste among the rich than the ])oor.
A mistress who can convince even one of
her domestics of the lasting evils of wasteful
and extravagant habits, confers not only a benefit upon the girl, but may influence the prosperity and well-being of a generation of boys
and girls to come.
When it is said of a girl, "She is careful
and economical," I consider it at the head of
the list of recommendations, and it will, certainly, go far to determine the rate of her
wages. 
THE NEW GIRL.
,Your  new   girl  must  command  high
wages," said I to a friend whom I was visiting;  "she seems  so industrious, so quiet,
and handy, and so obliging, too, she must be
quite a treasure."
" Yes," replied my friend, "she is all and
mnore than you have mentioned; she is an extra cook, a queen among washers and ironers,
goodl-temperedcl, and happy in her disposition;
yet with all these admirable qualities she finds
it very difficult to get a place, and next to impossible to keep one when obtained. I shall
be obliged to discharge her soon."
"Alhat can it be?" I exclaimed in wonder; "dishonest? untruthful?" for I knew
my friend was in great need of just such a
capable girl, and would part with her for no
trivial fault.
" 0, no! she is honest as the day, and perfectly truthful; but, to be plain, her last mistress, our good clergyman's wife, told me they
could not keep her on account of her extravagance; and, I find, even our purse would not
be deep enough for her supplies. I have
reasoned with her, and set forth the folly and
wickedness, and even the disadvantage, it is to
83 
FIGURING U.P.
herself; but without any l1,sting effect.  She
is so competent, that she otught to command, as
you suggest, the highest rate of pay for her
services; but she is so expiensive a person in
the family that none can afford to pay it.  They
are' small matters,' she thinks; and, taken
separately, so they are; but when summed
up you would be astonished at the aggregate.
"Thor instance; she bakes every other day,
,)'d I am not exaggerating when I say, that
for every baking she wastes a pint of flour.
First, when sifting, she scatters it upon the
table and floor; then, in mixing, she leaves
enough in the pan for a small loaf; and, in
moulding, the board and rolling-pin come in
for ashare. This waste during the year amounts
to about a barrel, say ten dollars."
"A little too fast, I think: your pig surely
gets it-  so it is not iquite so bad as lost,"
said I.
" So; I am not even sure of that.  Indeeld,
I have had ocular proof that it oftener goes
into the waste-water reservoir than towards
pig's dinner.   True, pig often gets what we
ought to eat ourselves, and, in turn, his lawful
meals are thrown away.  Well, if you think
84 
THE NET LOSS.
this a large computation, I will throw in the
broken bread, wasted, because always made in
so much larger quantities than we can possibly
dispose of, that it will sour or mould before
being eaten, to say nothing of the doughnuts,
gingerbread and tea-cakes, which soon grow
stale.
"Next, potatoes; twenty bushels, at sixtytwo and a half cents a bushel, for a year's
supply. One third certainly goes into the
swill.  We shall charge pig twenty-five cents
a bushel for his share, and still have some two
dollars and sixty cents to add to our bill.  Then
comes  wood.   Six  cords  for the cookingstove is none too much. Sawed and piled, it
stands us in at four dollars and seventy-five
cents a cord.   One third of this is unnecessarily burned - burned when it adds to no one's
comfort, and gone to swell the list of food destroyed or rendered unfit to eat.  Nine dollars
and ahalf more. Next, butter. Four pounds
a week she uses.   One fourth goes out on the
plates, to be swept off into the reservoir or
swill-barrel.   Fifty-two  pounds  wasted,  at
twenty  cents  per pound,  foots ten  dollars
(and forty cents. The meat wasted you would
8
85 
86    LESS SKILL AND MORE PRUDENCE.
hardly believe. Whole quarters of nmutton,
lamb and veal, left to spoil for want of care;
large bones, which should be boiled for soup,
thrown away for the dogs; pounds of fat, do.;
butter, eggs and sugar most prodigally used;
tea and coffee made by the gallon, when only
a quart is required; in fine, there is no end
to the wicked waste of good material."
"But surely you can correct all this.  You
have only to go into the kitchen yourself, and
take the direction."
Yes, by keeping constant watch, I can,
in a great measure, prevent such loss, though
not all; but we were speaking of the girl's
right to high wages.   If I must be in my
kitchen to prevent an evil I cannot correct, I
might as well have a less expensive girl, pay
smaller wages, and be training her to be capable in time to do my work well. You see
how it operates."
"Yes, you are right. I should prefer the
younger girl."
What  makes it more provoking is, when
reproved, she only says she has no tinme to attend
to such little things, and wonders' rich people
think so much of trifles!'  She will be a ter 
LOUISA.
rible burden to her husband, if she ever gets
one.  She has a sister, who is a living exampie of unthrift. She married a young farmer,
of good character and industrious habits, possessed of property worth three or four thousand dollars. Louisa was not extravagant in
laying out money; but she had acquired wasteful habits, ill-suited to a good farmer's wife.
If her cream did not' come,' as the phrase is,
with an hour's churning, she would throw it
away in a pet, or set it aside for short-cakes,
etc.  If her cheese did not turn out to suit
her, she would give it to the pig, thinking one
cheese of no consequence. The milk was dipped into and disturbed upon any and all occasions; consequently, the yield of cream was
slight.  The men were fed upon short-cake,
custards, blanc-mange, and such-like unsubstantial food; and her poor management
alone caused the farm to turn out profitlessin fine, made herself and her husband beggars."
Nor is it in wood  and provisions alone
that waste occurs.   Cooking-stoves average
from eighteen to twenty-five dollars each.
With treatment such as they usually get from
87 
CRACKED STOVES.
domestics, three, or possibly four y,;7.s' service, is all that can be counted upor; but a
thrifty and careful housewife will use tiie same
stove twenty years without serious d:,,mnge.
Perhaps girls are not generally aware that a
hot fire, built up suddenly, when the stove is
cold, will so expand the iron as to cause it to
break.  Hence the so frequent complaint that
the oven will not bake; the oven top or bottom being badly cracked. So, al:o, a dash of
cold water upon a hot stove causes a sudden
contraction, and - snap! goes the stove, in a
new place.  Never fill an iron pot, or iron
ware of any kind, suddenly, with cold water,
when the vessel is heated.
Heedless girls have a famous habit of throwing shovel and tongs, stove-rimmers, dust-pan
and brush, and a variety of other useful articles, helter-skelter, into the wood-box,  and
then piling armfuls of wood upon them. Aside
firom the inconvenience of having to dive after
them every time they are wanted, it is certain
ruin to the articles.   Woe to the purse of the
man of sinall or moderate  means, who, by
necessity, is obliged to employ those who scorn
to believe that
"w oful waste makes woful want 
88 
A COMMON EXPERIENCE.
but a deeper misfortune befalls him who is so
blind as to marry one of these "scatter-brains."
A COiMMON EXPERIENCE.
" Helen, why don't you keep a girl? Your
husband can afford it, and it is all nonsense for
you to spend so much time in the kitchen."
" Indeed, Sarah, we cannot afford it. You
can have no conception of the difference it
makes in our expenses.  I am one of the ambitious kind, and am looking forward to the
time when we can own a house, and sit under
our own vine and fig-tree.  My husband has a
good salary; but I do not choose to let a third
of it be thrown away, or burnt up, by wasteful
girls, whlo are more trouble than help to me,
or our house would not be paid for until we
are gray. VWhile he earns, it is my duty to
save, while we are both young; else our lives
will be a continued round of toil and sacrifice,
for a mere living, and nothing saved for old
age.
"Only think how provoking, when I am so
economical of wood and lights in the parlor,
to go into the kitchen, and find a perfect
illumination; one, two, three, four lamps
8*
89 
A COMMON EXPERIENCE.
burning, besides the lantern on the floor, all
smoking, and nobody benefited by  so much
light!  Then the fire, so tremendous that an
outside door must be kept open to let the superfluous heat escape; and soap-why, a
girl will use more soap in three days than I
should in a month; and my dishes will be the
cleanest, too. The way they manage is, never
to scrape the dishes before washing; but, having ready a pan of strong suds, in go the vegetable and gravy dishes, and plates with squash,
turnip, potato and gravy, thick upon the sides,
and in no time the water is so thick it must be
thrown out, and new suds  made.   Now, I
scrape my dishes as clean as I can, wash them
in one washing of weak suds, and rinse them
thoroughly, taking care to change the rinsingwater as often as it needs it; thus, what I do
save for the pig is not mere dish-water thickenedcl with soap, but good swill. And then, as
to my time in the kitchen, that you commiserate me upon, I never had the good fortune to
have but one or two girls who saved me much
time, or a particle of care.  The few I have
had required so much looking after, that I
90 
WHAT FOR, MA'AM, DO YOU DISMISS ME?  91
might as well have done the work, and saved
the expense.
"One of them, the other day, says:' What
for, ma'am, do you dismiss me?''Because,'
said I,'you are so little use to me that I think
it best to save your board and wages; and
not that only, but you waste as much more
every week. If I send you to a closet, you
are sure to leave the door open.   If I send
you to the buttery, you leave everything uncovered, and exposed to insects; the sugar,
lard, butter, molasses, spices, coffee, saleratus,
whatever you have occasion to use, stands
open till I go and cover it. I have vainly
tried to correct you of this fault.  It is not
only very uncleanly, but is a wasteful habit.
You know, as well as I, that most of these
articles lose their strength and flavor, and deteriorate rapidly, by exposure to the air; that
fluid evaporates as fast as though burning,
when you leave the can uncorked; that the
rloiasses-can gets filled with flies, the butter
becomes rancid, and the lard spoiled, by such
exposure; and, though not a day has passed
that I have not sent you back to close up after
yourself, you rather grow worse than better. 
JUST MARRIED.
Why should I keep you, if you will not correct
your faults?'
"She went off, muttering, and thinking me
a very hard mistress to please; too neat and
particular, altogether.
"When I first went to housekeeping, my
things were all new, and nice as I could afford,
and I was anxious to keep them so; but pride
said:' You must have a girl; you don't want to
spend the honeymoon in the kitchen; you
cannot wear white morning dresses, and pretty
muslins in the afternoon, while making fires
and washing dishes.' So, not to spoil the romance too soon, I hired a young girl of sixteen, and gave her a dollar a week. She knew
nothing about cooking, could not iron starched
clothes, andi had an unlucky trick of breaking
or marring everything she laid her hands upon.
The first week she melted my britannia teapot,
which I told her would not stand fire. She
broke a cut-glass lamp, spilling the oil on my
bedroom carpet. She cracked with the broomhandle my one parlor-miirror.  She broke the
mustard-pot belonging to my silver. castor;
and, last, but not least, she went down cellar,
without orders, to draw some molasses from
92 
A GADDER.
the barrel, and, not knowing how to manage
the faucet, she left the molasses running; and,
next morning, on going down cellar, I found
the syrup ankle-deep,-our year's supply,
bought at a bargain, all lost! You won't believe me when I tell you I did not scold. I
sat on the stairs, and meditated dispassionately
upon the profound obtuseness of an intellect
that could see and not prevent such mischief,
nor give the alarm when she found it beyond
her control.  I considered her quite hopeless
of improvement; and so, after calling her to
me, and showing her the catastrophe,  and
making her clean the cellar, she received her
dollar, and was dismissed. Nett loss to me,
in one week, some fifty dollars.
"I tried another.  Our family was so small,
and the work so light, she was uneasy all the
time, and became unsteady. If I sent her to
do an errand, she would stay an hour. If I
left the house, she would run away, too. She
wanted to be out every evening; and was impatient of the least restraint. I had but very
little of her services. If the butcher camne,
Ellen was nowhere to be found, and I must go
out and put away the meat.  The  fishman,
93 
JOANNA'S FRIENDS.
baker, and milkman, I waited upon, as she
would be out of sight and call just at the inopportune moment always. She had to be
rung up every morning, and it required vigorous ringing to start her.  On the whole, I
was soon satisfied that she was wholly unprofitable, and she was' discharged,' but not
'cured.'
" Aly next venture was an Irish girl.  She
was well-trained, a good cook, and attentive
to all my wants. I found no fault with her
work or her manners; and, had it been only
Joanna, we should have got along famously.
But she had a host of Irish friends, who were
constantly coming to see her. I could not go
comfortably to church, on Sunday, for I knew
the kitchen would be fuill of the neighborhood
girls, for three or four miles around, accompanied by their respective Patricks, Michaels,
and Jamies.   Joanna was herself honest; but
she would not check the others, suffering
them to range at will about the house and pantries; and I found that sundry matters in the
way of eatables disappeared more rapidly than
could be accounted for on the score of family
consumption. There was also strong'internal
94 
MEHITABLE HILLIARID.
evidence' that my drawers and closets were
overhauled.   She came from a town twelve
miles distant, and was anxious to get as many
girls of her acquaintance into town as possible;
and, week after week, one after another would
come down in the cars, and land at our house,
bag and baggage, to stay until a situation was
found for them. Mly husband's patience gave
out:' Don't they know better than to make a
tavern of our house in this way? If not, you
must tell the girl that we cannot have another
of her friends here over night.' I told Joanna.
She took it in high dudgeon, and left next
morning.
"After Joanna's exit, long negotiations were
entered into to secure the services of a woman
whom I had heard so much and so well of, that
I was anxious to get her. She was American;
a thin, wiry, rather nervous old maid -  that
is, if forty years would make her one. Iher
name was Mehitable Iilliard-  a proper name
enough, only it seemed as though made expressly for her, on further acquaintance.   She
was, I think, desirous to come, though she did
not say so; but rather assumed that it would
be something of a sacrifice. At all events, sho.
95 
MEHITABLE HILLIARD.
managed her part of the diplomacy so well as
to induce me to offer her very high wages. I
then had a young infant, and needed good help,
reliable, honest and efficient, and I congratulated myself hugely when she finally consented.
Mehitable was pious, and of course would conscientiously seek to earn the wages she was to
receive, by relieving me of all unnecessary
care, and my house would be a pattern of order
and quiet.  Mehitable was indeed an excellent house-keeper-neat to a fault; her cooking was the envy of all other cooks. The
kitchen, under her administration, was a place
to be proud of.'Administration,' said I.
Yes; not the kitchen only, but the whole
house, and all its appurtenances, were brought
under her strong control.  I was mo longer
mistress.  In my confidence in her reputation
for excellent management and good intentions,
I yielded at first what I should have made a
stand upon; and, I confess it, practising on my
youth and inexperience, she got the upper
hand, and to some degree maintained it during
her stay. I soon found she had a hard, dry
'Betsey Trotwood' manner, without the virtues of that eccentric lady. If it is yet allow
96 
GOT TO BE MISTRESS.
able to judge by the'fruits,' her piety was
of the'sounding brass' sort-more demon strative than real. She was a Methodist, was
Mehitable; but I give that excellent denomi nation credit for better teaching than she ex emplified in her daily walk and conversation.
Sunday she claimed - all of it and all of them
as hers.  I sometimes concluded she thought
it was madefor her exclusively, for never did
she offer to stay at home, even one half day,
and allow me to go. But then I was an Episcopalian, and she thought that next to being a
pagan. During the week there were on an
average from three to five evening prayermeetings, besides sewing society, class-meetings, &c.   With  none  of these must  the
family  requirements  interfere.   She  hated
company.  It made  her more  work.   She
always looked severe- her Sunday lookwhen my own brother and his wife dropped in
to tea or dinner.  If we had any gay company, she manifested unmistakably her displeasure at such worldly doings. One of her
provoking habits was the seizing her Bible,
and rocking herself violently backwards and
forwards in a rocking-chair, commencing the
9
97 
CROSS PIETY.
longest chapter to be found, whenever her gentle temper received an unusual shock.  This
mental and bodily exercise would have been
admirable, had the effect been to restore her
equanimity; but it seemed always to confirm
the fit of spleen, and rendered her cross, silent
and pious, for all day. These were her worst ill
turns. She had her amiable moods, which
were nearly as disagreeable, for her tongue
was then unloosed, and one unbroken torrent
of gossip streamed forth. The mastery she
exercised over me and the household, with her
indescribable wilfulness and decision of manner; the actual authority of her small, cold,
gray eye; the angularity of her elbows and
shoulders; her pointed chin, which was an
ever-present reproof; the directness of her
movements, which made everybody turn out
involuntarily, became at length excessively
irksome and unendurable. These peculiarities
were her weapons of offence, and with them
she would have gained the ascendency over a
monarch. I had(l changed girls so often that I
wished to try the force of patience and quiet
endurance, to win her over to a more gracious
98 
MOTHER AND AUNT ARRIVE.
compliance with my ways and wants; but in
vain.
"At length, one morning I got roused, thoroughly waked up, and made the Jezebel feel
that Helen Goodrich, young, pale and slight
though she be, could command  and compel
obedience in her own house. My mother and
aunt, who lived at some distance, and neither
of whom I had seen for some months, drove
into the yard. I knew at once they had come
to spend the day and night, and hastened joyfully to meet and welcome them. After seeing to their comfort in the sitting-room, I ran
out, and was all earnestness in telling Mehitable how to make a particular kind of soup
my mother was fond of, when I saw a cloud
gathering about her gray eyes.
"' We can't have soup; -that's flat!' she
snapped.' If folks will come to dinner without
notice, they must take what we've got. I've
got everything ready for a b'iled dinner, and
it's good enough!'
"' We will postpone the boiled dinner till tomorrow,'  said I,' and you will make  the
soup.'
"Whereupon she seized the kettle of pre
99 
A  SCENE.
pared vegetables for the' b'iled dinner,' and
set it over the fire, with the echo:'It's good
enough, I say!'
"With an unmoved face I stepped forward,
and, taking hold of the kettle-bail to lift it out,
she had the insolence to clap her fingers on
the rim, with the knuckles up, to hold it down.
I reversed the position of the bail, and brought
it down across her two hands. She pulled
and struggled, but they were fast.
"Said I,' Mehitable! I am  mistress just
now, and want soup, such as I described to you,
for dinner. These vegetables will do very well
for to-morrow, and'' Let my hands out,' she snarled.
' Don't interrupt me,' said I;' Listen
skim off the fat from the chicken-stock; put
it into the soup-pot, with two carrots, two or
three onions, a cup of rice, the bits of meat
left yesterday, pepper, salt, and a little of the
preserved tomato'   "'You're a,' she began again.
' You belong to the clas —meeting, as I understand, Mehitable, and consider yourself a
shining light in this sinful world; but your
abuse of me and of my patience, your inso
io0 
PROPRIETIES OF POSITION.
lence, for a Christian woman, when I have
been always too forbearing, and have given
you a great deal of time, paid you exorbitant
wages, have made you presents, to overcome
your evil nature with kindness, and all to no
avail, is past longer endurance. Now, I desire
to know if you will take off this kettle, and
get the dinner according to my directions?'
" All this I said with perfect coolness and
deliberation, looking her steadily in the eye.
She was humbled and abashed, and I released
her hands. Silently, but with a bewildered,
almost frightened look, she did her best, and
got an admirable dinner; but the shock was
too much; her prestige, her ascendency was
crushed; all her pride and angularity had
vanished; but her spirits could not rally, and
she came next day and begged to be dismissed,
as her'mother was getting old and needed
her help.' When I paid her, and asked her
acceptance of a small present for her mother,
she sobbed aloud, and took her leave, declaring I was a very good woman, and had always
given her more than she deserved.
" City house-keepers would hardly comnprehend such a case as Mehitable, or that of my next
9*
101 
EXPLANATORY.
girl-the would-be young lady.  Accustomed
as they are to servants who generally know
the proprieties of their position, and are respectful and obedient, they would look upon
such a character as Mehitable as unnatural and
monstrous, and upon the would-be young lady
as a perfect fool, to be laughed at and
turned out of doors directly. But they are
veritable characters, common enough all over
New England; and when girls are scarce, we
have either to do our own work or accept
such assistance as Mehitable or Aurelia choose
to render us, they dictating conditions. Nothing is more common in the northern New England States, where'one person is as good as
another,' and the proportion of foreigners to
natives is very small, than for the position,
services, relation, the name even, of servant to
be practically denied - everything but the
pay. There is no such thing as servant in
their vocabulary. Nor is this either wonderful
or to be hastily condemned.   The  history,
progress, genius and characteristics, of the
Yankee in effect forbid the use of the word
as applied to any of his kith or kin. The
Yankee, man or woman, has no objection to
102 
MISS AURELIA.
'work out!'  A  large proportion must work
out to begin life withl-to  get a start; but
never as a permanent condition, if they can
do better.   They  are willing to work;  but
must, in all respects, be treated as equals by
their employers-  the Yankee hired man expecting to work side by side with the' boss'
during the day, and that the' old man' will
at least help to do the chliores at nilght.  They
also might think it a little strange if they were
not advised with in respect to all the fiscal and
family affairs taking place during their temporary sojourn. This digression may assist the
unsophisticated city reader better to understand the idiosyncrasies of country help.
"After a brief interval, in which I managed
my own work and baby too, I sent to employ
at a venture a girl whom I had simply heard
of, somne  miles  back,  as wanting  a place.
WVhen she arrived, the apparition was not at
all pleasing.   At my door stood a rather tall
girl, who gave her name  as' Mliss Aureli.a
B.'   She  was  evidently sentimental.
Ringlets hung in tendrils about her head, interspersed with what are  termed' spit-curls,'
plastered on the temples somewhat in the shape
103 
SENTIMENTAL.
of a figure 5. She wore French morningdresses and stiff white skirts, and, indeed, was
got up in such style that she was not unfrequently taken by strangers for the mistress of
the house.   She  prinked and  swung, about
affectedly whenever mny husband was in the
room, andcl cast loving glances at my brother,
and all the young men who entered the house.
"Aurelia had a theory of her own as to the
province of a housemaid; and I soon learned
that shle expected to eat at the same table, sit
with the family, and sew for herself when not
about housework, go in and out at the front
door, and, except on ironing-days, to have the
afternoon to her own use, when, with emnbroidered petticoat in hand, she was seated at the
parlor-winidow, gazing after every passer-by,
inquiring out the strange faces, and laying
down her work to study the dress and behavior
of any who called.  This was a new experience to me; but, not to be captious; I kept
quiet, willing to see how she would develope
under the lead of her own ideas of propriety.
"One could not discover, from her assured
but inquisitive manner, that it ever occurred
to her mind she could be the least in the way
104 
VERY LITERARY.
when my friends called, — that my mother or
sister might have something to say, of a confidential nature, not intended for her ear,never dreamed that my neighbors all said there
was no pleasure in coming to see me, as the
young lady housemaid was always by to hear
and repeat what was said, and apparently had
no scruples or doubts about the propriety of
her never letting a person go in or out of the
house without trying to know the wherefore.
Miss Aurelia was very literary, and wished it
so understood. She made free with my nicest
books, turning down leaves and underscoring
passages which pleased her. Old standard
books were treated in this way-my old copy
of Shakspeare, for instance. Fancy my disgust at finding exclamations expressive of her
appreciation copiously margined against certain
love-scenes between Romeo and Juliet! She
also affected Byron, and looked more sentimental than ever after one of her night-readings in bed. She made an extensive show of
stationary, and of having quite a burdensome
correspondence, often asking the gentlemen to
carry to the post-office her delicate-looking
105 
SICKLY HELP. -  MAGGY.
letters, done up in embossed envelopes, and
sealed with sentimental mottoes.
"M Iiss Aurelia went to all the balls and dances,
and, with all the freedom imaginable, at her
first dance after coming to our house, asked
to borrow my jewelry and flowers!"
"Why Hlelen! -what a burlesque! " cried
Sarah.
"True, every word; Sarah. You must remember this is a manufacturing community.
Girls to do housework are scarce, and expect
those who are obliged to have help will put up
with impositions unheard of anywhere else;
and so we do and must; but we know, notwithstanding, what is right, what to approve,
and what condemn.
"Neither the society nor the services of Miss
Aurelia compensated for the annoyances to
which I was subjected.
"My next was a married woman and an invalid. She was a pale, feeble-looking thing,
and I was in daily fear of her getting down
sick upon my hands. Her complaints rung in
my ears from morning till night. Not an ache
could be broached but she had one to correspond. She was a wholesale druggist, if you
106 
SICKLY HELP. -  MAGGY.
were to judge from her vials, powders and
herbs, though she was her own consumer.  I
paid her good wages, out of pity, as she had
her chillc's board to pay every week; but she
looked so mliserably sick all the time, I could
not ask her to do an extra job. At length I
discovered that she was in the habit of sitting
up nightly till twelve or one o'clock, to do her
own and child's sewing, thus getting so tired
that she was fit for nothing the next day.
Again, she was so wilful and reckless in exposing herself to cold and wet, that no care of
mine could benefit her. No matter how keen
the air, how deep the snow, and untrodden the
path, if the spirit seized her, she was off, and
exposed to all the inclemencies of our harsh
climate -certain as she was that a day's
sickness and uselessness would follow.  I remonstrated; told her it was dishonest in her to
cheat me out of so much time by such unnecessary carelessness. But my words were wasted.
I nursed her through a two weeks' illness,
brought on by her going to camlp-meeting against
my expressed wishes, and then dismissed her.
"Mlaggy came.  Alaggy was my delight;
was faithful, true, attentive, earned her wages,
107 
MAGGY  FAILED.
tried to please, and really seemed much attached to the family.   I certainly was so to
her; as a dependent mistress will always be
to a kind, affectionate, attentive girl. My
time of trial was past. A season of rest had
come, so it seemed. I ventured to invite some
friends, whom I had long been wishing to have
visit me. I hired a young girl to help Maggy,
and was going to give myself up to pleasure.
"' Will you, please, ma'am, let me go home
for a fortnight?  My sister is going to have a
christening. My brother is here waiting for
me, and I have got my things done up, and,
indeed, I must go, for I could n't sleep nights
for thinking of the sweet babby.'
"'0, MAaggy, Maggy! you, too, disappoint
me; and at such an unfortunate time, too!
No persuasions, or promises for the future,
could induce her to stay till my company had
gone. Even the model Maggy did not stand
this slight test of fidelity, and sacrifice one
week's time to my comfort and happiness. She
was gone, almost while I was trying to hold
her back.
"Cathleen,  in the kitchen, was stumped.
Hlousehold work was a labyrinth to her,  My
108 
CATHLEEN OFF.
vision of enjoyment vanished; and I betook
myself sadly to the kitchen to try and teach
Cathleen.
"' You'11 have to pay me my wages, ma'am
-the priest has come, and I am to be married
to-day, ma'am!' said Cathleen, one morning,
after the expiration of a fortnight of painstaking in teaching her.
' Nonsense, child!' I exclaimed.' Married, and leave me with no help, in this unsettled state?'
"'Yes, ma'am, the priest has come, and
Mike says if I won't marry him to-day, he
will get somebody else.'
"'Why,  Cathleen, he is old enough to be
your father, has seven little children, gets
drunk, and abused his first wife -'
"Cathleen was off without further parley;
and I have never had a girl since; and, though
it is rather monotonous sometimes, tied down
to housework, yet I congratulate myself every
dlay that I am free from a great trial, which
clouds the domestic happiness of so many of
my neighbors."
10
109 
A STIPULATION.
The experience of the young but spirited
Mrs. Goodrich could be confirmed, in every
essential particular, by many a housekeeper;
and it would be a very elastic and sunny tenmperament which could undergo a series of such
trials and disappointments without being saddened or soured. Perhaps the most unfeeling
or inconsiderate habit of girls, alluded to in
the foregoing narrative, is that of leaving suddenly, without giving proper notice, and with
no regard to the convenience of the mistress.
Girls sometimes make their arrangements to
leave at a certain time, and put off telling their
employer, through bashfulness, or dread of her
remonstrances, till the time has actually come,
and then make all possible haste away, to
avoid her just reproaches. Had she given her
mistress seasonable notice, then she has every
right to go, her mistress having had time and
opportunity to supply her place.
The remedy is obvious and just. When
housekeepers employ a girl, it should be distinctly stipulated that seasonable notice shall
be given, and a portion of the wages withheld
in case of forfeit.
110 
CHIAPTER VI.
AIRS. SUMNER, AND THE BEHAVIOR OF HER GIRLS DURING HER
ILLNESS.
CARRIME ORMOND was Mrs. Sumner's unmarried sister, and had just returned from a visit
to her at the lower end of the village; where
she found her sick, the house in sad plight,
the servants in disorder, and the children uncared for.  She tried to make her sister more
comfortable, making her bed, righting up the
room, and quieting the children; but she went
home with a quick step and a flushed face,
and, while flinging off her things with some
petulance of manner, exclaimed
"Ma', do go down and see poor Bessie.
iler husband is away; she is sick abed; the
servants have taken advantage of having no
one to oversee them; and such a forlorn-looking house I never saw. The parlors are just
as they were left the night of the book-club;
the kitchen looks as if about to ride out; the 
CARRIE ORMOND'S REPORT.
children are dirty, cold, and uncomfortable;
and, instead of being in the nursery, are down
in the kitchen, in the way, scolded at, and
screaming at the top of their voices.  Every
door in the house is flung wide open; and
every sound reaches Bessie's room.  I should
go distracted to be in her place. I would
have put the house to rights myself; but I
am as much afraid of Catherine as of a raging
bear: she would annihilate me with one look
of her fierce eyes. Positively, I'll never be
married, and be bored with housekeeping, and
have such an unfeeling, selfish, harum-scarum
set of servants around me.   I'll make Henry
give me a written bond that I shall never go
to housekeeping, before I slip my neck into
such a noose. Why, I'd rather live three
stairs up, and have but two rooms!"
" Hush,  hush, child!  Of course,  every
young housekeeper has her trials, and the difficulty of finding good servants is the greatest;
but there are good ones - ours, for example."
"But, mother, you know, when they come
to you, they are as ignorant, shiftless and wilful, as Bessie's are; but you have such a faculty of making them think you are perfect,
112 
CATHERINE, THE COOK.
and know everything, and making them love
you, and be anxious for your good opinion;
you take such pains to teach them to do right,
and smile so graciously to encourage them,
that the veriest Jezebel is ready to serve
you."
"My dear child, every mistress has a duty
to perform towards her servants, as much as
servants to a mistress. Once in her family,
she is bound by every consideration of honor
and humanity to instruct them if they are ignorant, correct them if they are faulty, and
commend them if faithful. She must gain their
good-will and confidence by showing that she
has no desire to overtax their strength, and no
intention of imposing upon their willingness.
Only convince a domestic that you are really
her firiend, and few are so ungrateful as to
give no heed to your counsels."
"I would really like to see what you,
mother, would make of Catherine, Bessie's
cook, with her violent temper. I verily believe Bessie trembles every time she is obliged
to give her an order. If she could, I believe
she would drive her mistress from the kitchen
entirely; and, when Bessie makes those oyster
10o
113 
WANT OF GRATITUDE.
patties, which Richard says nobody can make
like her, Catherine flings about, with jerking
steps, head up, and eyes flashing, as if she had
received a deadly insult. It is two days, at
least, before she gets over the affront, so as to
answer when spoken to. She drinks rum, or
sour cider, I've no doubt, or she never would
be such a dangerous virago.   What makes
it more outrageous for Catherine to act so
viciously is, that when they found her in New
York, she was miserably poor, could get no
employment, and was so humble that she begged
them to take pity on her - she would do anything, wash, iron, bake, clean, and scrub; and
it was her misery alone that induced Bessie
to clothe her decently, and bring her home.
Now, like some untamable beast, she tears
the hand which fed her, and shows more spite
towards her than to any one else. Lynx-eyed,
she reads Bessie's yielding disposition at a
glance, and carries her insolence to the very
verge of violence. She refuses to do the slightest duty out of the kitchen, and confines herself to the mere cooking, and washing of dishes,
and says this is all she should be expected to
do in the city.  0 dear! there ought to be a
114 
THE PROMISED COW.
new sentence in the litany:'From all ungrateful, dishonest, selfish, lying, wicked kitchengirls, good Lord, deliver us!' "
"Why, Carrie! you are beside yourself."
"Indeed, mother, I consider them just about
the worst of all the evils of life. Ilow I laugh
when I think of Irish Mary and the cow! You
remember Bessie's thinking she was such a
good girl, that she told her that if she would
live with her three years, and do the best she
could, she would give her, in addition to her
wages, a good cow. Well, Mary staid just
three months, when she had an urgent call to
meet her cousin, some thirty miles distant;
but promised faithfully to be back in a week,
and begged Bessie not to supply her place.
That was the last Bessie ever saw of her; but,
about a year afterwards, she received a letter
from Mary, saying she had moved to Virginia,
had' a man of her own,' and wished she would
send her the fine milch cow she promised her!
Now, what can such creatures be made of?"
"Sure enough, Carrie; but you should consider under what depressing circumstances of
want and ignorance they have been reared.
We must instruct, improve, encourage, and
115 
ROSE.
reward the good, and reprove, correct, or dismiss the bad, and time will bring a brighter
day for housekeepers. But poor Bessie must
certainly send Catherine away. Kindness is
thrown away upon her. One so ungrateful as
she has proved herself, must be too depraved
for hope of amendment."
"Yes, indeed;  if she will make her bed
of thorns, she must lie upon it. Well, then,
Rose, her second girl, is a perfect'Topsy.'
The little pest has ransacked every trunk,
drawer, closet, and box, in the house, and
knows every ribbon and bit of lace; and she
puts them on with such an innocent air, that
you doubt whether they can belong to any one
else. You cannot hide a key so safe she cannot find it, or put away cake so as to elude her
search. You may think you have your eyes
upon her, and she will, nevertheless, extract
every raisin from a basket of fruit-cake. Only
last week, when Bessie had her dinner-company, she found one of the mince-pies had
been opened, and the whole inside picked out,
leaving only the crust. She steals preserves,
jellies, sugar- everything, indeed, that her
mischievous hands fall upon. Last Sunday
116 
SETTING MATTERS TO RIGHTS.
she took Richard's gloves from his drawers,
and wore them to mass, as grand as possible;
and the little minx has used a whole box full
of extracts, vanilla, lemon, rose, &c., to perfume her handkerchief with."
"Well, that is absurd, certainly; but, my
dear, Rose is very young, and, if Bessie is
firm, persistent, and patient with her, she can
be cured of such faults."
"I don't know, mother; I should despair
of reforming such a gypsy; and, besides, she
tells such shocking lies, without winking or
coloring, that Bessie quite dreads to accuse
her of anything. Then, there is Roxy, the
nurse - she has got the baby in a chair, and
is doing more fine ironing for herself than she
would think her mistress ought to have for a
month; - but, mother, you must really go to
Bessie."
Mrs. Ormond found Carrie's account too
true. The invalid's own room was looking a
little better than before the sister's visit; but
the rest of the house was in great disorder.
Mrs. Ormond closed the door leading kitchen ward, that the sounds might not disturb the
sick one's nerves,  and went below.   The
117 
118      SETTING MATTERS TO RIGHTS.
vicious Catherine she surprised in the act of pre paring a sumptuous dinner for themselves, set
off with dainties so entirely unwarranted, that
Mirs. Ormond was astonished, and Catherine
confounded with shame. Hlaving it under stood, without a word being said, that she saw
the full extent of the misrule and insubordina tion, Mrs. Ormond passed into the pantry to
prepare some delicacy for Bessie. As fast as
her hands and feet could move, Catherine re moved every trace of the expensive luxuries
she had brought out, while Roxy hastened her
finery off the ironing-table, and began with
great zeal to amuse the baby; and the lightfingered Rose scampered off up stairs, and
was remarkably industrious lighting a cheerful
fire in the sick-room, and otherwise assuming
a very concerned air for the comfort of the
invalid.  In short, the mere presence of the
worthy lady, with her quiet dignity, and decision of manner, restored order and peace to
the disordered house; and Bessie, resigning
every care into her benevolent mother's hands,
sensibly brightened up, and began to show
symptoms of convalescence. 
A PROPER DEMEANOR.
So striking, and sometimes inexplicable, is
the influence of one calm and consistent character! There is a species of magnetism in it
which defies analysis. The subtle power is
not confined to age, position, wealth, reputation, or any accessory advantage. The young,
mere children, often possess the influence, to a
wonderful degree, over those of twice their
age. The poorest man or woman, with honest
and unshrinking eyes -windows to souls free
of guile or deceit- and moving in an atmosphere of conscious purity and integrity, will
overawe and hush the boldest blackguard.
And, in contrast, I have seen a clergyman, of
good ability and blameless life, whose deportment and presence were so little regarded that
the very boys would scarce cease their profanity as he passed by. The power of presence
mlay be acquired, and should be by every
housekeeper, if she would maintain any authority. Frivolity, or lightness of speech or
behavior, destroys or impairs it, and renders
the person committing the indiscretion common
and lightly esteemed.  Chaffering or bantering
with those who owe you respect, invites pertness and impudence in return. A kind, be
119 
THE FIRST DISOBEDIENCE.
nevolent, but uniform, consistent and decorous deportment, is the happy medium to be
observed in the presence of children and
servants, if you would have their regard and
confidence, and preserve order and good government in the household.
The mistress of a family should never overlook the first disobedience.   A  new-comer
sometimes takes an early opportunity to try
the effect of a short and disrespectful answer,
or a direct disobedience in some unimportant
matter.  If the mistress suffers it to pass unreproved, or shows timidity, or shrinking from
her obvious duty, it will only be the more difficult to enforce obedience the next time it
occurs.   She should meet the first symptom of
disrespect promptly, and with dignity, demanding a full explanation and apology; and
the experiment will not be likely to be repeated. Equally vigilant should she be to note
the first lapse from honesty or truthfulness, and
call the offender to rigid but not harsh account.
As mistress, you stand in stead of parent to
them, and are responsible for their good conduct, and the correction of their faults, to the
extent that your rightful authority over them,
120 
CONSIDERATENESS.
as members of your family, entitles you to act.
But I desire to caution against error on the
other extreme, which is the appearance of a
cold, haughty, unsympathizing bearing towards
your  domestics.   This would  sour themmake them inimical. They would be careful
to do nothing which they could avoid; nothing
simply to please or accommodate you. You
would have no hearty service.   Servants have
their trials, and sometimes severe ones, too.
Subject to the whims and annoyances of children, fellow-servants, and, perhaps, of the mistress herself, they may not at all times preserve
perfect good temper. We must not expect
perfection. We have no right to give them
cause for rebellion. We are often the occasion
of their faults, by overtaxing their strength,
or by being sometimes lax and indulgent, and
then makling up for it by extra strictness and
particularity.
If you rouse or unusually try their temper,
and lose your own discretion, taking that time
to refer to some past or trivial act, foreign to
the occasion, thus adding the last drop to their
brimming cup, what but an overflow can be
looked for?  Show that you have a regard for
11
121 
C ONSIDERATENESS.
their comfort, convenience, and welfare; caring for them in illness, commending them when
deserving; and, on all occasions, maintaining
inviolable your own dignity, for your own
credit, and that of your husband, as head of
the household, and I predict that you will find
in your domestics a more willing and devoted
service, and, consequently, be less liable to
those frequent changes and trials which go to
swell the universal wail of complaint to be
heard in so many thousand households in the
land.
122 
CHIIAPTER VII.
ON MANNERS. - IMPORTANT DIRECTIONS. - JOHN, THE NEW MAN.
- HOLLOA, WHAT DO YOU WANT?- SINGING NANCY AND THE
SHOEMAKER.
I SHOULD fail in performing my whole duty
to you, did I omit to impress you with the im portance of cultivating good manners. It is by
no means intended that you should study and
endeavor to imitate closely the manners you
may have witnessed in ladies at a party, in the
parlor, or at a formal dinner. This would be
unbecoming your station, and would not be
"good manners" for you.  In " polite socie ty," as it is termed, a style of manners is ob served, - differing, indeed, widely with differ ent persons, and in a variety of circumstances, which, if you attempted to copy, would make
you simply ridiculous. What I now mean by
the term good manners is a deportment at
once quiet, respectful, easy and cheerful, and
as far removed from rudeness, vulgarity, and 
MANNERS AND MORALS.
improper familiarity, as from awkwardness,
timidity, and sullenness; a deportmnent, in
short, exactly suitable, and in accordance with,
your position.
I do not overrate the importance of good
manners when I rank it next to good morals.
There is, perhaps, a closer connection between
the two than you suppose. Who, for instance,
would expect kind and graceful manners from
a vicious and refractory person? And, on the
other hand, who ever knew a really kind,
obliging, good-hearted person behaving with
positive rudeness, insolence, and petulance?
I hazard nothing in saying that the impression
conveyed by a civil, obliging, modest demeanor, would be worth more to you than all the
letters of recommendation ever written. When
we speak of good manners, we mean manners
based upon good sense, right feeling, and
adapted exactly to the circumstances and position of the person addressed. What would be
good, or, in other words, appropriate manners
in one person, might be bad manners, because
inappropriate, in another.
You should be polite; but I do not mean
that it is necessary you should copy the formal
124
0 
MANNERS AND MORALS.
courtesies, and utter the compliments, of a
stately dame, or the graceful and sometimes
affected airs of the young belle.
"Politeness is to do and say
The kindest thing in the kindest way."
The politeness becoming to you consists in
your readiness to help, anticipating the wishes
of those you serve, without being officious;
assisting them even before the wish is spoken,
when you know it is desired; and doing it as
though a pleasure, and not with indifference
or backwardness, as though a burden to you.
In this way you promote their comfort, add to
their happiness, and manifest a politeness of
the heart worth all the protestations in the
world.
Good manners require that you should treat
your superiors with respect, your employers
with deference; that you should receive merited reproof humbly, frankly asking forgiveness
for the error.   Many  servants observe less
politeness in replyiilg than their employers do
in addressing them. This bluntness is a reflection upon the heads of the establishment, showing that no care has been taken to teach them
11*
125 
126 THE HIRED MAN AND THE GOVERNOR.
the value of courtesy.   "Like master, like
man," the world over.
I fairly pitied a young housekeeper, whom
I once saw blush to the ears for the clownishness of a new man-servant.   Hle had arrived
that very day, and had never been taught an
idea of the civility expected from thewservingmnan of a gentleman. Governor M. and lady
had driven to the door; and, having assisted
his wife to alight, the governor looked for some
one to take his horse.
Perceiving her guests, Mrs. C. went to the
door to welcome them, and called to the new
man, who was staring at the visitors from
behind the wood-pile:
"John!"
"Holloa there! " was the reply.
"John! "
"iHolloa!  What do you want?"
"Come and take care of the horse."
Oh, that's it, is it? Wa'al" " and, with
a short, familiar nod, and a " hIow do you do,"
to the governor, the man stepped briskly forward, and led away the horse.
A  hearty laugh succeeded.   The governor
had seen too many specimens of the " hired 
DOGGED SILENCE.
man" to be astonished; and was too good a
republican not to recognize in John one of the
"sovereigns," who are conscious their vote
counts as much as anybody's.   But the man
was  not lacking in good sense; and soon
learned the propriety of comning quickly when
called, without responding:  " Iolloa! what
do you want?"
It is a great breach of good manners to reply
Yes," or " iNo,"  omitting the " Sir," or
"Ma'am," to questions addressed to you by
your superiors.  It is no mark of independence
of character, or respectability, on your part;
but shows neglect of good instruction on the
part of your parents or teachers. It is an equal
impropriety to maintain a dogged silence when
a command is given you, so that the person
speaking is in doubt as to the directions being
understood, or even heard.
"Catherine, the baby is crying," say I to
my nurse, who is within hearing, but not in
si,ght.  No answer.  I rise impatiently, perhaps, go to the door, and repeat the words.
" Yes, ma'am," says Catherine, pleasantly,
"I heard you, and am just going."
127 
128    " GENTLEMAN" AND " LADY."
lHowv much better that "Yes, ma'am," in
the first instance!  The silence, if not a token
of deafness, certainly gives the speaker an
idea of sullenness or discontent, which, per haps, is the farthest thing in the world from
her thoughts.
"Look here!" addressing the mistress, is
a vulgarity to which many untutored girls are
addicted, and which cannot be too soon corrected. Learn to distinguish properly between
the conventional  terms  " gentleman" and
"lady,"  andl the good,  worthy,  every-day
people, who are too sensible to assume names
conferred only upon the well-bred and highly
educated.  Let me be well understood, here,
as not derogating froni or abating one jot of the
value of the! true-hearted( yeomanry  of the
country, or as undervaluing in the slightest
degree the sterling virtues and noble simplicity
of character which dlistinguishl the wives of
these lords of thie soil and of the plough.  Wvell
I know that one honest, stalwart, intelligent
farmer is worth a,n acre of fops and dandies,
and that one comely, matronly, farmer's wife
is of more value than a whole ball-rooml of
emplty-headed  girls,  ()r  fashionable  ilashy 
DEFINITION OF " GENTLEMAN"
women. The working bees and the worthless
drones will illustrate our appreciation of the
two sorts of people.   Every  sensible person
knows that circumstances connected with the
birth, early training, education, associations,
city or country residence, wealth, or poverty,
or competence, bring into full life, and daily
confronting each other, several entirely distinct
classes of people, such as the merchant, the
shipper, the sailor, the professional man, the
farmer, the soldier, the philosopher, author,
editor, laborer, mechanic, loafer, gambler,
rowdy, bully, &c. The women I need not
classify. What is proper for you to understand
is, to whom the title of "gentleman" properly
applies. The definition in Webster's dictionary is in part as follows:  "In the United States, where titles and distinctions of rank do not exist, the term is applied to men of education and good breeding,
of every occupation.   A  man of good breeding, politeness and civil manners, as distinguished from the vulgar and clownish."
This is sufficient for my present purpose.
The same general rule applies to her who, by
courtesy and common consent, is called "lady."
129
I 
ILLUSTRATED
Every lady is a woman-a true woman; but
every woman is not a lady.
"A lady insists upon seeing you at the
door," says Julia, my undiscriminating chamber-maid; and down I go, wondering what
lady should call so early in the day, when I
am saluted by my egg-woman, who comes to
tell me she can no longer supply me with freshlaid eggs.
"A gentleman and lady called in a carriage,
while you were out, and will call again tomorrow."
"A gentleman and lady? - did they leave
their names?"
"s No, ma'am; but the gentleman brought
the apples and butter you engaged, and the
lady brought the yarn she had been spinning,
and they will come to-morrow for the pay."
"0, a man and woman came in a wagon,
you meant to say.  Very well."
"Yes, ma'am; and another man and woman came afoot, and here is the card."
And the card of the "man and woman
afoot" bore the names of Senator H        and
lady, with the "P. P. C." in the corner.
This is equal to the green New York hackman,
130 
BY EXAMPLES.
who hailed an elderly gentleman he saw coming towards hinm  -
"Here, old chap! -want to ride? Well,
here's jist the gentleman that'11 drive ye."
Again; I was condoling with a wet-nurse,
upon her foster-child having so bad a cough,
and inquired if it was not the whoopingcough.
0, yes; she knew it was; and where he
cat,ught it.  "It was from a French lady."
"A French lady.!" I exclaimed doubtfull  "Yes, ma'am; it was a French lady.  c he
came to my house begging, and she took the
child a moment, and she had the whoopingcough."
"Do you know of anybody that wants a
young lady to do house-work?" asked an honest dame, who would think herself guilty of
great rudeness were she to call her " girl."
No one wants young ladies in her kitchen.
Your own good sense and observation should
teach you the distinction.  Do not say "that
lady," meaning the washerwoman; or "that
woman," speaking of the governor's wife.
Neither speak of or address the grown-up young
ladies and gentlemen of the family by their
131 
HOLLOA, JIM!
Christian names.  It is an unbecoming familiarity.  Always prefix the Mr. or Miss, as Mr.
Charles, Miss Mary, &c.
I have known many instances in the country, where  young men, living in the same
town from boyhood to manhood, have become
so generally nicknamed " Dick," " Jin," or
"Fred," that, even after they became master
of the house, and head of the family, the
name would cling to them; and have known
t e farm-boy come in with the errand
"1r. Dooley wants William," -meaning
that one of the hired men wished to speak to
his employer. At another time I was riding
with a young man, owner of a fine estate, and
son of a born gentlemanii, when, stopping at the
v illage tavern on an errand, my  companion
was hailed by the hostler:
"HIolloa, Jimi! -you have dropped your
whip."
T' rha    y,:,r. Pike,'  was the grave
reply.
Rebuke such gross ill-manners, and very
likely they will be astonished at your "pride."
Parents a(ire very much in fault for bringing
up their children with such boorish manners.
132 
THIE BOY AND MAN.
Observe unmistakable gentlemen and ladies,
and you will perceive they always address each
other politely, preserving their own dignity
upon all occasions.
The more polished the person, the more deferential the manner towards their superiors in
age or station.
Can it be degrading to you to imitate in
your bearing and civility the manners of the
most refined people of our times?
To what extent uncouth and half-civilized
manners are prevalent, may be illustrated by
the fact that the children in the streets are
the greatest adepts in impudence.   But  a
week ago, in a beautiful village on the Connecticut, peopled by a community as refined
and cultivated as may be found in the country,
a little, dirty, ragged,  mother-forsaken boy
was on his way to return a pail, in which he
had carried home some milk given him the
day before by a lady, when, seeing a respectable man of nearly fifty years, one of the
selectmen" of the town, going to the same
house, he called out to himl:
Here, Bill! take my pail, and  carry it
in to old Ma'amn Sears."
12
13,03 
134      DIRECTIONS ABOUT WRITING.
The man, instead of kindly rebuking the
boy, and giving him advice, which, if remembered, would be worth more than golden guineas to him, amused at the cool impudence of
the request, took the pail, and performed the
boy's bidding.
Always speak of your mistress by her surname, as "Mrs. Allen."   Never call her "the
old lady," be she young or old. Never say,
' She' said so; " meaning your mistress
but "'Mrs. Allen' said so."
Should you have occasion to write to your
mistress, observe perfect respect, and consider
the style of address proper for you to use.  I
will suppose you are nurse in a family, and are
left at home to have the care of the children
during the absence of your mistress.   You
might write somewhat in this manner, with
propriety, varying the contents according to
circumstances of course:
" MRs. A.: As you requested, I write today to inform you of the good health of the
children,  Little Anna has not coughed since
you left homne, and sleeps soundly through the
night. While taking our walk yesterday, the 
SILENCE.
wind blew Master George's hat over the fence
near the mills and into the pond.  George ran
after it, thinking the chase good sport, and
nearly got through the fence before I caught
him. A boy kindly fished the hat out with a
pole, but it was too wet to wear, so I tied a
handkerchief over George's head, and he carried his hat in his hand, and laughed, because
he said he looked like a girl. I have finished
little Julia's dress. The children every day
inquire when mamma will come.
"Will you please write me what sewing I
shall do next? Very respectfully,
" MARGARET BROUGH."
Learn to listen in silence to conversation
carried on before you by the family, or their
visitors, and to all directions given you. Nothing can be more ill-bred than for you to break
in with your opinion or advice. It will cause
great annoyance to your mistress, and harm
you in the good opinion of those into whose
business you thus thrust yourself.
I once had a table-girl who could never
keep silent if anything was said which interested her particularly.  Upon one occasion,
135 
POLITENESS.
we were dining on roast chickens, a friend or
two being present, nay husband expressed a
doubt whether one of them was tender, when
she broke in with, "I knew't was an old hen
when it came from market."   Mirth got the
better of my mortification, and I joined in
the general laugh,- the girl laughing as heartily as anybody, under the belief she had said
something smart. Green Yankee boys, employed to drive the family carriage, sometimes
take it upon themselves to point out "very
handsome scenery" to the lady occupants, to
their no small amusement.
Remember  always to stand in the presence
of master and mistress, or their guests and
friends. I have often seen servants drop into
a chair, vwhllen called into the parlor to receive
directions, or to be questioned, and have
pitied the awkwardness which caused them to
commit so great an impropriety.   Stand modestly inside the door till you have received
your orders, or given the information required,
and then go quietly back to your department.
Never precede your superiors, unless for the
purpose of opening a door, or ushering them
to the dining-room; but always fall behind,
136 
POLITENESS.
and especially so in the street. If you meet
them in a narrow or mluddy place, fall back,
and give them the pass.   You can never be
the loser in any one's estimation by such politeness.
Never stand gazing after strangers as they
pass through the room or hall where you may
be at work, or peep curiously firom a door or
window at people alighting from a carriage, or
who you suspect are coming to the house
or over the banisters, at people arriving or taking their departure.   Never stand loitering
about, to listen to any errand a stranger may
bring your mistress, or question her as to his
message. Should it be anything concerning
you, you will know it in due time, and, if not,
it is impertinent to ask. It is bad manners to
wink at a fellow-servant, as you think, behind
your mistress, or shrug your shoulders before
her face; and to sulk, pout, frown, or mutter,
or slamn a door in anger, is unpardonable.
Never run, scuffle or giggle in the halls, or
singT, whistle or talk so loud as to be heard by
the family.
Girls sometimes get a fit of singing, which
tinnoys everybody  within  sound.   This  is
12'
137 
SINGING NANCY
rather worse, if possible, than the perpetual
performance of the boy in jackets, who had
just learned the art of whistling.
Ilow well I remember Singing Nancy!  She
had a voice of more compass than sweetness;
and, almost daily, after her work was done,
would sit down by the open window, in her
room, with her sewing, and amuse herself by
singing an odd medley of psalms, Methodist
hymns, and old-fashioned songs, her favorite
being,
"Lord Lovell, he came to the castle gate."
TIer list of songs being limited, the time frequently allowed of their being several times
repeated.   Ier room was so far from the parlor, that her musical performances were seldom
heard by the family; but just over the way,
opposite her window, worked ain unlucky shoemaker, to whose well-tuned ear her excruciating music was torment.   In vain he waited for
a cha,nge of tunes; in vain he looked for some
lucky inpouring of visitors to employ her time.
Nancy was a systematic worker, and daily was
in her seat at the same hour; and, if she had
noticed the shoemaker's eyes often turned tow
138 
AND THE SHOEMAKER.
ards her, in her innocence she supposed it was
from the pleasure he derived from her vocal
accomplishments. Indeed, it was suspected
that her vanity was not a little flattered by
his seeming attention, which, if true, of
course, had an effect directly contrary to the
wishes of that son of St. Crispin.   By dint
of such constant discipline in the exercise,
her voice seemed (to the shoemaker) to be acquiring more and more compass and shrillness.
Driven to desperation, the man at length sent
word to her, that, if she would change her
window to some other part of the house, he
would make her the best pair of shoes in the
country.   Here was a "stunner" for Nancy.
HIer music contemned, and deprecated, even!
- for the man had no desire to offend her.
Alas! that our vanity is so vulnerable that anybody can outrage it. But she rallied, grew
spunky, and, woman-like, continued her position at the window, and sung louder, shriller
and( long(er, than ever, and fairly compelled the
man to change his locality.
139 
CHAPTER VIII.
DRESS. - WHAT IS BECOHING AND ATTRACTIVE. -THE GIRLS AT
THIE COUNTRY TAVERN.
GOOD taste is based usually upon good sense,
or a perception of what is fit and appropriate
in dress to the circumstances and position of
the wearer, although it must be confessed
that multitudes of quite sensible people display,
in their tawdry and ill-chosen habiliments,
the entire absence of all taste or sense of propriety. Yet, as the standard of taste is by no
means a settled matter, a few general rules,
the correctness of which will not be questioned,
will be all that is necessary here. As expensive houses, rich furniture and showy equipage
belong, or should belong, exclusively to the
rich, so should feathers, flowers, laces, and the
expensive superfluities of dress. Rich jewelry,
fine laces, and costly feathers, we know you
cannot have honestly; and the cheap imita 
LOVE OF ORNAMENT.
tions within your slender means to buy, are
not worth even  the trifle they cost.  They
are evidence only of a tawdry and vulgar
taste.
Remember this: that the attempt of a serving woman or girl to dress in a showy style,
marks her out at once to the hawk-eyed
libertine as vain and weak, fond of show, and,
of course, desirous to increase her means of
gratifying her love of ornament, regardless
of the proprieties belonging to her station,precisely the class from whence most of his
victims are taken.
I have observed often, with pain, that girls
employed to wait upon table at hotels, and in
refreshment-houses on the railways, under the
specious pretext of making themselves "presentable" before so much company, or else,
for the more reprehensible reason of attracting
particular attention, are very much given to
huge ear ornaments, finger-rings, curls, braids
flounces, &c.   This is simply detestable, and
should cause their mothers to blush for them.
Their absurd vanity in this respect has occasioned many coarse and brutal jests about
"tavern-girls,"  and  " railroad-girls,"  that
141 
TWO WAYS TO BE ATTRACTIVE.
would frighten them to hear. Remember, again,
that the man whose admiration is attracted by
the "fix-up"  of a waiting-girl, is either a
knave or a fool. The only means by which a
girl, in such a situation, can attract the notice
of a worthy man, are perfect modesty, and
obligingness in manners, and perfect neatness
and simplicity in dress. Avoid, then, large
figures and brilliant colors. If you have a
good figure, in no way can you make the most
of it so certainly as by a well-fitted, plain
dress, of some simple color, with close sleeves,
and the waist buttoning close up in the neck.
There are two modes of being "attractive,"
which every woman, of whatever position or
degree, would do well to heed. One is to
blaze out in more shades and combinations of
color than a flower-gardener ever dreamed
of -flashing with the glitter of jewelry, and
exhaling musk at every motion of her mincing
and affected gait, and drawing, most certainly,
all eyes after her, but only in pity or suspicion.
The other is to observe all the sweet proprieties
of womanly reserve and modesty, dressing
neatly, not overloading the beautiful female
figure with flounces and furbelows; but, in
142 
WHAT IS BECOMING.
dress, and behavior, and conversation, at all
times and in all places, being natural, unaffected, sincere and amiable.
Try to distinguish the proper time for wearing your best. It is not when waiting upon
your mistress' company, for then you should
avoid observation. It is not when sent upon
an errand to a neighbor's house, or to a shop,
that you should stop to adorn yourself. A
calico dress, if not dirty or ragged, -and you
never should wear such, -and a tidy sun bonnet, or hood, if in winter, is the more proper
attire. Who cannot see the absurdity of a
girl's donning her best, marching across the
street, and ringing at the front door, to
borrow a brass kettle?- and yet many girls
are unreflecting enough to do things quite as
foolish, if not very like it. But, upon holydays,
when associating with your companions, or at
any little frolic or gathering of your own, it is
as proper for you t6 put on your extra bows
and ribbons, as for your mistress to " prink"
for her party.
Never mortify or amuse the young ladies of
the family, by copying their style of dressing
the hair, the jaunty air of wearing their bon
143 
144  DRESS ACCORDING TO YOUR WORK.
nets, or their style of dress, as to color, trimming, &c. A velvet basque, trimmed with
honiton, and worn with a rich brocade skirt,
may be very handsome for your mistress; but
you must have the good sense to know that a
cotton velvet, trimmed with cotton lace, and
worn with a coarse thibet, or flimsy silk, can
have no beauty, and must necessarily expose
you as a fair mark for the mirth and witty jest
of those who observe the imitation. Long curls,
elaborate braids, and great puffs, are equally
objectionable, as marks of inherent vanity and
useless employment of your time.
A well-to-do young man, whom it might be
an object for you to marry, could never be attracted by flimsy outside show, and would
reason, at once, that a girl, who spent her time
and wages upon her person, could be no helpmeet, but would, in like manner, spend his
little fund for empty nothings, and worse than
useless show. You will observe that ladies of
small means, but good taste, dress scrupulously
with regard to attracting as little observation as
possible; and this is the true way, and a good
and safe rule for you to follow.
Dress according to your work. A nursery 
DRESS ACCORDING TO YOUR WORK. 145
maid, while in the nursery, should avoid wearing black, or such dark colors as crock or soil
a n infant's    dress; or coarse, harsh fabrics, uncomfortable to their tender skins.   Calico and
lavwns for sumimner, and very soft, if woollen
material,  should be worn in winter.  Chambermaids should wear only such material as will
not catch the lint or down, always wearing a
clean apron, to protect the bed-linen, and a
cap, t     o  save their hair front dust.   Table-girls,
in particular, should be neat in their dress,
p,,aying  strict attention to tidiness of hair, and
cleanliness of hands and finger-nails, wearing
neither head-dress nor other ornament, except
a simple brooch to fasten a plain white collar.
Their appearance will denote whether their
object be to attract attention to themselves, or
wait       upon the table so quietly and  well as
to add to the order and respectability of the
house.     Never handle, examine,  nor try on
the jewelry, flower;, or fine things, belonging
to your mistress' or her visitors' wardrobe. It
is but a pitiful gratification of the vain desire
to see if you are equally'improved by them as
i s    the rightful wearer; besides, you not only
run the risk of seriously injuring the articles,                13 
146      GIRLS IN COUNTRY TAVERNS.
as Mrs. Martin's girls did, -but the mnore fear ful risk of so exciting your covetousness as to
be tempted to steal them!  Never,  as you
value your good name, harbor such a thought
in your mind for an instant.  "Touch not,
handle not."
Girls in country taverns are oftenest guilty
of the provoking habit of" trying on" articles
of dress belonging to the guests of the house.
Delighted with a new fashion in a bonnet or
outside garment, no sooner is the lady out of
sight, than one of these girls, who has been on
tiptoe for the chance, slips on the coveted
articles, one by one, to see if "fine feathers"
will make a fine bird of her.
I remember a little experience of my own
in this species of intolerable impertinence:
While on my wedding-journey, we were
resting for an hour or two at a country tavern.
In my absence from the sitting-room, the broadshouldered, buxom waiting-girl, who helped me
off with my things, took that opportunity to
stretch my gloves on to her broad hands, press
my neat bonnet over her foolish head;  and
even my trim little polka jacket was partly
strained over her huge arms, till a sudden rent 
TRYING ON. -TWO PICTURES.
prevented her from completing the operation.
On getting ready to resume our journey, I discovered that my three outside articles of dress,
most necessary to keep unsoiled and presentable, were about ruined. You can judge of
my vexation; but the girl who perpetrated the
mischief was nowhere to be found -not she!
If an over-dressed  serving-woman is an
object of ridicule, so is a slatternly girl, who
goes about the house with frousy hair, half
hanging down her back, dress dirty and ragged, hooks and eyes missing, and the gaps
yawning, with the display of a piece of bare
back, and a strip of dirty under-garment; petticoats festooning about her slip-shod heelsan object of positive disgust; and the picture
is not overdrawn.
A neat, careful, modest and amiable girl is
an ornament to any genteel family, and the
praise of all who know her. A slatternly,
hoydenish, impertinent one is a disgrace to
herself and parents, and a reproach to the
family who employ her.
147 
CHIAPTER IX.
TO NURSERY-MAIDS, AND MOTHERS.
A DEGREE of responsibility is attached to the
employment of nurse, greater than to that of
any other class of domestics. Upon your faithfulness and tender consideration for the comfort, cleanliness, and happiness of the helpless
and innocent little beings committed to your
charge, depend more hopes and fears than
should be lightly assumed; a mother's devoted
love, a father's heart-hopes - even the issues
of life and death. Not only is the mere comfort of young infants entrusted to you, but you
are responsible also for the influence which
you must necessarily exert upon the dawning
intellect and imagination of those who are beginning to exercise the precious gifts of reason
with which God has endowed them.  The consideration that your actions, manners and language, may, and probably will, have a most 
TO NURSERY-MAIDS.
marked effect upon the future character of the
children committed to your care, should always
be present in your mind, and induce the utmost
watchfulness over yourself, that you may always be gentle, obliging, truthful and earnest,
in their presence.   Let no love of ease come
between you and them, no weariness of body
tempt you to harshness, no provocation whatever impel you to lift your hand against them.
Amiability of temper, unwearying patience,
and a strong love for children, are imperative
requisites in a nurse. Gentle manners, a pleasant voice, and cheerful, playful ways, are
desirable; good principles, straightforward
dealings, and a truthfulness that defies all suspicion and temptation, an absolute necessity.
3lodesty, cleanliness, and a mother's watchfulness, follow in the list of virtues; a tender,
soothing, sympathizing spirit is equally to be
desired.
The health of a child depends so much upon
the constant attention of its nurse, that too
much cannot be said upon the subject. Many
a little grave can be pointed out as a memento of a nurse's carelessness; many a lifelong infirmity, a limping gait, or distorted
13*
149 
TO NURSERY-MAIDS,
form, be laid to a fall from the nurse's arms;
many a torturing disease, the result of her mismnanagement; many a crooked temper, perverse disposition, and lying, vicious habit, be
traced to a nurse's example.   0, mothers!
will you trust your darlings to such as these?
To a good nurse, her little charges are as
her owvn children; her responsibility greater,
for she is answerable to another. Fearing to
trust her own judgment, she seeks the advice
of the mother, and closely follows her counsels. Her study is the health and pleasure of
the little ones; her greatest delight, their happiness and improvement. With soothing voice
she can hush the fretful, teething infant into
quiet sleep; and, with pretty songs, and funny
tales, keep quiet the most uproarious, disappointed child. She can mend a dolly's broken
arm, replace its tattered garment, wash and
iron its bedraggled frock, make good as new
the unglued chairs and tables that belong to
dolly's outfit, tie on the never-suiting whiplash, set upright the forever-upsetting ponycarts, harness and unharness, tie up and untie,
the never-stay-stabled broom-stick horse, with
150 
AND MOTHERS.
a patience God gave her on purpose for the
care of little children.
A good nurse knows that baby will have the
colic, and kick, and screamn, and turn all purple in the face, in spite of catnip tea, or a
mother's " What is it, my poor'little baby?"
- or her own weariness and sleepiness; have
it, too, just at bed-time, when she is counting
upon a good night's rest. But baby must be
softly rubbed, and coaxed into ease; and skilful hands soon cure such baby aches.
Baby soon wants t9 be amused. Tired of
looking at and admiring its tiny hands and feet,
a few bright-colored ribbons, tied to the bellrope tassel, and sometimes made to swing, are a
week's wonderment and delight. Next come
nurse's eyes -  the little fingers stiffen, and
take unerring aimn; or the nose, and hair, and
the pertinacious grip brings tears to the eyes.
Baby disdains the silk-linled basket, and prefers nurse's arms. Now come baby-dangers
thick and fast. Sharp needles, scratching pins,
on nurse's waist, inflict long marks on baby's
arms and face-  a bright and tempting brooch
makes deeper wvound. Little heads bob to
bump themselves through every open door;
151 
TO NURSERY-MAIDS,
little fingers ache to burn themselves in every
pretty flame. Baby rolls, and springs, and
tumbles on your lap, and giggles as you catch
him by one ticklish foot. Baby at length can
sit alone. Don't leave him, or he will stiffen
back and scream, or fall between the pillows,
and biump his precious nose.  If he sits too
long,, he will have a crooked spine.  If he
don't sit at all, he will never learn to creep.
He makes straight for the grate - look out for
the sp(arks! and 0, the siharp corners all round
the room!- why don't they round them off
on furniture for babies' use? Now he can
walk. Look out for bumps all " black and
blue."   Look out for fingers pinched in the
door.  Look  out for sharp things that can put
out his eyes.   Look  out for round things he
can get in his throat.   Undler the table, under
the sofa, up in the chairs, at every open window, making at zigzag for every open door and
stairway, hie is everywhere but where he should
be, atnd you must be nimble to save him from
harm.
Strong draughts of air give children colds
close air makes them pale and feeble; a long
walk tires them; want of exercise makes them
152 
AND MOTIIERS.
dull and stupid.  0, you must be "wise as
serpents and harmless as doves," if you would
preserve them from the thousand ills that lie
in wait for them!
Never leave children asleep out of hearing.
Croup comes suddenly; and they may be past
help before you are aware of their danger.
Never leave them any length of time alone in
a room; they are ingenious in getting into
mischief and danger. I have known nurses,
and even mothers, to put their little ones in
bed, and go out to spend the evening at a
neighbor's. Whoever is guilty of such a practice deserves to be stigmatized as heedless,
unfeeling, and unnatural.  Never leave medicine, however simple, within their reach.
Never slight their little aches and complaints;
they may be more serious than you suppose.
Chicken-pox, measles, whooping-cough, and
scarletina, lurk in every by-way, ready to fall
upon them.
Never tell them other than pleasant stories;
their childish sympathies are too easily aroused
to be lightly excited.  Never, as you value
your soul, tell them aught that is frightful.  I
would sooner cut off my right hand, than child
153 
TO NURSERY-MAIDS,
of mine should suffer as I suffered fromn infantine fears, conjured up by threats of the nurse
that I should be put "in the dark."   Unless
a child is frightened into a fear of the dark by
the monstrous insinuations of the nurse, or
other children, it would never dream of apprehension.   I would dismiss the  most skilful
nurse in the country for a single intentional
offence of frightening a child. I rank it almost.
first in the enormities of nursery crimes.  The
infliction of blows by a nurse, inexcusable as
it should be held, is nothing to it. A cowardice may be the result, which will last through
life, to the shame and annoyance of the victim.
It may bring on a nervousness which may be a
serious injury to the health of the child. Never
even manifest the fear you may yourself feel.
Fear is contagious.  If you scream at a mouse,
the child may never afterwards look upon it
but as an object of terror.  If you tremble and
turn pale in a thunder-storm, the child will
grow up with the same infirmity. A simple
question, " Are you afraid?" will be sure to
suggest all sorts of fancies.  Start at strange
sounds and noises, and undefined alarm seizes
upon the little one, who will cling to you for
154 
AND MOTHERS.
protection.   Thoughtless  and  inconsiderate
nurses have been known to frighten children
for the mere purpose of having them thus cling
to them; forgetting the after inconvenience to
themselves of the child's fearing to have them
out of their sight. This evil is less now than
in former times; for mothers make it an imperative rule that the children must not in any
way be frightened.
Take a child into the kitchen as seldom as
possible.   It is not the place for children;
and, while there, they are in constant danger
of scalds and burns. Never bribe them, by
givings food or bonbons forbidden by their
nmother. Never, when you take them for their
daily airing, carry them to the residence of
your friends, or, indeed, into any place or
dwelling without permission.   And never be
guilty of the wretched trick of taking the child
of Protestant parents to your priest - if you
are a Catholic -to be christened. It is a gross
piece of treachery and deceit; but has been
knowin to be done.  As you value the happiness and reputation of the children in after
life, never teach them deceit, concealment, or
falsehood.
155 
TO NURSERY-MAIDS,
Never seek the situation of nurse, unless
you are willing to subject yourself to the closest
oversight of a watchful  mother.   Slight  not
her admonitions.   Do not try to shut her from
the nursery, because the children cry after her,
and are more troublesome for her coming. Do
inot be jealous of their love for papa and mamma. Always see that they are clean and presentztble before sending them down to the parlor.  Do not let them be troubled and fretted
with tight dresses, or starched seams in dress,
or apron-sleeves that chafe their tender flesh.
Children must be made comfortable to be
happy and good-natured. Do not spoil their
little limbs by gartering, up their stockings.  A
loop upon the stocking, and a tape upon the
waist, to which the drawers are buttoned,
answver every purpose, and leave the leg free
from pressure.   If they sleep with you, place
them so that you will not breathe in their faces.
iNever lie with your arm over them; its weight
is crushing to their slender frames.   Be sure
to open your window every morning to air the
room; improving some time when the children
are absent, if it is cold or damp.  HIealth, and
even beauty, depend upon the observance of
156 
AND MOTHERS.
this rule.  Close and stifled air makes you and
thein languid, heavy and uncomfortable, the
complexion sallow,  and may lead to a train
of evils.  Do not have the playthings always
about under foot; but, when not in use, place
thern safely in some drawer or corner.   When
you dress or undress a child, do not throw the
cast-off garments indiscriminately on the floor,
or on the chairs; but fold them up neatly, and
arrange them so that, when again wanted, each
article, in its order, will be at hand; and the
same with their outside garments, upon their
return from their airing. The clothes are thus
preserved from injury; and the children will
be taught neat and orderly habits -a most
important point in their education.
Move very gently, with an infant in your
arms. Always open the door as though sure
a child were behind it, instead of rushing in,
and, perhaps, giving a severe blow. Never
leave them a moment in a position where danger can befall them. Do not be in haste to
learn them to walk, while their limbs are yet
too weak to sustain their weight easily; or
urge them at any time beyond their strength.
The practice of giving opiates is too abomi               14
157 
TO NURSERY-MAIDS.
nable, almost, to mention.   But many wicked
nurses have been detected in this outrageous
trifling with the lives and healths of innocent
infants, to procure a little rest for themselves;
and it is my duty to warn you solemnly of consequences that may be dreadful to the child
and its parents, and the utter wreck of your
reputation, besides the liability to the severe
penalties of the law.
158 
CHlAPTER X.
TO BOYS AND MEN-SERVANTS. - THE LAWYER AND THE DOCTOR. -
STONE WALL BY THE DAY AND BY THE JOB.- MR. WETHERBEE'S
MEN.-  JACK KEYES, TIM DOOLITTLE, ETC. - CONCISE DIREC TIONS.
IN her "Friendly Advice," the author has
addressed herself mainly to maid-servants, for
the reason that she has been brought more into
contact with them, and made to realize what
erroneous views were entertained by many, if not
most of them, and how much they needed the
word of remonstrance and advice which she
has volunteered in their behalf. But she has
also had her experience and her trials with
men-servants; and what she has to say to then
will be " Plain Talk" indeed, for they need it
no less than the others, and as they are the
stronger sex, so the good or evil predominating
in their natures is generally more marked and
emphatic. 
SELLING YOUR TIME.
Much of what I have already written will
apply to you. In the illustrations and anec dotes related, you may see your owvn faults and
follies, and how they should be amended. But
I must allude to characteristics peculiar to you
as a class, and show how a servant even may
and ought to be gentlemanly in his manners,
at least not rude and uncouth; how he should
be patient, helpful, obliging and considerate,
and that his own interests are promoted thereby, while, at the same time, he is yielding up
no part of his "rights," nor compromising his
fancied dignity.
Whether in the city or country, when you
engage as servant, for the consideration of a
certain sum per month or year, it is a sale of
your time and services for that amount; and
as you expect your money according to contract, on the part of your employer, so he also
has a right to expect your time - all your
time, during working hours- and whatever
skill or ability you possess, to be devoted to
his interests.  This is virtually the bargain
between the parties; and how can you have
the assurance to walk up and call for your
pay-every dollar- when you are conscious
160 
FAITHLESSNESS.
that you have idled away the time you sold to
him; have pretended to be very busy when
he was about, and dropped all the moment his
back was turned; have shirked skilfully out
of doing this, that and the other job, that was
a part of your business; have shown so much
reluctance to be called upon for odd jobs, or
casual help; have frowned, or grumbled, or
raised so many petty difficulties, that any of
the family would rather leave the matter undone, or do it themselves, than ask you to do
it; in short, have not performed your duty in
an hon.est and fithful manner?
I do not say yott have been thus faithless
and dishonest, but I do say it describes accurately the conduct of scores of idle, worthless
and unprofitable men-servants.   The honest
and faithllfuil-those who live up to the letter
and spirit of their contract-owe  it to themselves to assist in exposing and condemning
the class we have described.   They should
unite to render such fraudulent short-comings
discreditable.  This almost general unfaithfulness of servants it is that causes an honest,
willing and conscientious one to be so highly
prized and esteemed.
14*
161 
YOUR LAWYER.
In every situation in life, in all mechanical, mercantile, or professional employments,
fair and honest dealing and obliging manners
are sure of appreciation and reward, and is
the avowed rule among men. If you were to
employ a carpenter by the day to build you a
house, and he should spin out the time, and be
twice as long about it as would be necessary
if he were diligent and faithful, you would
very properly consider yourself cheated, and
remonstrate, perhaps, against the fraud. You
would not employ him again, and would be
very likely to give him a bad name among
your acquaintance. Loss of employment would
be his appropriate punishment. If you should
employ an attorney to collect a just debt for
you, and, through his neglect and inattention,
your claim should be lost, you would have
a poor opinion of that lawyer's business qualifications, and consider him, in equity, answerable to you for the loss.   TIe was your servant, paid by you to attend to your business
professionally, and, yet, was so careless and
idle, as perhaps to suffer a nonsuit, moved for
by the alert lawyer "on the other side."
Why! you would be mightily indignant, and
162 
YOUR DOCTOR.
behind his back, if not to his face, call him a
blockhead or a knave, and, forever after, so
far as your business was concerned, or your
influence extended, he might as well pull
down his sign, and quit the profession. The
"cverdict" would be, Served him right.
Now, then, won't you be good enough to
explain, to the satisfaction of your own conscience, how the principle is different in your
case, as a hired servant in a family or any other
capacity?
You are sick, and you send for a doctor. While he is looking at your tongue and
feeling your pulse, you say to him, " Doctor,
I depend upon you. I will follow your directions, and pay you promptly, but I cannot
afford to be sick.   Cure me as soon as you
can. "
The doctor considers; looks grave; shakes
his head; don't say much; leaves you sundry
powders and drops, to be taken alternately,
once in four hours, and leaves you for that day
with a depressing apprehension on your mind
that you are to have a siege of it.  So, indeed,
you do. You are kept to your bed long enough
for an army to take any walled city except
163 
YOUR DOCTOR.
Sebastopol.   You  grow weaker and  more
weak,  till you  begin to think your case is
hopeless.  Your friends talk in whispers, and
go about the room on tiptoe.  The doctor is
very regular in his attendance, visits you twice
a day, and continues to look grave down to a
certain stage of exhaustion  and debilitythen suddenly changes the tactics; smiles, pronounces you better; says you had a very narrow escape, but will get along now; never
had a case he has had to watch so close before;
ought to have been sent for sooner; congratulates you, and jokes the nurse. Then, indeed,
you are yourself again, and would be apt to
attribute your recovery entirely to the skill of
your worthy doctor, if your shrewd,  longheaded old neighbor had n't told you, in confidence, six weeks afterwards, that all you
needed in the first attack was an active cathartic, to carry off an excess of bile, which would
have cured you in two days, at farthest; that
he has several times been taken precisely that
way himself, but simply stops eating, takes a
dose of pills, and gets well directly.
After paying the bill, you give that doctor
a wide berth thenceforth.
164 
STONE WALL.
Popular belief ascribes to now and then a
professor of the healing art tricks like the one
described; but I am happy to record it as my
undoubting conviction that no men are more
faithful, self-sacrificing, and devoted to good
works, than the great body of the medical
profession. But, supposing you to have fallen
into such hands, and been defrauded, body and
purse, in that manner, you would have no
more right to complain, than a neighbor of
mine had, who hired a man to build some stone
wall. The man was accustomed to such work,
and was to do the job at four dollars a day for
himself, son and oxen. On the third day the
gentleman went out to see his stone wall, supposing it was finished. It was but just commenced. Coming unexpectedly upon them,
he found the cattle quietly chewing the cud
the young man was turning some small stones
in an indolent manner, while the jobber himself was comfortably smoking his pipe in the
shade of a tree.
Seeing at a glance the kind of man he had to
deal with, he took out his pocket-book, and insisted upon paying for the time thus spent, fulfilling his part of the contract with more than
165 
166    BY THE JOB, AND BY THE ROD.
justice. Overwhelmed with shame, the laborer
begged to be allowed to complete the job, making all sorts of excuses for the little progress
that had been made. By way of experiment
a new contract was made with him. The work
was to be done "by the rod."
On his way home, as my friend reached the
top of the hill, he turned in his saddle, and
smiled grimly, to observe new life and activity
infused into man and boy.  The cattle, too,
were bending to the work, as though in the
midst of haying, with a thunder-storm in the
horizon. The next night the man came up to
the office, wiping the perspiration from his
face, and, with the air of a man who had
done a most meritorious thing, signified his
readiness to "settle" again for the job, by
the rod, which had been once paid for by the
day.
Words are wanting, to express the disgust
which every honorable mind must feel at the
exhibition of such shameful dishonesty.
A gentleman living in my neighborhood
related to me, a few days since, his experience
with the eight or ten different men he had
employed. I find it so exactly adapted to my 
MR. WETHERBEE'S MEN.
purpose, that I shall transcribe a portion of it
here.   If the characters  described  are  not
recognized by those whom they represent, as
their twin-brothers, or counterparts, then it
were waste of time to attempt to benefit them.
MR. WETHERBEE'S MEN.
"IIy first servant," said Mr. W.,  "after
setting up my establishment, was an honest,
hard-working and intelligent youth, Jack
Keyes by name.  I had seen and noticed his
industry, and how little thought he had for
sparing himself, or shirking his work, while
he hired by the day. I engaged hint for a
year, and he set about his work in such a systematic and downright way, that showed he
would wear well, and could be trusted. He
not only comprehended, when a process was
explained to him, but he had a knack of his
own in turning off work in the quickest and
handiest manner.   He was a true worker;
laboring quite as steadily when I was absent
as when I was present.   ie never dreaded or
postponed a piece of work; but seemed to
adopt the motto,
' Once begun, half done;'
167 
JACK KEYES.
and he would make a commencement at once,
nor leave working at it continuously till finished.
In this way he accomplished a great deal of
work; more than double that of some men
whom I have paid higher wages. He had
some  constructive ability, and could repair
broken vehicles and tools; and, on rainy days,
was profitably occupied in this way, with a
good set of carpenter's tools which I had purchased. It was, in his hands, a good investmenit.  I frequently used to test his skill by
asking him if he could make or mnendcl something which I knew would require somre knowledge of mechanism, and he never failed to try;
and, although some of his jobs were a little
clumsy, his tinkering was  always serviceable.
I could trust his judgment in making purchases
of seeds, plants, provender, or implements, and
to hire help when more was needed; and I
could trust his honesty in the disbursement of
funds, collecting bills, &c.
"At the end of the year I was very glad to
find he was willing to engage for another year;
which he entered upon with the same alacrity
and readiness that he would have done if hired
for a single hour; and that, too, without ask
168 
JACK GOES WEST.
ing for anl increase of wages. In short, Jack
was an uncommon character, as I have since
learned by comparison.
"Towards the end of his last year he was
taken ill with a low fever, which prostrated
him for some weeks.   Good care was taken of
him;  and when he began to rally again, and
regain his strength, thinking a journey would
be an advantage to him, I sent him to a distant state, on business. Though he had never
travelled, he started the next day, with a valuable span of horses and a carriage, drove to
Troy, got his team safely aboard a canal-boat,
went with it to Buffalo, transferred it to a
steamboat bound to one of the lake cities;
and thence, resuming his seat, drove some
hundred miles into the interior, delivered the
span and carriage in good condition; and returned to me in fine health, and without having
made the least mistake, or committed the
slightest error. Hle was only eighteen years
of age; and had enjoyed little, if any, advantag,es of education.   This I thought quite a
feat for a boy in his circumstances.
"Jack had one fault.  Hle was passionate.
HIis anger was easily roused against the horses
15
169 
ONE BAD FAULT.
and cow, and then he would beat and thrash
them like a madman. I had several times surprised him in a paroxysm of rage with a restive
cow, or with my mare, which he had frightened so badly that she had acquired some
unpleasant tricks. This was a very serious
fault, for I can forgive many things more
readily than fractiousness with animals.  Ninety-nine times in a hundred the cause of offence
is imaginary, or is the fault of the man.
"My gentle pet of a cow had no thought of
harm when she switched her tail; but Jack
would yell at her, when, of course, she would
jump, from fright; away would go the pail
of milk, and then Jack's fury would be
past words.   Passing by the stable-door one
morning, I heard a sharp blow, followed by
the flying pail out of the door, with a stream
of milk in train, bearing no mean resemblance
to a comet in the'milky way.'  I looked in,
and inquired what the trouble was.
"' Blast her bones!' said Jack, who was
livid with passion,'she kicks worse than a
drove of mules.'
"' Jack, bring me the pail.'
"l Ie brought it, and stood by to see how the
170 
TIM DOOLITTLE.
cow would serve me; but he was completely
crest-fallen to observe that, with a few soothing words and gentle pats, the cow was immnediately quieted, and did not move a muscle
while I finished the milking.
"The lesson was not lost upon him, and I
heard of no more difficulty with the cow; but
it was more than a year after Jack left before I
cured my spirited mare of the tricks acquired
under his management.
"Jack is now freight-master upon an important line of railroad, with a handsome salary:
a promotion well merited for his many valuable
qualities.
"Tim Doolittle succeeded Jack. Tim was a
married man, and lodged at home. I congratulated myself that I had secured a steady,
reliable and industrious man. But appearances are deceitful.  I made no doubt of his
honesty; but his practice belied his countenance. I certainly supposed him to be civil
and respectful; but he was presumptuous and
insolent. Ile was a Yankee; but a poor specimen. Tim could work; but it was contrary
to his inclinations.  He devised all manner of
shifts to slight the work, half do it, or get
171 
TIM AT HIS MEALS.
rid of it altogether.' Puttering' expresses
his daily doings in a word. IIe had the greatest number of errands to do down town of any
man on the street.  He was fertile in excuses
and expedients. Hle would consume the entire
day oiling a harness, and half a day getting a
horse shod.
"When he sat down to his meals, Tim was
there! It was a study to notice the deliberate
calculation of the fellow to consume time, as
well as eatables. Spreading his handkerchief
over his lap carefully, he would draw up, and
take an inventory of the viands. Then, slowly
pouring out a tumbler of water, he quaffed it
leisurely; then, wiping his mouth, and respreading his handkerchief, he was ready to
commence the preparation of his meal, which
usually occupied some minutes, and consisted
in getting everything all ready in a bettyish
way, while doing which most men would have
dined.  Hie then gravely drank another glass
of water, and commenced the business of mastication and deglutition, which he was careful
to perform in a manner so slow and sure that
choking could not endanger his health.
"I hope you won't think I mention this
172 
KNEW HOW TO SHIRK.
peculiarity of Tim's because. I grudged him
any amount of dinner he might desire; but it
is a positive fact," said MAr.., "that fellow
has been known to be an hour and a quarter
over his meal, simply to avoid work of a less
agreeable kind in the mean time.
"Itie was also continually begging or stealing; -it made little difference which, as his
wife and children were mainly supplied in one
way or the other while he staid with me. HIe was
cunning, as all such weasel natures are; and,
although suspected, could not easily be tracked.
"For precisely so long as I was overlooking
him, or was in sight, he was diligent; but he
knew, by instinct, whether I was in the house
or down in the village, and exactly how long
I should be gone; which enabled him to judge
if he could go home and back before I returned, or how long a chat he could have with
the neighbor's hired man, forty rods above.
Ile made it always apparent to me that he was
at work; but the progress of the work told the
story of his'masterly inactivity.'  By mystifying him with a little of his own cunning, I
saw his foxy manoeuvres with my own eyes,
and faced him at last, with the result of my
15*
173 
McNOREE.
investigations, into his methods of dodging,
skulking and doubling. At first, taken by
surprise, he began to bluster and deny; but I
gave him the times and occasions with such
minuteness that he was silenced.  i-e was at
once dismissed; and has been dodging, skulking, doubling and cheating, in the same despicable way, ever since.
"Tim is a temperate man, and a churchgoer, maintains a respectable sort of deportment, and would be astonished and indignant
if his good name were called in question by his
neighbors, with whom he wishes to stand well.
But such respectable craftiness and duplicity
is as base as picking pockets, and as well
deserves a stone cell, and prison regulations.
'Good morning to yer'oner!' said McNoree, a huge Irishman, with a face puckered
up like a baked apple;' I ondherstand yer
'oner wants to hire a gardener.'
"Mac and I soon concluded a bargain.  lIe
said he could do any kind of work, but gardening, especially.   So to the garden he went.
Mac stood at the gate, with his big hands deep
down in his big pockets, for five minutes, contemplating the primitive and uncivilized con
174 
LAYING OUT A GAPRDEN.
dition of my garden, and calculating its capabilities.
c' I can mnake that the finest garden in the
country,' said he.
"' I hope you will,' said I.
"' But it's all wrong now, entirely,' said
he.
' Makle it right, Alac,' sai;d I.
"' And shall I do as I plaze?' queried he.
"' Anything in reason, Mac,' said I;' but
remember thIat I an not a lord, owning half a
county, with some odd millions of pounds surplus -only a Yankee man, MaIlc, with modelrate means.'
MAlac considered that all blarrney, as I
could see; but he went at the garden. iHe
was a fortnight laying out the grounds, stretchilig, lines here and there, sighting and squinting
up  and down  his projected walks,  making
great curves, angles, and tangents, and designating by stakes the localities for several sumi ler-houses, and a miniature fish-pond.  hIis
designis began to take shape, at length, on a
stupendous scale, considering the size of the
ground.   Mean time thle season was wearing
on, and no seeds planted.  I suggested to him
175 
176    ILIGANT WALKS AND FLOWERS.
that nice walks and elegant borders were all
very well, but we  should like to see some
prospect for vegetables.
'And, indade, what signifies a few vege tables, more or less, for wan year?' said he
'I want to make it like a jintleman's grounds
in the ould country.'
"But,' said I,' the walks in width are
out of proportion to the size of the lot.'
"'No, indade!- for the credit of the place,
the walks sure ought to be wide enough for a
coach-and-four to go all about in, and so that
a whole party of ladies and jintlemnen could
walk around it widout crowdin'; and the borders and all should be filled with flowering
shrubs and iiigant flowvers, and faith I'11 make
it a place ye'11 never be ashamed to bring
your friends to see.  Vegetables, indeed!they can be grown in the field.'
c But I could not (devote thle whole to' iligant walks anl flowers, so we effected a cornpromise.  le was to get in the seeds, and
any spare time he mightt have could be given
to the art of ornamentation.
"Alac was really an industrious and worthy
man, honest and conscientious, working from 
THE MAN FOR A MILLIONNAIRE.
sunrise till dusk in the evening; but his gift
was in laying out and adorning pleasuregrounds, for which he had a nice eye, and was
minutely exact, often throwing down, digging
all over, and laying off several times over before it suited. In the grounds of a millionnaire
he would have been invaluable. Ihis ideas of
walks and drives were, however, on a scale
entirely beyond my village lot and moderate
means. The usual esculents and relishes of
a kitchen-garden he considered fit only to be
grown in the open field, and the care of them
was a very humble branch of his profession.
By dint, however, of perseverance on my part,
I succeeded in getting the useful vegetables
growing; while in five months' time he had got
the general plan and outline of a garden
finished to his mind, considering the limited
space. I went into a calculation, that, if it
required so long to elaborate a plan, it would
take at least five years of Alac's time to
carry out its details to completion.  Besides,
Mac knew nothing else.  The first time he un dertook to unharness my horse, he finally dis encumbered the animal by reducing the har ness to its primary condition of straps merely.
177 
MAHONEY.
"I settled amicably with Mac, explaining to
him that there was actually a limit to my fortune, and that his genius could not have fair
play with such circumscribed means as were
at my disposal, and advised him to seek a situation in the suburbs of the city.
"Mahoney was another Irishman, and, I have
no doubt, he was cradled in infancy on the famous blarney-stone of the'Green Isle.' For
an excuse or a plausible explanation he never
was at a loss an instant. He was the most
obliging, politest and civilest man anywhere
about, always straightening up with a prompt
' Sur-r-r!' if called; and, if his professions
were to be believed, he was ready to be offered
up as a sacrifice, for the accommodation of any
one of the family, at a moment's notice.
" His first day's work, for the amount accomplished by dint of bone and muscle, was
enormous-too much, in fact.  Hie overdid
the thing quite, and I knew he was not going
to hold out at that gait. So, indeed, it proved;
but he remitted nothing of his politeness and
civility.  These were his weapons of defence.
Ilis inexhaustible good nature, his ready
compliance with every wish, and the certainty
178 
AN EYE-SERVANT.
with which he was going to do it, gained him
credit for good intentions long after we found
hle could not be relied upon.   Then the way
he could amuse the children! For their sakes
he iwas only too willing to leave his work, and,
at their request, if not interfered with, he
would play with them half a day at a time.
I-e was worth good wages in the nursery.
"I Like Tint Doolittle he was an eye-servant,
exceedingly industrious before my face, and a
putterer at all other times.  His good-nature
.and civil manners shielded him  for months
after I was satisfied as to his true character; and
the dear children so followed after and cried for
' Mahoney,' as for some time longer to prevent
his being dealt with according to his deserts.
But patience was at length exhausted, and he
left-  being civil to the last.
"Jo Brooks, number four, was a mongrel,
shabby, ill-bred varlet.   his destitution first
enlisted my commiseration, and I told him, if
he would try to do well, be sober, civil and
industrious, I would do the best I could for
him.  lIe was profuse and eager in his prom ises of good behavior. For a time he applied
himself diligently, and I tried to encourage
179 
JO BROOIS.
him by a small present in the sway of clothing.
From this circumstance, I think, he presumed
upon my easy disposition.  I-e seemed to be
changed at once. From an obsequious depend ant, he became an independent young fellow,
who could take care of himnself, and no favors
:sked.  lie began to neglect his work, and
play the bea-n amnong the girls in the kitchen.
He grew bolder rapidly, and would prowl into
thie pantries, like a vagrant tom-cat, and carry
cif whole pies and pockets-full of doughnuts.
The next step was to slip out, after the house
was quiet for the night, take a horse from the
stable, and scour off on some fool's errand.
In short, Jo was cut adrift, to float about the
world amongost thie flood-wood and rubbish, a
thoriough-going vagabond(, graceless and incurable.
"Richard Powers, ai tall, straight, manly
boy of sixteen, came to me and wanted employmeLnt.  Being, in need of help, I had no
need to parley lont, with so open, ingenuous
iland  clear-headed a youthl.   From  his first
hlour's work to the last, during the two years
he remained withl me, his conduct would have
defied the closest scrutiny to discover the least
ISO 
RICHARD POWERS.
wrong. Tile was a pattern of industry, and
took pride in doing everything assigned to him
in the best manner. After his day's work was
done, his evenings were spent in close and severe study. I was not long in ascertaining that
he was a very uncommon character. iHe was
the only son of a widow, whose comfort and
happiness were his chief care. Every cent of
his wages, except enough to supply him with
text-books, and keep his dress tidy, was given
to her. It was evident, before he had been
with me a month, that he had a definite purpose in view- some position, upon gaining
which he had fixed his ambition. Yet he
kept his own counsel in that respect, though
cheerful and communicative otherwise, and
having a vein of wit and drollery that was
irresistible, when he was in the mnood.
"It was not till he had been with me more
than a year, his industry and studiousness still
unabated, that the secret came out.  With a
frank but modest confidence, he requested my
advice and assistance in procuring  him  admission into the West Point Military Academy!
I set about it at once and earnestly.   He
16
181 
tHIGH PURPOSE.
was fortunately appointed; passed his preliminary examination with credit; went through
the severe ordeal of that admirable institution
triumphantly,- of which I never entertained a
doubt, so firm and earnest was his purpose,
was appointed to his command in the army;
went to Mexico with his regiment, on the
breaking out of that war; distinguished himself in several sanguinary engagements; was
rapidly promoted, and now stands high in command, as in the estimation of the army, and
is honorably employed in the Western Territory.
"The name only, in this relation, is fictitious.
The contrast in these characters is sufficiently
suggestive, and shows the usual diversity of
disposition, and the distribution of good sense
in the proportions usually allotted to mankind.
"Richard Powers, now a lieutenant-colonel
in the United States Army, learned how to
command by learning how to obey.   li-e did
not in his youth consider it beneath his dignity
to seek employment as a servant, and faithfully
perform the duties of one; but he looked upon
his position as a stepping-stone to something
better. lIe had a noble object in view, which
182 
CONCISE DIRECTIONS.
he pursued steadily, and with no looking back
or faintheartedness, and has accomplished it.
Narrow minds, troubled with false ideas of
labor, would look back upon the menial and
laborious offices performed in their younger
days, with shame and regret; but I venture
to say that Colonel Powers - without talking
like a weak and vain old' Bounderby — yet
remembers with satisfaction and complacency
the time when he was my boy of all work."
CONCISE DIRECTIONS.
Keeping constantly in mind the general
principles of honesty and fair-dealing discussed
and enjoined in the foregoing chapters, when
you hire out your time and services, make it
your standing and fundamental rule to conform
in all things right and lawful to the wishes of
your employer. This should be the first consideration with you, and will ensure your giving
satisfaction. Be willing, always, to do things
in his way, if he takes pains to show you, even
if the result would be the same were you to
do it differently. I repeat it; conform to
his wishes, and not doggedly insist upon a way
of your own, when the doing it one way  or
183 
CONCISE DIRECTIONS.
the other can make no possible real difference
with you. Inasmuch as your time belongs to
your employer, why is it not as easy, as convenient, and as agreeable, for you to perform
the work in the exact way, and in the order
that you receive your directions, as to substitute your own plans, and reverse the time?
For instance, a hired man is told in the morning to get some ice from the ice-house, then
harness the horse, and bring home some flour
from the village, and afterwards go a mile in
another direction on an errand. The directions are very simple, and should be carried
out to the letter, and in the order in which
they are given; -  but I have had men who,
for no possible reason, unless to show their
perversity, would harness, and go on the errand
first, then to the flour-store, and lastly get the
ice; when, the fact was, I had been waiting
during all that time for the ice-  which, of
course,,was the reason for my wishing that
first attended to.  This is a very common and
a very foolish fault; and has less excuse for it
than most others which miught be mentioned.
Another exceedingly stupid error, which
men and boys are quite liable to fall into, is
184 
SUPPORTING DIGNITY.
that of being fearful that certain kinds of work
will damage their dignity; that it is "beneath
them," &c. Now, it is clear that a man is
not employed to support his dignity, or his
pride; and, if he is so sensitive in that respect,
he should by all means abandon the business,
as not adapted to his tastes.  But bear this
truth in mind: It is only the weakest and most
narrow-minded men, conscious of their insecure position in society, who are troubled about
their dignity. The late Senator, Silas Wright,
of New York, during the interval between the
sessions of Congress, when at home with his
family, used to do his own  "chores,"  and
could be seen, night and morning, milking his
cow, and feeding his pigs, at his back door;
and I never learned that his colleagues, the
honorable senators, or the people of the great
state which he represented, ever thought the
less of himn on that account.
Throw away all such notions, at once, as fit
only for the consideration of a brainless fop.
Take your place as an honest, willing servant.
In wealthy families, where a large establishment is kept up, andl several servants are
emnployed, you would have your particular duties
16I
185 
RESPECTFUL DEPORTMENT.
to perform regularly, without reference to the
duties of the others.  If such is your position,
'- whether you are coachman, footman, gardener, or body-servant, -all I need say is,
that you are expected to render a quiet,
respectful, prompt and hearty attention to
every part of your duty; to make it your ambition to excel; never to be absent without leave,
and without good excuse; always to answer
"Sir," or "Ma'am,"  when spoken to; not
to give an opinion unasked; always to stand
in the presence of any of the family; to be
thorough in your work; to be neat and clean
in your person; to be ready to assist or take
the place of a fellow-servant, if occasion
requires; never, on any consideration, get
into any quarrel or altercation with them on
or about the premises; to be strictly honest
and sober; and, in all things, study your master's interest, and how to promote the comfort
and convenience of himself and family.
Without going further into particulars, if you
follow these general directions, you cannot fail.
If you are attached to a family of more
moderate means, you are, of course, expected
to make yourself generally useful; to do any
186 
DO ANYTHING REQUIRED OF YOU.   187
thing and everything required of you; to milk
a cow, groom and harness a horse, wait on
table,  churn the  cream,  dig potatoes,  do
errands, black boots, dress fish, light fires, or
whatever else is to be done. You can do but
one thing at a time; and can as well, and
should  be as willing  to do  one thing  as
another.
You are expected to bear with patience and
equanimity the whims and caprices of your
employers. Many elderly people - and young
people also, I am sorry to say -are subject
to fits of ill-temper and spleen; and their bad
temper vents itself on the first occasion. Very
often such monomaniacs will find fault with
the very blessings of Providence, while the
humor lasts. If you are conscious of having
done your duty, and this temper is directed
against you, be not dismayed or discomnposed.
Submit silently, unless some serious fault is
unjustly laid to you, when you may respectfully ask to exculpate yourself. When the
fit is past, ameneds will be made to you, and
your discretion will be appreciated. If you
are decidedly ill-used, all you have to do is to
ask your discharge. But never gossip with 
HOTEL SERVANTS.
fellow-servants or neighbors over the failings
or infirmities of the family you are, or have
been, employed by. If, by chance, you have
witnessed family scenes of an unpleasant nature, as a member of the family, honor should
forever seal your lips. Incredible mischief to
the peace and reputation of excellent families
has been done by the indiscretion of servants;
who, for the poor pleasure of appearing to
know all the affairs of the family, have undertaken to give a full version, supplying all
blanks with a ready invention, when they were
wholly ignorant of all the attending circumstances, and reasons for matters which to them
were mysterious and unaccountable.
HOTEL SERVANTS.
IHotel-keepers, who understand their business, will, of course, instruct their servants
carefully and minutely in every part of their
duty.   It is their interest to do so, in order
that their house may compete successfully with
others, and satisfy the reasonable demands of
the public. But there are many landlords
who have but little faculty for the business;
are themselves ignorant or heedless of the
188 
TREATMENT OF GUESTS.
civility and attention due to guests, or lack
experience in the capacity of caterer. Hlence,
a few hints in this connection will not be misplaced, or misapprehended.
And the first and great rule for you to observe is, to treat all guests of the house with
equal civility and deference. It is not for you
to set up a standard of respectability in your
own mind, judging, perhaps, by a man's
clothes, by the size, number, or costliness of
his trunks, or by the pomposity or timidity of
his manner; and conclude, accordingly, that
one man is to be run for, bowed down to, and
flattered, while another is to be neglected, put
off, and suffered to help himself, and get along
as best he may. This partiality is more common, even in the so-called best houses, than
would readily be acknowledged by their proprietors; and is a grievance of which the public have a right to complain loudly. If any
other rule for the treatment of guests than the
one I have laid down were to be adopted, it
should rather be that the unassuming should
have precedence, in your attentions, over the
consequential and ostentatious fellows, who are
189 
190    HENRY CLAY AND THE LANDLORD.
so ready to demand imperiously the best of
everything.
But, as I before remarked, you are not to
judge of the relative consequence of men. A
hotel should be a perfect democracy in that
respect. " One man's vote," it is said, "counts
as much as another's."  So, also, one man's
money should procure him the same respectful
attention which any other man's money may
at the same house. Favoritism, such as I have
alluded to, sometimes gets a rebuff as unexpected as mortifying to the landlord and his
servants. The story of Hienry Clay's treatment by a village inn-keeper is to the point:
Several years ago, when Mr. Clay was at
the height of his fame as an orator and a statesman, he alighted from his horse, one rainy evening, at a village tavern in Virginia.   ie wore
a plain, homely suit of gray, and was wet, and
splashed with mud.   Neither man nor horse
was likely, from their appearance, to create a
sensation. Calling for a hostler, to take charge
of his animal Mr. Clay was met by that
worthy, who, having surveyed the traveller,
told him that the house was full, and he could
not be accommodated. This being the only 
HENRY CLAY AND THE LANDLORD.   191
tavern in the place, Mr. C. replied that his
horse must be cared for, as it haa been ridden
hard that day; and, as for himself, he presumed he could get some supper there, and,
no doubt, find a place on the floor to sleep.
The hostler was prevailed upon to lead away
the horse, just as the landlord appeared at the
door; who, also, taking in at a glance the
viery unpretending aspect of the new guest,
told him testily he could not keep him. The
bland replies of the illustrious stranger, however, gradually smoothed the way for his admission; the landlord, at length, consenting
that he might lodge in the long room in the
attic, where were a dozen beds, to be occupied
by the servants of the house, drovers, lumbermen, &c.  Mr. C. retired for the night in the
midst of his snoring room-mates; and, being
weary, was soon as sound asleep as any of
them. All were astir early next morning;
and the stranger, much refreshed, entered into
cheerful conversation with his rude companions,
while dressing,- some  of whom,  on going
below, reported to the landlord that "the old
fellow had been keeping them in a roar of
laughter with his good stories." The hotel, 
THE SENSATION.
it seems was really quite full, owing to the attendance of judge, lawyers, witnesses, &c., at
a session of the county court, and hence, also,
the extra importance of "mine host."
When Mr. Clay came down, he was pointed
to the breakfast-room, which he entered. It
so happened that "His  Honor"  the judge
had been in Washington, had seen Mr. Clay,
and held him in the highest reverence and admiration.   Casting up his eyes at the moment
the great man entered, he recognized his inimitable presence at once, and sprang to his
feet ejaculating,  "Bless  my  soul! is that
Henry Clay?-It is Mr. Clay himself! " and,
rushing towards him, he seized his hand, and
electrified the company by shouting, "Three
cheers for Henry Clay of Kentucky!"  It is
needless to say that there was a sensation
about that time at the village tavern, and that
the landlord shared in it.  He never afterwards ventured to judge of a man by his
clothing.
Any man of sense knows that the really
great, the distinguished men, the most learned,
scientific and celebrated characters, never
assume airs of importance; and that the vain
192 
DIFFERENCE IN AiEN.
est and weakest men  always  do!   Let  a
knowledge of this fact serve to help regulate
your conduct towards guests.
The hint here made applies equally to waiters and servants on board steamers, &c.  The
waiting-woman in the cabin of a vessel is often,
I had almost said always, known to attend obsequiously upon the ladies whom she considers
the most stylish and fashionable, and treat with
utter neglect, if not with insolence, those less
obtrusive and less showy. My indignation
has often been excited by witnessing conduct
of this kind.
On the arrival of a guest at a hotel, you
should immediately attend him, if that is
among your duties, and ascertain what he first
requires. It is equally your duty, with that
of the master of the house, to make him feel
"at home."   lie will thus become attached
to the house, and always make it his stoppingplace, and his influence in its favor be secured.
His every want must be promptly supplied
while he remains. At table, you are to pass
dishes to guests over their left shoulder; you
are to anticipate their wants. Do not wait to
be told, thus making necessary a multiplicity
17
193 
194    JOHN AND BETTY IN THE HALL.
of orders. If a man has tea, you should next
pass the sugar and cream; if meat or potatoes,
he is supposed next to want the salt; and
cheese with the pudding or pie.  See that all
are helped as nearly as possible at the same
time. In your attendance about the house,
always go in slippers. Nothing is more disagreeable than for weary and sleepy guests to
hear the continual tramp of servants up and
down the passages, in boots, unless it be to
overhear long chats and laughing, in the hall
or on the stairs, between John and Betty, or
Betty and Bridget. This should never be allowed in any hotel, as it is often a serious
annoyance. Always speak in a low and quiet
tone.  Be active, but not always in a hurry.
Avoid confusion and bustle. Attend a departing guest to the door, carrying his overcoat
and small parcels, opening the door of his carriage, or holding his horse, or fastening up the
boot, or tucking in the buffalo robe, and see
that nothing of his is left behind. But do not
look as if expecting a fee for attentions which
should be rendered without one. The ruling
prices at hotels are now expected to pay for
civility as well as board and lodging, and no 
THE DEPARTING GUEST.
respectable landlord allows his servants to demand fees.  If, however, a guest chooses to
make you a present, you may receive it thankfully. Treat a guest who comes frequently,
as well every time as at his first visit, or he
will notice the falling off, and may transfer his
quarters to some other house.
195 
CHAPTER XI.
TEMPER.
IN preceding pages I have alluded incidentally to the evils of a bad temper; but the subject fully deserves discussion in a special
chapter.
Burns, the poet, says:
"0 wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us;
It would frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion."
When I have seen people indulge their infirmity of temper, and fly into a tempest of
passion at some trifling check, or perhaps a
mild word of reproof; when I have seen them
"sulk" and "pout" all day, looking sour, cross
and disagreeable; when I have seen a whole
household rendered unhappy by reason of the
constant peevishness and whining of some mem 
TEMPER.
ber of the family, I have often found myself
wvishing it might be in my power to show them
to themselves as they appeared to me.  The
exhibition would certainly astonish and mortify
them.
I have spoken of bad temper as an infirmity.
This is the most charitable term which can be
used, and is not here employed to convey the
impression that a bad temper is like an incurable disease that must be endured. Many
people, it is true, are created with an active
and highly nervous temperament, which renders them more susceptible to annoyance and
irritation than those of a heavy and phlegmatic
mould. But the same activity and nervousness
is also a source of keener pleasure and enjoyment than can be realized or understood by the
latter class. They are thus compensated for
their greater liability to irritation, and should
constantly and earnestly strive to control and
govern their sensibilities, overlooking and passing by the disagreeable, seeking only causes of
enjoyment and satisfaction.  It is highly selfish
and inconsiderate to allow our own "nervousness" to be the occasion of distress and trouble
to others.
17*
197 
TEMPER.
All  passionate  people,  however,  cannot
plead even the poor excuse of nervous irritability for making others as well as themselves
miserable. Not a few, whom I have known,
seemed actually to cultivate a tigerish habit of
snapping and snarling at everybody and everything, even taki ig pains apparently to seek out
occasion for venting their ferocity, when every
care had been taken to propitiate and avoid it.
This is simply brutal and revolting. It would
be slandering many of the noble brutes, though,
to compare them to such a being.
I knew a man in the State of New York
who, though a church-member, and in general,
as a neighbor, esteemed, never restrained his
propensity to let hot passion run away with his
reason. One day in summer, while ploughing,
his steady, patient, faithful old horse, in brushing off the flies, would now and then, of course,
catch the rein under his tail. This so exasperated the foolish man that he rushed at the
horse's head and struck him a heavy blow with
his naked fist,- breaking two of his own fingers, and nearly ruining his right hand. While
laid up with his crushed and maimed member
for many weeks, he had abundant time to re
198 
TEMPER.
fleet upon the folly of indulging his passion,
and the penalty will be a life-long monitor to
him.  But his " reflections" would have been
better timed if called to his aid before the blow
was struck. If he had stopped, for instance,
and considered: " WAVell, the old horse is very
provoking, to be sure, catching the rein every two minutes; but the poor old fellow has
much more reason to get mnad and kick at the
biting flies, iwhichi he cannot brush off with a
hand, than I have to be angry with him;" it
wiould have been vastly  mlore sensible and
correct.
IIowv many sad crimes have been committed
in the hot blood of passion, for causes the most
trivial!-  crimes unpremeditated indeed, but
which must needs be atorned by long imiprisonment, perlihaps life itself.  Hlow many bloody
murders and rash assaults, done in an angry
moment, are repented of in bitter agony of
remorse and despair!
Ho\v many a savage and unfeeling word or
speech would the utterer recall at almost any
sacrifice -wh'en too late! Family circles have
been broken  and  destroyed; husbands and
wives, parents and children, friends, kindred
199 
TEMPER.
and neighbors, have been alienated; disgraceful
feuds and brawls have been enacted before a
gaping and criticizing community, demoralizinog society and affording a fearful public example in wickedness, as the awful result of a
single ebullition of wrath.
Saith Solomon:
"'A wrathful man stirreth up strife; but he that is slow to anger
appeaseth strife.
A soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up
anger.
There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword; but the
tongue of the wise is health.
Pleasant words are as an honeycomb; sweet to the soul and
health to the bones.
The beginning of strife is as when one letteth out water; therefore leave off contention before it be meddled with."
ilow gracious and divine are these proverbs
of the wise sman!  Let them sink into your
hea,rt; and if you be unfortunately subject to
gusts of passion, and the harsh word rises to
your  lips-  stop it, and repeat to yourself:
"A soft answer," &c., and the fit will pass
away, leaving you at peace and with a quiet
spirit, instead of in agitation and tumult.
Besides the inconceivable mischief arising
from the exhibition of bad temper, to one's
self, friends, farmilyv.nd neighborhood, it is a
200 
TEMPER.
shocking evil when indulged in the presence of
children.  Their most lasting impressions are
received while in tender years, and, to say nothing of the recollections which must be stored
away in their memories of the violent scenes
witnessed, discreditable to the participants, the
influence upon their young minds is most pernicious. There are temptations and examples
enough of other evils to which they are exposed, without teaching them directly how to let
loose their passions and rave at the least cross
of their inclinations.   On the contrary, they
should be always taught by precept and example to restrain any tendency to temper, if they
are to be saved from habits of mind which lead
directly in the paths of crime and to the doors
of the prison-house.
I well remember the TILDEN FAMIILY, who,
in my youth, lived in the suburbs of the village,
in a desolate-looking tenement by the side of
the wood.   "Old Tilden" is daguerreotyped
upon my memory as the sourest looking wretch
I ever beheld; not sad, or disappointed, or unhappy looking merely, for then he might have
enlisted sympathy; but simply sour, as though
he detested everybody, and himself most of all,
201 
TEMPER.
which, if so, was very correct in him, and
showed a right appreciation of himself. A
sight of Old Tilden's face was enough, as a
wag used to express it, to "break up a conference! "   What sin his father before him may
have been guilty of, and suffered for, to entail
upon his son such a face and temper, or what
he himself may have done or suffered in his
younger  days, I know  not.   That he was
"possessed of an evil spirit" was most certain.
His face was the index to his soul.
Old  Tilden's wife, luckily for her, was a
large, coarse, muscular woman, of whom Old
Tilden stood slightly in awe, for, it was said,
she had once, upon great provocation, thrashed
him.   She was usually a silent woman, but she
was also afraid of Old Tilden in his ungovernable fits of fury.   Mrs. Tilden's routine of life
was simple.   She had a woman's instinct, and
provided, after a sort, for the physical wants of
her children; though they were a gypsy-looking troup as they used to sit perched upon the
old thatched slhed, decked in all the colors of
the rag,-bag.  As for the rest of her enjoyments, they consisted in taking snuff, imbibing
strong drink, and so balancing her conduct,
202 
TEMPER.
towards the old man, between deference and
defiance, as to keep him in a state of suppressed
rage or open violence.
Their house was shunned as if it had been
the pest-house of the parish. The neighbors
never called- nor the minister even, for he
was driven away from the door with curses.
The children of the neighborhood always made
a wide circuit when obliged to pass the house,
and ran like laniplighters if by chance they got
a sight of the old man.
Thus the children of this miserable pair canme
to rega,(rd themselves as outcasts.   They had
no moral training whatever, and, witnessing
only scenes of strife and violence, they were
literally nursed on evil passions.
That family is now nearly extinct.  One son
is said to be in Texas.   Another was imprisone(i for life for manslaughter.  The daughters
were -  I need not say what.   The old woman
was burned in a midnigiht conflagration of her
house, and the old man was never heard of afterwi L'ds, and was supposed to have been the
illceudiary and nmurderer!  Surely
"Trhe curse of the Lord is in the house of the wicked; but lHe
biessethi the habitation of the just."
203 
TEMPER.
As you would avoid misery and unhappiness
and an evil name, avoid the indulgence of ptssion.  Cultivate a cheerful habit; look only
upon the bright side.  If your sky begins to
be overcast, sing, laugh, dance-anything to
dispel the clouds. I-Iealth is promoted by
cheerfulness, and physicians tell us that anger
consumes like a fever, and loosens the silver
cord of life. It is proverbial that those who
attain great age are those who are habitually
cheerful, contented, peaceful and temperate.
204 
CONCLUDING CHAPTER.
IF you have carefully read the preceding
chapters of this book, and do not belong to
that class of people who "despise counsel,"
you are, I trust, already satisfied, that, however imperfectly the task has been performed,
our object has been to promote your happiness,
by increasing your usefulness, improving your
manners, and disabusing your mind of many
foolish errors and prejudices.
Whatever tends to increase our self-respect,
and add to the comfort of those around us,
should make us happy. A proper self-respect
can be founded only'upon a consciousness of
moral worth, an integrity of purpose, and an
honest endeavor to do one's duty faithfully
and  cheerfully on  all occasions.  We  have
pointed out to you many instances of bad manners, which would be wholly unbecoming and
18 
THE APPLICATION.
improper in any person, and have attempted
to show  what good manners require of you
in your position. WTe have shown you many
errors of judgment, to which you are very
liable, in regard to the relation of employer
and employed, and have endeavored to correct
them.  We have tried to instruct you to performi the every-day duties of service in the
quickest, neatest and quietest way, and in the
manner most acceptable to the family in which
you live. By following these general rules,
and carrying them out into all the details of
your occupation, and especially, as has been
frequently enjoined, by reducing all your work
to a system, you will find your position made
comparatively easy and agreeable.  It will do
you no harml to read and re-read some of the
chapters many times, until the rules lai(l down
are fixed in your memory, and become the
guide of your conduct. It is an old maxim,
that "What is worth doing at all, is worth
doing well."
Many an eminent and distinguished man has
]aid the foundation of his usefulness by the
most rigid and faithful discharge of duty in
some subordinate or even menial occupation,
206 
MILLARD FILLMORE.
during his youth.  Many a modest, industrious and amiable girl has risen from the nursery,
or the ministration of "pots and kettles," to
grace the saloons of fashion, and become the
ornament and delight of a wide circle of
friends.
Millard Fillmore, the late dignified and
accomplished President of the United States,
was in his youth apprenticed to a clothdresser, and learned the trade.  IHis wife was
the plain but solidly sensible daughter of a
small farmer in one of the most obscure towns
in the country. This we mention by way of
illustration, and for the lesson you may learn
from it, not to foster false hopes, or stimulate
your vanity. But never forget - what cannot
be too often repeated -that IT IS FAITHFULNESS, HONESTY AND INDUSTRY, WHICIH INSURE APPRECIATION AND REWARD.   "Seest thou a man
diligent in his business, lie shall stand before
kings," saith the wise man.
A certain boy, some seventeen years of age,
who proposed  to me  to "do chores for his
board" while he attended village school during
the winter, could not have had this notable
saying committed to memory. It used to be
207 
DOING CItORES FOR BOARD.
the custom, vAwhen boys were boarded for the
work they could do before and after school
hours, for them to be up by daylight and work
diligently till nine o'clock, and as diligently
from four o'clock in the afternoon till eight or
nine in the evening, assisting in the house after
dark; and to work fuithlfully Saturday afternoons. But this youngster had prescribed for
himself that to make the furnace fire, feed and
water two horses, and milk and feed one cow,
was a full equivalent for board, lodging  and
washing.  Hle was invariably missing the n1oment he had hurried off those chores in a slovenly way, and scarcely an errand or job of any
kind could he be found to do when wanted.
He was also noisy, pert and forward, and so
made himself a burden and an annoyance durinlg the winter -endured because his parents
were poor, and I disliked to dismiss him and
perhaps cause him to lose the benefit of the
school.
Of course I could feel little if any interest
in the welfiare of such a, youth.   Instead of
being of service to me, and recommending himself as a faithful, industrious, well-behaved
boy, he  was  purposely  and  systematically
208 
JOHN BROWN AND JIM LEVIS.
unfaithful, and shiftless and dishonest. I was
not sorry to see the last of him.
It is evident that he, and hundreds like him,
will never understand their true interest; that
they are heedless of their good name and reputation, and little know or care that such
courses lead people to shun and avoid them;
that their next experience will be that they can
get no respectable employment.  Then they
are on the road downwards, through a career
of want, vice and crime.
Is it not equally evident that the opposite
course would gain them confidence, esteem, a
good name, steady employment at the best
wages; and that advancement in means, position and respectability,- all that make a man
of worth in society, -will naturally follow?
Two farmers met in the street of our village,
not a fortnight ago, when one hailed the other:
"Jones, where's John Brown, who worked
for you last summner?"
"Why,  John's  down below  on Esquire
T's place, near Hlartford."
"Ah! well, I'm sorry he's left town, for
I've an  idee he's a first-rate hand, and I
wanted t o hire him.  I've got leetle the poor              i8.
209 
210    JOHN BROWN AND JIM LEVIS.
est help I ever had, and I won't keep him any
longer."
"WVho's that?"
"Jim Levis; and he a'n't worth his board.
Hlang him! I can't get any work out of him
unless I'm right there all the time.   I only
give him twelve dollars, just what he asked
though;  but I'd rather give John Brown
twenty-four dollars."
"Sartin! John's the best hand I ever had
on my place; did up the work just as though
'twas his own; worked from morning till night
steady as a clock; was allus sober and civil,
ready to help anywhere and any time; allus
went to meetin' reg,ular Sundays, and had just
as good a suit o' clothes as anybody.  And he
had a good deal of learning, too. He'd write
as handsome a letter as the schoolmaster;
used to read history and the commentators;
and he could measure land like a surveyor.
By the way, John's bought the Widder Dole
farm; got it for $1,000, and paid $900 down
all his own earnings."
"You don't say so!"
"Yes, just so; and by the end of the year
he'11 have it paid for." 
JOHN BROWN AND JIM LEVIS.
" 0 ho! Jones, that reminds me that my
woman said something about John's going to
be married one of these days.   Your oldest
girl's down there keeping school at Windsor
Locks, a'n't she?"
"Yes, she is.  Well, I dono!  Julia is
pretty sly about it, I guess, but wife says she
reckons it may happen."
Good!   She could n't do better, Jones,
nor you either; nor John too, for that matter.
I'm glad on't."
"Well, I should n't object, I'm sure.  I
think he's one of the likeliest young men ever
raised here."
"Yes, he is. He'11 be a selectman yet, I
shouldn't wonder at all. But where can I
find a good hand?"
"Don't know of one not engaged. You'11ll
have to go over the river into      County."
John Brown's example should not be lost
upon young men in his position - nor, indeed,
tiny position.  He is a respectable young man,
has earLed( a good name as well as a good
farm, and, if he marries Julia Jones, he will
have an intelligent, sensible, handsome wife;
and he will be a respectable middle-aged man,
211 
MORAL CHARACTER.
owning his flocks and herds, and be looked up
to with respect by his neighbors - such "a
man among men" as the great body of the intelligent, practical, conservative yeomanry of
the country is composed of.
And where will Jim Levis be, and who will
he be, think you, who, though strong and
healthy, is "not worth his board "?  It is not
necessary to follow him. It is nine chances in
ten against him that he will be a vagabond;
because, in the first place, the habits he has
formed lead to no better result, and, in the
second place, he has no purpose in life beyond
eating and drinking, like the brutes; no ambition to stand well with his fellow-men; no
desire to learn; never giving a thought as to
what a pitiable object a poor, shiftless, ignorant
old man is, floating about friendless and uncared for, and nobody to shed a solitary tear
for him  when  he dies a pauper's miserable
death.
It remains for me now, in closing my
"Plain Talk and Friendly Advice," to recur
again to the absolute and primary importance
to you of a "good moral character."  The full
import of this expression is greatly misappre
212 
MORAL CHARACTER.
hended by many. By good morals and moral
character, is meant those principles of honesty,
-honesty in thought, word and deed, -that
love of virtue, which, by habit becomes a part
of our being, and so makes us regard sin and
vice with abhorrence.
Many people, it is to be feared, regard themselves as quite worthy and moral, if they do
not actually steal something of considerable
value, and do not tell a downright, outrageous
falsehood, or commit some other equally heinous act. But many of the same sort of folks
will not hesitate to appropriate to their own
use little things belonging to others, because
they are of small value; nor do they blush to
mislead by withholding the truth. Such kind
of moral character only wants the temptation,
and the opportunity, to become openly vicious.
Do not deceive yourself by the error that,
because you are ready enough to see and cry
out against sin in others, therefore you are
virtuous. Be not like the man in Scripture,
who could easily see a mote in his brother's
eye, but did not suspect the beam in his own
eye. As a servant, it is not your duty to reprove your employers for anything you may
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MORAL CHARACTER.
hended by many. By good morals and moral
character, is meant those principles of honesty,
-honesty in thought, word and deed, -that
love of virtue, which, by habit becomes a part
of our being, and so makes us regard sin and
vice with abhorrence.
Many people, it is to be feared, regard themselves as quite worthy and moral, if they do
not actually steal something of considerable
value, and do not tell a downright, outrageous
falsehood, or commit some other equally heinous act. But many of the same sort of folks
will not hesitate to appropriate to their own
use little things belonging to others, because
they are of small value; nor do they blush to
mislead by withholding the truth. Such kind
of moral character only wants the temptation,
and the opportunity, to become openly vicious.
Do not deceive yourself by the error that,
because you are ready enough to see and cry
213
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