THE 
 
 LADY AT HOME: 
 
 LEAVES FEOM THE E.VERY-JUY BOOK 
 
 AMERICAN WOMAN. 
 
 BY T. S. ARTHUR. 
 
 if 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES," " KEEPING UP 
 
 APPEARANCES," " FANNY DALE, OR A YEAR AFTER 
 
 MARRIAGE," " INSUBORDINATION," ETC. ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 HENRY F. ANNERS 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by 
 * 
 
 in the Clerk s office o f the District Court of the United 
 States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 Printed by T. K. & P. G. Collins. 
 
PS 
 
 A iW 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 IN writing this book, the author, in order 
 to make it both useful and interesting to the 
 extent designed, has assumed the character of 
 an American woman, and caused her to relate 
 her own experience, involving the troubles, 
 wrong doings, errors and perplexities incident 
 to domestic life. Its aim is to lift every true 
 woman up, by teaching her rightly to look 
 down upon those who have been providentially 
 placed below her, and thus lifting her up, to 
 elevate them also. 
 
 M88961 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 CHAPTER I. Jane, my Irish Cook, ... 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. Mary, the Sewing Girl, ... 23 
 CHAPTER III. Mary McLean s Story, ... 36 
 CHAPTER IV. Continuation of Mary McLean s Story, 48 
 CHAPTER V. My Old Washerwoman, ... 69 
 The Washerwoman s Bill, . . 78 
 CHAPTER VI. Death of Mary McLean, . . 102 
 CHAPTER VII. The Old Coal Man Moses the Carpet 
 
 Shaker, . :. -\ / V . . . . 117 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. The Fish Woman, . . . 131 
 
 CHAPTER IX. A New Domestic, . . . 144 
 
 Hiring a Servant, . . 147 
 
 1* 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JANE, MY IRISH COOK. 
 
 I WAS sitting, one day, pleasantly occupied with 
 a new volume, when the door opened quietly, and 
 my cook, an Irish girl, (a very excellent one, by 
 the way,) came in, and advanced towards me. 
 " Well, Jane, is any thing wanted ?" I asked, in 
 the mild tone in which I always endeavor to speak 
 to my domestics. 
 
 " I should like to go out for a couple of hours, 
 if you have no objection, Mrs. Elm wood," Jane 
 replied, in a respectful voice. Now Jane had 
 been out only two days before, on her regular 
 afternoon for going, and I felt that it was hardly 
 right for her to want two afternoons in the week. 
 So 1 said, a little coldly, 
 
 "I would rather not have you go, Jane." 
 
 Her countenance fell instantly, and she turned 
 away and left the room with a disappointed air. 
 I was touched at this, and began to question my- 
 
 7 
 
8 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 self ; a? to the jus ace of v/hat I had done. But I 
 soon argued down my feelings by such reasonings 
 as these. " Jane ought to know better than to ask 
 for two afternoons in the week. The agreement 
 was positive in regard to one, and I am surprised 
 that she should have asked for two. The best 
 way is to keep domestics strictly to then* contracts. 
 If you begin with granting them indulgences, they 
 will soon claim them as a right. Then, if I were 
 to let Jane go out to-day, Margaret would think it 
 very hard if I did not let her go out to-morrow. 
 No no. I am sorry to disappoint her, but it is 
 best to be exact in these things." 
 
 After I had settled the matter thus, or, rather, 
 supposed that I had settled it, I resumed my book ; 
 but did not enjoy it as before. I could not drive 
 from my imagination the disappointed look and 
 air of Jane, as she turned from my room and went 
 back to her place in the kitchen. Every now 
 and then reproving thoughts would force them 
 selves upon me so distinctly, that the words I was 
 reading left no impression of ideas upon my mind ; 
 and I would pause, with a half breathed sigh, and 
 review again the justice of my reasons for not 
 granting the small request of my cook. The 
 oftener I thus looked at them, the less was I satis- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 9 
 
 fied with their force. Still, I could not make up 
 my mind to withdraw my interdiction. For this 
 would have been confessing to my domestic, that 
 I had been wrong, and such a confession pride 
 was not ready to make. Thus, unhappily, did 
 the hours wear away until near dark, when Mar 
 garet, my chambermaid, came in to fill the pitcher 
 on my wash stand with water. 
 
 " Do you know, ma am, what is the matter 
 with Jane ? M she said, pausing at the door, as she 
 was about leaving my room. 
 
 " Why ?" I asked, while my heart smote me. 
 
 " She s been sitting down in the kitchen and 
 crying, ail the afternoon about something." 
 
 * Sitting and crying," I said, a momentary 
 feeling of indignation arising quickly in my mind 
 at the thought, that, because I would not let her go 
 out, she had remained in idleness ever since. 
 
 " Yes, ma am. But her work is all done. She 
 got up very early, and was at it ah 1 the morning 
 as hard as she could be. After dinner, all she had 
 to do was to wash up her dishes, and this she did 
 right away, and then cleaned her kitchen up very 
 nice. Ever since that she has been crying about 
 something or other what, I am sure I don t 
 know." 
 
10 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 I did not reply to this, but sat thoughtful and 
 silent. Margaret paused a moment to hear if I 
 had any thing to say, and then left the room, and 
 me to my no very pleasant reflections. A con 
 sciousness of having wronged Jane was not the 
 least agreeable of these, nor did the too constant 
 and vivid picture upon my excited imagination of 
 the disappointed girl sitting and crying all alone 
 in the kitchen for some two or three hours, add 
 much to my quiet satisfaction of mind. But the 
 difficulty of my position was, to know how I ought 
 to act towards her under the circumstances. It was 
 now too late to withdraw my prohibition, for the 
 afternoon had passed away, and could never be 
 recalled. " I will send for Jane, and tell her I am 
 sorry I did not grant her request," I said to my 
 self. But there Were too many objections to this 
 course. It involved, in the first place, a confes* 
 sion of wrong, and that I was not prepared to make. 
 " Besides," I reasoned, " what will it matter to 
 her whether I am sorry or not, seeing that I have 
 deprived her of an anticipated pleasure ? Merely 
 to tell her this, will be a kind of mockery to her 
 feelings." So I decided, at least for the time, not 
 to say any thing to Jane in the way of apology, 
 but to be more careful how I acted in future. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 11 
 
 Tea was ready punctually at the usual hour, and 
 the table as neatly set as ever. Jane looked very 
 serious. She seemed hurt, but showed no appear 
 ance of anger, or ill feeling towards me. If she 
 had exhibited only a little perverseness of temper, 
 I would have had something to fall back upon. 
 But the quiet, sober, resigned air, in, which was 
 too evident the appearance of disappointment, 
 troubled still more deeply the waters of my spirit. 
 
 "I m afraid I have not acted altogether right 
 towards Jane, * I said to my husband, from whom 
 I never can conceal any thing, as we passed from 
 the tea-room. 
 
 " How so, Mary ?" he asked, looking me steadily 
 in the face. 
 
 " She wanted me to let her go out this afternoon. 
 But as she had been out day before yesterday, 
 which was her regular day, I told her that she 
 could not go. She did not say any thing at this 
 refusal, but went back into the kitchen, where, 
 Margaret told me, she sat and cried until near 
 dark." 
 
 " Did you inquire why she wished to go out 
 to-day ?" 
 
 "No. And in that I was to blame. I per 
 mitted myself to feel a little unkindly at her wanting 
 
12 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 two afternoons in the week, when our agreement 
 was only for one, which she always had. And so 
 I said no, without hesitation or reflection. I 
 saw in a moment, by the peculiar change in her 
 countenance, that my cold reply was unexpected, 
 and that she was both wounded, and disappointed. 
 Before I had time to reflect, or question her, she 
 turned away, and left my room." 
 
 "I m afraid you have been somewhat to blame," 
 my husband replied, honestly and frankly, as he 
 always does. " But how you are to repair the 
 wrong, I do not clearly see. The least you can 
 do, I suppose, is, to tell Jane that she can have 
 to-morrow afternoon, if she wishes it." 
 
 " Yes, I can do that. And I will," I said, 
 catching at the suggestion, which afforded my 
 mind some relief. " To-morrow will, no doubt, 
 suit her as well." 
 
 "Perhaps it may," my husband returned, a 
 little gravely. 
 
 " You don t think it will, then ?" I sail looking 
 into his face. 
 
 " I am sure I do not know, Mary," he smilingly 
 replied. " It may or it may not.* Cure is rarely 
 as good as Prevention, you know." 
 
 After a little more conversation on the subject, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 13 
 
 it was dropped, but not from my thoughts. I felt 
 anxious for the arrival of the next day, that I 
 might tell Jane she could have the afternoon to 
 herself. " That will mend the matter, of course," 
 I said. " Jane will get an extra afternoon ; and the 
 tacit confession on my part that I acted thought 
 lessly in not granting her request when asked, will 
 heal her wounded feelings." 
 
 The more I thought this over, the more clearly 
 did I see, that to act just as my husband had pro 
 posed, would put all right again. One afternoon 
 would be the same as another to Jane. To get 
 out was the thing desired by her. On the next 
 day, as my mind continued to dwell on the matter, 
 I saw the remedy, in a clearer light, to be all that 
 was required. And this made me feel quite com 
 fortable again. But cook still looked sober. This 
 I did not exactly like. And I found it hard work 
 to keep myself from becoming a little irritated on 
 account of it. After dinner I sent for her, in order 
 to tell her that she might go out if she chose. She 
 came into my room, and I said, 
 
 " Jane, you can go out this afternoon, if you 
 like." 
 
 " I don t care about going out to-day, ma am," 
 she returned, in a respectful tone. But she did 
 2 
 
14 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 not smile, as she had been in the habit of doing 
 heretofore, whenever she replied to any thing I 
 said. 
 
 " Very well, Jane, you can do as you like," I 
 said, a little hastily, and not in the most amicable 
 tone of voice. The fact is, this remedy that I had 
 built on so confidently, proved to be good for 
 nothing, and all through the girl s perverseness, I 
 instantly permitted myself to think. After having 
 repented so heartily of what I had done after 
 having studied for hours over the best way of 
 repairing the wrong and then, after having told 
 Jane, as plainly as I could tell her, that I was sorry 
 for my thoughtless refusal to grant her request 
 made on the day before, to have all go for nothing, 
 and myself thrown back to my original positition, 
 was more than I could bear. 
 
 Jane turned away as I replied, and again passed 
 slowly from my presence, evidently wounded at 
 my manner. And so matters had become worse 
 instead of better. In attempting to heal the 
 breach, I had only made it wider. But, for this, 
 I blamed the cook s perverse temper. It was too 
 evident to my mind that she had become sulky. 
 I had done all that I could do, and was not going 
 to trouble my head any further about the matter. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 15 
 
 This last was easily resolved, but less easily done. 
 I was not well enough satisfied with myself to 
 have a quiet mind. Conscience smote me for the 
 unkind feelings I had instantly indulged, and the 
 unkind manner in which I had spoken ; and con 
 science is rather a troublesome guest sometimes. 
 But I had done all I could do, I persuaded my 
 self, towards repairing the seeming wrong to 
 which I had subjected Jane, and was not going 
 to make any further attempts to heal the wounds 
 my refusal to grant her request had inflicted. By 
 the help of a little indignation against the poor 
 girl, and the effort to throw all the blame upon 
 her, I managed, by tea time, to become quite in 
 different. My husband s return from his store, 
 however, soon dispelled this. Seating himself 
 along side of me, he said 
 
 " Mary, I have learned the reason why Jane 
 felt so keenly your refusal to let her go out 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Indeed !" I ejaculated, the blood rising to my 
 face. 
 
 " Yes. You know Michael, our porter, is her 
 cousin. Well, he didn t come to the store to-day 
 until after dinner. He then looked unusually 
 serious. Is any thing the matter with Jane ? he 
 
16 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 asked me. I said, nothing that I know of, why ? 
 * Because, he replied, * we all expected her yester 
 day afternoon, but she didn t come. * Why did 
 you expect Jane? I inquired. Oh, because 
 Ellen was going away, and she was to go with 
 us to see her off. But I havn t told you 
 Michael s voice choked a little, but he recovered 
 himself, and went on. 
 
 " My youngest sister, Ellen, who came out 
 with us from Ireland, (you know Michael is mar 
 ried,) has been ailing ever since we got to this 
 country. And more than that, has never seemed 
 happy here. The old place was very dear to 
 her, and she has pined to get back into the old 
 cottage with our mother ever since. She was 
 always her mother s favorite, and, indeed, the 
 favorite of us all. Well, as month after month 
 went by, Ellen grew worse and worse, both in 
 body and mind. She never would go into com 
 pany. There was but one face out of our own 
 house that was dear to her, and that was the face 
 of her cousin Jane, who lives with you. Every 
 week Jane would come and spend an afternoon 
 and evening with her the afternoon and evening 
 she had to herself and these were Ellen s 
 happiest times. She loved Jane as a sister, and 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 17 
 
 so do we all. At last Ellen grew worse and 
 worse, and pined so to get home again, that I told 
 her if she wished to go back to the old country, 
 she should go. It did not take her long to make 
 up her mind, poor thing ! To see her eye brighten, 
 and the colour come again to her thin pale cheek, 
 as she would talk of home, and our mother, and 
 the joy of getting to them once more, used to melt 
 me right down. Jane and she never talked about 
 it, that both did not have a good hearty cry. As 
 for me, I did not want to part with her. I loved 
 her too well, and I felt too sure that, if she did go 
 home, I should never see her again. And so I 
 delayed taking her passage day after day, and 
 week after week, until the poor girl drove me to 
 it by saying one day, Michael, I shan t live long, 
 and I want my body laid in our own church-yard, 
 close beside where little Margery lies. Do send 
 me home, Michael ! I couldn t stand this ; and 
 so went off and engaged her passage. The ship 
 was to sail in a week yesterday was the day. 
 Jane was at our house on her usual day of coming 
 out, and said that she would be sure and come to 
 see her off. We all looked for her certain ; but 
 she didn t come. We waited, and waited, almost 
 an hour after the time we ought to have left home 
 2* 
 
18 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 poor Ellen was crying all the while. But no 
 Jane came. I thought Ellen s heart would break. 
 She loved Jane so dearly, and Jane loved her. and 
 yet no Jane came ; and she was about going away, 
 never perhaps to meet any of us again in this 
 world. At last we went down to the ship, still in 
 hopes that she would meet us, even there. But 
 no ; the ship sailed, and Ellen had given to her 
 cousin, whom she loved as a sister, no parting 
 word, no parting embrace, no parting look and 
 she was going home to die ! 
 
 " Michael, as manly a fellow as he is, could no 
 longer contain his feelings. The muscles of his 
 lips and face twitched, his voice failed him, and 
 the tears came into his eyes, notwithstanding his 
 evident strong effort at self-control. I explained 
 to him, as well as I could, the reasons why Jane 
 did not come. To these he made no reply." 
 
 Here I burst into tears, and covering my face 
 with my hands, actually sobbed aloud. I never 
 felt so wretched in my life as I did at that mo 
 ment. In my thoughtlessness I had done a great 
 wrong. I had caused a deep grief to settle upon 
 the heart of a lone Irish girl, in a strange land, 
 that no subsequent act of mine could remove. 
 The ship had sailed, and her dearly loved relative 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 19 
 
 had gone back to their old home, never to return, 
 and she had not been allowed the sad privilege of 
 a parting embrace. 
 
 "Jane ought to have told you why sne wished 
 to go out," my husband said, after a little while. 
 " If she had only done that, all would have been 
 right. I think she is much more to blame than 
 you were." 
 
 But this did not silence my self-upbraid ings. I 
 could enter more deeply into a woman s feelings 
 than he could, and therefore understood much 
 better the state of mind in which Jane had been, 
 and how natural it was for one of her peculiar 
 temperament, and habit of silently bearing both 
 mental and physical pain, and enduring without 
 an oral murmur the severest disappointments, to 
 shrink away at the refusal of a timid request, and 
 bear the keenest privation rather than urge a once 
 denied petition. But what could I now do? 
 Nothing. Apologies would be little less than vain 
 mockeries. They could not bring back time and 
 events. The ship had sailed. 
 
 For weeks after, Jane s quiet, sober, dreamy 
 expression of face never met my eye, without 
 troubling the still, deep waters of my woman s 
 heart. I strove to make some amends for what 
 
20 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 I had done, by increased kindness of manner to 
 wards her, and by many little tokens of good will. 
 But it was a long time before the cheerful tone of 
 her face came back. As for me, it was a lesson 
 I shall never forget. It taught me to be more 
 considerate of those whose lot in life a good and 
 wise Providence has placed below us in external 
 things ; to regard them as fellow creatures, with 
 like affections with ourselves, and to study as 
 carefully to be just to those below, as to those 
 above us. I say to myself, often, when I recall 
 the circumstance just related, that Jane was to 
 blame for not telling me why she wished to go out ; 
 that her reasons were so urgent, that she ought at 
 once to have stated them. But this does not 
 satisfy me. Jane s omissions do not palliate my 
 wrong conduct. My duty was to inquire the 
 reason why a respectful request was made, if I 
 had any hesitation about granting it, and yield or 
 deny the privilege according to the force of those 
 reasons. There was no excuse for any mal 
 administration in my own little domain. At the 
 head of a family, my duty was to govern in my 
 household with mildness, forbearance, considera 
 tion, and wisdom not bind down every member 
 over whom I could exercise control by laws as 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 21 
 
 unvarying as those which regulate the movements 
 of an automaton. 
 
 To an intimate female friend I one day, a few 
 weeks after the occurrence of this incident, men 
 tioned the whole circumstance. A little to my 
 surprise, she smiled at my self-condemnation, and 
 said, that no one was to blame in the slightest 
 degree but Jane herself. For her part, she didn t 
 believe that the girl cared a great deal about seeing 
 her cousin, or she would have mentioned it quick 
 enough. She had never found one of that class 
 who was at all backward in demanding any thing 
 reasonable, and too few of them thought of hesi 
 tating even in unreasonable matters. For a moment 
 I felt inclined to catch hold of this suggestion, but 
 my better thoughts quickly prevailed. Another 
 sweeping and more unfeeling declaration in regard 
 to domestics, let me deeper into my friend s 
 character than I had before penetrated. She was 
 one of those who have few sympathies with the 
 humble poor. Alas ! that there should be so 
 many of these. And alas ! that among my own 
 gentler sex, there should exist so large a number 
 who, as petty tyrants, rule with rods of iron all 
 whom Providence has placed beneath them. A 
 domestic, by these persons, is considered so far 
 
22 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 inferior to them in mind and morals, as well as in 
 condition, as not to be a being of like sympathies 
 with themselves, or entitled to their consideration. 
 Their highest duty in regard to them is to pay 
 them regularly their wages. I know one of these 
 " ladies," who made to some one the absurd but 
 somewhat laughable declaration, that there was as 
 much difference between rich and poor people, as 
 between china and earthenware. And, what was 
 more, she religiously believed her own assertion. 
 Gross as were her ideas of the distinctions in 
 human nature, there are too many who think with 
 her, but are more cautious about expressing their 
 opinions. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MARY, THE SEWING GIRL. 
 
 THE subject of domestics, and the manner in 
 which they are regarded by too many, recalls to 
 my mind the remark of a gentleman in whose 
 house I had the privilege of spending a few days, 
 more as one of his own family than as a guest. 
 A delicacy had been brought upon the table by 
 way of dessert. It was a dish of early straw 
 berries, the first of the season. The market, as 
 yet, had but a limited supply, and the price was, 
 
 of course, not very moderate. Mr. dished 
 
 out the strawberries, while his lady handed some 
 other article of dessert to those at the table. After 
 the strawberries had been served to all, their re 
 mained a small quantity still in the dish. One 
 of the younger members of the family, to whose 
 palate the delicate fruit was particularly pleasant, 
 soon emptied her plate, and asked to be helped to 
 some more. 
 
 " And leave none for Betty and Fanny ?" said 
 Mr. , looking into the face of his child, with 
 
24 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 an expression of peculiar benevolence upon his fine 
 countenance, at the same time taking up with a 
 spoon more than half of the berries that remained, 
 and making a movement as if he were going to 
 take her plate. 
 
 " Oh, no, I forgot," said the child, quickly, 
 while a slight blush warmed her young cheek. 
 
 As I have just said, I was, for the short time I 
 remained with this family, more as one of them, 
 than as a guest. There was, therefore, neither 
 formality nor reserve in the intercourse of the dif 
 ferent members on account of my presence. 
 
 * I make it a rule," said Mr. , turning 
 
 towards me, as his little girl declined taking any 
 more of the berries, " never to have any delicacy 
 upon my table, no matter how costly it may be, 
 without taking good care to have a portion re 
 served for every domestic. They enjoy these 
 things as well as we do, and should never be 
 forgotten." 
 
 This was all he said upon that subject. But 
 it was not lost upon me. In glancing back at 
 my own conduct, I was forced to acknowledge 
 that I had not acted, in all cases, with Mr. s 
 justice and benevolence towards the humbler 
 members of my own family. But I resolved to 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 25 
 
 let my past short comings, in this respect, suffice. 
 And they have sufficed. 
 
 The recollection of another circumstance con 
 nected with domestics, and their treatment, comes 
 strongly into my mind. It bears upon the sub 
 ject of their inferiority to those whom a happier 
 external condition has blessed with more of the 
 comforts and elegancies of life. In the family 
 of an acquaintance, I had noticed a young girl of 
 a fair complexion, soft blue eyes, and a tall, slen 
 der, delicately formed person. She had a quiet 
 air, and a mien of such modesty and reserve, that 
 whenever I happened to see her, I was interested, 
 and not unfrequently alluded to her. My friend 
 spoke well of Mary that was her name and 
 sometimes said that she did not know how she 
 could do without her. Years passed away, and 
 the slender girl grew up tall and graceful of sta 
 ture, yet with the same modest mien that had 
 from the first attracted my attention. At length I 
 missed her from my friend s family, and ventured 
 to inquire after her. To my surprise, and I must 
 confess, disappointment, I heard Mary spoken of 
 slightingly. She had proved ungrateful for all the 
 trouble and kindness of her benefactor, who had 
 taken her when a child, and reared her with the 
 3 
 
26 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 care and consideration of a mother. Just as she 
 had become valuable to her, she had grown dis 
 satisfied, and left her house. That no good would 
 " ever come of her," was an opinion unhesitatingly 
 expressed, and with, it seemed to me, too plain an 
 indication of pleasure at the thought that Mary 
 would not do well. This shocked me. It ex 
 hibited my friend in a more unamiable light than 
 I had ever seen her. I asked where Mary had 
 gone. But received for answer, that she neither 
 knew nor cared. She had seen fit to go off against 
 her express wish, and now she didn t give herself 
 any concern about her. There is something not 
 right here, I said to myself as I went home. Mrs. 
 
 L could not feel as she does, if she had not 
 
 wronged that poor girl in some way. It is the 
 wronger who is generally most incensed in cases 
 of difficulty and misunderstanding. The sufferer 
 of wrong is usually reserved, and unless urged, 
 rarely discloses the injustice that has been borne. 
 Two or three years passed on, and I had nearly 
 forgotten Mary, when a lady asked me early one 
 Fall, if I did not want a good seamstress, one who 
 understood dress-making, for a few weeks. As 
 that was what I did want, I replied in the affirma 
 tive. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 37 
 
 " Then I know a person who will just suit 
 you. I have had her for three weeks, and never 
 was so pleased with any one in my life. She will 
 leave me on Monday next." 
 
 Who is she ?" I asked. 
 
 " As to who she is, I really cannot say. But 
 as to what she is, I can speak more certainly. I 
 saw her at the house of a lady, and was so pleased 
 with her appearance, that I made some inquiries, 
 and found that she was highly esteemed by this 
 lady, as a most excellent person, and a good seam 
 stress. I did not hesitate to engage her, from this 
 representation. She proved to be all and more 
 than I had expected. Industrious, capable, modest, 
 she fills her place with a quiet dignity of manner, 
 rarely, if ever, seen in one of her station. You 
 become attached to her involuntarily." 
 
 " Send her to me, then, as soon as you are done 
 with her," I said. 
 
 This she promised to do. On the next Mon 
 day morning, about ten o clock, a domestic came 
 up and said that there was a person down stairs 
 who had come to sew for me. " Tell her to come 
 up stairs," I replied. In a few minutes my door 
 opened, and a tall, slender, fragile looking girl 
 entered. 
 
28 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " Mary !" I said, in surprise, instantly recog 
 nizing, though she was much changed, the former 
 domestic in my friend s family. A flush passed 
 over her face, and she seemed disconcerted at my 
 tone of surprise, in which was, doubtless, some 
 thing rather equivocal to her ear. 
 
 " I am really glad to see you, Mary," I quickly 
 added, rising and taking her hand with a warm 
 good will. " I have heard a good account of you, 
 and am gratified to be able to get the services of 
 one upon whom I know I can depend as well as 
 upon yourself. I did not know, however, that 
 you had learned a trade, and was not aware, when 
 
 I asked Mrs. to tell you to come and sew 
 
 for me, that I was engaging my old acquaintance 
 Mary." 
 
 A faint, gratified smile, passed over Mary s 
 countenance, at this, but she made no reply. I 
 noticed, now, that she was paler and thinner 
 than when I last saw her and that her pure 
 white skin was of a peculiar transparency. Her 
 eyes, too, were brighter, and the glow of her 
 cheeks warmer that is, the distinct, too well de 
 fined glow of her cheeks, contrasted strongly with 
 the pallor of her brow, and the lower portion of 
 her face. I felt like asking her many questions 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 29 
 
 in regard to herself ; but there was, in her man 
 ner, a species of reserve that repelled inquiries 
 of this nature. I felt that I had no right to ask 
 questions that might call back no pleasant histo 
 ries, nor warm her heart with any happy recol 
 lections. 
 
 As her business was to render me a certain 
 service, she was soon engaged in the performance 
 of the duties that appertained to her position in my 
 family. In discharging these, she was quick, 
 thorough, and conscientious. Nothing was slight 
 ed, nothing omitted, nothing lingered over a mo 
 ment longer than necessary. Unless I addressed 
 her, she rarely spoke, except to ask some question 
 in regard to her work. She had been with me 
 
 about ten days, when, one morning, Mrs. L 
 
 dropped in. She did not wait in the parlor for 
 me to come down, but, as we were on terms of 
 intimacy, and as she had only a minute, as she 
 said, to stay, came immediately up to my sitting 
 room, where Mary was at work. As she en 
 tered, Mary turned instantly pale, and half arose, 
 evidently under a strong internal impulse of some 
 
 kind. Mrs. L looked surprised, and slightly 
 
 confused for a moment, and without inclining her 
 3* 
 
30 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 head, or permitting a muscle of her face to relax, 
 merely said, in a very cold tone 
 
 " Mary" and then turned to me, and com 
 menced some unimportant topic of conversation. 
 I glanced towards Mary, as she resumed her work, 
 and saw that her hand trembled so that she with 
 difficulty plied her needle. Mrs. L did not 
 sit long. When she went away, she neither 
 looked at nor spoke to Mary. I attended her to 
 the door, bade her good morning, and then re 
 turned to my sitting soom. My seamstress was 
 not there. As I passed her work-basket, some 
 thing glistened upon a dark cape she had been 
 sewjng upon. I looked at it closer, and saw that 
 it was a tear ! 
 
 Not more than five minutes elapsed before 
 Mary returned and resumed her employment, but 
 without any remark on what had passed. Her 
 eyes were red from weeping, and, as she com 
 menced sewing, I observed that her hand still 
 trembled. 
 
 " There is something wrong here. What can 
 it be?" I said to myself. "Some one is to 
 blame. Who is it? Mary, or Mrs. L ?" 
 
 That the pale, quiet, suffering girl before me had 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 31 
 
 been guilty of any very heinous offence against 
 M rs . L , I could not bring myself to believe. 
 " It is the injurer who is most unforgiving," I said. 
 "The injured more readily forgive others their 
 trespasses against them." These thoughts were 
 scattered by seeing the tears again falling from 
 the poor girPs eyes, while she still endeavoured to 
 point her needle to the right place. I could not 
 bear to see her thus distressed, and make no efforts 
 to afford her relief. But what could I say ? It 
 would not be right for me to make her feel, by 
 any thing I might utter, bound to allude to Mrs. 
 
 L or any thing in her past life. If she wished 
 
 to keep all that as a sealed book, I had no right to 
 extort it from her. But there was one thing which 
 I could do, and that was to make her conscious 
 that I fell kindly towards her. So I went up to 
 her, and laying my hand upon her, said, in a 
 sympathizing voice 
 
 " Mary, child, if you would like to be alone, go 
 up to your chamber, and remain there as long as you 
 please. You are disturbed by what has happened 
 do not do violence to your feelings by struggling 
 to suppress them let them come forth, and then 
 you will feel better." 
 
 She started at the touch of my hand, and the 
 
32 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 sound of my voice, and then remained as fi^d as 
 a statue while I uttered the few words I have just 
 written. For a moment afterwards she continued 
 thus motionless then the flood-gates of feeling 
 were forced aside, and her whole frame became 
 violently agitated, while the tears fell from her 
 eyes like rain. I could not help sitting down 
 beside the weeping girl, and taking her hands in 
 mine, in token of the interest I felt in her, and my 
 earnest desire to minister to the mental pain she 
 was suffering. At last the storm of passion began 
 to subside. Her body became less violently agi 
 tated her sobs less frequent and, finally, the 
 fountain of tears was sealed up. Slowly turning 
 towards me, as she regained her self-command, 
 she looked me in the face and said 
 
 " Forgive me, dear madam, this wild excitement. 
 1 have not always been so weak and foolish. The 
 time was when I could control my feelings. But 
 I am growing weaker in mind as well as in 
 body of late. It is now more than two years since 
 
 I saw Mrs. L . You know she raised me 
 
 from a little girl. She was kind to me in a good 
 many things ; and, more than that, was my pro 
 tector when I had no one up to whom I could 
 look. I became, very naturally, attached to her, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 33 
 
 and remained and served her faithfully until I was 
 of age. Then I wanted to learn a trade. But she 
 did not wish to part with me. I could not bear 
 the thought of remaining a kitchen servant, as I 
 had been, or even of holding the relation of a 
 domestic in any capacity. I frankly explained this 
 to her, and she said I was getting notions above 
 my station in life, and, if I knew when I was well 
 off, would remain where I was. But my mind 
 was made up. I had looked for years to the time 
 when I should be free from service, with the fixed 
 intention of then learning a trade ; and I could not 
 give up this intention. I, therefore, after continu 
 ing to work for her a year after I had attained my 
 
 eighteenth year, gave Mrs. L notice that I 
 
 should leave her on a certain day, for the purpose 
 of learning a trade. From that moment her whole 
 manner towards me changed. When I left the 
 house, she bade me good-by in a cool, repulsive 
 manner. Once I went back to see her, but she 
 sent me down word that she was engaged. Twice 
 afterwards I met her in the street, and paused in 
 voluntarily but she passed me with a cold nod. 
 The third time I have seen her in more than two 
 years was this morning. You saw, yourself, her 
 manner. And yet I am unconscious of any wrong 
 
34 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 towards her. For seven years I served her faith 
 fully. My conscience fully acquifc me here. But 
 because, when I arrived at an age when I was 
 bound to judge for myself and choose for myself, 
 I did judge and choose for myself, I have been 
 thrown off, and treated by the only one left me in 
 
 the world to love, (for I did love Mrs. L ,) as 
 
 if I had committed some dreadful crime." 
 
 " And is this all that Mrs. L has against 
 
 you ?" I asked, in surprise. 
 
 " I know of nothing else, madam. Certain it 
 is, that in nothing have I wronged her, beyond this, 
 if this may be called a wrong." 
 
 Mary s relation pained and surprised me. I am 
 always pained at witnessing or hearing of any 
 injustice towards those who occupy the humble 
 stations below us. That they should sometimes 
 be unjust towards us, we can hardly wonder, for 
 too many of them have never been instructed in 
 the first principles of right conduct in life. They 
 are often mere creatures of passion and impulse, 
 and need not be cared for, and borne with, and 
 kindly admonished as children. They are not to 
 be judged by the strict rules we would apply to 
 those intellectually and morally trained ; although 
 it often happens, that, among them, we find cases 
 
THE LADY AT HOME 35 
 
 of moral discipline that shine with a peculiar lustre. 
 But when the petty selfishness of mistresses leads 
 them to oppress and grind down the faces of 
 domestics, I think it is truly melancholy. In this 
 case, an honourable desire to rise above an uncon 
 genial position in life, instead of being met with 
 generous encouragement, was opposed, and for no 
 other reason than because it would deprive Mrs. 
 
 L of a valuable aid in her family. Nay, 
 
 more because this honourable desire was reso 
 lutely carried out, a poor and friendless girl was 
 thrown off from that kind consideration which it 
 was evident her heart yearned for as a babe for its 
 mother s milk. Truly, facts like these it is sad to 
 contemplate ! 
 
36 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MARY M LEAN, my seamstress, had been with 
 me, as I have said, about ten days, when Mrs. 
 
 L called in, and treated her so coldly. 
 
 During that time my mind had been gradually 
 becoming more and more interested in her. Each 
 day brought out to my attentive eye some new 
 feature in the unobtrusive girl s character. There 
 was a modest refinement about her manner to 
 wards me, unusual in a person situated in life as 
 she was. There was nothing of that affected 
 deference we so often observe in domestics, as if 
 they were flattering our sense of superiority, nor 
 was there any freedom of word or action. She 
 had come into my house to render me a certain 
 service. That service she was performing faith 
 fully. Beyond that, she had nothing to give, and 
 beyond her wages, she expected nothing. This 
 seemed to be the state of her mind. If she asked 
 or answered a question, it was with a calm, even 
 tone. And while this was low, modest, and re- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 37 
 
 spectful, it was perfectly free from the slightest 
 servility. 
 
 " There is something about Mary that interests 
 me very much," my husband often said, during 
 this time. "I find it hard to persuade myself 
 that she has been for seven years, during that por 
 tion of life when the ductile character takes im 
 pressions that become hardened into permanent 
 forms, in the kitchen as a common servant. 
 Earlier than the period at which she came into the 
 
 hands of Mrs. L , she must have lived in a 
 
 far different condition, and the remembrance of 
 that, has doubtless kept her eye fixed on a higher 
 mark than any at which ordinary domestics 
 usually aim. If her history were known, I have 
 little doubt but that it would show her to be the 
 child of parents in a very different condition in 
 life from the one she now occupies." 
 
 I readily acquiesced in this. There must 
 have been made, even much earlier than the age 
 of eleven years, some very strong impressions 
 upon her mind, and of a character very different 
 from those to which, for the succeeding seven 
 years, she had been subjected. So much for her 
 mind and morals. Her personal appearance sur 
 prised me still more. Although for so long a time 
 4 
 
38 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 she had been engaged in cooking, washing, and 
 all manner of rough and hard work, her person 
 was slender and delicate, her skin pure and white, 
 her hand small and well made, and her carriage 
 easy and graceful. I could hardly persuade my 
 self that she was really the same person with the 
 coarsely clad, but tidy little girl I had noticed for 
 
 so many years in Mrs. L s family. It 
 
 seemed impossible that any one could have passed 
 up through a kitchen, partaking, by the way, of 
 its severest drudgery, and not have borne its 
 marks until the day of death. Here, however, 
 was an exception ; and a most interesting ex 
 ception. 
 
 One day, while sitting in the room with her, 
 something opened the way for me ask a few 
 questions in regard to her early life. That she 
 was from Ireland, I knew by her name, and a very 
 slight modification in her pronunciation of a few 
 words ; but I preferred the question as a leading 
 one " You are from Ireland, I believe, Mary ?" 
 to any other. 
 
 " Yes, ma am," was her simple reply. 
 
 " At what age did you leave there ?" I added. 
 
 " I was ten years old when I was brought to 
 this country." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 39 
 
 " Did your parents come with you ?" 
 
 " No, ma am. They both died about a year 
 before/ 
 
 I paused for a little while, in hopes that she 
 would volunteer some further facts in her early 
 history ; but she remained silent, and I pursued 
 my questions, encouraged by her unhesitating 
 answers. 
 
 " Were they in good circumstances ?" I asked. 
 
 This produced quite a change in her whole 
 manner, and seemed to disturb her. But she was 
 self-possessed in a moment, and replied, 
 
 "My father was a man of wealth. I can re 
 member that we lived in a very large house, and 
 had a great many servants, that I always had 
 one to go with me and wait upon me wherever I 
 went. I was sent to school early, and had teachers 
 before I was taken away, both in music and 
 French. All I learned of these has, however, 
 long since been forgotten. When my father and 
 mother died, I was taken, with a younger sister, 
 to the house of an uncle, where I remained for 
 nearly a year. During that time my brother, who 
 was a man grown, came frequently to see us, but 
 he never seemed happy. He used to have long 
 conversations with our uncle, during which both 
 
40 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 would become very warm not angry with each 
 other, but, as it seemed, excited on the subject 
 .they were talking about. I became, at length, in 
 terested to know what their frequent disturbing 
 conversations meant, and used to listen attentively 
 to what they said. I soon began to perceive that 
 it had some reference to myself and sister, and that 
 something about property and the loss of it, was 
 constantly alluded to. My father was a Roman 
 Catholic, and I afterwards learned that from some 
 government suspicion against him, or from some 
 act of the family during the Irish rebellion, nearly 
 all of his property had been seized and confiscated 
 immediately after his death. The long interviews 
 between my uncle and brother were on mis sub 
 ject. Efforts had been made by means of emi 
 nent counsel to procure such a representation to 
 the proper sources, as would cause a restoration 
 of this property so unjustly taken. But it was 
 all in vain. Not a guinea of it ever came back 
 to us. These particulars I afterwards learned. 
 
 " All hope of recovering our lost property having 
 at last faded from the mind of my brother, he 
 resolved on coming to America, and seeking his 
 fortune in this land of promise. With about two 
 hundred pounds in gold, all that remained to us of 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 41 
 
 very great wealth, we set sail for an unknown 
 country. We landed at New York, and there 
 my brother endeavored to get into business. 
 Comfortable rooms were taken for us in a board 
 ing-house, where we remained for several months. 
 During the first part of this time our brother was 
 very attentive to all our wants, and was always 
 glad to meet us when he came home ; but he 
 gradually became less interested in us. Sometimes 
 he did not come in all day, nor at night until we 
 were in bed and asleep. In the mornings he was 
 silent, and, I could see, very much troubled about 
 something. This went on for about four months, 
 when he told us one day that he was going to 
 leave New York. We were all got ready 
 hurriedly soon after, and brought to this city. 
 Here my brother opened a little grocery and liquor 
 store, which was frequented by a great many of 
 our countrymen of the lower sort, who bought 
 groceries for their families and liquors for them 
 selves. But he was greatly changed. At home 
 he had been one of the best of brothers, and for a 
 short time after our arrival in New York had con 
 tinued to act towards us with uniform kindness ; 
 now, however, he had become silent, gloomy, and 
 ill-natured. He never spoke to us except to order 
 4* 
 
42 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 us to do something, or to scold us for some alleged 
 neglect. I was required, young as I was, to wait 
 upon customers, and to work about like a little 
 drudge. All this I would have done cheerfully if 
 my reward had been his smiles and kind words 
 of approval ; but these never came. Thus matters 
 continued for about six months, when the store 
 was closed, and myself and sister bound out. I 
 
 found an asylum in the family of Mrs. L . 
 
 My poor sister was less fortunate. The woman 
 who took her treated her with much cruelty ; but 
 this was not long permitted. She died with the 
 scarlet fever in about a year." 
 
 Mary s voice failed her here. But she soon 
 recovered it, and went on. 
 
 " I did not see my little sister at the time she 
 died nor afterwards. The disease, when it took 
 hold of her, soon ended fatally. One Sunday 
 afternoon, a time when I always had a few 
 hours to myself, I went, as usual, to see Sarah. 
 The woman with whom she lived never seemed 
 much pleased when I came there. This time, 
 when I went in and asked for my sister, I per 
 ceived a great change in her manner. She looked 
 serious, and taking my hand, said, in a kind voice, 
 " Mary, you will never see your sister again. She 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 43 
 
 died three days ago with scarlet fever ! This was 
 a dreadful shock to me. For a little while, it 
 seemed as if my heart had ceased to beat. I had 
 not even known of her illness. The last time I 
 had seen her, only a week before, she had ap 
 peared as well as usual, but she was not happy. 
 How could she be ? Only nine years old away 
 from the pleasant home of childhood separated 
 from the sister she loved so tenderly, and com 
 pelled to work beyond her strength. And more 
 than all this, scolded and whipped for things she 
 couldn t help. I remember so well what passed 
 on that Sunday afternoon. We had gone up into 
 the garret where her hard bed was laid upon the 
 floor, and had sat down upon it, for there was not 
 a chair or bench in the room, with our arms 
 around each other s necks to talk about home. The 
 first words brought the tears from Sarah s eyes. 
 Her heart was fuller than usual. I drew my arm 
 tightly around her, and she laid her head down 
 upon my shoulder and cried for a long while. Is 
 there any thing the matter, sister? I asked. As 
 I said this, she lifted her head, and rolling up the 
 sleeie of her frock, pointed to several deep red 
 marks upon her little arm. And they re all over 
 my back and shoulders ! she said, sobbing bit- 
 
44 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 terly. I did not ask what they meant. I under 
 stood too well. All I could do, was to press her 
 with a tighter clasp to my bosom, and mingle my 
 unavailing tears with hers Last night, she said, 
 after some time had passed, and her tears had 
 ceased to flow, * I dreamed that our mother came 
 here, and taking hold of my hand, led me away 
 back to our home in Ireland. I was so happy ! 
 But it was only a dream ! I ve been thinking 
 ever since, Mary, that I would like to die and go 
 to her. Wouldn t you ? * You must try and 
 not think that way, Sarah, I replied to this. But 
 I can t help it, she said quickly. If I could only 
 die and go to my mother ! Oh, sister, how 
 happy I would then be ! 
 
 " The eager wish of her little aching heart was 
 speedily gratified. She was taken away by Him 
 whose ear is open to the cry of the orphan. I 
 never saw her from that hour. Dear child ! How 
 often, lonely as I felt without a single one to love, 
 have I thanked our Father in Heaven for taking 
 her away from her cruel bondage. There was 
 one act of kindness in the hard-hearted woman 
 with whom my sister lived, that softened my feel 
 ings towards her. She gave me the little trunk 
 in which Sarah kept her clothes, and in which 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 45 
 
 every thing belonging to her had been placed. I 
 have all these still. They are to me precious 
 relics, and, even now, I sometimes look at them 
 until the tears run down my face, 
 
 " I learned the place where Sarah was buried. 
 In this last act there appears to have been some 
 little conscience at work. They did not bury her 
 in the Potter s field. Some excuse was made for 
 not sending for me, on the ground that the disease 
 was catching? but it did not satisfy me. It al 
 most broke my heart to think, that she had sick 
 ened and died thus alone with strangers, who had 
 no regard for her. The absolute certainty of 
 death could not have kept me away from her, my 
 innocent minded, tender, abused little sister. But 
 I must not talk about this. It disturbs me too 
 much." 
 
 / 1 looked at Mary more intently as she said this, 
 and perceived that her hand was trembling, her 
 cheeks flushed, and her whole frame laboring un 
 der excitement. 
 
 " I don t know but that I have been trespassing 
 too far upon you all in this," she said, after a pause. 
 " It is the first time any one has seemed to take 
 an interest in knowing my past history, and this 
 
46 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 interest has betrayed me, I fear, into saying too 
 much." 
 
 I assured her that this was not so. That I 
 had a great desire to learn all about her, and had 
 purposely led her on to speak of herself. But as 
 I did not think it good for her, under her present 
 agitated state of mind, to continue her narrative, I 
 told her that I would be glad to hear more from 
 her at some other time naming the afternoon of 
 the same day provided nothing prevented. I then 
 left her to herself for two or three hours, saying, 
 as I was about going from the room 
 
 " I would rather, Mary, that you would not, 
 while working for me, apply yourself quite so 
 closely as you do. It is not hard to see, that in 
 your new calling, you are too much confined. 
 If your health has not already suffered, it will 
 suffer." 
 
 A silent but grateful look was the only reply 
 she made. I then left the room, and did not re 
 turn to it for two hours. But there was little of 
 that time in which my thoughts were not upon 
 the interesting seamstress to whose affecting his 
 tory I had been listening. I felt a particular de 
 sire to learn from her exactly how Mrs. L 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 47 
 
 had treated her during the seven years she had 
 passed in her family. Not well, I was satisfied. 
 And yet, if any one had insinuated that she had not 
 done her duty by the orphan child committed to 
 her care, it would have filled her, I doubt not, with 
 astonishment. 
 
48 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF MARY M LEAN*S STORY. 
 
 AFTER dinner I went into the room where Mary 
 was sewing, and told her that if she felt free to 
 do so, I would be glad to have her relate to me 
 further, the incidents of her life, since she had 
 come to this country. She smiled faintly and 
 sadly, and then without hesitation, resumed where 
 she had left off. 
 
 " The removal of my sister made me feel lost 
 and lonely. The love I bore to her, and the deep 
 anxiety and pain I constantly felt for her, had 
 the effect to take me, as it were, out of myself 
 to cause me to think little of myself. But after 
 she died, my heart became heavy within my bo 
 som. There was no one to whom it could turn 
 there was no one for it to love. My brother had 
 left the city and returned to New York. I wrote 
 him a letter, as well as I could, on the Sunday 
 after I heard of Sarah s death, and told him all 
 about how she had been treated. But he did not 
 get it or, if he did, never replied to it. After 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 49 
 
 that, time passed without any change worth no 
 ticing. Mrs. L was kind enough in her man 
 ner towards me, and this attached me to her. But 
 I had to work very hard. The family was large, 
 and she kept but one other girl of course we had 
 to do every thing ; even all the washing and iron 
 ing. I was willing, however, and this satisfied 
 
 Mrs. L . Sunday afternoon was the only 
 
 leisure time I had. Then I would go up into 
 the garret, where I slept, and sit and think of my 
 father and mother and Sarah, who were dead of 
 the happy home I had once had and then of my 
 present hard and lonely condition. At first, these 
 thoughts always filled my eyes with tears. I 
 would cry for sometimes a whole hour. Then I 
 would have a feeling that this was wrong. That 
 my Father in Heaven knew all about me, and that 
 he had permitted this change to take place for my 
 good. These thoughts usually had the effect to 
 make me get down upon my knees, and pray for 
 a spirit of humble submission to my lot. After 
 doing so, I always felt something warm and happy 
 in my bosom with a sweet peace that I cannot 
 describe. In this way, months and years passed 
 away. Every Sunday afternoon, I would go off 
 alone into the garret and read some good book 
 
50 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 most frequently the Bible think about my old 
 home, and my old condition, and then, as I would 
 grow sad, kneel down and pray for submission. 
 
 " One effect of this constant thinking about the 
 past of this musing over my lost home and its 
 comforts, was to elevate my feelings above my 
 
 condition. Mrs. L often blamed me because 
 
 I kept myself, as she said, so much to myself. 
 There were several girls about my own age, in the 
 neighborhood, who occupied positions in other 
 families similiar to what I did in the family of 
 
 Mrs. L . These often made efforts to draw 
 
 me out into associations with them. They would 
 speak kindly to me when I met them in the street, 
 and stop and want to talk about such matters as 
 interested them. Sometimes, in the evening, they 
 would come into our kitchen, and sit here for awhile, 
 running on with their nonsense ; but it didn t suit 
 my taste at all. It was for not being on more 
 
 sociable terms with these girls, that Mrs. L 
 
 used to blame me particularly if she by any 
 accident happened to discover me, as she sometimes 
 did, sitting and crying all alone by myself, while I 
 could give her no intelligible reason for my tears, 
 
 " But I had no relish for the society of these 
 girls. Their ideas and conversation were low ; 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 51 
 
 and often vulgar, if not unchaste. Hardly ever 
 did I listen to any one of them talk for five minutes, 
 that something was not said at which my delicacy 
 was shocked. No no I could not make com 
 panions of these. * Never, never will I say or do 
 any thing to disgrace the memory of my father ! 
 
 was the unanswerable reply to all Mrs. L s 
 
 rebukes. Not uttered for her ear, but spoken in 
 the silence of my own thoughts. I felt that I 
 could not make companions of the vulgar-minded, 
 the unchaste, the impure, without becoming myself 
 like unto my companions. And if I died in very 
 loneliness of spirit, I was resolved to die but not 
 to disgrace by such low associations the memory 
 of my father. From these resolutions I never for 
 a single moment departed. During the long years I 
 
 passed in the family of Mrs. L , I never had 
 
 but one friend of my own age and sex. She was 
 an innocent, but rather weak-minded girl. It was 
 for her innocence that I loved her. For about a 
 year we were companions whenever we could 
 meet. But, alas ! Her mind began to be cor 
 rupted by just the class of girls with whom I had 
 all along perseveringly refused to associate. She 
 was introduced to some young men who were in 
 no way calculated to elevate her affections. A new 
 
52 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 world was, as it were, opened to her, in which was 
 pleasant excitement, flattery, and extended com 
 panionship. For a time, she strove to lure me 
 into this vortex. But I was immovable, at the same 
 time that I tried hard to save her from its influence. 
 My efforts, however, were in vain. There was 
 something more congenial with such associations 
 in her mind, than I had supposed. Gradually she 
 ceased to come to our house, and, as a conse 
 quence, our intimacy fell off. Still I loved her, 
 and grieved long over her blindness in choosing such 
 companions and such delights. About four years 
 ago, she married one of the young men with whom 
 she associated, a shoemaker. It has turned out 
 as I feared. He has not been able to make her a 
 comfortable support, and what is more, has become 
 idle and drunken. I met her a few months ago in 
 the street, and barely recognized her, she was so 
 changed. While we were companions, she was a 
 round-faced, rosy-cheeked, happy-hearted girl, as 
 neat and tidy, always, as if she were just out of a 
 band-box. How different she looked, when I saw 
 her after the passage of a few years ! I could not 
 realize that the pale, thin, dejected-looking creature, 
 with poor, soiled garments, that I held by the hand, 
 could possibly be my old friend. But it was, alas ! 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 53 
 
 too true. The former regard I had entertained for 
 her, came back upon my heart, and melted me 
 almost to tears. Following the impulses of my 
 feelings, I walked with her to her home, which 
 was a single room, in the second story of a house 
 standing in a small, retired street. There were, in 
 this room, three little children, as miserable in ap 
 pearance as their mother. To support these, or, 
 to make up the deficiency in their support, arising 
 from their father s idleness, or waste of money that 
 he earned, in drink, she had to work with her 
 needle, in binding shoes, nearly two-thirds of her 
 time. When I learned this, I was less surprised 
 to find them miserably clad, and the apartment 
 which they occupied, as comfortless and untidy as 
 it could well be. I tried to encourage her to 
 pay more regard to having things around her 
 orderly and clean. But she only wept at this, and 
 said she had no kind of heart to do any thing but 
 keep her children from starving. That her hus 
 band drank up nearly all that he earned, and left 
 the whole burden of every thing upon her. I 
 found that she was quite spirit-broken. That she 
 had no hope of ever rising to a better condition, 
 or of doing more, if even she could succeed in that, 
 than barely keeping her children from being hungry 
 
54 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 and cold. I left her, I can assure you, with a 
 sad heart. It is painful, indeed, to see the spirit 
 of any one so broken down as to leave her no 
 hope of rising from a low and miserable condition. 
 Since then, I have called to see her, as a matter of 
 duty, several times. For her children I have bought 
 and made clothes ; and also one or two comfortable 
 dresses for herself. But there is little encouragement 
 to do this. It only causes her worthless husband 
 to spend more upon his vile indulgences. 
 
 * But I am wandering away from my own 
 story, forgetful that you cannot take the same in 
 terest in one who had been my friend and com 
 panion. As I have said, I made it a matter of 
 fixed principle not to associate with any if they 
 were not such as were calculated to elevate rather 
 than depress me ; and in abiding by this resolu 
 tion, the memory of my father and mother saved 
 me in all temptations. My condition in Mrs. 
 
 L s family was one in no way congenial to 
 
 my feelings. The hard drudgery of a kitchen, as 
 you may well suppose, suited not my slender 
 body nor my mind, that was ever rising above 
 the station I occupied, although it did not prevent 
 me from being faithful in it. There was one per 
 son besides myself whose business it was to per- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 55 
 
 form the various duties required of domestics. As 
 the family was large, and we had all the washing 
 and ironing to do, you may well suppose that we 
 were worked pretty hard. I never objected to 
 this, for I was always willing and moreover, a 
 kind and encouraging word from Mrs. L - was 
 always stimulant enough to keep me going from 
 day dawn until midnight, without a murmuring 
 word or thought. My duties were as varied as 
 they well could be. I helped wash, iron, and 
 cook, after I had become old enough ; went through 
 all the chambers and the parlors, and did all the 
 marketing, both buying it and carrying it home. 
 This last was very hard labor. We lived a long 
 distance from the market-house, and the baskets 
 were very heavy. I generally had to go twice. 
 In warm weather, towards the last, I found it very 
 severe ; sometimes after I got home I would not 
 get over the trembling that carrying two heavy 
 baskets produced, for several hours. Once I 
 fainted in the street, and had to be brought home. 
 " As I grew up tall and slender, and the time ap 
 proached when I should be free from service, I 
 began to think about the future, and myself as a 
 woman. That I would not remain a mere house 
 servant, was at once determined in my own mind. 
 
56 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 I saw nothing wrong or disgraceful in it, but it did 
 not suit my tastes and ideas at all. How would 
 my parents feel, could they see me as I now am V 
 was a thought that exercised likewise a controlling 
 influence over me. I felt it due to them to rise 
 into a higher condition. Looking at this, I began 
 to read more than I had done. This I could do 
 by sitting up an hour later every night ; books I 
 obtained from Mr. L - s library, and the news 
 papers, which occupied the most of my time thus 
 devoted, were always lying about. One day a 
 book that I was reading was missed from the 
 library, and hearing it asked for, I said that I had 
 it, and immediately ran to the garret and brought 
 it down. It was Fenelon s Telemachus. Mr. 
 
 L looked at me with an expression of surprise 
 
 when I handed it to him, but said nothing. After 
 
 he had left the room, Mrs. L said that she 
 
 hoped it would be the last time I took any of Mr. 
 
 L s books up into my room any how, she 
 
 didn t see what time I had to read books. I told 
 her that I read at night after I had done work. 
 
 " Well, I can t have that, Mary, she replied; 
 you will injure your health by sitting up to read 
 at night, after you are tired with working all day, 
 and besides, I don t like to have candles taken up 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 57 
 
 into the garret to read by ; it is dangerous. You 
 might fall asleep and set the house on fire. 
 
 " O, no, I urged, there isn t any danger at 
 all. I never get sleepy when I have a book to 
 read. 
 
 " I can t have it, Mary ; so let that settle the 
 matter, she said to this, in a rebuking, decided 
 tone. 
 
 " I left the room without a word. I can hardly 
 tell how I felt ; not in a good spirit, certainly. 
 Never before had I permitted myself to indulge 
 
 against Mrs. L bad thoughts. But I could 
 
 not help it now ; and the moment I suffered my 
 heart to rebel against arbitrary dictation, there 
 rushed into my mind a flood of accusing thoughts. 
 Scales seemed to have dropped from my eyes. I 
 
 saw my relation to Mrs. L in a new light 
 
 altogether. I asked myself how she would like a 
 child of hers, no one of whom had been cared for 
 and loved more tenderly than I had been, treated 
 just as she had treated me ; made a mere working 
 machine, as I had been made, and not a thought 
 given to her mind, not a provision made for her 
 future elevation above an uncongenial condition ? 
 Such, thoughts, you may well suppose, did not 
 make me feel any happier. From that time until 
 8 
 
58 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 I left Mrs. L , I became a dissatisfied mur- 
 
 murer not openly, but in silence ; but I am not 
 conscious of having during that time neglected a 
 task, or of having shown any reluctance to perform 
 even the most unpleasant and trying duties imposed 
 upon me. I never afterwards touched a book in 
 the library. The newspapers I read, as usual, 
 whenever I could find a leisure moment. To do 
 this, I would sit up later in the kitchen, and in the 
 summer time rise half an hour earlier. The great 
 variety of topics introduced into the newspapers 
 furnished my mind with general ideas, and these 
 I thought about all day while attending faithfully 
 to my calling. All I read, tended to fix in me a 
 
 determination to leave Mrs. L and learn a 
 
 trade so soon as I became of age. This I men 
 tioned to her about three months before my time 
 was up. She seemed surprised that I should have 
 thought of such a thing, and at once opposed my 
 intended plan. The ground she took was, that as 
 I was not of a very robust constitution, and had 
 been used to an active life, the change to one so 
 quiet and inactive as that of a seamstress, would 
 undermine my health. I felt that there was some 
 force in this, but not sufficient to deter me from 
 making the trial so fixed was my repugnance to 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 59 
 
 remaining as I then was. Mrs. L saw that 
 
 her arguments did not bear very strongly upon 
 my mind, and this evidently vexed her. I did not 
 then think that there was any thing selfish in her 
 opposition, I wish I could think so now. What 
 I have since seen of the inefficiency, dishonesty, 
 and want of almost every virtue in many domes 
 tics in other families, leaves me not at all in wonder 
 
 that Mrs. L should have felt unpleasant at 
 
 the thought of losing the services of one who had 
 never shrunk from any task, and who had relieved 
 her from the burden of half her family duties for 
 years. But this does not make right the attempt to 
 epress and oppress a friendless girl. She ought 
 to have manifested towards me some generous in 
 terest after the term of my service had expired, 
 especially as I had faithfully worked for her during 
 the whole of that term, and been rewarded with 
 only poor and scanty clothing and the food I daily 
 eat. How grateful would I have been for a few 
 months schooling ! or for even a few hours to 
 myself during each week, when not pressed down 
 with fatigue, with the encouragement to read and 
 the right kind of books provided for me. But it 
 was not dreamed that I, a poor bound girl, had 
 any need of other food than bodily food, or of 
 
60 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 other clothing than bodily clothing ; that I was 
 ever hungry, except for the bread and meat that 
 perishes. 
 
 " On attaining my eighteenth year, Mrs. L 
 
 gave me a new bonnet, very plain and common, 
 an ordinary calico dress, a suit of under clothes, 
 and a pair of shoes and stockings. This formed 
 the best of every thing I had, and was, no doubt, 
 considered By her very good and very liberal 
 for one in my condition. Besides these, I had 
 only a few worn and faded frocks, and some 
 thin, patched under clothes, and two or three pairs 
 of well-darned stockings. In order to learn the 
 trade of dress-making, which I preferred to ajj 
 others, it would be necessary for me to give my 
 services for one year, and pay, besides, a fee of 
 thirty dollars. This included boarding in the 
 family of the person from whom I learned. But 
 I could not pay any fee, for I had no money. 
 There was, however, another way. I could, by 
 working two years, avoid giving any fee. But 
 two years was a long time to serve, and I hadn t 
 clothes for one year, much less for two. There 
 was still another plan. By boarding out of the 
 house, I could get a trade in one year. This last 
 plan I selected as the only one open to me. Of 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 61 
 
 course, to enter into it, I must find some one will 
 ing to board me for what I could do before break 
 fast in the morning, and after tea in the evening; 
 and I must, besides, have clothes enough to last 
 for a year, and these must be of a kind and quality, 
 in which I could appear, without attracting notice, 
 among the young misses of the work room. 
 
 " The place to board I did not know, nor had I 
 the required stock of clothing. But I was not 
 discouraged. Friendless stranger as I was, every 
 
 where beyond the threshold of Mrs. L s 
 
 door, I nevertheless resolved to have a trade, and 
 in the way just mentioned. But, first, it would 
 be necessary for me to work for wages, until I 
 had obtained genteel clothing sufficient to last me 
 for a year and during the time thus engaged, I 
 felt sure that I could find some one who, for the 
 little I would eat, would be willing to accept about 
 five hours service from me every day. I frankly 
 
 stated to Mrs. L my intention, as soon as I 
 
 gained my eighteenth year. She said I mustn t 
 think of such a thing. That it would kill me. 
 That the change from my active life, to the inaction 
 of a work room, would be severe enough indeed 
 too severe for me without adding labor before 
 6 
 
62 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 day in the morning, and after night, for the sake 
 of getting my board. I did not reply to her argu 
 ment ; but my mind was fixed. 
 
 " The wages tendered me by Mrs. L was 
 
 three dollars a month, scarcely half what my ser 
 vices were worth to her, and certainly not one- 
 half what she would have been willing to give me 
 rather than lose my services, as her own ofTer 
 afterwards showed. My great reluctance to go 
 ing into any other family to do housework, caused 
 me to accept the poor compensation offered. On 
 three dollars a month, it took me a whole year to 
 earn thirty-six dollars, all of which I laid out in 
 the most careful manner, for good articles of 
 clothing, which I made up with my own hands 
 after I had finished my daily labors. I said no 
 thing about a trade to Mrs. L , nor she to 
 
 me. This would only have interrupted the good 
 feeling between us, and I loved peace, kind looks, 
 and kind words too well to risk any allusion to 
 the subject. But I was, notwithstanding, firm in 
 my resolution. Towards the end of the year, I 
 happened to learn, seemingly by accident, of a 
 lady and her daughter, in reduced circumstances, 
 who would be glad to enter into just such an 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 63 
 
 arrangement with some one as I wished to make. 
 I went to see them, and they at once agreed to 
 accept my services as a domestic, for my board. 
 
 " As soon as I had all my arrangements com 
 pleted, even to the engagement of myself to a 
 
 dress-maker for a year, I told Mrs. L what 
 
 I had done. She became instantly very angry, 
 and charged me with ingratitude towards her. 
 Said she had taken me out of the street, when I 
 would soon have been sent to the poorhouse, and 
 had been at a great deal of pains and trouble to 
 make something out of me ; and now, just when 
 my services were becoming of some value to her, I 
 was about going away. But this was just the way 
 persons of my class always served their benefac 
 tors. We were an ungrateful set. And a great 
 deal more to the same effect. I cannot tell yon, 
 Mrs. Elmwood, how this hurt me. I had loved 
 
 Mrs. L , notwithstanding I often felt as if she 
 
 might look more closely to my good, as a human 
 being and a Christian. She was uniformly kind 
 in her manner towards me and for this I loved 
 her. But now, the charge of ingratitude, and the 
 assumption that she had done so much for me 
 when it was too painfully evident, that she cared 
 not a straw for me, apart from the service I could 
 
64 
 
 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 render her, and which she could not get from any 
 one else wrought a great change in my feelings. 
 In spite of a severe struggle with myself, I could 
 not help despising her for her narrow minded, 
 selfish desire to grind down and oppress a poor, 
 friendless girl. Instantly my mind threw off the 
 feeling of deference, and the oppressing sense of 
 infirmity with which it had always bowed in her 
 presence, and I stood before her in calm, silent, 
 conscious superiority. I might be able to give 
 my body to be burned, but to act towards any 
 one with the selfish desire to oppress that she had 
 acted towards me, was contrary to my nature, 
 and could not be done. I made no reply, but 
 turned from her presence, and left the room. I 
 had yet a month to stay, before the period arrived 
 at which I was to enter upon my new term of 
 
 service. During that period, Mrs. L hardly 
 
 spoke to me, and whenever I happened to be where 
 she was, her manner towards me was cold, con 
 strained, and bore the appearance of anger. 
 
 " At last the time came for me to leave my 
 home of eight years. It was a hard trial. All 
 
 the kind feelings I had entertained for Mrs. L 
 
 came back upon my heart with double force from 
 their temporary suspension. But she did not 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 65 
 
 even allow me to take her hand in parting, and 
 her cold * Good-bye, Mary, chilled me through 
 and through. As I have before said, I went back 
 to the house, once, to see her, but she sent down 
 word that she was engaged. I understood very 
 well what that meant, and never went there again. 
 Twice I met her in the street, and paused, invol 
 untarily, but she nodded coldly, and passed on. 
 Here I met her the third time. I need not tell 
 you how I was received. All this hurts me more 
 than any one can tell. 
 
 " For the first six months after going to my 
 trade, the loss of her kindness, and the absence 
 of her face that long familiarity had rendered 
 almost like a mother s face to me preyed upon 
 my mind so, that I lost my appetite. The change 
 in my mode of life was trying enough to a deli 
 cate frame, even with a cheerful mind. But to 
 sit and sew for ten hours each day, when for 
 eight years I had been engaged in vigorous bodily 
 exercise, and to have added to this such depressed 
 feelings, that when I sat down to my meals the 
 food had no sweet taste for my mouth, was more 
 than I could well bear up under. I soon had a 
 constant pain in my side, and grew pale and lan 
 guid. In the mornings when I awoke, I felt so 
 6* 
 
66 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 sluggish that I could with difficulty force myself 
 to get up ; and after I had prepared breakfast for 
 the family in which I was working for my board, 
 had to force myself to eat a few mouthfuls. 
 
 " By the time my year was up I found my 
 system greatly enfeebled. My appetite never 
 came back. Night after night I would dream of 
 seeing spread out before me tables covered with 
 tempting food, of which a keen sense of hunger 
 would prompt me to reach out my hand to par 
 take, when all would vanish ; but when day had 
 come, I loathed the food that was set before me. 
 Released from my close confinement of a whole 
 year, I resolved to give myself more exercise in 
 the open air ; to sit at the work table less than ten 
 hours, until I got back the healthy action in my 
 body. This was more. easily resolved than done. 
 It was a very busy season, and the dress-maker 
 with whom I had served my time, wished me to 
 continue sewing for her a couple of months on 
 wages, until the press of business was over. I 
 consented ; and, as I did not now have to work for 
 my boarding, instead of sewing ten hours, I often 
 worked twelve. Of course, this did me no good. 
 The exercise I had necessarily to take in doing tho 
 housework of the family where I boarded, was far 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 67 
 
 better for me than the new system of lying in bed 
 an hour later in the morning and sitting at the work 
 table two hours later in the evening. Indeed, I 
 now got no exercise at all worth speaking of. 
 
 " At the end of the two months, when work fell 
 off, I had become so weak that it was with diffi 
 culty I could get through the duties of the day. 
 My face had become very pale, my whole body 
 emaciated, and my frame so enfeebled that the 
 effort to walk from the work room to my boarding 
 house, only a few squares, made me tremble all 
 over. It was good for me that I could get no 
 more work to do for three months. I was a 
 stranger in the city where I had lived for nine 
 years, and knew not to what family to offer my 
 services. This troubled me a good deal, although 
 in the place where I boarded, services rendered in 
 various ways saved me all expense, except for 
 clothes. In the two months that I received money 
 for my work, I made, clear of what I paid for 
 boarding, sixteen dollars. This, carefully laid 
 out, provided me with clothes suitable to make an 
 appearance in families where I wished to get em 
 ployment. I had nearly recovered my health, or 
 apparently so, when I got a place to sew for three 
 or four weeks. When through there, another 
 
68 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 family wanted my services, and ever since I have 
 been kept busy : but I am very much afraid, Mrs. 
 Elmwood, that my health has received a shock 
 from which it will not easily recover. Mrs. 
 
 L was right when she said that to change 
 
 my mode of life so thoroughly would be more than 
 I could bear ; and yet I feel sure that if she had 
 kindly encouraged me when she saw how desirous 
 I was of learning a trade, had procured for me a 
 good place, and then let me have continued at my 
 old home until I had finished my trade, it would 
 have been very different with me. I know that 
 it was my mind that destroyed my appetite, and 
 without an appetite for wholesome food, how could 
 I bear up under severer trials of body. 
 
 " But I fear that I have already more than 
 wearied you out with the story of my poor life ; 
 and I am not sure that in speaking so freely of 
 
 Mrs. L as I have done, I have not been 
 
 wrong but what I have said is said, and cannot 
 now be recalled." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MY OLD WASHERWOMAN. 
 
 IT was on Monday, our regular washing day, 
 that Mary M Lean told me her history, and I was 
 sitting, a little while before the dusk of evening, 
 thinking it over, and wondering in my own mind 
 
 how any one could be so unjust as Mrs. L 
 
 had been to Mary. It was so much worse, be 
 cause it was the strong oppressing the weak. I 
 was thus musing when Nancy, my old colored 
 washerwoman, whom I have paid regularly every 
 week for her day s work at the washing tub, during 
 the past six years, presented herself at the door of 
 my room, as has always been her custom, to notify 
 me that her part of the contract had been fulfilled, 
 and that it was now time for me to fulfil my por 
 tion of it. It so happened that, for the first time, 
 I had not the accustomed half dollar ready for her. 
 I had three or four silver dollars in change, but I 
 only owed her half a dollar, and so could not make 
 it out. 
 
 " I havn t a single half dollar in change, Nancy," 
 
70 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 I said, looking up into the old woman s face ; "but 
 no matter, it will do as well next Monday, when 
 you come again." 
 
 For a moment Nancy hesitated, and I could see 
 that she was disappointed. Then she turned and 
 walked slowly away without saying a word. I 
 did not like this. Punctually, for six years, had I 
 paid her at the close of every washing day, and 
 now, it happening that I could not make the change, 
 she was not pleased. Thus I thought, and per 
 mitted such thoughts to linger in my mind, until I 
 grew quite angry in my feelings towards old Nancy. 
 I called her greedy ; and permitted myself to 
 imagine that she was afraid I would not pay her. 
 The more I thought about it, the more my mind 
 became disturbed, and the more unkind things did 
 I permit myself to harbor against her. 
 
 In the evening, when my husband came in, he 
 noticed in a moment that my mind was not in a 
 placid state. 
 
 " Has any thing happened to disturb you, 
 Mary ?" he asked, in his usually kind way. 
 
 " Yes, there has," I returned in a petulant tone, 
 " and I feel vexed, in spite of myself." 
 
 " Pray, what ha.s occurred, Mary, thus to disturb 
 your usually quiet mind?" 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 71 
 
 " Oh, nothing to trouble yon," I replied, seeing 
 that my husband looked uneasy. " I am a little 
 foolish, no doubt, but then I can t help it. I hap 
 pened not to have half a dollar in change to-day, 
 when Nancy finished her washing. It is the first 
 time it has happened for six years, and so I told 
 her that I would hand it to her on next Monday, 
 when she came. But the old thing (I never spoke 
 of her so before,) hesitated, and didn t seem willing 
 to go without her money. It vexed me downright 
 just as if I would cheat her out of it." 
 
 I must confess that when I came to relate the 
 matter to my husband, I felt a little ashamed about 
 it. It sounded rather foolish even to my ears. 
 
 "Did you get the half dollar for her?" he 
 asked, as soon as I had closed my brief relation. 
 
 " No, I did not : I wasn t going to humor her 
 in that way." 
 
 " I m afraid my good wife is in the wr.ong this 
 time," my husband said, with his usual honest 
 frankness. " Nancy had earned her money, and 
 was entitled to it." 
 
 " I know that well enough," I returned ; " but 
 then the mere trifle of half a dollar was not a matter 
 of so much consequence as to make her afraid to 
 let it lie in my hands for one week. She never 
 
72 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 had to wait an hour in her life before for what I 
 owed her." 
 
 " Why should you think it involved a doubt of 
 your honesty, Mary ?" responded my husband. 
 " Can you not imagine some other reason?" 
 
 " What other reason could there be ?" I asked. 
 
 " Want of money was no doubt the true reason. 
 A washerwoman earns so little that she can never 
 have much ahead at any time. A half dollar a 
 day for three or four days in the week, does not 
 make up a very large income, and will rarely per 
 mit the person who earns it to lay by much. No 
 doubt poor old Nancy is at this moment suffering 
 privation of some kind in consequence of not hav 
 ing received her hard day s earnings." 
 
 N " no, husband, I have no idea of that," I re 
 plied, in a changed tone. " Nancy lives very 
 comfortably, I believe. She doesn t want for any 
 thing." 
 
 " Do not be so certain of that. Her wants may 
 be small, but her means of support are small like 
 wise. Depend upon it, her exhibition of disap 
 pointment to-day arose from a deeper source than a 
 mere desire to get her money that she might 
 possess it, and lay it by." 
 
 I did not reply to this, because it set me to think- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 73 
 
 ing and my thoughts troubled me. While I 
 permitted myself to be displeased with Nancy, I 
 could indulge in an accusing spirit against her : but 
 now, a feeling of kindness had been awakened by 
 my husband s remarks, and this gained strength 
 every moment, until my heart was pained at the 
 thought that the poor creature might actually be 
 suffering because I had neglected to have the small 
 pittance she had earned by a hard day s labour, 
 ready for her when her work was done. 
 
 "I am sorry I did not give her a dollar, and 
 thus pay her in advance for next week, instead of 
 making her wait a week for what she had earned," 
 I said, half aloud. 
 
 " That would have been better, Mary," my 
 husband replied. " But it is not too late, yet, 
 to repair your error. Do you know where she 
 lives?" 
 
 " The cook does, I believe." 
 
 " Then call her up, and send her with the half 
 dollar to Nancy." 
 
 " I will, after tea," I answered*. 
 
 "0 no. Send her before tea. Let us wait. 
 Perhaps the poor old creature has a use for that 
 single half dollar, of which we dream not." 
 
 The cook was called up, but she said that Nancy 
 7 
 
74 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 lived at No. 10 L street, which was a long 
 
 distance from our house. 
 
 " Never mind," said my husband ; " I will walk 
 down that way after tea." 
 
 " O no. I wouldn t do that," I said. 
 
 " I would rather," was his quiet, firm reply. 
 Whenever he spoke in the peculiar tone in which 
 he uttered his last remark, I never objected further ; 
 and so I remained silent. 
 
 After tea, he, put on his hat and walked out. He 
 did not return for an hour. When he came in he 
 looked serious. 
 
 " Did you find her, dear ?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. 
 
 "And did she really stand in need of the 
 money ?" 
 
 "Listen, and you shall learn," he replied. 
 " You remember old Nancy had a daughter who 
 was married a few years ago. Well, I found that 
 
 the old woman lived in a room up stairs in L 
 
 street, and that this daughter was with her, quite 
 sick. Her husband had treated her badly, and had 
 gone off to New Orleans, some weeks ago. When 
 I entered old Nancy s poorly furnished room, she 
 arose very quickly to her feet, and looked very 
 much surprised to see me." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 75 
 
 " Mrs. Elmwood, I said to her in as kind a 
 voice as I could assume, is sorry that she hadn t 
 the change to give you to-day for your washing. 
 She has thought, since you went away, that per 
 haps you might want it, and as I thought so too, 
 I have stepped in to give it to you. 
 
 " The poor old creature seemed touched at this. 
 Her voice choked as she attempted to utter her 
 thanks, and then she held down her head* and 
 seemed a good deal moved. 
 
 * * Is this your daughter ? I asked, wishing to 
 relieve her from the embarrassment she seemed to 
 feel. 
 
 " She said that it was. That she had been sick 
 for some weeks. That her husband had gone off 
 and left her, and all the burden of her care and 
 support in sickness had fallen upon her. I con 
 tinued to question her, and get her free and artless 
 answers, until I learned that since Saturday they 
 had had but little food, and that she had not been 
 able to buy the medicine ordered by the doctor for 
 her daughter. 
 
 " * Mrs. Elmwood had always paid me as soon 
 as ;ny washing is done, she went on, and so I 
 told Jane she must bear every thing as well as she 
 could, until I came home this evening, when I 
 
76 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 would get her some medicine, and cook something 
 nice for her to eat. I worked harder than usual, 
 thinking all the time of my poor sick child. At 
 last I finished, and went up, as I always do, to get 
 my money. But Mrs. Elmwood hadn t any 
 change ! I can t tell you how bad I felt as I went 
 home. I hated to come into my room to see Jane. 
 When I did get home, my poor child looked at me 
 with a look that made my heart ache. She had 
 waited, I could see, patiently all day, alone in her 
 sick bed, and now her wants were to be satisfied. 
 But I had to disappoint her. She tried not to 
 show how bad she felt when I told her that Mrs. 
 Elmwood had not paid me, but the tears ran down 
 her face. 
 
 " I could hear no more. * Here is your money, 
 Nancy, and as much more into the bargain, to 
 make up for your disappointment, I said, hand 
 ing her a dollar. I would have given her more, 
 had I yielded to my feelings. But I knew that 
 sum would meet all her immediate wants. I then 
 broke away from the grateful creature, as well as 
 I could, assuring her that while her daughter lay 
 sick she should have three quarters a day for 
 washing at our home the pay never to fail." 
 
 The narrative of my husband rebuked and hum- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 77 
 
 oled me. I both saw and felt that I had acted 
 wrong in not thinking beforehand, and providing 
 the change for my washerwoman and still more 
 wrongly in suffering my mind to blame her for 
 appearing to feel disappointed, when she had so 
 much cause to be really distressed, at not receiving 
 her hard-earned wages. 
 
 " I will be more considerate in future," I said 
 to my husband, after I had sat silent for some time, 
 drying my eyes as I spoke. 
 
 " I am sure you will, Mary," he replied. " Of 
 the poor people who work for us, we never can be 
 too thoughtful. It is but little that they can earn 
 at best, and that little should be promptly paid ; for 
 it is never earned before it is needed." 
 
 This event humbled me a good deal. At the 
 very time I was looking intently at, and condemn 
 ing the fault of another, I was permitting myself 
 to be led into a fault of a similar kind. While 
 
 condemning Mrs. L for oppressing Mary 
 
 McLean, I actually oppressed my poor old wash 
 erwoman. Truly we are weak, sinful, erring 
 mortals ! 
 
 On the next day my husband brought home a 
 newspaper, and said, as he handed it to me 
 
 " There, wife, is a story about a washerwoman, 
 7* 
 
78 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 which I accidentally came across to-day. It will 
 be an excellent accompaniment to our own little 
 family incident of the same kind. In this, how 
 ever, the wife puts the husband to the blush. But 
 read it for yourself." 
 
 I took, the newspaper and found in it a story 
 called " THE WASHERWOMAN S BILL," which I 
 read with a lively interest. As I think it calcu 
 lated to do good, I will venture to repeat it here, 
 for it will, I have no doubt, be new to most of my 
 readers. Such domestic sketches are often strong 
 prompters to duty. There are, like myself, a 
 large number of persons who need to be often 
 reminded of their social and domestic obligations. 
 For my part, however, I sometimes almost despair 
 of ever being a wise, judicious, humane woman. 
 Selfishness is so imbedded in the warp and woof 
 of my very nature, that its eradication seems al 
 most impossible. But let me give here the story 
 I have promised, which I take, as I have said, 
 from a newspaper, brought me by my husband. 
 
 THE WASHERWOMAN S BILL. 
 
 " It s only a trifle, Harriet, and she cannot 
 want it very badly." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 79 
 
 " But, if it is only a trifle to us, husband, it is 
 of much importance to her." 
 
 " Well, I havn t got it to spare to-day, and so 
 she will have to wait." 
 
 " I am sorry. She will be here this morning, 
 and I promised that it should be ready for her." 
 
 " Tell her to come in a day or two, Harriet, 
 and she shall have her money. Really, these 
 washerwomen and seamstresses are exceedingly 
 troublesome about a trifle, if you happen to owe 
 it to them." 
 
 And so saying, Mr. Lyons adjusted his collar 
 before the looking-glass, drew on his gloves, and 
 departed for his store. As he passed on the way, 
 in a florist s window, a beautiful japonica struck 
 his fancy. 
 
 "What is the price of this japonica?" he 
 asked, as he entered the green-house. 
 
 " Three dollars." 
 , " Can you send it home for me ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " My number is 60 street," Mr. Lyons 
 
 said, as he threw down the money. " Send it this 
 morning, I want to take my wife, who is passion 
 ately fond of camelias, by surprise." 
 
 In the mee,n time, there was wending her way 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 towards the comfortable dwelling of Mr. Lyons, 
 a poor widow, whose daily and nightly toil barely 
 sufficed to procure for herself and three little 
 ones, the scanty clothes and meagre food that na 
 ture required. During the preceding winter, a 
 too-frequent exposure to cold, had brought on an 
 attack of rheumatism, which, while it did not 
 entirely prevent her from going about her daily 
 occupations, made the performance of them often 
 exceedingly painful, and at all times wearisome. 
 Heretofore, a good constitution had enabled her 
 to endure almost any degree of fatigue and she 
 had taxed herself to the utmost, for the sake of 
 her children. Since the winter, however, her 
 strength had failed her, and often she would be 
 obliged to put by her work, and lie down for an 
 hour or so, to recover herself, and then, after be 
 coming rested, go at it again. The consequence 
 was, that it became much more difficult for her to 
 provide, comfortably, for her little family, and she 
 was much oftener brought into narrow and difficult 
 places. 
 
 Her main dependence was in washing and iron 
 ing ; but she likewise took in plain sewing from 
 the shops, over which she toiled often until after 
 the hour of midnight. As the spring advanced, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 81 
 
 she grew feebler instead of gaining strength, and 
 oftener experienced a sense of excessive fatigue, 
 that made her daily tasks doubly burdensome. The 
 tolerably even flow of spirits that health had pro 
 duced, was succeeded by periodical states of de 
 spondency, into which she would fall, and suffer 
 from them exceedingly. 
 
 " How do you get along now, Mrs. Grant ?" a 
 kind neighbor said to her one day about this time, 
 when her thoughts were dark, and her feelings 
 gloomy. 
 
 " I don t seem to get along at all, Mrs. Mason. 
 Indeed, I can hardly get comfortable food for my 
 children ; and in doing even that, I feel overdone 
 almost, every day. It is a very hard way to get 
 a living, to have to stand over the wash tub, Mrs. 
 Mason. But that isn t the worst. After you have 
 earned your money it is in too many cases equally 
 hard to get it." 
 
 " Why don t you wash for people in good cir 
 cumstances, Mrs. Grant? You can t afford to 
 spend your time and strength for such as are too 
 proud or lazy to do their own washing, and too 
 poor to pay for it when it is done for them." 
 
 " I do wash for people in good circumstances, 
 Mrs. Mason ; but it is too often the case that they 
 
82 * THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 are the worst persons, that one who is really poor, 
 and wants her money as I do as soon as it is 
 earned, can work for. When you take your clothes 
 home, the lady has no change, and will pay you 
 the next time you come, when perhaps you have 
 hurried back the clothes to get something with 
 which to go to market. They never seem to think 
 that a woman with two or three children, who is 
 compelled to support them by taking in washing, 
 must want the little that she can make as fast as 
 it is earned. But it is not only once that you are 
 told to call again the plea of no change to-day, 
 meets your ear on almost every occasion, until 
 you are forced to tell fhem right down, that neces 
 sity compels you to urge fbr the payment of your 
 little dues. Then, too often, your importunity 
 worries them, and you feel sick at heart as the 
 money is tendered to you coldly, and you receive 
 it as if it were a charity reluctantly given, and turn 
 sadly away." 
 
 " Indeed, then, it is a shame," Mrs. Mason said 
 with indignant warmth. 
 
 " It is very wrong," the poor woman responded, 
 " but in most cases I know that it arises from 
 thoughtlessness. There are one or two families 
 for which I do the washing, where the husbands, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 83 
 
 I am sure, buy nearly every thing, and keep their 
 wives very close for change. There is Mrs. 
 Lyons, for instance, who I know feels very friendly 
 to me, but I can hardly ever get my money from 
 her until my washing has run on for three or four 
 weeks. It is not her fault, I am sure, for I can 
 tell very well." 
 
 " But I think she, and others under like circum 
 stances, should insist upon their husbands leaving 
 them the money for such bills." 
 
 " I suppose they would, Mrs. Mason, if they 
 could have any idea of how much we poor people 
 stand in need of the little we earn. If they were 
 once compelled for awhile to support themselves 
 and three or four little children on as many dollars 
 a week, and that earned by standing over the 
 wash tub and ironing-table, and sitting up half the 
 night sewing, they would have more consideration 
 for us." 
 
 " But all do not treat you so, Mrs. Grant ?" 
 
 " Oh, no. There are two ladies for whom I 
 wash, who have never once told me to call again, 
 nor even required me to ask for my money. The 
 first thing they do, after I bring in my clothes, is 
 to get me the money for that washing. They al- 
 
84 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 ways think to have the right change laid by, and 
 always remember to hand it to me." 
 
 " You ought to give up all who do not treat you 
 in the same way." 
 
 " It is easy enough to give up a family, Mrs. 
 Mason, but not so easy to get another. I had better 
 go twice, and even three times for my money, than 
 not have any to go for." 
 
 " That is very true, Mrs. Grant. It is a hard 
 necessity." 
 
 It was about three or four weeks after this, that 
 Mrs. Grant found herself out of flour, and out of 
 nearly every kind of provision. She had not been 
 very well, nor able to do much work, and her in 
 come was consequently smaller. It was Monday 
 morning. On the Saturday evening previous she 
 had expended her last half dollar in providing for 
 Sunday, and now, after the scanty breakfast of 
 bread and rye coffee, there was scarcely any thing 
 left towards making another meal. All the ladies 
 for whom she washed had paid her up except 
 Mrs. Lyons, and she owed her three dollars for 
 four weeks washing. Every week, for four weeks, 
 she had been told there was no change, but that 
 when she came again it should be ready for her. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 85 
 
 Now there was an absolute necessity that she 
 should have it, but her heart trembled with a feel 
 ing of painful uncertainty as she turned her steps 
 towards the dwelling of Mrs. Lyons. As she 
 passed up the alley leading to the yard of the house, 
 a lad handed in at the front door the beautiful 
 camelia japonica that Mr. Lyons had bought from 
 the florist. 
 
 "Oh, what a beautiful camel^ " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Lyons, as the flower was brought into the 
 parlor. " Where did it come from ?" 
 
 " The boy said that Mr. Lyons sent it," the 
 servant replied, setting down the pot containing 
 the flower, and leaving the room. 
 
 " Beautiful ! beautiful!" was the repeated ejacu 
 lation of Mrs. Lyons, as she gazed and gazed 
 upon the "flower, unable to satisfy her eyes with 
 its loveliness. While thus absorbed, the chamber 
 maid opened the door, and said, 
 
 " Mrs. Grant is down stairs, ma am." 
 
 " Well, give her the clothes, Julia." 
 
 " Yes, ma am ;" and Julia withdrew to comply 
 with her directions. 
 
 In about ten minutes she opened the door again 
 with 
 
 8 
 
86 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " The clothes are all ready, ma am, but Mrs. 
 Grant says that she wants to see you." 
 
 " It s no difference about her seeing me, Julia. 
 Tell her that Mr. Lyons neglected to leave me any 
 change this morning, but that if she will come up 
 day after to-morrow, she shall have it." 
 
 " Mrs. Lyons says, that if you will come up 
 day after to-morrow she will pay you," said Julia, 
 on returning to the kitchen. 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Lyons," the washerwoman said, in 
 a voice that trembled, " that I should like to see 
 her for a few moments." 
 
 This request was conveyed to Mrs. Lyons, and 
 she gave directions, with no good grace, however, 
 for Mrs. Grant to be invited into the parlor. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Grant ! How do you do 
 this morning ?" she said, with an effort to seem 
 indifferent, as the poor woman entered. 
 
 " I cannot say that I feel very well, Mrs. Lyons. 
 I find my health giving way very fast." 
 
 " I am really sorry to hear it, Mrs. Grant ; and 
 I am sorry, too, that I have no change for you 
 this morning. I hope you do not want it very 
 badly." 
 
 There was something kind and sympathizing 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 87 
 
 in the tone of Mrs. Lyons voice as she uttered 
 the last sentence, and it touched the heart of the 
 poor woman. 
 
 " If I did not want it very badly, I would not 
 ask you for it," she said, the tears dimming her 
 eyes, " but indeed, Mrs. Lyons, unless I get some 
 money from you, my little ones must go supperless 
 to bed to-night." 
 
 Thus much was she able to articulate, and then 
 her feelings gave way, and the tears fell in large 
 drops from her eyes. 
 
 " Surely, Mrs. Grant, it is not so bad as that 
 with you?" Mrs. Lyons said, with a troubled 
 countenance. 
 
 " Indeed, it is, ma am," the poor woman replied, 
 as soon as she had recovered her feeling enough 
 to speak calmly. " It isn t with us as it is with 
 you rich folks. We have to live from hand to 
 mouth, as they say, nearly all the while ; and 
 sometimes we are very hard put to it to get a com 
 fortable meal. This morning my children had only 
 dry bread for breakfast, and I have not even potatoes 
 for their dinner." 
 
 " You ought to have told me before that you 
 were so hard put to it," Mrs. Lyons said in a 
 subdued tone, her words seeming to choke her as 
 
88 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 she uttered them. " If I had known that you 
 were so much in want of your money you should 
 always have had it." 
 
 " We poor folks, if we are poor, ma am, don t 
 like to be always telling of our poverty. We bear 
 a great deal before we speak." 
 
 " But that is wrong, Mrs. Grant. You should 
 speak out plainly." 
 
 " And be called complainers, as we most always 
 are, when we ask for what we have earned, and, 
 as a reason, tell our story of need." 
 
 There was a bitterness in the tone of Mrs. 
 Grant s voice that fell upon the ear of Mrs. Lyons 
 with a keen reproof. 
 
 "I believe I have never called you a com- 
 plainer," she said. 
 
 " O, no, Mrs. Lyons. I didn t mean you. For 
 I have never told you before how greatly I was in 
 need of a little money, and would not have told you 
 now, only that I could not bear to see my children 
 want for something to eat." 
 
 " But how is it, Mrs. Grant, that you are so 
 very hard put to it ? You seem industrious." 
 
 " That is not very hard to explain," the wash 
 erwoman replied. " I wash for you and Mrs. Jones, 
 at three-quarters of .a dollar a week. That is a 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 89 
 
 dollar and a half. Then I do the washing of two 
 other families, which brings in two dollars more, 
 and a half a dollar I get for Mrs. Thompson s 
 washing, which makes just four dollars. Besides, 
 I can sometimes make four or five coarse shirts 
 for the clothing stores, at ten cents a piece but I 
 have to sit up very late at night when I do it. And 
 this is about all that I can earn never more than 
 about four dollars and a half a week and too often 
 not over four dollars ; for frequently I am so much 
 overcome by night, that I have to go to bed. Now, 
 with three children to feed and clothe, rent to pay, 
 and wood to buy, how is it possible, Mrs. Lyons, 
 that I can be otherwise than hard put to it ? Still, 
 if all the people for whom I work, were to pay me 
 as soon as my washing is carried home, I would 
 not complain. I would get along somehow." 
 
 "And don t they always pay you, Mrs. Grant ?" 
 
 " 0, no, indeed ma am ; at least not all of them. 
 But there is Mrs. Merrill and Mrs. Sidney, who 
 always hand me my money as soon as I bring in 
 my clothes." 
 
 " Then who are they that do not pay you 
 promptly ?" 
 
 " Why there is Mrs. Thompson, I always 
 have to go to her three or four times." 
 8*- 
 
90 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " And who else, Mrs. Grant ?" 
 
 The washerwoman looked confused at this 
 question, and cast her eyes upon the floor. 
 
 " Speak out plainly, Mrs. Grant. You only 
 wash for four ladies, and if two of them pay you, 
 promptly, there can be but one beside Mrs. 
 Thompson, who does not do the same ; and that 
 one must be myself. So, then, on Mrs. Thomp 
 son s shoulders, and mine, must lie the. sin of 
 causing you many of the troubles and privations 
 you complain of." 
 
 Mrs. Grant did not reply. She could not say 
 no, and did not wish to say yes. A pause, pain 
 ful to both, was, in consequence, the result. This 
 continued, however, but a few minutes, when Mrs. 
 Lyons said 
 
 " I have not a dollar in the house, Mrs. Grant, 
 but, if you will take the trouble to go down to my 
 husband s store, I will give you a note to him, and 
 he will pay you. How much do we owe you ?" 
 
 " Three dollars, ma am." 
 
 " Very well. If you can go down to the store 
 you shall have your money." 
 
 " O, certainly ma am, and thank you kindly." 
 
 In a few minutes, Mrs. Lyons handed her wash 
 erwoman a sealed note of the following import : 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 91 
 
 "Dear Husband, If you can possibly do so, spare Mrs. 
 Grant, our washerwoman, who will hand you this, three 
 dollars, the amount that I owe her. She wants it very 
 badly. Don t put her off, please " 
 
 The distance to Mr. Lyons store was full half 
 a mile, in a direction different from that in which 
 Mrs. Grant lived. But she thought not of that 
 only of her children and the money that was to 
 provide them with food. First taking home the 
 bundle of clothes that were to be washed, she then 
 repaired to the merchant s store. 
 
 " Is Mr. Lyons in ?" she asked, as she entered. 
 
 " No, he is gone out," was the reply made by 
 one of the clerks, in rather a rude way. 
 
 " How soon will he be in, sir ?" she asked, 
 timidly, and hesitatingly. 
 
 "Don t know," indifferently turning away 
 and whistling an air. 
 
 The poor woman paused for a moment, then 
 turned towards the door, and moved a few steps 
 paused again, and stood still for more than a 
 minute. 
 
 " I will wait for a little while," she at length 
 said, addressing the same clerk. 
 
 He did not reply, nor offer the woman a chair. 
 For more than fifteen minutes she stood waiting 
 Mr. Lyons return, until she became faint from 
 
92 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 standing still so long. She also began to feel very 
 uneasy about her little children, whom she had 
 left alone much longer than usual. 
 
 " I will call again," she said, at last. " At what 
 time do you think I would be most certain to find 
 him in ?" 
 
 " Can t tell," was the indifferent reply. 
 
 Mrs. Grant turned away from the store of the 
 merchant with a sickening sensation about her 
 heart. In about fifteen minutes she reached her 
 own humble dwelling. 
 
 " O mother, mother !" cried her little ones as 
 she entered, " now we are to have some good bread 
 and milk!" 
 
 The poor woman, on going away to the store 
 of Mr. Lyons, had promised, that as soon as she 
 returned, she would get them a fresh loaf of bread, 
 and some good milk. 
 
 For a few minutes she did not know what an 
 swer to make. She had promised them, and her 
 heart yearned to fulfil that promise, to give them 
 bread. 
 
 " Wait a little," she said, going to the closet, 
 and taking down an old pitcher. With this she 
 went to a shop near by, and said, as she entered 
 
 " Let me have a quart of milk and a loaf of 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 93 
 
 bread, Mr. Hardy. I will pay you for them this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " But you know that you owe me over a dol 
 lar now, and that you promised to give it to me 
 several days ago." 
 
 " I know it, Mr. Hardy, and the money is 
 owed to me, and is promised to me to-day. I 
 would not ask you to let me have any more now, 
 but my children are hungry, and I have nothing 
 in the house to eat." 
 
 The shop-keeper believed in Mrs. Grant s 
 willingness to pay. He only feared her inability. 
 
 " I will trust you for this," he said, after a 
 pause, " but cannot let you have any more until 
 you pay what is due me." 
 
 " Can t you add a little corn meal, and some 
 potatoes ? I don t think that I shall be able to 
 get my money before the afternoon, and I shall 
 have nothing for the. children s dinners." 
 
 Another moment or two of hesitation passed, 
 and the shop-keeper said 
 
 " Well, I don t care, Mrs. Grant. But I shall 
 expect the whole this afternoon." 
 
 " You shall certainly have it, Mr. Hardy," was 
 the reply. 
 
 A five-penny-bit s worth of corn meal, and a 
 
94 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 quarter of a peck of potatoes, were taken home 
 with her bread and milk the latter of the two 
 first named articles, to serve for dinner, and the 
 former for supper, should any accident prevent her 
 seeing Mr. Lyons. Thus provided, she resolved to 
 wait until towards evening before going again to 
 his store. First giving to each of her children, the 
 eldest ten, and the youngest five years of age, a 
 bowl of bread and milk, and looking on them for 
 a moment or two as they eagerly devoured their 
 wholesome repast, with a glow of pleasure warm 
 ing over her heart, she commenced the labors of 
 the day at the late hour of nearly eleven. 
 
 " what a beautiful Camelia you sent me !" 
 Mrs. Lyons said, as her husband came home to 
 dinner. 
 
 " Is it not a lovely one ?" he replied. 
 
 " Indeed it is ! What did you pay for it ?" 
 
 " Three dollars. But it is one of such rare 
 beauty, that I did not think a moment of the trifle 
 asked for it." 
 
 " It is really a magnificent flower." 
 
 " Madam De Goni has her concert to-night," 
 Mr. Lyons said, after a few moments. 
 
 " True. I had forgotten that." 
 
 " Here are a couple of tickets, I could not fore- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 95 
 
 go the temptation, although they were a dollar a 
 piece." 
 
 " O, I am glad you bought them. I wish to go 
 very much. But I must have five or six dollars 
 to get a few little things that I must have, if I am 
 to go out to-night." 
 
 " Certainly," Mr. Lyons said, and taking out his 
 pocket book, handed her the amount she wished. 
 
 The dinner passed without poor Mrs. Grant 
 being once thought of. Her case did occur to 
 Mrs. Lyons, as she was going out for the purpose 
 of making the trifling purchases that she wanted, 
 but it was dismissed at once, under the idea that 
 her husband had, of course, honored her little 
 draft. 
 
 It was about two o clock when Mrs. Grant sat 
 down with her children to partake of their meal of 
 roasted potatoes and salt the same hour that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Lyons seated themselves at their well 
 filled table, all unregardful of the poor widow 
 from whom they had so thoughtlessly withheld 
 the meagre pittance she had earned so hardly. 
 After their frugal repast was over, Mrs. Grant 
 again resumed her work, and continued it until 
 four o clock, when she put on her bonnet, and, 
 again, repaired to Mr. Lyons store. 
 
96 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " Is Mr. Lyons in now ?" she asked of the 
 same individual to whom she had addressed her 
 self in the morning. 
 
 " No" was the brief answer. 
 
 " Will he be in soon ?" the woman ventured to 
 ask, although half deterred by the young man s 
 repulsive manner. 
 
 " I expect not" was the cool reply. 
 
 Mrs. Grant turned away again, with a sadder 
 heart than before, and directed her course home 
 ward. 
 
 Three minutes after she had left, Mr. Lyons 
 returned to his store. 
 
 " There s been an old woman here twice to 
 day, asking for you" said the young man, who 
 had answered to her inquiry. 
 
 " Well, what did she want ?" 
 
 " Humph ! I d no Charity I should think, 
 from her looks." 
 
 " Oh " and Mr. Lyons tossed his head 
 
 with an air of contempt and impatience, as he 
 turned away from his clerk. 
 
 " I shall be so delighted to-night !" Mrs. Lyons 
 said, as they were taking an early tea, to be ready 
 to go in time to the concert. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 97 
 
 " I have no doubt of it. Her performance on 
 the guitar is said to be exquisite. 
 
 " I should like to hear Knoop very much," Mrs. 
 L. remarked. 
 
 " So should I. I am told that the violoncello 
 never gave such tones under any hand as it gives 
 under his." 
 
 44 We will go next week will we not?" 
 
 " Yes. For I should like to hear him very 
 much." 
 
 Just as they were rising from the table Mrs. 
 Lyons said 
 
 " Oh ! did you pay Mrs. Grant those three 
 dollars to-day?" 
 
 No -What Mrs. Grant ? What three dol 
 lars ?" 
 
 " Why Mrs. Grant our washerwoman. I gave 
 her a note to you this morning, asking you to pay 
 her the trifle we owe her." 
 
 " If you did, she never came for it." 
 
 " That is strange. She told me that she was 
 really suffering that she had not a single loaf 
 of bread in the house, nor any money to buy food 
 for her children. She would not have told me 
 this, only, as you could not spare me the money 
 for her this morning, I tried to put her off. Poor 
 9 
 
98 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 creature ! I am afraid that I have been much 
 to blame in not always paying her for her wash 
 ing as soon as it was done. I forgot that her 
 resources were but limited, and that the least 
 obstruction of them, must produce inconvenience 
 if not absolute want. The tale she told me this 
 morning, made my heart ache, and my cheeks 
 burn with shame." 
 
 " Without food for her children, did you say, 
 Harriet ?" 
 
 "Yes. And her tone and manners told but 
 too truly, that she was sadly in earnest." 
 
 " Strange, then, that she did not call." 
 
 " It is strange, certainly." 
 
 " I .remember now," Mr. Lyons said, after 
 thinking for a moment or two, " that they told me 
 this afternoon, about an old woman having been 
 in twice to ask for me." 
 
 " That must have been her. Poor creature !" 
 Then after a pause 
 
 " I cannot go to the concert to-night, husband, 
 until I have seen Mrs. Grant. Just think of her 
 and her three little children, without food, and all 
 because of our neglect, who have plenty, and to 
 spare. It makes me feel sick at heart. The price 
 of that japonica would have relieved all her wants 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 99 
 
 and you bought it with the very money that you 
 could not spare for the washerwoman who had 
 earned it, and only asked for her own." 
 
 Mr. Lyons did not reply for some time, during 
 which he stood in deep thought. He was not a 
 man of confirmed selfishness ; though thoughtless 
 of others, and mainly disposed to have but small 
 consideration for them. Now, a sense of the in 
 justice of his conduct, became distinct in his mind, 
 and he felt, painfully, that he had been guilty of 
 wrong. 
 
 " Put up a basket of provisions, Harriet," he 
 said, suddenly rousing himself from his unpleasant 
 reverie, and let James bring it along. I will not 
 go to the concert, either, until I have seen Mrs. 
 Grant with you, and rendered her that justice 
 which is her due. This thing has taught me a 
 lesson that I shall never forget." 
 
 Bread and butter, cold meat, cheese, tea, and 
 sugar, were placed in a basket, and as soon as 
 Mrs. Lyons was dressed for the concert, James 
 was directed to proceed with the basket to the 
 dwelling of Mrs. Grant, while they followed in 
 close company. When they arrived at her abode, 
 they saw, through the window, that the little family 
 were about sitting down to supper ; and paused 
 
100 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 long enough to see the mother bow her head, for 
 a few moments, and ask, doubtless, a blessing on 
 the food that was spread before herself and chil 
 dren. Then they opened the door, without knock 
 ing* and passed into the widow s humble dwelling. 
 A glance sufficed to show that the supper con 
 sisted of the preparation of corn meal, called, in 
 the middle and southern states, "mush." Be 
 sides this, there was nothing on the table, to be 
 eaten no milk, nor molasses, nor butter to im 
 part a relish to their coarse fare nor tea, an article 
 that use has rendered no necessary to a woman, es 
 pecially when fatigued from long and incessant toil. 
 
 Mrs. Grant rose in surprise at the unexpected 
 appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Lyons. 
 
 * I fear we have wronged you very much, 
 ma am," Mr. Lyons said. " And we have come 
 to make amends, if that can possibly be done, for 
 the privations and troubles that we have been the 
 cause of your suffering. Here is the money you 
 ought to have had this morning," (handing her three 
 dollars) " in fact a week ago. And here are some 
 provisions for you, to save you the trouble of having 
 to go out to-night" motioning the servant to come 
 forward with the basket. " And now, Mrs. Grant, 
 if you and your little ones will forgive us, we will 
 try and be more regardful of you, hereafter." 
 
THE IA1Y. AT HOME. 101 
 
 " May Heav.en, blesc you for you - lijnd ccn 
 sideration!" the widcw^saidj clbsj/ing Her handa 
 fervently, and looking upwards. 
 
 " And may Heaven forgive us for the wrong we 
 have done !" Mr. Lyons replied. 
 
 " Do not speak of it. All is now past, and all 
 will be well again," the widow said, as the tears 
 started from her eyes, and stole down her care 
 worn cheek. 
 
 When Mr. and Mrs. Lyons turned away from 
 the poor woman s humble abode, they turned away 
 with feelings new to their hearts feelings of in 
 tense sympathy for one, and in one, all, in that 
 trying condition of life where the absolute wants of 
 nature are meagerly supplied, by incessant toil 
 toil so severe as often to wear out gradually the 
 constitution, and drag down its subjects to prema 
 ture graves. And they departed with the widow s 
 blessing upon their heads. Never afterwards did 
 they neglect to pay on the very day it was done, 
 to the servant, or seamstress, or washerwoman, 
 the small sum of their earnings. May others, who 
 read this, and have lapsed into the same thoughtless 
 habit, take a lesson from their lesson, and do so 
 no more. Every principle of justice and humanity 
 claims it of them. 
 
 9* 
 
102 THJE IAVY AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MARY McLEAN continued to sew for me for six 
 weeks, and at the end of that time went to another 
 place ; one of my friends having, on my recom 
 mendation, engaged her to do a few weeks work. 
 It was some months before I saw her again, though 
 I thought of her many times. She had interested 
 me very much. I had never met with one in her 
 walk of life who possessed so many qualities to be 
 admired even loved. But how sadly had she 
 been wronged ! Never, after hearing her artless 
 
 story, could I feel towards Mrs. L as once I 
 
 felt. The wrong done to the poor girl who had 
 no one else to whom she could look up, was too 
 deep. 
 
 During the next Fall, she sewed for me again. 
 A few months had made serious inroads upon her 
 health. Her face was thinner and paler, and her 
 eyes brighter. She had, too, a very unfavourable 
 stoop in her shoulders, compressing her chest, and 
 preventing full and healthy respiration. A slight, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 103 
 
 dry cough, likewise, was perceptible, as if from 
 tickling low down in the windpipe. At her work, 
 I noticed that she did not sit easily, but every little 
 while changed her position, as if from weariness 
 or pain. On asking the reason of this, she said 
 that she was much troubled with a pain in her side ; 
 but she hoped to get rid of it soon. She had been 
 to the doctor s, and he had given her some medi 
 cine for it. Her appetite was very poor. Mr. 
 Elm wood noticed the change in her, and spoke of 
 it to me with concern. Her modest demeanor had 
 always pleased him. 
 
 " That girl won t live long," he said, " if she 
 continues to sit and sew. She wants fresh air, 
 and more exercise. You must insist upon her 
 walking out every day, for at least an hour. She 
 ought to go morning and evening." 
 
 My husband was more thoughtful than I had 
 been. I went to Mary at once, and told her that 
 I wanted her to put up her work and go out and 
 walk for half an hour. She demurred at first ; but, 
 afterwards, thankfully accepted the privilege. 
 Whenever, after this, I perceived her beginning to 
 change her position frequently, I would insist upon 
 her laying aside her work, and either walking out, 
 or spending half an hour sporting with the children. 
 
104 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 She was fond of them, and they loved her. A 
 glass of wine, and a cracker or two, after this 
 exercise, particularly when taken towards the 
 middle of the day, on an empty stomach, refreshed 
 her very much. Mary sewed for me at this time 
 for three weeks. When she went away, she 
 looked like another person. Her step was lighter, 
 her skin clearer and warmer, and her whole air 
 much more cheerful. The pain in her side still 
 continued, while sitting over her work, but it was not 
 so severe. The reflection that my kind considera 
 tion, prompted, indeed, by my husband, who is 
 ever thoughtful of others, had been of so much 
 benefit to her, was a sweet reward. 
 
 In the spring I sent for Mary again, but was 
 pained to receive word that she was too sick to go 
 any where. I chid myself for not having taken 
 a more active interest in her while out of my house 
 than I had done, and at once dressed myself and 
 went to see her. I found her in a small, close 
 room, with few tilings comfortable around her, and 
 no one to attend properly to her wants. She was 
 much emaciated, and very feeble. A deep, hollow, 
 jarring cough, told too eloquently, how fatally she 
 was diseased. When I took her hand, and in 
 quired in a kind, concerned voice, how she did, the 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 105 
 
 tears came to her eyes, and she could not, at first, 
 compose herself to speak. 
 
 I found that it was four weeks since she had 
 been out of the house, and the most of that time 
 she had been confined to her bed. That the doctor 
 had been to see her several times, and had given 
 her medicine ; but that nothing seemed to do her 
 any good. She appeared to be in very low spirits. 
 I inquired as to her attendance, and found that it 
 was sometimes nearly a whole day that no one 
 came into the room to make any inquiry of her, 
 or to see whether she wanted any thing. She paid 
 a dollar and a quarter a week for boarding. Before 
 going away, I saw the woman who kept the house, 
 and explained to her Mary s really alarming condi 
 tion, and the great need there was of her being more 
 carefully attended. She seemed, however, quite 
 indifferent ; said that she would rather have two 
 well boarders than one sick one ; and that she didn t 
 engage to wait on people in their rooms when she 
 took them to board. There was a place provided 
 for such as were sick, and too poor to hire a nurse 
 meaning the Alms House. I was shocked at 
 this exhibition of inhumanity. Nearly four weeks 
 had Mary been confined to her bed, with no attend 
 ance but that unwillingly rendered by this wqman. 
 
106 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 It was little wonder then, that, with a mind and 
 body like hers, that sympathized so acutely, no 
 healthy reaction took place in her system. 
 
 My first impulse was to say that I would send 
 a carriage for her, and have her well taken care of 
 in my own house until she recovered. But a 
 second thought in regard to the trouble it might be, 
 kept me silent. " She may be sick a long time 
 may never get well in fact," I said to myself. As 
 I was going away, with the promise to come again 
 in a day or two, she turned her eyes upon me with 
 a sad, appealing look so I felt the meaning of 
 their expression. It seemed to rebuke my selfish 
 thoughts in regard to trouble. But I retired through 
 the door of her chamber, closed it after me, and 
 left her alone. 
 
 As I walked slowly homeward, I debated ac 
 tively the question whether I should take the poor 
 girl into my house, and have her carefully nursed. 
 Many considerations opposed mostly of a kind 
 that regarded my own ease. "And why?" I 
 asked myself, in this debate, " should I take Mary 
 McLean more than another into my house ? If I 
 begin this thing with her, I shall be under an equal 
 obligation to take any other poor sick girl into my 
 family, who would, otherwise, have to go to the 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 107 
 
 Alms House. Mary has no claims upon me. I 
 have fully paid her for all the services she has 
 rendered me." 
 
 Thus I opposed the spontaneous impulse I had 
 felt, to take her into my house, and minister, even 
 with my own hand, to her wants. When I re 
 turned home, I mentioned to my husband the con 
 dition in which I had found Mary, and pictured to 
 him, quite vividly, the poor girl s desponding state 
 of mind. He was a good deal touched at this. 
 After sitting thoughtful for a little while, he said 
 
 " We have plenty of room, and plenty of do 
 mestics suppose we have her brought here, and 
 properly nursed ? It will be an act of humanity 
 and, as we can do it, it becomes, I think, our duty." 
 
 " But suppose she were to die ?" I suggested. 
 
 " Do you think her case so bad as that ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " I don t know. But she has a dreadful cough, 
 with heavy night sweats, and is greatly emaciated. 
 She may recover, and she may not. Or, she may 
 linger on for many months, even for a year." 
 
 Mr. Elm wood was silent and thoughtful again. 
 
 ** All these are reasons," he then said, " why 
 she ought not to be left where she is why she 
 ought to be well and kindly attended. I should 
 
108 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 feel very bad to have her die where she is, of 
 neglect ; not only bad for her, but bad for myself. 
 I could never feel afterwards that I had done my 
 duty." 
 
 " You are willing, then, to have her brought into 
 the house ?" 
 
 " I am," was his decided reply. " That much 
 we clearly owe to humanity." 
 
 After dinner a carriage was sent for, and, ac 
 companied by my chamber maid, I went in it to 
 the humble abode of my seamstress. I cannot but 
 confess to a few struggles with pride before this 
 was done. " Suppose," was the thought that in 
 truded itself, "you were to be seen by Mrs. 
 
 P or Mrs. L going into that little house, 
 
 and assisting a mere sewing girl into a carriage ; 
 what would she think ? You had better let the 
 chambermaid go alone. She can arrange it all 
 just as well as you can. You are doing enough 
 in removing her into your house, without exposing 
 yourself in doing the act." But my better feelings 
 soon silenced these whisperings. 
 
 If the eye of Mary brightened when she saw 
 me again, could I wonder at the glad expression 
 of her whole countenance when I told her that I 
 was going to remove her to my own house, and 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 109 
 
 have her well taken care of until her recovery. 
 She did not attempt to speak her gratitude ; but it 
 beamed from every lineament of her pale face. 
 
 After her removal, our family physician was 
 called in, and the poor girl placed in his charge. 
 He gave us but little encouragement in regard to 
 her said her lungs were deeply affected, and that 
 she had all the symptoms of one in a hasty de 
 cline. He in subsequent visits confirmed this 
 opinion, which was corroborated to our minds by 
 the rapid sinking, too apparent, day after day, of 
 the patient sufferer. In about three weeks after 
 she came under our care, her cheeks began to be 
 lit up with the deceitful hectic, that gave to her 
 countenance a peculiar beauty. We all noticed 
 this. At first the change partially deceived us ; 
 but the physician knew the fatal sign too well. 
 When it finally became certain that life was fast 
 ebbing away, and that in a little while she must 
 pass from the visible to the invisible world, I felt 
 it to be my solemn duty to warn her of the ap 
 proaching change. This was a painful trial. 
 Death is to every one so appalling even to him 
 of threescore years how much more so to the 
 young maiden just entering, as it were, upon life ? 
 I knew not what effect it would have upon Mary, 
 10 
 
110 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 and I dreaded to break to her the alarming in 
 telligence. 
 
 For several days I pondered over this duty, 
 shrinking from it with an instinctive reluctance. 
 It was late in the afternoon, not more than half an 
 hour before sunset, when I went up to her room, 
 and, seating myself by her bedside, took her hand 
 in mine, and asked how she felt. 
 
 " Very weak," was her reply. 
 
 " You grow weaker every day, I think, Mary," 
 I ventured to say. 
 
 " Yes, ma am ; I am aware of that," she re 
 turned with composure. 
 
 " The doctor" my voice trembled in spite of 
 ah 1 my efforts to appear calm " begins to have 
 some fears for the result of your present illness." 
 
 " But I have none." 
 
 I shall never forget the sweet smile that lit up 
 her countenance as she said this. 
 
 " Then you expect to get well ?" 
 
 " Oh no, ma am ! I shall never be well again in 
 this world. Nor do I wish to be." 
 
 " Do you then feel willing to die, Mary ?" I 
 asked, in real surprise. 
 
 " Far more willing than to remain here. Why 
 should I wish to live ? Alone, and in poor health, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. Ill 
 
 what is there in this world that is attractive to 
 me?" 
 
 " But are you not afraid to die., Mary ?" 
 
 She looked at me with an expression of surprise 
 upon her face. 
 
 " Why should I fear to die ? I confess that I 
 am afraid to live. That the thought of getting up 
 from this bed, and going out again into the world, 
 friendless and companionless, is one from which 
 I shrink. But to lay aside this poor body of earth, 
 and rise into a new and glorious body, cannot be 
 any thing but joyful." 
 
 |f* You have a hope then of a blessed immortality 
 beyond the grave ?" 
 
 " yes. A deeply abiding and sustaining hope. 
 My anchor is cast within the veil." 
 
 A pause ensued, when she resumed. " There 
 is a favor, Mrs. Elm wood, that I wish to ask of 
 you, which is, that you would send for Mrs. 
 L . I want to see her. I have had many 
 hard thoughts of her, and she of me. All on my 
 part I wish to lay aside. They are not such 
 thoughts as I wish to take with me into the next 
 world. They are of the earth, earthy, and let 
 them remain here." 
 
 In accordance with this wish, I sent, on the 
 
112 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 next day, for Mrs. L . She had known 
 
 nothing of Mary s illness, and when I told her 
 that she had not long to remain here, she was 
 painfully shocked. I did not go with her into 
 Mary s room. I thought it much the best that 
 
 their first interview should be alone. Mrs. L 
 
 remained in the I oom with her for nearly an hour. 
 When she came out her eyes were red with weep 
 ing. She said nothing to me of the nature of her 
 intercourse with Mary ; but after expressing much 
 interest in her, and thanking me warmly for my 
 kindness toward her, she went away, promising 
 to come again in the morning. I then wenfcpp 
 into Mary s room. How calm, and sweet, and 
 lovely was the expression of her countenance ! 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Elmwood !" she said, grasping my 
 hand with eagerness, " I am so happy ! It is all 
 over, and we are reconciled. We have forgiven 
 each other all that is past. I can now go in peace." 
 
 From that time forth, her face wore a serener 
 
 aspect. Mrs. L came regularly to see her, 
 
 and they were often alone together for a long time. 
 
 " I fear," Mrs. L said to me one day after 
 
 leaving the bedside of the sick girl, " that I have 
 not been just to-Mary ; and this has arisen in some 
 degree from the fact that I did not know her. She 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 113 
 
 has a mind and heart above what we ordinarily 
 find in girls of her class, and I did not perceive it, 
 as I should have perceived it. I have been deeply 
 to blame, and the thought pains and humbles me. 
 How like an affectionate child would she have 
 loved me and clung to me, had I treated her as if 
 she had been a child ! I see this now, when, alas ! 
 it is too late. I would take her back, and into 
 my bosom now, if I could, for she is worthy of a 
 place there ; but this is now denied me. To one 
 comparatively a stranger to her, but who had the 
 discrimination to perceive her real character, has 
 be|tt granted the privilege of smoothing the pillow 
 that rests her dying head. This is a lesson, Mrs. 
 Elm wood, that I shall never forget for it has been 
 too painfully impressed upon my mind. I see too 
 clearly where I have been wrong, and the sad 
 consequences of that wrong." 
 
 This gave me both pain and pleasure. Pain for 
 the acute suffering of mind that such an awaken 
 ing to a sense of neglected duties must occasion 
 pleasure, that the awakening, while it threw light 
 upon the heart of the poor girl, would make Mrs. 
 L more thoughtful in future. 
 
 About a month after this Mary died. Her 
 
 head rested upon the bosom of Mrs. L , and 
 
 10* 
 
114 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 her hand in mine. Thus she passed away into a 
 peaceful sleep, whose waking was in the world of 
 spirits. We laid her beside her sister, and shed 
 
 tears over her humble grave. Both Mrs. L 
 
 and myself turned from the lowly spot, after the 
 funeral rites had been said, and went back to our 
 homes with better and more humane thoughts, 
 and, I hope, better and more humane feelings than 
 we had before known. But her reflections must 
 have been, and still must be, whenever she thinks 
 of Mary, acutely painful. Such gross neglect of 
 duty, and such gross wrong to an orphan child, 
 cannot rest easily upon the conscience. M^iy 
 poor children are treated far worse than Mary 
 M Lean for they have added to all disregard for 
 them as moral and intelligent beings, positive 
 physical abuse, and that of the most revolting 
 kind. But that does not remove a single stain of 
 
 the guilt appertaining to Mrs. L . It is no 
 
 light responsibility which Divine Providence lays 
 upon us, when he commits to our care an immor 
 tal being, whose whole life here and hereafter, and 
 whose whole action upon society for good or evil, 
 elevation or depression, will be affected by the way 
 in which we discharge our duty. It matters not 
 whether that immortal being be our own child, or 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 115 
 
 the child of another all are alike precious in the 
 eyes of Him who is the Father of all. Careful 
 indeed should we ever be, not to let our selfishness, 
 our mere regard for our own temporal good, or 
 physical ease, bind down in uncongenial servitude 
 a mind formed by nature to rise into a higher 
 plane of activity, and into the performance of higher 
 uses in society than those to which we have con 
 signed it. If the vine struggles to lift itself up 
 ward, let us not bend it down, and cause it to 
 creep in unhealthy waste of all its powers upon 
 the ground ; but rather assist it to rise into purer 
 regions, and there unfold itself, and produce its 
 delicious clusters the end of its existence. 
 
 I have lingered for a much longer time over the 
 story of Mary M Lean than I had intended. It 
 has not been found, however, I trust, either un 
 interesting or uninstructive to my readers. On 
 my own mind, all the circumstances connected 
 with it had the effect to make me look upon those 
 in stations below ifte with a more considerate eye. 
 We are too apt to think disparagingly of all those 
 who are not our equals in external circumstances, 
 and especially upon those whose duty it is to serve 
 us. And we are much inclined to fall, at the 
 same time, into the error of supposing that this 
 
116 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 class of persons never think or feel never aspire, 
 nobly to rise above their stations, and enter the 
 contest for excellence. And even when we do 
 perceive this in spite of our wilful blindness, how 
 naturally inclined are we to be jealous of imagined 
 encroachments upon our sphere of life, and to be 
 very philosophically considerate of those below us, 
 in our attempts to keep them there ; complacently 
 arguing that they are in their true place, and to 
 permit them to rise above it would be to do them 
 the greatest possible injury. The fallacy of this, 
 I need not attempt to show. Let the reader who 
 
 is still unconvinced, contrast Mrs. L and 
 
 Mary M Lean, and determine in her own mind 
 which was most fitted naturally to fill a station of 
 influence and trust in society. I think the decision 
 will not be found hard to make. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 117 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE OLD COAL MAN MOSES THE CARPET SHAKER. 
 
 A FEW cold days early in the fall made fires 
 necessary, and as we had not laid in our winter s 
 supply of fuel, it became necessary to get a single 
 ton of coal. 
 
 As soon as the load was thrown down before 
 the door, a gray-headed old man, lame in one leg, 
 presented himself, and asked if he might put the 
 coal away in the cellar. His face was all be 
 grimed, and his clothes black with coal dust. In 
 one hand he held a shovel, and in the other a 
 basket. 
 
 " How much do you charge ?" I asked. 
 
 "A quarter dollar, ma am," he replied, in a re 
 spectful tone, touching his hat as he spoke. 
 
 "Very well," I replied, "you may put it 
 away." And I returned to my room, which 
 looked out upon the street. On glancing out, as 
 I seated myself by the window, I saw that the old 
 man had a fellow-laborer, who looked as old, as 
 poor, and as dirty as himself. The sight of these 
 
118 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 two old men, toiling for their shilling a-piece, with 
 their heavy baskets of coal, touched my feelings. 
 I thought of my own grey-headed father, whom I 
 loved with filial tenderness, and my imagination 
 pictured him in the condition of the two men at 
 work beneath my window. My heart turned 
 from the picture with a shudder ; but I could not 
 help looking down at the men, and the sight of 
 them kept my thoughts busy. 
 
 " What a poor pittance it is that these men toil 
 for," I said to myself. " How eagerly they work, 
 as if the reward of their labor was to be a hun 
 dred dollars, instead of the eighth of a single dollar 
 a-piece. Ought I not," I asked, as my feelings 
 became more and more interested, " to pay them 
 more than the price agreed upon?" 
 
 "But why do that?" I argued with myself, 
 " twenty-five cents a ton is the regular price for 
 putting away coal. No one expects more. That 
 is their price, and they are satisfied with it." 
 
 " That may be," I reasoned in turn. " But 
 why are they satisfied ? Because they can get 
 no more. Twenty-five cents a ton has been 
 fixed as a fair compensation, and it is useless to 
 ask more." 
 
 ** Well," I opposed, " and why has this price 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 119 
 
 been settled on as a fair one ? Simply, because 
 it is really worth no more to perform the amount 
 of labor required to put away a ton of coal. A 
 man can do it alone in less than an hour, and 
 twenty-five cents an hour is good wages for a 
 laboring man. Working ten hours a day, he 
 would earn two dollars and a half a day, or fifteen 
 dollars a week." 
 
 " But," my benevolent feelings urged against 
 this, " a coal man cannot, of course, get ten hours 
 work a day at putting in coal, or even five hours." 
 
 "How do you know that?" said prudence. 
 "You don t know any thing about how much 
 work he can get. A great many tons of coal are 
 bought in a large city like this. No doubt these 
 men make a great deal of money. They seem 
 content enough with their wages, at least, and, 
 of course, they are the best judges of its suf 
 ficiency." 
 
 "Well, perhaps it is all so," I returned, men 
 tally, lifting my eyes as I spoke, and glancing at 
 the two old men below, who had nearly finished 
 their task. " But they don t look as if they 
 earned five dollars a week, much less fifteen. A 
 quarter between the two ! Indeed it seems like 
 too little. I really feel ashamed to offer it. How 
 
120 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 many, many quarters, and halves, and dollars, do 
 I spend in self-indulgence, while these poor old 
 men have few of the comforts of life. And now 
 I am arguing with myself against the justice of 
 paying them a fairer compensation for their labor, 
 than that for which I agreed. The fact is, we are 
 very nice in our bargains with the poor, holding 
 them strictly to the minimum of compensation, 
 while upon ourselves we lavish all kinds of ex 
 pensive indulgences. In the morning we will 
 chaffer with a poor seamstress, cook, chamber 
 maid, whitewasher or porter, about a sixpence 
 and in the afternoon spend ten or twenty dollars 
 foolishly. A dollar thrown away upon self-in 
 dulgence, costs us not a pang. But sixpence 
 more to a poor dependent, than just happens to 
 suit our vacillating ideas of economy, gives us 
 an hour s uneasiness and self-reproaches. The 
 fact is, I ll give the pld men a quarter a-piece. 
 That is little enough." 
 
 To oppose this resolution, came the thought, 
 that if I gave them more than they asked, I would 
 do them really more harm than good. That the 
 good which a shilling a-piece would do them, 
 would be no kind of a compensation for the disap 
 pointment they would experience in not getting a 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 121 
 
 like advance at other places. The fact of having 
 been better paid here than usual, would naturally 
 lead them to think about increased pay elsewhere. 
 They would no longer be content with the regular 
 price. And to take content from the poor man, 
 would be to do him the greatest possible harm. 
 
 While I thus thought, a domestic came into the 
 room, to say that the coal was all in the cellar. 
 For one moment I hesitated, and then handed over 
 a single quarter of a dollar. As I did so, I felt 
 a slight pang. The servant left the room, and I 
 again glanced out of the window. The two old 
 men were patiently awaiting the reward of their 
 labor. Cool as the day was, their work had 
 started the perspiration, and they stood with bared 
 heads, wiping their soiled faces; their thin gray 
 locks waving in the wind. My heart was touched 
 at the sight, and I half uttered the name of my 
 domestic aloud, under the impulse I felt to recall 
 her, and double the coal men s compensation. But 
 I restrained myself. In a few minutes it was too 
 late to put my good intentions into practice. 
 
 I was not satisfied with myself. Try as I 
 
 would, I could not drive from my mind the image 
 
 of the old man who applied for the privilege of 
 
 earning a shilling. To me an extra shilling would 
 
 11 
 
122 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 have been of no consequence to him it might 
 have proved a blessing. I felt that I had been guilty 
 of grinding the poor not in thoughtless adoption 
 of social customs, but deliberately and of set pur 
 pose. I had saved a quarter of a dollar, but at 
 the expense of a troubled conscience. At last I 
 succeeded in driving these unpleasant thoughts 
 from my mind. Friends whom I loved came in, 
 and in pleasant converse new images arose, and 
 new affections came into play. One of those 
 friends wore a neat ornament that pleased me 
 very much. It cost three dollars. So well did 
 it suit my fancy, that I commissioned my husband 
 on the next morning to procure me a similar one. 
 He did so. But before I had an opportunity to 
 wear it in company, I was led once more to think 
 of my old coal man. 
 
 Two or three mornings after that on which 
 our ton of coal was bought, my eye lit upon a few 
 brief paragraphs in the newspaper which evidently 
 alluded to the lame old man who had excited my 
 unfruitful sympathy. He was dead. A blood-ves 
 sel had been ruptured during a fit of coughing, and 
 he had died of suffocation. The paragraph went 
 on to state that he had left a wife and four little 
 children who had been solely dependent upon his 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 123 
 
 daily labor for food. They were now in distress 
 and destitution. He who had loved them had 
 been suddenly removed from them. The father 
 less and the widow were left in want and desola 
 tion. An earnest appeal to the sympathies of the 
 public followed. 
 
 I threw the newspaper aside, put on my shawl 
 * and bonnet, took my purse from a drawer, and 
 hurriedly left the house. A brisk walk of half an 
 hour, brought me to a comfortless row of tenements 
 near the suburbs. In an upper room of one of 
 these, I found a middle-aged Irish woman in feeble 
 health, with four children. A question or two 
 brought out a gush of native pathos, that drew 
 tears from my eyes. The style and eloquence 
 of her lamentations for her lost "mon," showed 
 her heart to be full of deep tenderness and that 
 her loss was truly irreparable. I found her very 
 poor actually in want of the most common neces 
 saries of life. To a question or two about her 
 husband, she replied 
 
 " Och, indade, ma am, and my poor John was 
 a hard working man, when he could get it to do, 
 and didn t dhrink a dhrop. But he had been out 
 of work nearly all summer and hard enough has 
 it been to get even praties for the childher. And 
 
124 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 now, just as the coal time had come on, and he 
 was beginning to get something to do, he has died 
 och hone !" 
 
 " How much could he make in this way ?" I 
 asked, after her new burst of grief had subsided. 
 
 " Never more than three or four dollars a week, 
 unless sometimes when the gentlemen favored 
 him, and gave him a little something more than the 
 regular price for putting away their coal. But 
 this was not often. Rich people don t think much 
 about our wants. They would make us work for 
 them for nothing if we would do it. John often 
 came home angry, because, he said, that even after 
 he had earned his money, it was begrudged to 
 him." 
 
 The woman spoke with bitterness. I felt that 
 there was too much truth in what she said and 
 that I was not altogether guiltless. I emptied my 
 purse before leaving her meagerly furnished room, 
 and went away, I trust, a wiser woman. 
 
 The question, as to the justice of our rates of 
 compensation for certain services, is one that re 
 quires, I think, to be discussed anew, and settled 
 upon a more liberal basis. We wish to get every 
 thing done as low as possible, without regard to 
 the value to us of the service, or the condition of 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 125 
 
 the one who serves. Indeed, the lower we per 
 ceive the individual to have fallen in external 
 things, the smaller the compensation we feel dis 
 posed to offer him. Half dollars and dollars are 
 not valued when some question of self-gratification 
 comes up ; but how earnestly do we go to work 
 often to get the porter s, the white washer s, or 
 carpet shaker s services for a few pennies less 
 than asked ? I am not at all guiltless in this 
 matter. I wish I were. Let me make some more 
 confessions. An open confession is said to be good, 
 for the soul. 
 
 Last spring it became necessary, as it does 
 every spring, to clean house. Carpets had to be 
 lifted and shaken, and walls whitewashed from 
 garret to kitchen. An old black man, who had 
 shaken my carpets every year, was sent for to 
 perform his part of the service. When he came, 
 I said, after showing him the carpet 
 
 " How much are you going to charge for these, 
 Moses ?" 
 
 " What I have always charged you, ma am a 
 quarter dollar a-piece." 
 
 " But I think that is too much, Moses. Here 
 are six carpets to shake, and that is a very good 
 job ; and, you know, I always get you to shake 
 11* 
 
126 THE LADY AT HOME 
 
 my carpets. I am sure I could get it done for less 
 Indeed, I know I could ; for Mrs. Lavely told me 
 only yesterday that she never paid over eighteen 
 and three-quarters." 
 
 Moses looked surprised, and, I thought, pained. 
 This would have brought me back to my senses, 
 had it not been instantly suggested that the change 
 in his manner was the confusion resulting from my 
 discovering of his having charged unjustly for his 
 work heretofore. 
 
 . " I will pay you the same as other people pay 
 for shaking their carpets and no more," I now 
 said, with decision in my tone. 
 
 " If I must, I suppose I must but it is too 
 little," was the reply. 
 
 The old man then took up the carpets with the 
 help of an assistant, and carried them away. The 
 cheerful air with which this had always been 
 done heretofore was gone. The cause, I might 
 easily have perceived, if I had been in a state of 
 that true perception which is the result of an un 
 selfish condition of mind. But I was not ; and 
 attributed the change to the disappointment felt in 
 not getting from me his exorbitant charge, as I 
 was pleased to call it. 
 
 When the carpets were brought home, I paid 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 127 
 
 Moses one dollar and a leven pence. He took the 
 money in silence, and, bowing respectfully, with 
 drew. From the window I saw him pay his 
 assistant thirty-seven and a half cents, or one third 
 of the whole amount received. 
 
 " But this isn t enough," I could hear the assist 
 ant say. " I ought to have at least half-a-dollar." 
 
 " And I, be-right, ought to have had a dollar and 
 a half," returned Moses. " But missus has got 
 stingy. I never knowed her to do such a thing 
 afore, as take a fip off of a poor old fellow, when 
 she has got every thing full and plenty around 
 her. I reckon she wouldn t like to shake one of 
 them big heavy carpets herself for a quarter, or a 
 dollar either. But she thinks three fips enough 
 for a poor old niggar." 
 
 "Tn ey re all a stingy, mean set!" replied his 
 companion, indignantly. 
 
 "No, not all," quickly interposed Moses. 
 " Mrs. Clarke and Mrs. May berry paid the price 
 without a word, and gave me some old clothes 
 into the bargain. And so Mrs. Elm wood used 
 to do ; but those "drunken fellows that have got to 
 going about and shaking carpets for almost nothing, 
 have been along, and she thinks because they will 
 
128 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 work at any price for money to get drunk on, we 
 charge too much when we only ask a living price. 
 It s hard ; but I suppose it can t be helped. I ve 
 got my rent to make up by Monday, or I wouldn t 
 think much about it." 
 
 The two black men then went away, and left 
 me to my own reflections, which were not of the 
 most self-complacent kind. I had saved, it is true, 
 thirty-seven and a half cents, but the possession 
 of the sum I had contended for gave me no plea 
 sure. I had not come by it justly. The meanness 
 of the act I had been guilty of made my cheek 
 burn with shame, while a sense of its injustice 
 weighed heavily upon my conscience. In order 
 to save thirty-seven and a hah cents, I had actually 
 been guilty of oppressing a poor negro. In a few 
 days I required old Moses s services again. f; When 
 I paid him, I took care to make up the deficiency. 
 
 This circumstance set me to reflecting, and the 
 more I thought on the subject, the more fully was 
 I satisfied that the rates of compensation to a large 
 class of persons below us are too small. I am no 
 political economist I am only a woman, looking 
 upon human life with a woman s eyes. I see a 
 large class of persons who are compelled to forego 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 129 
 
 all the elegancies and even comforts of life, and 
 who think themselves well off in procuring even 
 things barely necessary to sustain existence. This 
 class of persons render us many services, for which 
 we pay them the lowest possible prices. No 
 sooner do we come to treat with them, than 
 shillings, sixpences, and even pennies, assume a 
 new importance in our eyes. If betrayed by 
 their importunity into paying a few coppers more 
 than that for which we discover some other and 
 poorer person would have done the same service, 
 we allow ourselves to think that we have been 
 cheated. No generous regard for the condition 
 of the individual leads us to advance the low rate 
 of compensation for which he is content, or rather 
 compelled to labor. The penny saved, is, indeed, 
 the penny gained to us, when it is pinched off of 
 the meagre pay of the poor whitewasher or seam 
 stress ; and we value it as such but the axiom has 
 little weight when it is summoned to oppose some 
 selfish indulgence where even dollars are con 
 cerned. 
 
 I do not think that such a want of regard to the 
 condition of the poor who labor for us, can be 
 right. I do not think we can, with a clear con 
 science, waste frivolously so much money as we 
 
130 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 do, and yet systematically grind down the poor. 
 Be rigidly exact with them in regard to pennies, 
 ivhile we waste dollars upon ourselves in the 
 merest sensual indulgences, that tend in no way to 
 elevate the thoughts or purify the affections. 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 131 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE FISH-WOMAN. 
 
 NOT many days after I had been called upon 
 to reprove myself a little severely for my conduct 
 towards old Moses, it rained very heavily. The 
 wind was from the northeast, and the air in con 
 sequence raw and cold. It so happened that there 
 was nothing in the house for dinner. Some one 
 would, of course, be compelled to go to market, 
 and the market was a long distance away. Cook 
 was not well, I did not feel like going out my 
 self and getting thoroughly drenched, as I most 
 certainly would, if I ventured into the street. In 
 this dilemma my ear caught the welcome cry of a 
 fish-woman. 
 
 " The very thing !" I ejaculated, rising to my 
 feet, and going to the window, upon which I tapped 
 as she went by. It was raining in torrents. The 
 clothes of the poor woman wsre completely satu 
 rated, and clung to her body as the wind swept 
 heavily against her. 
 
 " Poor creature !" I ejaculated, with a feeling 
 
132 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 of real sympathy. I knew something about her, 
 for once she told me that she had five little children 
 at home, for whose support she thus toiled about 
 the street. 
 
 " This is a dreadful morning for you to be out," 
 I said, on opening the door. 
 
 " It is, indeed, ma am ; but I can t afford to lose 
 the sales of even a single day. Here s a fine 
 bunch of fish for you, ma am," holding up, as she 
 said this, a large string of rock fish. 
 
 " What is the price ?" I asked. 
 
 " A quarter dollar a bunch, ma am." 
 
 " What will you take for two bunches ?" I 
 asked, instantly forgetting all about her peculiar 
 situation, in the desire to save a few pennies that 
 arose in my mind. 
 
 The poor creature paused a moment, and stood 
 thoughtful. I can see her now, with her pale, 
 sober face, standing in the drenching storm, with 
 the water dropping from her shapeless bonnet 
 about her breast and shoulders, calculating the 
 amount of reduction she could afford to make me 
 on her goods. 
 
 "You shall have the two bunches," she at 
 length said, " for forty-five cents. They cost me 
 twenty cents a bunch ; but it s a dreadful morning, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 133 
 
 and 1 don t feel very well. I want to get home 
 as quick as I can." 
 
 "Very well," I returned, "I will take them." 
 
 I then retired from the door, and took from my 
 purse half a dollar, which I gave to the cook, and 
 told her to go to the door and get two bunches of 
 fish. 
 
 " Here is a half dollar," I added. " She will 
 give you Jive cents change." 
 
 I had hardly uttered the last sentence before my 
 conscience began to smite me. But I stifled its 
 reproofs until it was too late. While yet debating 
 whether I should generously pay the woman her 
 own price, instead of taking from her one half of 
 her meagre profits, the street door closed, and Jane 
 came in with two handsome bunches of fish. As 
 she handed me the change she said, holding up 
 the purchase 
 
 "They are cheap enough." 
 
 I did not reply. " They are dear enough" 
 would have sounded much pleasanter to my ears 
 at that moment. How insignificant and unattractive 
 did the small piece of money I held in my fingers 
 look and yet, to gain just that little piece of 
 money, I had permitted myself to wrong a poor 
 
134 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 fish-woman, who had five little children to provide 
 with a home, food, and clothing. 
 
 " She shall have it again !" I said, laying the 
 coin upon the mantel-piece. " The next time she 
 comes round, if it is to-morrow, I will buy fish 
 from her, and return her this five cent piece in 
 addition." 
 
 This resolution quieted the murmurings of con 
 science. On the next morning I listened for an 
 hour or two, but she did not come into the neigh 
 borhood. I was disappointed, for I felt anxious 
 to make restitution. The next day, and the next 
 passed, but the fish-woman did not appear. 1 
 never saw her again. 
 
 Several weeks afterwards I inquired of a woman 
 who called at the door to sell something, if she 
 knew any thing about her. My description was 
 quickly recognized. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said ; " I know her very well. 
 But she is dead now." 
 
 " Dead !" I exclaimed, in painful surprise. 
 
 " Yes, ma am. Some weeks ago it rained very 
 hard, and she was out in it nearly all day. She 
 took a dreadful cold, got sick, and died in about 
 ten days." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 135 
 
 " And her children ? What of them ?" I asked. 
 
 " I took one of them, a little girl, into my own 
 family, though it was large enough already, dear 
 above knows ! But I thought of my own children 
 if I should be taken away, and that made me crowd 
 and pinch a little for the child s sake. The oldest 
 has been put to a trade ; one has been taken into 
 another family ; and the two youngest are in the 
 alms house." 
 
 " Not in the alms house !" I said, shocked at 
 the closing sentence. 
 
 " Yes, ma am. I m sorry to have to say it 
 but two of the poor little things had to be sent 
 there. No one that felt as if she would like to, 
 was able to take them for we poor bodies have 
 always as many of our own as we can scratch for. 
 Sometimes I think it is a blessing that even the 
 poor house is provided, where they can at least 
 have a home if we should be taken away. This 
 is often better than being distributed about among 
 families, where they are too often shamefully 
 neglected, if not treated most cruelly. When I 
 die, I want to take all mine with me. I do not 
 think I could sleep quietly in my grave if any one 
 were to abuse my children." 
 
136 THE LADY AT HOME 
 
 The woman was much disturbed by these 
 thoughts, and showed it very plainly. As I felt 
 disposed to talk with her a little further, I asked 
 her to come in, which she did. " How old is the 
 child which you have taken ?" I asked. 
 
 " About five years old," she replied. 
 
 "Is it well off for clothes?" 
 
 " No, ma am, not very. None of our children 
 are very well off in this respect. It takes so much 
 to feed them, that we never have a great deal over 
 for any thing else." 
 
 A thought came into my mind at the moment. 
 
 " How would you like to part with the child," 
 
 I asked, " if I got a place for it in the orphan 
 
 asylum ?" 
 
 " It would be so much better off there than I 
 can make it, that I could not refuse to let it go, 
 as much like one of my own as it begins already 
 to seem," she replied. 
 
 " How many have you of your own?" 
 
 " Four." 
 
 " All young ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma am. The oldest is but seven years 
 of age." 
 
 " Have you a husband ?" 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 137 
 
 woman was disturbed at this question. So 
 much so, that I regretted having asked it. But 
 she replied in a changed voice. 
 
 " Yes, ma am. But he isn t much help to me. 
 Like a great many other men, he drinks too much. 
 If it wasn t for that, you wouldn t find me crying 
 fish about the streets in the spring, and berries 
 through the summer, to get bread for my children. 
 He could support us all comfortably if he was 
 only sober, for he has a good trade, and is a good 
 workman. He used to earn ten, and sometimes 
 twelve dollars a week." 
 
 " How much do you make towards supporting 
 your family ?" I asked. 
 
 44 Nearly all they get to live on, and that isn t 
 much," she said bitterly. " My husband some 
 times pays the rent, and sometimes doesn t even 
 do that. I have made as high as four or five 
 dollars in a week but oftener two or three is the 
 most I get." 
 
 44 How in the world can you support yourself 
 and husband, and four children, on three dollars a 
 week ?" 
 
 44 1 have to do it," was her simple answer. 
 * There are women who would be glad to get 
 
IdS THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 three dollars a week. They would think them 
 selves well off." 
 
 " But how do you live on so small a sum ?" 
 " We have to deny ourselves almost every little 
 comfort, and confine our wants down to the mere 
 necessaries of life. After those who can afford to 
 pay good prices for their marketing have been 
 supplied, we come in for a part of what remains. 
 I often get meat enough for a few cents to last me 
 several days. And the same way with vegetables. 
 After the markets are over, the butchers and 
 country people, whom we know, let us have lots 
 of things for almost nothing, sooner than take them 
 home. In this way we make our slender means 
 go a great deal farther than they would if we had 
 to pay the highest market price for every thing. 
 But, it too often happens, that what we gain here, 
 is lost in the eagerness we feel to sell whatever 
 We have, especially when, from having walked 
 and cried for a long time, we become much fatigued. 
 Almost every one complains that we ask too much 
 for our things, if we happen to be one or two 
 cents above what somebody has paid in market- 
 where there are almost as many different prices as 
 there are persons who sell ; and, in consequence, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 139 
 
 almost every one tries to beat us down. It often 
 happens, that after I have walked for four hours, 
 and sold but very little, I have parted with my 
 whole stock at cost to some two or three ladies 
 who would not have bought from me at all, if they 
 hadn t known that they were making good bar 
 gains out of me and this, because I could not 
 bear up any longer. I think it very hard, some 
 times, when ladies, who have every thing in full 
 and plenty, take off of me nearly all my profits, 
 after I have toiled through the hot sun for hours, 
 or shivered in the cold of winter. It is no doubt 
 right enough for every one to be prudent, and buy 
 things as low as possible, but it has never seemed 
 to me quite just for a rich lady to beat down a 
 poor fish-woman, or strawberry woman, a cent or 
 two on a bunch or a basket, when that very cent 
 made, perhaps, one-third or one-half of her profits. 
 " It was only yesterday that I stopped at a 
 house to sell a bunch of fish. The lady took a 
 fancy to a nice bunch of small rock, for which I 
 asked her twenty cents. They had cost me just 
 sixteen cents. * Won t you take three fips ? 
 she asked. * That leaves me too small a profit, 
 madam, I replied. You want too much profit, 
 she returned. * I saw just such a bunch of fish 
 
140 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 in market yesterday for three fips. * Yes, but 
 remember, I replied, that here are the fish at 
 your door. You neither have to send for them, 
 nor bring them home yourself. * Oh, as to that, 
 she answered, * I ve got a waiter whose business 
 it is to carry the marketing. It is all the same to 
 me. So, if you expect to sell me your things, 
 you must put them at market prices. I will give 
 you three fips for that bunch of fish, and no 
 more. I had walked a great deal, and sold but 
 little. I was tired and half sick with a dreadful 
 headache. It was time for me to think about get 
 ting home. So I said * Well, ma am, I suppose 
 you must take them, but it leaves me only a mere 
 trifle for my profits. A servant standing by took 
 the fish, and the lady handed me a quarter, and 
 held out her hand for the change. I first put into 
 it a five cent piece. She continued holding it out, 
 until I searched about in my pocket for a penny. 
 This I next placed in her hand. So you ve 
 cheated me out of a quarter of a cent, at last, she 
 said, half laughing, and half in earnest. * You 
 are a sad rogue. A little boy was standing by. 
 * Here, Charley, she said to him, is a penny I 
 have just saved. You can by candy with it. 
 " As I turned away from the door of the large, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 141 
 
 beautiful house in which that lady lived, I felt 
 something rising in my throat and choking me. I 
 had bitter thoughts of all my kind. Happily, 
 where I next stopped, I met with one more con 
 siderate. She bought two bunches of my fish, 
 at my own price spoke very kindly to me, and 
 even went so far, seeing that 1 looked jaded out, 
 to tell me to go down into her kitchen, and rest 
 myself for a little while. Leaving my tub of fish 
 in her yard, I accepted the kind offer. It so hap 
 pened that the cook was making tea for some one 
 in the house who was sick. The lady asked 
 me if I would not like to have a cup. I said yes. 
 For my head was aching badly, and I felt faint. 
 And, besides, I had not tasted a cup of tea for 
 several days. She poured it out for me with her 
 own hands, and with her own hands brought it 
 to me. I think I never tasted such a cup of tea 
 in my life. It was like cordial. God bless her ! 
 When I again went out upon the street, my head 
 ache was gone, and I felt as fresh as ever I did 
 in my life. Before I stopped at this kind lady s 
 house, I was so worn down, and out of heart, that 
 I determined to go home, even though not more 
 than half my fish were sold. But now I went 
 
142 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 on cheerfully and with confidence. In an hour 
 my tray was empty, and my fish sold at fair 
 prices. 
 
 " You do not know, ma am," continued the wo 
 man, " how much good a few kindly spoken words, 
 that cost nothing, or a little generous regard for us, 
 does our often discouraged hearts. But these we 
 too rarely meet. Much oftener we are talked to 
 harshly about our exorbitant prices called a 
 cheating set or some other such name that does 
 not sound very pleasant to our ears. That there 
 are many among us who have no honesty, nor, 
 indeed, any care about what is right, is too true. 
 But all are not so. To judge us all, then, by the 
 worst of our class, is not right. It would not be 
 well for the world, if all were thus judged." 
 
 " Indeed, it would not," I said, almost involun 
 tarily. 
 
 After offering the woman a few encouraging 
 words, I gave her some clothes for the little girl 
 she had taken, and promised to use my influence 
 to get her into an asylum for orphans. This I 
 readily accomplished ; thus relieving her of a bur 
 den, and providing the child with a comfortable 
 home. The two children who had been taken to 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 143 
 
 the alms house weighed upon my mind a good 
 deal. I could not put the thought of them away 
 until I had succeeded in getting them taken out, 
 and placed in the care of two benevolent, kind- 
 hearted women, who adopted them as their own. 
 
144 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NEW DOMESTIC. 
 
 JANE, who had never seemed happy after her 
 cousin s return to the old country, gave me notice, 
 about a year afterwards, that she was going to 
 leave me. She, too, pined for home, and was 
 going back. I was sorry to part with Jane. She 
 had been a faithful domestic, and faithful domes 
 tics are not easily obtained ; but I did not think it 
 right to oppose her. We parted the best of friends. 
 On the day she left me, a new cook entered my 
 kitchen. I did not like her appearance much. I 
 thought she seemed ill-tempered. Certainly, she 
 was very silent, and, to judge from first appear 
 ances, quite stupid. I felt discouraged. 
 
 " Hannah," I said, on going into the kitchen, 
 after breakfast, on the first day of her administra 
 tion in culinary affairs, " we will have dinner at 
 two o clock. I wish you to be very punctual. Mr. 
 Elmwood is particular about having his meals pre 
 cisely at the hour." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 145 
 
 To this Hannah made no reply, merely looking 
 me in the face with a half intelligent stare. 
 
 " You understand me, Hannah," I said, a little 
 sharply for I felt annoyed at her seeming stu 
 pidity, or want of good manners. 
 
 " Yes, ma am," she replied, in a low voice. 
 
 " Very well. Don t fail to do every thing in 
 good time." 
 
 I then told her what we would have for dinner, 
 and how I wished the different dishes cooked. 
 During the morning, thoughts of my new cook 
 troubled me a good deal. She was so different 
 from Jane at least from Jane when she left me. 
 At first, even she did not know much about the 
 duties she engaged herself to perform. Two or 
 three times I went into the kitchen to see how 
 things were progressing. But nothing was going 
 on. right. Hannah was slow, awkward, and un 
 tidy in her work. And I felt worried. When I 
 spoke to her, it was in a pettish tone. Of this I was 
 conscious, and, also, that it was wrong. But I had 
 not that command of myself that would enable 
 me to put down, by a decided effort, my wrong 
 feelings. At one o clock I found the preparations 
 for dinner so much behindhand, that a late meal 
 was inevitable. 
 
 13 
 
146 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " This won t do, Hannah," I said, suffering, in 
 spite of my better sense, my feelings to betray 
 themselves in my manner. " I explained to you 
 this morning that dinner must be on the table 
 precisely at two. But it will now be impossible 
 to get it ready before half past two. This must 
 never happen again." 
 
 Saying this in a decided, rebuking tone, and 
 with a stern countenance, I turned away and left 
 the kitchen. I felt angry with Hannah, and angry 
 with myself because I was angry with her, and 
 likewise because I had no better control of my 
 self. While sitting in the parlor, in a very un 
 happy mood, the door bell rang. It was answered 
 by Hannah, who brought me in a magazine for 
 the month, that had just been delivered. I opened 
 it carelessly, but was all attention in an instant, 
 for the words " Hiring a Servant" met my eye 
 as the caption of an article. After reading the 
 first few lines, I lost all consciousness of my own 
 peculiar troubles. When I had finished the story 
 for story it was I was in a state of mind alto 
 gether different from the one I had a short time 
 previously been indulging. I saw my duty, and, 
 what was more, felt prepared to enter upon it in a 
 right spirit. But, for the benefit of my fair country- 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 147 
 
 women, for whose instruction and improvement I 
 am opening up my own faults, weaknesses, trials, 
 and triumphs, I will here give the sketch that was 
 so useful to me. May it be like bread cast upon 
 the waters. 
 
 HIRING A SERVANT. 
 
 " Well, I ll just give up at once ; so there now ! 
 It s no use to try any longer !" said Mrs. Parry, 
 passionately, as she came into the parlor where her 
 husband sat reading, and threw herself upon the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter now, Cara ?" in 
 quired Mr. Parry in a quiet tone, for he had seen 
 like states of excitement so often that they had 
 ceased to disturb him. 
 
 "The matter? Why, a good deal! Sally is 
 going away day after to-morrow, and I shall be 
 left without a cook again. And what shall I do 
 then ? Can you tell me that?" 
 
 " Hire another," was the unmoved reply of Mr. 
 Parry. 
 
 " Yes, it s easy enough to say hire another. 
 but saying and doing are two things. I never 
 expect to get another as good as Sally, and she has 
 been troublesome enough, dear knows !" 
 
148 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 Mr/ Parry laid aside his newspaper, folded his 
 hands together, and assuming a resigned attitude, 
 looked his wife in the face, with an air of com 
 posure that annoyed her exceedingly. 
 
 " You seem always to think this trouble about 
 servants a very little matter," she said, somewhat 
 pettishly ; * I only wish you had the trial of it for 
 awhile !" 
 
 " I have no desire, I can assure you, Cara," he 
 replied, in a soothing voice. " I never envied you, 
 or any other woman, the pleasures appertaining to 
 household duties. But you must allow me to 
 think that much of the difficulty and annoyance 
 which is too frequently experienced, might be 
 avoided." 
 
 " No doubt you think so. All men do. I verily 
 believe there never was a man yet who possessed 
 true sympathy for the peculiar trials incident to 
 housekeeping." 
 
 " Come, come, Cara ! that is a sweeping declara 
 tion," Mr. Parry replied, smiling. " I, for one, 
 think that I feel for you in all your various and 
 conflicting duties, and were it in my power, would 
 lighten every one of them. But, as I cannot do 
 this, I cannot, of course, think that in entering into 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 149 
 
 them you do right to allow them to make you 
 unhappy." 
 
 " It is easy enough to talk, Mr. Parry ; but how 
 do you think that I or any other woman can look 
 on unmoved, and see every thing in disorder ? If 
 dinner is late, or badly cooked, you are very sure 
 to speak about it ; and how do you think I can 
 feel easy when I see that, through the inattention 
 of the servant, such a thing is going to happen, or 
 feel at all pleasant after it has happened ?" 
 
 This was carrying the truth right home ; and Mr. 
 Parry remembered, all at once, that at sundry times 
 he had grumbled because dinner was not on the 
 table promptly ; and, on various occasions, because 
 the meat was overdone or underdone, or the vege 
 tables cold or badly cooked. He therefore sat very 
 still, and did not reply. Mrs. Parry perceived the 
 impression she had made, and continued : 
 
 " Or, how do you think that I can feel other 
 wise than I do in prospect of just such things again, 
 and a dozen others more annoying still ? I ve had 
 trouble enough with Sally, to get her to understand 
 how things ought to be done, and it disheartens me 
 outright now that she is determined to go away. 
 I don t care so much for myself, but I know how 
 these household irregularities annoy you, and that 
 13* 
 
150 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 you blame me for them, even though you don t say 
 any thing." 
 
 Mr. Parry was silenced for the time. He saw 
 that he was thrown completely " in the wrong," 
 and that it would be useless to attempt then to 
 argue himself out of his unenviable position. His 
 wife, thus victorious, had the uninterrupted privi 
 lege for that day, at least, of being just as unhappy 
 as she wished, in prospect of Sally s departure, 
 and the annoyances that were to follow this 
 event. 
 
 During that day and the next, a gloom pervaded 
 the household of Mrs. Parry. Sally felt more 
 than ever anxious to be away. Once or twice the 
 idea of remaining passed through her mind ; but a 
 sight of Mrs. Parry s overcast countenance instant 
 ly dispelled it. 
 
 On the morning of the day on which Sally was 
 to leave, an Irish girl, who had learned, through 
 the chambermaid, that the cook was going away, 
 applied for the situation. 
 
 " Are you a good cook ?" inquired Mrs. Parry. 
 
 " O yes, ma am ; I can cook any thing." 
 
 Where did you live last?" 
 
 " I am living in a tavern, ma am." 
 
 " Why do you wish to leave there ?" . j 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 151 
 
 " I don t like the place. You are so much ex 
 posed in a tavern." 
 
 " What is your name ?" 
 
 " Margaret." 
 
 " Well, Margaret, you can come on trial to 
 morrow morning. Sally is going to stay to-night." 
 
 And so Margaret went away, promising to come 
 back in the morning. At dinner time Mrs. Parry 
 seemed a little more cheerful. 
 
 " I ve engaged a cook," she said, after the meal 
 was nearly over. 
 
 " Have you, indeed ! Well, I m glad of that, 
 Cara. You see you ve had all your trouble for 
 nothing." 
 
 " I m not sure of that," she replied. " It s one 
 thing to hire a cook, and another thing to be pleased 
 with her. She s an Irish girl, and you know that 
 they are never very tidy about their work." 
 
 " But they are, usually, willing and teachable. 
 Are they not?" 
 
 " Some of them are. But then, who wants the 
 trouble of teaching every new servant her duty ? 
 It s enough to pay them their wages." 
 
 " Still, in thus teaching them we are doing good. 
 And we should always be willing to take upon 
 
152 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 ourselves a little trouble, if, in doing so, we can 
 benefit another." 
 
 " That would be too generous ! I might, on 
 your principle, be willing to do nothing else but 
 teach ignorant servants their duty, and thus fit 
 them to make other houses pleasant, instead of my 
 own. For, it generally happens, that when you 
 have made one of them worth having, she knows 
 some one with whom she would rather live than 
 with you. There was Nancy, that didn t know 
 how to wash a dish, or cook a potato when I took 
 her. She lived with us a year, until she could 
 lurn her hand to every thing, and then went to 
 Mrs. Clayton s, where she has been for six years. 
 Mrs. Clayton told me day before yesterday that 
 she was the best woman she had ever had in the 
 house, and that she would not part with her upon 
 any consideration. And here is Sally, with whom 
 I have had my own time. She s getting to be 
 good for something, and now she s contented here 
 no longer." 
 
 " That does seem a little hard, Cara. But, then, 
 don t you feel a gratification in reflecting that, 
 through your means, Mrs. Clayton has obtained a 
 servant who fills her place so well as to give satis 
 faction to the family ?" 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 153 
 
 " I can t say that I do," Mrs. Parry replied in a 
 half positive, half hesitating tone. 
 
 " Then if you do not," her husband said, 
 seriously, " it is time that you began, at least, to 
 make the effort to feel thus. The reason that we 
 are so often made unhappy by the actions of those 
 around us, is, because we regard our own good 
 and our own comfort of primary importance. Any 
 thing that disturbs these, disturbs us. But, if we 
 desired to impart benefits as well as to receive 
 them, we should come, as a necessary consequence, 
 into a state of mind that could not be easily agi 
 tated. We would see in the wrong actions and in 
 the short-comings of others, that which affected 
 them injuriously, as well as ourselves, and in try 
 ing to modify or correct them, we would have a 
 reference to their good as well as to our own." 
 
 " That may all be true enough ; but I am sure 
 that I could never act from such disinterested 
 motives. It is not in me." 
 
 " It is not in any one, naturally, to act thus, 
 Cara. But that is* no reason why good principles 
 may not be formed in us. You can at least see, 
 I suppose, that, if all acted thus with reference to 
 the good of others, every thing in society would 
 move on much more pleasantly than it does." 
 
154 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " yes, of course. But if only a few, why 
 they might work their lives through for the good 
 of others, and be no better off by it." 
 
 " A selfish idea, I see, is uppermost in your 
 mind, Cara," her husband said kindly, and with 
 an encouraging smile, for it was not often that he 
 could get her to consent to talk rationally on such 
 subjects. " The few who thus acted, would not 
 have in their minds the idea of a reward. The 
 delight which naturally springs up in the mind 
 from the performance of good actions to others, 
 would be to them a much higher gratification than 
 any thing that could be given to them as an external 
 reward for what they had done. Let me see if I 
 cannot make this plain to your mind. Suppose 
 Mrs. Clayton had so thoroughly educated an igno 
 rant servant as to make her fully acquainted with 
 all the household duties that might be required of 
 her ; and that after she was thus fitted for the per 
 formance of these duties, this servant left her, and 
 finally came into your family. Do you not think 
 that Mrs. Clayton might feel delight in the thought, 
 that through her efforts to instruct that servant, she 
 had acquired the ability of obtaining a comfortable 
 home at any time, and you had the pleasure of 
 having one in your family who lightened you of 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 155 
 
 many a care, and caused your household arrange 
 ments to move on harmoniously ?" 
 
 "Yes, I can see that she might. But I am not 
 so sure that she would feel thus." 
 
 " And you can see, no doubt, that to feel thus 
 would be much better than to have none but purely 
 selfish affections." 
 
 " Yes, I can see that, too. And, farther, I should 
 be very glad if I could have principles of action so 
 elevated." 
 
 " You may have them, Cara. We all may 
 have them," her husband said, earnestly and feel 
 ingly. " But then, it will be necessary for us to 
 begin the correction in us of whatever is altogether 
 of self ; and to begin, too, in humble and little things. 
 I must cease to complain, if every thing should 
 not happen to be as orderly as I desire, and cease 
 to do so, because I know that to complain thus 
 will necessarily make you unhappy. I must not 
 regard myself exclusively. And you, in reference 
 to your servants, should regard them and their 
 good, as well as the perfect order of your house 
 hold arrangements. Under such a system, if care 
 fully carried out, with the heart in it, a wonderful 
 change would occur. In case things went wrong 
 and perfection cannot be attained in any thing 
 
156 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 here you would cease to feel annoyed and dispi 
 rited as you now often do. The higher and more 
 unselfish motives from which you acted, would 
 superinduce a condition of mind not easy to be 
 disturbed." 
 
 " I fear, husband, that I have defects of charac 
 ter which will prevent my ever acting thus," Mrs. 
 Parry said, in a tone slightly desponding. 
 
 " A consciousness of your weakness, my dear 
 Cara, should make you doubly watchful. The 
 end to be gained is worth years of trial. If you 
 can only gain your own consent to commence the 
 work of reformation from principle, you will soon 
 begin to perceive its peaceable fruits, and thus 
 find ample encouragement for perseverance." 
 
 " I can at least fry, husband," she said, looking 
 up into his face with an expression of calm deter 
 mination. " But," and her countenance changed, 
 and assumed a look of dispondency, " how shall 
 I begin ? that is the puzzling question." 
 
 " To begin aright is almost half the victory. 
 And here I must confess that I hardly know 
 how to give advice. But perhaps I can suggest 
 a thought or two that will help you. This new 
 cook who is coming, you say, is an Irish girl. 
 It is not probable that, in the outset, she will be 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 157 
 
 at all capable of doing her work as you wish it 
 done. Make up your mind to this, resolving, at 
 the same time, that you will be kind and forbear 
 ing towards her. That no matter how awkward 
 she may be, or how ignorant, that you will not 
 exhibit in her presence any thing like impatience. 
 Think of her, too, as a poor girl, who has had 
 few opportunities, and who is now in a strange 
 country, and, perhaps, altogether friendless. Your 
 kind feelings will then be drawn out towards her, 
 and it is impossible for you to feel kindness and 
 concern for her without its being perceived. The 
 Irish character, you know, is grateful. From the 
 awakening up in her mind of affection towards 
 you, she will by doubly anxious to serve and to 
 please you. Thus a life will be put into all her 
 actions. Under such an impulse she will learn 
 quicker and remember better all you wish her to 
 do, than she possibly could if she were acted 
 upon by less elevated motives." 
 
 " I see and feel the force of what you say, * 
 Mrs. Parry replied, in a subdued tone, " and will, 
 at least, try to put in practice the hints you have 
 given me." 
 
 On the next morning, after breakfast, Margaret 
 came, and Sally went away, leaving the kitchen 
 14 
 
158 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 in her charge. For a little while after Sally had 
 left, Mrs. Parry permitted herself to feel dis 
 couraged ; but from this state of mind she soon 
 roused herself, and went out into the kitchen to 
 instruct Margaret in her duties. It first occurred 
 to her, after she had gone in where the girl was, 
 that she ought to do something to make her feel 
 easy and at home. The wish to do this was 
 soon followed by an. idea of how it might be done. 
 So she said 
 
 " Come, Margaret, bring your box up stairs, 
 and I will show you your room." 
 
 So Margaret lifted her box, which she had set 
 down in one corner of the kitchen, and fol 
 lowed Mrs. Parry up into one of the garret 
 rooms, which was plastered, and had but a few 
 days before received a fresh coat of whitewash. 
 
 " This is the room, Margaret, in which you, 
 with the chambermaid, will sleep. She will keep 
 it in order, of course ; your duties will lie in the 
 kitchen. You will find her very kind, and you 
 must try and live on good terms with each other." 
 
 " It shan t be my fault, ma am, if we don t," 
 Margaret said, warmly, for she felt Mrs. Parry s 
 kind manner, and was instantly drawn towards her. 
 
 "You say that you understand how to cook 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 159 
 
 almost any thing," Mrs. Parry remarked, after 
 they had returned to the kitchen. 
 
 Margaret hesitated a moment, while the color 
 rose to her face. At length she said, with a 
 good deal of feeling in her tone of voice 
 
 " I wouldn t deceive you for the world, ma am, 
 now you seem so kind to me. I am not a very 
 good cook, for I never had much chance ; but then, 
 ma am, I am anxious to learn." 
 
 " But, didn t you tell me, Margaret, that you 
 could cook any thing ?" Mrs. Parry asked in an 
 altered tone. 
 
 " yes, indeed, ma am, and so I did. But 
 then what could I do ? If I had said I wasn t 
 a good cook, you wouldn t have taken me ; and 
 so I d a had no chance to learn at all. But in 
 deed, ma am, I ll try to do right, and if trying 11 
 do any good, I am sure I will please you." 
 
 Mrs. Parry hesitated. She hardly knew what 
 to do or say. There was something in Margaret s 
 present frankness and apparent sincerity that she 
 liked ; but this was counterbalanced by a direct, 
 premeditated falsehood, and an intention to de 
 ceive. After pausing for a few moments, she 
 said 
 
 " Well Margaret, I cannot say that I like your 
 
160 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 attempt to deceive me, but now you are here, I 
 will at least give you a trial." 
 
 " Indeed, ma am, it was necessity entirely that 
 made me do it ; but I knew that if I tried I could 
 learn, and I thought, surely the mistress will have 
 patience with me when I am willing !" 
 
 This modified Mrs. Parry considerably; and 
 feeling, from having at first almost compelled her 
 self to take an interest in the poor Irish girl, some 
 touches of real concern for her, she said 
 
 " If you are really willing to learn and anxious 
 to please, Margaret, I have no objection to taking 
 some pains to instruct you. But then I shall 
 want you to pay attention to what I tell you, so 
 that after I have once given you a plain direction, 
 you will not discourage me by forgetting it, when 
 you come to do the thing over again." 
 
 Margaret promised faithfully to do the best she 
 could, and then set about her work. Heretofore, 
 on hiring a new cook, Mrs. Parry had installed 
 her into the kitchen, and then left her to go about 
 things in her own way, under all the disadvantages 
 of being in a strange place, unacquainted with the 
 economical arrangements of the family. Of course, 
 no one ever suited her at first, and it was usually 
 some weeks before things got into regular going 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 161 
 
 order. In the present instance, however, she felt 
 that there was a positive necessity for her to plan 
 and arrange all the work there. She found Mar 
 garet really ignorant of the very first principles of 
 her assumed calling. But she was so willing, 
 active, and good tempered, that she could not get 
 out of humor with her, though several times during 
 the morning she was sorely tempted. Dinner 
 was ready at the hour, and well cooked, too, for 
 it had all been timed and performed under Mrs. 
 Parry s own direction ; and she well knew how 
 to do it. 
 
 " Your dinner is in good time, and in good 
 order," Mr. Parry remarked, after sitting down^o 
 the table ; " and you don t seem to look worried, 
 though a little warm, as if you had been pretty 
 busy. I hope your new cook has proved herself 
 better than you had anticipated that she would be." 
 
 " She has proved to be quite deficient in every 
 thing," Mrs. Parry replied. 
 
 " Indeed ! I am sorry to hear that. I thought 
 she recommended herself highly." 
 
 " So she did. But she confessed to me this 
 morning, that she did so to secure the place, hoping 
 to learn afterwards." 
 
 14* 
 
162 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " That is a bad sign. I suppose you do not in 
 tend keeping her." 
 
 " Well, as to that, she seems so anxious to learn, 
 and, withal, so willing and good tempered, that I 
 feel very much disposed to take some trouble with 
 her. I have been in the kitchen most of the morn 
 ing, and, indeed, cooked the dinner pretty nearly 
 myself. I see much in her to like, though a good 
 deal that tries my patience. I must confess, that so 
 decided an untruth as she told me prejudices me 
 against her. Still, much allowance should be 
 made for a defective education, and the disadvan 
 tages under which she found herself placed." 
 
 * That is sensible and kind, Cara," her husband 
 replied, evidently pleased at finding his wife so 
 readily making the effort to act from motives less 
 selfish than those which had too uniformly govern 
 ed her in matters relating to her domestics, " and 
 I have no idea that your labor will be thrown 
 away." 
 
 " I feel somehow or other that it will not be 
 thrown away," Mrs. Parry said; "and I feel, 
 that my mind is much calmer and more encouraged 
 than it would have been if I had left her alone in 
 the kitchen, with the determination to send her 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 163 
 
 away if she were not able to do things to my 
 liking." 
 
 " You are getting hold of the true philosophy, 
 Cara," said her husband, with an encouraging 
 smile. * We never cultivate good feelings to 
 wards others, or make an effort towards being 
 kind to them, that we have not a reward in a 
 composed state of mind more than compensating 
 for the self-denial or trouble it may have cost us." 
 
 * The truth of what you say is not only appa 
 rent to me, but I can realize it from having felt it," 
 was Mr. Parry s reply. 
 
 That evening, a Mrs. Coster, one of her friends, 
 came in to spend an hour or two. Their conver 
 sation, by a natural transition, passed to the sub 
 ject of servants. 
 
 "I am almost out of all heart," Mrs. Coster 
 said, with a sigh, as soon as the topic was intro 
 duced. " Indeed, I ve given up all hope of ever 
 having any peace again while I am in the power 
 of so unprincipled a class as domestics. Is it not 
 too bad, that the happiness of a whole family must 
 be interrupted by a cook, or a chambermaid ? It 
 makes me feel downright angry whenever I think 
 about it. I see it as clear as can be that we shall 
 have to break up and go to boarding." 
 
164 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 " That would be exchanging one evil for a do 
 zen," remarked Mrs. Parry. 
 
 " So I used to think," Mrs. Coster replied. 
 "But, really, I have been forced to change my 
 mind. Every day the trouble with servants is in 
 creased. If you get one that is worth having, 
 she will be off at the end of two or three months ; 
 and nine out of ten I wouldn t give house room. 
 They are, in fact, not worth the powder it would 
 take to shoot them ! But how are you off in this 
 respect, Mrs. Parry ?" 
 
 " Well, I have my own troubles, Mrs. Coster. 
 Sally, who has been with me a good while, left 
 me this morning, and I ve got a raw Irish girl in 
 the kitchen, who couldn t cook a dinner in a decent 
 way to save her life." 
 
 " O dear !" ejaculated Mrs. Coster, clasping her 
 hands together, and rolling up her eyes. " Then 
 you have got your hands full. I had a trial of 
 one of your raw Irish girls once, and a pretty piece 
 of baggage she was. I left her to cook the dinner 
 on the first day and such a dinner ! But I will 
 not make the effort to give you an idea of it, or 
 the dozen other things she attempted to do,, I 
 never want to hear of raw Irish girls again since I 
 had a trial of Margaret Coyle." 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 165 
 
 Margaret Coyle !" Mrs. Parry said, in a tone 
 of surprise. 
 
 " Yes, Margaret Coyle ; and I hope in mercy, 
 it isn t her that you ve got." 
 
 " Yes, it is no other than her," Mrs. Parry re 
 plied, despondingly. 
 
 " dear ! O dear ! Then you ve got your hands 
 full ! Why, unless she has changed a good deal 
 since I had her, she is not able to do a single thing 
 as it ought to be done. And, besides, she is slovenly 
 and dirty. You d better send her off at once, for 
 you ll never make any thing out of her." 
 
 " She seems at least willing, and good temper 
 ed," urged Mrs. Parry, in her favor. 
 
 " Not by any means. I found her dilatory and 
 unmanageable ; and she is the only servant who 
 ever gave me a saucy word." 
 
 "Ah me !" sighed Mrs. Parry, " It s a hard 
 case, truly ! Why can t domestics feel some sense 
 of justice towards the families in which they 
 reside ?" 
 
 " Because they are a low, unprincipled set !" 
 Mrs. Coster replied, warmly ; " and I don t know 
 that we ever need expect much more from them. 
 They re generally envious of their mistresses, and 
 ashamed of the idea of being servants, and think, 
 
166 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 in consequence, that it shows a spirit of independ 
 ence, to be saucy and disregardful of the comfort 
 of the families in which they reside." 
 
 After Mrs. Coster went away, Mrs. Parry 
 seemed very much dispirited, and remarked to her 
 husband, that she was afraid all her hope of making 
 any thing out of Margaret was vain. 
 
 " That may be," Mr. Parry remarked. " But 
 it does not at all follow, it seems to me, from what 
 Mrs. Coster has said. I am confident that she 
 never gave Margaret a fair trial. And I am farther 
 inclined to think, that she worried the poor girl 
 until she was roused, and answered her back in a 
 spirit of offended pride." 
 
 " Yes, that may be very true. I never thought 
 that Mrs. Coster had much feeling for her domes 
 tics. She expects them to do just so, and never 
 spares them if there is any deviation from her rules. 
 Nor does she think it required of her to consider 
 them at all, except as necessary appendages to her 
 family." 
 
 " That is the great error," Mr. Parry replied. 
 So long as the majority of people look upon 
 domestics as necessary evils, so long will the 
 majority of people find it hard work to get along 
 with them. Nor is this kind of trouble confined 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 16? 
 
 altogether to the one party in the case. The ser 
 vant has as hard, and usually, a much harder time 
 of it than the mistress. She is expected to do every 
 thing for the comfort of the family, and yet is to be 
 considered no farther than as entitled to her regular 
 monthly hire. Too often, she is made to bear all 
 the surplus ill-humor of the woman in whose service 
 she is engaged ; and, as a general rule, is too often 
 a stranger to all kindness and consideration. This 
 is speaking with a good deal of seeming latitude ; 
 and yet, Cara, you will admit that there is too 
 much truth in what I have said." 
 
 * I cannot deny it," Mrs. Parry replied, serious 
 ly, " nor can I get away from the conviction, that 
 I am far from being innocent in the matter myself* 
 We are apt to take it for granted that those under 
 us are also below us in feeling ; that they are not 
 entitled to the same consideration that those are 
 whose condition in life is equal or superior to our 
 own." 
 
 " That, certainly, is a great fault. It may often 
 happen, too, that the poor girl who is forced to go 
 into the kitchen, is one, the promise of whose early 
 years was far superior to that of the individual for 
 whom she is compelled to labor. And she may, 
 also, have as acute feelings, and be possessed of as 
 
168 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 sound moral principles. But who considers her in 
 this light?" 
 
 The conversation thus commenced, continued 
 for some time ; but we will not weary the reader 
 by repeating it farther ; enough has been given to 
 show the principles it involved. 
 
 During the next morning, Mrs. Parry gave up 
 her time to Margaret, and endeavoured, in a kind 
 manner, to instruct her in the duties she had 
 assumed. The poor girl seemed very anxious to 
 learn, and evinced a quickness of apprehension that 
 disappointed Mrs. Parry agreeably. To see how 
 far she recollected the directions given on the day 
 previous, the same kind of a dinner was prepared. 
 Margaret was at fault but once or twice, and when 
 the omission was pointed out, she said she would 
 try and never forget that again ; and said it so 
 earnestly, that it was evident she would be likely 
 to keep the thing in her memory. Much to the 
 surprise and pleasure of Mrs. Parry, in the course 
 of a week, Margaret could get aldhg very well in 
 the kitchen, carefully continuing to do every thing 
 in the exact way she had been told that it ought to 
 be done. Sometimes, when Mrs. Parry was in a 
 less calm and pleasant state of mind than usual, and 
 any thing would go wrong, or Margaret would 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 169 
 
 forget some particular direction, she would speak 
 to her in a voice less kind than she had from the 
 first assumed when addressing her. Whenever 
 this happened, the poor girl would look up into her 
 face with an appealing expression, and sometimes 
 the moisture could be seen gathering in her. eyes. 
 Mrs. Parry always felt this, and it enabled her to 
 correct in herself an habitual petulance when any 
 thing occurred to disturb her. The improvement 
 manifest in Margaret continued, and at the end of 
 the first month, Mrs. Parry was better pleased 
 with her than with any one she had ever had. 
 From an uniform, kind consideration, she had come 
 to feel an interest in her, and one day asked her 
 why she had left her native home. The question 
 seemed to excite some painful emotions in the 
 mind of the Irish girl, but she replied, readily and 
 respectfully : 
 
 " Misfortunes, ma am. When my father and 
 mother died, and the landlord rented our cottage 
 and acre of ground to another family, me and the 
 two little children were turned out, to do the best 
 we could. We had always had a plenty of good 
 potatoes, and milk, and oatmeal bread, and we were 
 as happy as the greatest in the land. But now the 
 5 
 
170 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 hardships came. I didn t mind myself so much, 
 for I was most grown up, and could do pretty well ; 
 but it made my heart ache to see little Jamie and 
 Catherine turned on the parish, with no one to be 
 kind and good to them as I had been. Poor things ! 
 It was hard fare and cruel treatment they had. And 
 I could do nothing for them, though I am sure, if 
 my heart s blood could have done them any good, 
 they should have had it. Little Catherine didn t 
 stand it more than a year. It was wrong, maybe, 
 but I did feel glad when she died. O, ma am, if 
 you had seen her when she was laid out for a little 
 while before they boxed her up with rough boards, 
 and put her down in the ground, without a priest 
 or a word of prayer over her, it would have made 
 your heart ache, I am sure, as it did mine. Before 
 she went into the poor house, she was fat and round 
 as your little George is now ; but when she died, 
 she was all skin and bone, and her eyes were sunk 
 way down in her head. And when little Jamie 
 was let come and see her, before she was buried, 
 he looked so pale and thin, and full of sorrow, that 
 it broke me down entirely. O, ma am, you don t 
 know what it is to see those you love as dearly as 
 you love your life, suffering and dying before you, 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 171 
 
 and yet have no power to help them." The girl 
 paused a moment or two to recover herself, and 
 then continued, . 
 
 " Well, Jamie, he didn t last long. He died as 
 Catherine had, from want of good food and kind 
 treatment. I saw the last of him, too, and then it 
 seemed as if a great load had been taken off my 
 heart. I knew they had both gone where they 
 would be happy. Some time after this my brother, 
 who had been in this country a few years, sent me 
 over some money, and asked me to join him, say 
 ing that he would take care of me. I came out of 
 course. But, ma am, when I got here, he had died 
 with the fever. I felt like I should have to give up. 
 I was in a strange country, and among strangers. 
 But they told me at the tavern where I was, that if 
 I would turn to as chambermaid, they would give 
 me four dollars a month. I was glad enough to do 
 so. But I did not like it much, especially when 
 I got acquainted with one or two girls, who were 
 employed in families, and who said it was so much 
 pleasanter there. I didn t like the exposure of a 
 tavern, and wanted badly to get into the quiet of a 
 private house. At last, one of my acquaintances 
 told me she could get me a place as cook. But 
 I didn t know how to cook, I told her. * 0, never 
 
172 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 mind that, she said ; * tell the woman you can cook 
 every thing, or she won t have you ; and you can 
 easily learn after you once get the place. So I 
 did as I was told. The woman wasn t kind and 
 good to me as you have been, ma am. She gave 
 me things, and told me to get dinner ; I made bad 
 work of it, of course. And then she got angry, 
 and called me ugly names. O, it made me feel so 
 bad ! From asking a little, as far as I could ven 
 ture, and taking notice why she found fault, I tried 
 to get as near right as I could. But it was no use. 
 I was ignorant, and she did not- seem to have any 
 feeling for me. I staid only a week or two, when 
 she got angry with me for doing something wrong, 
 and said very hard words to me. I couldn t stand 
 it any longer, ma am, and so talked back to her. 
 This made her a great deal worse, and I thought I 
 had better leave and go back to the tavern, and so I 
 did. After a while I heard that you wanted some 
 one, and I told you, because I was persuaded to, 
 the same story about my knowing how to cook 
 every thing. You know the rest, ma am. I think 
 I improve some, don t I ?" she added, innocently. 
 " O yes, Margaret," replied Mrs. Parry, " you 
 have improved very much ; and if you continue 
 to improve, and are as willing and good tempered 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 173 
 
 as you have been, I think there will be no need of 
 our parting soon. But was not that Mrs. Coster 
 with whom you lived ?" 
 
 " Indeed ma am, and it was !" Margaret said, 
 looking up with surprise. 
 
 " I know her very well, Margaret, and she is, 
 in many things, a kind-hearted woman. But she 
 is sometimes thoughtless. She, I suppose, ex 
 pected to find in you what she wanted, a good 
 cook, and was very much disappointed, and con 
 sequently, out of patience, when she found that 
 you could do nothing that you had engaged to 
 do." 
 
 Here the conversation ended between Mrs. 
 Parry and her new cook, for whom, after hearing 
 her brief history, she felt added kindness, and 
 also an increased degree of confidence in her. Nor 
 was she disappointed. From, apparently, the 
 most unpromising materials, she came into the 
 possession of a domestic, through kindness and 
 consideration for her, who was ever faithful, and 
 thence invaluable. And even more than this 
 she had been led to see in herself and correct it, 
 that which, while it influenced her, would have 
 made it impossible even to retain, for any length of 
 time, a good servant. That particular disposition 
 15* 
 
174 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 was, a habit of petulance and fault-finding, when 
 things were a little wrong. Nothing so discourages 
 a domestic, as the clouded brow of her mistress. 
 If there is sunshine, she will go about her duties 
 with cheerfulness and perform every thing quicker 
 and better. But the great prerequisite in the mis 
 tress of a family, is that calm, dignified and uni 
 form consistency of conduct which commands 
 involuntary respect. There are within the circle 
 of almost every woman s acquaintance, some who 
 are never troubled with domestics. All about 
 them seem to be in the cheerful performance of 
 every duty. Let the manner of one of these to 
 wards her servants be observed. She is never 
 heard to speak to them in a tone of command, 
 and often, in giving directions, she will be heard 
 to say in a mild tone, " Nancy, I wish you," to do 
 so and so ; or, " Will you" do this or that thing. 
 And yet, no one hesitates or uses improper famili 
 arities towards her. She has no better materials 
 to act upon than others, but she moulds and fashions 
 them in a different way. On no occasion does 
 she get excited, and say unreasonable things to 
 them ; for this would destroy in their minds all 
 respect for her : as it always does in every in 
 stance where such a bad habit is indulged in. But 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 175 
 
 we will not tire our lady readers by lecturing 
 them upon their domestic duties. We are sure 
 that they have their own troubles in this respect. 
 Nor will we presume to condemn any who cannot 
 come up to the standard we have attempted to 
 raise ; but, if they will only try to do so, and 
 carefully look within, rather than without, for dif 
 ficulties and hindrances, we are sure that some 
 of them will be able to get along with that trouble 
 some class of people called helps, domestics, or 
 servants, as fashion or prejudice decides, much 
 better than heretofore. 
 
 When I laid aside the magazine, far different 
 feelings were active than when I took it up. My 
 anger had passed away. I stood on a different 
 position-point, and saw, of course, all things around 
 me in different relations. At that moment the 
 time-piece on the mantel struck the half-hour. I 
 got up, and went calmly into the kitchen. Han 
 nah looked earnestly into my face as I entered. I 
 understood the reason of this. She had felt my 
 harsh, dissatisfied manner towards her, and it had 
 made her unhappy. 
 
 " Hannah," I said, in a mild, encouraging voice, as 
 soon as I had ascertained, which I did in a moment 
 
176 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 or two, the exact state of progress that had been 
 made in the preparation of dinner, " let me assist 
 you in getting this meal ready. I don t think you 
 understand my stove yet, for your fire does not 
 seem lively." 
 
 As I said this, I took up the poker and cleared 
 the fire of an accumulation of ashes, examined 
 the dampers, and found that they were all wrong ; 
 re-arranged the dishes that were cooking, so as to 
 bring them into more advantageous positions, and 
 then showed Hannah what I had done, explaining 
 to her, in a kind, familiar way, the whole action 
 of the cook-stove. The effect of this surprised 
 me. The dull, awkward girl, brightened up, and 
 showed a degree of intelligence that I had not sup 
 posed she possessed. By remaining with her, and 
 instructing her in a kind way, I was enabled to 
 have dinner on the table, well cooked, by a quarter 
 past two o clock and it so happened that my hus 
 band did not come in until just at that time. 
 
 Encouraged by the good effects produced by my 
 change of manner towards the new cook, I went 
 frequently into the kitchen for the next three or 
 four days, and found Hannah a very different 
 kind of a person from what I had supposed. She 
 was a little awkward, it is true, but this arose from 
 
THE LADY AT HOME. 177 
 
 the fact that she had never been properly instructed 
 in any thing. She had been left to find out nearly 
 all her duties, and to do them according to her own 
 intelligence. But when I showed her a better 
 way, she was thankful, and at once adopted it. 
 
 Thus I continued for some time, until I had 
 trained her quite to my liking. The consequence 
 is, that now I have a domestic who is to me almost 
 invaluable. Hannah is clean, tidy, and industri 
 ous, and always to the minute with her meals. 
 Had I not adopted the judicious course that proved 
 so successful, I should not have made any thing out 
 of her, for she will not bear harsh treatment. It 
 wounds her feelings, confuses her mind, and ex 
 cites her to opposition. But kindness softens 
 her, as wax is softened before a gentle heat. 
 
 But enough for he present. I throw these few 
 leaves, upon which are written some brief passages 
 of my own experience in domestic life, upon the 
 waves, trusting that they may do good that my 
 countrywomen may gather from them hints to 
 make both themselves and all who look up to them 
 happier. The power to do good, every one pos 
 sesses. If we cannot reform the world in a mo 
 ment, we can begin the work by reforming ourselves 
 
178 THE LADY AT HOME. 
 
 and our households, and thus plant the seeds that 
 will in time produce a sure harvest. Who will 
 not enter at once upon this work ? It is woman s 
 mission. Let her not look away from her own 
 little family circle for the means of producing moral 
 and social reforms, but begin at home ; and the 
 little leaven she there hides, will, in due time, tho 
 roughly leaven her three measures of meal. 
 
 THE END. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN 
 
 1 3 1978 
 
 - 
 
 APR 2 9 1984 
 
 
 
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 LD9-30m-12, 71v- 
 
 M88961 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY