Certainly this was rather a black state of things to look forward to;
but the conviction was formed, after mature reflection, that a
residence some miles from town was the one best suited to the writer's
family. She was compelled to acknowledge to those friends who advised
her to the contrary, her ignorance on most things appertaining to the
mode of life she proposed to commence, but trusted to that
often-talked-of commodity, common sense, to prevent her being ruined
by farming four acres of land.

She thought, if she could not herself discover how to manage, she
might acquire the requisite knowledge from some of the little books
she had purchased on subjects connected with "rural economy." They
proved, however, quite useless. They appeared to the writer to be
merely compilations from larger works; and, like the actors in the
barn, who played the tragedy of "Hamlet," and omitted the character of
the hero, so did these books leave out the very things which, from the
title-pages, the purchaser expected to find in them.

Some time after experience had shown how butter could be made
successfully, a lady, who had been for years resident in the country,
said, during a morning call, "My dairy-maid is gone away ill, and the
cook makes the butter; but it is so bad we cannot eat it: and besides
that nuisance, she has this morning given me notice to leave. She says
she did not 'engage' to 'mess' about in the dairy."

"Well," said the writer, "why not make the butter yourself, till you
can suit yourself with a new servant?"

"I have tried," said the visitor, "but cannot do it. My husband is
very particular about the butter being good, so I was determined to