"OH, dear Mrs. Graham!" said my neighbour Mrs. Jones to me one day,
"what shall I do for good help? I am almost worried out of my
senses. I wish somebody would invent a machine to cook, wash, scrub,
and do housework in general. What a blessing it would be! As for the
whole tribe of flesh and blood domestics, they are not worth their
salt."

"They are all poorly educated," I replied, "and we cannot expect
much of them. Most of them have nearly every thing to learn when
they come into our houses, and are bad scholars into the bargain.
But we must have patience. I find it my only resource."

"Patience!" ejaculated Mrs. Jones, warmly. It would require more
patience than Job ever possessed to get along with some of them."

"And yet," said I, "we accomplish little or nothing by impatience.
At least such is my experience."

"I don't know, ma'am," replied Mrs. Jones. "If you go to being
gentle and easy with them, if you don't follow them up at every
point, you will soon have affairs in a pretty condition! They don't
care a fig for your comfort nor interest--not they! In fact, more
than half of them would, a thousand times, rather make things
disagreeable for you than otherwise."

"I know they are a great trial, sometimes," I answered, not feeling
at liberty to say to my (sic) visiter all I thought. "But we must
endeavour to bear it the best we can. That is my rule; and I find,