On another occasion, while she was mending—not making reader—but mending, her children's clothes, I offered to read one of Ik Marvel's reveries of a bachelor, a special favorite of mine. She thanked me, and I proceeded. On finishing one of his admirable paragraphs, I put the book down and exclaimed, 'isn't that capital?'
She said at once, 'no, I think it is very discouraging.'
'Discouraging! Why, what in the world do you mean, Mary?'
'Excuse me, William, but I was'nt listening. The fact of it is, there has been another row down stairs, and I do think that girl ought to be ashamed of herself to treat Susan so;' and then for one hour a topographical and analytical history of the entire household was gone into, with a con amore spirit, which lasted through two segars and a glass of water. I never spoke. On these occasions they don't want you to talk; only to listen. They say in a sweet and confiding manner, 'you know I have no one to sympathize with me;' and off they go, like the recitation of Pope's Homer, made by some school girl who has been sentenced to run through so many lines. I slipped the reveries into their place, so that she would not be hurt, and I do assure you that when she had got through I believe if you had asked her suddenly 'who discovered America?' she would have replied 'An Irishman—I forget his name.'
Formerly there was ever a business gravity about her: now she always appeared with a sweet smile that lit up her countenance, as though it had been sprinkled all over with sun-powder.
Difficult indeed was it for Mary to order anything without an advance notice, for otherwise she was forced to start her little bark through the Scylla and Charybdis of 'fire island,' namely, 'The fire's too low, marm;' or 'I've just put on coal, marm.'
Now she reads to me herself, and marks the prettiest passages in Tennyson, which no woman could find out if her understanding had been mortgaged by servants.
Before, no matter what dish of meat was set before me, it was always dry, or the gravy made of butter and water. I have often seen mutton chops come on table looking like little islands of meat surrounded by water, on which might be detected a tickley benders of grease. Five minutes conversation on my part supplied the deficiency, and caused one can of lard to outlast six of those in olden times.
When I first took charge of the kitchen, the cook made one struggle—but only one. The reply to her question indicated such ignorance or indifference on my part, that everything suggested in future was served as directed, and well done. Having ordered many dishes one day—I don't know whether it was washing or ironing day, I never used to ask: I also gave the ingredients of a very nice pudding, and said 'can you make that?'
'I know how, sir, but can't to-day.'