Nothing is of more importance than to help servants with their money affairs. They are very ignorant and very improvident, though often very generous. The extravagant servant will listen to no reason about putting by for the 'rainy day,' and the best among themselves constantly help to support some of their own relations. If they are willing and the mistress is tactful, talking over their affairs is often of great use, especially in giving them an idea what to do with their savings, if they have any; as, like other classes, they constantly lose their money in unfortunate investments offering high interest, and sometimes are even attracted to do this by 'big' names on the prospectus, often those of connections of their employers, which they look upon as a guarantee for security.

Whenever depression comes upon me from associating with those who are complaining about the ways and fashions of the time they live in and the ruin of their own generation, whether in the classes above or those below them, I fly to some of the books of the eighteenth century, and never fail to get the consolation I require. What has received the greatest abuse in my time is the Board School education and the destruction it has wrought amongst those who become domestic servants. I myself totally disbelieve this. First of all, those who go into the higher schools are very few in number, and nothing is so important in a free country as that all should have the power to rise, if their talents fit them for it. Here is a sentence of Oliver Goldsmith's, in one of his essays. In his time it was a higher class that met with his disapproval, but it reminds me of remarks that I am constantly hearing now about those who used to be called 'the uneducated':

'Amidst the frivolous pursuits and pernicious dissipations of the present age a respect for the qualities of the understanding still prevails, to such a degree that almost every individual pretends to have a taste for the Belles-Lettres. The spruce 'prentice sets up for a critic, and the puny beau piques himself on being a connoisseur. Without assigning causes for this universal presumption, we shall proceed to observe that if it was attended with no other inconvenience than that of exposing the pretender to the ridicule of those few who can sift his pretensions, it might be unnecessary to undeceive the public, or to endeavour at the reformation of innocent folly productive of no evil to the commonwealth.'

Spending youth in school may prevent a young servant from knowing her duties as a servant so well as if she had been brought up at home; but, on the other hand, being moderately well educated makes it far easier to learn, and I maintain that with a very little practical teaching the modern schoolgirl makes an excellent servant. But no one can have a well-ordered house on a small scale who is constantly leaving home or constantly changing servants. An indifferent servant who knows your ways is better than the good servant who is quite fresh to the work in your house. Leaving home often means a badly kept house, of that I am sure, unless many members of the family remain at home and give plenty of employment to everybody. Then perhaps the real mistress of the house may be very little missed.

The fulness of life, the selfishness of life, often prompt the modern housewife to throw up the sponge, to rush away to the idleness of the hotel or the lodging; but it is a cowardly wish - a wish, except in real bad health, to be ashamed of. Our troubles and sorrows, be they real or imaginary, go with us, and our only usefulness is at home. Here is a poem written by one of that brave trio, the Bronte sisters - Ellis Bell (Emily Bronte) - which, if not so subtle as Lionel Tennyson's 'sympathy,' has a strong ring about it - that hand-shake in life's way which helps so many: