“The best servant I ever had was entirely self-taught: she was the eldest of ten children, and spent her life, till she was fifteen, in ‘holding the baby;’ then she went to a house in our neighbourhood, as under-nurse, and to help the other servants when required. She was so obliging, that she became a favourite with every one. The nurse taught her to read and sew; the young ladies taught her to write; the cook found her so handy that, after she had been in the nursery three years, she begged her mistress to allow her to have her in the kitchen. She came to me two years after that, able and willing to put her hand to any kind of work required; she remained with me six years, and then married a respectable carpenter. She is now in America; and in the last letter which I received from her, she told me that her husband was earning four pounds a-week by his trade, and she could earn one pound a-week by her dairy.” “But, ma’am,” said one of the women, “don’t you see, it wasn’t _all_ good management that made these people you tell us about so prosperous; it was partly good luck,—they got good places.” “Yes, I see that; but it was their good name that got them the good places, and their good behaviour that enabled them to keep them.” “Ah! I see,” said another; “’course they wouldn’t have stopped there, if they hadn’t been worth something.” “It is this ‘_being worth something_’ that has a great deal to do with it, I assure you. Supposing I were to send for a carpenter, and give him some wood, and tell him to make me a box; and that in the evening, when I looked at his work, I found that he had made such mistakes in cutting it out and putting it together, that it was all spoilt; that there was no possibility of making a box out of it; and all that he had done for me was to make the material good for nothing. I should say to him, ‘I cannot pay you for your work. You have deceived me in professing to be able to do what it seems you cannot do; you have injured me by destroying my property; and I cannot recommend you to any one else.’ Now, who would call me unjust for this? But what would be thought of a master if, when he had sent away one spoilt dish after another from his table, he were to send for the cook, and say to her—‘I engaged to give you a home in my house, and to pay you certain wages, on condition that you cooked my food nicely, and took care of the property committed to your charge. I have fulfilled my part of the engagement; you have not fulfilled yours. If you really cannot cook properly, then you did me an injustice in taking my money, and accepting the shelter of my house. Perhaps it only arises from carelessness;—I will give you another trial, but I must be just to myself at the same time I shall not pay you any wages for this day’s work,—you have not earned any; and your being paid for the future will depend upon whether you do what you engaged to do, or not.’ Now, who