FEMALE SERVANTS IN THE BUSH. BY MRS. TRAILL. "Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, their destiny obscure." I HAVE often heard families complain of the difficulty of obtaining and retaining good female servants, especially when they first come to this country, and dwell with much bitterness on the insolent freedom of manner they experience. That, while the rate of wages is nearly doubled, they are worse served than by even indifferent servants at home In Canada the demand for labour has hitherto exceeded the supply, and will do so for many years to come, excepting in places where a strong tide of emigrants has poured in on account of some tempting advantage offered them,-such as the carrying on of public works on an extensive scale. The servant knows her own value, and is not unnaturally disposed to take advantage of the necessities of her employer; she is in point of fact less dependent on her mistress than her mistress upon her. Such being the state of things, it is impolitic to commence your acquaintance with your newly hired female servant by assuming an air of haughty superiority over her, assuming an attitude of defence before attack is meditated.. In a new country like this the same order of things does not prevail as in England, and something of dignity must inevitably be ceded if you wish to live peaceably with all men. Even servants fresh from the comforts and conveniences of good service at home, find much cause for discontent and unhappiness when they come to Canada. The change is not less felt by them than by ourselves: they also have to learn to conform to the ways of a strange country; they also feel the bitter pains of expatriating themselves, though they have more to gain and less ultimately to lose, by the exchange than we have; but their regrets for a season are often as acute. Let us, then, think of these things,—let us learn to treat them as human creatures, as fellow-creatures, subject to like feelings of joy and sorrow as ourselves, and let them see that we do so not because it is our worldly interest but because we are their Christian mistresses. Begin, then, by treating them with kindness and consideration. Servitude at best is a hard portion to bear; let us endeavour by judicious kindness to lighten the yoke of bondage. Take an interest in their happiness their general welfare; lend a patient and not unwilling ear to their little histories; for they have all something to tell of their former trials that drove them to this country, their early wanderings and troubles in the first settlement they made, the hardships, sorrows and sickness they have met with. Believe me that much interesting matter may thus be obtained, some useful knowledge acquired, some valuable lesson of patience learned, by which your own heart may be benefitted and improved, and what is equally valuable, a feeling of confidence established between yourself and your household servants, who feel by these little acts of sympathy, that you do not despise them. Truly do I subscribe to the fine sentiments of the poet whose truth must have been felt and experienced by every one capable of feeling aright, "Where is the heart of iron mould, That melts not when its proud distress Irish servants are more plentiful than English or Irish pride is proverbial; and though I have sometimes been almost provoked into a smile at its absurdity on some occasions, still I regard it as a national trait that would if cannily guided lead to better things. An Irish servant (the poorer and more destitute she is, the prouder) will never acknowledge poverty to have been the cause of her parents' coming out to Canada; she will voluntarily attribute emigration to any other motive than necessity. Nay, none of them will confess that they knew anything of hard labour till they came to Canada,-their fathers were farmers, | rousing angry and resentful feelings, and the end was and they had servants themselves, and only put their gained without offence, I think I may say it leaned hand to work when absolutely inclined, to amuse also to the harmlessness of the dove. themselves in that way. This you may believe if you are sufficiently credulous; but as it does no good to contradict them I seldom do so, unless by cross questioning to draw them out a little, and notice the variety of character, and their curious subterfuges, when hard-pressed with a home question that was difficult to parry. I have generally found myself most efficiently served by choosing my female servants when I could among the daughters of small farmers; young persons who have been brought up and almost bred in the country. These are generally speaking industrious, active and useful, well versed in all the various household labours of a Canadian settler's farm, proud of displaying their skill in the work of the house, and will often render valuable service on the farm in hay-making and harvest time. Ask this as a favour, however, but never demand it as a right, for they are tenacious of their dignity; though accustomed to work like labourers in the fields at home, they know they are not compelled to do so when hired in the capacity of household servants, unless some specific bargain be made to that purpose. At home the young women often are compelled to assist in the clearing of the land, piling brush, heaping logs, hoeing and planting corn and potatoes, reaping, binding, anything and everything that they can lay their hands to; nay, I have even known instances of their chopping firewood, and helping to underbrush a fallow, previous to its being cleared of the larger timbers. It is often to escape the wear and tear of this outof-door toil that a farmer's daughter leaves her home to hire out for some months,-to rest herself, she will tell you, and to earn a little pocket-money to be laid out in finery which she dare not ask at her father's hands;-not that real and actual necessity impels them, for of the substantial comforts of life they often see more at their father's table, than at that of their master or mistress. There is frequently among girls thus brought up a degree of familiarity of manner that savours a little too much of Yankee independence to be quite agreeable to persons accustomed to the obliging and obsequious manners of servants in Britain, and many of my fair country women are disgusted at this trait in country servants: at first I was inclined to run restive myself, and openly to express my dislike to it, causing an immediate feeling of hostility amounting to insolence in return; but as I found it awkward to be left at a minute's notice, at an inconvenient time possibly, with a large wash of half-dried and un-ironed linen, or expecting friends, or worse, ill, and unable to do the work of the house myself, or to procure another to do it in the place of the departed one, I adopted a more politic line of conduct, which, perhaps, may by some be thought to savour too much of the wisdom of the serpent. But as I avoided As an instance of my ruse, I had hired a fine clever industrious girl, daughter to one of the small farmers in an adjacent township, one unaccustomed, however, to the restraints of servitude, and associating on equal terms with all her neighbours, men of substance, who had hewed for themselves an independence out of the thick forest. When Anne first came to live with me, she annoyed me by lingering in the parlour when I had guests, and not unfrequently putting in some remark of her own on a subject under discussion. Once or twice she seated herself in the same room with me, and caressingly laid her hand upon my arm while examining my needle-work. Now she was so clever, so useful, and so obliging, that I did not like to say anything harsh to wound her feelings; but one day, having occasion to speak of a former servant, I said I liked her but for one thing, she was apt to forget herself at times, and once actually laid her hand upon my shoulder, and even took a seat on the sofa at my side. "And this you know, Anne," I added, "was not respectful, and gave strangers a very low opinion of her breeding; they thought she was so ignorant of proper manners, for you often see that even among my own friends, they frequently wait to be seated, till they are asked." I never had occasion after this to give even the least hint about over familiarity; Anne had tact enough to comprehend the implied reproof, and I enjoyed the comfort of an excellent servant for a twelvemonth. Another of my damsels used to annoy me by humming, or singing, while dusting the furniture, or laying the cloth. One day Mary asked me a question respecting her predecessor, who was a neighbouring settler's daughter. "Pray, Ma'am, did you like Rose as a servant ?" "Rose had a bad temper, and often made herself very disagreeable, and there was one habit that she had, that was very annoying to me. She used to sing and hum tunes when in the parlour, and one day a lady said to me, 'Do you allow your servants to sing in the parlour?' (this was literally the case.) And this you know, Mary, was very mortifying to me, but I named it to Rose, and she had the good sense to leave off the practice." From that time Mary never troubled me with any specimen of her vocal powers, excepting in the kitchen, where I had no objection to them: "A word spoken in proper season, how good is it," saith the wise king of Israel, who certainly had studied human nature very closely. I had a nice good-humoured rosy Saxon-looking English girl in my house for some months, full of practical usefulness, but with a mixture of shrewdness and simplicity in her manners that made me smile. I used to be amused by her remarks on this country, and often listened to her details of humble life. One day she told me the little history of the troubles that forced her father to leave his native country. He had by turns been a blanket weaver at Frome and Devizes, and when the trade became so bad that he could not live by his wages, he resumed his original occupation of labourer, and was one of the Marquess of Bath's numerous tenantry; but even here he found bread hard to earn, though Hannah, a lass of fourteen, and her mother, still worked at the loom or carled and spun at home in the cottage, and the boys kept sheep on the commons for the farmers. Still things did not go on well, and at last they fell into arrears with the landlord, and the furniture, loom, and wheel and all were sold for rent by the order of the steward; and so sorrow upon sorrow, and trial upon trial came, till their hearts were well-nigh broken. "Just then, wages were very low and work hard to be procured, and we could scarcely get food," said Hannah. "My father was suspected of snaring hares-and there were few that did not near us-and the overseer was savage when we came for our weekly allowance when father was sick and out of work. Uncle Henry had got a notion in his head some time before, and had gone off to Canada, and he found plenty to do, and plenty to eat and drink, and good wages, and wrote to my father to come out. Well, this was not easy, for we had no money to pay his passage, and he went to the overseer, and he told him to go about his business and work, and not leave his family chargeable to the parish. Well, I cannot just say how he picked up means to go, or who stood his friend, but go he did, unknown to the parish, who would not have let him off-and then came a hard time to us, for the parish folks were all angry when they found us all left on their hands, though mother and I did all we could, and so did the boys, and hard fare we had and hard times-and so a year wore over, a long hard year to us it was. At last we got a word in a letter sent to Devizes, that father was well and had got land and a bit of a shanty up, and we were to go to him as soon as we could find the means. Mother, she went off to the overseer and told him how she was wanting money to get us all out to Canada; but though the parish had to allow us something weekly to keep us alive, not one penny would they give her to get rid of us all, and he stormed and blustered and abused father; but then mother let him just know her mind, for her blood was up, and she said he was a fool, for the family would cost more in time than what she wanted for our passage money; but he only huffed her the more, and called us all vagabonds and poachers. "Well, mother comes home in great distress-at last a neighbour came in, and when he heard what troubles we were in, says he, 'Why do not you go to my Lord Marquess's steward or to the Marquess himself?" So mother gets up and tidies herself, and says, 'Then I go to his honor's ownself;' and so she went and takes us all with her as clean as she could make us. Now the Marquess was at home, and he was so good as to speak to mother and to hear all her story, and when he had heard it he got quite savage-like with the overseers, and the Marquess said, Now don't tell it to I,' because he was riled like at them." This speech, repeated with the most earnest simplicity, almost overcame my gravity-but the Marquess gave them an order on his steward for money to take them all out and something for sea-stores. Hannah's mother was a wise woman to tell her own tale and plead her own cause with the great man. I forget now all the simple wonderings that filled the minds of Hannah and her brothers and sisters at everything they heard and saw in their voyage out, and up the great river, and right glad were they when they met their father at Coburg, for they had exhausted every morsel of provisions and had begged a few turnips at some place to keep them alive-and when they came up through the woods near forty miles, they had to journey on foot. How strange it seemed to persons accustomed to the wide open treeless downs that form so striking a feature of that portion of England from whence they had emigrated. "What a strange waste of wood, and sticks, and faggots, we thought it as we journeyed, and when we used to sit down to rest on our way, I used to gather up all the loose branches and pile them in little heaps on the path, and say, 'Oh, mother, do'ee look here, we will come and fetch these to make fires with one day,' and then father would laugh at me and say, Why, Nanny, I have burnt more wood in one day than we ever burnt in all our lives at home.' And how we did stare at the great log heaps that fall, and still, I would think what a pity to destroy what thousands of poor creatures would go miles to fetch to warm themselves with in England, and dare not pick a stick to light their fires out of the hedges or woods." Hedges, indeed, there are few or none, for the enclosures are all of stone, not like the bowery hawthorn fences of Norfolk and Suffolk and Essex. The old man had settled among some of his own country folks, and so they were soon visited by old familiar faces, and a short time reconciled them to the change of country, and though they had their privations and hardships at first, they laboured in hope, and are now surrounded by many comforts; my little maid is at this time a careful busy thrifty wife, well-to-do in the township, with cows, and pigs, and fowls, and flocks, and herds, around her homestead, and three or four rosy, fat, well-clothed children, as good-tempered and English-looking as their mother. I wish the Marquess of Bath could but see them! THE RECLUSE.1 A STORY OF THE COAST OF FRANCE. IV. ON recovering consciousness Annette found herself at home, surrounded by neighbours who, under pretence of taking care of her, had hastened to her bedside to gain all the information they could. They were all eager to learn why the young girl had been in the grotto of Castelli with Lewis Marzon, and how it happened that the tide had surprised them. (1) Continued from p. 211. Annette then commenced, under the form of confession, a narration of all that had taken place since the morning. Having once conquered the first trepidation, she confessed everything without reserve and without omitting the smallest circumstance, for she unconsciously experienced pleasure in speaking of this attachment, which it would, of course, be necessary for her now to give up. The aged priest permitted her this last and melancholy joy; he listened patiently until she had finished her confession and was interrupted by her tears. He then spoke, not in a tone of reproach, but with compassionate gentleness; he showed her the danger of this attachment, disapproved alike by universal opinion and the wish of her father. He then proved to her the necessity of sepa ration, which she herself had feared would be requisite for her own reputation and Marzon's safety. There now remained the difficulty of making the young man share this sentiment. M. Lefort undertook the task himself; he praised Goron's daughter for her conduct, urged her to bear the trial nobly, and sent her home, if not perfectly resigned, at least more tranquil. Annette could only escape their cross-questioning by | was fragrant with the perfumes of the rose and feigning weakness, which prevented her answering. clematis. When they found they could learn nothing they retired one after another, after forming endless conjectures more or less distant from the truth. The poor girl heard enough to perceive that the real cause would soon be known, if indeed it were not already discovered, and she trembled at the thought of what might take place. On his return from Turbale the following day her father would hear everything, and, after what had passed between them that day, she could not hope to deceive him. He would think the meeting at the rocks of Castelli an appointment with the young man, and the audacity of this disobedience would inevitably lead him to take violent measures. Tortured with anguish, knowing not on what course to decide, and, unable to endure the misery of uncertainty, the young peasant determined to rise and go to the rector's house in order to ask his advice. She found the venerable priest in his garden enjoying the evening breeze. It was one of those lovely summer evenings in which night appears unwilling to disturb the calm beauty of the scene by casting her shadows over the earth. Annette saw the rector walking in the large avenue formed by a double row of peartrees, at the end of which appeared a sun-dial bearing the inscription, "Et regit et regitur." He had just heard of Annette's adventure, and was very much surprised to see her. "God be praised! I thought you more seriously unwell, my poor Annette," said he, tenderly; "and I am happy to find you already recovered from so terrible an accident. You are come, I trust, to render thanks to Him who has preserved you." "For that and for something else besides, Monsieur le Recteur," replied the young girl, timidly; "for I am in great trouble, and you alone can aid me." "Even if it were not my duty I should most willingly do all in my power to assist you," returned the old priest. "Let us hear what you have to say." Annette looked down the dimly-lighted avenue as if she feared being overheard. "Excuse me," said she, in a low voice, "but I would rather speak to you in another place." Where, my child?" "At the confessional." On the following day, which was Sunday, she awaited her father's return with a mixture of fear and impatience; but the hour of service arrived, and neither Goron nor Lubert had made their appearance. Aunette went to church with a sad heart. The people in their Sunday attire were arriving from the surrounding villages, and all were talking about the adventure at Castelli. She could only shield herself from the general curiosity by taking refuge near the altar. When there her first glance fell on Lewis Marzon. Annette knew not the result of his interview with M. Lefort, and feared to look on him. Kneeling before the altar, she kept her eyes fixed on her book, and endeavoured to think exclusively of the prayer, while, despite her utmost efforts, she found her thoughts constantly wan dering. It was only in the middle of the service, when M. Lefort entered the pulpit, that she ventured to raise her head. The priest had selected for his text the following words-"Blessed are they that mourn!" and although the sermon was as simple and short as usual, the young girl could not listen to it without being deeply affected. It seemed as if the consolation spoken of by the aged man was intended especially for herself and Lewis; but when, at the con "At this hour the church is closed, you know," observed M. Lefort; "and if we return to the par-clusion of his sermon, he recommended to the prayers of sonage old Cattic will see you, and then she might talk about it; trust to me, therefore, my child, and stay here. God is everywhere present, and I promise you that none but He and myself shall hear you." Thus saying he led the fisherman's daughter to an arbour situated in a corner of the garden. He placed himself in the darkest seat and pointed to a wooden stool, on which the young penitent knelt down. A few birds, startled by this unexpected visit, chirped as they fluttered about in the trees surrounding the arbour; then all was silent, a distant murmur alone being audible, borne by the summer breeze, which his parishioners one of their number who was shortly to leave Piriac, Annette felt her courage fail. She turned suddenly towards Marzon; he was at his usual seat, so pale and so sad that she closed her eyes and covered her face with the book she held in order to conceal her tears. The service concluded before she had gained strength to conquer her emotion. She remained in the same position and buried in grief, whilst the church was being gradually deserted, and groups of gossips were forming in the cemetery and on the harbour. Several boats had just returned in order to take that you know shelter from the violent wind that was rising. After "No, by my faith!" said the fisherman, touched having examined the horizon and made their remarks by the youth's appeal to his benevolence; "may the on the stormy weather that was in prospect, the fish-crabs eat my eyes if I intended to injure Annette! ermen and farmers who were assembled began to talk What I said was merely for the sake of talking, and of the occurrences of the preceding day, with numer- because everybody knows that you are fond of her." ous versions of the matter and ill-natured comment "It is false!" exclaimed Goron, stamping with thereon. Lubert, who had just disembarked, heard rage. "Thunder and lightning! tell him it is false; them at first without paying much attention; but tell him that Annette is nothing to you, when Peter arrived and explained how he had saved she is too far above you in station; tell him that you Annette and Marzon, he ran to Goron, who was super- never thought of her! Tell him directly." intending the arrangement of the boats, and related in his own style what he had just heard. The sailor guessed more than he heard; he left his boats quickly, joined the group, and inquired minutely what had happened. A few words sufficed to make him understand the whole affair. His first inquiry was for Marzon. "He is saved. Did you not hear? Are you afraid your daughter is a widow already?" said Peter, laughing. "I Then he is in the town?" resumed Goron. Isaw him just now at church." The sailor drew his cap over his eyes and buttoned up his waistcoat. "Long Mark!" exclaimed he, turning to his companion, "we must have that fellow dead or alive." "I will run and bring him to you," replied Lubert, moving towards Marzon's cottage. At that moment the latter issued from it with Julius, carrying a stick with a small bundle at the end on his shoulder. Goron hastened towards him, seized him by the hand, and dragged him towards the group of fishermen. "What do you want, M. Goron ?" inquired the young man. "I want you to tell me here before all these people why Annette was with you yesterday in the grotto," said Goron, with a look of ill-concealed hatred; "but I demand the truth, do you hear? Nothing but the truth; for, by heaven! if you do not tell it, this shall be last falsehood." your "I have no reason to tell an untruth," answered Lewis, in a sad but perfectly calm tone. "You threatened, it appears, to do some injury to me; your daughter was afraid; and as she went to fetch la Rougeaude,' came down to the rocks of Castelli to warn me." "And they talked so loudly that they did not hear the sea coming in," added Peter, with a boisterons laugh; "the devil take me if that needs any further explanation!" Goron turned towards the fisherman with his clenched fists; but, reserving his rage for Marzon, he exclaimed fiercely "Do you hear that, vagabond! There! thanks to you, Annette's character is taken away." "Do not think that, M. Goron," returned Lewis, eagerly, "a joke is not an opinion; those who have known your daughter from her childhood will not be so ready to condemn her; and Peter himself, who saved her body, would not wish to take away her good name." "Pardon me, M. Goron, but I cannot tell an untruth," replied Lewis, mournfully, but firmly. "Then you confess your insolence, bastard!" cried the now furious sailor. "Do you hear that, Lubert ? This is the fellow who wanted to usurp your place." "Very good!" replied "tall Mark," who had not hitherto taken part in the discussion, but who now seized the opportunity of putting in a word; now we shall find out who is to be conqueror. Come, make haste-take off your jacket." "It is useless," answered Lewis, quietly; "I know that you are stronger than I." The spectators raised a murmur of surprise. "Do you see that? He is afraid!" cried Lubert, triumphantly, turing up his sleeves and showing his muscular arm; "but nevertheless I should like to punish him all the same." "No," observed Goron; "that is my business :" and, advancing to Marzon, he continued, with closed teeth :-"You are afraid of 'tall Mark,' miserable coward! Come, let us see if you will have more courage with another." He had slowly raised his hand,' and now struck the youth on the face. The latter started; the colour rushed to his cheeks, but he did not make the slightest movement. "What!" exclaimed the captain, maddened by this calmness, "have you not even courage to defend yourself? Must I renew the attack?" A second blow, then a third, reached Marzon, who still remained immovable. This time a cry rose from the fishermen. Insult and abuse were heaped upon the young man; without replying, he quietly wiped off the blood which covered his face. At the first blow struck by the captain, Julius had darted to his brother's aid with a stone in each hand; but, on seeing that he attempted no defence, he remained at a little distance astounded and almost indignant. As to Goron, disarmed in spite of himself by the passive attitude of his adversary, he again had recourse to abuse, when he was interrupted by loud cries, in the midst of which his own name and that of Lubert were alone distinguishable. He turned round, and perceived several of the inhabitants of the village approaching and pointing to the sea. "Well! What are they shouting for in that manner?" inquired Peter. "There! Look at the isle of Mêt!" answered the voices. "At the isle of Mêt? Well, what next? What's the matter?" |