milk, eggs, butter, saleratus, soda, and yeast, she is
completely the victim and slave of the person she pretends to rule.

Only imagine some of the frequent scenes and rehearsals in her family.
After many trials, she at last engages a seamstress who promises to
prove a perfect treasure,--neat, dapper, nimble, skillful, and
spirited. The very soul of Mrs. Simmons rejoices in heaven. Illusive
bliss! The newcomer proves to be no favorite with Madam Cook, and the
domestic fates evolve the catastrophe, as follows. First, low murmur
of distant thunder in the kitchen; then a day or two of sulky silence,
in which the atmosphere seems heavy with an approaching storm. At last
comes the climax. The parlor door flies open during breakfast. Enter
seamstress in tears, followed by Mrs. Cook, with a face swollen and
red with wrath, who tersely introduces the subject-matter of the drama
in a voice trembling with rage.

"Would you be plased, ma'am, to suit yerself with another cook? Me
week will be up next Tuesday, and I want to be going."

"Why, Bridget, what's the matter?"

"Matter enough, ma'am! I niver could live with them Cork girls in a
house, nor I won't; them as likes the Cork girls is welcome for all
me; but it's not for the likes of me to live with them, and she been
in the kitchen a-upsettin' of me gravies with her flatirons and
things."

Here bursts in the seamstress with a whirlwind of denial, and the
altercation wages fast and furious, and poor, little, delicate Mrs.
Simmons stands like a kitten in a thunderstorm in the midst of a
regular Irish row.

Cook, of course, is sure of her victory. She knows that a great dinner
is to come off Wednesday, and that her mistress has not the smallest
idea how to manage it, and that therefore, whatever happens, she must
be conciliated.

Swelling with secret indignation at the tyrant, poor Mrs. Simmons
dismisses her seamstress with longing looks. She suited her mistress
exactly, but she didn't suit cook!

Now, if Mrs. Simmons had been brought up in early life with the
experience that you have, she would be mistress in her own house. She
would quietly say to Madam Cook, "If my family arrangements do not
suit you, you can leave. I can see to the dinner myself." And she
could do it. Her well-trained muscles would not break down under a
little extra work; her skill, adroitness, and perfect familiarity with
everything that is to be done would enable her at once to make cooks
of an