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The girl who had set the table came up from the kitchen.

“There is no sugar in the bowl,” said Mrs. Jones sharply. “I wish you would learn to set the table while you are about it. I’m sure I have spoken to you often enough.”

As the girl took the sugar-bowl to fill it, the frown left the face of our hostess, and she turned to me with a bland smile, and asked whether I used sugar and cream in my tea. I replied in the affirmative; but did not smile in return, for I could not. I knew the poor girl’s feelings were hurt at being spoken to in such a way before strangers, and this made me extremely uncomfortable.

“Do you call this cream?” was the angry interrogation of Mrs. Jones, as the girl returned with the sugar, pushing towards her the cream-jug, which she had lifted from the table as she spoke.

“Yes, ma’am,” was replied.

“Look at it, and see, then.”

“It’s the cream,” said the girl.

“If that’s cream, I never want to see milk. Here! take it away and bring me the cream.”

The girl looked confused and distressed. But she took the cream-jug and went down-stairs with it.

“That’s just the way they always do!” said Mrs. Jones; leaning back in her chair. “I really get out of all patience, sometimes.”

In a little while the girl returned.

“It’s the cream, ma’am, as I said. Here’s the milk.” And she presented two vessels.

Mrs. Jones took both from her hands with an ill-natured jerk. Sure enough, it was as the girl had said.

“Such cream!” fell from the lips of our hostess, as she commenced pouring it into the cups already filled with tea.

The girl went down-stairs to take back the milk she had brought up, but she was scarcely at the bottom of the stairs, when the bell was rung for her.

“Why don’t you stay here? What are you running off about?” said Mrs. Jones, as she came in hurriedly. “You know I want you to wait on the table.”

And so it was during the whole meal. The girl was not once spoken to except in a tone of anger or offensive authority.

I was no longer surprised that Mrs. Jones found it difficult to keep good domestics, for no one of feeling can long remain with a woman who speaks to them always in a tone of command, or who reproves them in the presence of visitors.

My husband was very severe upon Mrs. Jones after we returned home. “No lady,” said he, “ever spoke in anger or reproof to a domestic before a visitor or stranger. Nothing more surely evinces a vulgar and unfeeling mind.”

I did not attempt to gainsay his remark, for he expressed but my own sentiment. So far from uttering a reproof in the presence of a visitor, I am careful not to speak to my domestics about any fault even in the presence of my husband. They have a certain respect for themselves, and a certain delicacy of feeling, which we should rather encourage than break down. Nearly all domestics are careful to appear as well as possible in the eyes of the head of the family, and it hurts them exceedingly to be reproved, or angrily spoken to, before him. This every woman ought to know by instinct, and those who do not are just so far deficient in the aggregate of qualities that go to make up the true lady.

I was by no means surprised to hear from Mrs. Jones, a few days afterwards, that the “good-for-nothing creature” who waited upon the table on the occasion of our taking tea at her house, had gone away and left her. I thought better of the girl for having the spirit to resent, in this way, the outrage committed upon her feelings. Domestics have rights and feelings; and if people were to regard these more, and treat them with greater kindness and consideration than they do, there would be fewer complaints than there are at present. This is my opinion, and I must be pardoned for expressing it.