ployed for the happier condition that probably awaited them—to be the masters and mistresses of independent homes.[1] In short, that axiom of political economy, whose illustration should be the object of all government, was the rule of hers, "the greatest happiness of the greatest number."
A family fête concluded Lucy's first day at Mrs. Hyde's. It chanced to be Clara Lane's (mammy's) birthday. Clara had lived with Mrs. Hyde from the time of her marriage. She had taken care of all her children, from her firstborn to the youngling of the flock—the present little pet and idol of the house. Mammy had knit herself to the hearts of the children. She had watched them by night and by day through the diseases of childhood. She had been patient and gentle in all their impatience and irritability. She had overcome their little selfishnessses by the example of her generosity and self-denial. She had shown to all a steady and equal kindness; in short, she had been a second mother to them. And on her part she had been cared for, refreshed when wearied, nursed when sick, and, when in health, her comfort and gratification studied; so that, though now declining from middle life, so far from being "used up," like most of those who have spent a life in the service of children, she was vigorous and cheerful, and looking forward to a tranquil old age, when the young plants she had trained should succour and shelter her. This was her birthday, and Mrs. Hyde hav-
- ↑ One of those skilful housewives, who have the luck of having good domestics, said to me, "My only trouble is that my girls will get married."
