The language was hard enough, but the manner harder and more offensive.  I had never spoken to her before with anything like the severity now used.  The result of this intemperance of speech on my part, the reader has seen.  Polly gave notice that she would leave, and I accepted the notice.  For a short time after the girl retired from my room, I maintained a state of half indignant independence; but, as to being satisfied with myself, that was out of the question.  I had lost my temper, and, as is usual in such cases, had been harsh, and it might be, unjust.  I was about to lose the services of a domestic, whose good qualities so far overbalanced all defects and shortcomings, that I could hardly hope to supply her place.  How could the children give her up?  This question came home with a most unpleasant suggestion of consequences.  But, as the disturbance of my feelings went on subsiding, and thought grew clearer and clearer, that which most troubled me was a sense of injustice towards Polly.  The suggestion came stealing into my mind, that the something wrong about her might involve a great deal more than I had, in a narrow reference of things to my own affairs, imagined.  Polly was certainly changed; but, might not the change have its origin in mental conflict or suffering, which entitled her to pity and consideration, instead of blame?

This was a new thought, which in no way tended to increase a feeling of self-approval.

“She is human, like the rest of us,” said I, as I sat talking over the matter with myself, “and every human heart has its portion of bitterness.  The weak must bear in weakness, as well as the strong in strength; and the light burden rests as painfully on the back that bends in feebleness, as does the heavy one on Atlas-shoulders.  We are too apt to regard those who serve us as mere working machines.  Rarely do we consider them as possessing like wants and weaknesses, like sympathies and yearnings with ourselves.  Anything will do for them.  Under any external circumstances, is their duty to be satisfied.”

I was wrong in this matter.  Nothing was now clearer to me than this.  But, how was I to get right?  That was the puzzling question.  I thought, and thought—­looking at the difficulty first on this side, and then on that.  No way of escape presented itself, except through some open or implied acknowledgment of wrong; that is, I must have some plain, kind talk with Polly, to begin with, and thus show her, by an entire change of manner, that I was conscious of having spoken to her in a way that was not met by my own self-approval.  Pride was not slow in vindicating her own position among the mental powers.  She was not willing to see me humble myself to a servant.  Polly had given notice that she was going to leave, and if I made concession, she would, at once conclude that I did so meanly, from self-interest, because I wished to retain her services.  My naturally independent spirit revolted under this view of the case, but I marshalled some of the better forces of my mind, and took the field bravely on the side of right and duty.  For some time the conflict went on; then the better elements of my nature gained the victory.