How pleasant was every thing.  A gardener had been employed to put the garden and lawn in order, and soon we were delighted to see the first shoots from seeds that had been planted, making their way through the ground.  To me, all was delightful.  I felt almost as light-hearted as a child, and never tired of expressing my pleasure at the change.

“Come and see us,” said I, to one city friend and another, on meeting them.  “We’re in a most delightful place, and at such a convenient distance from the city.  Just get into the Frankford omnibus, which starts from Hall’s, in Second street above Market, every half hour, and you will come to our very door.  And I shall be so delighted to have a visit from you.”

In moving from the city, I took with me two good domestics, who had lived in my family for over a year.  Each had expressed herself as delighted at the prospect of getting into the country, and I was delighted to think they were so well satisfied, for I had feared lest they would be disinclined to accompany us.

About a month after our removal, one of them, who had looked dissatisfied about something, came to me and said: 

“I want to go back to the city, Mrs. Smith; I don’t like living in the country.”

“Very well,” I replied.  “You must do as you please.  But I thought you preferred this to the city?”

“I thought I would like it, but I don’t.  It’s too lonesome.”

I did not persuade her to stay.  That error I had once or twice, ere this, fallen into, and learned to avoid it in future.  So she went back to the city, and I was left with but a single girl.  Three days only elapsed before this one announced her intended departure.

“But you will stay,” said I, “until I can get some one in your place.”

“My week will be up on Saturday,” was replied.  “Can you get a girl by that time?”

“That leaves me only two days, Mary; I’m afraid not.”

Mary looked unamiable enough at this answer.  We said no more to each other.  In the afternoon I went to the city to find a new domestic, if possible, but returned unsuccessful.

Saturday came, and to my surprise and trouble, Mary persisted in going away.  So I was left, with my family of six persons, without any domestic at all.

Sunday proved to me any thing but a day of rest.  After washing and dressing the children, preparing breakfast, clearing away the table, making the beds, and putting the house to order, I set about getting dinner.  This meal furnished and eaten, and the dishes washed and put away, I found myself not only completely tired out, but suffering from a most dreadful headache.  I was lying down, about four o’clock, in a half-waking and sleeping state, with my head a little easier, when my husband, who was sitting by the window, exclaimed: 

“If there isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Peters and their three children, getting out of the stage!”

“Not coming here!” said I, starting up in bed, while, at the same moment, my headache returned with a throbbing intensity that almost blinded me.