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.
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