me, with the prospect of guests who were to
arrive soon after six o'clock, and no resource
left me but chickens and the help of Soyer's
Shilling Cookery Book. Were that little
volume in need of recommendation, mine it
should have, for never did the cunning of a
cookery book come more nobly to the rescue
of a distressed housewife. Every ingenious
contrivance turned out well; and, of the
eighteen people who sat round the table, two
only knew how narrowly the others had
escaped a fast.

Nor was it in the commissariat alone that
ingenuity was taxed. Often I had to turn
laundress; and even carpentering, cabinet-
making, and the like, needed superintendence,
for, ideas as to turning the legs of
a table were none of the clearest among
those professing skill in such matters.
In Siam furnishing a house, even in the
roughest and most primitive manner, is no
easy task. One has first to find a carpenter—
or rather a man who can use a saw and other
tools without cutting himself. Having engaged
his services for a certain number of
days, at a stipulated price, one has to
advance him money for the purchase of wood,
nails, and other material, which are all
brought into the house. This done, it is
necessary to draw the Carpenter a picture,
and to give him the exact measurement of
everything, as he has no designs whatever of
his own, and when instructed, commonly
contrives to do exactly the reverse of what has
been directed. Incessant watchfulness is
required to prevent the article in hand from
being altogether rendered useless. Once,
when a cupboard had been finished under
close superintendence, and our vigilance
relaxed, the doors were securely nailed and
glued together, under the belief that the
whole work of art was intended to stand in
the room merely as an ornamental piece of
furniture.

The Siamese do not make good servants,
for they are by nature intensely idle. They
will serve for a short time, until, having
earned a sufficient number of tirals (or half-
crowns) to keep them in food for a few
months, they declare that they are tired of
work, and must go home and rest.
Necessaries of life are so extremely cheap, that the
natives can live on an incredibly small sum.
Even one tiral (or half-crown) a month is said
to be enough to keep a Siamese in food;
having food, he is content, for anything in
the way of tailor's bill can cause no very
perceptible drain on the exchequer. The peculiar
system of slavery also causes servants to
be either hired or kept with difficulty. Every
Siamese below a certain rank must be a
slave, and, if not owned by anyone else, is the
king's property. It is a mild form of slavery,
and when cause of complaint exists, the slave
can himself, at any time, change masters by
bringing his purchase-money to the old one,
who is compelled to give him up without
a question. The missionaries and other
foreigners accepted the plan of nominally
purchasing any servant who wished to remain
in his place and promised to be useful,
by allowing him to work for his purchase-
money until he redeemed himself. The plan
is open to some obvious objections, but it
seems to be the only security against the
annoyance of incessant change. Slaves are
allowed to hire themselves out, on condition
that they pay the chief part of their wages to
their masters, in the hope of ultimately working
out their freedom. This hope owners
frustrate by charging heavy interest upon
the value of the slave and upon every loan
that is made, so that the debt grows rather
than diminishes. Owing to these
circumstances, most of the domestic servants are the
emigrant Chinese, who become naturalised
and form a large portion of the population.
They make excellent servants in all parts of
the world, being unequalled in their readiness
to learn; but they have the drawback of a
like quickness in cheating their employers.
The Siamese are hopeless. It may seem a
singular demand for a servant, to be allowed
from two to three hours at noon for sleep;
the Siamese will not give up this luxury on
any terms, and simply decline continuing
their work when the hour comes round for
the siesta. They have a real fear of labour.
I have frequently, on going into my bedroom,
found the apology of a servant lying half-
asleep against the wall, in a state of
exhaustion: the unswept apartment testifying
to the limited extent of her exertions. A
remonstrance only met with the reply, " That
it was very hot, she was tired, and could do
no more." There was need, then, to turn
chambermaid on the spot, while the poor
overworked damsel sat coolly on the floor
watching the broom. Had I known how to
scold in Siamese, she would most probably
have left, and the trouble would have been
again incurred of teaching to make beds.
The art of making beds, is an unfathomable
mystery to these people, whose only bed is a
mat spread on the floor. It seemed to be a
vain labour day after day, to convince the
obtuse maid, that the usual order of arranging
sheets and blankets was essential to our
comfort. She steadfastly looked upon it as
immaterial, whether blanket or counterpane
were placed first; and her favourite system
was to smooth the blankets carefully over
the mattrass, then to spread the counterpane
with the sheets next over it, the pillows over
these, and last of all, the bolster. Another
daily cause of vexation to her spirit, was the
dressing of her little charge—the child
already mentioned. She looked down upon
it as quite a work of supererogation; and
the order in which clothes were worn, ever
remained to her an inexplicable riddle.
After some of her attempts the child would
occasionally come down-stairs with her
under garments over her frock; once, her