"I began in sober earnest to be all my husband wished me; read the
books he liked (though it was a terrible bore at first); read to
him; took part in all the societies connected with his church, and,
in short, became quite a demure pastor's wife. Occasionally my old
fondness for fun would break out, to the horror of some of his
antediluvian flock; but Ernest was very good, and bore patiently
with me, and now I am as prim and precise as any old maid of sixty.
At home I do as I like; that is, when Ernest likes it too. I sing,
and play, and romp with the dogs and kittens; but the moment the
door bell rings, lo! a demure matron receives her guests! Ernest's
health is quite restored, and I am as happy as the day is long. You
should see me working in my garden, and sometimes churning before
breakfast, to give Ernest a fresh glass of buttermilk. I would not
change places with an empress, I am so happy. My husband loves me
better than everything else beside, and what more could I desire?

"Do come and see me; we would be so delighted to have you spend some
time in our home. I am such a genuine rustic you would scarcely
recognize me. Just fancy me with an apron on, my sleeves rolled up,
churning as fast as the dasher can fly and singing at the top of my
voice. Mother was perfectly shocked, when she first came to live
with me, and vowed I should not make a 'drudge' of myself. Drudge,
indeed! because I chose to do something with my own hands for my
husband! I told her I would 'drudge,' as she called it, just as long
as Ernest loved such things as I could prepare for him myself; and I
read her those famous remarks of Lady Mary Montagu, in which all
domestic pursuits, even cooking, are dignified as a labor of love;
whereupon Ernest gave me a kiss, and mother declined any further
argumentation on the subject.