Instead of butter, she "hoped we would fix a little relish with our crackers," in ancient English, eat salt meat and dry biscuits.

Such was the fare, and for guests that certainly were intended to be honoured.
I could not help recalling the delicious repasts which I remembered to have enjoyed at little dairy farms in England, not _possessed_, but rented, and at high rents too; where the clean, fresh-coloured, bustling mistress herself skimmed the delicious cream, herself spread the yellow butter on the delightful brown loaf, and placed her curds, and her junket, and all the delicate treasures other dairy before us, and then, with hospitable pride, placed herself at her board, and added the more delicate "relish" of good tea and good cream.

I remembered all this, and did not think the difference atoned for, by the dignity of having my cup handed to me by a slave.

The lady I now visited, however, greatly surpassed my quondam friends in the refinement of her conversation.

She ambled through the whole time the visit lasted, in a sort of elegantly mincing familiar style of gossip, which, I think, she was imitating from some novel, for I was told she was a great novel reader, and left all household occupations to be performed by her slaves.