On arriving in your new place you get from the servant who is going
away the character of your new mistress. She has already had yours, and
you have a right to know hers, which, as it is given by a domestic who
is most probably discharged, will, of course, be a very bad one.
[Illustration: _Mistress._ "You wish me to take your notice, Jane. This
is very sudden, isn't it?"
_Jane (blushing)._ "Oh no, mum, I've known 'im three days!"]
When your predecessor has taken her departure, your mistress may,
perhaps, come into the kitchen and tell you what you will have to do,
or, at least, a part of it. She will show you the bells, and tell you
which is the house bell, which the parlour bell, which the drawing-room
bell, and which are the bells of the different bed-rooms; but she
will not tell you how you are to answer them when they are all ringing
at once, which may occasionally happen. As it will probably be late
when you arrive, you will have to carry up the tray for supper, when
you will be stared at, and scrutinised as the new servant, by the
whole of the family. Let us now look at your wardrobe. Two of each
article will be enough, for if the washing is done once a week you
have a change; but if only once in three weeks, you must contrive to
supply yourself with the smaller articles, such as stockings and pocket
handkerchiefs, from the family stock of linen.
As a maid-of-all-work, you have the great advantage of being a good
deal alone, and can therefore indulge in the pleasures of philosophy.
You can light the fires, and think of Hobbes. Fasten the hall-door, and
recollect some passage in Locke. Or broil the ham for breakfast while
wrapped up in Bacon.
[Illustration: "MERELY MARY ANN" AGAIN.--"Please, 'm, the fishmonger
says will you have it filtered?"]
You should rise early if you can, but if you cannot you must make up
for it by hurrying over your work as quickly as possible. As warm
water will be wanted upstairs, don't stop to light the kitchen fire,
but throw on two or three bundles of wood, and set them all burning
at once, when you will have some hot water immediately. Run into the
parlour and open the shutters, light the fire, cut the bread and
butter, clean the shoes, make the toast; and when this is on the table,
devote any time you may have to spare to sweeping the carpet.
Now, the family having gone down to breakfast, you may light the
kitchen fire, and then run up and make the beds. After which you may
sit down to your own breakfast, having previously, of course, taken the
opportunity of helping yourself to tea and sugar from the tea-caddy.
You may now go upstairs, professedly to sweep the bedrooms, but really
to look out of window, and if the street is a narrow one, talk to the
servant opposite. Besides, looking out of window saves time, for you
are able to answer the fifty people who come to the door in the course
of the morning with hair-brooms, apples, carpets and rugs, tapes and
stay-laces.
Being in a new place, you will be naturally curious to examine all the
cupboards and drawers up-stairs, but do not be too inquisitive at
first, for you will have other opportunities for a good rummage.
[Illustration: _Lady (engaging servant)._ "I ought to tell you that we
are all strict teetotalers here. I suppose you won't mind that?" _Mary
Jane._ "Oh, no, mum. I've been in a reformed drunkard's family before!"]
[Illustration: SIMPLE SAYINGS FOR THE SILLY