CHAPTER XV.

WHICH PRINCIPALLY CONSISTS OF A QUIET HALF HOUR’S TALK ABOUT THE

VIRTUES AND AIRS OF THAT GREAT, BIG, FAT, OVERFED, STUCK-UP PIG OF

A JOHN DUFFY OF MINE, WHO WAS THE FIRST FOOTMAN I HAD IN MY

SERVICE, AND WHO COULDN’T HAVE BEEN IN THE HOUSE MORE THAN A WEEK,

I’M SURE, BEFORE (LUD-A-MERCY ME!) IF I DIDN’T DRAT THE DAY WHEN I

FIRST SET EYES ON HIM; FOR I DECLARE THE PUPPY HAD SUCH AN IMPUDENT

LOOK WITH HIM, THAT I NEVER SAW HIS FACE BUT I DIDN’T LONG FOR THE

TIME WHEN I SHOULD SEE HIS BACK. HE _was_ A PRETTY FOOTMAN, TO BE

SURE.

“And a very saucy one,

Heigh ho! Heigh ho!

He walk’d so stiff, and look’d so smart,

As if he own’d each maiden’s heart;

I could have bang’d him, for my part,

Heigh ho! Heigh ho!”

POPULAR SONG--_though, in justice to the writer, I ought to add,

that I have taken the liberty of adapting the last line of the

highly talented poem to my highly excited feelings; for as John

Duffy never had any_ “KEEN DART” _of_ “HIS OWN,” _of course I

couldn’t go_ “WISHING” _with the poet, that the monkey_ “FELT” _any

such fiddlesticks; though I must confess, that when I’ve seen that

man crawling up stairs, as lazily as if he were a black beetle, I

have over and over again_ “WISHED” _to myself I only had my great

big shawl-pin handy, so that I could have made him_ FEEL THAT.

“Gramachree ma Crooskeen, slantha gal mavourneen,

Gramachree ma Crooskeen, Lawn, Lawn, Lawn;

Gramachree ma Crooskeen, slantha gal mavourneen,

Arrah cumaleen ma u leen bawn, bawn, bawn,

Arrah cumaleen ma u leen bawn.”

_Who on earth can ever have written this gibberish I don’t know,

and what the goodness gracious it can ever mean, is more than I can

say. But this I do know and can say--to my humble ears it sounds as

much like abuse as anything I ever heard in all my life; and that’s

just what I want to apply to that good-for-nothing John Duffy.

Augh, “Lawn! Lawn! Lawn!”_

Of course, when I had once risen to the dignity of having a male

domestic in my establishment, I wasn’t going to make such a great silly

of myself, as to come down again to the wretchedness of having nothing

but a pack of females about one. Accordingly, I gave “my lord and

master” (as Mr. Edward flatters himself he is) to understand as much in

double-quick time. A fine thing, indeed, I said, it would be, to have

all one’s good-natured friends, and all one’s precious charitable

neighbours, (who every one knows are always sure to love one as

themselves--oh yes!) pointing at one, and sneering away behind one’s

back whenever one went out, with their “Oh, dear me! only to think that

the _poor_ Sk--n--st--ns couldn’t afford to keep on that grand page they

started, for more than _one_ quarter of a year;” and with their nasty,

double-faced “pity from the bottom of their hearts, because they were

_afraid_ we had been all along living beyond our means.”

But Mr. Edward was too great a philosopher by half to care a snap of the

fingers for the opinion of the empty world or the feelings of his poor

dear wife, of course--especially when it would cost him a trumpery

five-and-twenty pounds, and a rubbishing suit or two of livery, per

annum. Consequently, when I told him one evening, after I had treated

him to a nice sweet little dinner of a leg of mutton, stuffed with sage

and onions--pork-fashion--and a love of a bread-pudding to follow--(I

always make it a rule to use up all the bits of bread in the house, at

least once a week--unless indeed we have any illness in the family, and

they are wanted for poultices--for, as I believe I said before

somewhere, I can’t bear to see waste,)--Well, when I told Mr. Edward, I

repeat, after we had both I’m sure eaten more than was good for

us--(only I do think sage and onions _so_ delicious when one is not

going to see company, and one can only get one’s husband just to take a

mouthful or so of it; and then, ’pon my word, I verily believe, I could

devour my own dear mother, if she was only stuffed with plenty of it,

and nicely browned)--Well, when I told Mr. Edward--I repeat for the

second time--just after we had finished every bit of that love of a

bread-pudding (though the worst of it was, I, unfortunately, would go

putting too much bread in it, like a great big generous stupid as I am,

and, bother take it! the spongy stuff does swell so in the cooking, and

then is sure to set to work and soak up all your custard in such a way,

that ’pon my word and honour, when the love came to table, if it wasn’t

like so much sop, and, positively, I’d have bet any one anything there

wasn’t enough custard left in the whole dish to fill a sixpenny

“Circassian Cream” pot--and that’s small enough, goodness knows! so that

really and truly it looked so uninviting when I came to help it, that it

was hardly fit to give to one’s parrot, or even to let the servants

have, by way of a treat.)--But to return: well, when I told Mr.

Edward--I repeat for the third time--(for plague take that dinner, I

_cannot_ get it out of my head)--that I had been considering for a long

time whether it would be prudent in us to think about having another of

those impudent young monkeys of pages in our house, when, for the matter

of a few rubbishing pounds extra a year, we could get a nice, steady,

handsome, respectable-looking man-servant, whose livery, I was sure,

wouldn’t come, in the long run, to one penny more, if so much as that

disgraceful young scape-grace of a Wittals’s did--for there’d be no

silver sugar-loaf buttons continually to find, and they, with those

bothering boys in livery, cost a small fortune alone, I knew.

Besides, I said--just to put Edward in a good temper--a man of _his_

naturally strong judgment must be well aware that a great big strapping

boy, who hadn’t done growing, and kept running up so fast that he

required to have at least two tucks let out of his trowsers every

quarter, must eat more than a decent, well-behaved, abstemious young man

who had got to his proper size, and who consequently wouldn’t be always

getting a head taller per annum out of your mutton and beef. And

moreover, I added, going to the sofa and kissing him, as I saw him

smile, with what at the time I foolishly supposed to be good

humour,--“It will, you know, my dear, look so highly genteel, and give

one such a standing in the world, to have one’s door opened by a fine

good-looking fellow, with powdered hair and a pair of handsome legs, and

near upon six feet in his shoes.” But, oh dear bless me, no! Mr. Edward

wouldn’t listen to such _stuff_, as he called it; and must needs go

bursting into a contemptuous laugh, telling me to go along with me, for

I was an old fool, and ought to have more sense in my head at my time of

life, (_my_ time of life, indeed! Well, that is good! Isn’t it, gentle

reader?)

Of course it was the old story over and over again. He wasn’t going to

bring himself to the workhouse, he wasn’t, for any of my fine fal-lal

notions. As for his having a great, fat, lazy footman, sauntering about

his house, and eating the very bed from under him, he wouldn’t think of

it for a moment; for the long and short of it was, _he couldn’t afford

it_, especially with the few suits that he had then down on his

‘Chancery Cause Book;’ and the world seemed to have come to such a pass

now-a-days, that relations and partners _would_ settle all their

disputes amicably. So I merely told him, that, of course, I couldn’t say

whether his trumpery Chancery Cause-Book would allow him to afford me a

rubbishing footman or not; but this I _could_ and I _would_ say, that

unless something was done, he’d have to afford, somehow or other, to pay

for my funeral expenses before long--though, perhaps, I added, with my

usual biting sarcasm, _that_ would be far more agreeable to him. Then,

bursting into tears, I went on saying, “If some change does not take

place, I can only tell you, sir, I shall fall a martyr to your meanness

and this great big house; for I feel myself sinking every day under the

weight of it; and Doctor J--pp himself has, over and over again, said,

when he has called and found me here nearly fainting with fatigue, ‘Why,

my dear madam, will we over-exert ourselves in this way. Really, we are

too attentive and good a housewife. We are not fit for it--positively,

we are not. Now, we ought to be in bed in our present state--indeed, we

ought--instead of being up here, ruining our naturally fine constitution

in this way. Mr. Sk--n--st--n, I’m sure, cannot be aware of what we are

doing, or he would never allow us, if he had one spark of feeling, to be

killing ourselves by inches in this way. Really, my dear, good, lady, it

comes to this--either we must get extra help, and eat little and good,

and often, or depend upon it we shall be in our graves before many

months are over our heads. Would you like us to speak to our good worthy

husband on the subject, for I am sure he would gladly make any

sacrifice, rather than let us endanger our precious life thus?” And

what reply did I make to my medical attendant? I asked Edward, with an

indignant look--why, I merely said, “No, Dr. J--pp, my own dear Edward

will tell you that he cannot afford it; and if so, perhaps my funeral

expenses will fall less heavily upon him than having an extra servant in

the house.”

After I had said this, I sank in a chair, and burying my face in a sweet

pretty cambric handkerchief, with a very rich imitation Valenciennes

border, I waited, sobbing as if my heart would break, to see whether he

would let me have my footman or not; and expecting, of course, that

every minute he would be coming up and kissing me, and telling me that

he would gladly do anything I liked to make his own sweet angel of a

Carry happy and comfortable.

But, drat the cold-hearted, ill-natured hyena, he only burst out

giggling in a most insulting way, and said, in his nasty, unmeaning

slang, “it wouldn’t _do_, and that he wasn’t quite such a fool as I

seemed to take him for.” So I jumped up in a jiffey, and said with great

point, and looking penknives at him, “I see what it is, sir; the sage

and onions have disagreed with you, and of course you’re disgusted with

the whole world, and your poor dear wife must suffer for it,”--and then,

banging the door to with all my might, I walked quietly up to our

bedroom, determined to read my lord duke a strong lesson, and just let

him see that I wasn’t a worm.

“That footman I’ll have, if I die for it,” I exclaimed, as I jumped into

bed, and turned my back round to the side Mr. Sk--n--st--n usually

sleeps upon.

Next day I caught my gentleman out so nicely, the reader don’t know; and

I led him such a dance the reader can’t tell. Well, the fact is, I

didn’t feel quite myself, so I thought I might as well, as it was a very

fine morning, pop on my beautiful white lace bonnet and my sweet

imitation Shetland shawl, (they had only just come in then, though drat

it! they, have got as vulgar as vulgar can be lately, and what I’m to do

with mine I really don’t know, for, like a ninny, I thought it too good

to wear every day, at first; however, as I wouldn’t be seen in it now

for the whole world, perhaps I’d better make a great favour of it, and

give it to my own dear mother).--Well, as I was saying, I strolled very

comfortably down to Regent-street, just to take a passing glance at

some of the lovely new dresses in the shops, that I should like to buy

if I could only afford the money; and as it was, I was as near as two

pins going in and getting two or three of the most expensive, and

sending the bill in to Mr. Edward, just as a lesson to him for the

future--but the worst of it is, I’ve always been too considerate for him

by half, and he is _so_ violent at times. So I went strolling on until,

I declare, if I wasn’t right at the bottom of Waterloo-place before I

knew where I was, and felt myself so warm and faint for want of

something, that I said to myself, I may as well, now I’m here, just step

on to Farrance’s and treat myself to a lemon ice or so out of the

housekeeping; for, as I very truly observed, it would be a hard matter

if I couldn’t get a trifle like _that_ out of the weekly expenses at

home; and besides Mr. Edward need be none the wiser, for nothing was

easier than to put it down in the book under the head of “_Charities_;”

and really, when I came to think of it, I positively blushed to remember

that for weeks and weeks past I hadn’t put down so much as a farthing

for that noblest of all the nine virtues.

Well, when I got to Farrance’s, who should the first person that I clapt

eyes upon be, but my Mr. Edward himself, seated like a prince at one of

the little marble tables, with two large sixpenny oyster patties before

him, gormandizing away like a pig, as he is. So I crept up to him, and,

_pretending I had seen him through the window_, I said, in a low voice,

“So you are going to the workhouse, are you, my fine gentleman. Pretty

workhouse, indeed! I never saw such a workhouse. And you can’t afford to

have a footman to eat the very bed from under you, can’t you? Of course

you can’t, if you come here every day, as now I plainly see you do,

stuffing yourself with oyster patties, and such like indigestible

extravagances, when I’m sure a round or two of cold toast, nicely done

up in an old newspaper, would do very well for your luncheon, sir, and

then there would be no occasion for your poor, dear, overworked wife to

go slaving her life out to save you the expense of another servant, as

you know she does. Augh! I can’t bear such gluttony.--Here, waitress,” I

exclaimed, “bring me a lemon ice and a Bath bun or two, with a few

almond cakes, if you please.” And then I went on, scolding him for his

disgusting greediness, and eating by turns, until, I declare, when the

time came for that selfish pig of an Edward to pay, and the young woman

at the counter asked me what I had had, if I hadn’t to tell her that I

had taken two lemon waters, and three of those, (pointing to the Bath

buns;) and two of those, (pointing to the raspberry puffs;) and two more

of those, (pointing to the gooseberry tarts;) and, let me see--yes, I

think, either three or four of those, (pointing to the almond

cakes,)--though, between ourselves, I was certain I had eaten at least

six of the hollow delicious things, for I’m very fond of them; but, of

course, all pastry cooks know very well that ladies never can, or, at

least, never will tell them exactly to a paltry penny cake or two what

they have had, and, the people in the shop take good care to increase

the price of their articles accordingly.

When that precious beauty of a Mr. Edward came home that evening, I

wasn’t going to be such a stupid as to let the capital discovery I had

made drop in a minute; so all dinnertime I went on apologizing that I

had got none of the _oyster patties_ for him, which he seemed so partial

to; and asking him whether they allowed such delicacies in the

_workhouse_ he was going to in such a hurry, and saying a whole troop of

other nice tantalizing, knagging things, until I made him so wild, that

he went on in such a way, and said such unwarrantable things to me, and

kept on vowing that I should _not_ have the footman I wanted, in such a

frightful manner, that at last bang went the door to again, and up

stairs I bounced to bed, saying, “I’ll soon let you see whether I’ll

have the footman or not, my fine Turk; for if I’m not as ill as ill can

be, until I have a man-servant safe in the house, why my name’s not

Sk--n--st--n.”

All that night through I had the spasms so bad, that I took good care

Mr. Edward didn’t have a wink of sleep; and next morning, just as he was

shaving himself, and promising, that if I wanted an extra servant, I

might have a parlour-maid (like his impudence, indeed!) I had such a

violent attack of hysterics, that any one, to have heard my screams,

(and I’m sure they must have been audible at least a hundred villas

off,) would have thought that Mr. Sk--n--st--n was ill-treating me. Just

before he went down stairs, I called him to the bedside, and told him I

was convinced I had got violent Neuralgia--brought on by my

over-exertions about the house, and most likely I should never entirely

get rid of it to my dying day. “Do you feel in pain, then, my love?” he

said. “Where is it? Tell me, my duck.” “Of course I did,” I answered;

and throwing up the whites of my eyes, and biting my lip, as if in great

agony, I begged him, “Not to duck me, as he was the cause of it all, and

that he might thank his stars that his ill-treatment hadn’t so

completely shattered my nerves as to have brought on St. Vitus’s

dance,”--and so it certainly would, only, to tell the reader the truth,

I didn’t know the step of that most frightful of all dances; and I

recollect when my aunt R--msb--tt--m had it very severely, it seemed to

me much more difficult to manage than the double-shuffle in the College

Hornpipe, so that as for keeping _that_ up all about the house for a

whole week, why it was more than I chose to do.

As the reader may well imagine, I had our medical adviser round pretty

soon, for I knew Mr. Edward hated doctors’ bills, and Mr. J--pp would be

sure to agree with me, it was Neuralgia, as your doctors always say it

is that, when they can’t exactly make out what it is that ails a lady.

So when he came round, he told Edward great care must be taken of me,

and I was to be kept quite quiet, and free from all annoyance, as I was

suffering from as severe an attack of the nerves as he ever recollected

to have met with in the whole course of his extensive practice, adding,

that it wasn’t to be wondered at, as it was very prevalent among the

ladies of the nobility and gentry just then; and that, indeed, he was

attending several persons of quality at that time for the very same

thing. After this, he sent me round some very nice sweet draughts, and

some of the most delicious tinctures I think I ever tasted in the whole

course of my life, which used to make me feel so beautiful and “tippy”

afterwards, my lady readers can’t tell.

All that week I had my breakfast in bed, and what made me enjoy it more

than anything else was, I knew Mr. Edward hated to pour out his own tea,

and butter his own toast of a morning, because it interfered with his

filthy newspaper. Only the worst of breakfasting in bed is, that bother

take it! the crumbs will get all over the sheets, and if one happens to

have dry toast, they are so hard, and do scrub a poor body so, that

really one might just as well lie upon sand-paper for the comfort of

the thing; and drat it, do what you will, you can’t get them out of the

bed again, until the things are taken off and well shaken.

When I went down stairs, after the fourth day, I laid myself upon the

sofa, and was too ill to eat a thing; though Mr. Edward would come to my

side, and beg and pray of me just to take a mouthful for his sake. But

no! I told him, with a sigh, I was too weak to take anything beyond a

cup of tea and a little dry toast (for, of course, after the couple of

good large mutton chops that I took good care to have in the middle of

the day, I hadn’t much of an appetite left for dinner, especially as I

wouldn’t let my gentleman have any thing particularly nice--saying to

myself, “If we can’t afford a footman--I’m sure we can’t afford

dainties!”)

And so I went on with my severe attack of Neuralgia, getting worse and

worse, and making my grand Turk breakfast by himself, and dine by

himself--and get out of bed at all hours of the night to give me my

delicious tinctures, and never even condescending to speak to him,

unless it was to tell him, with a sigh, how ill and weak I felt,--and

that I knew it was all owing to my over-exertions about the great big

house,--and continually reminding him too that he had only himself to

blame for it, as I had given him fair warning of what would be the

consequence of his unfeeling meanness,--and then asking him quietly

whether it wasn’t better now to pay the money for a footman, instead of

seeing his poor, dear, fond, foolish wife suffering so acutely as she

was, and having to pay, at least, double or treble as much in those

horrid doctor’s bills for her,--and so I went on, I say, until, upon my

word, one Monday evening (for I remember Mr. Edward had the boiled

knuckle of veal cold for dinner which I’d given him hot on the Sunday),

I was lying on the sofa groaning away, and my gentleman was seated by me

after dinner, looking quite repentant, and asking me whether I thought

Mr. J--pp was doing me good, and a whole troup of other civil things,

when I said--with a sigh that seemed to cut him to the quick, thank

goodness!--“It’s too late now, Edward _dear_; I told you I was sinking

fast, but you wouldn’t believe it then, and now I feel satisfied that I

sha’n’t trouble you with my presence here much longer.” “For Heaven’s

sake! Carry, my love, don’t go on in that way!” he exclaimed, pressing

my hand between his two palms. “Is there anything I can get for you,

dearest?” “That footman I spoke to you about,” I replied, “perhaps might

have relieved me at one time; but now”--I added, as if in pain, “there

is no hope. You will be kind to my little darling toodle-loodle-lumpty,

when its poor dear mother’s no more, and take care when the little trot

grows up that _she’s_ not killed in this great big house for want of a

footman.” Here that Edward gave two or three pathetic snivels, and

commenced feeling for his pocket-handkerchief. So as I saw he was

beginning to melt, I continued, in a low, solemn voice, “When I am gone,

promise me, Edward--you wont marry again--and you will put upon my

tombstone that I was a ‘TENDER AND AFFECTIONATE WIFE,’ and ‘UNIVERSALLY

REGRETTED’--and now I come to think of it, Edward dear, it would look

charming if you were to add those beautiful lines of ‘_Affliction sore

long time I bore_,’ and wind up with ‘_she fell a martyr to the want of

a footman_,’ brought in nicely somehow.” This, I’m proud to say, was a

severe homethrust; and on looking at my fine gentleman, if I didn’t see

a beautiful little tear in the corner of each of his eyes; and thank

goodness, by staring as hard as ever I could at one of the roses in the

carpet, and drawing the air in up my nose, I was lucky enough to squeeze

out two or three tears myself--so that at last I worked upon the

hard-hearted monster’s feelings in such a way, that he turned round and

told me if I thought a footman would be any relief to me, for goodness

sake to get one, only I was not to give way to low spirits as I did. But

I merely answered, “No, thank you, dearest, dearest Edward; you must not

go to any expense to please me in my last moments--_you cannot afford

it_.” “Do not say so, dear Carry,” he answered, “you must and shall have

one!” “No, no,” I replied, groaning as if in severe agony; “_you cannot

afford it_, and I will not listen to it.” “What!--not to please your own

Edward, my lamb,” he said, in a low voice, putting his lips close to my

ear. “To please her own Edward,” I returned, with affection, “his lamb

will do anything;” and then throwing my arms round his neck, I put an

end to that awkward business.

“Ha, ha! Mr. Edward, my fine gentleman,” I couldn’t for the life of me

help exclaiming to myself, whilst I was kissing him, “I said I’d have a

footman, if I died for it, and a footman I’ve got, and the best of it

is, too, I’ve made a favour of accepting what I wanted--and what is so

delightful to a poor dear married lady as that?”

I was getting well as quick as ever I decently could, when I was nearly

thrown back; and I really thought I should be obliged to have a relapse.

The fact is, we had a nasty tiff about the livery; for, upon my word, if

Mr. Edward was not for putting the fellow into plain clothes--a likely

thing! I said, and perhaps have him mistaken for some of my relations.

But I pretty soon gave my gentleman to understand that I would have

nothing short of a livery in my house; when, of course, off he went,

talking some more of his highflown radical slang about liveries being

“low things,” and “badges of servitude.” Badges of servitude, indeed! as

if I did not know they were, long ago; and, to confess the truth, that

was just the very reason--as I told him--why I stood out for one. Did he

for one moment fancy that I was such a great big silly as to go to the

expense of a man-servant to have him going in and out of my house,

looking as disreputable as a country curate. For my part, I said,

nothing would please me better--if it was only the fashion--than to put

a beautiful brass collar round his neck, with our name and address

nicely engraved on it, so that he might go about like a Newfoundland

dog, and people know whose property he was. So I begged I might hear no

more of such fal-lal nonsense; and that, if he did not wish to make me

ill again, he would drop the subject without saying another word about

it.

Well, I suppose, if I saw one, I saw a hundred great, big, hulking

fellows, who came after my situation, and who were so grand, that, bless

us and save us! one would have fancied that they had been brought up as

clerks in some government office, and had been in the habit of receiving

large salaries for doing nothing all their lives. Out of the bunch, I

picked that John Duffy--drat him!--for he was the best, to my way of

thinking. When he applied for the place, he was a nice, decent,

genteel-looking body, of rather a slim figure than otherwise, and he

seemed so willing--assuring me that he was ready to make

himself generally useful, (all of which I can now very well

understand--especially the thinness--for he had been six months out of a

situation.)

The livery I had made for that dirty Duffy was one of the sweetest

things when it was new, certainly. Every article of the entire suit was

of a different colour. I ordered the tailor to make me a love of a white

coat, and a pet of a canary waistcoat, and a perfect duck of a pair of

bright crimson plush knee what-d’ye-call-’ems--the name of the things

escapes me just at the present moment. Mr. Edward, in his nasty,

perverse way, would have it that Duffy would look more like a Macaw in

such fine feathers than a Christian; but I soon put a stop to his

sneers, for I asked him pretty plainly, what the dickens that was to me?

Of course I wanted all the world to know that I had got a footman, and

as I didn’t see anything to be ashamed of in it, I took good care to

publish it as conspicuously, and in as many colours, as a Vauxhall

posting-bill.

But it seemed as if Fate had put me down in her black books, for really

and truly that John Duffy couldn’t have been in the house above a month,

before he got _so_ gross and _so_ fat, and did make flesh _so_ fast,

that I’m sure it would have required nothing short of a suit of

vulcanized india-rubber to have kept pace with him. As for asking him to

pick up anything, bless you! I no more dared to do it than--than I don’t

know what; for as sure as the porpoise stooped for anything, bang! would

go either the strings of his waistcoat or else crack! would fly all the

beautiful silver buttons off the knees of his--a--of his thing-me-jigs,

(dear me, I shall forget my own name next.) When that monkey of a

Wittals was with me, he nearly drove me out of my mind by growing

upwards, but that pig of a Duffy fairly sent me stark staring mad, by

growing sideways--drat him! Wittals, to have looked any way decent,

wanted trousers made to pull out like telescopes; but that abominable

Duffy, in order to have been kept merely respectable, must have had a

coat and waistcoat made to expand like an accordion. If Wittals’s

mulberry pantaloons required a tuck to be let out at the bottom at least

once a month, I’m sure that Duffy’s canary vest needed another gore to

be let in at the back quite as often. Really, the sixth week after the

great whale had been in my kitchen, if he hadn’t grown nearly five

waistcoat buttons stouter upon the good things out of my larder, and,

before two months were over my head, if I hadn’t to put in behind a

great wedge of shalloon--in the shape of a large sippet, to get it to

meet anyhow. The way in which the man’s chin, too, kept on increasing

was positively frightful for a thrifty housewife to behold. Chin upon

chin, did I see grow under my very eyes, until at last they bulged out

over his neckcloth, for all the world like half a mellon. And no wonder!

for the quantity that man would eat was positively as if he was going

into training for an apoplexy; and it wasn’t quantity alone he wanted,

but, bless me! quality as well! As for cold meat, over and over again,

have I seen him trying to turn his nose up at it; but, unfortunately for

him, it was a snub, and do what he would, he couldn’t turn it up any

higher. But, though Mr. Duffy objected to cold meat for dinner, yet he

could manage to make away with a pound or two of it for his breakfast

and supper. And, mercy-on-me! even the common household bread wasn’t

good enough for his royal highness’s delicate stomach! Oh, no! he must

needs go pampering himself with the digestive cottages I had expressly

for myself of a morning. As for good wholesome salt butter, too, at

one-and-one, I declare he wouldn’t so much as soil his mouth with it;

not he! but he’d wait till our butter-dish came down, and then

_wouldn’t_ he fall to at our fresh at one-and-eight, and spread it on a

large bit of my digestive cottage--yes! as thick as stucco!

The beauty of it was, too, the fatter he got upon my food, the lazier he

grew over my work, for really it seemed as difficult for him to crawl

along, as if he was one of those heavy inactive things your city folks

_will_ call “lively turtle;” and all the way up stairs one might hear

him breathing as hard as a pavior, and puffing and blowing away like a

railway engine. When he came up, too, there he’d be, with his face

looking as greasy and dirty as the newspaper we have half price from the

coffee-shop, and his forehead as dewy as our kitchen window on a washing

day. But what annoyed me more than all was, that, do what I would, I

could not for the life of me get the nasty bristly pig to shave his

filthy red beard of a morning; and there I should have him bringing the

dinner things up with his four chins looking as rough and rusty as so

many rasped French rolls.

The fellow, too, was so conceited, that really there was no bearing with

him; for instance, if I left him in the parlour dusting the chairs, or

rubbing the tables, directly my back was turned, off he’d be to the pier

glass, and get attitudinizing before it, and arranging the nasty,

greasy, figure 6 curl he had in the middle of his forehead, with his

nasty oily fingers, or else--drat his impudence!--nothing would suit

him, but he must go to the sideboard, and take out the clothes-brush,

or, if that wasn’t handy, the semicircular one we had to sweep the

crumbs off the table-cloth with, and begin scrubbing away at his hair

with it. And the nuisance of it was, bother take it! I _would_ make the

fellow wear powder, so that, if ever I went to brush my beautiful black

German velvet dress, there I should have it with long white streaks upon

it like the inside of a backgammon board, and all smelling of

hair-powder and pomatum as strong as that Duffy’s livery-hat.

Then of an evening, nothing would suit my lord duke but he must needs go

lolling against the post of the street-door with his great big lumpy

legs--like the ballustrades on Waterloo Bridge--crossed one over the

other, picking his teeth with a bit of one of my pens, and ogling the

girls, and making a noise with his lips after them as they went by--as

if he was a perfect Adonis in plush--a--in plush--(tut! tut! it is very

strange! I never can remember the name of those what-d’ye-call-’ems). Or

if he wasn’t at the street door, wasting _my_ time against the post,

there the monkey would be perched up on the top step of the area ladder,

with his cauliflower head poked over the rails, and either in full

gossip with what he made me believe was his washerwoman (the wretch!) or

else sneering away at the policeman, or making game of the soldiers as

they passed the house,--both of whom, he told our cook, who told me,

were low-class hanimals, and people that he could not condescend to sit

down to table with--so there was no use hasking on ’em. The consequence

of this was, that if I had to ring once of an evening for him, I had to

ring at least a hundred times before I could get him to hear me. And

when he did hear me, sneak-to would go the street door, and in he would

come all of an imitation hurry, buttoning up his waistcoat as if he had

been dressing. Only let me stir out of the house, too, for a minute, and

as sure as eggs are eggs, I should find him when I came back with his

four chins resting comfortably on the top of our parlour blinds, and

staring out of window with all his might--as if he was a lord bishop of

the land, and had nothing to do, and there were no such things as

teacups to wash up, or British plate to clean,--which latter article, as

every married lady knows, is only a cheap substitute for silver,

provided you’re rubbing it up every quarter of an hour, and if you’re

not, why it looks more like a very expensive substitute for brass.

Though, as for washing up the tea-things! I really don’t suppose the

corpulent puppy did it above half-a-dozen times, at most, all the while

he was with me. For, what do you think, gentle Reader, the nasty

good-for-nothing, deceitful, carneying peacock used to do? Why if he

usen’t to give that stupid, stupid cook of mine--who ought to have known

better at her time of life--a filthy kiss, to get her to do it for him;

and I suppose that he must have thought his slobberings particularly

precious, for, positively, if the red-haired monkey didn’t go offering

the same high terms to the maids, if they would only fill his coal

scuttles for him, and--I blush for my sex when I say it--the minxes used

to do it at the paltry price. What they can have seen, in the man, I’m

sure I can’t make out; and I’m certain they didn’t know one thing--any

more than I myself did at that time--or they never could have allowed

him to trifle with their very best affections in the shameful way he

did--a nasty, wicked, deceitful, liquorish-toothed “MARRIED MAN!”--and

that’s what he was! When the wretch came to me, he told me he was a

confirmed bachelor; but his livery, though shamefully spotted was not

half worn out, when, to my horror, I discovered that the brute was a

hopeless, inextricable Benedict, with not only a fond wife to

support--out of my larder, drat her!--but no less than seven little

incumbrances to bring up--on my cold meat, hang ’em! As a woman, of

course, I’m for universal matrimony all over the world--though with

regard to those necessary evils called servants, I must confess, I am of

a totally different opinion. For my part, I would have them all bound by

law to remain as single, all their days, as spiders. But from the

parental turn of the Footmen, Housemaids, and Cooks of the nineteenth

century, I’m afraid no Act of Parliament could be made binding enough to

prevent the fond stupids from plunging headlong into wedlock and a

chandler’s shop; and when they find that a bountiful Providence doesn’t

send customers as quick as it does children to such people, then of

course the husband and the father again becomes the footman and the

bachelor, drat him!--while the wife and the mother gets her daily bread

for her children out of her mangle, and her daily _meat_ for them out of

_your_ pantry! In my eyes, the only way to prevent this frightful state

of things, is for us housekeepers to see whether or not, by the high

wages we are now giving for men-servants, we couldn’t prevail upon some

of the poor Catholic priests--who everybody knows have taken the vow of

perpetual celibacy--to put on a _toupée_, and enter our service as

footmen,--though, of course, from the proverbial warm-hearted

disposition of the inhabitants of the “imirald isle,” it might be as

well to give notice--even in such a case--that “no Irish need apply.”

For more than a month I thought that Duffy was as single as the very

Gloucester he had for cheese, and so I should have believed him to my

dying day, had I not noticed that he not only seemed too attentive by

half to his washerwoman--who afterwards turned out to be his

draggle-tail hussey of a wife--but also that the bundles of dirty

clothes he sent to the wash, were considerably more corpulent, than,

from the usual filthy state of his linen, I should have been led to

expect. And it wasn’t long before I found out the cause of it all; for

one fine Monday morning, I happened to go into the pantry, and there lay

the usual stout bundle of dirty linen, belonging to John Duffy, Esquire.

When I opened it on the sly, I thought I should have fainted. There they

were--very pretty indeed!--two pair of cotton stockings--one pair of

cold fried soles--one cotton night-cap--half a raspberry jam tart--one

day shirt--a large piece of a beef-steak pie--two dickies--six tallow

candles--four white cravats--a hunk of cold bacon--one pair of

drawers--and upon my honour, near upon half a hundred weight of coals

stuffed inside of them.

But the beauty of it was, that not content with robbing me of my meat

and coals, and candles and things, the villain must set to work

pilfering our wine as well; and whenever Mr. Sk--n--st--n told him to

decanter a bottle of port, or even sherry, I declare if the fellow

didn’t, while he stood at the sideboard with his back turned to us, fill

a good sized physic bottle out of it every time, for his own private

drinking. For a long time it struck me, that less wine went to the quart

bottle than is usual even with wine-merchants; but I attributed this to

the improvements which are going on in glass manufactories so rapidly,

that bottles, apparently the same size as they used to be, are made, by

some invisible arrangement at the bottom, to hold twice as little as

they used to do; while they seem to be getting less and less so fast,

that soon, instead of two pints making one quart, in wine and beer

measure, as our schoolmasters foolishly taught us to believe, we shall

find it just the very reverse; for shortly, the “Honourable Company of

Free Vintners” will teach us that two quarts make one pint.

Of course, from this I suspected something was wrong, and longed for the

time when I should find my gentleman out. Accordingly, one day seeing

that Mr. Duffy was out of his pantry, and the key in his cupboard door,

I just took the liberty of looking into it, and there, to my great

delight, I saw several rows of physic bottles packed one a-top of

another--with sawdust, too, as I’m a Christian! and lying on their sides

for all the world like a miniature bin of wine. I took up one of them,

labelled “_this draught to be taken at bed time_;” and I declare if it

wasn’t some of our very best port--then another, ticketed, “_the mixture

as before_,” and hang me, if that wasn’t a phial full of our very

choicest brown sherry! and on reaching down a bottle divided into

quarters, with directions, ordering, “_a fourth part of this gargle to

be used whenever the throat is troublesome_,” and if that one wasn’t

filled to the cork--I never knew such impudence!--with some of our very

primest Cogniac brandy! “Hoity toity!” cried I, “so Mr. Duffy must needs

have a private cellar of his own. No wonder Mr. Edward is always telling

me, in his nasty, mean, insinuating way, as if he thought I drank them,

that the wine and spirits go very fast.”

I wasn’t long before I had the whole of Mr. Duffy’s small private cellar

safe in my work basket, and, in less than two minutes, fast in one of

the cupboards of the sideboard. As it was lunch time I determined to try

“a draught to be taken in the morning” myself; for, to tell the truth I

felt rather faint, and thought a glass of port couldn’t hurt me. But

didn’t it though; for no sooner did I put it in my mouth than--ah,

faugh!--oh! lud a mercy me! I never tasted such filth. If the dirty,

fat, lazy pig, hadn’t been pouring the wine into a black dose bottle,

without ever taking the trouble to wash it out first! “Oh, I wish to

goodness gracious!” I cried, putting my hand to my stomach--for I felt

far from myself--“I could only afford to give that dishonest mammoth of

a Duffy notice to quit; and so I would this very moment, if it wasn’t

for that beautiful livery which ought to have another six months’ wear

in it at least!”

About this time, too, it seemed as if Fate--bother take her!--thought

that that Duffy wasn’t enough to fill my cup, so she must needs go

throwing that Wittals in, to make it run over. For, as luck would have

it, one evening, home comes Mr. Skn--n--st--n with the joyful news, that

the young ogre--missing the larder, no doubt--had grown tired of the few

pleasantries connected with the legal profession, and had had the

impudence to demand that he should be taken back again into my

service--telling Edward to his face, that he’d learnt law enough in his

office to know I had bound myself to keep him for these two years to

come. Well, thought I, my fine gentleman, I could have told you as much;

but, of course, I wasn’t going to do so.

The next day, who should march into the house but the young imp himself,

without so much as even a single button left on his beautiful jacket;

and when I asked him what he had done with them, he told me quite coolly

that he’d been gambling at dumps, and having staked his all, had lost

the whole of my beautiful plated sugar-loafs at one unlucky throw! This

put me in such a horrid pet, that I raised my hand to give the young

monkey a box on the ears, which he should remember to his dying day,

when, bless us and save us! if the whiskerless Turk didn’t throw himself

into one of the boldest attitudes of “the noble art” of self-defence,

and spitting in the palm of one of his hands--a dirty young imp!--began

dancing about, too, and bobbing his head, and sparring away at me,

saying, “Come on old un! I should like to see you do it.” “Oh, you

wicked young coward,” I cried; “what, would you strike a poor

woman--augh!” “Wouldn’t I though,” upon my word the monkey answered, “if

she goes hitting on me fust.” I told him to take himself down stairs as

quick as ever he could, and when Mr. Sk--n--st--n came home, we’d see if

he would strike _him_.

Bother take the boy, there was no keeping him quiet anyhow! Now, for

instance, I was obliged to go to the expense of having his livery done

up, for, of course, I couldn’t see the urchin going about the

disreputable figure he was. Well, a day or two after I had got him to

look something like decent, I wanted to go and see dear mother, merely

to ask the good old soul, whether--as the heat was so oppressive--she

had got a good receipt for making ginger beer, and any old stone bottles

she could spare me. As I was only going that short distance, I thought

there would be no use in taking Duffy away from his work--especially as

I didn’t see the necessity of letting him know who and what my friends

were, or of pointing out to the fat stuck-up pig that the merchant I had

made out my respected father to be was merely a coal ditto, and the

vessels which I had spoken so often of before him at meals, were merely

two barges filled with the very finest knubbly “Lord Mayors.” And as for

taking that young Wittals to walk behind me as a protector, bless you!

it was worse than useless. Besides, the young monkey had got a tongue as

long as my arm, and I should have those filthy, shameful, wicked, false

reports, flying all about the neighbourhood again, with their precious

“Mrs. Sk--n--st--n’s friends is only heavers.” Heavers! pretty heavers,

indeed!

Well, as I was saying, off I trotted to dear mother’s, but as my luck

would have it, she couldn’t lay her hands on the receipt I wanted,

anywhere. However, as Mrs. Lockley had given it to her, the good old

soul had no doubt she would do as much for me. So I thought to myself,

the best thing I can do is to go on and see that sweet woman. Mother,

with her usual kindness, wanted me to stay dinner; but I begged of her

not to ask me to stop that day, as I had got a beautiful hot fillet of

veal for dinner, (which I am very partial to,) but if she liked I would

come on the morrow when it was cold, (which I do not like at all).

Whereupon mother said as it was her washing day, I must take pot luck if

I came; but knowing what _that_ stood for at home, I suddenly remembered

a pressing engagement I had, which, I regretted, would deprive me of the

pleasure.

I thought I should never have got to that sweet woman, Mrs. Lockley’s;

for really the weather did seem to me so oppressive, that, upon my word,

I felt ready to drop; and if it hadn’t been for the look of the thing, I

do believe I should have sat down to rest myself on one of the

door-steps. I was so hungry, too, with my long walk, that I certainly

should have gone into some pastry-cook’s on my way, and destroyed my

stomach with a lot of trash out of the housekeeping, if I hadn’t known

that it was close upon that sweet woman Mrs. Lockley’s hour for

luncheon.

When I got to Mrs. Lockley’s, of course, with my usual luck, she had

only got one or two filthy baked apples and a little cold bullock’s

heart (which, though I’d go miles for when smoking hot with veal

stuffing, plenty of currant jelly, and a plate as warm as warm can be,

yet I can’t even bear to look at it when it’s cold). So, as I didn’t

relish this fare very much, I told Mrs. Lockley, when she apologised for

the lunch, and asked me if I’d do as she did, that nothing on earth

would give me greater pleasure, as, strange to say, they were two of my

most favourite dishes; but, I added, I’m frightened to touch either, my

love--for, to tell the truth, I’ve a nasty cold upon me; and, as I know

I can be frank with you, my dear, if you should happen to have such a

thing as an oyster or two handy, I think it would do me good. When,

actually, the sweet woman, like a stupid, _would_ send out for some

expressly for me, though I begged and prayed of the kind soul not to put

herself to all that trouble on my account--taking good care, however,

not to overdo it this time; for I thought it was the least she could do

for me after leaving me to pay the whole of that cab, in the disgraceful

way she had. As Lockley was out of town, and as I remembered she hadn’t

seen our footman, and, besides, as I had got a love of a fillet of veal,

why, I thought I couldn’t do less after all her kindness than ask that

sweet woman, Mrs. Lockley, to come and take a plain family dinner with

us that day; which she said she would. Presently, off we started, and

walked along chatting so comfortably, no one can tell.

Just as we had got near home, and I was thinking how nice and envious

that sweet woman, Mrs. Lockley, would be, when she found poor us living

in such superior style to herself, and that we kept two male servants

instead of her little poking twopenny-half-penny one--lo, and behold!

all of a sudden, I saw a large crowd of little dirty boys collected in a

ring across the road, right opposite our house. By the noise of the

drums, I knew it was a sight, and I hurried along as fast as ever I

could, for I do like to see them. As we approached, I heard the voice of

one of those stupid street conjurors crying out as loud as he could,

that as soon as there was ninepence in the ring, he would cut off some

poor young gentleman’s head. So I told that sweet woman, Mrs. Lockley,

to come along for heaven’s sake, or we shouldn’t be in time; and on we

toddled together as fast as my legs would carry me. On looking up at our

house, I declare if there wasn’t that stupid, stupid cook, and that lazy

minx of a housemaid lolling out of one of the windows of my bedroom, and

that John Duffy out of the other. I merely shook my parasol at them

then, and went as near as I could to see the stupid nonsense. When I

caught sight of the boy in the ring, who had come forward to allow

himself to be beheaded, positively if it wasn’t that abominable, wicked,

incorrigible young imp of a Wittals of mine, who, having seen the trick

done some hundred of times before, and knowing very well that the

ninepence never yet had been made up, was delighted at being a party to

the stupid imposition, which, I dare say, he thought a capital joke. No

sooner did I set eyes upon him, out there in the middle of the dusty

road, in my beautiful claret and silver (only just newly renovated too),

with his best hat down on the ground, and all the neighbours at the

windows, laughing away at the gratifying idea of the Sk--n--st--n’s

grand page making such a scamp of himself--no sooner, I repeat, did I

set eyes upon the disreputable young rip, than at him I rushed, right

through the little boys. But directly he caught sight of me, on went his

hat, with all the coppers that had been collected in it, a-top of his

head, and off he scampered, and I after him, parasol in hand, as hard

as I could go, while after me came all the little dirty boys, hurraying

and hooting, and hollowing out “Go it, missus,”--“Go it, tiger,”

until--finding I couldn’t catch that Wittals--I turned round, and began

laying my parasol about the noisy and impudent young vagabonds at my

heels. And then, oh, la! the nasty young dogs! what must they do but

begin pelting me with mud and all kinds of filth, right over my

beautiful lace bonnet and love of a poplin dress--salmon shot

snuff,--and kept on at it, even on my own door step, whilst I was

jerking away at the bell and hammering away at the knocker, trying to

get that big fat elephant of a Duffy to saunter up to the door before I

was one positive cake of mud from head to foot--for, drat those boys!

the more I ran after them, the more they pelted me.

When I went to the parlour window, to shake my fist at the young

urchins, who wouldn’t go away from the house, but kept on hooting

outside as hard as they could, who should I see on the other side of the

way, laughing fit to burst all her hooks and eyes, but that vulgar

woman, Mrs. Lockley, drat her! whom I, like a great big silly, had

brought up to see the superior style in which we lived. Well, there

always was something about the creature I didn’t exactly like!

When I told dear, dear Edward of all that happened, and how that Wittals

had been going on the very day after I had consented to receive him back

to my service, he very justly said, that he wasn’t at all surprised at

anything that young vagabond did, for he was impudent as a London

sparrow, and he had been quite sickened of him by his tricks at his

office; in fact, he knew there was no getting the good-for-nothing

scapegrace to do a thing. For instance, if he wanted a simple letter

copied, and called out to him, “Wittals, what have you got in hand just

now?” the scamp would be sure to answer, “An apple, please sir,” or

something just as aggravating. So Edward advised me, that the best thing

I could do was to go down to the workhouse, and try and get them to take

the boy back, which he was sure they would for a few pounds, if the case

was properly represented to them. But I pretty soon told my gentleman

that I was sure they would do no such thing (and if they would, I

wouldn’t). For, to tell the truth, now that I had got two male servants

in the house, I

[Illustration: “_Oh ah! let ’em ring again!_”]

wasn’t going to sink down to one again in a hurry; and, bother take it!

to have to go ill again, may be, or leave my stingy Mr. Edward a second

time--“_for ever!_” perhaps, before I could get him to let me have

another. Besides, that great big lazy porpoise of a Mr. Duffy, was

always grumbling about having to clean a few trumpery boots and knives,

and talking about the families of quality he had lived in--(I never saw

such quality!) where he had been accustomed to have a lad under him--so,

all things considered, I really couldn’t bring my heart to turn a poor

orphan like that monkey of a Wittals into the cold streets, and,

accordingly with my usual good nature, made up my mind to keep the pair

of them--at least until their liveries were fairly worn out.

Upon my word, at times, I was sorry that I hadn’t taken Edward’s advice,

for _that_ Wittals made Duffy no better, and _that_ Duffy only made

Wittals much worse. Now, I dare say, the reader will imagine that, with

two male servants in the house, and little or nothing for them to do, I

might at least have got so much as a simple bell answered; but, oh dear,

no! I might pull and pull as though I was up in a filthy belfry pulling

my arms off for a leg of mutton and trimmings; and yet, there Mr. Duffy

would sit, roasting his fat calves before the fire, as unconcerned as a

mute at a street door--with his precious “Oh, ah! let ’em ring

again!”--while that idle vagabond of a Mr. Wittals sat stock still, with

both his hands stuffed into the pockets of his mulberry pantaloons, as

if they were made of cast iron, and grinning away, as though he thought

it a capital joke to trifle with my feelings. Then, positively, too, if

that Duffy didn’t go and so inoculate that Wittals with his nasty,

familiar ways, that, as for getting any respect out of the pair of them,

Lord bless you! one might just as well have looked for civility from a

cabman after paying him his legal fare. If I happened to meet either of

them in the street, not so much as a touch of the hat could they treat

me to; and do what I would, I could no more get them to put ‘Mam’ at the

end of their sentences when they spoke to me, than if they had been a

couple of clerks at a railway station. First, I should have that Wittals

speaking of my little angel of a Catherine, as “Kitty,” to my very

face, though I had told him, over and over again, that the cherub’s

name was Miss Sk--n--st--n, and begged of him not to let me hear him

‘Kitty’ her again, if he wanted to stop in my house; but, as the monkey

knew very well that I couldn’t turn him out of it, of course he didn’t

care two pins about what I said. Then I should have that great fat Duffy

coming strolling into the parlour as slow as an omnibus half full, and

asking, “How many we should be to dinner to-day?”--putting me in such a

passion with his “We’s” (as if he was one of the family), that I used to

say, “_We!_ whom do you mean by _we_, I should like to know, sir? I and

your master will dine at home to-day, and that’s the only _we_ I am

acquainted with in this house; though, perhaps, by your _we’s_, you’d

like to sit down to the table with us--and, I’m sure, I shouldn’t be at

all surprised if you did, for you certainly seem to me always to forget

who you are, and what you are, and where you came from.”

But where was the good of wasting one’s breath upon a great fat lazy

pig, that was dead to every moral as well as religious tie? Now, I think

I have told the reader somewhere in my interesting little work, that one

of my principal inducements in getting Edward to consent to my keeping a

footman, was the standing it gives one, in this, alas! empty world, to

have a fine handsome man-servant in an elegant showy livery to carry

your prayer books behind you to church, and to come up to your pew and

fetch than again after divine service, (which, thank goodness, I can

safely lay my head on my pillow at night, and say, that ever since I

have kept house, and had an example to set my servants, I have always

made a point of attending--unless, indeed, I have known that one of

those beggarly collections was going to take place at the doors.) Well!

as I was going to say, upon my word, I had much better have taken no

footman to church at all, as that heathen of a Duffy; for as soon as we

stood up for the first hymn, and I turned round to observe how his

livery looked among the congregated footmen, and whether he was paying a

proper attention to his religious duties or not, there I should be

certain to see him, directly he caught my eye, take his hat, and putting

his handkerchief to his nose, to make believe it was bleeding, sneak

down the aisle on tiptoe; and I should never clap eyes on the livery

again until church was all over, when I should have him coming back

smelling of beer and tobacco, enough to knock the whole congregation

down--though where on earth he could have got it from, was more than I

and our policeman could ever make out.

Was ever a poor dear married lady so tormented in all her life? _That_

Duffy was bad enough, as the reader can plainly see now; but _that_

Wittals was ten times worse, as the reader shall see presently. Now,

_par examp_ (as we say at _Bologne-sur-mere_,) dear--dear--_dear_ uncle

R--msb--tt--m, like a good generous old soul as he is, would go sending

up to that cherub of a Kitty of mine, a beautiful little love of a pet

lamb, that had the most heavenly fore and hind quarters I think I ever

beheld in all my born days; and it was so nice and fat that it quite

made my mouth water to look at it--even alive. Still it was so fond and

tame, and that darling ducks-o’-diamonds of a Kitty of mine was so

pleased with her tiddy-ickle bar-lam as she used to call it--bless her

little eyes! (please excuse a fond mother’s feelings, gentle

reader,)--that, though I couldn’t look at the animal without thinking of

mint sauce, and the animal cost me near upon a shilling a week for

bread, and milk, and turnips, yet I thought as dear good uncle

R--msb--tt--m had sent it up, and as he was Kitty’s godfather, and had

neither chick nor child, and was actually rolling in money (if I might

be allowed so strong an expression) I thought, I say, he might be

offended, if it came to his ears that we had eaten the darling little

pet for dinner, immediately after its arrival in town. So we put a sweet

pretty blue sarsnet ribbon round its fat neck, and kept it in the garden

by day, and the knife house by night, till really the thing’s

bed-chamber “foohed” so, that it was enough to knock you down. The worst

of it was, too, that do what we would, we could not keep the little

love’s white coat clean in this grubby “metropolis of the world,” though

we scoured it well at least once a week in our own foot-bath; for

directly after we had washed it, and put it out in the garden again,

down would come the smuts so thick, that in less than half-an-hour one

would have fancied the natural colour of the poppet’s coat was pepper

and salt; and what used to put me in such a passion was, if I went out

in the garden of an evening, in my sweet white muslin skirt and black

velvet body to fondle the dingy little brute, it _would_ get _so_

affectionate, I declare, and _would_ come rubbing up against my

flounces, until they looked as black as a coal heaver’s stockings on a

Saturday. But what annoyed me more than all was--bother take the

thing!--it would grow so fast, that, though I must have wasted at least

a gallon of gin in trying to stop its growth, still it was all of no

use, and I only kept making the creature so tipsy, that it would prance

about like a mad thing, and half frighten me out of my life. Pet lambs

are one thing, but the idea of going and bestowing your affections on a

great hulking sheep with horns long enough to poke both your eyes out,

was what I had no notion of doing. Plague take that cruel Wittals too!

no sooner had he set foot in the house, and seen this new member of the

family, than his great delight used to be to catch hold of the poor

thing by the two horns, directly they began to grow, one in each hand,

and keep pushing the animal backwards and forwards until really he made

the beast as savage as a tiger, and taught it to butt so, that upon my

word it would run at you with its head down, for all the world like one

of those stupid Cornish wrestlers. As for that fat coward of a Duffy,

positively he was so afraid of what in his stupid country dialect he

called the “wicked mutton,” that I couldn’t for the life of me get the

fellow to go near the poor thing; and if Wittals hadn’t been there, it

must have stopped out every night, and may be died of rheumatism from

sleeping out on the damp grass, instead of in a comfortable warm

knife-house. So matters went on, until Kitty’s little pet got to be a

great waddling monster of a sheep, and only grew more and more savage

from being always tied up to our apple tree, and fatter and fatter from

want of exercise, while all the time mutton kept getting higher and

higher, from I don’t know what, until at last it seemed to me a shameful

sin to go wasting good wholesome turnips, at three bunches for fippence,

on such a creature, when one of its legs would eat so beautifully,

boiled, with some of _those very_ turnips.

Well! like a thrifty housewife as I am, I had half made up my mind to

have one of the great hulking pet’s haunches, with red currant jelly,

for dinner the next Sunday, while it was nice and young and tender, when

dear mother luckily called in to see me, and I thought I would consult

with her on the subject. On going to the window, to show her what prime

condition the darling was in, I declare, if the brute hadn’t got away

from the apple tree, and wasn’t right in my flower-bed, making a hearty

meal off the few double stocks and sweet-williams I had in my garden,

and which I prided myself so much upon, and the Simmonds’s were so

jealous of. I gave a slight scream, and rang the bell for that

dare-devil of a Wittals, knowing that it was no good looking for any

assistance from that chicken-hearted stupid of a Duffy. But, of course,

Wittals, as is always the case when he’s wanted, had slipped out after

some more of that sticky sweet-stuff, which I’m continually obliged to

be taking away from him, and eating myself, to prevent him from spoiling

his livery. So, as I couldn’t stand still and see my beautiful

sweet-williams eaten up before my very eyes, I ran down the garden

steps, and catching hold of the end of the rope, tried to drag the

woolly cannibal back to the apple tree. But no sooner did I tug the

wretch away from the flowers, than off it set scampering round and round

me, until, I declare, it wound the cord all about my poor legs, for all

the world as if I had been a peg-top and it meant to send me

spinning--which sure enough, whether he meant it or not, it did. For,

directly it got my feet bound fast together with the rope, so that I

couldn’t stir an inch, “the wicked mutton,” as Mr. Duffy called it,

rushed full butt at me, and immediately up went my legs, and down I came

bump on the grass, with a force that I felt for months afterwards. I set

to screaming directly as loud as I could for Mother and Duffy, and

kicking with all my might,--for, my legs being tied, I, of course,

couldn’t get up, and there was the savage brute poking away with its

horns, like the prongs of a pitchfork, at the cotton tops of my silk

stockings. At last, just as I’d got my poor feet free from the rope by

my continued kickings, thank goodness! I heard the garden door slam to,

and knew, by Duffy’s puffing and blowing, and Mother’s “pshewing” away

like a rocket, that assistance was at hand. But, alas! no sooner did the

rampant beast catch sight of that Duffy’s red plush thingomybobs, than,

attracted by the colour I suppose, off it scampered towards the

porpoise; and no sooner did that coward of a Duffy catch sight of the

rampant beast coming full gallop towards him, than he let fall, with

fright, the broom he had come armed with to my help, and taking to his

fat legs, ran round the garden, blowing like an asthmatic grampus, with

the wicked mutton tearing after him like a woolly maniac. Just as he had

got within a yard or so of me, and I had managed to raise myself on my

hands and knees, oh! lud-a-mercy me! the savage brute rushed full butt

at him behind with such force, that the great fat hulking monster cried

out, “O--oo!” and was pitched sprawling right on to my poor back, and

down I went again, flop, with such force, that if the fellow--though no

sylph--hadn’t been as plump and soft as a feather bed, I do verily

believe I should have been taken up a human pancake, and had to have

been buried in one of the cracks in Dover cliffs, or some such horrible

out-of-the-way place.

Poor dear respected mother--who up to this moment had been very prudent,

and never left the garden-steps--the very minute she saw that fat Duffy

a-top of me, and that “wicked mutton” jumping with all its might a-top

of Duffy, rushed down to our rescue, shaking her handkerchief, like a

stupid old thing as she is--for she ought, at _her_ time of life, to

have known that it would only have made the infuriated brute wilder than

ever. And so to her cost it did; for no sooner did the animal see her,

than at her it ran, and, just as she got close to our beautiful large

variegated holly-bush, it gave such a poke at her busk, that back the

dear respected old soul went, right into the middle of the horrid

prickly shrub, and there the nasty brute stood, butting away at her, and

pushing her further and further into the bush, until, what with the

agony of the sharp prickles at her back, and the fear of the furious

animal’s horns in front, I declare the poor dear old thing screamed in

such a way, that it cut me to the quick to be obliged--when I’d kicked

and tumbled that mountain of a Duffy off my back--to fly for my own

life, and turn a deaf ear, not only to her heart-rending cries, but also

to her pathetic entreaties to bring either the kitchen poker or the

spit, and drive the mad beast from her. And well can I understand her

screaming now, for when that monkey of a Wittals came in again, and he’d

got my dear respected mother out of the holly-bush, upon my word, if

the poor old soul’s back wasn’t pierced all over with the fine-pointed

prickly things, and as full of little holes as a captain’s biscuit!--and

no wonder; for, as luck would have it, she’d got on my thin fine Swiss

cambric dress, which, having been quite spoilt, drat it! at the washing,

I had kindly made her a present of on her last birth-day.

Any gentle reader, in her proper senses, may readily suppose that after

this I wasn’t long in giving that over-grown coward of a Duffy notice to

quit. Of course I didn’t see the fun of keeping a man to walk after me

as a protection who was frightened out of his wits by a trumpery “wicked

mutton,” which a mere whiskerless brat could take by the horns whenever

he liked. But no sooner had I told the good-for-nothing that he would be

pleased to leave my service that day month, than I declare if he didn’t

turn round and tell me to my very face, “that he would do so with all

the pleasure in life,” saying, “it was a place to take the very life out

of a man” (I think so, indeed, with only two in family, and little or no

plate to clean); and that he never knew what work was before in all his

life (pretty work, indeed!--a couple of trumpery tea-cups to wash up of

a morning, and a page to help him); so he actually had the impudence to

think I had better pay him his month, and let him leave the wretched

slavery that very minute, or else he knew he should have to take to his

bed with illness, for he shouldn’t be able to put out his hand to do a

thing shortly from overwork, and then I should have to nurse him. Nurse

him, indeed! Should I?--when all the time I knew it was only a mere

make-believe to cheat me out of a month’s wages. Augh! I do detest

people that pretend they’re ill just to gain their own selfish ends!

Accordingly I gave my delicate elephant to understand that he’d get no

month’s wages out of me, unless I first got a month’s work out of him,

to which my gentleman merely answered, between his teeth, “He’d see

about that;” and he said it in such a nasty, spiteful way, that

convinced me he meant something horrible. Sure enough so he did; for

when I rang the bell for him to bring up the tray, to lay the things for

dinner, I all of a sudden heard the most tremendous crash, as if ten

thousand chimney-pots had fallen through two thousand skylights. I

rushed to the top of the kitchen stairs, and cried out, “Good heavens,

Duffy! what’s that?” when I declare if he hadn’t the coolness to answer,

“It’s only me, mum, a breaking the plates and dishes.” I tore down to

the pantry, and told him I’d have him punished; and then, of course, it

was, his “foot had slipped, and I couldn’t punish him for a mere

accident.” “Accident, indeed!” I said to myself, as I marched up stairs

again, “oh, yes! it’s one of those many precious accidents which, even

in the best regulated families, are done on purpose.” But, what could I

do? I knew the spiteful good-for-nothing lout would swear till he was

black in the face that his foot _did_ slip; and how was poor I to prove

to the contrary?

I declare the man went on so, that I soon saw I should be several pounds

in pocket by paying the fellow what he wanted, and getting him out of

the house as soon as possible. Now, there were my beautiful cut glass

decanters, (which belonged to Mr. Sk--n--st--n’s poor dear first wife,)

well, nothing would suit my gentleman, but he must go washing them in

scalding hot water, and then, pretending to be astonished because they

went crack, flying in every direction. But, of course, that was the

fault of the glass, and none of his--oh, no! Then, again, too, the

revengeful monkey must go wiping all the dirty knives with my very best

glass cloths, which I had bought new expressly for him, until they were

as full of cuts and gashes as poor dear father’s shoes when he’s got the

gout. And, positively, do what I would, I could not prevent him from

cleaning his shoes in my dress livery, until, what with the blacking and

his carelessness, upon my word, his red plush thingomys were all over

black spots, like the back of a ladybird, and his beautiful white coat

as grubby as the outside of St. Paul’s. As for making the monkey stir of

a morning, too, I declare it was no use trying, for though I commenced

ringing at six o’clock, to a minute, and kept on pulling

away--determined that if the fat, lazy sloth wouldn’t get up to see

about my breakfast, at least he shouldn’t have another wink of

sleep,--yet I couldn’t for the life of me get him to come up for the

keys till near upon eight o’clock at the earliest; though how on earth

the pig ever managed to snore through it all was a wonder to me, for it

struck me it must be very like trying to take a nap in a belfry on the

coronation day. But on going into my gentleman’s room, one fine morning,

upon my word, if the fat, lazy, cunning fox hadn’t crammed one of his

nasty, dirty stockings into the mouth of the bell, until I declare it

wouldn’t speak any more than a married lady in the sulks. So, really and

truly, when I came to think of it, was it worth while for a trumpery

month’s wages to let the fellow remain in the house till all my glass

and crockery were broken to shivers, and my beautiful queen’s-pattern

plated coffee-pot, with silver edges, was all battered in, as horribly

as the pewter quart measure at a fruit-stall. Accordingly, I made the

best of a bad bargain, and packed the scoundrel out of the house,

telling him not to expect a character from me. When he had gone, and I

examined his livery to see whether by any manner of means I could have

it cleaned for my next footman, I give the reader my word and honour, if

the fat savage hadn’t been wiping on the skirts of my beautiful white

coat the dirty pens with which he’d been answering the advertisements in

the _Times_, and all the left sleeve was streaked over with ink, till it

had as many black marks upon it as a mackerel’s back.

As for that Wittals, there was no bearing with _him_ either; for bad as

he was before, I declare if that Duffy hadn’t so inoculated him with all

the airs of a grown-up footman, that, upon my word, he seemed to think

it a positive disgrace to work for his living. So I told him, very

quietly, I had been turning it over in my mind, and if he had any wish

to better himself, I should be very happy to exert myself to find him an

excellent situation, and make it a moral duty to give him a good

character, which, I said, he knew as well as I did, he didn’t deserve.

And nicely I caught it for my kindness, after all; for, bother take it!

he went on so shamefully in his new place, that I declare if his brute

of a master didn’t begin an action against us, for _giving a servant a

false character_; and we had to compromise it by paying goodness knows

how much!

However, I determined that this should be a lesson to me not to give any

more good characters in a hurry, but to speak the truth in future. So,

when that Duffy, who was out of place again six months, came to me, as

thin as a German umbrella, and as meek as a pew-opener, to hope that I

would look over what had past, and say a good word for him, I told him

pretty plainly, “Oh, yea! I’d speak for him, and do him perfect justice,

he might rest assured.” Accordingly, I just gave a plain, unvarnished

statement of all his goings on, and shameful pilferings, when, of

course, the party refused to have anything at all to do with him. And

then, bother take it, if _he_ didn’t get some pettifogging lawyer to

bring an action against us for libel (truth is a libel, Edward says)--so

that, positively, this time we had to pay goodness knows how much more

again for _giving a servant a true character_--drat it!

This very naturally convinced me that the only safe way of acting was to

refuse to give any character at all to servants. Accordingly, when that

stupid, stupid cook--whom I’d little or no fault to find with, excepting

that she was so taken up with Wittals and Duffy that I thought it best

to give her notice to go when they did, lest she should set the new

servants against their place--accordingly, I say, when she wished to

know when it would suit me to see the lady with whom she was going to

live, I told her that she needn’t think of sending any of her ladies to

me, for I had made up my mind not to say _one_ word about her conduct

either one way or the other. And then--drat that common law, which Mr.

Edward will have is the perfection of common sense--we had another

plaguy action brought against us, and had a third time to pay as much as

would have bought us two beautiful opera pit tickets for the season, for

taking the bread out of a person’s mouth, and _refusing to give a

servant any character at all_.

This little insight into human nature, made me so disgusted with

servants, and taught me that they were such a bad, worthless, ungrateful

set, that of course I showed very little consideration for their

trumpery feelings afterwards, and I kept bundling them out of the house,

one after another so quickly, that I had them coming in and going out as

fast as the people at the Bank of England on a dividend-day. But after a

year or so of this continual changing, Mr. Edward did get _so_ fidgety,

and to tell the truth, I myself got _so_ sick of writing answers to

those stupid advertisements of “Want Places,” and spending a whole

fortune in postage-stamps, for a pack of letters to your “GOOD PLAIN

COOKS,” and “STEADY, ACTIVE, YOUNG MEN, who have no objection to

travel,” (I dare say they haven’t--and no more should I have, for the

matter of that, if any one would pay my expenses for me,) that, upon my

word, at last I thought it might save me a world of bother, if--as the

creatures were always grumbling at being over-worked in my

establishment--I paid some attention to what they said for once in a

way, and allowed them to have another pair of hands to help them. And

then, odds-bobs and buttercups! directly I had been great silly enough

to listen to the complaints of one of them, of course all the others

expected I should do as much for them!

First, the nursery-maid, owing to the increase of my family, (for I went

on blessing Edward with another little tiddy-ickle-petsy-wetsy of a

beautiful baby--with, thank heaven, all its dear little limbs right and

straight--regularly every eighteen months)--first, the nursery-maid, I

repeat, found it impossible to mind so many young children without an

under one to assist her. And when I, like a ninny, had coaxed Edward to

allow her to have what she wanted, then, of course, the housemaid

(directly we had an extra story put on to our villa, from sheer want of

bed-rooms) must find out that the house was too large for her to attend

to single-handed, so _she_ must needs want an under one as well. Well,

when I had wheedled Mr. Edward into that too--for as he very beautifully

and philosophically said, throwing up his hands and tearing his hair,

“Oh, anything you like, for peace and quiet”--then the cook must walk

into the parlour and tell me, that we were so many in family now, and

there were so many dinners to cook--one for the nursery, one for the

kitchen, and one for the parlour--that really the plates and dishes were

more than one person’s time to wash up, and she was sure her

constitution would give way under it unless she had a scullery-maid to

help her. So then, I had to carney, and fondle, and flatter _that_

Edward for days, and when that wouldn’t do, to get out of temper and

sulk for weeks with him together, in order to let the poor cook have a

maid under _her_, too, in the kitchen. But, then, the worst of it was,

that what with the upper nursery maid and the under nurserymaid--the

upper housemaid and the under housemaid--the cook and the scullery

maid--and the footman and the page into the bargain--positively, I had

our poking villa so full of servants, that we were as short of beds as a

country town during the assizes: and, as our lease had still fifteen

years to run, and since, owing to that bothering, rattling railway at

the back of us, we couldn’t get anybody to take it off our hands, and

as--plague take those maids--I could _not_ get them to sleep three in a

tester anyhow, why, drat it, there we had to go putting another and

another story to our residence, till I declare our villa looked like an

old Jew with three hats on.

However, if I must tell the truth, I didn’t object to this so much after

all; for I felt that the great, big, grand house, we had now got over

our heads, and the large retinue of servants we had at our backs, did

give us such a position in this empty world, and such a footing in

hollow-hearted society, that--notwithstanding Mr. Edward was always

telling me, I and my servants were driving him into the Queen’s Bench as

fast as he could gallop, or even a National Theatre could take

him--still for the sake of my four poor dear children, and those yet to

come, I determined not to give way--even so much as a scullery maid--no!

not if I had to be afflicted with a violent neuralgia again--or even St.

Vitus’s dance in the height of summer, for it.

But I was far from being as happy in the midst of all this grandeur as I

had, like a stupid girl as I am, foolishly expected; for no sooner had I

got eight servants dangling at my heels, than, lud-a-mussy-me! if I

could get as much attention or as much peace and quiet as when I had

only one--a mere servant of all work--to wait upon me. If I wanted

anything done, positively, it didn’t seem to be anybody’s place to do

it. For instance, let me tell the footman to sweep up a few crumbs from

under the table, of course it wasn’t _his_ place--but he’d send the

housemaid; then let me tell the housemaid to bring up some more coals,

of course it wasn’t _her_ place--but she’d send the footman. If I told

the upper nurserymaid to make me a little warm water-gruel, for my

little angel’s bottle (love its sweet eyes!) oh dear me, no! even this

was too much, it wasn’t _her_ place--but she’d tell the under one. If I

went down stairs, too, to see about dinner, and just asked the cook to

wash a trumpery basin for me--bless you! she couldn’t think of soiling

her delicate hands with a dish-clout; no! it wasn’t _her_ place--but

she’d tell the scullery-maid. Augh! the lazy, good-for-nothing pack of

leeches! And what did they think _was_ their place, then, I should like

to know? I can tell them what _I_ think their place was! and that’s--a

very snug berth, with little or nothing to do, but to try their hardest

to eat me out of house and home--and _that’s_ what it was.