A VERY DANGEROUS INVENTION--THE PATENT COMBINATION
STEP-LADDER--DOMESTIC SERVANTS--ADVERTISING FOR A GIRL--THE
PEASANT-GIRL OF FACT AND FICTION--A CONTRAST.
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A step-ladder is an almost indispensable article to persons who are
moving into a new house. Not only do the domestics find it extremely
convenient when they undertake to wash the windows, to remove the dust
from the door and window-frames, and to perform sundry other household
duties, but the lord of the castle will require it when he hangs his
pictures, when he fixes the curtains and when he yields to his wife's
entreaty for a hanging shelf or two in the cellar. I would, however,
warn my fellow-countrymen against the contrivance which is offered to
them under the name of the "Patent Combination Step-ladder." I purchased
one in the city just before we moved, because the dealer showed me how,
by the simple operation of a set of springs, the ladder could be
transformed into an ironing-table, and from that into a comfortable
settee for the kitchen, and finally back again into a step-ladder, just
as the owner desired. It seemed like getting the full worth of the
money expended to obtain a trio of such useful articles for a single
price, and the temptation to purchase was simply irresistible. But the
knowledge gained by a practical experience of the operation of the
machine enables me to affirm that there is no genuine economical
advantage in the use of this ingenious article.
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Upon the day of its arrival, the servant-girl mounted the ladder for the
purpose of removing the globes from the chandelier in the parlor, and
while she was engaged in the work the weight of her body unexpectedly
put the springs in motion, and the machine was suddenly converted into
an ironing-table, while the maid-servant was prostrated upon the floor
with a sprained ankle and amid the fragments of two shattered globes.
Then we decided that the apparatus should be used exclusively as an
ironing-table, and to this purpose it would probably have been devoted
permanently if it had suited. On the following Tuesday, however, while
half a dozen shirts were lying upon it ready to be ironed, some
one knocked against it accidentally. It gave two or three ominous
preliminary jerks, ground two shirts into rags, hurled the flat-iron
out into the yard, and after a few convulsive movements of the springs,
settled into repose in the shape of a step-ladder.
It became evident then that it could be used with greatest safety as a
settee, and it was placed in the kitchen in that shape. For a few days
it gave much satisfaction. But one night when the servant had company
the bench was perhaps overloaded, for it had another and most alarming
paroxysm; there was a trembling of the legs, a violent agitation of the
back, then a tremendous jump, and one of the visitors was hurled against
the range, while the machine turned several somersaults, jammed itself
halfway through the window-sash, and appeared once more in the
similitude of an ironing-table.
It has now attained to such a degree of sensitiveness that it goes
through the entire drill promptly and with celerity if any one comes
near it or coughs or sneezes close at hand. We have it stored away in
the garret, and sometimes in the middle of the night a rat will jar it,
or a current of air will pass through the room, and we can hear it
dancing over the floor and getting into service as a ladder, a bench and
a table fifteen or twenty times in quick succession.
The machine will be disposed of for a small fraction of the original
cost. It might be a valuable addition to the collection of some good
museum. I am convinced that it will shine with greater lustre as a
curiosity than as a household utensil.
Perhaps we may attribute to the fantastic capers of this step-ladder the
dissatisfaction expressed by the servant who came with us from the city;
at any rate, she gave us notice at the end of the first week that she
would not remain. She is the ninth that we have had within four months.
Mrs. Adeler said she was not sorry the woman intended to go, for she
was absolutely good for nothing; but I think a poor servant is better
than none at all. Life is gloomy enough without the misery which comes
from rising before daylight to fumble among the fires, and without
living upon short rations because one's wife has no time to attend to
the cooking.
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I am not sure, at any rate, that it would be a very great advantage to
have thoroughly good servants, for then women would be deprived of the
very evident pleasure they now take in discussing the shortcomings of
their domestics. The practice is so common that there must be supreme
consolation in the sympathy and in the relief to the overcharged
feelings that are permitted by such communion.
Place two women together under any circumstances, and it makes no
difference where the conversation starts from, for it will be perfectly
certain to work around to the hired-girl question before many minutes
have elapsed. I have seen an elderly housekeeper, with experience in
conducting the talk in the desired direction, break in upon a discussion
of Pythagoras and the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, and
switch off the entire debate with such expedition that a careless
listener would for some moments have an indistinct impression that the
conversation referred to the inefficiency of Pythagoras as a washer and
ironer, and to the tendency of that heathen philosopher to take two
Thursdays out every week.
And when a woman has an unusually villainous servant, is it not
interesting to observe how she glories in the superior intensity of her
sufferings as compared with those of her neighbors, and to perceive how
she rejoices in her misery? A housewife who possesses a really good girl
is always in a condition of wretchedness upon such occasions, and is apt
to listen in envious silence while her companions unburden their souls
to each other.
Mrs. Adeler intimated that these accusations were slanderous, but she
ventured to observe that the practical question which required immediate
consideration was, How shall we get another girl?
"There is but one method, Mrs. A.: it is to advertise. Do not patronize
the establishments which, in bitter irony, are styled 'intelligence
offices.' An intelligence office is always remarkable for the dense
stupidity of everybody connected with it. But a single manifestation of
intelligence gleams through the intellectual darkness that enshrines the
souls of the beings who maintain such places. I refer to the singular
ability displayed in extracting two-dollar bills from persons who know
that they will get nothing for their money."
Mrs. Adeler admitted that it would perhaps be better to advertise.
"How would it answer to insert in the daily paper an advertisement
in which sarcasm is mingled with exaggeration in such a way that it
shall secure an unlimited number of applications, while we shall give
expression to the feeling of bitterness that is supposed to exist in the
bosom of every housekeeper?"
She said she thought she hardly caught the idea precisely.
"Suppose, for instance, we should publish something like this: 'Wanted:
a competent girl for general housework.' The most strenuous effort will
be made to give such a person complete satisfaction. If she is not
pleased with the furniture already in the kitchen, we are willing to
have the range silver plated, the floor laid in mosaic and the dresser
covered with pink plush. No objection will be made to breakage. The
domestic will be permitted at any time to disport in the china closet
with the axe. We consider hair in the breakfast-rolls an improvement;
and the more silver forks that are dropped into the drain, the more
serene is the happiness which reigns in the household. Our girl cannot
have Sunday out. She can go out every day but Sunday, and remain out
until midnight if she wishes to. If her relations suffer for want of
sugar, she can supply them with ours. We rather prefer a girl who
habitually blows out the gas, and who is impudent when complaint is made
because she soaks the mackerel in the tea-kettle. If she can sprinkle
hot coals over the floor now and then, and set the house afire, we will
rejoice the more, because it will give the fire-department healthful and
necessary exercise. Nobody will interfere if she woos the milkman, and
she will confer a favor if she will discuss family matters across the
fence with the girl who lives next door. Such a servant as this can have
a good home, the second-story front room and the whole of our income
with the exception of three dollars a week, which we must insist,
reluctantly, upon reserving for our own use.'
"How does that strike you, Mrs. Adeler?"
She said that it struck her as being particularly nonsensical. She hoped
I wouldn't put such stuff as that in the paper.
"Certainly not, Mrs. A. If I did, we should cause a general immigration
of the domestics of the country to New Castle. We will not precipitate
such a disaster."
The insertion of a less extended advertisement, couched in the usual
terms, secured a reply from a young woman named Catherine. And when
Catherine's objections to the size of the family, to the style of the
cooking-range, to the dimensions of the weekly wash and to sundry other
things had been overcome, she consented to accept the position.
"I hope she will suit," exclaimed Mrs. Adeler, with a sigh and an
intonation which implied doubt. "I do hope she will answer, but I am
afraid she won't, for according to her own confession she doesn't know
how to make bread or to iron shirts or to do anything."
"That is the reason why she demanded such exorbitant wages. Those
servants who are entirely ignorant always want the largest pay. If we
ever obtain a girl who understands her business in all its departments,
I cherish the conviction that she will work for us for nothing. The
wages of domestics are usually in inverse ratio to the merit of the
recipients. Did you ever reflect upon the difference between the real
and the ideal Irish maiden?"
Mrs. A. admitted that she had not considered the subject with any degree
of attention.
"The ideal peasant-girl lives only in fiction and upon the stage. We are
largely indebted to Mr. Boucicault for her existence, just as we are
under obligations to Mr. Fennimore Cooper for a purely sentimental
conception of the North American Indian. Have you ever seen the _Colleen
Bawn_?"
"What is that?" inquired Mrs. Adeler, as she bit off a piece of thread
from a spool.
"It is a play, a drama, my dear, by Mr. Dion Boucicault."
"You know I never go to theatres."
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"Well, in that and in many other of his dramas Mr. Boucicault has
drawn a particularly affecting portrait of the imaginary peasant-girl
of Ireland. She is, as depicted by him, a lovely young creature,
filled with tenderest sensibility, animated by loftiest impulses and
inspired perpetually by poetic enthusiasm. The conversation of this
fascinating being sparkles with wit; she overflows with generosity;
she has unutterable longings for a higher and nobler life; she loves
with intense and overpowering passion; she is capable of supreme
self-sacrifice; and she always wears clean clothing. If such charming
girls really existed in Ireland in large numbers, it would be the most
attractive spot in the world. It would be a particularly profitable
place for young bachelors to emigrate to. I think I should even go there
myself."
Mrs. Adeler said she would certainly accompany me if I did.
"But these persons have no actual existence. We know, from a painful
experience, what the peasant-girl of real life is, do we not? We know
that her appearance is not prepossessing; we are aware that her lofty
impulses do not lift her high enough to enable her to avoid impertinence
and to conquer her unnatural fondness for cooking wine. She will
withhold starch from the shirt collars and put it in the underclothing;
she will hold the baby by the leg, so that it is in perpetual peril of
apoplexy, and she will drink the milk. All of her visitors are her
cousins; and when they have spent a festive evening with her in the
kitchen, is it not curious to remark with what certainty we find low
tide in the sugar-box and an absence of symmetry about the cold beef?
The only evidence that I can discover of the existence in her soul of a
yearning for a higher life is that she nearly always wants Brussels
carpet in the kitchen, and this longing is peculiarly intense if, when
at the home of her childhood, she was accustomed to live in a mud-cabin
and to sleep with a pig."
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But I do not regret that Mr. Boucicault has not placed this person upon
the stage. It is, indeed, a matter for rejoicing that she is not
there. She plays such a part in the drama of domestic life that in
contemplation of the virtues of the fabulous being we find intense
relief.
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[Illustration: THE VIEW DOWN THE RIVER.]