Punch (7.1844)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. is

PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER.

LETTER I.

FROM A LADY. INQUIRING THE CHARACTER OF A SERVANT.

Madam,

Bridget Duster having applied
to me for a place of maid-of-all-work, I
beg to learn of you, as her last mistress,
her fitness for the serious responsibilities
of that situation. Having suffered so
much from the impertinence and wicked-
ness of servants—(I have often thought
they were only sent into this world to
torment respectable people),—you will, I
am sure, forgive me if I appear some-
what particular in my inquiries. Ex-
perience, madam, has made me circum-
spect. There was a time when I thought
all the world as good and honest as
myself; but house-keeping wipes the
bloom from the human heart, and makes
us lock our tea-caddies.
I have kept house for five-and-twenty years, in which time I have
constantly endeavoured to find a servant who should be without a
fault ; yet, though I have given eight pounds a year with tea and
sugar,—would you believe it ?—I have never once succeeded. How-
ever, I must say it, I like the face of Bridget ; I never saw a deeper
small-pox. As for handsome servants, I never have 'em : they
always think more of their faces than their fire-irons, and are pucker-
ing up their mouths at the looking-glass when they should be rubbing
the door-plate. Curls, too, I never suffer to cross my threshold. I
know more than one instance in which curls have destroyed the
peace of a family. For my money, a servant can't be too plain : in a
word, I think ugliness to be a sort of cheap livery intended by nature
for maids-of-all-work—it keeps 'em in their proper place, and pre-
vents 'em thinking of foolishness. So far, Bridget's looks are most
satisfactory. ,

And now, ma'am, for the article of dress. Servants have never
been servants since linsey-woolsey went out. It makes my very flesh
creep to see 'em flaunting about, for all the world as if they were
born to silk gowns and open-work in their stockings. I hate seen a
housemaid go out for the day with a parasol ! I prophesied her end,
and—poor wretch !—so it came about. What I have suffered, too,
from such presumption ! I once had a creature who copied every
new cap I had, violating my best feelings under my own roof!
Bridget looks a humble dresser, fit for a kitchen ; I trust she is so.

I hope, however, she is sober. When servants are very plain,
they sometimes, to revenge themselves on nature, fly to drink. This
is shocking ; for with such people, with all one's locking and bolting,
one's brandy is never safe.

In the next place, does Bridget break ? Not but what I always
make my servants pay for all they destroy ; still, they can't pay for
one's nerves. Again, there is this danger—they may break beyond
their wages.

Is Bridget honest ? Pray, madam, be particular on this point, for
I have been much deceived. I once took a servant with the finest
character for honesty ; and, only a week afterwards, detected her
giving three cold potatoes to a little hurdy-gurdy foreigner with
white mice.

Is Bridget civil? Will she bear wholesome reproof? A ser-

vant who answers is my abomination. It is clearly flying in the
face of the best interests of society. Surely, people who pay wagee
have a right to find what fault they please ; it is the natural privi-
lege that marks the mistress from the maid. I would have a severe
law to punish a servant who answers—even if right.

Is Bridget an early riser, without any reference to the time she
may be allowed to go to bed I A good maid-of-all-work should, so to
speak, be like a needle, and always sleep with one eye open.

Has Bridget any followers ? Such creatures I never allow. J
conceive that a servant ought to be a sort of nun, and, from th<*
moment she enters your house, should take leave of all the world
beside. Has she not her kitchen for willing hands always to dc
something in ? And then for company, doesn't she see the butcher,
the baker, the dustman—to say nothing of the sweeps !

Is Bridget industrious—is she clean ? I hope, for the poor crea-
ture's sake, that you may be able to answer these few questions to
my satisfaction, when Bridget may immediately bring her boxes,
With me, her duties will be few, but they must be punctually per-
formed. Indeed, I require a servant to consider herself a sort of
human kitchen clock. She .must have no temper, no sulks, no flesh-
and-blood feelings, as I've heard impudent hussies call their airs and
graces, but must go as regularly through her work as though she was
made of steel springs and brass pullies. For such a person, there is
a happy home in the house of

Your obedient Servant,

Pamela Squaw.

LETTER Hi

FROM A SERVANT, INQUIRING THE CHARACTER OF A MISTRESS.
Dear Molly,

Finding that you're in place next door to Mrs. Sqitaw,
and remembering what friends we used to be when both of us lived
with the pastry-cook, I have thought fit to write to you to inquire
about your neighbour. It's all very fine, Molly, for mistresses to
haggle about the characters of their maids, but surely we poor
servants have as much right to ask the characters of our mistresses.
However, folks who pay wages will always have the upper hand in
this world, whatever to our comfort may happen to'em afterwards.

I thank my stars I don't judge of people by their looks, otherwise
I wouldn't go into Mrs. Squaw's kitchen, if it was made of gold ;
she's dreadful ugly, to be sure, but I don't despise her for that, if
her temper's sweet. I can't bear a mistress that's always nagging
and nagging. A good noise, once in a way, I don't mind—it brisks
up one's blood ; but I have known mistresses always pushing their
words at you and about you, as if they were sticking pins in a cushion
with no flesh and blood.

How does she like her maids to dress ? Mind, I don't insist on
ringlets In the house, but when I go out, I'm my own mistress. I've
given up two places for my bird-of-paradise feather—it looks quite
alive in my white chip !—and would give up twenty. After slaving
among pots and pans for a month, it is so sweet to be sometimes
taken for a lady on one's Sunday out.

And now, dear Molly, tell me truly ; docs Mrs. Squaw drink :
I have lived in one family where the mistress kept a bottle in a thing
that looked for all the world like the covering of a book. No wages
should make me do this again ; and—perhaps I am wrong—but-
looking at Mrs. Sqi;aw, I thought I never saw a redder nose.
When a mistress has such a habit, a poor girl's character is neve^i
safe.

I've agreed to pay for all I break, but that I don't mind, as I
never break nothing—it's always the cat. But then I've known
mistresses mean enough to put off a Cracked basin on a poor servant.
What is Mrs. Squaw's character for crockery ?

Mrs. Squaw asked me if I had any followers, as she allowed of
no such thing. I said—and truly, Molly—that I had nobody that
followed me ; but, Molly, there is a young man that / have followed
these two years, and will, so long as I've eyes to stare and limbs to
move. Such a sweet creature—six feet one inch and a half without
his boots ! Such a mustachio on his lip—such a delicate thing, just
the colour of a leech ! He's in the Life Guards, Molly ; quite a
building of a man. You can't think how fond he is of me ; for these
last two years he's smoked my wages in cigars. I lost one plate
about him, and gloried in it ! It was one quarter-day, and he came
whistling about the area. Mistress saw his red coat, and ringing
the bell, asked me what I meant by harbouring a low soldier ? My
blood was up like ginger-beer. "It's all very well for you, ma'am,"