DOI issue:
January to June, 1849
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16548#0152
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
145
MATERNAL SOLICITUDE.
Mamma. " Georgina ! Georgjna ! "
Georgina. " Well, Ma. How you do fidget one."
Mamma. "Shoulders my lovk ; shoulders. Pray, hold yours*lf up.
You're stooping again dreadfully !"
Mr. BROWN'S LETTERS to a YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN.
some more "words about the ladies.
defer me to speak, my dear Bob, and in somewhat a grave
tone, about women, and their influence over you young
fellows—an influence so vast, for good or for evil.
I have, as you pretty well know, an immense sum of
money in the Three per Cents., the possession of which,
does not, I think, decrease your respect for my character,
and of which, at my demise, you will possibly have your
share. But if ever I hear of you as a Casino haunter,
as a frequenter of Tiaces and Greenwich Fairs, and such
amusements, in questionable company, I give you my
honour you shall benefit by no legacy of mine, and I will
divide the portion that was, and is I hope, to be yours,
amongst your sisters.
Think, Sir, of what they are, and of your mother at home,
spotless and pious, loving and pure, and shape your own
course so as to be worthy of them. Would you do any-
thing to give them pain ? Would you say anything that
should bring a blush to their fair cheeks, or shock their
gentle natures ? At the Royal Academy Exhibition last
year, when that great stupid, dandified donkey, Captain Grigg, in company
with the other vulgar oaf, Mr. Gowker, ventured to stare in rather an insolent
manner, at your pretty little sister Fanny, who had come blushing like a May-
rose from Miss Ptnkerton's Academy, I saw how your honest face flushed
np with indignation, as you caught a sight of the hideous grins and ogles of
those two ruffians in varnished boots; and your eyes flashed out at them
glances of defiance and warning so savage arid terrible, that the discomfited
wretches turned wisely npon their heels, and did not care to face such a resolute
young champion as Bod Brown. What is it that makes all
your blood tingle, and fills your heart with a vague and Perce
desire to thrash somebody, when the idea of the possibility of
an insult to that fair- creature enters your mind ? You can't
bear to think that injury should be done to a being so sacred,
so innocent, and so defenceless. You would do battle with a
Goliath in her cause. Your sword would leap from its scabbard
'that is, if you gentlemen from Pump Court wore swords and
scabbards at the present period of time,) to avenge or defend her.
Kespect all beauty, all innocence, my dear Bob ; defend all
def'encelessness in your sister, as in the sisters of other men.
We have all heard the story of the Gentleman of the last
century, who, when a crowd of young bucks and bloods in the
Crush-room of the Opera were laughing and elbowing an old
lady there—an old lady, lonely, ugly, and unprotected—went
up to her respectfully and offered her his arm, took her down
to his own carriage which was in waiting, and walked home
himself in the rain,—and twenty years afterwards had ten
thousand a year left him by this very old lady, as a reward
for that one act of politeness. We have all heard that story:
nor do I think it is probable that you will have ten thousand
a-year left to you, for being polite to a woman: but I say, be
polite, at any rate. Be respectful to every woman. A manly
and generous heart can be no otherwise; as a man would be
■ gentle with a child, or take off his hat in a church.
I would have you apply this principle universally towards
' women—from the finest ladv of your acquaintance down to
| the laundress who sets your Chambers in order. It may safely
be asserted that the persons who joke with barmaids or servants
at lodgings, are not men of a high intellectual or moral capacity.
To chuck a still room maid under the chin, or to send off
Molly the cook grinning, are not, to say the least of them,
dignified acts in any gentleman. The butcher-boy who brings
the leg of mutton to Molly may converse with her over the
area-railings; or the youthful grocer may exchange a few
jocular remarks wit ii Betty at the door as he hands in to her
the tea and sugar : but not you. We must live according to
our degree. I hint this to vou, Sir, by the way, and because
the other night as I was standing on the drawing-room landing-
place, taking leave of our friends Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax, after
a very agreeable dinner, I heard a giggling in the hall, where
you were putting on your coat, and where that uncommonly
good-looking parlour-maid was opening the door. And here,
whilst on this subject, and whilst Mrs. Betty is helping you
on with your coat, I would say, respecting your commerce with
your friends' servants and your own ; be thankful to them, and
they will be grateful to you in return, depend upon it. Let
the young fellow who lives in lodgings respect the poor little
maid who does the wondrous work of the house, and not send
her on too many errands, or ply his bell needlessly: if you visit
any of your comrades in such circumstances, _ be you too
respectfid and kindly in your tone to the poor little Abigail.
If you frequent houses, as I hope you will, where are many
good fellows and amiable ladies who cannot afford to have
their doors opened or their tables attended by men, pray be
particularly courteous (though by no means so marked m your
attentions as on the occasion of the dinner at Mr. Fairfax's
to which I have just alluded) to the women-servants. Thank
them when they serve you. Give them a half-crown now and
then, nay, as often as your means will permit. Those small
gratuities make but a small sum in your year's expenses, and it
may be said that the practice of giving them never impoverished
a man yet: and on the other hand, they give a deal of innocent
happiness to a very worthy, active, kind set of folks.
But let us hasten from the hall-door to the drawing-room,
where Fortune has cast your lot in life: I want to explain to
you why I am so anxious that you should devote yourself to
that amiable lady who sits in it. Sir, I do not mean to tell you
that there are no women in the world, vulgar and ill-humoured,
rancorous and narrow-minded, mean schemers, son-in-law hunt-
ers, slaves of fashion, hypocrites; but I do respect, admire,
and almost worship good women; and I think there is a very fait
number of such to be found in this world, and I have no doubt
in every educated Englishman's circle of society, whether he
finds that circle in palaces in Belgravia and May Fair, in snug
little suburban villas, in ancient comfortable old Bloomsbury,
or in back parlours behind the shop. It has been my fortune
to meet with excellent English ladies in every one of these
places—wives graceful and affectionate, matrons tender and
good, daughters happy and pure-minded, and I urge the
society of such to you, because I defy you to think evil in their
company. Walk into the drawing-room of Lady Z., that
f-eat lady: look at her charming face, and hear her voice,
ou know that she can't but be good, with such a face and
such a voice. She is one of those fortunate- beings on whom it
145
MATERNAL SOLICITUDE.
Mamma. " Georgina ! Georgjna ! "
Georgina. " Well, Ma. How you do fidget one."
Mamma. "Shoulders my lovk ; shoulders. Pray, hold yours*lf up.
You're stooping again dreadfully !"
Mr. BROWN'S LETTERS to a YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN.
some more "words about the ladies.
defer me to speak, my dear Bob, and in somewhat a grave
tone, about women, and their influence over you young
fellows—an influence so vast, for good or for evil.
I have, as you pretty well know, an immense sum of
money in the Three per Cents., the possession of which,
does not, I think, decrease your respect for my character,
and of which, at my demise, you will possibly have your
share. But if ever I hear of you as a Casino haunter,
as a frequenter of Tiaces and Greenwich Fairs, and such
amusements, in questionable company, I give you my
honour you shall benefit by no legacy of mine, and I will
divide the portion that was, and is I hope, to be yours,
amongst your sisters.
Think, Sir, of what they are, and of your mother at home,
spotless and pious, loving and pure, and shape your own
course so as to be worthy of them. Would you do any-
thing to give them pain ? Would you say anything that
should bring a blush to their fair cheeks, or shock their
gentle natures ? At the Royal Academy Exhibition last
year, when that great stupid, dandified donkey, Captain Grigg, in company
with the other vulgar oaf, Mr. Gowker, ventured to stare in rather an insolent
manner, at your pretty little sister Fanny, who had come blushing like a May-
rose from Miss Ptnkerton's Academy, I saw how your honest face flushed
np with indignation, as you caught a sight of the hideous grins and ogles of
those two ruffians in varnished boots; and your eyes flashed out at them
glances of defiance and warning so savage arid terrible, that the discomfited
wretches turned wisely npon their heels, and did not care to face such a resolute
young champion as Bod Brown. What is it that makes all
your blood tingle, and fills your heart with a vague and Perce
desire to thrash somebody, when the idea of the possibility of
an insult to that fair- creature enters your mind ? You can't
bear to think that injury should be done to a being so sacred,
so innocent, and so defenceless. You would do battle with a
Goliath in her cause. Your sword would leap from its scabbard
'that is, if you gentlemen from Pump Court wore swords and
scabbards at the present period of time,) to avenge or defend her.
Kespect all beauty, all innocence, my dear Bob ; defend all
def'encelessness in your sister, as in the sisters of other men.
We have all heard the story of the Gentleman of the last
century, who, when a crowd of young bucks and bloods in the
Crush-room of the Opera were laughing and elbowing an old
lady there—an old lady, lonely, ugly, and unprotected—went
up to her respectfully and offered her his arm, took her down
to his own carriage which was in waiting, and walked home
himself in the rain,—and twenty years afterwards had ten
thousand a year left him by this very old lady, as a reward
for that one act of politeness. We have all heard that story:
nor do I think it is probable that you will have ten thousand
a-year left to you, for being polite to a woman: but I say, be
polite, at any rate. Be respectful to every woman. A manly
and generous heart can be no otherwise; as a man would be
■ gentle with a child, or take off his hat in a church.
I would have you apply this principle universally towards
' women—from the finest ladv of your acquaintance down to
| the laundress who sets your Chambers in order. It may safely
be asserted that the persons who joke with barmaids or servants
at lodgings, are not men of a high intellectual or moral capacity.
To chuck a still room maid under the chin, or to send off
Molly the cook grinning, are not, to say the least of them,
dignified acts in any gentleman. The butcher-boy who brings
the leg of mutton to Molly may converse with her over the
area-railings; or the youthful grocer may exchange a few
jocular remarks wit ii Betty at the door as he hands in to her
the tea and sugar : but not you. We must live according to
our degree. I hint this to vou, Sir, by the way, and because
the other night as I was standing on the drawing-room landing-
place, taking leave of our friends Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax, after
a very agreeable dinner, I heard a giggling in the hall, where
you were putting on your coat, and where that uncommonly
good-looking parlour-maid was opening the door. And here,
whilst on this subject, and whilst Mrs. Betty is helping you
on with your coat, I would say, respecting your commerce with
your friends' servants and your own ; be thankful to them, and
they will be grateful to you in return, depend upon it. Let
the young fellow who lives in lodgings respect the poor little
maid who does the wondrous work of the house, and not send
her on too many errands, or ply his bell needlessly: if you visit
any of your comrades in such circumstances, _ be you too
respectfid and kindly in your tone to the poor little Abigail.
If you frequent houses, as I hope you will, where are many
good fellows and amiable ladies who cannot afford to have
their doors opened or their tables attended by men, pray be
particularly courteous (though by no means so marked m your
attentions as on the occasion of the dinner at Mr. Fairfax's
to which I have just alluded) to the women-servants. Thank
them when they serve you. Give them a half-crown now and
then, nay, as often as your means will permit. Those small
gratuities make but a small sum in your year's expenses, and it
may be said that the practice of giving them never impoverished
a man yet: and on the other hand, they give a deal of innocent
happiness to a very worthy, active, kind set of folks.
But let us hasten from the hall-door to the drawing-room,
where Fortune has cast your lot in life: I want to explain to
you why I am so anxious that you should devote yourself to
that amiable lady who sits in it. Sir, I do not mean to tell you
that there are no women in the world, vulgar and ill-humoured,
rancorous and narrow-minded, mean schemers, son-in-law hunt-
ers, slaves of fashion, hypocrites; but I do respect, admire,
and almost worship good women; and I think there is a very fait
number of such to be found in this world, and I have no doubt
in every educated Englishman's circle of society, whether he
finds that circle in palaces in Belgravia and May Fair, in snug
little suburban villas, in ancient comfortable old Bloomsbury,
or in back parlours behind the shop. It has been my fortune
to meet with excellent English ladies in every one of these
places—wives graceful and affectionate, matrons tender and
good, daughters happy and pure-minded, and I urge the
society of such to you, because I defy you to think evil in their
company. Walk into the drawing-room of Lady Z., that
f-eat lady: look at her charming face, and hear her voice,
ou know that she can't but be good, with such a face and
such a voice. She is one of those fortunate- beings on whom it