DOI issue:
January to June, 1850
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16605#0029
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
21
JENKINS AND MRS. MO WATT.
Mb. Jenkins, last week, favoured the limited world in which he
moves with a notice of the first representation of Mrs. Mowatt's
comedy, Fashion; or, life in New York, a play which, according to the
Times, "has been acted with success at every chief city in the Union,"
and was received at our Olympic herewith "tumultuous applause."
" It may," says Jenkins,
" By some weak'persons be thought ungenerous in us, when speaking of the production
of a lady and a stranger, we employ any language that is not highly complimentary;
but genius is of no sex."
And then Jenkins proceeds to abuse the lady and stranger's play»
elaborately, in every particular, with all his mighty soul and gigantic
strength. For the dead set that he thus makes, he must of course have
a motive, which, had he limited himself to strictures on the production
itself, might possibly have been supposed to be a no meaner one than
an excess of critical zeal. But, Mr. Jenkins not content with yelping
at the play, must needs have a snap at the authoress. " When the
actors," writes gently-sneering Jenkins,
" Had indulged us with another glance at their persons, a very general call from all
parts of the house brought Mrs. Mowatt on the stage. The noise was then tremendous,
and the shower of customary bouquets more weighty and continuous than we ever re-
member it to have been. The affair teas a little overdone, for not only were the flowers
provided too profusely, but the lady, in our eyes, appeared to be ready dressed for the
occasion"
Why could you not have moderated the rancour of your pen a little,
Jenkins? Why attack the lady and stranger personally ? Is it your
individual self or your order — Jenkins or Flunkeydom— that
Mrs. Mowatt has offended ?
Jenkins, you say, that " genius is of no sex." Neither is criticism,
as personified by you. At any rate it is not manly.
HOBSON'S CHOICE,
or the perplexities of a gentleman in search ge a servant.
eter Grundsell, the knife-boy, the
youth previously mentioned as son
of my green-grocer and occasional
butler, a demure little fair-haired lad,
who had received his education in a
green baize coat and yellow leather
breeches at Saint Blaize's Charity
School, was our first foot-boy or page.
Mamma thought that a full-sized
footman might occasion inconvenience
in the house, and would not be able
to sleep in our back attic (which in-
deed was scarcely six feet long), and
she had somehow conceived a great
fondness for this youth, with his pale
cheeks, blue eyes, and yellow hair,
who sang the sweetest of all the
children in the organ-loft of Saint
Bhv'ze's. At five o'clock every morn-
ing, winter and summer, that boy,
before he took a permanent engage-
ment in my establishment, slid down
our area-steps, of which and of the
kitchen entrance he was entrusted
with the key. He crept up the stairs
~ " - as silent as a cat, and carried off
the boots and shoes from the doors
of our respective apartments without disturbing one of us: the
knives and shoes of my domestic circle were cleaned as brilliant as
possible before six o'clock : he did odd jobs for the cook, he went upon
our messages and errands; he carried out bis father's potatoes and
cauliflowers; he attended school at Saint Blaize's; he turned his
mother's mangle:—there was no end to the work that boy could do in
the course of a day, and he was the most active, quiet, humble little
rogue you ever knew. Mrs. Captain Budge then took a just liking to
the lad, and resolved to promote him to the situation of page. His name
was changed from Peter to Philip, as being more genteel: and a hat
with a gold cord and a knob <-n the top like a gilt Brussels sprout, and
a dark green suit, with a white galloon stripe down the trowser-seams,
and a bushel of buttons on the jacket, were purchased at an establish-
ment in Holborn, off the dummy at the door. Mamma is a great big
strong woman, with a high spirit, who I should think could protect
herself very well; but when Philip had his livery, she made him walk
behind her regularly, and never could go to church_ without Philip
after her to carry the books, or out to tea of an evening, without that
boy on the box of Hie cab.
Mrs. Captain B. is fond of good living herself; and, to do her
1'ustice, always kept our servants well. I don't meddle with the
dtchen affairs myself, having my own business to attend : but I believe
my servants had as much meat as they could eat, and a great deal more
than was good for them. They went to bed pretty soon, for ours was
an early house, and when I came in from the City after business, I was
glad enough to get to bed ; and they got up rather late, for we are all
good sleepers (especially Mrs. B., who takes a heavy supper, which /
never could indulge in), so that they were never called upon to leave
their beds much before seven o'clock, and had their eight or nine good
hours of rest every night.
And here I cannot help remarking, that if these folks knew their
luck; sua si bona norinl, as we used to say at Merchant Tailors'; if they
remembered that they are fed as well as lords, that they have warm
beds and plenty of sleep in them; that, if they are ill, they have
frequently their master's doctor ; that they get good wages, and beer,
and sugar and tea in sufficiency: they need not be robbing their
employers, or taking fees from tradesmen, or grumbling at their lot.
My friend and head-clerk, Raddles, has a hundred and twenty a
year, and eight children; the Reverend Mr. Bittles, our esteemed
curate at Saint Blaize's,has the same stipend and family of three; and
lam sure that both of those gentlemen work harder, and fare worse,
than any of the servants in my kitchen, or my neighbour's. And I,
who have seen that dear, good, elegant angel * of a Mrs. Bittles ironing
her husband's bands and neckcloths : and that uncommonly shy supper
of dry bread, and milk-and-water, which 1 he Baddles family take when
I have dropped in to visit them at their place, (Glenalvon Cottage,
Magnolia Road South, Camden Town,) on my walks from Hampstead
of a Sunday evening:—I say, who have seen these people, and thought
about my servants at home, on the same July evening, eating buttered
toast round the kitchen fire—have marvelled how resigned and con-
tented some people were, and how readily other people grumbled.
Well then, this young Philip being introduced into my family, and
being at that, period as lean as a whipping-post, and as contented with
the scraps and broken victuals which the cook gave him, as an alderman
with his turtle and venison, now left his mother's mangle, on which,
or on a sack in his father's potato bin he used to sleep, and put on my
buttons and stripes, waited at my own table, and took his regular place
at that, in the kitchen, and occupied a warm bed and three blankets in
the back attic.
The effect of the three (or four or five, is it P—for the deuce knows how
many they take,) meals a day upon the young rascal, was speedily evident
in his personal appearance. His lean cheeks began to fill out, till they
grew as round and pale as a pair of suet dumplings. His dress (for the
little dummy in Holborn, a bargain of Mrs. Captain B's., was always
a tight fit,) grew tighter and tighter—as if his meals in the kitchen were
not sufficient for any two Christians ; the little gormandiser levied con-
tributions upon our parlour dishes. And one day my wife spied him
with his mouth smeared all over with our jam pudding; and on another
occasion he c*me in with tears in his eyes and hardly able to speak,
from the effects of a curry on which he had laid hands in the hall, and
which we make (from the Nawobb of Mulligatawney's own receipt) re-
markably fine, and as hot, as hot—as the dog-days.
As for the crockery, both the common blue and the stone china
Mamma gave us on our marriage, (and which I must confess I didn't
mind seeing an end of, because she bragged and bothered so about it,)
the smashes that boy made were incredible. The handles of all the tea-
cups went ; and the knobs off the covers of the vegelable dishes; and
the stems of the wine-glasses ; and the china punch-bowl my Anna
Maria was christened m. And the days he did not break the dishes
on the table; he spilt the gravy on the cloth. Lord ! Lord ! how I did
wish for my pretty neat little parlour-maid again. But I had best
not, for peace' sake, enlarge again upon that point.
And as for get'ing up, I suppose the suppers and dinners made him
sleepy as well as fa"; certainly the little rascal for the first week did get
up at his usual hour : then he was a little later: at the end of a month
he came yawning down stairs after the maids had long been at work:
there was no more polishing of boots and knives : barely time to get
mine clean, and knives enough ready for me and my wife's breakfast
(Mrs. Captain B. taking hers and her poached eggs and rashers of bacon
in bed), in time enough, 1 say, for my breakfast, before I went into the
City.
Many and many a scolding did I give that boy, until my temper
being easy and the lad getting no earthly good from my_ abuse of him,
I left off—from sheer weariness and a desire for a quiet life. And
Mamma, to do her justice, was never tired of giving it to him, and
rated lnm up hill and down dale. It was " Philip you are a fool."
"Philip, jou dir-y wretch." "Philip, you sloven," and so forth, all
dinner time. But still, when I talked offending him off, Mrs. Captain B.
always somehow pleaded lor him and insisted upon keeping him. Well.
My weakness is that I. can't say no to a woman, and Master Philip
* i say this, because i think so, and will not be put down. My wife says she thinks
there is nothing in Mrs. Bittles, and Mamma says she gives herself airs, and has a
cast in her eye : but a more elegant woman / have never seen, no, not at a Mansion
House ball, or the Opera L. H.
21
JENKINS AND MRS. MO WATT.
Mb. Jenkins, last week, favoured the limited world in which he
moves with a notice of the first representation of Mrs. Mowatt's
comedy, Fashion; or, life in New York, a play which, according to the
Times, "has been acted with success at every chief city in the Union,"
and was received at our Olympic herewith "tumultuous applause."
" It may," says Jenkins,
" By some weak'persons be thought ungenerous in us, when speaking of the production
of a lady and a stranger, we employ any language that is not highly complimentary;
but genius is of no sex."
And then Jenkins proceeds to abuse the lady and stranger's play»
elaborately, in every particular, with all his mighty soul and gigantic
strength. For the dead set that he thus makes, he must of course have
a motive, which, had he limited himself to strictures on the production
itself, might possibly have been supposed to be a no meaner one than
an excess of critical zeal. But, Mr. Jenkins not content with yelping
at the play, must needs have a snap at the authoress. " When the
actors," writes gently-sneering Jenkins,
" Had indulged us with another glance at their persons, a very general call from all
parts of the house brought Mrs. Mowatt on the stage. The noise was then tremendous,
and the shower of customary bouquets more weighty and continuous than we ever re-
member it to have been. The affair teas a little overdone, for not only were the flowers
provided too profusely, but the lady, in our eyes, appeared to be ready dressed for the
occasion"
Why could you not have moderated the rancour of your pen a little,
Jenkins? Why attack the lady and stranger personally ? Is it your
individual self or your order — Jenkins or Flunkeydom— that
Mrs. Mowatt has offended ?
Jenkins, you say, that " genius is of no sex." Neither is criticism,
as personified by you. At any rate it is not manly.
HOBSON'S CHOICE,
or the perplexities of a gentleman in search ge a servant.
eter Grundsell, the knife-boy, the
youth previously mentioned as son
of my green-grocer and occasional
butler, a demure little fair-haired lad,
who had received his education in a
green baize coat and yellow leather
breeches at Saint Blaize's Charity
School, was our first foot-boy or page.
Mamma thought that a full-sized
footman might occasion inconvenience
in the house, and would not be able
to sleep in our back attic (which in-
deed was scarcely six feet long), and
she had somehow conceived a great
fondness for this youth, with his pale
cheeks, blue eyes, and yellow hair,
who sang the sweetest of all the
children in the organ-loft of Saint
Bhv'ze's. At five o'clock every morn-
ing, winter and summer, that boy,
before he took a permanent engage-
ment in my establishment, slid down
our area-steps, of which and of the
kitchen entrance he was entrusted
with the key. He crept up the stairs
~ " - as silent as a cat, and carried off
the boots and shoes from the doors
of our respective apartments without disturbing one of us: the
knives and shoes of my domestic circle were cleaned as brilliant as
possible before six o'clock : he did odd jobs for the cook, he went upon
our messages and errands; he carried out bis father's potatoes and
cauliflowers; he attended school at Saint Blaize's; he turned his
mother's mangle:—there was no end to the work that boy could do in
the course of a day, and he was the most active, quiet, humble little
rogue you ever knew. Mrs. Captain Budge then took a just liking to
the lad, and resolved to promote him to the situation of page. His name
was changed from Peter to Philip, as being more genteel: and a hat
with a gold cord and a knob <-n the top like a gilt Brussels sprout, and
a dark green suit, with a white galloon stripe down the trowser-seams,
and a bushel of buttons on the jacket, were purchased at an establish-
ment in Holborn, off the dummy at the door. Mamma is a great big
strong woman, with a high spirit, who I should think could protect
herself very well; but when Philip had his livery, she made him walk
behind her regularly, and never could go to church_ without Philip
after her to carry the books, or out to tea of an evening, without that
boy on the box of Hie cab.
Mrs. Captain B. is fond of good living herself; and, to do her
1'ustice, always kept our servants well. I don't meddle with the
dtchen affairs myself, having my own business to attend : but I believe
my servants had as much meat as they could eat, and a great deal more
than was good for them. They went to bed pretty soon, for ours was
an early house, and when I came in from the City after business, I was
glad enough to get to bed ; and they got up rather late, for we are all
good sleepers (especially Mrs. B., who takes a heavy supper, which /
never could indulge in), so that they were never called upon to leave
their beds much before seven o'clock, and had their eight or nine good
hours of rest every night.
And here I cannot help remarking, that if these folks knew their
luck; sua si bona norinl, as we used to say at Merchant Tailors'; if they
remembered that they are fed as well as lords, that they have warm
beds and plenty of sleep in them; that, if they are ill, they have
frequently their master's doctor ; that they get good wages, and beer,
and sugar and tea in sufficiency: they need not be robbing their
employers, or taking fees from tradesmen, or grumbling at their lot.
My friend and head-clerk, Raddles, has a hundred and twenty a
year, and eight children; the Reverend Mr. Bittles, our esteemed
curate at Saint Blaize's,has the same stipend and family of three; and
lam sure that both of those gentlemen work harder, and fare worse,
than any of the servants in my kitchen, or my neighbour's. And I,
who have seen that dear, good, elegant angel * of a Mrs. Bittles ironing
her husband's bands and neckcloths : and that uncommonly shy supper
of dry bread, and milk-and-water, which 1 he Baddles family take when
I have dropped in to visit them at their place, (Glenalvon Cottage,
Magnolia Road South, Camden Town,) on my walks from Hampstead
of a Sunday evening:—I say, who have seen these people, and thought
about my servants at home, on the same July evening, eating buttered
toast round the kitchen fire—have marvelled how resigned and con-
tented some people were, and how readily other people grumbled.
Well then, this young Philip being introduced into my family, and
being at that, period as lean as a whipping-post, and as contented with
the scraps and broken victuals which the cook gave him, as an alderman
with his turtle and venison, now left his mother's mangle, on which,
or on a sack in his father's potato bin he used to sleep, and put on my
buttons and stripes, waited at my own table, and took his regular place
at that, in the kitchen, and occupied a warm bed and three blankets in
the back attic.
The effect of the three (or four or five, is it P—for the deuce knows how
many they take,) meals a day upon the young rascal, was speedily evident
in his personal appearance. His lean cheeks began to fill out, till they
grew as round and pale as a pair of suet dumplings. His dress (for the
little dummy in Holborn, a bargain of Mrs. Captain B's., was always
a tight fit,) grew tighter and tighter—as if his meals in the kitchen were
not sufficient for any two Christians ; the little gormandiser levied con-
tributions upon our parlour dishes. And one day my wife spied him
with his mouth smeared all over with our jam pudding; and on another
occasion he c*me in with tears in his eyes and hardly able to speak,
from the effects of a curry on which he had laid hands in the hall, and
which we make (from the Nawobb of Mulligatawney's own receipt) re-
markably fine, and as hot, as hot—as the dog-days.
As for the crockery, both the common blue and the stone china
Mamma gave us on our marriage, (and which I must confess I didn't
mind seeing an end of, because she bragged and bothered so about it,)
the smashes that boy made were incredible. The handles of all the tea-
cups went ; and the knobs off the covers of the vegelable dishes; and
the stems of the wine-glasses ; and the china punch-bowl my Anna
Maria was christened m. And the days he did not break the dishes
on the table; he spilt the gravy on the cloth. Lord ! Lord ! how I did
wish for my pretty neat little parlour-maid again. But I had best
not, for peace' sake, enlarge again upon that point.
And as for get'ing up, I suppose the suppers and dinners made him
sleepy as well as fa"; certainly the little rascal for the first week did get
up at his usual hour : then he was a little later: at the end of a month
he came yawning down stairs after the maids had long been at work:
there was no more polishing of boots and knives : barely time to get
mine clean, and knives enough ready for me and my wife's breakfast
(Mrs. Captain B. taking hers and her poached eggs and rashers of bacon
in bed), in time enough, 1 say, for my breakfast, before I went into the
City.
Many and many a scolding did I give that boy, until my temper
being easy and the lad getting no earthly good from my_ abuse of him,
I left off—from sheer weariness and a desire for a quiet life. And
Mamma, to do her justice, was never tired of giving it to him, and
rated lnm up hill and down dale. It was " Philip you are a fool."
"Philip, jou dir-y wretch." "Philip, you sloven," and so forth, all
dinner time. But still, when I talked offending him off, Mrs. Captain B.
always somehow pleaded lor him and insisted upon keeping him. Well.
My weakness is that I. can't say no to a woman, and Master Philip
* i say this, because i think so, and will not be put down. My wife says she thinks
there is nothing in Mrs. Bittles, and Mamma says she gives herself airs, and has a
cast in her eye : but a more elegant woman / have never seen, no, not at a Mansion
House ball, or the Opera L. H.