DOI issue:
January to June, 1850
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16605#0219
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. m
A BIT OF MY MIND.
BIT THE SIXTH.
mrs. mouses consults the " times " eos. a sesvant.
If there's anything that shows what a Paradise of a place England is
—where Liberty, as they call it, doesn't wear a red cap like a butcher,
but a beadle's cocked hat like a general—what a country it is,
swimming in milk, and oil, and honey—if anything shows it, it isn't
the riches in the Bank, but the gold upon liveries; it isn't the noble
houses of England—but her tall footmen. As I said to Mouses, the
other dav, " If you wish to know what real independence is, just take
up the Times, and drop your eye upon 'Want Places.' After running
'em through, it does seem to me that there's no such thing as a real
servant to be had; all of 'em, wanting to be hired, seem nothing less
than gentlefolks that, for a time, go out to service for penance; just as,
in Popish countries, noblemen are known to wear sackcloth under their
fine linen, and ladies, instead of pearl-powder, sprinkle themselves with
coal-ashes." " My dear," said Mouses., "all that is the growth—the
luxuriant growth, if you will—of our free institutions. Why shouldn't
Jack be as good as his master?" "Just as you please," said I,
" but I do think it a little too much that Molly should be better than
her mistress. I will say it, Mouses—when I think of the poor souls,
who stitch away their very heart-strings in shirts and shop-bindings for
little more than bread-and-water, I do want patience when I see footmen
and plain cooks in the newspapers turning up their noses at the fat of
the land; and putting themselves upon choosing their places with as
much ado as a bride chooses her wedding satin."
The fact is, we want a man and a maid. Susannah—having, in a
moment of woman's weakness, shown her Savings' Bank book to the
policeman—has given us warning. I've told her what it will come to
—I've writ to Exeter Hall, to her uncle, the Beadle—but I believe
Mouses when h^ says the girl will go headlong to the altar. When a
woman's once blinded by a church in her eye, nothing but the church
itself will make her see things as they are. So—I'm sorry for it; for
the stoves will never be what they were again—but I give up
Susannah.
Well, for the last week I've sat over the Times every morning ; and
if it doesn't put me into a fever for the rest of the day to read the
impudence of people's "Wants," I'm a marble stone, and not a flesh-
and-blood woman. Just think of this;—not that we want a Boy. I'd
as soon have a wild zebra in my house.
ABoy, age 16, under a Butler. A good character. No objection to the
country. Direct to-.
Now, I want to know, if there could be more brass in this Boy's
buttons—stick 'em on him as thick as you will—than there's brass in
these few syllables ? Here's A Boy beginning life in the pantry to end
in twenty stone, as Mouses says, as landlord of the Duck, or Filing
Elephant—here's a chap in training for a stomach and a red nose to
match—both of 'em to be manufactured out of the fattest and the best
—and he's "no objection" to begin to make 'em in the country.
He'll give up Regent Street—he'll turn his back upon Pall Mall—he
won't do more than think of Piccadilly ; and with this alarming
sacrifice of his feelings—age 16—he has " no objection" to go among the
lilacs, and lie on his back in clover-fields and hay-crcks! Talk of
Bagged Schools for wretched, houseless little boys, in dirt and tatters,
I should only like to see a Proud Flesh School for young tigers in
broadcloth and metal buttons. It would be a nice study, as I said to
Mouses, to watch this Boy through five meals a day for twenty years,
and see what a whitlow he'll be at the end. "No objection to the
country!" Well, I'm sure; and to think of the thousands of little
wretcnes who are made to have " no objection" to the gutter!
We don't want a Yalet—Mouses puts on his own boots. But the
man we want must be used to horses. Well, my eye fell upon this :—
A S Groom, or Groom and Valet, a single man, age 26, who understands the
-C*. management of hunters well. Would drive a pair occasionally.
As yet, we haven't come up to a pair—but we have a pole, and
cam do it when society calls for it. Now, what a pucker a house would
be in with such a groom ! I should like to know what he'd call—occa-
tionally? Going to the Bank on Dividend Days—or once to Epsom—
or to two Flower Shows—or three May Meetings ? To be sure, he
doesn't object—at least he doesn't say so—to go out at any time with
one horse; it's the couple he boggles at. I suppose it's the two
horses that make the wear and tear of a groom's mind, and to be paid
lor accordingly. S'lll, to have an '' Occasionally " sleeping in the attic,
and feeding in the kitchen, is, as I tell Mouses, a responsibility I can't
put up with. " Occasionally !" Well, arn't the 'bus men to be pitied,
who, let it shine or rain, must drive a pair continually ?
But here's something that's humble, and makes amends for others'
impudence:—
\ S Coachmah, a steady, sober, single man, age 30. Six years' good character.
No objection to drive a brougham.
" Poor fellow !" said Mouses ; " no doubt of if, he's never before
driven less than six-in-hand, and now, humility, or trouble, or philosophy,
or a proper view of the world's vanities has taught this coachman to
have—' no objection' to drive a brougham." " I suppose," said I, " we
shall next have chambermaids with ' no objection' to make a bed ! "
I thought we'd lighted upon the very thing below, but as I went
reading on, I was stopped dead—for we do have our share of company.
AS Coachman and Groom, a respectable, steady, sober man, age 25. No
objection to wait at table occasionally.
"Only suppose," said I to Mouses, "that the Hosnblowebs and
Macaws, and Halifaxes were with u3 three Sundays running—as it
does happen—and when we're expecting the man at the table, were to
be told he shouldn't wait, for he didn't think three Sundays 'occa-
sionally !' " "The only way, my dear," said Mouses, "to make sure
of attendance would be first to send for the man, and observe very
politely, 'My good man, will you give us your definition of occasional
company ? Does it apply to two or three days in the week, or merely
to Christmas, Easter, family birth-days, with here and there the
marriage of a son and daughter ?'" "Don't laugh, Mouses," said I,
"for I've no patience with it. No objection to wait occasionally at
table,—with the thousands and thousands of poor souls, tailors, shoe-
makers, and what not, who have no table whatever to wait upon ! "
We don't keep a cow, but if we did, she might be milked by the
young man underneath :—
AS Gardener, a young man, who understands the kitchen and flower garden.
No objection to look after a cow.
"Would he really have 'no objection' to his bread well-bu*tered ? "
said I to Mouses. " He might, my dear," said Mouses. "Perhaps
the young man would prefer orange marmalade or Highland honey."
When I came to what's below, I flung the paper down, for I
wouldn't tiust my temper any further.
AS Plain Cook, in a small family, a respectable person, age 30. No objec-
tion to a tradesman's family.
" What do you call that, Mouses?" said I. " Why, I call that the
democracy of kitchen stuff. When we consider whaf. a very dirty
thing trade is—what a dreadful degrading sight is the London Docks
—what miserable creatures are the bankers and merchants of LoLdon
—what a hovel is the Coal Exchange—and what a nasty show the
Thames Pool with its thousand masts—I do think that, the Plain
Cook preaches, from the bars, a very fine lesson of humility to the
nobility, clergy, and gentry of the land. Who, after this, should
turn up his nose at commerce—who should refuse to take pot-luck
even in a back-parlour, when a Plain Cook, aged 30, has ' no objection'
to roast a sirloin and make a dumpling for a tradesman's family ? "
"Take the paper, Mouses; I won't look at another line."
"Stop," said Mouses, "here's something that comes very beauti-
fully after Footboys, and Grooms, and Gardeners, and Plain Cooks,
with ' no objections.' Hear this." And Mouses read : —
WANTED, a Daily Teacher, thoroughly experienced in the Pestalozzimi
system, to devote three or four hours daily to a little boy, aged four years, living
near Bryanstone Square. As only English is required, and the engagement will con-
tinue for years, more than two guineas a quarter cannot be given. Address, to P. D.,
at Mr. Kennedy's, bookseller and stationer, 9, Upper Berkeley Street, Portman Squire.
" Two guineas a quarter ! " said I.
"Two guineas," said Mouses, biting his lips, and a cloud growing
about his forehead. " Two guineas for four hours a day: this makes
eight guineas a year. So, if the Daily Teacher, experienced in the
Pestalozzian system, is lucky enough to get three such little boys as the
boy of P. D.,—he, the philosopher and teacher, will, for twelve hours'
daily teaching, amass the sum of twenty-four guineas per annum/'
" Twenty-four guineas a year for twelve hours a day ! And on the
Pestalozzian system ! Why, Mouses," said I, " what system's that f "
" Why, my dear," said Mouses, " according to P. D., it must be a
system upon which the experienced teacher—just as the coachman has
'no objection' to a brougham—the butler's boy'no objec'ion' to the
country—and the gardener 'no objection' to a cow—a system upon
which the schoolmaster has 'no objection' to perish."
Who'd think that butler's boys and coachmen were so particular, and
the schoolmaster made so cheap ?
Yours, Mr. Punch, to continue,
The Honeysuckles. Amelia Mouses.
A Fearful Pass.
The bills of the Colosseum advertise the " Fearful Pass of the Tete
Noire, with its Awful Cataract," &c. &c. We wonder if this alludes to
the crossing leading from Cheapside into St. Paul's Churchyard, which
is defended by a Lascar, for that is the most " fearful pass of a Tete
Noire" that a lady can have to go through. _ He levies black mail in
the most barefaced manner, and if tribute is not instantly paid to his
impudence, then there comes down such an " awful cataract " of abuse,
that we pity the poor head it falls upon. By the bye, he would make
an invaluable doorkeeper tor St. Paul's Cathedral. He is just the bold
man to collect the twopences !
A BIT OF MY MIND.
BIT THE SIXTH.
mrs. mouses consults the " times " eos. a sesvant.
If there's anything that shows what a Paradise of a place England is
—where Liberty, as they call it, doesn't wear a red cap like a butcher,
but a beadle's cocked hat like a general—what a country it is,
swimming in milk, and oil, and honey—if anything shows it, it isn't
the riches in the Bank, but the gold upon liveries; it isn't the noble
houses of England—but her tall footmen. As I said to Mouses, the
other dav, " If you wish to know what real independence is, just take
up the Times, and drop your eye upon 'Want Places.' After running
'em through, it does seem to me that there's no such thing as a real
servant to be had; all of 'em, wanting to be hired, seem nothing less
than gentlefolks that, for a time, go out to service for penance; just as,
in Popish countries, noblemen are known to wear sackcloth under their
fine linen, and ladies, instead of pearl-powder, sprinkle themselves with
coal-ashes." " My dear," said Mouses., "all that is the growth—the
luxuriant growth, if you will—of our free institutions. Why shouldn't
Jack be as good as his master?" "Just as you please," said I,
" but I do think it a little too much that Molly should be better than
her mistress. I will say it, Mouses—when I think of the poor souls,
who stitch away their very heart-strings in shirts and shop-bindings for
little more than bread-and-water, I do want patience when I see footmen
and plain cooks in the newspapers turning up their noses at the fat of
the land; and putting themselves upon choosing their places with as
much ado as a bride chooses her wedding satin."
The fact is, we want a man and a maid. Susannah—having, in a
moment of woman's weakness, shown her Savings' Bank book to the
policeman—has given us warning. I've told her what it will come to
—I've writ to Exeter Hall, to her uncle, the Beadle—but I believe
Mouses when h^ says the girl will go headlong to the altar. When a
woman's once blinded by a church in her eye, nothing but the church
itself will make her see things as they are. So—I'm sorry for it; for
the stoves will never be what they were again—but I give up
Susannah.
Well, for the last week I've sat over the Times every morning ; and
if it doesn't put me into a fever for the rest of the day to read the
impudence of people's "Wants," I'm a marble stone, and not a flesh-
and-blood woman. Just think of this;—not that we want a Boy. I'd
as soon have a wild zebra in my house.
ABoy, age 16, under a Butler. A good character. No objection to the
country. Direct to-.
Now, I want to know, if there could be more brass in this Boy's
buttons—stick 'em on him as thick as you will—than there's brass in
these few syllables ? Here's A Boy beginning life in the pantry to end
in twenty stone, as Mouses says, as landlord of the Duck, or Filing
Elephant—here's a chap in training for a stomach and a red nose to
match—both of 'em to be manufactured out of the fattest and the best
—and he's "no objection" to begin to make 'em in the country.
He'll give up Regent Street—he'll turn his back upon Pall Mall—he
won't do more than think of Piccadilly ; and with this alarming
sacrifice of his feelings—age 16—he has " no objection" to go among the
lilacs, and lie on his back in clover-fields and hay-crcks! Talk of
Bagged Schools for wretched, houseless little boys, in dirt and tatters,
I should only like to see a Proud Flesh School for young tigers in
broadcloth and metal buttons. It would be a nice study, as I said to
Mouses, to watch this Boy through five meals a day for twenty years,
and see what a whitlow he'll be at the end. "No objection to the
country!" Well, I'm sure; and to think of the thousands of little
wretcnes who are made to have " no objection" to the gutter!
We don't want a Yalet—Mouses puts on his own boots. But the
man we want must be used to horses. Well, my eye fell upon this :—
A S Groom, or Groom and Valet, a single man, age 26, who understands the
-C*. management of hunters well. Would drive a pair occasionally.
As yet, we haven't come up to a pair—but we have a pole, and
cam do it when society calls for it. Now, what a pucker a house would
be in with such a groom ! I should like to know what he'd call—occa-
tionally? Going to the Bank on Dividend Days—or once to Epsom—
or to two Flower Shows—or three May Meetings ? To be sure, he
doesn't object—at least he doesn't say so—to go out at any time with
one horse; it's the couple he boggles at. I suppose it's the two
horses that make the wear and tear of a groom's mind, and to be paid
lor accordingly. S'lll, to have an '' Occasionally " sleeping in the attic,
and feeding in the kitchen, is, as I tell Mouses, a responsibility I can't
put up with. " Occasionally !" Well, arn't the 'bus men to be pitied,
who, let it shine or rain, must drive a pair continually ?
But here's something that's humble, and makes amends for others'
impudence:—
\ S Coachmah, a steady, sober, single man, age 30. Six years' good character.
No objection to drive a brougham.
" Poor fellow !" said Mouses ; " no doubt of if, he's never before
driven less than six-in-hand, and now, humility, or trouble, or philosophy,
or a proper view of the world's vanities has taught this coachman to
have—' no objection' to drive a brougham." " I suppose," said I, " we
shall next have chambermaids with ' no objection' to make a bed ! "
I thought we'd lighted upon the very thing below, but as I went
reading on, I was stopped dead—for we do have our share of company.
AS Coachman and Groom, a respectable, steady, sober man, age 25. No
objection to wait at table occasionally.
"Only suppose," said I to Mouses, "that the Hosnblowebs and
Macaws, and Halifaxes were with u3 three Sundays running—as it
does happen—and when we're expecting the man at the table, were to
be told he shouldn't wait, for he didn't think three Sundays 'occa-
sionally !' " "The only way, my dear," said Mouses, "to make sure
of attendance would be first to send for the man, and observe very
politely, 'My good man, will you give us your definition of occasional
company ? Does it apply to two or three days in the week, or merely
to Christmas, Easter, family birth-days, with here and there the
marriage of a son and daughter ?'" "Don't laugh, Mouses," said I,
"for I've no patience with it. No objection to wait occasionally at
table,—with the thousands and thousands of poor souls, tailors, shoe-
makers, and what not, who have no table whatever to wait upon ! "
We don't keep a cow, but if we did, she might be milked by the
young man underneath :—
AS Gardener, a young man, who understands the kitchen and flower garden.
No objection to look after a cow.
"Would he really have 'no objection' to his bread well-bu*tered ? "
said I to Mouses. " He might, my dear," said Mouses. "Perhaps
the young man would prefer orange marmalade or Highland honey."
When I came to what's below, I flung the paper down, for I
wouldn't tiust my temper any further.
AS Plain Cook, in a small family, a respectable person, age 30. No objec-
tion to a tradesman's family.
" What do you call that, Mouses?" said I. " Why, I call that the
democracy of kitchen stuff. When we consider whaf. a very dirty
thing trade is—what a dreadful degrading sight is the London Docks
—what miserable creatures are the bankers and merchants of LoLdon
—what a hovel is the Coal Exchange—and what a nasty show the
Thames Pool with its thousand masts—I do think that, the Plain
Cook preaches, from the bars, a very fine lesson of humility to the
nobility, clergy, and gentry of the land. Who, after this, should
turn up his nose at commerce—who should refuse to take pot-luck
even in a back-parlour, when a Plain Cook, aged 30, has ' no objection'
to roast a sirloin and make a dumpling for a tradesman's family ? "
"Take the paper, Mouses; I won't look at another line."
"Stop," said Mouses, "here's something that comes very beauti-
fully after Footboys, and Grooms, and Gardeners, and Plain Cooks,
with ' no objections.' Hear this." And Mouses read : —
WANTED, a Daily Teacher, thoroughly experienced in the Pestalozzimi
system, to devote three or four hours daily to a little boy, aged four years, living
near Bryanstone Square. As only English is required, and the engagement will con-
tinue for years, more than two guineas a quarter cannot be given. Address, to P. D.,
at Mr. Kennedy's, bookseller and stationer, 9, Upper Berkeley Street, Portman Squire.
" Two guineas a quarter ! " said I.
"Two guineas," said Mouses, biting his lips, and a cloud growing
about his forehead. " Two guineas for four hours a day: this makes
eight guineas a year. So, if the Daily Teacher, experienced in the
Pestalozzian system, is lucky enough to get three such little boys as the
boy of P. D.,—he, the philosopher and teacher, will, for twelve hours'
daily teaching, amass the sum of twenty-four guineas per annum/'
" Twenty-four guineas a year for twelve hours a day ! And on the
Pestalozzian system ! Why, Mouses," said I, " what system's that f "
" Why, my dear," said Mouses, " according to P. D., it must be a
system upon which the experienced teacher—just as the coachman has
'no objection' to a brougham—the butler's boy'no objec'ion' to the
country—and the gardener 'no objection' to a cow—a system upon
which the schoolmaster has 'no objection' to perish."
Who'd think that butler's boys and coachmen were so particular, and
the schoolmaster made so cheap ?
Yours, Mr. Punch, to continue,
The Honeysuckles. Amelia Mouses.
A Fearful Pass.
The bills of the Colosseum advertise the " Fearful Pass of the Tete
Noire, with its Awful Cataract," &c. &c. We wonder if this alludes to
the crossing leading from Cheapside into St. Paul's Churchyard, which
is defended by a Lascar, for that is the most " fearful pass of a Tete
Noire" that a lady can have to go through. _ He levies black mail in
the most barefaced manner, and if tribute is not instantly paid to his
impudence, then there comes down such an " awful cataract " of abuse,
that we pity the poor head it falls upon. By the bye, he would make
an invaluable doorkeeper tor St. Paul's Cathedral. He is just the bold
man to collect the twopences !