Punch: Punch (46.1864)

June 4, 1864.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

231

MY BUTLER.

A TALE OF PBIDE AND PUNISHMENT.

taut i.—pride.

Now if there be, as I believe,

Foul spirits in the air,

Who grin to see us mortals grieve.

And dance at our despair,

They must have had a special treat,

And shrieked with prescient fun,

When, in a somewhat obscure street,

I sought for Mrs. Grun-
dy’s office, where, my Paper said,

I could not fail to find
Servants, in every virtue bred,

Both male and womankind.

And when “come in” my rat-tat-tat
Evoked at 73,

There in a pleasant parlour sat
Dame Grundy at her tea.

Ah, never, since, in days long fled,

My boyhood did perspire.

Applying surreptitious bread
To unpermitted fire,—

Never such toast my wistful eyes
Had lit with hunger’s glow,

And, in my gladness and surprise,

I told Dame Grundy so !

“ Might she presume ? ” “ Oh, surely, yes,
Nor formal words begin;

One sniff of buttered toast like this
Doth make the whole world kin.”

She pointed to a cushioned chan-,

And from her mantel-shelf
She took, and wiped with dainty care
A cup of shining delf.

There, in a cozy corner snug,

I gave myself to tea,

Till, like the cat upon her rug,

I purred with pletho-ry.

And then to business—first we had
A plaint of dole and woe.

Of servants going to the bad
As fast as they could go.

So changed, so lapsed to foul disgrace
Since that more virtuous age.

When no one ever left their place,

And rather liked low wage.

We spoke of butlers who had passed
Their lives in one pan-try.

And left their little all at last
To the Inlirma-ry.

Of cooks, high-principled, whom gay
Butchers could ne’er allure ;

Who weighed each joint, and gave away
Their dripping to the poor.

Cooks, who ne’er scowled with sullen ire,
When friends to dine dropped in,

But smiled, their “ faces all afire
With labour-,” not with gin.

Of happy housemaids, passing fair.

But as cold Dian chaste,

Who nor by lads nor laces were
Compressed about the waist.

No charm from Nature’s lovely lines
They ever sought to rob ;

Nor added to what she defines,

Save that sweet cap, called “ Mob.”

And then from those pure halcyon days
In which Dame Grundy served,

To modern servants’ wicked ways
Our conversation swerved.

I spoke of Ladies-maids I’d met
On other peoples’ stairs.

And bowed to them as of “ our set,”

They gave themselves such airs.

I quoted “Punch:”—what pencil could
On “ Flunkey ana ” preach—

Sermons in stones, or rather wood,

Like thine, delicious Leech !

But when I asked, “ Was Yirtue dead,
And whether Grundy knew
Of any honest folk F ” she said,

“ Well yes, there was a few.

“ There was a few, and though, perhaps.
She didn’t ought to say.

And meant no nasty sneers nor snaps
At Smith’s across the way—

“ But fax was fax, which scorn she should
A gentleman deceive,

And, asking parding, lioped I would
A widdy’s word believe,

“ That of all servants, most renowned
Bor conduct and good looks.

The names and ages would be found
In Martha Grundy’s books.”

What joyous news! my tongue, inspired
By trustfulness and tea,

“ Could she then find,” at once inquired,

“ A butler fit for me ? ”

“Bust, would I kindly please to state
What wages there was guv ?

Bor” (with a smile, said Grundy’s mate)

“ The best won’t sarve for luv.”

A transitory smile, for when
Of “ Borty Pounds ” I spake,

Her lineaments relapsed, and then
She gave them all a shake.

“Nothink fust-rate,” she, pitying, sighed,

“ Which well beknown it is,

Could at that figure be supplied.

So salaries was riz.”

“ She did know one, perhaps I might
At fifty pounds engage,

A tip-top man, a treasure quite.

She’d kuowed him from a page.

“ Knowed him as footman, valet, in
The best of fami-lies;

An under-butler last he’d bin,

Bight Hon. the Earl of G.’s.”

Ah, woefraught words ! for one of those
Grim spirits in the air.

Who love to gaze upon our throes,

And dance at our despair.

Heard them, and stooped with fiendish hate,
To wlffsper in mine ear;

“ You’d like to have a man to wait,

Who’d waited on a Peer.”

“ You’d like to see your table set.

And envious friends to view, •

With novel taste, reserved as yet
Bor noblemen and you.

“ You’d like your buckskins soft and white.
Instead of hard and stained;

You’d like your ‘ tops ’ to gleam as bright
As laurels when it rained.

“ You’d like all offices performed.

As for la haute noblesse,

Your champagne iced, your claret warmed,
Your ‘ things ’ put out to dress.

“ You’d like,” he paused: the Angler saw,
His float to bob and dip—

His bait was in my wretched maw.

His hook was in my lip !

EYES BIGHT, YOLUNTEEBS !

It is a mistake to suppose that the gallantry of our brave Yolunteers
does not, for the present, expose them to personal danger. A letter in
the Times \rom “ A Surgeon to a London Hospital,” pointing out
the mischief done by cheap percussion caps in putting out the eyes of
the boys, and likewise and otherwise injuring the Cockney sportsmen
and all who are accustomed to use them, has received, in the same
journal, the following corroboration from a witness who signs himself
“AY olunteer : ”—

“ The percussion caps supplied with the baU cartridges issued the last two years
to Volunteer corps on exploding, are attended with exactly similar results as the
supposed cheap caps described by your correspondent. Instead of, as formerly,
expanding only upon explosion, the caps now fly into two or three and even five
pieces. 1 was standing a few days since about three yards to the right of a friend
while firing kneeling, and was struck by a piece of an exploded cap, which cut
through my trousers and fetched blood. I found the piece adhering to the cloth.
On another occasion 1 saw a man struck twice in the course of an hour in the face
while firing, laying his cheek open.”

The caps denounced in the Surgeon’s letter to the Times, instead of
being made of good copper, are composed of a cheap alloy, which is
brittle, and, when the cap explodes, flies about. That such caps should
be supplied to the public by manufacturing scoundrels is too much of a
piece with the reckless rascality prevalent amongst the present race of
commercial men to excite any wonder. But it is astonishing that the
officials employed by Government to supply the Yolunteers with proper
ammunition are not more careful or competent than to supply them

with percussion caps by which they run an imminent risk of having
their eyes destroyed every time they use them. We should like to
know whether the issue of these cheap and bad caps is the result of
beggarly economy somewhere, or villanous fraud. If, as is likely, a
long time elapses before this evil is reformed, Yolunteers, if they value
their eyesight, will in the meanwhile buy their own caps, and save that
sight without which there is no use in sighting, their rifles.

Salmon or Whitebait ?

A Court of Aldermen will shortly be called to take into serious
consideration the question whether or no it is expedient to promote the
breeding of Salmon in the Thames. It will be recollected that some
weeks ago a Salmon taken about the mouth of that river was found to
be full of whitebait, which were supposed to have attracted him thither.
Now if, in case there are Salmon in the Thames, the Salmon will eat up
the Whitebait, the question will be between Salmon and Whitebait,
and this is the momentous one which then- Worships will have to decide.

court dress.

Gentlemen should go to Court in knee-breeches. If you have
any conscientious scruples on this matter, a compromise may be
effected by tucking up your trousers. This is not perhaps generally-
known.