Do you see--I imagine I do myself--in these little instances, a tinge of humor? Ellen's heart is breaking for handsome Jeames of Buckley Square, whose great legs are kneeling, and who has given a lock of his precious powdered head, to some other than Ellen.Henry is preparing the sauce for his master's wild-ducks while the engines are squirting over his own little nest and brood.Lift these figures up but a story from the basement to the ground-floor, and the fun is gone.We may be en pleine tragedie.Ellen may breathe her last sigh in blank verse, calling down blessings upon James the profligate who deserts her.Henry is a hero, and epaulettes are on his shoulders.Atqui sciebat, &c., whatever tortures are in store for him, he will be at his post of duty.
You concede, however, that there is a touch of humor in the two tragedies here mentioned.Why? Is it that the idea of persons at service is somehow ludicrous? Perhaps it is made more so in this country by the splendid appearance of the liveried domestics of great people.When you think that we dress in black ourselves, and put our fellow-creatures in green, pink, or canary-colored breeches;that we order them to plaster their hair with flour, having brushed that nonsense out of our own heads fifty years ago; that some of the most genteel and stately among us cause the men who drive their carriages to put on little Albino wigs, and sit behind great nosegays--I say I suppose it is this heaping of gold lace, gaudy colors, blooming plushes, on honest John Trot, which makes the man absurd in our eyes, who need be nothing but a simple reputable citizen and in-door laborer.Suppose, my dear sir, that you yourself were suddenly desired to put on a full dress, or even undress, domestic uniform with our friend Jones's crest repeated in varied combinations of button on your front and back? Suppose, madam, your son were told, that he could not get out except in lower garments of carnation or amber-colored plush--would you let him?...
But as you justly say, this is not the question, and besides it is a question fraught with danger, sir; and radicalism, sir; and subversion of the very foundations of the social fabric, sir....
Well, John, we won't enter on your great domestic question.Don't let us disport with Jeames's dangerous strength, and the edge-tools about his knife-board: but with Betty and Susan who wield the playful mop, and set on the simmering kettle.Surely you have heard Mrs.Toddles talking to Mrs.Doddles about their mutual maids.Miss Susan must have a silk gown, and Miss Betty must wear flowers under her bonnet when she goes to church if you please, and did you ever hear such impudence? The servant in many small establishments is a constant and endless theme of talk.What small wage, sleep, meal, what endless scouring, scolding, tramping on messages fall to that poor Susan's lot; what indignation at the little kindly passing word with the grocer's young man, the pot-boy, the chubby butcher! Where such things will end, my dear Mrs.Toddles, I don't know.What wages they will want next, my dear Mrs.Doddles, &c.
Here, dear ladies, is an advertisement which I cut out of The Times a few days since, expressly for you:
"A lady is desirous of obtaining a SITUATION for a very respectable young woman as HEAD KITCHEN-MAID under a man-cook.She has lived four years under a very good cook and housekeeper.Can make ice, and is an excellent baker.She will only take a place in a very good family, where she can have the opportunity of improving herself, and, if possible, staying for two years.Apply by letter to," &c.&c.
There, Mrs.Toddles, what do you think of that, and did you ever?
Well, no, Mrs.Doddles.Upon my word now, Mrs.T., I don't think Iever did.A respectable young woman--as head kitchen-maid--under a man-cook, will only take a place in a very good family, where she can improve, and stay two years.Just note up the conditions, Mrs.
Toddles, mum, if you please, mum, and THEN let us see:--1.This young woman is to be HEAD kitchen-maid, that is to say there is to be a chorus of kitchen-maids, of which Y.W.is to be chief.
2.She will only be situated under a man-cook.(A) Ought he to be a French cook; and (B), if so, would the lady desire him to be a Protestant?
3.She will only take a place in a VERY GOOD FAMILY.How old ought the family to be, and what do you call good? that is the question.
How long after the Conquest will do? Would a banker's family do, or is a baronet's good enough? Best say what rank in the peerage would be sufficiently high.But the lady does not say whether she would like a High Church or a Low Church family.Ought there to be unmarried sons, and may they follow a profession? and please say how many daughters; and would the lady like them to be musical? And how many company dinners a week? Not too many, for fear of fatiguing the upper kitchen-maid; but sufficient, so as to keep the upper kitchen-maid's hand in.[N.B.--I think I can see a rather bewildered expression on the countenances of Mesdames Doddles and Toddles as I am prattling on in this easy bantering way.]
4.The head kitchen-maid wishes to stay for two years, and improve herself under the man-cook, and having of course sucked the brains (as the phrase is) from under the chefs nightcap, then the head kitchen-maid wishes to go.
And upon my word, Mrs.Toddles, mum, I will go and fetch the cab for her.The cab? Why not her ladyship's own carriage and pair, and the head coachman to drive away the head kitchen-maid? You see she stipulates for everything--the time to come; the time to stay; the family she will be with; and as soon as she has improved herself enough, of course the upper kitchen-maid will step into the carriage and drive off.
Well, upon my word and conscience, if things are coming to THISpass, Mrs.Toddles and Mrs.Doddles, mum, I think I will go up stairs and get a basin and a sponge, and then down stairs and get some hot water; and then I will go and scrub that chalk-mark off my own door with my own hands.
It is wiped off, I declare! After ever so many weeks! Who has done it? It was just a little round-about mark, you know, and it was there for days and weeks, before I ever thought it would be the text of a Roundabout Paper.
