THE GREATEST PLAGUE OF LIFE:

OR The Adventures of a Lady IN SEARCH OF A GOOD SERVANT. BY ONE WHO HAS BEEN “ALMOST WORRIED TO DEATH.” EDITED BY THE BROTHERS MAYHEW. Illustrated by George Cruikshank. LONDON: DAVID BOGUE, 86, FLEET STREET. {1}

INTRODUCTION I. HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH THE SUBJECT OF MY LITTLE BOOK.

It has been as wisely as beautifully remarked by the Rev. Robert Montgomery, in his delightfully truthful and sweet, pretty Poem, entitled “Woman an Angel!” that the lovely daughters of Eve (I quote from memory, giving rather the sentiment than the words of that talented and elegant divine,) were born to suffer; for not only have they their own severe afflictions to put up with, but they are expected also to become willing partners in those of the sons of Adam by whom they have been led to the altar, and whose hands and fortunes they have consented to accept and share. Without lovely Woman to soothe, restrain, and look after them, I should like to know what would be the fate of those impatient, obstinate, selfish, and poor helpless creatures—Men?{2} Would they not unpick every social tie? and go about like the brutes of the fields, with scarcely a thing fit to put on, and their stockings all full of holes—a prey to their all-devouring appetites—the slaves of their ungovernable passions, and be robbed right and left by their

servants? And why, I ask, would this be the case?—why, because every Woman, with her proper feelings about her, knows as well as I do that it certainly would.

The immortal Swan of Avon has somewhere charmingly said—

and if such a being was ever created, I certainly must say that I should not hesitate to follow so worthy an example as that of the immortal Swan,—that is, indeed, were I not a married woman.

Yes, lovely daughters of Eve! ours is a horrid, bitter cup. To us the Earth is truly a Vale of Tears, without e’en one pretty flower growing up among the shoals and quicksands that beset our briery path, to gladden us on our way. Indeed, the trials of us poor, dear, confiding Women form a sad—sad history; and, Goodness knows! that the humble individual who is now addressing the courteous Reader has had her share of worldly troubles to bear up against. What I have suffered in my time few would believe, and none but myself can tell. In fact, if I had not had a very fine constitution of my own, my frame must have given way under it,—for I am sure the heart-rending ordeals that I have been condemned to go through with—in a word, the overwhelming—but more of this hereafter.

It was a cold Autumnal midnight, and the wind was blowing frightfully, and the rain was beating against the windows, and not a sound was to be heard in the streets, unless I mention the noise of some two or three cabs tearing past the house, and bearing homewards their gay and youthful votaries of fashion from some festive ball or joyous theatre. Indeed, it was just such a night as makes the sympathizing heart of Woman, when seated quietly by her{3} own comfortable fire-side, bleed with pity to think of the poor houseless wanderer, who is obliged to pace the streets without e’en so much as a shoe to his feet, or anything to live upon. I was sitting up-stairs, in my snug little bed-room, my thoughts fixed only on Edward’s (that is, my husband’s) return; for having a heavy cause which stood for trial in the Exchequer on the morrow, he was, I knew, detained at his Chambers, in L—nc—n’s I—n, on important business.

I always made it a rule, even when I had an establishment of my own, (why I have not one now, the reader shall learn by-and-by,) of sitting up for Edward myself, in preference to letting the servants do so. For, in the first place, we never dine until six o’clock, although I am naturally a small eater; and, secondly, it is unreasonable to expect that, if the servants are kept up over-night, they can be down stairs in the morning, in time to get through with their next day’s work; and, thirdly, I have always found Edward come home much earlier when he knew that I was staying up for him, instead of the maid.

I was then, as I said before, sitting up for my husband; and, to pass the time, I was unpicking my green silk pelisse, with the view of making it into a couple of best frocks for my sweet little pets, Kate and Annie (my two dear good girls); and as I had worn it, I should think, not more than one or two winters altogether, and it was getting to look quite old-fashioned, I thought it would be better to make it up for my darling girls, and try and prevail upon dear Edward to buy me a new one next time we went out for a walk together.

So, as I said before, I was sitting up for my husband, and whilst I was busy at work, I could not help contrasting my then new situation in life (I had been in the house only one day,—but more of this hereafter,) with the domestic comfort I once thought I should have enjoyed. “Here am I,” (I said to myself,) “closely connected with one of the oldest families in the kingdom,—the wife of a highly respectable professional man,—the mother of five strong and (thank Heaven!) healthy children,—and three of whom are boys, and the other two girls,—without an establishment that I can call my own,—positively driven from my home,—obliged to sell my elegant furniture at a sacrifice of five hundred and eighty pounds{4} and odd,—glad to take refuge in the venal hospitality of a Boarding House!! in G—ldf—rd St—t, R—ss—ll Sq—re, near the F—ndl—ng H—sp—t—l, and at the mercy of a set of people that one really knows little or nothing about.” And why is this?—alas! why? Why, because we were obliged to leave our own house, and all

through a pack of ungrateful, good-for-nothing things called servants, who really do not know when they are well off.

Ever since we first commenced housekeeping, I cannot say the creatures have let me know one day’s perfect peace. A more indulgent master and mistress I am sure they never could have had. For myself, if they had been my own children I could not have looked after them more than I did—continually instructing them, and even sometimes condescending to do part of their work for them myself, out of mere kindness, just to show them how; and never allowing a set of fellows from those dreadful barracks in Alb—ny Str—t to come running after them, turning the heads of the poor ignorant things, and trifling with their affections, and borrowing their wages, and living upon me. And yet the only return the minxes made me was to fly in my face directly my back was turned, and to drive me nearly mad; so that at times I have been in that state of mind that I really did not know whether I was standing on my head or my heels. For what with their breakages—and their impudence—and their quarrelling among themselves—and their followers—and their dirt and

filth—and their turning up their noses at the best of food—and their wilful waste and goings on—and their neglect and ill treatment of the dear children—and their pilferings—and their pride, their airs, and ill tempers—and those horrid soldiers—(but more of this hereafter)—I’m sure it was enough to turn the head of ten Christians. But I do verily believe that both my body and mind were giving way under it; and, indeed, our medical adviser, Mr. J——pp, (as I afterwards learnt,) told Edward as much, and that if he did not get me away, he wouldn’t answer for the consequences; adding, that it was only the very fine constitution I had of my own that had kept me alive under it all. So that when Edward communicated to me what our medical adviser had said, and proposed that we should break up our establishment, and retire to a boarding-house, where at least{5} we might enjoy peace and quiet, I told him that I had long felt (though I never liked to confess as much to him) that my domestic cares had been making inroads upon my health

and constitution that I never could restore, and that I would gladly give my consent to any course that he thought might add to his comfort; that all my anxiety had been to protect his property, and prevent his furniture from going to rack and ruin before my very eyes, but that if he wished to part with it, I would not stand in the way; for, to tell the truth, I was sick and tired of house-keeping and servants, and only too glad to wash my hands of them altogether.

And now that they have driven me and my husband to seek an asylum in a respectable boarding-house, (and where, thank goodness! I have nothing at all to do with the creatures, or the furniture—for as the things about one are not one’s own, why, of course it’s no matter to me whether they’re broken to bits or not; and it isn’t likely, indeed, that I should be quite such a stupid as to go putting myself out of the way about another person’s property,) I suppose I shall be allowed to taste a little peace, and quiet, and comfort, for the first time since my marriage. For, indeed, such has been, as I said before, my wear and tear, both of mind and body, that, though Edward and I have been married scarcely fourteen summers, I’m sure that if my courteous readers could only see me, they would take me to be at least ten years older than I really am—which I am not.

As I was saying, then, these thoughts floated through my mind the second night after we had entered our new abode, and I inwardly wished to myself that I had my time to come over again—when suddenly!—all of an instant!—a brilliant idea rushed across my brain. It was a noble idea!—one that would have done honour to any of our great philanthropists, or even Mrs. Ellis herself. And, yet, was I capable of doing justice to the idea? Alas! I feared not. Then, would it not be rashness to attempt it? Alas! I feared it would. Still, it had so benevolent an object, that I should be ten times worse than a blind heathen to shrink from it. But, even if I decided upon entertaining the idea, how was I, weak, timid, and bashful as I was, (I have always been of a retiring disposition ever since I was a child,) ever to be able to carry it out? It seemed to be madness to think any more of the idea.{6} It might all come to Edward’s ears, and he would chide his dear, foolish Caroline (that is, myself) for undertaking it. Yet I might be the proud

means of saving hundreds of my fellow-creatures, who have unfortunately got weak constitutions of their own, from suffering as I have.

And when I thought of this, I no longer hesitated, but determined to publish to the world all my long experience with servants of all kinds, and countries, and colours, so that I might, as it were, become the pilot of young wives, to steer their fragile little barks through the rocks and precipices of domestic life, and prevent their happiness being wrecked as mine has been—I may say, at my own fire-side—and their household gods turned neck and crop into the streets, to wander to and fro, without so much as a place to put their heads in.

But how was all this to be done? Who was to help me in bringing this charitable work before the world? At length I remembered having bought some books of a publisher in Fleet-street, who had been, on two or three occasions, very polite to me. To him I would go in the morning, and get him to assist me in my noble undertaking. I did so. But the courteous reader shall learn what transpired in another chapter.

INTRODUCTION II. HOW I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH THE PUBLISHER OF MY LITTLE BOOK.

The next morning, as soon as ever breakfast was over, and Edward had gone down to his office in L—nc—n’s I—n, I retired from the public sitting-room, to my private bed{7} room; and as it was a fine morning, and would be the first time that I had ever spoken to Mr. B——e on business, I thought it would be better to put on my best bonnet (a black velvet one, with a black bird of Paradise in it,) which I had worn as yet only on Sundays, at church; and having done so, I made the best of my way towards Fleet-street.

When I reached the door of the shop, I really had scarcely courage to turn the handle; I had often heard of the nervousness of Genius, but never before had experienced the feeling myself. I’m sure, I felt as if my heart were in my mouth; and anybody that had wished, might have knocked me down with a feather. So, to bring myself round, I looked at some of the sweet, pretty engravings in the front of the shop; and having just passed my handkerchief over my face, and arranged my bonnet and hair as well as I could, in the plate-glass windows, I at last summoned up strength to enter.

Standing by the fire, in the shop, was a good-looking young man, of a dark complexion, and dressed in a tail-coat, who advanced towards me as I entered. “Mr. B——e, I presume,” I said, addressing him, with an amiable smile.

“In the next room, if you please, ma’m,” he replied, in a tone of becoming diffidence.

“Thank you,” I replied, with a lady-like curtsey, and immediately stepped into the room alluded to.

He was engaged in packing some elegantly bound books, and was a tall, thin, young man, in a surtout, with not much colour in his face, which was, nevertheless, full of meaning. As soon as I had caught his eye—(which was a black one,)—I said, in a graceful manner, “I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. B——e.”

“In the next room, if you please, ma’m,” he replied, with charming respect.

“You are extremely good,” I answered, curtseying, as before; and passing on into the adjoining apartment, which was a counting-house. There I observed a young man, with a Grecian nose, and grey Irish eyes, and a buff kerseymere waistcoat, seated at a desk, very busy.

“Mr. B——e, if I’m not mistaken?” I asked, in an attractive, bland voice.

He looked up, and answered, evidently moved by my manner,{8} “That is Mr. B——e, ma’m;” and he pointed to a gentleman, of prepossessing exterior, who was seated on the opposite side of the desk, with his thoughts evidently wrapt up in a brown paper parcel (probably the manuscript of some popular author) he was undoing.

I advanced towards him, and found him to be a man, looking very young considering all he must have upon his shoulders. As he walked across the room to meet me, he appeared to run about upon five feet and three-quarters, being neither tall nor short. He has got my eldest girl’s hair, and my second boy’s eyes, (the one being gold-coloured, and the other blue). He was dressed in an invisible green surtout, with a black velvet collar, and seems to be naturally of a retiring disposition, like myself: and, as far as I can judge, from appearances, I should think he has a very fine constitution of his own. I do not know whether he is a family man, but I must say, that he certainly does appear to be a gentleman of very good breeding. And, though his diffidence makes his manner, at first, appear grave, still he seems to be naturally of a cheerful disposition; for, do what he could, it was impossible for him to prevent his inward man from peeping out of his expressive eyes.

“Mr. B——e, I presume,” I first began, in my quiet, lady-like way.

“Yes, ma’m,” he answered, with a bland smile; “will you take a chair, by the fire?”

“Thank you; you are very kind,” I answered, arranging my dress as I sat down. As he said nothing further, and evidently expected me to open the business, I at length, after a short pause, summoned courage to break the ice, and remarked—“It is a very fine day, Mr. B——e.”

Mr. B——e was of the same opinion, and replied—“It is, ma’m, very fine.”

There was another pause, which made me feel (to use an expressive figure of speech) far from at-home, and wholly drove out of my mind the charming little address that, on my road, I had arranged, as an elegant introduction to the business.

At length, however, having cleared my throat, I began.—“I have come to see you, Mr. B——e, about publishing a little book I am determined to write. The subject of it relates principally to the great plague {9}occasioned by servants. And, when we reflect, Mr. B——e,” I continued, recollecting a portion of the speech I had prepared, “how much of our happiness depends upon those persons, and that there is no work of the kind designed to pilot the tender young wife when first launched into the sea of domestic life, through the rocks and precipices that beset her briary path——”

“Perhaps,” he delicately interrupted me, “you are not acquainted, ma’m, with Dean Swift’s celebrated work on the subject.”

“No, Mr. B——e,” I answered, with a pleasing smile; “I am not acquainted with Mr. Dean Swift’s book; but, as he never could have had the experience of a wife, and a mother, of such long standing as myself, I am satisfied that it will not, in any way, clash with the one I purpose. Besides, no one, I am sure, Mr. B——e, can have suffered a millionth part of what I have, from servants; for, what with the worry, and vexation, and trouble that they have caused me, together with, I may say, the wear and tear of both mind and body, it’s really, Mr. B——e, a wonder that I’m here now. Indeed, as our medical adviser says, if I hadn’t had a very fine constitution of my own, I should never have been able to have gone through with it all. So that I think, Mr. B——e, my troubles would make a very interesting and instructive little book.”

“Yes, ma’m,” he answered, hesitatingly; “but I’m sorry to say, domestic troubles don’t go off at all in the trade; the public seem to have lost all taste for them. Now, if you could work up any horrible fact, or make a heroine out of some lady poisoner, ma’m, I think that might do. Sir Edward’s book has been quite a hit, and there is a great demand with us for lady poisoners just now.”

“Oh, indeed, Mr. B——e,” I answered; “but there will be some most dreadful facts in my little book. Now, there was our Footman, who stole the spoons; and an Irish Cook, who I really thought would have been the death of the whole family. I intend to give the disclosure of all the circumstances in my interesting little work. Do you think that would do, Mr. B——e?”

“Yes, ma’m,” he answered: “but I’m afraid the book, although I’ve no doubt (he was kind enough to add) it would be exceedingly interesting, wouldn’t exactly suit me. I really should not like to risk it.{10}”

“Oh! I perceive, now, Mr. B——e,” I returned, as, with my customary sagacity, I at once saw the reason of his refusal. “My motives for publishing my interesting little work are dictated purely by benevolence, I can assure you. I hope you do not imagine I am one of the people who write for money. No, Mr. B——e; I am happy to say, I am not yet necessitated to fly to my pen as a means of support.”

The worthy gentleman seemed pleased with the nobility of my disposition; and after a long talk I had with him, in which I explained to him all I intended to do, he was so kind as to say that he thought a good deal might be made out of the subject. So that I had the proud satisfaction of finding that I had not used my abilities in vain, for he at last, in a most gentlemanly way, not only consented to publish my interesting little work for me, but was also good enough to suggest that it should be illustrated; and actually was so polite as to give me a letter to that highly-talented artist, Mr. George Cruikshank, though I told him that I was afraid he would be too funny for a work of so serious a character. But he quelled all my doubts, by telling me that Mr. Cruikshank was a man of such versatile genius, that he was sure that the drawings from his intellectual pencil would be quite in keeping with the book; so, taking the letter of introduction, I left Mr. B——e, (my publisher,) quite charmed with the conquest I had made.