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Nloholab Narrate8 His Own Experience With Regard To Domestic Servants.


The old saying that "after a storm comes a qualm," is one the truth of which has often been experienced by Nicholas whilst sailing on the bosom of the mighty deep; for yachting, as I have frequently explained to the sportive public, through the medium of your vehicle, although a noble sport, is one that is less suited to render the Prophet supremely happy than to cause him to lie down on his back as flat as a flounder fish, and writhing with intense agony all round the pit of his stomach. It is just the same in the racing world. The excitement of tl a St. Leger, where Nicholas again showed in his best form, has been succeeded by a period of comparative qualm. It would be easy enough for your Prophet to fill a column with an analysis of the weights for tho. Caesarewitch and Cambridgeshire; and, of course, when the period for these contests draws a little nearer, the old man will be all there with a tl,-, which will astonish the sportive public, and enable those who faithfully follow my advice to land a pot of money.

Nicholas, however, has neither time nor inclination to go scribbling about a lot of minor meetings, in which only the lowest of touts can take any serious interest. It is the proud prerogative of the Prophet to reserve his energies for great occasions, and then to come down upon the correct card like a rolling avalanche. After having foretold in a single season theabsoluto winners at Epsom, Ascot, and Doncaster, I can afford to rest amongst my laurels, and even, as it were, to "nod" like "the blind old bard of Scio's rocky isle." I allude, of course, to the eminent writer Homer, one of whose pleasing little poems has been lately translated by the Eahl Of Dbhby, a true sportive nobleman, and an eloquent advocate of those Conservative principles, than which I am sure none are more in accordance with those of Nicholas himself, though a little unpopular.

But, sir. I am not merely a sportive editor; I am also A citizen and a householder. In this capacity I am naturally interested in tho great question of domestic servants, besides having once been employed that way at a epoch when your Prophet's star was rather under a pecuniary cloud than absolutely shining in the firmament with dazzling lustre.

The private opinion, then, of Nicholas, which he fearlessly makes public, is that servants aro a bad lot.

A gentleman by the name of Riiskin (whom I believe to be something in the building Why, from the manner whereby he goes talking about at ehitecturial subjects) has hnd tho cool assurance to say that we, we. the gentlemen of England, the possessors of territorial acres or of funded capital, should treat our servants as if they wero our sons. Now, sir, in the first place, this can't apply when the sex of tho menial is really effeminate: and, in tho second place, what could be more ridiculous than for the Prophet—a man of property and position, to say nothing of his time of life—to allow his groom to come up to him of a night, when, perhaps, he is sipping of his quiet gin and water, or thinking over his next contribution to the New Serious, and kiss him before going: to bed? The idea is absurd, which it may bo all very well for builders, but would never answer the genuine aristocracy of the land.

It has also been assprted that, although effeminate domestics are troublesome to manage, there is no real difhcultv in dealing with men. To that statement I am prepared to give a distinct denial, and would back my opinion, since speaking from experience, than which I am sure nothing is more elevating of- the mind, though a little expensive.

In early life—in fact, until a comparatively recent period—the position of Nicholas, despite bis industry, good conduct, and genius, was not of a character to require him to maintain an extensive establishment of menials. Well, the tide turned; industry and integrity asserted themselves by raising of the Prophet to a pecuniary pinnacle, but from that moment, Mr. Editor, T have been rather the slave of my domestics than their master. Sir, their yoke is one than which I am sure that of Dionybics or the French Revolution was nothing, though a little cruel. My valet dictates to me as to what clothes I ought to wear, and when I remonstrate ho. takes it out of mo by quoting his late master, a nobleman, who is now gono to rack and ruin, but was formerly on the turf, and used to men servants all his life. My cook sends me up a lot of foreign kickshaws, when Lord knows I would rather have plain roast and boiled; my butler almost obliges me to drink sour stuff, which makes me bad in my inside, when I really would prefer a good honest glass of sherry wine; coachmen, footmen, grooms, gamekeepers (especially Scotch ones), all lead me a life of gilded servitude. And, by Jove, sir, there are times when the old man half believes that he was really happier when engaged in the Alderman's family, and never stinted in his meat or drink!



We have no news whatever, and we have no scruple in announcing the cheering fact. If the new spapers, wo mean those newspapers that consider themselves serious, were only equally candid! What a magnificent line is that of Canning's Knife Grinder, " Story, God bless you! I have none to tell, sir." Line! It is a speech, and a great speech, honest, truthful, and sincere. But that Knife Grinder would not have succeeded in life as a literary man, quite the reverse.

Not being enabled to say what has been, let us say what is going to be. Ere these lines are stereotyped for the happiness and guidance of future ages, Drury Lane will liavo opened with ilacbetk and Ootntu. Shakespeahe and Milton on the same night. Who after this shall say that the presont is not an intellectual era? Bravi Falconkri and Chattehtoni, and please have Dante's Inferno dramatised and brought out with now diabolical erleets, as soon as possible. Ero these lines arc stereotyped for the happiness and guidance of future aires, the Prince of Wales' Theatre will have opened, and Mii-smakib Wilton (bless her !)—excuse the parenthesis—and her clever troupe, including Ma. John Nuiihlsy C'lahke, will have returned from their provincial engagements to their natural und proper postal district. And here wo would ask our readers to romirk the hardships to which authors are subjected. During their tour the Prince of Wales' company played in Devonshire, and the following notice appeared in a local piper:

"TnRATRP. Royal.—Notwithstanding the heat, Miss Marie Wiltox's company has drawn (rood houses this week, and \Y-ni*'*r Bvron having superintend'.d the production of his renowned pieces, everything has (rone off uproariously. It has been a merry week Indeed. Lord Dundreary is to appear on Monday in the person of the inimitable Ma. Sothkrn, on which subjeet a word is sufficient."

Now this is too bad. To be called a "wag" is annoyance enough, hut to be dubbed a waf/sler is a sort of superlative insult

The new burlesque for the Prince of Wales is founded on the Btory of the Bride of Lammermoor, and it is sain (on dit, you know) that a serious drama is to bo brought out at the Lyceum on the same subject, with Mn. Feohtbr as the.hero. Should not tho titlo of tho Lyceum play be Edijard el ta bonne Lucia?

But this is not all. "Theroare pippins and cheese to Come." The Strand is about to re-open, and the Haymarket, and the St. James's, and the Covent Garden English Opera, and all the pieces to bo produced are to be successful, and the authors brilliant, and the artists transcendent, and the managers spirited and enterprising, and tho box-keepers courteous and obliging, and tho supernumeraries elegant and gentlemanlike, and the stage managers intelligent, and the critics honest, fearless, and outspoken; in fact, if the above programme be adhered to, the theatrical season of 1865-6 will be the most wonderful season ever seen, or hitherto attempted in Europe, Asia, Africa, America, or Polynesia.


A Sonnet.

"Oh, rui!" (Quotation. I've no books

Of reference here- don't know who said it.) How beautiful the country looks!

The fields ono hasn't got to edit. Tho leaves (not black and white but green),

The well-red (that is scarlet) poppy, Tho pools, that mirror back the sceno

(One's ne'er kept waiting for their copy),— Tho trees that murmur (not find fault

As readers do with publications)— All these delights, combined, exalt

"Our" holidays to jubilations. And last—at night with weary eyes Wo go to sheots we have not to revise

COBE.ES Pondence.

To The Editor.

Dear Sir,—A few weeks ago you benevolently replied to a few important questions with which I ventured to trouble you. Emboldened by my success, I venture to implore you to tell me

1. Why is a tooth-pick like an engraving?

2. If a layman purchases a jewelled cottier on credit, why may it be inferred that he has not bought it for himself?

3. Why is a ferocious ape like a cook at Joe's? And

4. Why is a ferocious ape like a female cricket?

Ever yours,

A Tkemblino Widow.

*»* I. Because it's a pick-chewer.

2. Because it's for a necklaco-he-has-tick.

3. Because it's a griller.

4. Because it's a grylla. Be happy. Ed.



As the advent of the 1st of September is a terror to the partridge, so is the approach of tho 29th to the tenant. There is, however, this great distinction between thoir several cases. There is "no quarter" for the partridge. Happy would be the tenant were there none for him.

Quarter-day customs vary in different countries. In Ireland, on the approach of rent-day tenants usually shoot their landlords; in England they generally shoot the moon.

The ancient Romans were very harsh in tho exaction of their quarterly dues. Shaxebpeahe, in his play of Julius Casar, makes Mark Antony thus denounce one Casca, a terribly grasping landlord of the period:

'1 See what a ren (the envious Casca made !''

Should a landlord, unable to obtain payment from his tenant, resort to the remedy afforded him by law, the immediate result of his so doing is "a case of real distress." So distressing indeed is the mere contemplation beforehand of such an emergency, that we absolutely find inanimate objects even, such as chairs and tables, and other articles of household furniture, completely moved thereby. It is somewhat paradoxical, by the way, that though tho landlord, by his threats, is tho real instigator of the movement, it is generally the opposito party, tho tenant, who leads the van.

Any goods found upon the premises, whether the tenant's own, or those of a lodger, or othsr party, may bo seized for rent. This is by many deemed unreasonable, but the maxim of the law is that tho landlord must " take things as he finds them," in other words that the ownorship of moveable property can, in landlord's logic, only be argued from the premises.

Michaelmas (or any other of the legal quarter-days) is an admirable period for a poet, or any person unablo to pay hiB rent (our readers

will pardon the tautology), to versify his impecuniosity in an ode, commencing, let us say, "Owed to my Landlord."

In Ireland just now there is a great agitation going on for " tenant right." In England just about this time of year, landlords find on the contrary, a great many cases of "tenant left."

Tenants who arc anxious to retain their holdings, and their good name in society, will manage to make up their rent by "hook or by crook." Those who are less particular will omit tho latter part of the problem, and will simply " hook it."

On the whole, we may conclude that during the next fow days there will be a considerable number of vans, carts, and waggons employed in moving furniture. We should counsel landlords fearing surreptitious evasions to " wait for the waggon,'' to seo where it is going to; to take care that their hopes of payment do not vanish in the van, and so carefully to visit every cart that no fraudulent tenant shall get his goods away without his landlord's cart de visit.

On-dit from Brest.

We understand that it is the opinion of many who were present at the banquet on board the Ville de Lyons, during tho recent visit of our fleet to France, that the speeches delivered below did not come up to the dec-orations.

Literary Intelligence.

Mr. Kuskhj wo see has published a lecture upon "Queen's Gardens." We understand that ho will shortly follow it up by others upon Porchester Square and Westbourne Park, and so go the round of the charming neighbourhood.



Well, then, in my opinion ho don't know nothin' about it, and didn't ought to write such rubbish. However should he, as is only a stonemason, or something like that, leastways a architect, as is the same thing as a builder, as I heard Brown say when he was a-readin' to me last Sunday evenin'.

I says, "Whut rubbish," I says, "a-talkin' about slaves as did used to be all black, and I'm sure I never should fancy my meals cooked by niggers, thro seein' one of 'em once make a curry with his own hands, a-squeezing of it about, as is always unpleasant even when washed constant, as any one as is black would no doubt consider waste of time, as is the reason as I don't hold with black stockings, as never was ullowcd in service when I first went out, as my dear mother used to say, ' Dress respectable and not over your station,' words I always kep' in mind when a-layin' out my quarter wages, when things wasn't what they are now for prico, and have give tenpence and a shillin' a yard for a cotton dress, as always looked well and washed to the last, with my cap a-coverin' my hair well for to keep out the dust when sweepin', and my sleeves tucked up and a apron as tied round me ; but, law bless you, now-a-days thero they are with a bit of a fancy rag stuck at tho back of their heads, and a nice mess they gets into a-shakin' a bit of bed-side carpet even, and their crinolines, as shows disgraceful when a-clcanin' of door-stepB, and on a Sunday they're a sight."

It was only lust week as J Ant. CnALLiN como homo to see her mother, as is out in place somewhere westwards, and nevor did I sea such foolishness—u bonnet as looked that bold, with a red rose stuck in the middle, and a fancy shawl, with a dress as is made for to look like silk, bein' nothin' but cotton and worsted.

So I says, "Jane," I says, " it's all very well for to spend every farthin' on your back, a-coverin' it with rubbish, but you might buy useful things, and have a trifle to spare for your mother, as has a hard struggle with seven." She says, "My young gentleman likes me to look like a lady when we walks out on a Sunday."

"Oh," I says, "indeed! then it's a pity if he's a gentleman as he lets you keep in place. Why don't he marry you off-hand?" She says, "He will as soon as he gets a pound a week, as he only haves eighteen shillins now."

I says, "Pray, whatever is he?" She says, "Ho's in the haberdashery business."

"Well, then," I says, "whatever do you mean by ladies and gentlemen, as is your betters, as you are only a-apin'," for, bless you, that young man he comes out in his patent leather boots, as makes a ugly foot look bad in my opinion, and he's got his fine ties and light gloves, as I suppose he gets for nothin', with a flower in his coat and a beastly bad cigar a-smokin' constant. Them cheap clothes never looks well beyond a Sunday or two, and thero they are a couple of fools as will marry to misery on a pound a week, and come to pawnin' the very bed from under 'em.

I says, "Jane, if he's a shopman and you're a general servant (as is the word, for, bless you, she was up in a moment because I said maid-of-all work), why don't you save all as you can;" for she's got a good place, as I considers eight pounds a year with everything found her, and only a widder lady to wait upon; but not she, the more she gets the moro she'll spend; as certainly I do pity them poor lodgin'-house gals, as gets p'raps four pounds and a turn-up bed in the washus, thro' nil the family occupyin' the kitchens, as was nine in all, and let tho wholo house out, and what that gal had to do isn't for to he reckoned up till she was took with fits, and died in the workhouse infirmary, as was all brought on by bad livin'.

But as to Mil. Ragskin, or whatever is his name, he must be a downright idjot, not to say a brute, for wherever is the use of talking about beatin' of a servant gal, as he'll find the law don't allow, so he'd better not try it on liko the master of the workhouse, as was properly punished, tho' I must say as them creatures in the workhouse is a bad lot, and what aggravates me is to think of the downright wickedness of putting a lot of young gals in the same placo as the vilest wretches as disgraces the streets, and the langwidge that awful, as a young Irish gal I onco had told me as she'd rather lay down and die than go back, as was a good gal but simple like. No more she didn't, but went out as a emigrant in a family; and as to havin' of servants for ladies to treat 'em like sisters. Oh, indeed! I suppose drink tea and play tho piancr together. Why Mr. Ragskin must have been a-drinkin'.

I dare say, indeed, and whatever is the lady's husband to do. He couldn't set by and see Mary Ann put on couls or go to open the door. It's my opinion that there's some folks as is always a-writin' and a-talkin' about what don't concern 'em.

You can easy tell as Mr. Raoskin don't know nothin' about servants, and I'm sure he can't have talked it over with no lady as keeps a house; but law, we all know that them old bachelors don't know nothin' as lives in chambers. Mot as I'm one for keeping servants down, and well I remembers my own missus, who was a good mother

and wife, and kept house like a angel, she always spoke proper, but wouldn't have no rubbish, and. tho' when alone she'd say to me, "martha, bring your work and.set with me," I always knowed my place, and would read beautiful to me, and never would allow no followers nor Sunday evenin' church, nor none of that, hut would say, "If you Wants to go out on Sunday evenin' say so honest;" but church was never no excuse for her, as is the greatest rubbish, as I've heard lots of servant gals say as one went in for to hear the text and told the rest, as was a family where the master always asked 'em solemn of a Sunday evenin' what discourses they heard, as had better have minded his own business and set a good example. Not as I mean to say a word agin discourses, as is proper, nor goin' to a place of worship, only it's a pity for to look too close into them matters, as is people's own concerns, and only causes hypocrisy and lies, as the sayin' is.

I've lived as servant seven years in ono place and three in another, as Brown married me from, and always respected; thro' a-respectin' my butters, and as I've heard my dear missus say often and often when I'd go to see her, " Martha Buown, depend on it goad servants makes good places, for people ain t such fools as to part with what suits 'em; but now, bless you, there's such servants as you can't keop pace with, for," says she, "I went to call on my friend, Mrs. Wbnables, the other day, and aayB to the housemaid,' Is your missus at home?' 'I'll see,' says tho girl, 'if Mus. Wbnables is.' I says, 'Ain't you her servant then 'i' as made her look foolish."

But it's all the ruin of the servants that cheap rubbish of dress and too much readin", as is all very right in its way; but a parcel of idle young hussies out with children in them perambulators, a-lettm' of their heads hang over enough to bring on fits, and a-runnin' into you with that front wheel thro' them a readin' as they goes along, and of all the abuse as ever you heard that young gal gave me till the policeman come up, as pretty soon made her change her tunc, as mudded the front of my gown shameful, and it's a mercy as I didn't pitch for'ard on to them babbies, as it might have been the death on.

And I'm sure the letters as they're a-writin', with tho work neglected, would drive mo mad, as was done at Mr. Bulby'B, as lived in the Grove, and three o'clock, and not a bed made nor a dish washed of last night's supper, thro' Miis, Bulby goin' out for the day, and a-askin' mo to step round, as found the greengrocer there with my own eyes a-talkin' to that gal, and nicely put out she was thro' me a-orderin' tho tea to be ready agin Mrs. Bulby come in, as don't allow no followers, and gave her warnin' on the spot, with her boxes searched, and things took out as was the family's, a-cryin' bitter for shame, as did ought to have been persecuted only for the trouble, and the fault is as none on 'em ain't brought up tor servants, as they considers degradin', as the sayin' is, but likes slop-work, as gives 'em their Sundays free, as seems to me to be all turned upside-down in their notions, and can't boil a potato, and nice wives for a poor man, as is drove to the public-house, and that's the end of most of 'em, as is ways I don't hold with. So if Mr. Ragskin wants to know about servants I can tell him p'raps as much as any one, not as I'd say a word to them, as is a deal too saucy for me.

The Figure on the Pier.

A Trie Story.
The night was dark and dreary
And the wind made sullen moan,
And the barges that ride
On the sluggish tide
Uttered full many a groan.
The barges heavy and inky
That rise and fall with the stream,
Chained in a tier
To form a pier
For the vessels urged by steam.
And I saw on the furthest lighter
A female figure ulone,
To and fro
She was pacing slow,
While the wind mudo sullen l
And I feared at evory instant
She would spring into the wave,
For a last long sleep
In the inky deep,
With the river for her grave.
I stole beside that woman

On the farthest lighter afloat—*
"What do you hcie t"
And s"he cried, "Oh, dear!
I'm going by the Penny Boat."

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