The Greatest Plague of Life: or, the Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant.Mayhew, Henry
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The Greatest Plague of Life: or, the Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant.
Mayhew, Henry
English wit and humor; Household employees
person in her station; and (between ourselves) when I looked at her
steadfastly in the face, I declare if the beautiful high colour she had
got on her cheeks wasn’t as artificial as a Grand Banquet on the stage.
Still, as I knew that the heads of our mother church had none of your
tight-laced, puritanical notions about dress--and if they had, why they
confined them chiefly to the lead-coloured quaker-cut liveries of their
men-servants--I didn’t see why a poor wife shouldn’t wear what she
liked. Her ladyship apologized for the absence of his lordship,
informing me that he was down in the country attending to his flock, so
that I at once saw the dreadful straits to which they were reduced, and
couldn’t help feeling how hard it must be for the poor man at his time
of life to have to begin to work for his living. And I’m sure, from her
ladyship’s charming manners, which--though, perhaps, a _leetle_ too free
for the vulgar world--still proved to me that she had been accustomed
all her days to better things. She spoke of Thompson in such
affectionate terms, that I couldn’t help thinking _she_ was the best of
mistresses, while _he_ was the best of servants; and poor _I_, the
luckiest of women, to have fallen in with such people. Just as I was
about to say “good morning” and take my leave, a dashing cabriolet drove
up, and her ladyship, on looking through the window, exclaimed, “De-har,
de-har me! if it is’nt the archbeeshop, my de-har reverend uncle! why
what evar keyan have brought ‘York’ up to town. Perhaps you will be
keyind enough to exkeyuse me.” In my politest way I answered,
“Certainly,” and sailing like a swan out of the room, I determined to
have a good stare at the archbishop as I marched down stairs. When I
peeped through the window in the passage that gave into the shop, there
he was, dressed in the first style of fashion, eating brandy cherries
with his white kid gloves on, and--what at the time I couldn’t for the
life of me understand--a pair of the most beautiful little curly
mustachios I ever recollect to have seen in all my born days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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