University of Virginia Library

FAMILY SERVANTS.

In my casual anecdotes of the Hall I may
often be tempted to dwell on circumstances of
a trite and trivial nature, from their appearing
to me illustrative of genuine national character.
It seems to be the study of the Squire to adhere,
as much as possible, to what he considers the old
landmarks of English manners. His servants
all understand his ways, and for the most part
have been accustomed to them from infancy;
so that, upon the whole, his household presents
one of the few tolerable specimens that can now
be met with, of the establishment of an English
country gentleman of the old school.

By the bye, the servants are not the least
characteristic part of the household. The

housekeeper, for instance, has been born and
brought up at the Hall, and has never been
twenty miles from it; yet she has a stately air,
that would not disgrace a lady that had figured
at the Court of Queen Elizabeth.

I am half inclined to think that she has caught
it from living so much among the old family
pictures. It may, however, be owing to a consciousness
of her importance in the sphere in
which she has always moved; for she is greatly
respected in the neighbouring village and among
the farmer's wives; and has high authority in
the household; ruling over the servants with
quiet, but undisputed sway.

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and
pointed nose and chin. Her dress is always
the same as to fashion. She wears a small,
well starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats,
and a gown festooned and open in
front; which on particular occasions is of ancient
silk; the legacy of some former dame of
the family, or an inheritance from her mother,
who was housekeeper before her. I have a
reverence for these old garments, as I make no

doubt they have figured about these apartments
in days long past, when they have set off the
charms of some peerless family beauty; and I
have sometimes looked from the old housekeeper
to the neighbouring portraits, to see
whether I could not recognize her antiquated
brocade in the dress of some one of those long
waisted dames that smile on me from the walls.

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out
in front, and she wears over it a small cap, nicely
plaited, and brought down under the chin. Her
manners are simple and primitive; heightened a
little by a proper dignity of station. The Hall
is her world, and the history of the family the
only history she knows; excepting that which
she has read in the bible. She can give a biography
of every portrait in the picture gallery,
and is a complete family chronicle.

She is treated with great consideration by the
Squire. Indeed, Master Simon tells me that
there is a traditional anecdote current among the
servants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing
her in the picture gallery, when they were

both young. As, however, nothing farther was
ever noticed between them, the circumstance
caused no great scandal; only she was observed
to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards,
and refused the hand of the village inn keeper,
whom she had previously smiled on.

The old butler, who was formerly footman,
and a rejected admirer of her's, used to tell the
anecdote now and then, at those little cabals
that will occasionally take place among the most
orderly servants, arising from the common propensity
of the governed to talk against administration;
but he has left it off of late years, since
he has risen into place, and shakes his head rebukingly
when it is mentioned. It is certain
that the old lady will to this day dwell on the
looks of the Squire when he was a young man
at college; and she maintains that none of his
sons can compare with their father when he was
of their age, and was dressed out in his full suit
of scarlet; with his hair craped and powdered,
and his three cornered hat.

She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft hearted

baggage, named Phoebe Wilkins, who has been
transplanted to the Hall within a year or two,
and been nearly spoiled for any condition of life.
She is a kind of attendant and companion of the
fair Julia; and from loitering about the young
lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and
inheriting second hand finery, has become something
between a waiting maid and a slipshod
fine lady.

She is considered a kind of heiress among
the servants; as she will inherit all her aunt's
property; which, if report be true, must be a
round sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated
wealth of two housekeeper's savings;
not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and
the many little valuables and knick-knacks treasured
up in the housekeeper's room. Indeed
the old housekeeper has the reputation among
the servants and the villages of being passing
rich; and there is a japanned chest of drawers
and a large iron-bound coffer in her room,
which are supposed by the housemaids to hold
treasures of wealth.

The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon's;
who indeed pays a little court to her, as
to a person high in authority; and they have
many discussions on points of family history,
in which, notwithstanding his extensive information,
and pride of knowledge, he commonly
admits her superior accuracy. He seldom returns
to the Hall after one of his visits to the
other branches of his family, without bringing
Mistress Wilkins some remembrance from the
ladies of the house where he has been staying.

Indeed, all the children of the house look up
to the old lady with habitual respect and attachment,
and she seems almost to consider
them as her own from their having grown up
under her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her
favourite, probably from being the youngest;
though he is the most mischievous, and has been
apt to play tricks upon her from boyhood.

I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony,
which I believe is peculiar to the Hall. After
the cloth is removed at dinner, the old housekeeper
sails into the room and stands behind the

Squire's chair; when he fills her a glass of wine
with his own hands, in which she drinks the
health of the company in a truly respectful yet
dignified manner, and then retires. The Squire
received the custom from his father, and has always
continued it.

There is a peculiar character about the servants
of old English families that reside principally in
the country.

They have a quiet, orderly, respectful mode
of doing their duties. They are always neat in
their persons, and appropriately, and, if I may
use the phrase, technically dressed. They move
about the house without hurry or noise; there is
nothing of the bustle of employment, or the voice
of command; nothing of that obtrusive house-wifery
that amounts to a torment. You are not
persecuted by the process of making you comfortable.
Yet every thing is done, and is done
well. The work of the house is performed as if
by magic, but it is the magic of system. Nothing
is done by fits and starts, nor at awkward
seasons; the whole goes on like well-oiled clock-work,

where there is no noise nor jarring in its
operations.

English servants, in general, are not treated
with great indulgence, nor rewarded by many
commendations; for the English are laconic and
reserved towards their domestics; but an approving
nod and a kind word from master or mistress
goes as far here, as an excess of praise or indulgence
elsewhere.

Neither do servants often exhibit any animated
marks of affection to their employers; yet though
quiet they are strong in their attachments; and the
reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though
not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in
old English families.

The title of “an old family servant” carries
with it a thousand kind associations in all parts
of the world; and there is no claim upon the
homebred charities of the heart more irresistible
than that of having been “born in the
house.” It is common to see gray-headed domestics
of this kind attached to an English
family of the “old school,” who continue in it

to the day of their death, in the enjoyment of
steady unaffected kindness, and the performance
of faithful unofficious duty. I think such instances
of attachment speak well for both master
and servant, and the frequency of them
speaks well for national character.

I have met with several instances of epitaphs
on the grave stones of such valuable domestics,
recorded with the simple truth of natural feeling.
I have two before me at this moment;
one copied from a tomb-stone of a church-yard
in Warwickshire:

“Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential
servant to George Birch, Esq. of
Hamstead Hall. His grateful friend and master
caused this inscription to be written in memory
of his discretion, fidelity, diligence, and
continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 84,
having lived 44 years in the same family.

The other was taken from a tomb-stone in
Eltham Church-yard:

“Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy,
who departed this life on the 8th of September,

1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60 years
in one family, by each individual of which he
lived respected, and died lamented by the sole
survivor.”

Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have
given me the glow about the heart that I felt
while copying this honest epitaph in the church-yard
of Eltham. I sympathised with this “sole
survivor” of a family mourning over the grave of
this faithful follower of his race, who had been,
no doubt, a living memento of times and friends
that had passed away; and in considering this
record of long and devoted service, I called to
mind the touching speech of old Adam, in “As
you like it,” when tottering after the youthful son
of his ancient master: