FOOTNOTES:
[C] Of the terrible forms of superstition prevalent under the names of Obi, Voodooism, Evil-eye or Tricking, in which a trick-doctor or witch-doctor works against another person's life or health or plans, or seeks to neutralize the influence of another doctor, our subject leads us to say nothing.
SELIM.
Surrender your soul to the spell of enchantment,
And wander with me
Where, river of magical fancies, Euphrates
Flows down to the sea.
What city sleeps fair and mysterious by moonlight
Upon the dark shore?
Oh, those are the minarets gleaming of Basrah
That heavenward soar.
And bright are her flower-lit gardens, whose fountains
Unceasingly rise,
Where oft, when the locust grew shrill and the summer
Shone red in the skies,
The caliph would hasten from camp and from council
To rest and to dream.
To forge, in the workshop of silence, such weapons
As deadliest gleam.
And with him came Selim, the friend of his spirit—
Friend favored and true—
Whose palace of marble Euphrates encircled
With girdle of blue.
There oft by the murmuring waters the caliph
Would calmly recline,
And mark how the stars on that earth-sullied bosom
Seemed trembling to shine,
Until, as one evening the moon rose serenely,
Fair pearl of the sky,
And filled with her presence the palace and desert,
The far and the nigh,
A trouble which hung On the aspect of Selim
Fell dark on his king,
As clouds 'twixt the sun and the sand-billowed ocean
Their dusky shapes fling.
"O friend of my heart!" quoth the caliph, "what sorrow
Lies deep in thy breast?"
And Selim, replying, the source of his anguish
Thus humbly confessed:
"Great lord of my being! life trembles and quivers
With fulness of joy:
The rays of my hopes are as gold in my pathway,
Undimmed by alloy;
"Thy banners float far on the breezes of India,
Thy counsels are wise;
The thoughts of thy valor and strength to thy people
As light to their eyes;
"Yet still, in the midst of thy glory and power,
Thou deignest to rest
Thy soul on the soul of thy servant, whom daily
Thy favors have blest,
"Till he who once couched on his sheepskin reposes
On cushions of down,
And holds a fair wife in his arms who had only
A steed for his own.
"Thus over the heaven thy grace has illumined
No shadow appears,
Save one, at whose coming thy servant unworthy
Shrinks, falters and fears—
"The shadow of Azraël, angel of terror,
Surpassingly strong,
The roar of whose onrushing wings soundeth louder
Than laughter or song;
"Till I, even I, from the conflict of battle,
The scimitar's sweep,
Turn cowering, fearful of glory's last service
And manhood's best sleep.
"Behold! now the heart of thy servant is open,
And bare to thy view."
Then slowly the caliph replied, while his gaze sought
The firmament blue:
"Dread Prophet of Allah! thou knowest my spirit,
My heart and my life;
Thou knowest the desolate years of my manhood,
Their unended strife;
"Thou knowest that never a friend have I cherished
Save only this one,
And now I have lost him; but, Allah il Allah!
Thy will still be done!"
Then, turning, the caliph departed, and Selim,
Like one drunk with wine,
Arose all unconscious and turned to his dwelling,
His heart's inmost shrine,
And followed the gleam of his lamp to the chamber
Where, sheltered and calm,
She peacefully slumbered who faithfully loved him—
That wild heart's "sweet balm."
One arm half encircled her baby, who sturdily
Clenched his round fist,
And lay with his rosy lips parted and eager,
As though lately kissed;
While over them both her soft tresses, all fragrant,
Had rolled in their play:
How fair and how childish they looked in the moonlight,
Scarce purer than they!
One moment stood Selim, while over his being
Hell's bitterness passed:
The next, and his dagger flashed forth like the lightning,
And fell like its blast.
And Selim was wifeless and childless! In silence
He stood by the bed
Where still lay the wife and the child in the moonlight—
Not sleeping, but dead.
One moment he gazed at the faces, still peaceful,
Still tender, still fair,
Then fled to the desert, whose vastness could only
Give space to despair.
But when, in the red eastern morning, the caliph
Stood sternly alone,
And watched the proud river, now mournful for ever
For all that was gone,
Lo! Selim knelt calmly before him: "Great caliph!
Behold now thy slave,
For Azraël, angel of death, have I conquered
And bound in the grave."
Annie Porter.
ENGLISH DOMESTICS AND THEIR WAYS.
An American lady, on coming to England and observing the workings of domestic life, is apt to think English servants perfection, and to listen to any complaints of them which she may hear with an ill-concealed smile. "What! complain of these excellent, admirable, respectful, hard-working servants!" she exclaims to her English friends. "If you could only see what we have to endure from these women in our American households, then indeed you would appreciate the quiet and efficient hand-maids whose services you can command here in the mother-country." And, to make good her case against the "help" which hinder our happiness so much in America, she will speak of the high wages given them, the kind treatment they receive, the ingratitude with which they take all favors, their inefficiency, and so on.
But after a short sojourn in England our American lady will see many things in respect to the duties and demands of English servants which were not quite apparent to her at first; and by dint of observation she will soon become aware that an English servant has privileges and requirements which would be thought excessive in our country. In the first place, no English servant will do any washing and ironing, not even for herself. Everything, down to the smallest towel, must be done up by the laundress. Some servants go so far as to stipulate what amount of linen, etc. they may have laundried each week; and in the case of "nice young persons," who like to keep themselves neat and fresh with light calico dresses and tiny white caps and spotless collars and large white aprons, the bill for the servants' washing is apt to swell into quite an item. Again, all English servants exact either beer or beer-money. (How surprised an American housekeeper would be if a new aspirant for the situation of cook or chambermaid should say, "Do you supply me with lager, or give me money to buy it myself?"!) After various struggles with the difficulties presented by this beer question, the generality of English housekeepers have come to the conclusion that it is better to give beer-money than to furnish beer to their servants. When money is given it is likely not to be spent for beer at all, which is quite as well; whereas if there is a servants' cask of beer on tap in the kitchen, there are constant disputes as to how much has been drunk, given away or wasted. The usual allowance for beer when money is given is a shilling a week—a sum which in theory means twenty-five cents of our money, but in actual practice, as prices now range, we may calculate as representing about fifty cents. Thus, fifty cents for beer, and certainly fifty cents more for personal laundry-work, add a dollar a week to the wages of each servant. It is impossible to calculate the cost of the family washing and ironing, but whatever it be, it must come out of the housekeeper's pocket; for, as I have said, no servant will do it. Five dollars a week is not a large calculation for the laundry-bill of a family, especially if there are children. In America this money is generally saved, but at what a price!—the house in disorder with wash-tub and ironing-board during the beginning of every week, grumbling from all servants, anxiety on the part of the members of the family about overcrowding the soiled-linen basket, and often the clean clothes sent up "not fit to be seen."
Another privilege which I find English servants possess, and which I confess surprises me, is that of inviting friends to tea at the mistress's expense. Every Sunday evening one or another servant holds a symposium of choice spirits below stairs, for whom flows the infusion of the costly leaf from far Cathay. No meat is allowed at these repasts, but tea, milk, sugar and bread and butter are permitted to be offered. There is going on now an earnest effort to put a stop to this practice. Economical housekeepers very justifiably object to paying for treats to their servants' company. But the custom has been handed down from the feudal days, when drinking and eating were the only amusements within the scope of even the very rich, and when every soul who in a friendly spirit passed the castle-walls was welcome to all he could gorge or swill, or carry away in his two arms for those he had left behind in his poor cottage. In what is known now as "noble houses" the practice is still in force to a great extent. Does master or mistress receive a call? Then wine and sweet biscuits are at once to be carried into the drawing-room to beguile the caller's tedium in waiting. Has a tradesman brought a package? Give the good man a mug of beer. Have you come in a cab, and kept it standing outside? Here, quickly take out some beer in a pewter tankard to comfort Cabby, which he tosses off as he sits perched on the high seat of his hansom. In houses as lavish as this a veritable banquet is served each day in the servants' hall, to which the upper servants have the privilege of inviting their friends. And so the custom goes on, dwindling in costliness until it reaches the homes of people in fairly comfortable circumstances, who are struggling, but almost in vain, to crush it. The trouble is, that when an English servant enters a house where giving tea to her friends is not allowed, she is apt to receive such pressure from her mother, who has been probably a servant in the "good old days," and other conservative domestics of the lavish school, that she will make the matter square by slyly appropriating that which she believes should have been legitimately given; and once in this path her peculations are apt to extend to things more valuable than bread and tea. This is a great pity, for as a rule English servants are as honest as the sun. There is not one drop of that Chinese blood which sets the almond-eyed John to pilfering everything he can lay hands on flowing in these honest Saxon veins. Of course there are always exceptions to any rule, but for these exceptions there exists in England that inflexible system of punishment by law whose motto most emphatically is, "It is a sin to steal a pin." To be a thief in England is as poor a business as one would wish to follow.
In engaging a cook in England you find that she makes many demands you never heard of in America. I have alluded to the refusal of all such servants to have any hand in the laundry-work. In rich households (especially in the country) a laundress and laundry-maid are regularly employed, who have no work of any kind to do outside the laundry: they wash and iron for the household, including the servants. In cities, however, and in small families even in the country, the washing is generally done by a laundress outside. No cook would tolerate washing and ironing anywhere about the kitchen.
The next imperative demand your cook will make will probably be to ask you if you keep a scullery-maid or an "under-servant." If your purse will not permit this luxury, what "assistance" is your cook to be furnished with? This means, is she to have a "charwoman" once a week or oftener for the day to clean pots and pans, scrub steps and passage-ways, and scour, dust and rub up generally in the kitchen and rooms adjoining? In England this cleaning business is far more formidable than with us. We lay down so much oilcloth on our stairways and passage-ways, paint or cover with carpeting, matting or oilcloth so many floors, that it is rather an infrequent experience to see our servants down on their hands and knees scrubbing away for dear life. Even in neat Philadelphia, where there is so much of brick sidewalk and of marble doorstep to be cleaned, the use of hose and broom has to a great extent superseded the scrubbing-brush oiled with elbow-grease. But in England there are so many stone floors and steps to be scrubbed, so much brass-work to be cleaned and polished, so many steel grates, with tongs, poker and shovel, to be brightened till you can see your face in them, that it is no wonder your cook would like to have assistance in these heavy manual exertions.
Ladies in England have found that when the work in their houses is such that assistance must be had, it is better to keep an "under-servant" for the cook (a position even less exalted than the "scullery-maid" in this complex system of domestic gradations) than to have a charwoman come occasionally. We have no special name for the "charwoman" in America, unless it be simply the generic term, "a woman," or, to be Victor Hugoish, the woman who cleans. Char (pronounced chair) is simply the old-fashioned word still popular in New England, chore, and the charwoman is merely the woman who does chores. English ladies say she does other and more objectionable things. She drinks, for instance, and finds it necessary to bring a basket with her, which, they think, would be found to be more weighty on leaving (if the matter were tested) than it is when she arrives. Another favorite plan for lightening labor, even with families who are in moderate circumstances, is to keep a "Buttons," a useful little urchin, who is forced to make himself respectable in appearance by wearing a livery provided for him, the distinguishing feature of which is its lavishness in the way of buttons. This boy is expected to do anything and everything—to clean boots, fetch coal, run errands, open the door, assist in waiting at table, rub up knives and silver; in short, to be at the beck and call of everybody in the house for each and any duty. He may be called a sort of light brigade or sharpshooter on the outposts between the heavy cavalry in the kitchen in the shape of cook and the solid infantry which moves with regular step through the housemaid's set round of duties. And whenever the wheels of a household in England are found to creak, additional help in the shape of under-servants is engaged, the matter of the efficiency of the upper-servants being of course first satisfactorily settled. Here is the very kernel of the nut of the question: this it is which makes "all the difference" between the management of a house say in New York and a similar one in London. A family without children, occupying a brown-stone front in New York, will consider that two servants should do all the work of the household, and do it well. I am not speaking of people who live on the "swell" avenues and keep carriages or give frequent balls and parties: I mean unpretending people who own or rent a nice three- or four-story house, and want to live with entire comfort and freedom from rows or disputes with servants, and expect to be well waited on. They engage cook and chambermaid—the chambermaid to act also as waitress, both to act as laundresses. High wages are given, and when the work is done unsatisfactorily more money is offered as a bribe, or else there are disagreeable scenes, ending with the lady saying hotly, "Well, if you can't do my work, I'll find some one else who can." But she is mistaken. She will never find two women who can cook, wash, iron, clean, dust, wait at table and do the work generally of a three- or four-story house as it should be done. In a household of that importance in England there would be hired, at the least, cook and under-servant, housemaid and Buttons, and all the laundry-work put out.
And oh how smoothly life passes in such an English home! How brightly every inch of brass shines! how well dusted is every article you touch! how clear is the crystal for table use! how spotless the napery! how noiselessly your servants move about! how respectfully each addresses the heads of the household whenever required to do so, not otherwise! It is the very perfection of service, and a luxurious satisfaction which we in America rarely get a chance to enjoy. But the times are changing now. It may be possible that in the future the demand-and-supply market for domestic service may have so settled itself that for the money we have hitherto paid as yearly wages to two only tolerable servants we shall obtain the services of as many efficient ones as are needful to make our American homes the equal of those in England for the quiet perfection of their interior management.
Olive Logan.