"I am sorry," said a gentleman to a porter (need we say an Irishman?) who had looked after a number of parcels, and stowed them conveniently away in the car, "that the regulations of the company do not allow me to give you a shilling." "If your honor," replied the porter, with a grin, "were to lose two, I should know where to find them."
At a dinner party, an evening company, a ball, or like occasions, it is customary, on coming away, to give a trifle, the gentleman to the waiter who hands him his hat, etc., the lady to the attendant in the dressing-room; but you are not called upon to remember every servant in attendance. There is a story told of an old English gentleman, rich enough to be above the suggestion of poverty, and notoriously liberal enough to be above the imputation of meanness, who, being at a dinner party, was presented by one servant with his hat. To this man he gave a shilling. Another advanced, and helped him into his coat, and to him the old gentleman also gave a shilling. A third gave him his cane, and received in exchange a shilling; but when a fourth approached, bearing his gloves, the old gentleman gazed upon him for a moment, and then said, quietly: "You may keep them, my good man; it'll be cheaper for me than to receive them," and then walked out. This was, however, an abuse of advantage on the part of the servants, which, if repeated, others would do well to rebuke in a similar manner.
An English writer on this subject gives some hints that would be equally conducive to regularity and comfort if adopted in this country, saying:
"There is no question but that we should seek to perform all our duties without hope of recompense; and yet, as regards our treatment of servants, we should be especially careful that, in endeavoring to make their bodily comfort and mental improvement an object of consideration, we do not allow ourselves to dwell upon the hope of gratitude or affection from them in return. Many have done so, and having, with that view, been tempted to accord unwise indulgences and to overlook serious faults, they have found that, far from gaining the love of their servants, they have incurred their contempt; and when they have perceived that their favors, unappreciated, have led but to new encroachments, they have hardened their hearts, and rushed into an opposite extreme. Then they have considered their servants as mere machines, from which labor must be extorted by all available means.
"A man-servant is rarely grateful, and seldom attached. He is generally incapable of appreciating those advantages which, with your cultivated judgment, you know to be most conducive to his welfare. Do you accord to him regular hours, and a stated allowance of work; do you refrain from sending him out because it is wet, and he is unwell; do you serve yourself rather than ring for him at dinner time, he will rarely have the grace to thank you in his heart for your constant consideration. Hear him. He will thus describe a comfortable place:' There were very few in the family; when they went out of a night, we made it up in the morning; we had nice hot suppers, and the cook made a good hash for breakfast, and we always get luncheon between that and dinner; and we were all very comfortable together, and had a friend in when we liked. Master swore at us sometimes, but often made us a present for it when he had been very violent; a good-hearted man as ever lived, and mistress was quite the lady, and never meddled with servants. It was a capital place.'
"Servants' sympathies are with their equals. They feel for a poor servant run off his legs, and moped to death; they have no feeling for a painstaking mistress, economical both from principle and scanty means; they would (most of them) see her property wasted, and her confidence abused without compunction. It is the last effort of virtue in a servant if, without any private reason, he should discharge his duty by informing you of the injury which you are enduring at the hands of his fellow-servant. It is an effort of virtue; for it will bring down many a bitter taunt and hard word upon his faithful head.
"'I never got a servant out of a place by telling tales on him,' will be said to him. Directly a servant departs, we all know, tongues tied before are loosened to gain our favor by apparent candor. When it can avail us nothing, we are told. We all know this, and have said:'Be silent now; you should have mentioned this to me at the time it occurred.'"
Supposing, then, you have the rara avis, the servant that 'speaks at the time,' be chary of him—or let me say her (the best servants are women). Oh! as you value her, let her not suppose you cannot part with her. Treat her with confidence, but with strict impartiality; reprove where necessary, mildly, but decidedly, lest she should presume (power is so tempting), and compel you, if you would retain your freedom, to let her go.
There is one thing a man-servant values beyond all that your kindness and consideration can do for him—his liberty; liberty to eat, drink, and be merry, with your things, in the company of his own friends; liberty to get the housemaid to clean his candlesticks and bring up his coals; and the housemaid wishes for liberty to lie in bed in the morning, because she was up so late talking to John in the pantry; liberty to wear flounces and flowers. The cook desires liberty too. For this liberty, if you grant it, they will despise you; if you deny it, they will respect you. Aim at their esteem; despair of their love or gratitude; make your place what the best class of servants will value, and, though in their heart they may not thank you for it, you will gain, perhaps, one servant out of twenty who will keep gross imposition and gross immorality at bay.
"These remarks can never be intended to deny the warm attachment of female servants to the children of their employers. Deep love, no doubt, is lavished by many a woman on the babe she has nursed. There is a great deal to be said on the chapter of nurses; which would require to be dealt with by itself. Much wisdom is required in the administration of a nursery, to which but few general rules would apply. Cruel is the tyranny the nurse frequently practises on the parent, who often refrains from entering her nursery, not from want of love for her children, but positive dread of the sour looks which greet her. Let her be firm; let no shrinking from grieving her darling, who would 'break his heart if his Nana went,' deter her from discharging the encroaching servant.