The Greatest Plague of Life:: or the Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant
Augustus Mayhew, Henry Mayhew
language
(, Oct. 23, 2019)
It has been as wisely as beautifully remarked by the Rev. Robert Montgomery, in his delightfully truthful and sweet, pretty Poem, entitled “Woman an Angel!” that the lovely daughters of Eve (I quote from memory, giving rather the sentiment than the words of that talented and elegant divine,) were born to suffer; for not only have they their own severe afflictions to put up with, but they are expected also to become willing partners in those of the sons of Adam by whom they have been led to the altar, and whose hands and fortunes they have consented to accept and share. Without lovely Woman to soothe, restrain, and look after them, I should like to know what would be the fate of those impatient, obstinate, selfish, and poor helpless creatures—Men? Would they not unpick every social tie? and go about like the brutes of the fields, with scarcely a thing fit to put on, and their stockings all full of holes—a prey to their all-devouring appetites—the slaves of their ungovernable passions, and be robbed right and left by their servants? And why, I ask, would this be the case?—why, because every Woman, with her proper feelings about her, knows as well as I do that it certainly would.The immortal Swan of Avon has somewhere charmingly said—“Give me that man who is not passion’s slave,And I will wear him in my heart of hearts;”and if such a being was ever created, I certainly must say that I should not hesitate to follow so worthy an example as that of the immortal Swan,—that is, indeed, were I not a married woman.Yes, lovely daughters of Eve! ours is a horrid, bitter cup. To us the Earth is truly a Vale of Tears, without e’en one pretty flower growing up among the shoals and quicksands that beset our briery path, to gladden us on our way. Indeed, the trials of us poor, dear, confiding Women form a sad—sad history; and, Goodness knows! that the humble individual who is now addressing the courteous Reader has had her share of worldly troubles to bear up against. What I have suffered in my time few would believe, and none but myself can tell. In fact, if I had not had a very fine constitution of my own, my frame must have given way under it,—for I am sure the heart-rending ordeals that I have been condemned to go through with—in a word, the overwhelming—but more of this hereafter.