pose, to some experiments on their nature and properties, he appeared at dinner one Sunday with two common brass flat trouser buttons and one pin, distinctly visible, in lieu of them. Notwithstanding this, there was as much placidity and self- complaisance in his face, as though his appearance presented no grounds for cavil or complaint; and his manner altogether was that of one con- scious of being in all respects a perfectly appointed page. This was trying: but it was more so to see him, when mildly questioned as to the cause of this absence of buttons, suddenly pass from absurd equanimity to idiotic despair, giving vent to the most frightful howl imaginable, and pro- testing that he “thought they were silver,” as if that was a good and sufficient excuse. He hadn’t sense to perceive that it was an aggravation of the offence. Well, I looked over this, had him re- buttoned, and retained him in my service. What was the consequence? One morning, in accordance with a previous arrangement with my tailor, I told Edward that a person would call for some new clothes, — sent home to me in an unsatisfactory state, — which he was to deliver on such application. When I returned home, I found that the clothes were indeed gone, but whither, no one knew. It appeared that during the forenoon Edward, on opening the door, found there a man, and, idiotically jumping to a conclusion, at once said, “Oh, you’re from the tailor, I suppose, for those clothes of master’s?” To which the stranger — evidently a man capable of improving opportunity— promptly replied in the affirmative, and at once bore off the habiliments, as also an overcoat voluntarily added by our page. When the tailor’s boy — the real Simon Pure — arrived, Edward broke wildly in upon Emma Maria with a voluntary confession, the substance of which I have related. The top-coat he said he thought wanted mending, and it might as well go. This little freak cost me twelve pounds odd, and the services of Edward.
I have left myself no space to describe in detail the misdeeds of subsequent pages, and can only name three briefly:
James, who in conjunction with Emma Maria’s brother, aged fourteen, and in the course of some experimental philosophy involving the use of gunpowder, set himself on tire; and had it not been for the presence of mind and body of Mary the servant, a female of great dimensions and weight, who at once knocked him down and sat upon him, he woidd doubtless have set the kitchen on fire also. As it was, he came from beneath Mary bald and buttonleas, his clothes being utterly ruined.
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Then there was Henry. Well do I remember returning one summer evening at about half -past eight, from a friend’s house, and seeing our “pretty page looking out afar,” — that is, perhaps fifty yards from our door, — at a single combat between two of the youth of the neighbourhood.
It was Mary’s “day out,” and Henry had been left in charge of the house. The neglected door had fortunately or unfortunately slammed-to, and I thus found myself shut out from my hearth- stone and my household gods. After attracting the delinquent’s attention to this state of things, I had to beg temporary accommodation for Emma Maria at a neighbour’s, whilst I sought a glazier. I thought myself fortunate in finding one in a neighbouring street, on his way home; and amid the jeers of the multitude, I had to superintend this individual whilst he cut out a pane of glass from the parlor window. Having thus gained access to the house, he opened the front door; but I regret to say that on the way he managed to posse 88 himself of Emma Maria’s gold watch, which was always hung from a stand on the mantelpiece, and that I have not had the pleasure of seeing him since.
After this youth’s ignominious dismissal, came a string of pages, principally characterised by general incapacity; among them, however, stand prominently forward in my remembrance, John, who was subject to fits, poor fellow, — not his I fault certainly, but to some extent our misfortune.
It will be seen, when I mention our “page,” that I use the word as a noun of multitude, signifying many.
Talk of thirty-five pounds a year as the cost of a servant! I am convinced that I am within the mark, when I declare that the average annual expense of our page, or series of pages, w as not one farthing under fifty pounds, taking into consideration the almost constant renewal of clothing requisite, and the damage and loss consequent upon stupidity and evil doing.
When I at length became convinced that the saving to be effected by the employment of these boys was a myth, I registered a vow, — that is, I told Emma Maria — that I would no more of them, to her great delight.
We got another respectable female servant I — not easy to get, my friends tell me; but we were fortunate, as we were perhaps unfortunate in our selection of boys; — at all events, never have I had occasion to repent of the resolution which I formed of abolishing and doing away with the office of “our page.”
