their housemaids. A Lord Viscount Townshend, who died in 1763 or
thereabouts, did so in the nick of time, and left her fifty thousand
pounds. Tom Coutts the banker, founder of the great house in the
Strand, married his brother's nursemaid, and loved her faithfully for
fifty years. She gave him three daughters who all married titles; but
she was their ladyships' "dear Mamma" throughout; and Coutts himself
saw to it that where he dined she dined also. There's nothing in caste
in our country, given the essential solvent.

A stranger story still is this one. Some fifteen years ago a barrister
in fair practice died, and made by will a handsome provision for his
"beloved wife." This wife, thereby first revealed to an interested
acquaintance, had acted as his parlourmaid for many years, standing
behind his chair at dinner, and bringing him his evening letters on a
tray; and she had been so engaged on the day of his death. Nobody of
his circle except, of course, her fellow-servants, knew that she stood
in any other relationship to her so-called master. I consider her
conduct admirable; nor do I think his necessarily blameworthy. Those
two, depend upon it, understood each other, and had worked out a
common line of least resistance. On the distaff side there is the
tale of the two maiden ladies so admirably served by their butler
that when, to their consternation, he gave warning, they held a
heart-to-heart talk together, as the result of which one of them
proposed in all the forms to the invaluable man, and was accepted. It
is deplorable that a pursuit which opens vistas so rose-coloured as
these should be allowed to lapse.

A lady whom I knew well, and whose recent death I deplore, was cured
of a bad attack of neuritis by being cut off all domestic assistance,
except her cook's, and set to do her own housework. Therefore it is