Letters from Egypt | Page 6

Sir
Alexander and Lady Duff Gordon were at church, or even--for his
diction was equal to this--that they were "attending Divine service."
Your mother had valour enough to practise true Christian kindness
under conditions from which the bulk of "good people" might too often
shrink; when on hearing that a "Mary" once known to the household
had brought herself into trouble by omitting the precaution of marriage,
my lady determined to secure the girl a good refuge by taking her as a
servant. Before taking this step, however, she assembled the household,
declared her resolve to the servants, and ordered that, on pain of instant
dismissal, no one of them should ever dare say a single unkind word to
Mary. Poor Hassan, small, black as jet, but possessed with an idea of

the dignity of his sex, conceived it his duty to become the spokesman
of the household, and accordingly, advancing a little in front of the
neat-aproned, tall, wholesome maid-servants, he promised in his and
their name a full and careful obedience to the mistress's order, but then,
wringing his hands and raising them over his head, he added these
words: "What a lesson to us all, my lady."' On the birth of a little son
Hassan triumphantly announced to all callers: 'We have got a boy.'
Another of his delightful speeches was made one evening when Prince
Louis Napoleon (the late Emperor of the French) dropt in unexpectedly
to dinner. 'Please, my lady,' said he, on announcing that dinner was
ready, 'I ran out and bought two pen'orth of sprats for the honour of the
house.'
Though I was only six I distinctly remember the Chartist riots in 1848.
William Bridges Adams, the engineer, an old friend of my great-uncle,
Philip Taylor, had a workshop at Bow, and my mother helped to start a
library for the men, and sometimes attended meetings and discussed
politics with them. They adored her, and when people talked of
possible danger she would smile and say: 'My men will look after me.'
On the evening of April 9 a large party of stalwart men in fustian
jackets arrived at our house and had supper; Tom Taylor made
speeches and proposed toasts which were cheered to the echo, and at
last my mother made a speech too, and wound up by calling the men
her 'Gordon volunteers.' The 'Hip, hip, hurrah!' with which it was
greeted startled the neighbours, who for a moment thought the Chartists
had invaded the quiet precincts of the square.
To Mrs. Austin, who was then in Paris, her daughter wrote, on April
10:
Dearest Mutter,
'I had only time to write once yesterday, as all hands were full of bustle
in entertaining our guests. I never wish to see forty better gentlemen
than we had here last night. As all was quiet, we had supper--cold beef,
bread and beer--with songs, sentiments and toasts, such as "Success to
the roof we are under," "Liberty, brotherhood and order." Then they
bivouacked in the different houses till five this morning, when they

started home. Among the party was a stray policeman, who looked
rather wonder-struck. Tom Taylor was capital, made short speeches,
told stories, and kept all in high good-humour; and Alick came home
from patrolling as a special constable, and was received with great glee
and affection. All agreed that the fright, to us at least, was well made up
by the kindly and pleasant evening. As no one would take a penny, we
shall send books to the library, or a contribution to the school, all our
neighbours being quite anxious to pay, though not willing to fraternise.
I shall send cravats as a badge to the "Gordon volunteers."
'I enclose a letter from Eothen [Kinglake] about Paris, which will
interest you. My friends of yesterday unanimously decided that Louis
Blanc would "just suit the 'lazy set.'"
'We had one row, which, however, ceased on the appearance of our
stalwart troop; indeed, I think one Birmingham smith, a handsome
fellow six feet high, whose vehement disinterestedness would neither
allow to eat, drink, or sleep in the house, would have scattered them.'
Mr. and Mrs. Austin established themselves at Weybridge in a low,
rambling cottage, and we spent some summers with them. The house
was cold and damp, and our dear Hassan died in 1850 from congestion
of the lungs. I always attributed my mother's bad health to the incessant
colds she caught there. I can see before me now her beautiful pale face
bending over poor Hassan as she applied leeches to his chest, which a
new maid refused to do, saying, with a toss of her head, 'Lor! my lady,
I couldn't touch either of 'em!' The flash of scorn with which she
regarded the girl softened into deep affection