There is the lodging-house slavey. She has a good heart and a smutty face and is always dressed according to the latest fashion in scarecrows. Her leading occupation is the cleaning of boots. She cleans boots all over the house, at all hours of the day. She comes and sits down on the hero's breakfast-table and cleans them over the poor fellow's food. She comes into the drawing-room cleaning boots.

 

She has her own method of cleaning them, too. She rubs off the mud, puts on the blacking, and polishes up all with the same brush. They take an enormous amount of polishing. She seems to do nothing else all day long but walk about shining one boot, and she breathes on it and rubs it till you wonder there is any leather left, yet it never seems to get any brighter, nor, indeed, can you expect it to, for when you look close you see it is a patent-leather boot that she has been throwing herself away upon all this time.

 

Somebody has been having a lark¹ with the poor girl.

 

The lodging-house slavey brushes her hair with the boot brush and blacks the end of her nose with it.

 

We were acquainted with a lodging-house slavey once—a real one, we mean. She was the handmaiden at a house in Bloomsbury where we once hung out. She was untidy in her dress, it is true, but she had not quite that castaway and gone-to-sleep-in-a-dust-bin appearance that we, an earnest student of the drama, felt she ought to present, and we questioned her one day on the subject.

 

"How is it, Sophronia," we said, "that you distantly resemble a human being instead of giving one the idea of an animated² rag-shop? Don't you ever polish your nose with the blacking-brush, or rub coal into your head, or wash your face in treacle³, or put skewers⁴ into your hair, or anything of that sort, like they do on the stage?"

 

She said: "Lord love you, what should I want to go and be a bally idiot like that for?"

 

And we have not liked to put the question elsewhere since then.

 

The other type of servant-girl on the stage—the

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