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diff --git a/old/scthk10.txt b/old/scthk10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9304320 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/scthk10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7163 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext The Second Thoughts of An Idle Fellow +#14 in our series by Jerome K. Jerome + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +The Second Thoughts of An Idle Fellow + +by Jerome K. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset from the +1899 Hurst and Blackett edition. + + + + + +The Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow + + + + +Contents + +On the art of making up one's mind. +On the disadvantage of not getting what one wants. +On the exceptional merit attaching to the things we meant to do. +On the preparation and employment of love philtres. +On the delights and benefits of slavery. +On the care and management of women. +On the minding of other people's business. +On the time wasted in looking before one leaps. +On the nobility of ourselves. +On the motherliness of man. +On the inadvisability of following advice. +On the playing of marches at the funerals of marionettes. + + + + +ON THE ART OF MAKING UP ONE'S MIND + +"Now, which would you advise, dear? You see, with the red I shan't +be able to wear my magenta hat." + +"Well then, why not have the grey?" + +"Yes--yes, I think the grey will be MORE useful." + +"It's a good material." + +"Yes, and it's a PRETTY grey. You know what I mean, dear; not a +COMMON grey. Of course grey is always an UNINTERESTING colour." + +"Its quiet." + +"And then again, what I feel about the red is that it is so +warm-looking. Red makes you FEEL warm even when you're NOT warm. +You know what I mean, dear!" + +"Well then, why not have the red? It suits you--red." + +"No; do you really think so?" + +"Well, when you've got a colour, I mean, of course!" + +"Yes, that is the drawback to red. No, I think, on the whole, the +grey is SAFER." + +"Then you will take the grey, madam?" + +"Yes, I think I'd better; don't you, dear?" + +"I like it myself very much." + +"And it is good wearing stuff. I shall have it trimmed with--Oh! +you haven't cut it off, have you?" + +"I was just about to, madam." + +"Well, don't for a moment. Just let me have another look at the +red. You see, dear, it has just occurred to me--that chinchilla +would look so well on the red!" + +"So it would, dear!" + +"And, you see, I've got the chinchilla." + +"Then have the red. Why not?" + +"Well, there is the hat I'm thinking of." + +"You haven't anything else you could wear with that?" + +"Nothing at all, and it would go so BEAUTIFULLY with the grey.--Yes, +I think I'll have the grey. It's always a safe colour--grey." + +"Fourteen yards I think you said, madam?" + +"Yes, fourteen yards will be enough; because I shall mix it with-- +One minute. You see, dear, if I take the grey I shall have nothing +to wear with my black jacket." + +"Won't it go with grey?" + +"Not well--not so well as with red." + +"I should have the red then. You evidently fancy it yourself." + +"No, personally I prefer the grey. But then one must think of +EVERYTHING, and--Good gracious! that's surely not the right time?" + +"No, madam, it's ten minutes slow. We always keep our clocks a +little slow!" + +"And we were too have been at Madame Jannaway's at a quarter past +twelve. How long shopping does take I--Why, whatever time did we +start?" + +"About eleven, wasn't it?" + +"Half-past ten. I remember now; because, you know, we said we'd +start at half-past nine. We've been two hours already!" + +"And we don't seem to have done much, do we?" + +"Done literally nothing, and I meant to have done so much. I must +go to Madame Jannaway's. Have you got my purse, dear? Oh, it's all +right, I've got it." + +"Well, now you haven't decided whether you're going to have the grey +or the red." + +"I'm sure I don't know what I do want now. I had made up my mind a +minute ago, and now it's all gone again--oh yes, I remember, the +red. Yes, I'll have the red. No, I don't mean the red, I mean the +grey." + +"You were talking about the red last time, if you remember, dear." + +"Oh, so I was, you're quite right. That's the worst of shopping. +Do you know I get quite +confused sometimes." + +"Then you will decide on the red, madam?" + +"Yes--yes, I shan't do any better, shall I, dear? What do you +think? You haven't got any other shades of red, have you? This is +such an ugly red." + +The shopman reminds her that she has seen all the other reds, and +that this is the particular shade she selected and admired. + +"Oh, very well," she replies, with the air of one from whom all +earthly cares are falling, "I must take that then, I suppose. I +can't be worried about it any longer. I've wasted half the morning +already." + +Outside she recollects three insuperable objections to the red, and +four unanswerable arguments why she should have selected the grey. +She wonders would they change it, if she went back and asked to see +the shopwalker? Her friend, who wants her lunch, thinks not. + +"That is what I hate about shopping," she says. "One never has time +to really THINK." + +She says she shan't go to that shop again. + +We laugh at her, but are we so very much better? Come, my superior +male friend, have you never stood, amid your wardrobe, undecided +whether, in her eyes, you would appear more imposing, clad in the +rough tweed suit that so admirably displays your broad shoulders; or +in the orthodox black frock, that, after all, is perhaps more +suitable to the figure of a man approaching--let us say, the +nine-and-twenties? Or, better still, why not riding costume? Did +we not hear her say how well Jones looked in his top-boots and +breeches, and, "hang it all," we have a better leg than Jones. What +a pity riding-breeches are made so baggy nowadays. Why is it that +male fashions tend more and more to hide the male leg? As women +have become less and less ashamed of theirs, we have become more and +more reticent of ours. Why are the silken hose, the tight-fitting +pantaloons, the neat kneebreeches of our forefathers impossible +to-day? Are we grown more modest--or has there come about a falling +off, rendering concealment advisable? + +I can never understand, myself, why women love us. It must be our +honest worth, our sterling merit, that attracts them--certainly not +our appearance, in a pair of tweed "dittos," black angora coat and +vest, stand-up collar, and chimney-pot hat! No, it must be our +sheer force of character that compels their admiration. + +What a good time our ancestors must have had was borne in upon me +when, on one occasion, I appeared in character at a fancy dress +ball. What I represented I am unable to say, and I don't +particularly care. I only know it was something military. I also +remember that the costume was two sizes too small for me in the +chest, and thereabouts; and three sizes too large for me in the hat. +I padded the hat, and dined in the middle of the day off a chop and +half a glass of soda-water. I have gained prizes as a boy for +mathematics, also for scripture history--not often, but I have done +it. A literary critic, now dead, once praised a book of mine. I +know there have been occasions when my conduct has won the +approbation of good men; but never--never in my whole life, have I +felt more proud, more satisfied with myself than on that evening +when, the last hook fastened, I gazed at my full-length Self in the +cheval glass. I was a dream. I say it who should not; but I am not +the only one who said it. I was a glittering dream. The groundwork +was red, trimmed with gold braid wherever there was room for gold +braid; and where there was no more possible room for gold braid +there hung gold cords, and tassels, and straps. Gold buttons and +buckles fastened me, gold embroidered belts and sashes caressed me, +white horse-hair plumes waved o'er me. I am not sure that +everything was in its proper place, but I managed to get everything +on somehow, and I looked well. It suited me. My success was a +revelation to me of female human nature. Girls who had hitherto +been cold and distant gathered round me, timidly solicitous of +notice. Girls on whom I smiled lost their heads and gave themselves +airs. Girls who were not introduced to me sulked and were rude to +girls that had been. For one poor child, with whom I sat out two +dances (at least she sat, while I stood gracefully beside her--I had +been advised, by the costumier, NOT to sit), I was sorry. He was a +worthy young fellow, the son of a cotton broker, and he would have +made her a good husband, I feel sure. But he was foolish to come as +a beer-bottle. + +Perhaps, after all, it is as well those old fashions have gone out. +A week in that suit might have impaired my natural modesty. + +One wonders that fancy dress balls are not more popular in this grey +age of ours. The childish instinct to "dress up," to "make +believe," is with us all. We grow so tired of being always +ourselves. A tea-table discussion, at which I once assisted, fell +into this:- Would any one of us, when it came to the point, change +with anybody else, the poor man with the millionaire, the governess +with the princess--change not only outward circumstances and +surroundings, but health and temperament, heart, brain, and soul; so +that not one mental or physical particle of one's original self one +would retain, save only memory? The general opinion was that we +would not, but one lady maintained the affirmative. + +"Oh no, you wouldn't really, dear," argued a friend; "you THINK you +would." + +"Yes, I would," persisted the first lady; "I am tired of myself. +I'd even be you, for a change." + +In my youth, the question chiefly important to me was--What sort of +man shall I decide to be? At nineteen one asks oneself this +question; at thirty-nine we say, "I wish Fate hadn't made me this +sort of man." + +In those days I was a reader of much well-meant advice to young men, +and I gathered that, whether I should become a Sir Lancelot, a Herr +Teufelsdrockh, or an Iago was a matter for my own individual choice. +Whether I should go through life gaily or gravely was a question the +pros and cons of which I carefully considered. For patterns I +turned to books. Byron was then still popular, and many of us made +up our minds to be gloomy, saturnine young men, weary with the +world, and prone to soliloquy. I determined to join them. + +For a month I rarely smiled, or, when I did, it was with a weary, +bitter smile, concealing a broken heart--at least that was the +intention. Shallow-minded observers misunderstood. + +"I know exactly how it feels," they would say, looking at me +sympathetically, "I often have it myself. It's the sudden change in +the weather, I think;" and they would press neat brandy upon me, and +suggest ginger. + +Again, it is distressing to the young man, busy burying his secret +sorrow under a mound of silence, to be slapped on the back by +commonplace people and asked--"Well, how's 'the hump' this morning?" +and to hear his mood of dignified melancholy referred to, by those +who should know better, as "the sulks." + +There are practical difficulties also in the way of him who would +play the Byronic young gentleman. He must be supernaturally +wicked--or rather must have been; only, alas! in the unliterary +grammar of life, where the future tense stands first, and the past +is formed, not from the indefinite, but from the present indicative, +"to have been" is "to be"; and to be wicked on a small income is +impossible. The ruin of even the simplest of maidens costs money. +In the Courts of Love one cannot sue in forma pauperis; nor would it +be the Byronic method. + +"To drown remembrance in the cup" sounds well, but then the "cup," +to be fitting, should be of some expensive brand. To drink deep of +old Tokay or Asti is poetical; but when one's purse necessitates +that the draught, if it is to be deep enough to drown anything, +should be of thin beer at five-and-nine the four and a half gallon +cask, or something similar in price, sin is robbed of its flavour. + +Possibly also--let me think it--the conviction may have been within +me that Vice, even at its daintiest, is but an ugly, sordid thing, +repulsive in the sunlight; that though--as rags and dirt to art--it +may afford picturesque material to Literature, it is an +evil-smelling garment to the wearer; one that a good man, by reason +of poverty of will, may come down to, but one to be avoided with all +one's effort, discarded with returning mental prosperity. + +Be this as it may, I grew weary of training for a saturnine young +man; and, in the midst of my doubt, I chanced upon a book the hero +of which was a debonnaire young buck, own cousin to Tom and Jerry. +He attended fights, both of cocks and men, flirted with actresses, +wrenched off door-knockers, extinguished street lamps, played many a +merry jest upon many an unappreciative night watch-man. For all the +which he was much beloved by the women of the book. Why should not +I flirt with actresses, put out street lamps, play pranks on +policemen, and be beloved? London life was changed since the days +of my hero, but much remained, and the heart of woman is eternal. +If no longer prizefighting was to be had, at least there were boxing +competitions, so called, in dingy back parlours out Whitechapel way. +Though cockfighting was a lost sport, were there not damp cellars +near the river where for twopence a gentleman might back mongrel +terriers to kill rats against time, and feel himself indeed a +sportsman? True, the atmosphere of reckless gaiety, always +surrounding my hero, I missed myself from these scenes, finding in +its place an atmosphere more suggestive of gin, stale tobacco, and +nervous apprehension of the police; but the essentials must have +been the same, and the next morning I could exclaim in the very +words of my prototype--"Odds crickets, but I feel as though the +devil himself were in my head. Peste take me for a fool." + +But in this direction likewise my fatal lack of means opposed me. +(It affords much food to the philosophic mind, this influence of +income upon character.) Even fifth-rate "boxing competitions," +organized by "friendly leads," and ratting contests in Rotherhithe +slums, become expensive, when you happen to be the only gentleman +present possessed of a collar, and are expected to do the honours of +your class in dog's-nose. True, climbing lamp-posts and putting out +the gas is fairly cheap, providing always you are not caught in the +act, but as a recreation it lacks variety. Nor is the modern London +lamp-post adapted to sport. Anything more difficult to +grip--anything with less "give" in it--I have rarely clasped. The +disgraceful amount of dirt allowed to accumulate upon it is another +drawback from the climber's point of view. By the time you have +swarmed up your third post a positive distaste for "gaiety" steals +over you. Your desire is towards arnica and a bath. + +Nor in jokes at the expense of policemen is the fun entirely on your +side. Maybe I did not proceed with judgment. It occurs to me now, +looking back, that the neighbourhoods of Covent Garden and Great +Marlborough Street were ill-chosen for sport of this nature. To +bonnet a fat policeman is excellent fooling. While he is struggling +with his helmet you can ask him comic questions, and by the time he +has got his head free you are out of sight. But the game should be +played in a district where there is not an average of three +constables to every dozen square yards. When two other policemen, +who have had their eye on you for the past ten minutes, are watching +the proceedings from just round the next corner, you have little or +no leisure for due enjoyment of the situation. By the time you have +run the whole length of Great Titchfield Street and twice round +Oxford Market, you are of opinion that a joke should never be +prolonged beyond the point at which there is danger of its becoming +wearisome; and that the time has now arrived for home and friends. +The "Law," on the other hand, now raised by reinforcements to a +strength of six or seven men, is just beginning to enjoy the chase. +You picture to yourself, while doing Hanover Square, the scene in +Court the next morning. You will be accused of being drunk and +disorderly. It will be idle for you to explain to the magistrate +(or to your relations afterwards) that you were only trying to live +up to a man who did this sort of thing in a book and was admired for +it. You will be fined the usual forty shillings; and on the next +occasion of your calling at the Mayfields' the girls will be out, +and Mrs. Mayfield, an excellent lady, who has always taken a +motherly interest in you, will talk seriously to you and urge you to +sign the pledge. + +Thanks to your youth and constitution you shake off the pursuit at +Notting Hill; and, to avoid any chance of unpleasant contretemps on +the return journey, walk home to Bloomsbury by way of Camden Town +and Islington. + +I abandoned sportive tendencies as the result of a vow made by +myself to Providence, during the early hours of a certain Sunday +morning, while clinging to the waterspout of an unpretentious house +situate in a side street off Soho. I put it to Providence as man to +man. "Let me only get out of this," I think were the muttered words +I used, "and no more 'sport' for me." Providence closed on the +offer, and did let me get out of it. True, it was a complicated +"get out," involving a broken skylight and three gas globes, two +hours in a coal cellar, and a sovereign to a potman for the loan of +an ulster; and when at last, secure in my chamber, I took stock of +myself--what was left of me,--I could not but reflect that +Providence might have done the job neater. Yet I experienced no +desire to escape the terms of the covenant; my inclining for the +future was towards a life of simplicity. + +Accordingly, I cast about for a new character, and found one to suit +me. The German professor was becoming popular as a hero about this +period. He wore his hair long and was otherwise untidy, but he had +"a heart of steel," occasionally of gold. The majority of folks in +the book, judging him from his exterior together with his +conversation--in broken English, dealing chiefly with his dead +mother and his little sister Lisa,--dubbed him uninteresting, but +then they did not know about the heart. His chief possession was a +lame dog which he had rescued from a brutal mob; and when he was not +talking broken English he was nursing this dog. + +But his speciality was stopping runaway horses, thereby saving the +heroine's life. This, combined with the broken English and the dog, +rendered him irresistible. + +He seemed a peaceful, amiable sort of creature, and I decided to try +him. I could not of course be a German professor, but I could, and +did, wear my hair long in spite of much public advice to the +contrary, voiced chiefly by small boys. I endeavoured to obtain +possession of a lame dog, but failed. A one-eyed dealer in Seven +Dials, to whom, as a last resource, I applied, offered to lame one +for me for an extra five shillings, but this suggestion I declined. +I came across an uncanny-looking mongrel late one night. He was not +lame, but he seemed pretty sick; and, feeling I was not robbing +anybody of anything very valuable, I lured him home and nursed him. +I fancy I must have over-nursed him. He got so healthy in the end, +there was no doing anything with him. He was an ill-conditioned +cur, and he was too old to be taught. He became the curse of the +neighbourhood. His idea of sport was killing chickens and sneaking +rabbits from outside poulterers' shops. For recreation he killed +cats and frightened small children by yelping round their legs. +There were times when I could have lamed him myself, if only I could +have got hold of him. I made nothing by running that dog--nothing +whatever. People, instead of admiring me for nursing him back to +life, called me a fool, and said that if I didn't drown the brute +they would. He spoilt my character utterly--I mean my character at +this period. It is difficult to pose as a young man with a heart of +gold, when discovered in the middle of the road throwing stones at +your own dog. And stones were the only things that would reach and +influence him. + +I was also hampered by a scarcity in runaway horses. The horse of +our suburb was not that type of horse. Once and only once did an +opportunity offer itself for practice. It was a good opportunity, +inasmuch as he was not running away very greatly. Indeed, I doubt +if he knew himself that he was running away. It transpired +afterwards that it was a habit of his, after waiting for his driver +outside the Rose and Crown for what he considered to be a reasonable +period, to trot home on his own account. He passed me going about +seven miles an hour, with the reins dragging conveniently beside +him. He was the very thing for a beginner, and I prepared myself. +At the critical moment, however, a couple of officious policemen +pushed me aside and did it themselves. + +There was nothing for me to regret, as the matter turned out. I +should only have rescued a bald-headed commercial traveller, very +drunk, who swore horribly, and pelted the crowd with empty +collar-boxes. + +From the window of a very high flat I once watched three men, +resolved to stop a runaway horse. Each man marched deliberately +into the middle of the road and took up his stand. My window was +too far away for me to see their faces, but their attitude suggested +heroism unto death. The first man, as the horse came charging +towards him, faced it with his arms spread out. He never flinched +until the horse was within about twenty yards of him. Then, as the +animal was evidently determined to continue its wild career, there +was nothing left for him to do but to retire again to the kerb, +where he stood looking after it with evident sorrow, as though +saying to himself--"Oh, well, if you are going to be headstrong I +have done with you." + +The second man, on the catastrophe being thus left clear for him, +without a moment's hesitation, walked up a bye street and +disappeared. The third man stood his ground, and, as the horse +passed him, yelled at it. I could not hear what he said. I have +not the slightest doubt it was excellent advice, but the animal was +apparently too excited even to listen. The first and the third man +met afterwards, and discussed the matter sympathetically. I judged +they were regretting the pig-headedness of runaway horses in +general, and hoping that nobody had been hurt. + +I forget the other characters I assumed about this period. One, I +know, that got me into a good deal of trouble was that of a +downright, honest, hearty, outspoken young man who always said what +he meant. + +I never knew but one man who made a real success of speaking his +mind. I have heard him slap the table with his open hand and +exclaim-- + +"You want me to flatter you--to stuff you up with a pack of lies. +That's not me, that's not Jim Compton. But if you care for my +honest opinion, all I can say is, that child is the most marvellous +performer on the piano I've ever heard. I don't say she is a +genius, but I have heard Liszt and Metzler and all the crack +players, and I prefer HER. That's my opinion. I speak my mind, and +I can't help it if you're offended." + +"How refreshing," the parents would say, "to come across a man who +is not afraid to say what he really thinks. Why are we not all +outspoken?" + +The last character I attempted I thought would be easy to assume. +It was that of a much admired and beloved young man, whose great +charm lay in the fact that he was always just--himself. Other +people posed and acted. He never made any effort to be anything but +his own natural, simple self. + +I thought I also would be my own natural, simple self. But then the +question arose--What was my own natural, simple self? + +That was the preliminary problem I had to solve; I have not solved +it to this day. What am I? I am a great gentleman, walking through +the world with dauntless heart and head erect, scornful of all +meanness, impatient of all littleness. I am a mean-thinking, +little-daring man--the type of man that I of the dauntless heart and +the erect head despise greatly--crawling to a poor end by devious +ways, cringing to the strong, timid of all pain. I--but, dear +reader, I will not sadden your sensitive ears with details I could +give you, showing how contemptible a creature this wretched I +happens to be. Nor would you understand me. You would only be +astonished, discovering that such disreputable specimens of humanity +contrive to exist in this age. It is best, my dear sir, or madam, +you should remain ignorant of these evil persons. Let me not +trouble you with knowledge. + +I am a philosopher, greeting alike the thunder and the sunshine with +frolic welcome. Only now and then, when all things do not fall +exactly as I wish them, when foolish, wicked people will persist in +doing foolish, wicked acts, affecting my comfort and happiness, I +rage and fret a goodish deal. + +As Heine said of himself, I am knight, too, of the Holy Grail, +valiant for the Truth, reverent of all women, honouring all men, +eager to yield life to the service of my great Captain. + +And next moment, I find myself in the enemy's lines, fighting under +the black banner. (It must be confusing to these opposing Generals, +all their soldiers being deserters from both armies.) What are +women but men's playthings! Shall there be no more cakes and ale +for me because thou art virtuous! What are men but hungry dogs, +contending each against each for a limited supply of bones! Do +others lest thou be done. What is the Truth but an unexploded lie! + +I am a lover of all living things. You, my poor sister, struggling +with your heavy burden on your lonely way, I would kiss the tears +from your worn cheeks, lighten with my love the darkness around your +feet. You, my patient brother, breathing hard as round and round +you tramp the trodden path, like some poor half-blind gin-horse, +stripes your only encouragement, scanty store of dry chaff in your +manger! I would jog beside you, taking the strain a little from +your aching shoulders; and we would walk nodding, our heads side by +side, and you, remembering, should tell me of the fields where long +ago you played, of the gallant races that you ran and won. And you, +little pinched brats, with wondering eyes, looking from +dirt-encrusted faces, I would take you in my arms and tell you fairy +stories. Into the sweet land of make-believe we would wander, +leaving the sad old world behind us for a time, and you should be +Princes and Princesses, and know Love. + +But again, a selfish, greedy man comes often, and sits in my +clothes. A man who frets away his life, planning how to get more +money--more food, more clothes, more pleasures for himself; a man so +busy thinking of the many things he needs he has no time to dwell +upon the needs of others. He deems himself the centre of the +universe. You would imagine, hearing him grumbling, that the world +had been created and got ready against the time when he should come +to take his pleasure in it. He would push and trample, heedless, +reaching towards these many desires of his; and when, grabbing, he +misses, he curses Heaven for its injustice, and men and women for +getting in his path. He is not a nice man, in any way. I wish, as +I say, he would not come so often and sit in my clothes. He +persists that he is I, and that I am only a sentimental fool, +spoiling his chances. Sometimes, for a while, I get rid of him, but +he always comes back; and then he gets rid of me and I become him. +It is very confusing. Sometimes I wonder if I really am myself. + + + +ON THE DISADVANTAGE OF NOT GETTING WHAT ONE WANTS + +Long, long ago, when you and I, dear Reader, were young, when the +fairies dwelt in the hearts of the roses, when the moonbeams bent +each night beneath the weight of angels' feet, there lived a good, +wise man. Or rather, I should say, there had lived, for at the time +of which I speak the poor old gentleman lay dying. Waiting each +moment the dread summons, he fell a-musing on the life that +stretched far back behind him. How full it seemed to him at that +moment of follies and mistakes, bringing bitter tears not to himself +alone but to others also. How much brighter a road might it have +been, had he been wiser, had he known! + +"Ah, me!" said the good old gentleman, "if only I could live my life +again in the light of experience." + +Now as he spoke these words he felt the drawing near to him of a +Presence, and thinking it was the One whom he expected, raising +himself a little from his bed, he feebly cried, + +"I am ready." + +But a hand forced him gently back, a voice saying, "Not yet; I bring +life, not death. Your wish shall be granted. You shall live your +life again, and the knowledge of the past shall be with you to guide +you. See you use it. I will come again." + +Then a sleep fell upon the good man, and when he awoke, he was again +a little child, lying in his mother's arms; but, locked within his +brain was the knowledge of the life that he had lived already. + +So once more he lived and loved and laboured. So a second time he +lay an old, worn man with life behind him. And the angel stood +again beside his bed; and the voice said, + +"Well, are you content now?" + +"I am well content," said the old gentleman. "Let Death come." + +"And have you understood?" asked the angel. + +"I think so," was the answer; "that experience is but as of the +memory of the pathways he has trod to a traveller journeying ever +onward into an unknown land. I have been wise only to reap the +reward of folly. Knowledge has ofttimes kept me from my good. I +have avoided my old mistakes only to fall into others that I knew +not of. I have reached the old errors by new roads. Where I have +escaped sorrow I have lost joy. Where I have grasped happiness I +have plucked pain also. Now let me go with Death that I may +learn.." + +Which was so like the angel of that period, the giving of a gift, +bringing to a man only more trouble. Maybe I am overrating my +coolness of judgment under somewhat startling circumstances, but I +am inclined to think that, had I lived in those days, and had a +fairy or an angel come to me, wanting to give me something--my +soul's desire, or the sum of my ambition, or any trifle of that kind +I should have been short with him. + +"You pack up that precious bag of tricks of yours," I should have +said to him (it would have been rude, but that is how I should have +felt), "and get outside with it. I'm not taking anything in your +line to-day. I don't require any supernatural aid to get me into +trouble. All the worry I want I can get down here, so it's no good +your calling. You take that little joke of yours,--I don't know +what it is, but I know enough not to want to know,--and run it off +on some other idiot. I'm not priggish. I have no objection to an +innocent game of 'catch-questions' in the ordinary way, and when I +get a turn myself. But if I've got to pay every time, and the +stakes are to be my earthly happiness plus my future existence--why, +I don't play. There was the case of Midas; a nice, shabby trick you +fellows played off upon him! making pretence you did not understand +him, twisting round the poor old fellow's words, just for all the +world as though you were a pack of Old Bailey lawyers, trying to +trip up a witness; I'm ashamed of the lot of you, and I tell you so- +-coming down here, fooling poor unsuspecting mortals with your +nonsense, as though we had not enough to harry us as it was. Then +there was that other case of the poor old peasant couple to whom you +promised three wishes, the whole thing ending in a black pudding. +And they never got even that. You thought that funny, I suppose. +That was your fairy humour! A pity, I say, you have not, all of +you, something better to do with your time. As I said before, you +take that celestial 'Joe Miller' of yours and work it off on +somebody else. I have read my fairy lore, and I have read my +mythology, and I don't want any of your blessings. And what's more, +I'm not going to have them. When I want blessings I will put up +with the usual sort we are accustomed to down here. You know the +ones I mean, the disguised brand--the blessings that no human being +would think were blessings, if he were not told; the blessings that +don't look like blessings, that don't feel like blessings; that, as +a matter of fact, are not blessings, practically speaking; the +blessings that other people think are blessings for us and that we +don't. They've got their drawbacks, but they are better than yours, +at any rate, and they are sooner over. I don't want your blessings +at any price. If you leave one here I shall simply throw it out +after you." + +I feel confident I should have answered in that strain, and I feel +it would have done good. Somebody ought to have spoken plainly, +because with fairies and angels of that sort fooling about, no one +was ever safe for a moment. Children could hardly have been allowed +outside the door. One never could have told what silly trick some +would-be funny fairy might be waiting to play off on them. The poor +child would not know, and would think it was getting something worth +having. The wonder to me is that some of those angels didn't get +tarred and feathered. + +I am doubtful whether even Cinderella's luck was quite as satisfying +as we are led to believe. After the carpetless kitchen and the +black beetles, how beautiful the palace must have seemed--for the +first year, perhaps for the first two. And the Prince! how loving, +how gallant, how tender--for the first year, perhaps for the first +two. And after? You see he was a Prince, brought up in a Court, +the atmosphere of which is not conducive to the development of the +domestic virtues; and she--was Cinderella. And then the marriage +altogether was rather a hurried affair. Oh yes, she is a good, +loving little woman; but perhaps our Royal Highness-ship did act too +much on the impulse of the moment. It was her dear, dainty feet +that danced their way into our heart. How they flashed and +twinkled, eased in those fairy slippers. How like a lily among +tulips she moved that night amid the over-gorgeous Court dames. She +was so sweet, so fresh, so different to all the others whom we knew +so well. How happy she looked as she put her trembling little hand +in ours. What possibilities might lie behind those drooping lashes. +And we were in amorous mood that night, the music in our feet, the +flash and glitter in our eyes. And then, to pique us further, she +disappeared as suddenly and strangely as she had come. Who was she? +Whence came she? What was the mystery surrounding her? Was she +only a delicious dream, a haunting phantasy that we should never +look upon again, never clasp again within our longing arms? Was our +heart to be for ever hungry, haunted by the memory of--No, by +heavens, she is real, and a woman. Here is her dear slipper, made +surely to be kissed. Of a size too that a man may well wear within +the breast of his doublet. Had any woman--nay, fairy, angel, such +dear feet! Search the whole kingdom through, but find her, find +her. The gods have heard our prayers, and given us this clue. +"Suppose she be not all she seemed. Suppose she be not of birth fit +to mate with our noble house!" Out upon thee, for an earth-bound, +blind curmudgeon of a Lord High Chancellor. How could a woman, whom +such slipper fitted, be but of the noblest and the best, as far +above us, mere Princelet that we are, as the stars in heaven are +brighter than thy dull old eyes! Go, search the kingdom, we tell +thee, from east to west, from north to south, and see to it that +thou findest her, or it shall go hard with thee. By Venus, be she a +swineherd's daughter, she shall be our Queen--an she deign to accept +of us, and of our kingdom. + +Ah well, of course, it was not a wise piece of business, that goes +without saying; but we were young, and Princes are only human. Poor +child, she could not help her education, or rather her lack of it. +Dear little thing, the wonder is that she has contrived to be no +more ignorant than she is, dragged up as she was, neglected and +overworked. Nor does life in a kitchen, amid the companionship of +peasants and menials, tend to foster the intellect. Who can blame +her for being shy and somewhat dull of thought? not we, generous- +minded, kind-hearted Prince that we are. And she is very +affectionate. The family are trying, certainly; father-in-law not a +bad sort, though a little prosy when upon the subject of his +domestic troubles, and a little too fond of his glass; mamma-in-law, +and those two ugly, ill-mannered sisters, decidedly a nuisance about +the palace. Yet what can we do? they are our relations now, and +they do not forget to let us know it. Well, well, we had to expect +that, and things might have been worse. Anyhow she is not jealous-- +thank goodness. + +So the day comes when poor little Cinderella sits alone of a night +in the beautiful palace. The courtiers have gone home in their +carriages. The Lord High Chancellor has bowed himself out +backwards. The Gold-Stick-in-Waiting and the Grooms of the Chamber +have gone to their beds. The Maids of Honour have said "Good- +night," and drifted out of the door, laughing and whispering among +themselves. The clock strikes twelve--one--two, and still no +footstep creaks upon the stair. Once it followed swiftly upon the +"good-night" of the maids, who did not laugh or whisper then. + +At last the door opens, and the Prince enters, none too pleased at +finding Cinderella still awake. "So sorry I'm late, my love-- +detained on affairs of state. Foreign policy very complicated, +dear. Have only just this moment left the Council Chamber." + +And little Cinderella, while the Prince sleeps, lies sobbing out her +poor sad heart into the beautiful royal pillow, embroidered with the +royal arms and edged with the royal monogram in lace. "Why did he +ever marry me? I should have been happier in the old kitchen. The +black beetles did frighten me a little, but there was always the +dear old cat; and sometimes, when mother and the girls were out, +papa would call softly down the kitchen stairs for me to come up, +and we would have such a merry evening together, and sup off +sausages: dear old dad, I hardly ever see him now. And then, when +my work was done, how pleasant it was to sit in front of the fire, +and dream of the wonderful things that would come to me some day. I +was always going to be a Princess, even in my dreams, and live in a +palace, but it was so different to this. Oh, how I hate it, this +beastly palace where everybody sneers at me--I know they do, though +they bow and scrape, and pretend to be so polite. And I'm not +clever and smart as they are. I hate them. I hate these bold-faced +women who are always here. That is the worst of a palace, everybody +can come in. Oh, I hate everybody and everything. Oh, god-mamma, +god-mamma, come and take me away. Take me back to my old kitchen. +Give me back my old poor frock. Let me dance again with the fire- +tongs for a partner, and be happy, dreaming." + +Poor little Cinderella, perhaps it would have been better had god- +mamma been less ambitious for you, dear; had you married some good, +honest yeoman, who would never have known that you were not +brilliant, who would have loved you because you were just amiable +and pretty; had your kingdom been only a farmhouse, where your +knowledge of domestic economy, gained so hardly, would have been +useful; where you would have shone instead of being overshadowed; +where Papa would have dropped in of an evening to smoke his pipe and +escape from his domestic wrangles; where you would have been REAL +Queen. + +But then you know, dear, you would not have been content. Ah yes, +with your present experience--now you know that Queens as well as +little drudges have their troubles; but WITHOUT that experience? +You would have looked in the glass when you were alone; you would +have looked at your shapely hands and feet, and the shadows would +have crossed your pretty face. "Yes," you would have said to +yourself--"John is a dear, kind fellow, and I love him very much, +and all that, but--" and the old dreams, dreamt in the old low- +ceilinged kitchen before the dying fire, would have come back to +you, and you would have been discontented then as now, only in a +different way. Oh yes, you would, Cinderella, though you gravely +shake your gold-crowned head. And let me tell you why. It is +because you are a woman, and the fate of all us, men and women +alike, is to be for ever wanting what we have not, and to be +finding, when we have it, that it is not what we wanted. That is +the law of life, dear. Do you think as you lie upon the floor with +your head upon your arms, that you are the only woman whose tears +are soaking into the hearthrug at that moment? My dear Princess, if +you could creep unseen about your City, peeping at will through the +curtain-shielded windows, you would come to think that all the world +was little else than a big nursery full of crying children with none +to comfort them. The doll is broken: no longer it sweetly squeaks +in answer to our pressure, "I love you, kiss me." The drum lies +silent with the drumstick inside; no longer do we make a brave noise +in the nursery. The box of tea-things we have clumsily put our foot +upon; there will be no more merry parties around the three-legged +stool. The tin trumpet will not play the note we want to sound; the +wooden bricks keep falling down; the toy cannon has exploded and +burnt our fingers. Never mind, little man, little woman, we will +try and mend things tomorrow. + +And after all, Cinderella dear, you do live in a fine palace, and +you have jewels and grand dresses and--No, no, do not be indignant +with ME. Did not you dream of these things AS WELL AS of love? +Come now, be honest. It was always a prince, was it not, or, at the +least, an exceedingly well-to-do party, that handsome young +gentleman who bowed to you so gallantly from the red embers? He was +never a virtuous young commercial traveller, or cultured clerk, +earning a salary of three pounds a week, was he, Cinderella? Yet +there are many charming commercial travellers, many delightful +clerks with limited incomes, quite sufficient, however, to a +sensible man and woman desiring but each other's love. Why was it +always a prince, Cinderella? Had the palace and the liveried +servants, and the carriages and horses, and the jewels and the +dresses, NOTHING to do with the dream? + +No, Cinderella, you were human, that is all. The artist, shivering +in his conventional attic, dreaming of Fame!-do you think he is not +hoping she will come to his loving arms in the form Jove came to +Danae? Do you think he is not reckoning also upon the good dinners +and the big cigars, the fur coat and the diamond studs, that her +visits will enable him to purchase? + +There is a certain picture very popular just now. You may see it, +Cinderella, in many of the shop-windows of the town. It is called +"The Dream of Love," and it represents a beautiful young girl, +sleeping in a very beautiful but somewhat disarranged bed. Indeed, +one hopes, for the sleeper's sake, that the night is warm, and that +the room is fairly free from draughts. A ladder of light streams +down from the sky into the room, and upon this ladder crowd and +jostle one another a small army of plump Cupids, each one laden with +some pledge of love. Two of the Imps are emptying a sack of jewels +upon the floor. Four others are bearing, well displayed, a +magnificent dress (a "confection," I believe, is the proper term) +cut somewhat low, but making up in train what is lacking elsewhere. +Others bear bonnet boxes from which peep stylish toques and +bewitching hoods. Some, representing evidently wholesale houses, +stagger under silks and satins in the piece. Cupids are there from +the shoemakers with the daintiest of bottines. Stockings, garters, +and even less mentionable articles, are not forgotten. Caskets, +mirrors, twelve-buttoned gloves, scent-bottles and handkerchiefs, +hair-pins, and the gayest of parasols, has the God of Love piled +into the arms of his messengers. Really a most practical, up-to- +date God of Love, moving with the times! One feels that the modern +Temple of Love must be a sort of Swan and Edgar's; the god himself a +kind of celestial shop-walker; while his mother, Venus, no doubt +superintends the costume department. Quite an Olympian Whiteley, +this latter-day Eros; he has forgotten nothing, for, at the back of +the picture, I notice one Cupid carrying a rather fat heart at the +end of a string. + +You, Cinderella, could give good counsel to that sleeping child. +You would say to her--"Awake from such dreams. The contents of a +pawnbroker's store-room will not bring you happiness. Dream of love +if you will; that is a wise dream, even if it remain ever a dream. +But these coloured beads, these Manchester goods! are you then--you, +heiress of all the ages--still at heart only as some poor savage +maiden but little removed above the monkeys that share the primeval +forest with her? Will you sell your gold to the first trader that +brings you THIS barter? These things, child, will only dazzle your +eyes for a few days. Do you think the Burlington Arcade is the gate +of Heaven?" + +Ah, yes, I too could talk like that--I, writer of books, to the +young lad, sick of his office stool, dreaming of a literary career +leading to fame and fortune. "And do you think, lad, that by that +road you will reach Happiness sooner than by another? Do you think +interviews with yourself in penny weeklies will bring you any +satisfaction after the first halfdozen? Do you think the gushing +female who has read all your books, and who wonders what it must +feel like to be so clever, will be welcome to you the tenth time you +meet her? Do you think press cuttings will always consist of +wondering admiration of your genius, of paragraphs about your +charming personal appearance under the heading, 'Our Celebrities'? +Have you thought of the Uncomplimentary criticisms, of the spiteful +paragraphs, of the everlasting fear of slipping a few inches down +the greasy pole called 'popular taste,' to which you are condemned +to cling for life, as some lesser criminal to his weary tread-mill, +struggling with no hope but not to fall! Make a home, lad, for the +woman who loves you; gather one or two friends about you; work, +think, and play, that will bring you happiness. Shun this roaring +gingerbread fair that calls itself, forsooth, the 'World of art and +letters.' Let its clowns and its contortionists fight among +themselves for the plaudits and the halfpence of the mob. Let it be +with its shouting and its surging, its blare and its cheap flare. +Come away, the summer's night is just the other side of the hedge, +with its silence and its stars." + +You and I, Cinderella, are experienced people, and can therefore +offer good advice, but do you think we should be listened to? + +"Ah, no, my Prince is not as yours. Mine will love me always, and I +am peculiarly fitted for the life of a palace. I have the instinct +and the ability for it. I am sure I was made for a princess. Thank +you, Cinderella, for your well-meant counsel, but there is much +difference between you and me." + +That is the answer you would receive, Cinderella; and my young +friend would say to me, "Yes, I can understand YOUR finding +disappointment in the literary career; but then, you see, our cases +are not quite similar. _I_ am not likely to find much trouble in +keeping my position. _I_ shall not fear reading what the critics +say of ME. No doubt there are disadvantages, when you are among the +ruck, but there is always plenty of room at the top. So thank you, +and goodbye." + +Besides, Cinderella dear, we should not quite mean it--this +excellent advice. We have grown accustomed to these gew-gaws, and +we should miss them in spite of our knowledge of their trashiness: +you, your palace and your little gold crown; I, my mountebank's cap, +and the answering laugh that goes up from the crowd when I shake my +bells. We want everything. All the happiness that earth and heaven +are capable of bestowing. Creature comforts, and heart and soul +comforts also; and, proud-spirited beings that we are, we will not +be put off with a part. Give us only everything, and we will be +content. And, after all, Cinderella, you have had your day. Some +little dogs never get theirs. You must not be greedy. You have +KNOWN happiness. The palace was Paradise for those few months, and +the Prince's arms were about you, Cinderella, the Prince's kisses on +your lips; the gods themselves cannot take THAT from you. + +The cake cannot last for ever if we will eat of it so greedily. +There must come the day when we have picked hungrily the last crumb- +-when we sit staring at the empty board, nothing left of the feast, +Cinderella, but the pain that comes of feasting. + +It is a naive confession, poor Human Nature has made to itself, in +choosing, as it has, this story of Cinderella for its leading +moral:--Be good, little girl. Be meek under your many trials. Be +gentle and kind, in spite of your hard lot, and one day--you shall +marry a prince and ride in your own carriage. Be brave and true, +little boy. Work hard and wait with patience, and in the end, with +God's blessing, you shall earn riches enough to come back to London +town and marry your master's daughter. + +You and I, gentle Reader, could teach these young folks a truer +lesson, an we would. We know, alas! that the road of all the +virtues does not lead to wealth, rather the contrary; else how +explain our limited incomes? But would it be well, think you, to +tell them bluntly the truth--that honesty is the most expensive +luxury a man can indulge in; that virtue, if persisted in, leads, +generally speaking, to a six-roomed house in an outlying suburb? +Maybe the world is wise: the fiction has its uses. + +I am acquainted with a fairly intelligent young lady. She can read +and write, knows her tables up to six times, and can argue. I +regard her as representative of average Humanity in its attitude +towards Fate; and this is a dialogue I lately overheard between her +and an older lady who is good enough to occasionally impart to her +the wisdom of the world-- + +"I've been good this morning, haven't I?" + +"Yes--oh yes, fairly good, for you." + +"You think Papa WILL take me to the circus to-night? " + +"Yes, if you keep good. If you don't get naughty this afternoon." + +A pause. + +"I was good on Monday, you may remember, nurse." + +"Tolerably good." + +"VERY good, you said, nurse." + +"Well, yes, you weren't bad." + +"And I was to have gone to the pantomime, and I didn't." + +"Well, that was because your aunt came up suddenly, and your Papa +couldn't get another seat. Poor auntie wouldn't have gone at all if +she hadn't gone then." + +"Oh, wouldn't she?" + +"No." + +Another pause. + +"Do you think she'll come up suddenly to-day?" + +"Oh no, I don't think so." + +"No, I hope she doesn't. I want to go to the circus to-night. +Because, you see, nurse, if I don't it will discourage me." + +So, perhaps the world is wise in promising us the circus. We +believe her at first. But after a while, I fear, we grow +discouraged. + + + +ON THE EXCEPTIONAL MERIT ATTACHING TO THE THINGS WE MEANT TO DO + +I can remember--but then I can remember a long time ago. You, +gentle Reader, just entering upon the prime of life, that age by +thoughtless youth called middle, I cannot, of course, expect to +follow me--when there was in great demand a certain periodical +ycleped The Amateur. Its aim was noble. It sought to teach the +beautiful lesson of independence, to inculcate the fine doctrine of +self-help. One chapter explained to a man how he might make +flower-pots out of Australian meat cans; another how he might turn +butter-tubs into music-stools; a third how he might utilize old +bonnet boxes for Venetian blinds: that was the principle of the +whole scheme, you made everything from something not intended for +it, and as ill-suited to the purpose as possible. + +Two pages, I distinctly recollect, were devoted to the encouragement +of the manufacture of umbrella stands out of old gaspiping. +Anything less adapted to the receipt of hats and umbrellas than +gas-piping I cannot myself conceive: had there been, I feel sure the +author would have thought of it, and would have recommended it. + +Picture-frames you fashioned out of gingerbeer corks. You saved +your ginger-beer corks, you found a picture--and the thing was +complete. How much ginger-beer it would be necessary to drink, +preparatory to the making of each frame; and the effect of it upon +the frame-maker's physical, mental and moral well-being, did not +concern The Amateur. I calculate that for a fair-sized picture +sixteen dozen bottles might suffice. Whether, after sixteen dozen +of ginger-beer, a man would take any interest in framing a picture-- +whether he would retain any pride in the picture itself, is +doubtful. But this, of course, was not the point. + +One young gentleman of my acquaintance--the son of the gardener of +my sister, as friend Ollendorff would have described him--did +succeed in getting through sufficient ginger-beer to frame his +grandfather, but the result was not encouraging. Indeed, the +gardener's wife herself was but ill satisfied. + +"What's all them corks round father?" was her first question. + +"Can't you see," was the somewhat indignant reply, "that's the +frame." + +"Oh! but why corks?" + +"Well, the book said corks." + +Still the old lady remained unimpressed. + +"Somehow it don't look like father now," she sighed. + +Her eldest born grew irritable: none of us appreciate criticism! + +"What does it look like, then?" he growled. + +"Well, I dunno. Seems to me to look like nothing but corks." + +The old lady's view was correct. Certain schools of art possibly +lend themselves to this method of framing. I myself have seen a +funeral card improved by it; but, generally speaking, the +consequence was a predominance of frame at the expense of the thing +framed. The more honest and tasteful of the framemakers would admit +as much themselves. + +"Yes, it is ugly when you look at it," said one to me, as we stood +surveying it from the centre of the room. "But what one feels about +it is that one has done it oneself." + +Which reflection, I have noticed, reconciles us to many other things +beside cork frames. + +Another young gentleman friend of mine--for I am bound to admit it +was youth that profited most by the advice and counsel of The +Amateur: I suppose as one grows older one grows less daring, less +industrious--made a rocking-chair, according to the instructions of +this book, out of a couple of beer barrels. From every practical +point of view it was a bad rocking-chair. It rocked too much, and +it rocked in too many directions at one and the same time. I take +it, a man sitting on a rocking-chair does not want to be continually +rocking. There comes a time when he says to himself--"Now I have +rocked sufficiently for the present; now I will sit still for a +while, lest a worse thing befall me." But this was one of those +headstrong rocking-chairs that are a danger to humanity, and a +nuisance to themselves. Its notion was that it was made to rock, +and that when it was not rocking, it was wasting its time. Once +started nothing could stop it--nothing ever did stop it, until it +found itself topsy turvy on its own occupant. That was the only +thing that ever sobered it. + +I had called, and had been shown into the empty drawing-room. The +rocking-chair nodded invitingly at me. I never guessed it was an +amateur rocking-chair. I was young in those days, with faith in +human nature, and I imagined that, whatever else a man might attempt +without knowledge or experience, no one would be fool enough to +experiment upon a rocking-chair. + +I threw myself into it lightly and carelessly. I immediately +noticed the ceiling. I made an instinctive movement forward. The +window and a momentary glimpse of the wooded hills beyond shot +upwards and disappeared. The carpet flashed across my eyes, and I +caught sight of my own boots vanishing beneath me at the rate of +about two hundred miles an hour. I made a convulsive effort to +recover them. I suppose I over-did it. I saw the whole of the room +at once, the four walls, the ceiling, and the floor at the same +moment. It was a sort of vision. I saw the cottage piano upside +down, and I again saw my own boots flash past me, this time over my +head, soles uppermost. Never before had I been in a position where +my own boots had seemed so all-pervading. The next moment I lost my +boots, and stopped the carpet with my head just as it was rushing +past me. At the same instant something hit me violently in the +small of the back. Reason, when recovered, suggested that my +assailant must be the rocking-chair. + +Investigation proved the surmise correct. Fortunately I was still +alone, and in consequence was able, a few minutes later, to meet my +hostess with calm and dignity. I said nothing about the +rocking-chair. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to have the +pleasure, before I went, of seeing some other guest arrive and +sample it: I had purposely replaced it in the most prominent and +convenient position. But though I felt capable of schooling myself +to silence, I found myself unable to agree with my hostess when she +called for my admiration of the thing. My recent experiences had +too deeply embittered me. + +"Willie made it himself," explained the fond mother. "Don't you +think it was very clever of him?" + +"Oh yes, it was clever," I replied, "I am willing to admit that." + +"He made it out of some old beer barrels," she continued; she seemed +proud of it. + +My resentment, though I tried to keep it under control, was mounting +higher. + +"Oh! did he?" I said; "I should have thought he might have found +something better to do with them." + +"What?" she asked. + +"Oh! well, many things," I retorted. "He might have filled them +again with beer." + +My hostess looked at me astonished. I felt some reason for my tone +was expected. + +"You see," I explained, "it is not a well-made chair. These rockers +are too short, and they are too curved, and one of them, if you +notice, is higher than the other and of a smaller radius; the back +is at too obtuse an angle. When it is occupied the centre of +gravity becomes--" + +My hostess interrupted me. + +"You have been sitting on it," she said. + +"Not for long," I assured her. + +Her tone changed. She became apologetic. + +"I am so sorry," she said. "It looks all right." + +"It does," I agreed; "that is where the dear lad's cleverness +displays itself. Its appearance disarms suspicion. With judgment +that chair might be made to serve a really useful purpose. There +are mutual acquaintances of ours--I mention no names, you will know +them--pompous, self-satisfied, superior persons who would be +improved by that chair. If I were Willie I should disguise the +mechanism with some artistic drapery, bait the thing with a couple +of exceptionally inviting cushions, and employ it to inculcate +modesty and diffidence. I defy any human being to get out of that +chair, feeling as important as when he got into it. What the dear +boy has done has been to construct an automatic exponent of the +transitory nature of human greatness. As a moral agency that chair +should prove a blessing in disguise." + +My hostess smiled feebly; more, I fear, from politeness than genuine +enjoyment. + +"I think you are too severe," she said. "When you remember that the +boy has never tried his hand at anything of the kind before, that he +has no knowledge and no experience, it really is not so bad." + +Considering the matter from that point of view I was bound to +concur. I did not like to suggest to her that before entering upon +a difficult task it would be better for young men to ACQUIRE +knowledge and experience: that is so unpopular a theory. + +But the thing that The Amateur put in the front and foremost of its +propaganda was the manufacture of household furniture out of +egg-boxes. Why egg-boxes I have never been able to understand, but +egg-boxes, according to the prescription of The Amateur, formed the +foundation of household existence. With a sufficient supply of +egg-boxes, and what The Amateur termed a "natural deftness," no +young couple need hesitate to face the furnishing problem. Three +egg-boxes made a writing-table; on another egg-box you sat to write; +your books were ranged in egg-boxes around you--and there was your +study, complete. + +For the dining-room two egg-boxes made an overmantel; four egg-boxes +and a piece of looking-glass a sideboard; while six egg-boxes, with +some wadding and a yard or so of cretonne, constituted a so-called +"cosy corner." About the "corner" there could be no possible doubt. +You sat on a corner, you leant against a corner; whichever way you +moved you struck a fresh corner. The "cosiness," however, I deny. +Egg-boxes I admit can be made useful; I am even prepared to imagine +them ornamental; but "cosy," no. I have sampled egg-boxes in many +shapes. I speak of years ago, when the world and we were younger, +when our fortune was the Future; secure in which, we hesitated not +to set up house upon incomes folks with lesser expectations might +have deemed insufficient. Under such circumstances, the sole +alternative to the egg-box, or similar school of furniture, would +have been the strictly classical, consisting of a doorway joined to +architectural proportions. + +I have from Saturday to Monday, as honoured guest, hung my clothes +in egg-boxes. + +I have sat on an egg-box at an egg-box to take my dish of tea. I +have made love on egg-boxes.--Aye, and to feel again the blood +running through my veins as then it ran, I would be content to sit +only on egg-boxes till the time should come when I could be buried +in an egg-box, with an egg-box reared above me as tombstone.--I have +spent many an evening on an egg-box; I have gone to bed in +egg-boxes. They have their points--I am intending no pun--but to +claim for them cosiness would be but to deceive. + +How quaint they were, those home-made rooms! They rise out of the +shadows and shape themselves again before my eyes. I see the +knobbly sofa; the easy-chairs that might have been designed by the +Grand Inquisitor himself; the dented settle that was a bed by night; +the few blue plates, purchased in the slums off Wardour Street; the +enamelled stool to which one always stuck; the mirror framed in +silk; the two Japanese fans crossed beneath each cheap engraving; +the piano cloth embroidered in peacock's feathers by Annie's sister; +the tea-cloth worked by Cousin Jenny. We dreamt, sitting on those +egg-boxes--for we were young ladies and gentlemen with artistic +taste--of the days when we would eat in Chippendale dining-rooms; +sip our coffee in Louis Quatorze drawing-rooms; and be happy. Well, +we have got on, some of us, since then, as Mr. Bumpus used to say; +and I notice, when on visits, that some of us have contrived so that +we do sit on Chippendale chairs, at Sheraton dining-tables, and are +warmed from Adam's fireplaces; but, ah me, where are the dreams, the +hopes, the enthusiasms that clung like the scent of a March morning +about those gim-crack second floors? In the dustbin, I fear, with +the cretonne-covered egg-boxes and the penny fans. Fate is so +terribly even-handed. As she gives she ever takes away. She flung +us a few shillings and hope, where now she doles us out pounds and +fears. Why did not we know how happy we were, sitting crowned with +sweet conceit upon our egg-box thrones? + +Yes, Dick, you have climbed well. You edit a great newspaper. You +spread abroad the message--well, the message that Sir Joseph +Goldbug, your proprietor, instructs you to spread abroad. You teach +mankind the lessons that Sir Joseph Goldbug wishes them to learn. +They say he is to have a peerage next year. I am sure he has earned +it; and perhaps there may be a knighthood for you, Dick. + +Tom, you are getting on now. You have abandoned those unsaleable +allegories. What rich art patron cares to be told continually by +his own walls that Midas had ass's ears; that Lazarus sits ever at +the gate? You paint portraits now, and everybody tells me you are +the coming man. That "Impression" of old Lady Jezebel was really +wonderful. The woman looks quite handsome, and yet it is her +ladyship. Your touch is truly marvellous. + +But into your success, Tom--Dick, old friend, do not there creep +moments when you would that we could fish up those old egg-boxes +from the past, refurnish with them the dingy rooms in Camden Town, +and find there our youth, our loves, and our beliefs? + +An incident brought back to my mind, the other day, the thought of +all these things. I called for the first time upon a man, an actor, +who had asked me to come and see him in the little home where he +lives with his old father. To my astonishment--for the craze, I +believe, has long since died out--I found the house half furnished +out of packing cases, butter tubs, and egg-boxes. My friend earns +his twenty pounds a week, but it was the old father's hobby, so he +explained to me, the making of these monstrosities; and of them he +was as proud as though they were specimen furniture out of the South +Kensington Museum. + +He took me into the dining-room to show me the latest outrage--a new +book-case. A greater disfigurement to the room, which was otherwise +prettily furnished, could hardly be imagined. There was no need for +him to assure me, as he did, that it had been made out of nothing +but egg-boxes. One could see at a glance that it was made out of +egg-boxes, and badly constructed egg-boxes at that--egg-boxes that +were a disgrace to the firm that had turned them out; egg-boxes not +worthy the storage of "shop 'uns" at eighteen the shilling. + +We went upstairs to my friend's bedroom. He opened the door as a +man might open the door of a museum of gems. + +"The old boy," he said, as he stood with his hand upon the +door-knob, "made everything you see here, everything," and we +entered. He drew my attention to the wardrobe. "Now I will hold it +up," he said, "while you pull the door open; I think the floor must +be a bit uneven, it wobbles if you are not careful." It wobbled +notwithstanding, but by coaxing and humouring we succeeded without +mishap. I was surprised to notice a very small supply of clothes +within, although my friend is a dressy man. + +"You see," he explained, "I dare not use it more than I can help. I +am a clumsy chap, and as likely as not, if I happened to be in a +hurry, I'd have the whole thing over:" which seemed probable. + +I asked him how he contrived. "I dress in the bath-room as a rule," +he replied; "I keep most of my things there. Of course the old boy +doesn't know." + +He showed me a chest of drawers. One drawer stood half open. + +"I'm bound to leave that drawer open," he said; "I keep the things I +use in that. They don't shut quite easily, these drawers; or +rather, they shut all right, but then they won't open. It is the +weather, I think. They will open and shut all right in the summer, +I dare say." He is of a hopeful disposition. + +But the pride of the room was the washstand. + +"What do you think of this?" cried he enthusiastically, "real marble +top--" + +He did not expatiate further. In his excitement he had laid his +hand upon the thing, with the natural result that it collapsed. +More by accident than design I caught the jug in my arms. I also +caught the water it contained. The basin rolled on its edge and +little damage was done, except to me and the soap-box. + +I could not pump up much admiration for this washstand; I was +feeling too wet. + +"What do you do when you want to wash?" I asked, as together we +reset the trap. + +There fell upon him the manner of a conspirator revealing secrets. +He glanced guiltily round the room; then, creeping on tip-toe, he +opened a cupboard behind the bed. Within was a tin basin and a +small can. + +"Don't tell the old boy," he said. "I keep these things here, and +wash on the floor." + +That was the best thing I myself ever got out of egg-boxes--that +picture of a deceitful son stealthily washing himself upon the floor +behind the bed, trembling at every footstep lest it might be the +"old boy" coming to the door. + +One wonders whether the Ten Commandments are so all-sufficient as we +good folk deem them--whether the eleventh is not worth the whole +pack of them: "that ye love one another" with just a common-place, +human, practical love. Could not the other ten be comfortably +stowed away into a corner of that! One is inclined, in one's +anarchic moments, to agree with Louis Stevenson, that to be amiable +and cheerful is a good religion for a work-a-day world. We are so +busy NOT killing, NOT stealing, NOT coveting our neighbour's wife, +we have not time to be even just to one another for the little while +we are together here. Need we be so cocksure that our present list +of virtues and vices is the only possibly correct and complete one? +Is the kind, unselfish man necessarily a villain because he does not +always succeed in suppressing his natural instincts? Is the +narrow-hearted, sour-souled man, incapable of a generous thought or +act, necessarily a saint because he has none? Have we not--we unco +guid--arrived at a wrong method of estimating our frailer brothers +and sisters? We judge them, as critics judge books, not by the good +that is in them, but by their faults. Poor King David! What would +the local Vigilance Society have had to say to him? + +Noah, according to our plan, would be denounced from every teetotal +platform in the country, and Ham would head the Local Vestry poll as +a reward for having exposed him. And St. Peter! weak, frail St. +Peter, how lucky for him that his fellow-disciples and their Master +were not as strict in their notions of virtue as are we to-day. + +Have we not forgotten the meaning of the word "virtue"? Once it +stood for the good that was in a man, irrespective of the evil that +might lie there also, as tares among the wheat. We have abolished +virtue, and for it substituted virtues. Not the hero--he was too +full of faults--but the blameless valet; not the man who does any +good, but the man who has not been found out in any evil, is our +modern ideal. The most virtuous thing in nature, according to this +new theory, should be the oyster. He is always at home, and always +sober. He is not noisy. He gives no trouble to the police. I +cannot think of a single one of the Ten Commandments that he ever +breaks. He never enjoys himself, and he never, so long as he lives, +gives a moment's pleasure to any other living thing. + +I can imagine the oyster lecturing a lion on the subject of +morality. + +"You never hear me," the oyster might say, "howling round camps and +villages, making night hideous, frightening quiet folk out of their +lives. Why don't you go to bed early, as I do? I never prowl round +the oyster-bed, fighting other gentlemen oysters, making love to +lady oysters already married. I never kill antelopes or +missionaries. Why can't you live as I do on salt water and germs, +or whatever it is that I do live on? Why don't you try to be more +like me?" + +An oyster has no evil passions, therefore we say he is a virtuous +fish. We never ask ourselves--"Has he any good passions?" A lion's +behaviour is often such as no just man could condone. Has he not +his good points also? + +Will the fat, sleek, "virtuous" man be as Welcome at the gate of +heaven as he supposes? + +"Well," St. Peter may say to him, opening the door a little way and +looking him up and down, "what is it now?" + +"It's me," the virtuous man will reply, with an oily, self-satisfied +smile; "I should say, I--I've come." + +"Yes, I see you have come; but what is your claim to admittance? +What have you done with your three score years and ten?" + +"Done!" the virtuous man will answer, "I have done nothing, I assure +you." + +"Nothing!" + +"Nothing; that is my strong point; that is why I am here. I have +never done any wrong." + +"And what good have you done?" + +"What good!" + +"Aye, what good? Do not you even know the meaning of the word? +What human creature is the better for your having eaten and drunk +and slept these years? You have done no harm--no harm to yourself. +Perhaps, if you had you might have done some good with it; the two +are generally to be found together down below, I remember. What +good have you done that you should enter here? This is no mummy +chamber; this is the place of men and women who have lived, who have +wrought good--and evil also, alas!--for the sinners who fight for +the right, not the righteous who run with their souls from the +fight." + +It was not, however, to speak of these things that I remembered The +Amateur and its lessons. My intention was but to lead up to the +story of a certain small boy, who in the doing of tasks not required +of him was exceedingly clever. I wish to tell you his story, +because, as do most true tales, it possesses a moral, and stories +without a moral I deem to be but foolish literature, resembling +roads that lead to nowhere, such as sick folk tramp for exercise. + +I have known this little boy to take an expensive eight-day clock to +pieces, and make of it a toy steamboat. True, it was not, when +made, very much of a steamboat; but taking into consideration all +the difficulties--the inadaptability of eight-day clock machinery to +steamboat requirements, the necessity of getting the work +accomplished quickly, before conservatively-minded people with no +enthusiasm for science could interfere--a good enough steamboat. +With merely an ironing-board and a few dozen meat-skewers, he +would--provided the ironing-board was not missed in time--turn out +quite a practicable rabbit-hutch. He could make a gun out of an +umbrella and a gas-bracket, which, if not so accurate as a +Martini-Henry, was, at all events, more deadly. With half the +garden-hose, a copper scalding-pan out of the dairy, and a few +Dresden china ornaments off the drawing-room mantelpiece, he would +build a fountain for the garden. He could make bookshelves out of +kitchen tables, and crossbows out of crinolines. He could dam you a +stream so that all the water would flow over the croquet lawn. He +knew how to make red paint and oxygen gas, together with many other +suchlike commodities handy to have about a house. Among other +things he learned how to make fireworks, and after a few explosions +of an unimportant character, came to make them very well indeed. +The boy who can play a good game of cricket is liked. The boy who +can fight well is respected. The boy who can cheek a master is +loved. But the boy who can make fireworks is revered above all +others as a boy belonging to a superior order of beings. The fifth +of November was at hand, and with the consent of an indulgent +mother, he determined to give to the world a proof of his powers. A +large party of friends, relatives, and school-mates was invited, and +for a fortnight beforehand the scullery was converted into a +manufactory for fireworks. The female servants went about in hourly +terror of their lives, and the villa, did we judge exclusively by +smell, one might have imagined had been taken over by Satan, his +main premises being inconveniently crowded, as an annex. By the +evening of the fourth all was in readiness, and samples were tested +to make sure that no contretemps should occur the following night. +All was found to be perfect. + +The rockets rushed heavenward and descended in stars, the Roman +candles tossed their fiery balls into the darkness, the Catherine +wheels sparkled and whirled, the crackers cracked, and the squibs +banged. That night he went to bed a proud and happy boy, and +dreamed of fame. He stood surrounded by blazing fireworks, and the +vast crowd cheered him. His relations, most of whom, he knew, +regarded him as the coming idiot of the family, were there to +witness his triumph; so too was Dickey Bowles, who laughed at him +because he could not throw straight. The girl at the bun-shop, she +also was there, and saw that he was clever. + +The night of the festival arrived, and with it the guests. They +sat, wrapped up in shawls and cloaks, outside the hall door--uncles, +cousins, aunts, little boys and big boys, little girls and big +girls, with, as the theatre posters say, villagers and retainers, +some forty of them in all, and waited. + +But the fireworks did not go off. Why they did not go off I cannot +explain; nobody ever COULD explain. The laws of nature seemed to be +suspended for that night only. The rockets fell down and died where +they stood. No human agency seemed able to ignite the squibs. The +crackers gave one bang and collapsed. The Roman candles might have +been English rushlights. The Catherine wheels became mere revolving +glow-worms. The fiery serpents could not collect among them the +spirit of a tortoise. The set piece, a ship at sea, showed one mast +and the captain, and then went out. One or two items did their +duty, but this only served to render the foolishness of the whole +more striking. The little girls giggled, the little boys chaffed, +the aunts and cousins said it was beautiful, the uncles inquired if +it was all over, and talked about supper and trains, the "villagers +and retainers" dispersed laughing, the indulgent mother said "never +mind," and explained how well everything had gone off yesterday; the +clever little boy crept upstairs to his room, and blubbered his +heart out in the dark. + +Hours later, when the crowd had forgotten him, he stole out again +into the garden. He sat down amid the ruins of his hope, and +wondered what could have caused the fiasco. Still puzzled, he drew +from his pocket a box of matches, and, lighting one, he held it to +the seared end of a rocket he had tried in vain to light four hours +ago. It smouldered for an instant, then shot with a swish into the +air and broke into a hundred points of fire. He tried another and +another with the same result. He made a fresh attempt to fire the +set piece. Point by point the whole picture--minus the captain and +one mast--came out of the night, and stood revealed in all the +majesty of flame. Its sparks fell upon the piled-up heap of +candles, wheels, and rockets that a little while before had +obstinately refused to burn, and that, one after another, had been +thrown aside as useless. Now with the night frost upon them, they +leaped to light in one grand volcanic eruption. And in front of the +gorgeous spectacle he stood with only one consolation--his mother's +hand in his. + +The whole thing was a mystery to him at the time, but, as he learned +to know life better, he came to understand that it was only one +example of a solid but inexplicable fact, ruling all human +affairs--YOUR FIREWORKS WON'T GO OFF WHILE THE CROWD IS AROUND. + +Our brilliant repartees do not occur to us till the door is closed +upon us and we are alone in the street, or, as the French would say, +are coming down the stairs. Our after-dinner oratory, that sounded +so telling as we delivered it before the looking-glass, falls +strangely flat amidst the clinking of the glasses. The passionate +torrent of words we meant to pour into her ear becomes a halting +rigmarole, at which--small blame to her--she only laughs. + +I would, gentle Reader, you could hear the stories that I meant to +tell you. You judge me, of course, by the stories of mine that you +have read--by this sort of thing, perhaps; but that is not just to +me. The stories I have not told you, that I am going to tell you +one day, I would that you judge me by those. + +They are so beautiful; you will say so; over them, you will laugh +and cry with me. + +They come into my brain unbidden, they clamour to be written, yet +when I take my pen in hand they are gone. It is as though they were +shy of publicity, as though they would say to me--"You alone, you +shall read us, but you must not write us; we are too real, too true. +We are like the thoughts you cannot speak. Perhaps a little later, +when you know more of life, then you shall tell us." + +Next to these in merit I would place, were I writing a critical +essay on myself, the stories I have begun to write and that remain +unfinished, why I cannot explain to myself. They are good stories, +most of them; better far than the stories I have accomplished. +Another time, perhaps, if you care to listen, I will tell you the +beginning of one or two and you shall judge. Strangely enough, for +I have always regarded myself as a practical, commonsensed man, so +many of these still-born children of my mind I find, on looking +through the cupboard where their thin bodies lie, are ghost stories. +I suppose the hope of ghosts is with us all. The world grows +somewhat interesting to us heirs of all the ages. Year by year, +Science with broom and duster tears down the moth-worn tapestry, +forces the doors of the locked chambers, lets light into the secret +stairways, cleans out the dungeons, explores the hidden passages-- +finding everywhere only dust. This echoing old castle, the world, +so full of mystery in the days when we were children, is losing +somewhat its charm for us as we grow older. The king sleeps no +longer in the hollow of the hills. We have tunnelled through his +mountain chamber. We have shivered his beard with our pick. We +have driven the gods from Olympus. No wanderer through the moonlit +groves now fears or hopes the sweet, death-giving gleam of +Aphrodite's face. Thor's hammer echoes not among the peaks--'tis +but the thunder of the excursion train. We have swept the woods of +the fairies. We have filtered the sea of its nymphs. Even the +ghosts are leaving us, chased by the Psychical Research Society. + +Perhaps of all, they are the least, however, to be regretted. They +were dull old fellows, clanking their rusty chains and groaning and +sighing. Let them go. + +And yet how interesting they might be, if only they would. The old +gentleman in the coat of mail, who lived in King John's reign, who +was murdered, so they say, on the outskirts of the very wood I can +see from my window as I write--stabbed in the back, poor gentleman, +as he was riding home, his body flung into the moat that to this day +is called Tor's tomb. Dry enough it is now, and the primroses love +its steep banks; but a gloomy enough place in those days, no doubt, +with its twenty feet of stagnant water. Why does he haunt the +forest paths at night, as they tell me he does, frightening the +children out of their wits, blanching the faces and stilling the +laughter of the peasant lads and lasses, slouching home from the +village dance? Instead, why does he not come up here and talk to +me? He should have my easy-chair and welcome, would he only be +cheerful and companionable. + +What brave tales could he not tell me. He fought in the first +Crusade, heard the clarion voice of Peter, met the great Godfrey +face to face, stood, hand on sword-hilt, at Runny-mede, perhaps. +Better than a whole library of historical novels would an evening's +chat be with such a ghost. What has he done with his eight hundred +years of death? where has he been? what has he seen? Maybe he has +visited Mars; has spoken to the strange spirits who can live in the +liquid fires of Jupiter. What has he learned of the great secret? +Has he found the truth? or is he, even as I, a wanderer still +seeking the unknown? + +You, poor, pale, grey nun--they tell me that of midnights one may +see your white face peering from the ruined belfry window, hear the +clash of sword and shield among the cedar-trees beneath. + +It was very sad, I quite understand, my dear lady. Your lovers both +were killed, and you retired to a convent. Believe me, I am +sincerely sorry for you, but why waste every night renewing the +whole painful experience? Would it not be better forgotten? Good +Heavens, madam, suppose we living folk were to spend our lives +wailing and wringing our hands because of the wrongs done to us when +we were children? It is all over now. Had he lived, and had you +married him, you might not have been happy. I do not wish to say +anything unkind, but marriages founded upon the sincerest mutual +love have sometimes turned out unfortunately, as you must surely +know. + +Do take my advice. Talk the matter over with the young men +themselves. Persuade them to shake hands and be friends. Come in, +all of you, out of the cold, and let us have some reasonable talk. + +Why seek you to trouble us, you poor pale ghosts? Are we not your +children? Be our wise friends. Tell me, how loved the young men in +your young days? how answered the maidens? Has the world changed +much, do you think? Had you not new women even then? girls who +hated the everlasting tapestry frame and spinning-wheel? Your +father's servants, were they so much worse off than the freemen who +live in our East-end slums and sew slippers for fourteen hours a day +at a wage of nine shillings a week? Do you think Society much +improved during the last thousand years? Is it worse? is it better? +or is it, on the whole, about the same, save that we call things by +other names? Tell me, what have YOU learned? + +Yet might not familiarity breed contempt, even for ghosts. + +One has had a tiring day's shooting. One is looking forward to +one's bed. As one opens the door, however, a ghostly laugh comes +from behind the bed-curtains, and one groans inwardly, knowing what +is in store for one: a two or three hours' talk with rowdy old Sir +Lanval--he of the lance. We know all his tales by heart, and he +will shout them. Suppose our aunt, from whom we have expectations, +and who sleeps in the next room, should wake and overhear! They +were fit and proper enough stories, no doubt, for the Round Table, +but we feel sure our aunt would not appreciate them:--that story +about Sir Agravain and the cooper's wife! and he always will tell +that story. + +Or imagine the maid entering after dinner to say-- + +"Oh, if you please, sir, here is the veiled lady." + +"What, again!" says your wife, looking up from her work. + +"Yes, ma'am; shall I show her up into the bedroom?" + +"You had better ask your master," is the reply. The tone is +suggestive of an unpleasant five minutes so soon as the girl shall +have withdrawn, but what are you to do? + +"Yes, yes, show her up," you say, and the girl goes out, closing the +door. + +Your wife gathers her work together, and rises. + +"Where are you going?" you ask. + +"To sleep with the children," is the frigid answer. + +"It will look so rude," you urge. "We must be civil to the poor +thing; and you see it really is her room, as one might say. She has +always haunted it. " + +"It is very curious," returns the wife of your bosom, still more +icily, "that she never haunts it except when you are down here. +Where she goes when you are in town I'm sure I don't know." + +This is unjust. You cannot restrain your indignation. + +"What nonsense you talk, Elizabeth," you reply; "I am only barely +polite to her." + +"Some men have such curious notions of politeness," returns +Elizabeth. "But pray do not let us quarrel. I am only anxious not +to disturb you. Two are company, you know. I don't choose to be +the third, that's all." With which she goes out. + +And the veiled lady is still waiting for you up-stairs. You wonder +how long she will stop, also what will happen after she is gone. + +I fear there is no room for you, ghosts, in this our world. You +remember how they came to Hiawatha--the ghosts of the departed loved +ones. He had prayed to them that they would come back to him to +comfort him, so one day they crept into his wigwam, sat in silence +round his fireside, chilled the air for Hiawatha, froze the smiles +of Laughing Water. + +There is no room for you, oh you poor pale ghosts, in this our +world. Do not trouble us. Let us forget. You, stout elderly +matron, your thin locks turning grey, your eyes grown weak, your +chin more ample, your voice harsh with much scolding and +complaining, needful, alas! to household management, I pray you +leave me. I loved you while you lived. How sweet, how beautiful +you were. I see you now in your white frock among the +apple-blossom. But you are dead, and your ghost disturbs my dreams. +I would it haunted me not. + +You, dull old fellow, looking out at me from the glass at which I +shave, why do you haunt me? You are the ghost of a bright lad I +once knew well. He might have done much, had he lived. I always +had faith in him. Why do you haunt me? I would rather think of him +as I remember him. I never imagined he would make such a poor +ghost. + + + +ON THE PREPARATION AND EMPLOYMENT OF LOVE PHILTRES + +Occasionally a friend will ask me some such question as this, Do you +prefer dark women or fair? Another will say, Do you like tall women +or short? A third, Do you think light-hearted women, or serious, +the more agreeable company? I find myself in the position that, +once upon a time, overtook a certain charming young lady of taste +who was asked by an anxious parent, the years mounting, and the +family expenditure not decreasing, which of the numerous and +eligible young men, then paying court to her, she liked the best. +She replied, that was her difficulty. She could not make up her +mind which she liked the best. They were all so nice. She could +not possibly select one to the exclusion of all the others. What +she would have liked would have been to marry the lot, but that, she +presumed, was impracticable. + +I feel I resemble that young lady, not so much, perhaps, in charm +and beauty as indecision of mind, when questions such as the above +are put to me. It is as if one were asked one's favourite food. +There are times when one fancies an egg with one's tea. On other +occasions one dreams of a kipper. Today one clamours for lobsters. +To-morrow one feels one never wishes to see a lobster again; one +determines to settle down, for a time, to a diet of bread and milk +and rice-pudding. Asked suddenly to say whether I preferred ices to +soup, or beefsteaks to caviare, I should be nonplussed. + +I like tall women and short, dark women and fair, merry women and +grave. + +Do not blame me, Ladies, the fault lies with you. Every +right-thinking man is an universal lover; how could it be otherwise? +You are so diverse, yet each so charming of your kind; and a man's +heart is large. You have no idea, fair Reader, how large a man's +heart is: that is his trouble--sometimes yours. + +May I not admire the daring tulip, because I love also the modest +lily? May I not press a kiss upon the sweet violet, because the +scent of the queenly rose is precious to me? + +"Certainly not," I hear the Rose reply. "If you can see anything in +her, you shall have nothing to do with me." + +"If you care for that bold creature," says the Lily, trembling, "you +are not the man I took you for. Good-bye." + +"Go to your baby-faced Violet," cries the Tulip, with a toss of her +haughty head. "You are just fitted for each other." + +And when I return to the Lily, she tells me that she cannot trust +me. She has watched me with those others. She knows me for a +gad-about. Her gentle face is full of pain. + +So I must live unloved merely because I love too much. + +My wonder is that young men ever marry. The difficulty of selection +must be appalling. I walked the other evening in Hyde Park. The +band of the Life Guards played heart-lifting music, and the vast +crowd were basking in a sweet enjoyment such as rarely woos the +English toiler. I strolled among them, and my attention was chiefly +drawn towards the women. The great majority of them were, I +suppose, shop-girls, milliners, and others belonging to the lower +middle-class. They had put on their best frocks, their bonniest +hats, their newest gloves. They sat or walked in twos and threes, +chattering and preening, as happy as young sparrows on a clothes +line. And what a handsome crowd they made! I have seen German +crowds, I have seen French crowds, I have seen Italian crowds; but +nowhere do you find such a proportion of pretty women as among the +English middle-class. Three women out of every four were worth +looking at, every other woman was pretty, while every fourth, one +might say without exaggeration, was beautiful. As I passed to and +fro the idea occurred to me: suppose I were an unprejudiced young +bachelor, free from predilection, looking for a wife; and let me +suppose--it is only a fancy--that all these girls were ready and +willing to accept me. I have only to choose! I grew bewildered. +There were fair girls, to look at whom was fatal; dark girls that +set one's heart aflame; girls with red gold hair and grave grey +eyes, whom one would follow to the confines of the universe; +baby-faced girls that one longed to love and cherish; girls with +noble faces, whom a man might worship; laughing girls, with whom one +could dance through life gaily; serious girls, with whom life would +be sweet and good, domestic-looking girls--one felt such would make +delightful wives; they would cook, and sew, and make of home a +pleasant, peaceful place. Then wicked-looking girls came by, at the +stab of whose bold eyes all orthodox thoughts were put to a flight, +whose laughter turned the world into a mad carnival; girls one could +mould; girls from whom one could learn; sad girls one wanted to +comfort; merry girls who would cheer one; little girls, big girls, +queenly girls, fairy-like girls. + +Suppose a young man had to select his wife in this fashion from some +twenty or thirty thousand; or that a girl were suddenly confronted +with eighteen thousand eligible young bachelors, and told to take +the one she wanted and be quick about it? Neither boy nor girl +would ever marry. Fate is kinder to us. She understands, and +assists us. In the hall of a Paris hotel I once overheard one lady +asking another to recommend her a milliner's shop. + +"Go to the Maison Nouvelle," advised the questioned lady, with +enthusiasm. "They have the largest selection there of any place in +Paris." + +"I know they have," replied the first lady, "that is just why I +don't mean to go there. It confuses me. If I see six bonnets I can +tell the one I want in five minutes. If I see six hundred I come +away without any bonnet at all. Don't you know a little shop?" + +Fate takes the young man or the young woman aside. + +"Come into this village, my dear," says Fate; "into this by-street +of this salubrious suburb, into this social circle, into this +church, into this chapel. Now, my dear boy, out of these seventeen +young ladies, which will you have?--out of these thirteen young men, +which would you like for your very own, my dear?" + +"No, miss, I am sorry, but I am not able to show you our up-stairs +department to-day, the lift is not working. But I am sure we shall +be able to find something in this room to suit you. Just look +round, my dear, perhaps you will see something." + +"No, sir, I cannot show you the stock in the next room, we never +take that out except for our very special customers. We keep our +most expensive goods in that room. (Draw that curtain, Miss +Circumstance, please. I have told you of that before.) Now, sir, +wouldn't you like this one? This colour is quite the rage this +season; we are getting rid of quite a lot of these." + +"NO, sir! Well, of course, it would not do for every one's taste to +be the same. Perhaps something dark would suit you better. Bring +out those two brunettes, Miss Circumstance. Charming girls both of +them, don't you think so, sir? I should say the taller one for you, +sir. Just one moment, sir, allow me. Now, what do you think of +that, sir? might have been made to fit you, I'm sure. You prefer +the shorter one. Certainly, sir, no difference to us at all. Both +are the same price. There's nothing like having one's own fancy, I +always say. NO, sir, I cannot put her aside for you, we never do +that. Indeed, there's rather a run on brunettes just at present. I +had a gentleman in only this morning, looking at this particular +one, and he is going to call again to-night. Indeed, I am not at +all sure--Oh, of course, sir, if you like to settle on this one now, +that ends the matter. (Put those others away, Miss Circumstance, +please, and mark this one sold.) I feel sure you'll like her, sir, +when you get her home. Thank YOU, sir. Good-morning!" + +"Now, miss, have YOU seen anything you fancy? YES, miss, this is +all we have at anything near your price. (Shut those other +cupboards, Miss Circumstance; never show more stock than you are +obliged to, it only confuses customers. How often am I to tell you +that?) YES, miss, you are quite right, there IS a slight blemish. +They all have some slight flaw. The makers say they can't help it-- +it's in the material. It's not once in a season we get a perfect +specimen; and when we do ladies don't seem to care for it. Most of +our customers prefer a little faultiness. They say it gives +character. Now, look at this, miss. This sort of thing wears very +well, warm and quiet. You'd like one with more colour in it? +Certainly. Miss Circumstance, reach me down the art patterns. NO, +miss, we don't guarantee any of them over the year, so much depends +on how you use them. OH YES, miss, they'll stand a fair amount of +wear. People do tell you the quieter patterns last longer; but my +experience is that one is much the same as another. There's really +no telling any of them until you come to try them. We never +recommend one more than another. There's a lot of chance about +these goods, it's in the nature of them. What I always say to +ladies is--'Please yourself, it's you who have got to wear it; and +it's no good having an article you start by not liking.' YES, miss, +it IS pretty and it looks well against you: it does indeed. Thank +you, miss. Put that one aside, Miss Circumstance, please. See that +it doesn't get mixed up with the unsold stock. " + +It is a useful philtre, the juice of that small western flower, that +Oberon drops upon our eyelids as we sleep. It solves all +difficulties in a trice. Why of course Helena is the fairer. +Compare her with Hermia! Compare the raven with the dove! How +could we ever have doubted for a moment? Bottom is an angel, Bottom +is as wise as he is handsome. Oh, Oberon, we thank you for that +drug. Matilda Jane is a goddess; Matilda Jane is a queen; no woman +ever born of Eve was like Matilda Jane. The little pimple on her +nose--her little, sweet, tip-tilted nose--how beautiful it is. Her +bright eyes flash with temper now and then; how piquant is a temper +in a woman. William is a dear old stupid, how lovable stupid men +can be--especially when wise enough to love us. William does not +shine in conversation; how we hate a magpie of a man. William's +chin is what is called receding, just the sort of chin a beard looks +well on. Bless you, Oberon darling, for that drug; rub it on our +eyelids once again. Better let us have a bottle, Oberon, to keep by +us. + +Oberon, Oberon, what are you thinking of? You have given the bottle +to Puck. Take it away from him, quick. Lord help us all if that +Imp has the bottle. Lord save us from Puck while we sleep. + +Or may we, fairy Oberon, regard your lotion as an eye-opener, rather +than as an eye-closer? You remember the story the storks told the +children, of the little girl who was a toad by day, only her sweet +dark eyes being left to her. But at night, when the Prince clasped +her close to his breast, lo! again she became the king's daughter, +fairest and fondest of women. There be many royal ladies in +Marshland, with bad complexion and thin straight hair, and the silly +princes sneer and ride away to woo some kitchen wench decked out in +queen's apparel. Lucky the prince upon whose eyelids Oberon has +dropped the magic philtre. + +In the gallery of a minor Continental town I have forgotten, hangs a +picture that lives with me. The painting I cannot recall, whether +good or bad; artists must forgive me for remembering only the +subject. It shows a man, crucified by the roadside. No martyr he. +If ever a man deserved hanging it was this one. So much the artist +has made clear. The face, even under its mask of agony, is an evil, +treacherous face. A peasant girl clings to the cross; she stands +tip-toe upon a patient donkey, straining her face upward for the +half-dead man to stoop and kiss her lips. + +Thief, coward, blackguard, they are stamped upon his face, but UNDER +the face, under the evil outside? Is there no remnant of manhood- +-nothing tender, nothing, true? A woman has crept to the cross to +kiss him: no evidence in his favour, my Lord? Love is blind-aye, +to our faults. Heaven help us all; Love's eyes would be sore indeed +if it were not so. But for the good that is in us her eyes are +keen. You, crucified blackguard, stand forth. A hundred witnesses +have given their evidence against you. Are there none to give +evidence for him? A woman, great Judge, who loved him. Let her +speak. + +But I am wandering far from Hyde Park and its show of girls. + +They passed and re-passed me, laughing, smiling, talking. Their +eyes were bright with merry thoughts; their voices soft and musical. +They were pleased, and they wanted to please. Some were married, +some had evidently reasonable expectations of being married; the +rest hoped to be. And we, myself, and some ten thousand other young +men. I repeat it--myself and some ten thousand other young men; for +who among us ever thinks of himself but as a young man? It is the +world that ages, not we. The children cease their playing and grow +grave, the lasses' eyes are dimmer. The hills are a little steeper, +the milestones, surely, further apart. The songs the young men sing +are less merry than the songs we used to sing. The days have grown +a little colder, the wind a little keener. The wine has lost its +flavour somewhat; the new humour is not like the old. The other +boys are becoming dull and prosy; but we are not changed. It is the +world that is growing old. Therefore, I brave your thoughtless +laughter, youthful Reader, and repeat that we, myself and some ten +thousand other young men, walked among these sweet girls; and, using +our boyish eyes, were fascinated, charmed, and captivated. How +delightful to spend our lives with them, to do little services for +them that would call up these bright smiles. How pleasant to jest +with them, and hear their flute-like laughter, to console them and +read their grateful eyes. Really life is a pleasant thing, and the +idea of marriage undoubtedly originated in the brain of a kindly +Providence. + +We smiled back at them, and we made way for them; we rose from our +chairs with a polite, "Allow me, miss," "Don't mention it, I prefer +standing." "It is a delightful evening, is it not?" And perhaps- +-for what harm was there?--we dropped into conversation with these +chance fellow-passengers upon the stream of life. There were those +among us--bold daring spirits--who even went to the length of mild +flirtation. Some of us knew some of them, and in such happy case +there followed interchange of pretty pleasantries. Your English +middle-class young man and woman are not adepts at the game of +flirtation. I will confess that our methods were, perhaps, +elephantine, that we may have grown a trifle noisy as the evening +wore on. But we meant no evil; we did but our best to enjoy +ourselves, to give enjoyment, to make the too brief time, pass +gaily. + +And then my thoughts travelled to small homes in distant suburbs, +and these bright lads and lasses round me came to look older and +more careworn. But what of that? Are not old faces sweet when +looked at by old eyes a little dimmed by love, and are not care and +toil but the parents of peace and joy? + +But as I drew nearer, I saw that many of the faces were seared with +sour and angry looks, and the voices that rose round me sounded +surly and captious. The pretty compliment and praise had changed to +sneers and scoldings. The dimpled smile had wrinkled to a frown. +There seemed so little desire to please, so great a determination +not to be pleased. + +And the flirtations! Ah me, they had forgotten how to flirt! Oh, +the pity of it! All the jests were bitter, all the little services +were given grudgingly. The air seemed to have grown chilly. A +darkness had come over all things. + +And then I awoke to reality, and found I had been sitting in my +chair longer than I had intended. The band-stand was empty, the sun +had set; I rose and made my way home through the scattered crowd. + +Nature is so callous. The Dame irritates one at times by her +devotion to her one idea, the propagation of the species. + +"Multiply and be fruitful; let my world be ever more and more +peopled." + +For this she trains and fashions her young girls, models them with +cunning hand, paints them with her wonderful red and white, crowns +them with her glorious hair, teaches them to smile and laugh, trains +their voices into music, sends them out into the world to captivate, +to enslave us. + +"See how beautiful she is, my lad," says the cunning old woman. +"Take her; build your little nest with her in your pretty suburb; +work for her and live for her; enable her to keep the little ones +that I will send." + +And to her, old hundred-breasted Artemis whispers, "Is he not a +bonny lad? See how he loves you, how devoted he is to you! He will +work for you and make you happy; he will build your home for you. +You will be the mother of his children." + +So we take each other by the hand, full of hope and love, and from +that hour Mother Nature has done with us. Let the wrinkles come; +let our voices grow harsh; let the fire she lighted in our hearts +die out; let the foolish selfishness we both thought we had put +behind us for ever creep back to us, bringing unkindness and +indifference, angry thoughts and cruel words into our lives. What +cares she? She has caught us, and chained us to her work. She is +our universal mother-in-law. She has done the match-making; for the +rest, she leaves it to ourselves. We can love or we can fight; it +is all one to her, confound her. + +I wonder sometimes if good temper might not be taught. In business +we use no harsh language, say no unkind things to one another. The +shopkeeper, leaning across the counter, is all smiles and +affability, he might put up his shutters were he otherwise. The +commercial gent, no doubt, thinks the ponderous shopwalker an ass, +but refrains from telling him so. Hasty tempers are banished from +the City. Can we not see that it is just as much to our interest to +banish them from Tooting and Hampstead? + +The young man who sat in the chair next to me, how carefully he +wrapped the cloak round the shoulders of the little milliner beside +him. And when she said she was tired of sitting still, how readily +he sprang from his chair to walk with her, though it was evident he +was very comfortable where he was. And she! She had laughed at his +jokes; they were not very clever jokes, they were not very new. She +had probably read them herself months before in her own particular +weekly journal. Yet the harmless humbug made him happy. I wonder +if ten years hence she will laugh at such old humour, if ten years +hence he will take such clumsy pains to put her cape about her. +Experience shakes her head, and is amused at my question. + +I would have evening classes for the teaching of temper to married +couples, only I fear the institution would languish for lack of +pupils. The husbands would recommend their wives to attend, +generously offering to pay the fee as a birthday present. The wife +would be indignant at the suggestion of good money being thus +wasted. "No, John, dear," she would unselfishly reply, "you need +the lessons more than I do. It would be a shame for me to take them +away from you," and they would wrangle upon the subject for the rest +of the day. + +Oh! the folly of it. We pack our hamper for life's picnic with such +pains. We spend so much, we work so hard. We make choice pies, we +cook prime joints, we prepare so carefully the mayonnaise, we mix +with loving hands the salad, we cram the basket to the lid with +every delicacy we can think of. Everything to make the picnic a +success is there except the salt. Ah! woe is me, we forget the +salt. We slave at our desks, in our workshops, to make a home for +those we love; we give up our pleasures, we give up our rest. We +toil in our kitchen from morning till night, and we render the whole +feast tasteless for want of a ha'porth of salt--for want of a +soupcon of amiability, for want of a handful of kindly words, a +touch of caress, a pinch of courtesy. + +Who does not know that estimable housewife, working from eight till +twelve to keep the house in what she calls order? She is so good a +woman, so untiring, so unselfish, so conscientious, so irritating. +Her rooms are so clean, her servants so well managed, her children +so well dressed, her dinners so well cooked; the whole house so +uninviting. Everything about her is in apple-pie order, and +everybody wretched. + +My good Madam, you polish your tables, you scour your kettles, but +the most valuable piece of furniture in the whole house you are +letting to rack and ruin for want of a little pains. You will find +it in your own room, my dear Lady, in front of your own mirror. It +is getting shabby and dingy, old-looking before its time; the polish +is rubbed off it, Madam, it is losing its brightness and charm. Do +you remember when he first brought it home, how proud he was of it? +Do you think you have used it well, knowing how he valued it? A +little less care of your pots and your pans, Madam, a little more of +yourself were wiser. Polish yourself up, Madam; you had a pretty +wit once, a pleasant laugh, a conversation that was not confined +exclusively to the short-comings of servants, the wrong-doings of +tradesmen. My dear Madam, we do not live on spotless linen, and +crumbless carpets. Hunt out that bundle of old letters you keep +tied up in faded ribbon at the back of your bureau drawer--a pity +you don't read them oftener. He did not enthuse about your cuffs +and collars, gush over the neatness of your darning. It was your +tangled hair he raved about, your sunny smile (we have not seen it +for some years, Madam--the fault of the Cook and the Butcher, I +presume), your little hands, your rosebud mouth--it has lost its +shape, Madam, of late. Try a little less scolding of Mary Ann, and +practise a laugh once a day: you might get back the dainty curves. +It would be worth trying. It was a pretty mouth once. + +Who invented that mischievous falsehood that the way to a man's +heart was through his stomach? How many a silly woman, taking it +for truth, has let love slip out of the parlour, while she was busy +in the kitchen. Of course, if you were foolish enough to marry a +pig, I suppose you must be content to devote your life to the +preparation of hog's-wash. But are you sure that he IS a pig? If +by any chance he be not?--then, Madam, you are making a grievous +mistake. My dear Lady, you are too modest. If I may say so without +making you unduly conceited, even at the dinner-table itself, you +are of much more importance than the mutton. Courage, Madam, be not +afraid to tilt a lance even with your own cook. You can be more +piquant than the sauce a la Tartare, more soothing surely than the +melted butter. There was a time when he would not have known +whether he was eating beef or pork with you the other side of the +table. Whose fault is it? Don't think so poorly of us. We are not +ascetics, neither are we all gourmets: most of us plain men, fond +of our dinner, as a healthy man should be, but fonder still of our +sweethearts and wives, let us hope. Try us. A moderately-cooked +dinner--let us even say a not-too-well-cooked dinner, with you +looking your best, laughing and talking gaily and cleverly--as you +can, you know--makes a pleasanter meal for us, after the day's work +is done, than that same dinner, cooked to perfection, with you +silent, jaded, and anxious, your pretty hair untidy, your pretty +face wrinkled with care concerning the sole, with anxiety regarding +the omelette. + +My poor Martha, be not troubled about so many things. YOU are the +one thing needful--if the bricks and mortar are to be a home. See +to it that YOU are well served up, that YOU are done to perfection, +that YOU are tender and satisfying, that YOU are worth sitting down +to. We wanted a wife, a comrade, a friend; not a cook and a nurse +on the cheap. + +But of what use is it to talk? the world will ever follow its own +folly. When I think of all the good advice that I have given it, +and of the small result achieved, I confess I grow discouraged. I +was giving good advice to a lady only the other day. I was +instructing her as to the proper treatment of aunts. She was +sucking a lead-pencil, a thing I am always telling her not to do. +She took it out of her mouth to speak. + +"I suppose you know how everybody ought to do everything," she said. + +There are times when it is necessary to sacrifice one's modesty to +one's duty. + +"Of course I do," I replied. + +"And does Mama know how everybody ought to do everything?" was the +second question. + +My conviction on this point was by no means so strong, but for +domestic reasons I again sacrificed myself to expediency. + +"Certainly," I answered; "and take that pencil out of your mouth. +I've told you of that before. You'll swallow it one day, and then +you'll get perichondritis and die." + +She appeared to be solving a problem. + +"All grown-up people seem to know everything," she summarized. + +There are times when I doubt if children are as simple as they look. +If it be sheer stupidity that prompts them to make remarks of this +character, one should pity them, and seek to improve them. But if +it be not stupidity? well then, one should still seek to improve +them, but by a different method. + +The other morning I overheard the nurse talking to this particular +specimen. The woman is a most worthy creature, and she was +imparting to the child some really sound advice. She was in the +middle of an unexceptional exhortation concerning the virtue of +silence, when Dorothea interrupted her with-- + +"Oh, do be quiet, Nurse. I never get a moment's peace from your +chatter." + +Such an interruption discourages a woman who is trying to do her +duty. + +Last Tuesday evening she was unhappy. Myself, I think that rhubarb +should never be eaten before April, and then never with lemonade. +Her mother read her a homily upon the subject of pain. It was +impressed upon her that we must be patient, that we must put up with +the trouble that God sends us. Dorothea would descend to details, +as children will. + +"Must we put up with the cod-liver oil that God sends us?" + +"Yes, decidedly." + +"And with the nurses that God sends us?" + +"Certainly; and be thankful that you've got them, some little girls +haven't any nurse. And don't talk so much." + +On Friday I found the mother in tears. + +"What's the matter?" I asked. + +"Oh, nothing," was the answer; "only Baby. She's such a strange +child. I can't make her out at all. " + +"What has she been up to now?" + +"Oh, she will argue, you know." + +She has that failing. I don't know where she gets it from, but +she's got it. + +"Well?" + +"Well, she made me cross; and, to punish her, I told her she +shouldn't take her doll's perambulator out with her." + +"Yes?" + +"Well, she didn't say anything then, but so soon as I was outside +the door, I heard her talking to herself--you know her way?" + +"Yes?" + +"She said--" + +"Yes, she said?" + +"She said, 'I must be patient. I must put up with the mother God +has sent me.'" + +She lunches down-stairs on Sundays. We have her with us once a week +to give her the opportunity of studying manners and behaviour. +Milson had dropped in, and we were discussing politics. I was +interested, and, pushing my plate aside, leant forward with my +elbows on the table. Dorothea has a habit of talking to herself in +a high-pitched whisper capable of being heard above an Adelphi love +scene. I heard her say-- + +"I must sit up straight. I mustn't sprawl with my elbows on the +table. It is only common, vulgar people behave that way." + +I looked across at her; she was sitting most correctly, and appeared +to be contemplating something a thousand miles away. We had all of +us been lounging! We sat up stiffly, and conversation flagged. + +Of course we made a joke of it after the child was gone. But +somehow it didn't seem to be OUR joke. + +I wish I could recollect my childhood. I should so like to know if +children are as simple as they can look. + + + +ON THE DELIGHTS AND BENEFITS OF SLAVERY + +My study window looks down upon Hyde Park, and often, to quote the +familiar promise of each new magazine, it amuses and instructs me to +watch from my tower the epitome of human life that passes to and fro +beneath. At the opening of the gates, creeps in the woman of the +streets. Her pitiful work for the time being is over. Shivering in +the chill dawn, she passes to her brief rest. Poor Slave! Lured to +the galley's lowest deck, then chained there. Civilization, tricked +fool, they say has need of such. You serve as the dogs of Eastern +towns. But at least, it seems to me, we need not spit on you. Home +to your kennel! Perchance, if the Gods be kind, they may send you +dreams of a cleanly hearth, where you lie with a silver collar round +your neck. + +Next comes the labourer--the hewer of wood, the drawer of water- +-slouching wearily to his toil; sleep clinging still about his +leaden eyes, his pittance of food carried tied up in a dish-clout. +The first stroke of the hour clangs from Big Ben. Haste thee, +fellow-slave, lest the overseer's whip, "Out, we will have no +lie-a-beds here," descend upon thy patient back. + +Later, the artisan, with his bag of tools across his shoulder. He, +too, listens fearfully to the chiming of the bells. For him also +there hangs ready the whip. + +After him, the shop boy and the shop girl, making love as they walk, +not to waste time. And after these the slaves of the desk and of +the warehouse, employers and employed, clerks and tradesmen, office +boys and merchants. To your places, slaves of all ranks. Get you +unto your burdens. + +Now, laughing and shouting as they run, the children, the sons and +daughters of the slaves. Be industrious, little children, and learn +your lessons, that when the time comes you may be ready to take from +our hands the creaking oar, to slip into our seat at the roaring +loom. For we shall not be slaves for ever, little children. It is +the good law of the land. So many years in the galleys, so many +years in the fields; then we can claim our freedom. Then we shall +go, little children, back to the land of our birth. And you we must +leave behind us to take up the tale of our work. So, off to your +schools, little children, and learn to be good little slaves. + +Next, pompous and sleek, come the educated slaves--journalists, +doctors, judges, and poets; the attorney, the artist, the player, +the priest. They likewise scurry across the Park, looking anxiously +from time to time at their watches, lest they be late for their +appointments; thinking of the rates and taxes to be earned, of the +bonnets to be paid for, the bills to be met. The best scourged, +perhaps, of all, these slaves. The cat reserved for them has fifty +tails in place of merely two or three. Work, you higher +middle-class slave, or you shall come down to the smoking of +twopenny cigars; harder yet, or you shall drink shilling claret; +harder, or you shall lose your carriage and ride in a penny bus; +your wife's frocks shall be of last year's fashion; your trousers +shall bag at the knees; from Kensington you shall be banished to +Kilburn, if the tale of your bricks run short. Oh, a many-thonged +whip is yours, my genteel brother. + +The slaves of fashion are the next to pass beneath me in review. +They are dressed and curled with infinite pains. The liveried, +pampered footman these, kept more for show than use; but their +senseless tasks none the less labour to them. Here must they come +every day, merry or sad. By this gravel path and no other must they +walk; these phrases shall they use when they speak to one another. +For an hour they must go slowly up and down upon a bicycle from Hyde +Park Corner to the Magazine and back. And these clothes must they +wear; their gloves of this colour, their neck-ties of this pattern. +In the afternoon they must return again, this time in a carriage, +dressed in another livery, and for an hour they must pass slowly to +and fro in foolish procession. For dinner they must don yet another +livery, and after dinner they must stand about at dreary social +functions till with weariness and boredom their heads feel dropping +from their shoulders. + +With the evening come the slaves back from their work: barristers, +thinking out their eloquent appeals; school-boys, conning their +dog-eared grammars; City men, planning their schemes; the wearers of +motley, cudgelling their poor brains for fresh wit with which to +please their master; shop boys and shop girls, silent now as, +together, they plod homeward; the artisan; the labourer. Two or +three hours you shall have to yourselves, slaves, to think and love +and play, if you be not too tired to think, or love, or play. Then +to your litter, that you may be ready for the morrow's task. + +The twilight deepens into dark; there comes back the woman of the +streets. As the shadows, she rounds the City's day. Work strikes +its tent. Evil creeps from its peering place. + +So we labour, driven by the whip of necessity, an army of slaves. +If we do not our work, the whip descends upon us; only the pain we +feel in our stomach instead of on our back. And because of that, we +call ourselves free men. + +Some few among us bravely struggle to be really free: they are our +tramps and outcasts. We well-behaved slaves shrink from them, for +the wages of freedom in this world are vermin and starvation. We +can live lives worth living only by placing the collar round our +neck. + +There are times when one asks oneself: Why this endless labour? Why +this building of houses, this cooking of food, this making of +clothes? Is the ant so much more to be envied than the grasshopper, +because she spends her life in grubbing and storing, and can spare +no time for singing? Why this complex instinct, driving us to a +thousand labours to satisfy a thousand desires? We have turned the +world into a workshop to provide ourselves with toys. To purchase +luxury we have sold our ease. + +Oh, Children of Israel! why were ye not content in your wilderness? +It seems to have been a pattern wilderness. For you, a simple +wholesome food, ready cooked, was provided. You took no thought for +rent and taxes; you had no poor among you--no poor-rate collectors. +You suffered not from indigestion, nor the hundred ills that follow +over-feeding; an omer for every man was your portion, neither more +nor less. You knew not you had a liver. Doctors wearied you not +with their theories, their physics, and their bills. You were +neither landowners nor leaseholders, neither shareholders nor +debenture holders. The weather and the market reports troubled you +not. The lawyer was unknown to you; you wanted no advice; you had +nought to quarrel about with your neighbour. No riches were yours +for the moth and rust to damage. Your yearly income and expenditure +you knew would balance to a fraction. Your wife and children were +provided for. Your old age caused you no anxiety; you knew you +would always have enough to live upon in comfort. Your funeral, a +simple and tasteful affair, would be furnished by the tribe. And +yet, poor, foolish child, fresh from the Egyptian brickfield, you +could not rest satisfied. You hungered for the fleshpots, knowing +well what flesh-pots entail: the cleaning of the flesh-pots, the +forging of the flesh-pots, the hewing of wood to make the fires for +the boiling of the flesh-pots, the breeding of beasts to fill the +pots, the growing of fodder to feed the beasts to fill the pots. + +All the labour of our life is centred round our flesh-pots. On the +altar of the flesh-pot we sacrifice our leisure, our peace of mind. +For a mess of pottage we sell our birthright. + +Oh! Children of Israel, saw you not the long punishment you were +preparing for yourselves, when in your wilderness you set up the +image of the Calf, and fell before it, crying--"This shall be our +God." + +You would have veal. Thought you never of the price man pays for +Veal? The servants of the Golden Calf! I see them, stretched +before my eyes, a weary, endless throng. I see them toiling in the +mines, the black sweat on their faces. I see them in sunless +cities, silent, and grimy, and bent. I see them, ague-twisted, in +the rain-soaked fields. I see them, panting by the furnace doors. +I see them, in loin-cloth and necklace, the load upon their head. I +see them in blue coats and red coats, marching to pour their blood +as an offering on the altar of the Calf. I see them in homespun and +broadcloth, I see them in smock and gaiters, I see them in cap and +apron, the servants of the Calf. They swarm on the land and they +dot the sea. They are chained to the anvil and counter; they are +chained to the bench and the desk. They make ready the soil, they +till the fields where the Golden Calf is born. They build the ship, +and they sail the ship that carries the Golden Calf. They fashion +the pots, they mould the pans, they carve the tables, they turn the +chairs, they dream of the sauces, they dig for the salt, they weave +the damask, they mould the dish to serve the Golden Calf. + +The work of the world is to this end, that we eat of the Calf. War +and Commerce, Science and Law! what are they but the four pillars +supporting the Golden Calf? He is our God. It is on his back that +we have journeyed from the primeval forest, where our ancestors ate +nuts and fruit. He is our God. His temple is in every street. His +blue-robed priest stands ever at the door, calling to the people to +worship. Hark! his voice rises on the gas-tainted air--"Now's your +time! Now's your time! Buy! Buy! ye people. Bring hither the +sweat of your brow, the sweat of your brain, the ache of your heart, +buy Veal with it. Bring me the best years of your life. Bring me +your thoughts, your hopes, your loves; ye shall have Veal for them. +Now's your time! Now's your time! Buy! Buy!" + +Oh! Children of Israel, was Veal, even with all its trimmings, quite +worth the price? + +And we! what wisdom have we learned, during the centuries? I talked +with a rich man only the other evening. He calls himself a +Financier, whatever that may mean. He leaves his beautiful house, +some twenty miles out of London, at a quarter to eight, summer and +winter, after a hurried breakfast by himself, while his guests still +sleep, and he gets back just in time to dress for an elaborate +dinner he himself is too weary or too preoccupied to more than +touch. If ever he is persuaded to give himself a holiday it is for +a fortnight in Ostend, when it is most crowded and uncomfortable. +He takes his secretary with him, receives and despatches a hundred +telegrams a day, and has a private telephone, through which he can +speak direct to London, brought up into his bedroom. + +I suppose the telephone is really a useful invention. Business men +tell me they wonder how they contrived to conduct their affairs +without it. My own wonder always is, how any human being with the +ordinary passions of his race can conduct his business, or even +himself, creditably, within a hundred yards of the invention. I can +imagine Job, or Griselda, or Socrates liking to have a telephone +about them as exercise. Socrates, in particular, would have made +quite a reputation for himself out of a three months' subscription +to a telephone. Myself, I am, perhaps, too sensitive. I once lived +for a month in an office with a telephone, if one could call it +life. I was told that if I had stuck to the thing for two or three +months longer, I should have got used to it. I know friends of +mine, men once fearless and high-spirited, who now stand in front of +their own telephone for a quarter of an hour at a time, and never so +much as answer it back. They tell me that at first they used to +swear and shout at it as I did; but now their spirit seems crushed. +That is what happens: you either break the telephone, or the +telephone breaks you. You want to see a man two streets off. You +might put on your hat, and be round at his office in five minutes. +You are on the point of starting when the telephone catches your +eye. You think you will ring him up to make sure he is in. You +commence by ringing up some half-dozen times before anybody takes +any notice of you whatever. You are burning with indignation at +this neglect, and have left the instrument to sit down and pen a +stinging letter of complaint to the Company when the ring-back +re-calls you. You seize the ear trumpets, and shout-- + +"How is it that I can never get an answer when I ring? Here have I +been ringing for the last half-hour. I have rung twenty times." +(This is a falsehood. You have rung only six times, and the +"half-hour" is an absurd exaggeration; but you feel the mere truth +would not be adequate to the occasion.) "I think it disgraceful," +you continue, "and I shall complain to the Company. What is the use +of my having a telephone if I can't get any answer when I ring? +Here I pay a large sum for having this thing, and I can't get any +notice taken. I've been ringing all the morning. Why is it?" + +Then you wait for the answer. + +"What--what do you say? I can't hear what you say." + +"I say I've been ringing here for over an hour, and I can't get any +reply," you call back. "I shall complain to the Company." + +"You want what? Don't stand so near the tube. I can't hear what +you say. What number?" + +"Bother the number; I say why is it I don't get an answer when I +ring?" + +"Eight hundred and what?" + +You can't argue any more, after that. The machine would give way +under the language you want to make use of. Half of what you feel +would probably cause an explosion at some point where the wire was +weak. Indeed, mere language of any kind would fall short of the +requirements of the case. A hatchet and a gun are the only +intermediaries through which you could convey your meaning by this +time. So you give up all attempt to answer back, and meekly mention +that you want to be put in communication with four-five-seven-six. + +"Four-nine-seven-six?" says the girl. + +"No; four-five-seven-six." + +"Did you say seven-six or six-seven?" + +"Six-seven--no! I mean seven-six: no--wait a minute. I don't know +what I do mean now." + +"Well, I wish you'd find out," says the young lady severely. "You +are keeping me here all the morning." + +So you look up the number in the book again, and at last she tells +you that you are in connection; and then, ramming the trumpet tight +against your ear, you stand waiting. + +And if there is one thing more than another likely to make a man +feel ridiculous it is standing on tip-toe in a corner, holding a +machine to his head, and listening intently to nothing. Your back +aches and your head aches, your very hair aches. You hear the door +open behind you and somebody enter the room. You can't turn your +head. You swear at them, and hear the door close with a bang. It +immediately occurs to you that in all probability it was Henrietta. +She promised to call for you at half-past twelve: you were to take +her to lunch. It was twelve o'clock when you were fool enough to +mix yourself up with this infernal machine, and it probably is +half-past twelve by now. Your past life rises before you, +accompanied by dim memories of your grandmother. You are wondering +how much longer you can bear the strain of this attitude, and +whether after all you do really want to see the man in the next +street but two, when the girl in the exchange-room calls up to know +if you're done. + +"Done!" you retort bitterly; "why, I haven't begun yet." + +"Well, be quick," she says, "because you're wasting time." + +Thus admonished, you attack the thing again. "ARE you there?" you +cry in tones that ought to move the heart of a Charity Commissioner; +and then, oh joy! oh rapture! you hear a faint human voice replying- +- + +"Yes, what is it?" + +"Oh! Are you four-five-seven-six?" + +"What?" + +"Are you four-five-seven-six, Williamson?" + +"What! who are you?" + +"Eight-one-nine, Jones." + +"Bones?" + +"No, JONES. Are you four-five-seven-six?" + +"Yes; what is it?" + +"Is Mr. Williamson in?" + +"Will I what--who are you?" + +"Jones! Is Mr. Williamson in?" + +"Who?" + +"Williamson. Will-i-am-son!" + +"You're the son of what? I can't hear what you say." + +Then you gather yourself for one final effort, and succeed, by +superhuman patience, in getting the fool to understand that you wish +to know if Mr. Williamson is in, and he says, so it sounds to you, +"Be in all the morning." + +So you snatch up your hat and run round. + +"Oh, I've come to see Mr. Williamson," you say. + +"Very sorry, sir," is the polite reply, "but he's out." + +"Out? Why, you just now told me through the telephone that he'd be +in all the morning." + +"No, I said, he 'WON'T be in all the morning.'" + +You go back to the office, and sit down in front of that telephone +and look at it. There it hangs, calm and imperturbable. Were it an +ordinary instrument, that would be its last hour. You would go +straight down-stairs, get the coal-hammer and the kitchen-poker, and +divide it into sufficient pieces to give a bit to every man in +London. But you feel nervous of these electrical affairs, and there +is a something about that telephone, with its black hole and curly +wires, that cows you. You have a notion that if you don't handle it +properly something may come and shock you, and then there will be an +inquest, and bother of that sort, so you only curse it. + +That is what happens when you want to use the telephone from your +end. But that is not the worst that the telephone can do. A +sensible man, after a little experience, can learn to leave the +thing alone. Your worst troubles are not of your own making. You +are working against time; you have given instructions not to be +disturbed. Perhaps it is after lunch, and you are thinking with +your eyes closed, so that your thoughts shall not be distracted by +the objects about the room. In either case you are anxious not to +leave your chair, when off goes that telephone bell and you spring +from your chair, uncertain, for the moment, whether you have been +shot, or blown up with dynamite. It occurs to you in your weakness +that if you persist in taking no notice, they will get tired, and +leave you alone. But that is not their method. The bell rings +violently at ten-second intervals. You have nothing to wrap your +head up in. You think it will be better to get this business over +and done with. You go to your fate and call back savagely-- + +"What is it? What do you want?" + +No answer, only a confused murmur, prominent out of which come the +voices of two men swearing at one another. The language they are +making use of is disgraceful. The telephone seems peculiarly +adapted for the conveyance of blasphemy. Ordinary language sounds +indistinct through it; but every word those two men are saying can +be heard by all the telephone subscribers in London. + +It is useless attempting to listen till they have done. When they +are exhausted, you apply to the tube again. No answer is +obtainable. You get mad, and become sarcastic; only being sarcastic +when you are not sure that anybody is at the other end to hear you +is unsatisfying. + +At last, after a quarter of an hour or so of saying, "Are you +there?" "Yes, I'm here," "Well?" the young lady at the Exchange +asks what you want. + +"I don't want anything," you reply. + +"Then why do you keep talking?" she retorts; "you mustn't play with +the thing." + +This renders you speechless with indignation for a while, upon +recovering from which you explain that somebody rang you up. + +"WHO rang you up?" she asks. + +"I don't know." + +"I wish you did," she observes. + +Generally disgusted, you slam the trumpet up and return to your +chair. The instant you are seated the bell clangs again; and you +fly up and demand to know what the thunder they want, and who the +thunder they are. + +"Don't speak so loud, we can't hear you. What do you want?" is the +answer. + +"I don't want anything. What do you want? Why do you ring me up, +and then not answer me? Do leave me alone, if you can!" + +"We can't get Hong Kongs at seventy-four." + +"Well, I don't care if you can't." + +"Would you like Zulus?" + +"What are you talking about?" you reply; "I don't know what you +mean." + +"Would you like Zulus--Zulus at seventy-three and a half?" + +"I wouldn't have 'em at six a penny. What are you talking about?" + +"Hong Kongs--we can't get them at seventy-four. Oh, half-a-minute" +(the half-a-minute passes). "Are you there?" + +"Yes, but you are talking to the wrong man." + +"We can get you Hong Kongs at seventy-four and seven-eights." + +"Bother Hong Kongs, and you too. I tell you, you are talking to the +wrong man. I've told you once." + +"Once what?" + +"Why, that I am the wrong man--I mean that you are talking to the +wrong man." + +"Who are you?" + +"Eight-one-nine, Jones." + +"Oh, aren't you one-nine-eight?" + +"No." + +"Oh, good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +How can a man after that sit down and write pleasantly of the +European crisis? And, if it were needed, herein lies another +indictment against the telephone. I was engaged in an argument, +which, if not in itself serious, was at least concerned with a +serious enough subject, the unsatisfactory nature of human riches; +and from that highly moral discussion have I been lured, by the +accidental sight of the word "telephone," into the writing of matter +which can have the effect only of exciting to frenzy all critics of +the New Humour into whose hands, for their sins, this book may come. +Let me forget my transgression and return to my sermon, or rather to +the sermon of my millionaire acquaintance. + +It was one day after dinner, we sat together in his magnificently +furnished dining-room. We had lighted our cigars at the silver +lamp. The butler had withdrawn. + +"These cigars we are smoking," my friend suddenly remarked, a propos +apparently of nothing, "they cost me five shillings apiece, taking +them by the thousand." + +"I can quite believe it," I answered; "they are worth it." + +"Yes, to you," he replied, almost savagely. "What do you usually +pay for your cigars?" + +We had known each other years ago. When I first met him his offices +consisted of a back room up three flights of stairs in a dingy by- +street off the Strand, which has since disappeared. We occasionally +dined together, in those days, at a restaurant in Great Portland +Street, for one and nine. Our acquaintanceship was of sufficient +standing to allow of such a question. + +"Threepence," I answered. "They work out at about twopence +three-farthings by the box." + +"Just so," he growled; "and your twopenny-three-farthing weed gives +you precisely the same amount of satisfaction that this five +shilling cigar affords me. That means four and ninepence farthing +wasted every time I smoke. I pay my cook two hundred a year. I +don't enjoy my dinner as much as when it cost me four shillings, +including a quarter flask of Chianti. What is the difference, +personally, to me whether I drive to my office in a carriage and +pair, or in an omnibus? I often do ride in a bus: it saves +trouble. It is absurd wasting time looking for one's coachman, when +the conductor of an omnibus that passes one's door is hailing one a +few yards off. Before I could afford even buses--when I used to +walk every morning to the office from Hammersmith--I was healthier. +It irritates me to think how hard I work for no earthly benefit to +myself. My money pleases a lot of people I don't care two straws +about, and who are only my friends in the hope of making something +out of me. If I could eat a hundred-guinea dinner myself every +night, and enjoy it four hundred times as much as I used to enjoy a +five-shilling dinner, there would be some sense in it. Why do I do +it?" + +I had never heard him talk like this before. In his excitement he +rose from the table, and commenced pacing the room. + +"Why don't I invest my money in the two and a half per cents?" he +continued. "At the very worst I should be safe for five thousand a +year. What, in the name of common sense, does a man want with more? +I am always saying to myself, I'll do it; why don't I? + +"Well, why not?" I echoed. + +"That's what I want you to tell me," he returned. "You set up for +understanding human nature, it's a mystery to me. In my place, you +would do as I do; you know that. If somebody left you a hundred +thousand pounds to-morrow, you would start a newspaper, or build a +theatre--some damn-fool trick for getting rid of the money and +giving yourself seventeen hours' anxiety a day; you know you would." + +I hung my head in shame. I felt the justice of the accusation. It +has always been my dream to run a newspaper and own a theatre. + +"If we worked only for what we could spend," he went on, "the City +might put up its shutters to-morrow morning. What I want to get at +the bottom of is this instinct that drives us to work apparently for +work's own sake. What is this strange thing that gets upon our back +and spurs us?" + +A servant entered at that moment with a cablegram from the manager +of one of his Austrian mines, and he had to leave me for his study. +But, walking home, I fell to pondering on his words. WHY this +endless work? Why each morning do we get up and wash and dress +ourselves, to undress ourselves at night and go to bed again? Why +do we work merely to earn money to buy food; and eat food so as to +gain strength that we may work? Why do we live, merely in the end +to say good-bye to one another? Why do we labour to bring children +into the world that they may die and be buried? + +Of what use our mad striving, our passionate desire? Will it matter +to the ages whether, once upon a time, the Union Jack or the +Tricolour floated over the battlements of Badajoz? Yet we poured +our blood into its ditches to decide the question. Will it matter, +in the days when the glacial period shall have come again, to clothe +the earth with silence, whose foot first trod the Pole? Yet, +generation after generation, we mile its roadway with our whitening +bones. So very soon the worms come to us; does it matter whether we +love, or hate? Yet the hot blood rushes through our veins, we wear +out heart and brain for shadowy hopes that ever fade as we press +forward. + +The flower struggles up from seed-pod, draws the sweet sap from the +ground, folds its petals each night, and sleeps. Then love comes to +it in a strange form, and it longs to mingle its pollen with the +pollen of some other flower. So it puts forth its gay blossoms, and +the wandering insect bears the message from seed-pod to seed-pod. +And the seasons pass, bringing with them the sunshine and the rain, +till the flower withers, never having known the real purpose for +which it lived, thinking the garden was made for it, not it for the +garden. The coral insect dreams in its small soul, which is +possibly its small stomach, of home and food. So it works and +strives deep down in the dark waters, never knowing of the +continents it is fashioning. + +But the question still remains: for what purpose is it all? +Science explains it to us. By ages of strife and effort we improve +the race; from ether, through the monkey, man is born. So, through +the labour of the coming ages, he will free himself still further +from the brute. Through sorrow and through struggle, by the sweat +of brain and brow, he will lift himself towards the angels. He will +come into his kingdom. + +But why the building? Why the passing of the countless ages? Why +should he not have been born the god he is to be, imbued at birth +with all the capabilities his ancestors have died acquiring? Why +the Pict and Hun that _I_ may be? Why _I_, that a descendant of my +own, to whom I shall seem a savage, shall come after me? Why, if +the universe be ordered by a Creator to whom all things are +possible, the protoplasmic cell? Why not the man that is to be? +Shall all the generations be so much human waste that he may live? +Am I but another layer of the soil preparing for him? + +Or, if our future be in other spheres, then why the need of this +planet? Are we labouring at some Work too vast for us to perceive? +Are our passions and desires mere whips and traces by the help of +which we are driven? Any theory seems more hopeful than the thought +that all our eager, fretful lives are but the turning of a useless +prison crank. Looking back the little distance that our dim eyes +can penetrate the past, what do we find? Civilizations, built up +with infinite care, swept aside and lost. Beliefs for which men +lived and died, proved to be mockeries. Greek Art crushed to the +dust by Gothic bludgeons. Dreams of fraternity, drowned in blood by +a Napoleon. What is left to us, but the hope that the work itself, +not the result, is the real monument? Maybe, we are as children, +asking, "Of what use are these lessons? What good will they ever be +to us?" But there comes a day when the lad understands why he +learnt grammar and geography, when even dates have a meaning for +him. But this is not until he has left school, and gone out into +the wider world. So, perhaps, when we are a little more grown up, +we too may begin to understand the reason for our living. + + + +ON THE CARE AND MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN + +I talked to a woman once on the subject of honeymoons. I said, +"Would you recommend a long honeymoon, or a Saturday to Monday +somewhere?" A silence fell upon her. I gathered she was looking +back rather than forward to her answer. + +"I would advise a long honeymoon," she replied at length, "the +old-fashioned month." + +"Why," I persisted, "I thought the tendency of the age was to cut +these things shorter and shorter." + +"It is the tendency of the age," she answered, "to seek escape from +many things it would be wiser to face. I think myself that, for +good or evil, the sooner it is over--the sooner both the man and the +woman know--the better." + +"The sooner what is over?" I asked. + +If she had a fault, this woman, about which I am not sure, it was an +inclination towards enigma. + +She crossed to the window and stood there, looking out. + +"Was there not a custom," she said, still gazing down into the wet, +glistening street, "among one of the ancient peoples, I forget +which, ordaining that when a man and woman, loving one another, or +thinking that they loved, had been joined together, they should go +down upon their wedding night to the temple? And into the dark +recesses of the temple, through many winding passages, the priest +led them until they came to the great chamber where dwelt the voice +of their god. There the priest left them, clanging-to the massive +door behind him, and there, alone in silence, they made their +sacrifice; and in the night the Voice spoke to them, showing them +their future life--whether they had chosen well; whether their love +would live or die. And in the morning the priest returned and led +them back into the day; and they dwelt among their fellows. But no +one was permitted to question them, nor they to answer should any do +so. Well, do you know, our nineteenth-century honeymoon at +Brighton, Switzerland, or Ramsgate, as the choice or necessity may +be, always seems to me merely another form of that night spent alone +in the temple before the altar of that forgotten god. Our young men +and women marry, and we kiss them and congratulate them; and, +standing on the doorstep, throw rice and old slippers, and shout +good wishes after them; and he waves his gloved hand to us, and she +flutters her little handkerchief from the carriage window; and we +watch their smiling faces and hear their laughter until the corner +hides them from our view. Then we go about our own business, and a +short time passes by; and one day we meet them again, and their +faces have grown older and graver; and I always wonder what the +Voice has told them during that little while that they have been +absent from our sight. But of course it would not do to ask them. +Nor would they answer truly if we did." + +My friend laughed, and, leaving the window, took her place beside +the tea-things, and other callers dropping in, we fell to talk of +pictures, plays, and people. + +But I felt it would be unwise to act on her sole advice, much as I +have always valued her opinion. + +A woman takes life too seriously. It is a serious affair to most of +us, the Lord knows. That is why it is well not to take it more +seriously than need be. + +Little Jack and little Jill fall down the hill, hurting their little +knees, and their little noses, spilling the hard-earned water. We +are very philosophical. + +"Oh, don't cry!" we tell them, "that is babyish. Little boys and +little girls must learn to bear pain. Up you get, fill the pail +again, and try once more." + +Little Jack and little Jill rub their dirty knuckles into their +little eyes, looking ruefully at their bloody little knees, and trot +back with the pail. We laugh at them, but not ill-naturedly. + +"Poor little souls," we say; "how they did hullabaloo. One might +have thought they were half-killed. And it was only a broken crown, +after all. What a fuss children make!" We bear with much stoicism +the fall of little Jack and little Jill. + +But when WE--grown-up Jack with moustache turning grey; grown-up +Jill with the first faint "crow's feet" showing--when WE tumble down +the hill, and OUR pail is spilt. Ye Heavens! what a tragedy has +happened. Put out the stars, turn off the sun, suspend the laws of +nature. Mr. Jack and Mrs. Jill, coming down the hill--what they +were doing on the hill we will not inquire--have slipped over a +stone, placed there surely by the evil powers of the universe. Mr. +Jack and Mrs. Jill have bumped their silly heads. Mr. Jack and Mrs. +Jill have hurt their little hearts, and stand marvelling that the +world can go about its business in the face of such disaster. + +Don't take the matter quite so seriously, Jack and Jill. You have +spilled your happiness, you must toil up the hill again and refill +the pail. Carry it more carefully next time. What were you doing? +Playing some fool's trick, I'll be bound. + +A laugh and a sigh, a kiss and good-bye, is our life. Is it worth +so much fretting? It is a merry life on the whole. Courage, +comrade. A campaign cannot be all drum and fife and stirrup-cup. +The marching and the fighting must come into it somewhere. There +are pleasant bivouacs among the vineyards, merry nights around the +camp fires. White hands wave a welcome to us; bright eyes dim at +our going. Would you run from the battle-music? What have you to +complain of? Forward: the medal to some, the surgeon's knife to +others; to all of us, sooner or later, six feet of mother earth. +What are you afraid of? Courage, comrade. + +There is a mean between basking through life with the smiling +contentment of the alligator, and shivering through it with the +aggressive sensibility of the Lama determined to die at every cross +word. To bear it as a man we must also feel it as a man. My +philosophic friend, seek not to comfort a brother standing by the +coffin of his child with the cheery suggestion that it will be all +the same a hundred years hence, because, for one thing, the +observation is not true: the man is changed for all eternity-- +possibly for the better, but don't add that. A soldier with a +bullet in his neck is never quite the man he was. But he can laugh +and he can talk, drink his wine and ride his horse. Now and again, +towards evening, when the weather is trying, the sickness will come +upon him. You will find him on a couch in a dark corner. + +"Hallo! old fellow, anything up?" + +"Oh, just a twinge, the old wound, you know. I will be better in a +little while." + +Shut the door of the dark room quietly. I should not stay even to +sympathize with him if I were you. The men will be coming to screw +the coffin down soon. I think he would like to be alone with it +till then. Let us leave him. He will come back to the club later +on in the season. For a while we may have to give him another ten +points or so, but he will soon get back his old form. Now and +again, when he meets the other fellows' boys shouting on the +towing-path; when Brown rushes up the drive, paper in hand, to tell +him how that young scapegrace Jim has won his Cross; when he is +congratulating Jones's eldest on having passed with honours, the old +wound may give him a nasty twinge. But the pain will pass away. He +will laugh at our stories and tell us his own; eat his dinner, play +his rubber. It is only a wound. + +Tommy can never be ours, Jenny does not love us. We cannot afford +claret, so we will have to drink beer. Well, what would you have us +do? Yes, let us curse Fate by all means--some one to curse is +always useful. Let us cry and wring our hands--for how long? The +dinner-bell will ring soon, and the Smiths are coming. We shall +have to talk about the opera and the picture-galleries. Quick, +where is the eau-de-Cologne? where are the curling-tongs? Or would +you we committed suicide? Is it worth while? Only a few more +years--perhaps to-morrow, by aid of a piece of orange peel or a +broken chimney-pot--and Fate will save us all that trouble. + +Or shall we, as sulky children, mope day after day? We are a +broken-hearted little Jack--little Jill. We will never smile again; +we will pine away and die, and be buried in the spring. The world +is sad, and life so cruel, and heaven so cold. Oh dear! oh dear! we +have hurt ourselves. + +We whimper and whine at every pain. In old strong days men faced +real dangers, real troubles every hour; they had no time to cry. +Death and disaster stood ever at the door. Men were contemptuous of +them. Now in each snug protected villa we set to work to make +wounds out of scratches. Every head-ache becomes an agony, every +heart-ache a tragedy. It took a murdered father, a drowned +sweetheart, a dishonoured mother, a ghost, and a slaughtered Prime +Minister to produce the emotions in Hamlet that a modern minor poet +obtains from a chorus girl's frown, or a temporary slump on the +Stock Exchange. Like Mrs. Gummidge, we feel it more. The lighter +and easier life gets the more seriously we go out to meet it. The +boatmen of Ulysses faced the thunder and the sunshine alike with +frolic welcome. We modern sailors have grown more sensitive. The +sunshine scorches us, the rain chills us. We meet both with loud +self-pity. + +Thinking these thoughts, I sought a second friend--a man whose +breezy common-sense has often helped me, and him likewise I +questioned on this subject of honeymoons. + +"My dear boy," he replied; "take my advice, if ever you get married, +arrange it so that the honeymoon shall only last a week, and let it +be a bustling week into the bargain. Take a Cook's circular tour. +Get married on the Saturday morning, cut the breakfast and all that +foolishness, and catch the eleven-ten from Charing Cross to Paris. +Take her up the Eiffel Tower on Sunday. Lunch at Fontainebleau. +Dine at the Maison Doree, and show her the Moulin Rouge in the +evening. Take the night train for Lucerne. Devote Monday and +Tuesday to doing Switzerland, and get into Rome by Thursday morning, +taking the Italian lakes en route. On Friday cross to Marseilles, +and from there push along to Monte Carlo. Let her have a flutter at +the tables. Start early Saturday morning for Spain, cross the +Pyrenees on mules, and rest at Bordeaux on Sunday. Get back to +Paris on Monday (Monday is always a good day for the opera), and on +Tuesday evening you will be at home, and glad to get there. Don't +give her time to criticize you until she has got used to you. No +man will bear unprotected exposure to a young girl's eyes. The +honeymoon is the matrimonial microscope. Wobble it. Confuse it +with many objects. Cloud it with other interests. Don't sit still +to be examined. Besides, remember that a man always appears at his +best when active, and a woman at her worst. Bustle her, my dear +boy, bustle her: I don't care who she may be. Give her plenty of +luggage to look after; make her catch trains. Let her see the +average husband sprawling comfortably over the railway cushions, +while his wife has to sit bolt upright in the corner left to her. +Let her hear how other men swear. Let her smell other men's +tobacco. Hurry up, and get her accustomed quickly to the sight of +mankind. Then she will be less surprised and shocked as she grows +to know you. One of the best fellows I ever knew spoilt his married +life beyond repair by a long quiet honeymoon. They went off for a +month to a lonely cottage in some heaven-forsaken spot, where never +a soul came near them, and never a thing happened but morning, +afternoon, and night. There for thirty days she overhauled him. +When he yawned--and he yawned pretty often, I guess, during that +month--she thought of the size of his mouth, and when he put his +heels upon the fender she sat and brooded upon the shape of his +feet. At meal-time, not feeling hungry herself, having nothing to +do to make her hungry, she would occupy herself with watching him +eat; and at night, not feeling sleepy for the same reason, she would +lie awake and listen to his snoring. After the first day or two he +grew tired of talking nonsense, and she of listening to it (it +sounded nonsense now they could speak it aloud; they had fancied it +poetry when they had had to whisper it); and having no other +subject, as yet, of common interest, they would sit and stare in +front of them in silence. One day some trifle irritated him and he +swore. On a busy railway platform, or in a crowded hotel, she would +have said, 'Oh!' and they would both have laughed. From that +echoing desert the silly words rose up in widening circles towards +the sky, and that night she cried herself to sleep. Bustle them, my +dear boy, bustle them. We all like each other better the less we +think about one another, and the honeymoon is an exceptionally +critical time. Bustle her, my dear boy, bustle her." + +My very worst honeymoon experience took place in the South of +England in eighteen hundred and--well, never mind the exact date, +let us say a few years ago. I was a shy young man at that time. +Many complain of my reserve to this day, but then some girls expect +too much from a man. We all have our shortcomings. Even then, +however, I was not so shy as she. We had to travel from Lyndhurst +in the New Forest to Ventnor, an awkward bit of cross-country work +in those days. + +"It's so fortunate you are going too," said her aunt to me on the +Tuesday; "Minnie is always nervous travelling alone. You will be +able to look after her, and I shan't be anxious. + +I said it would be a pleasure, and at the time I honestly thought +it. On the Wednesday I went down to the coach office, and booked +two places for Lymington, from where we took the steamer. I had not +a suspicion of trouble. + +The booking-clerk was an elderly man. He said-- + +"I've got the box seat, and the end place on the back bench." + +I said-- + +"Oh, can't I have two together?" + +He was a kindly-looking old fellow. He winked at me. I wondered +all the way home why he had winked at me. He said-- + +"I'll manage it somehow." + +I said-- + +"It's very kind of you, I'm sure. + +He laid his hand on my shoulder. He struck me as familiar, but +well-intentioned. He said-- + +"We have all of us been there." + +I thought he was alluding to the Isle of Wight. I said-- + +"And this is the best time of the year for it, so I'm told." It was +early summer time. + +He said--"It's all right in summer, and it's good enough in winter- +-WHILE IT LASTS. You make the most of it, young 'un;" and he +slapped me on the back and laughed. + +He would have irritated me in another minute. I paid for the seats +and left him. + +At half-past eight the next morning Minnie and I started for the +coach-office. I call her Minnie, not with any wish to be +impertinent, but because I have forgotten her surname. It must be +ten years since I last saw her. She was a pretty girl, too, with +those brown eyes that always cloud before they laugh. Her aunt did +not drive down with us as she had intended, in consequence of a +headache. She was good enough to say she felt every confidence in +me. + +The old booking-clerk caught sight of us when we were about a +quarter of a mile away, and drew to us the attention of the +coachman, who communicated the fact of our approach to the gathered +passengers. Everybody left off talking, and waited for us. The +boots seized his horn, and blew--one could hardly call it a blast; +it would be difficult to say what he blew. He put his heart into +it, but not sufficient wind. I think his intention was to welcome +us, but it suggested rather a feeble curse. We learnt subsequently +that he was a beginner on the instrument. + +In some mysterious way the whole affair appeared to be our party. +The booking-clerk bustled up and helped Minnie from the cart. I +feared, for a moment, he was going to kiss her. The coachman +grinned when I said good-morning to him. The passengers grinned, +the boots grinned. Two chamber-maids and a waiter came out from the +hotel, and they grinned. I drew Minnie aside, and whispered to her. +I said-- + +"There's something funny about us. All these people are grinning." + +She walked round me, and I walked round her, but we could neither of +us discover anything amusing about the other. The booking-clerk +said-- + +"It's all right. I've got you young people two places just behind +the box-seat. We'll have to put five of you on that seat. You +won't mind sitting a bit close, will you?" + +The booking-clerk winked at the coachman, the coachman winked at the +passengers, the passengers winked at one another--those of them who +could wink--and everybody laughed. The two chamber-maids became +hysterical, and had to cling to each other for support. With the +exception of Minnie and myself, it seemed to be the merriest coach +party ever assembled at Lyndhurst. + +We had taken our places, and I was still busy trying to fathom the +joke, when a stout lady appeared on the scene, and demanded to know +her place. + +The clerk explained to her that it was in the middle behind the +driver. + +"We've had to put five of you on that seat," added the clerk. + +The stout lady looked at the seat. + +"Five of us can't squeeze into that," she said. + +Five of her certainly could not. Four ordinary sized people with +her would find it tight. + +"Very well then," said the clerk, "you can have the end place on the +back seat." + +"Nothing of the sort," said the stout lady. "I booked my seat on +Monday, and you told me any of the front places were vacant. + +"I'LL take the back place," I said, "I don't mind it. + +"You stop where you are, young 'un," said the clerk, firmly, "and +don't be a fool. I'll fix HER." + +I objected to his language, but his tone was kindness itself. + +"Oh, let ME have the back seat," said Minnie, rising, "I'd so like +it." + +For answer the coachman put both his hands on her shoulders. He was +a heavy man, and she sat down again. + +"Now then, mum," said the clerk, addressing the stout lady, "are you +going up there in the middle, or are you coming up here at the +back?" + +"But why not let one of them take the back seat?" demanded the stout +lady, pointing her reticule at Minnie and myself; "they say they'd +like it. Let them have it." + +The coachman rose, and addressed his remarks generally. + +"Put her up at the back, or leave her behind," he directed. "Man +and wife have never been separated on this coach since I started +running it fifteen year ago, and they ain't going to be now." + +A general cheer greeted this sentiment. The stout lady, now +regarded as a would-be blighter of love's young dream, was hustled +into the back seat, the whip cracked, and away we rolled. + +So here was the explanation. We were in a honeymoon district, in +June--the most popular month in the whole year for marriage. Every +two out of three couples found wandering about the New Forest in +June are honeymoon couples; the third are going to be. When they +travel anywhere it is to the Isle of Wight. We both had on new +clothes. Our bags happened to be new. By some evil chance our very +umbrellas were new. Our united ages were thirty-seven. The wonder +would have been had we NOT been mistaken for a young married couple. + +A day of greater misery I have rarely passed. To Minnie, so her +aunt informed me afterwards, the journey was the most terrible +experience of her life, but then her experience, up to that time, +had been limited. She was engaged, and devotedly attached, to a +young clergyman; I was madly in love with a somewhat plump girl +named Cecilia who lived with her mother at Hampstead. I am positive +as to her living at Hampstead. I remember so distinctly my weekly +walk down the hill from Church Row to the Swiss Cottage station. +When walking down a steep hill all the weight of the body is forced +into the toe of the boot, and when the boot is two sizes too small +for you, and you have been living in it since the early afternoon, +you remember a thing like that. But all my recollections of Cecilia +are painful, and it is needless to pursue them. + +Our coach-load was a homely party, and some of the jokes were +broad--harmless enough in themselves, had Minnie and I really been +the married couple we were supposed to be, but even in that case +unnecessary. I can only hope that Minnie did not understand them. +Anyhow, she looked as if she didn't. + +I forget where we stopped for lunch, but I remember that lamb and +mint sauce was on the table, and that the circumstance afforded the +greatest delight to all the party, with the exception of the stout +lady, who was still indignant, Minnie and myself. About my +behaviour as a bridegroom opinion appeared to be divided. "He's a +bit standoffish with her," I overheard one lady remark to her +husband; "I like to see 'em a bit kittenish myself." A young +waitress, on the other hand, I am happy to say, showed more sense of +natural reserve. "Well, I respect him for it," she was saying to +the barmaid, as we passed through the hall; "I'd just hate to be +fuzzled over with everybody looking on." Nobody took the trouble to +drop their voices for our benefit. We might have been a pair of +prize love birds on exhibition, the way we were openly discussed. +By the majority we were clearly regarded as a sulky young couple who +would not go through their tricks. + +I have often wondered since how a real married couple would have +faced the situation. Possibly, had we consented to give a short +display of marital affection, "by desire," we might have been left +in peace for the remainder of the journey. + +Our reputation preceded us on to the steamboat. Minnie begged and +prayed me to let it be known we were not married. How I was to let +it be known, except by requesting the captain to summon the whole +ship's company on deck, and then making them a short speech, I could +not think. Minnie said she could not bear it any longer, and +retired to the ladies' cabin. She went off crying. Her trouble was +attributed by crew and passengers to my coldness. One fool planted +himself opposite me with his legs apart, and shook his head at me. + +"Go down and comfort her," he began. "Take an old man's advice. +Put your arms around her. " (He was one of those sentimental +idiots.) "Tell her that you love her." + +I told him to go and hang himself, with so much vigour that he all +but fell overboard. He was saved by a poultry crate: I had no luck +that day. + +At Ryde the guard, by superhuman effort, contrived to keep us a +carriage to ourselves. I gave him a shilling, because I did not +know what else to do. I would have made it half-a-sovereign if he +had put eight other passengers in with us. At every station people +came to the window to look in at us. + +I handed Minnie over to her father on Ventnor platform; and I took +the first train the next morning, to London. I felt I did not want +to see her again for a little while; and I felt convinced she could +do without a visit from me. Our next meeting took place the week +before her marriage. + +"Where are you going to spend your honeymoon?" I asked her; "in the +New Forest?" + +"No," she replied; "nor in the Isle of Wight." + +To enjoy the humour of an incident one must be at some distance from +it either in time or relationship. I remember watching an amusing +scene in Whitefield Street, just off Tottenham Court Road, one +winter's Saturday night. A woman--a rather respectable looking +woman, had her hat only been on straight--had just been shot out of +a public-house. She was very dignified, and very drunk. A +policeman requested her to move on. She called him "Fellow," and +demanded to know of him if he considered that was the proper tone in +which to address a lady. She threatened to report him to her +cousin, the Lord Chancellor. + +"Yes; this way to the Lord Chancellor," retorted the policeman. +"You come along with me; " and he caught hold of her by the arm. + +She gave a lurch, and nearly fell. To save her the man put his arm +round her waist. She clasped him round the neck, and together they +spun round two or three times; while at the very moment a piano- +organ at the opposite corner struck up a waltz. + +"Choose your partners, gentlemen, for the next dance," shouted a +wag, and the crowd roared. + +I was laughing myself, for the situation was undeniably comical, the +constable's expression of disgust being quite Hogarthian, when the +sight of a child's face beneath the gas-lamp stayed me. Her look +was so full of terror that I tried to comfort her. + +"It's only a drunken woman," I said; "he's not going to hurt her." + +"Please, sir," was the answer, "it's my mother." + +Our joke is generally another's pain. The man who sits down on the +tin-tack rarely joins in the laugh + + + +ON THE MINDING OF OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS + +I walked one bright September morning in the Strand. I love London +best in the autumn. Then only can one see the gleam of its white +pavements, the bold, unbroken outline of its streets. I love the +cool vistas one comes across of mornings in the parks, the soft +twilights that linger in the empty bye-streets. In June the +restaurant manager is off-hand with me; I feel I am but in his way. +In August he spreads for me the table by the window, pours out for +me my wine with his own fat hands. I cannot doubt his regard for +me: my foolish jealousies are stilled. Do I care for a drive after +dinner through the caressing night air, I can climb the omnibus +stair without a preliminary fight upon the curb, can sit with easy +conscience and unsquashed body, not feeling I have deprived some +hot, tired woman of a seat. Do I desire the play, no harsh, +forbidding "House full" board repels me from the door. During her +season, London, a harassed hostess, has no time for us, her +intimates. Her rooms are overcrowded, her servants overworked, her +dinners hurriedly cooked, her tone insincere. In the spring, to be +truthful, the great lady condescends to be somewhat vulgar--noisy +and ostentatious. Not till the guests are departed is she herself +again, the London that we, her children, love. + +Have you, gentle Reader, ever seen London--not the London of the +waking day, coated with crawling life, as a blossom with blight, but +the London of the morning, freed from her rags, the patient city, +clad in mists? Get you up with the dawn one Sunday in summer time. +Wake none else, but creep down stealthily into the kitchen, and make +your own tea and toast. + +Be careful you stumble not over the cat. She will worm herself +insidiously between your legs. It is her way; she means it in +friendship. Neither bark your shins against the coal-box. Why the +kitchen coal-box has its fixed place in the direct line between the +kitchen door and the gas-bracket I cannot say. I merely know it as +an universal law; and I would that you escaped that coal-box, lest +the frame of mind I desire for you on this Sabbath morning be +dissipated. + +A spoon to stir your tea, I fear you must dispense with. Knives and +forks you will discover in plenty; blacking brushes you will put +your hand upon in every drawer; of emery paper, did one require it, +there are reams; but it is a point with every housekeeper that the +spoons be hidden in a different place each night. If anybody +excepting herself can find them in the morning, it is a slur upon +her. No matter, a stick of firewood, sharpened at one end, makes an +excellent substitute. + +Your breakfast done, turn out the gas, remount the stairs quietly, +open gently the front door and slip out. You will find yourself in +an unknown land. A strange city grown round you in the night. + +The sweet long streets lie silent in sunlight. Not a living thing +is to be seen save some lean Tom that slinks from his gutter feast +as you approach. From some tree there will sound perhaps a fretful +chirp: but the London sparrow is no early riser; he is but talking +in his sleep. The slow tramp of unseen policeman draws near or dies +away. The clatter of your own footsteps goes with you, troubling +you. You find yourself trying to walk softly, as one does in +echoing cathedrals. A voice is everywhere about you whispering to +you "Hush." Is this million-breasted City then some tender Artemis, +seeking to keep her babes asleep? "Hush, you careless wayfarer; do +not waken them. Walk lighter; they are so tired, these myriad +children of mine, sleeping in my thousand arms. They are +over-worked and over-worried; so many of them are sick, so many +fretful, many of them, alas, so full of naughtiness. But all of +them so tired. Hush! they worry me with their noise and riot when +they are awake. They are so good now they are asleep. Walk +lightly, let them rest." + +Where the ebbing tide flows softly through worn arches to the sea, +you may hear the stone-faced City talking to the restless waters: +"Why will you never stay with me? Why come but to go?" + +"I cannot say, I do not understand. From the deep sea I come, but +only as a bird loosed from a child's hand with a cord. When she +calls I must return." + +"It is so with these children of mine. They come to me, I know not +whence. I nurse them for a little while, till a hand I do not see +plucks them back. And others take their place." + +Through the still air there passes a ripple of sound. The sleeping +City stirs with a faint sigh. A distant milk-cart rattling by +raises a thousand echoes; it is the vanguard of a yoked army. Soon +from every street there rises the soothing cry, +"Mee'hilk--mee'hilk." + +London like some Gargantuan babe, is awake, crying for its milk. +These be the white-smocked nurses hastening with its morning +nourishment. The early church bells ring. "You have had your milk, +little London. Now come and say your prayers. Another week has +just begun, baby London. God knows what will happen, say your +prayers." + +One by one the little creatures creep from behind the blinds into +the streets. The brooding tenderness is vanished from the City's +face. The fretful noises of the day have come again. Silence, her +lover of the night, kisses her stone lips, and steals away. And +you, gentle Reader, return home, garlanded with the self-sufficiency +of the early riser. + +But it was of a certain week-day morning, in the Strand that I was +thinking. I was standing outside Gatti's Restaurant, where I had +just breakfasted, listening leisurely to an argument between an +indignant lady passenger, presumably of Irish extraction, and an +omnibus conductor. + +"For what d'ye want thin to paint Putney on ye'r bus, if ye don't GO +to Putney?" said the, lady. + +"We DO go to Putney," said the conductor. + +"Thin why did ye put me out here?" + +"I didn't put you out, yer got out." + +"Shure, didn't the gintleman in the corner tell me I was comin' +further away from Putney ivery minit?" + +"Wal, and so yer was." + +"Thin whoy didn't you tell me?" + +"How was I to know yer wanted to go to Putney? Yer sings out +Putney, and I stops and in yer jumps." + +"And for what d'ye think I called out Putney thin?" + +"'Cause it's my name, or rayther the bus's name. This 'ere IS a +Putney." + +"How can it be a Putney whin it isn't goin' to Putney, ye +gomerhawk?" + +"Ain't you an Hirishwoman?" retorted the conductor. "Course yer +are. But yer aren't always goin' to Ireland. We're goin' to Putney +in time, only we're a-going to Liverpool Street fust. 'Igher up, +Jim." + +The bus moved on, and I was about cross the road, when a man, +muttering savagely to himself, walked into me. He would have swept +past me had I not, recognizing him, arrested him. It was my friend +B-----, a busy editor of magazines and journals. It was some +seconds before he appeared able to struggle out of his abstraction, +and remember himself. "Halloo," he then said, "who would have +thought of seeing YOU here?" + +"To judge by the way you were walking," I replied, "one would +imagine the Strand the last place in which you expected to see any +human being. Do you ever walk into a short-tempered, muscular man?" + +"Did I walk into you?" he asked surprised. + +"Well, not right in," I answered, "I if we are to be literal. You +walked on to me; if I had not stopped you, I suppose you would have +walked over me." + +"It is this confounded Christmas business," he explained. "It +drives me off my head." + +"I have heard Christmas advanced as an excuse for many things," I +replied, "but not early in September." + +"Oh, you know what I mean," he answered, "we are in the middle of +our Christmas number. I am working day and night upon it. By the +bye," he added, "that puts me in mind. I am arranging a symposium, +and I want you to join. 'Should Christmas,'"--I interrupted him. + +"My dear fellow," I said, "I commenced my journalistic career when I +was eighteen, and I have continued it at intervals ever since. I +have written about Christmas from the sentimental point of view; I +have analyzed it from the philosophical point of view; and I have +scarified it from the sarcastic standpoint. I have treated +Christmas humorously for the Comics, and sympathetically for the +Provincial Weeklies. I have said all that is worth saying on the +subject of Christmas--maybe a trifle more. I have told the +new-fashioned Christmas story--you know the sort of thing: your +heroine tries to understand herself, and, failing, runs off with the +man who began as the hero; your good woman turns out to be really +bad when one comes to know her; while the villain, the only decent +person in the story, dies with an enigmatic sentence on his lips +that looks as if it meant something, but which you yourself would be +sorry to have to explain. I have also written the old-fashioned +Christmas story--you know that also: you begin with a good +old-fashioned snowstorm; you have a good old-fashioned squire, and +he lives in a good old-fashioned Hall; you work in a good +old-fashioned murder; and end up with a good old-fashioned Christmas +dinner. I have gathered Christmas guests together round the +crackling logs to tell ghost stories to each other on Christmas Eve, +while without the wind howled, as it always does on these occasions, +at its proper cue. I have sent children to Heaven on Christmas +Eve--it must be quite a busy time for St. Peter, Christmas morning, +so many good children die on Christmas Eve. It has always been a +popular night with them.--I have revivified dead lovers and brought +them back well and jolly, just in time to sit down to the Christmas +dinner. I am not ashamed of having done these things. At the time +I thought them good. I once loved currant wine and girls with +towzley hair. One's views change as one grows older. I have +discussed Christmas as a religious festival. I have arraigned it as +a social incubus. If there be any joke connected with Christmas +that I have not already made I should be glad to hear it. I have +trotted out the indigestion jokes till the sight of one of them +gives me indigestion myself. I have ridiculed the family gathering. +I have scoffed at the Christmas present. I have made witty use of +paterfamilias and his bills. I have--" + +"Did I ever show you," I broke off to ask as we were crossing the +Haymarket, "that little parody of mine on Poe's poem of 'The Bells'? +It begins--" He interrupted me in his turn-- + +"Bills, bills, bills," he repeated. + +"You are quite right," I admitted. "I forgot I ever showed it to +you." + +"You never did," he replied. + +"Then how do you know how it begins?" I asked. + +"I don't know for certain," he admitted, "but I get, on an average, +sixty-five a year submitted to me, and they all begin that way. I +thought, perhaps, yours did also." + +"I don't see how else it could begin," I retorted. He had rather +annoyed me. "Besides, it doesn't matter how a poem begins, it is +how it goes on that is the important thing and anyhow, I'm not going +to write you anything about Christmas. Ask me to make you a new +joke about a plumber; suggest my inventing something original and +not too shocking for a child to say about heaven; propose my running +you off a dog story that can be believed by a man of average +determination and we may come to terms. But on the subject of +Christmas I am taking a rest." + +By this time we had reached Piccadilly Circus. + +"I don't blame you," he said, "if you are as sick of the subject as +I am. So soon as these Christmas numbers are off my mind, and +Christmas is over till next June at the office, I shall begin it at +home. The housekeeping is gone up a pound a week already. I know +what that means. The dear little woman is saving up to give me an +expensive present that I don't want. I think the presents are the +worst part of Christmas. Emma will give me a water-colour that she +has painted herself. She always does. There would be no harm in +that if she did not expect me to hang it in the drawing room. Have +you ever seen my cousin Emma's water-colours?" he asked. + +"I think I have," I replied. + +"There's no thinking about it," he retorted angrily. "They're not +the sort of water-colours you forget." + +He apostrophized the Circus generally. + +"Why do people do these things?" he demanded. "Even an amateur +artist must have SOME sense. Can't they see what is happening? +There's that thing of hers hanging in the passage. I put it in the +passage because there's not much light in the passage. She's +labelled it Reverie. If she had called it Influenza I could have +understood it. I asked her where she got the idea from, and she +said she saw the sky like that one evening in Norfolk. Great +Heavens! then why didn't she shut her eyes or go home and hide +behind the bed-curtains? If I had seen a sky like that in Norfolk I +should have taken the first train back to London. I suppose the +poor girl can't help seeing these things, but why paint them?" + +I said, "I suppose painting is a necessity to some natures." + +"But why give the things to me?" he pleaded. + +I could offer him no adequate reason. + +"The idiotic presents that people give you!" he continued. "I said +I'd like Tennyson's poems one year. They had worried me to know +what I did want. I didn't want anything really; that was the only +thing I could think of that I wasn't dead sure I didn't want. Well, +they clubbed together, four of them, and gave me Tennyson in twelve +volumes, illustrated with coloured photographs. They meant kindly, +of course. If you suggest a tobacco-pouch they give you a blue +velvet bag capable of holding about a pound, embroidered with +flowers, life-size. The only way one could use it would be to put a +strap to it and wear it as a satchel. Would you believe it, I have +got a velvet smoking-jacket, ornamented with forget-me-nots and +butterflies in coloured silk; I'm not joking. And they ask me why I +never wear it. I'll bring it down to the Club one of these nights +and wake the place up a bit: it needs it." + +We had arrived by this at the steps of the 'Devonshire.' + +"And I'm just as bad," he went on, "when I give presents. I never +give them what they want. I never hit upon anything that is of any +use to anybody. If I give Jane a chinchilla tippet, you may be +certain chinchilla is the most out-of-date fur that any woman could +wear. 'Oh! that is nice of you,' she says; 'now that is just the +very thing I wanted. I will keep it by me till chinchilla comes in +again.' I give the girls watch-chains when nobody is wearing +watch-chains. When watch-chains are all the rage I give them +ear-rings, and they thank me, and suggest my taking them to a +fancy-dress ball, that being their only chance to wear the +confounded things. I waste money on white gloves with black backs, +to find that white gloves with black backs stamp a woman as +suburban. I believe all the shop-keepers in London save their old +stock to palm it off on me at Christmas time. And why does it +always take half-a-dozen people to serve you with a pair of gloves, +I'd like to know? Only last week Jane asked me to get her some +gloves for that last Mansion House affair. I was feeling amiable, +and I thought I would do the thing handsomely. I hate going into a +draper's shop; everybody stares at a man as if he were forcing his +way into the ladies' department of a Turkish bath. One of those +marionette sort of men came up to me and said it was a fine morning. +What the devil did I want to talk about the morning to him for? I +said I wanted some gloves. I described them to the best of my +recollection. I said, 'I want them four buttons, but they are not +to be button-gloves; the buttons are in the middle and they reach up +to the elbow, if you know what I mean.' He bowed, and said he +understood exactly what I meant, which was a damned sight more than +I did. I told him I wanted three pair cream and three pair +fawn-coloured, and the fawn-coloured were to be swedes. He +corrected me. He said I meant 'Suede.' I dare say he was right, +but the interruption put me off, and I had to begin over again. He +listened attentively until I had finished. I guess I was about five +minutes standing with him there close to the door. He said, 'Is +that all you require, sir, this morning?' I said it was. + +"' Thank you, sir,' he replied. 'This way, please, sir.' + +"He took me into another room, and there we met a man named Jansen, +to whom he briefly introduced me as a gentleman who 'desired +gloves.' 'Yes, sir,' said Mr. Jansen; and what sort of gloves do +you desire?' + +"I told him I wanted six pairs altogether--three suede, +fawn-coloured, and three cream-coloured--kids. + +"He said, 'Do you mean kid gloves, sir, or gloves for children?' + +"He made me angry by that. I told him I was not in the habit of +using slang. Nor am I when buying gloves. He said he was sorry. I +explained to him about the buttons, so far as I could understand it +myself, and about the length. I asked him to see to it that the +buttons were sewn on firmly, and that the stitching everywhere was +perfect, adding that the last gloves my wife had had of his firm had +been most unsatisfactory. Jane had impressed upon me to add that. +She said it would make them more careful. + +"He listened to me in rapt ecstacy. I might have been music. + +"'And what size, sir?' he asked. + +"I had forgotten that. 'Oh, sixes,' I answered, 'unless they are +very stretchy indeed, in which case they had better be five and +three-quarter.' + +"'Oh, and the stitching on the cream is to be black,' I added. That +was another thing I had forgotten. + +"'Thank you very much,' said Mr. Jansen; 'is there anything else +that you require this morning?' + +"'No, thank you,' I replied, 'not this morning.' I was beginning to +like the man. + +"He took me for quite a walk, and wherever we went everybody left +off what they were doing to stare at me. I was getting tired when +we reached the glove department. He marched me up to a young man +who was sticking pins into himself. He said 'Gloves,' and +disappeared through a curtain. The young man left off sticking pins +into himself, and leant across the counter. + +"'Ladies' gloves or gentlemen's gloves?' he said. + +"Well, I was pretty mad by this time, as you can guess. It is funny +when you come to think of it afterwards, but the wonder then was +that I didn't punch his head. + +"I said, 'Are you ever busy in this shop? Does there ever come a +time when you feel you would like to get your work done, instead of +lingering over it and spinning it out for pure love of the thing?' + +"He did not appear to understand me. I said, 'I met a man at your +door a quarter of an hour ago, and we talked about these gloves that +I want, and I told him all my ideas on the subject. He took me to +your Mr. Jansen, and Mr. Jansen and I went over the whole business +again. Now Mr. Jansen leaves it with you--you who do not even know +whether I want ladies' or gentlemen's gloves. Before I go over this +story for the third time, I want to know whether you are the man who +is going to serve me, or whether you are merely a listener, because +personally I am tired of the subject?' + +"Well, this was the right man at last, and I got my gloves from him. +But what is the explanation--what is the idea? I was in that shop +from first to last five-and-thirty minutes. And then a fool took me +out the wrong way to show me a special line in sleeping-socks. I +told him I was not requiring any. He said he didn't want me to buy, +he only wanted me to see them. No wonder the drapers have had to +start luncheon and tea-rooms. They'll fix up small furnished flats +soon, where a woman can live for a week." + +I said it was very trying, shopping. I also said, as he invited me, +and as he appeared determined to go on talking, that I would have a +brandy-and-soda. We were in the smoke-room by this time. + +"There ought to be an association," he continued, "a kind of +clearing-house for the collection and distribution of Christmas +presents. One would give them a list of the people from whom to +collect presents, and of the people to whom to send. Suppose they +collected on my account twenty Christmas presents, value, say, ten +pounds, while on the other hand they sent out for me thirty presents +at a cost of fifteen pounds. They would debit me with the balance +of five pounds, together with a small commission. I should pay it +cheerfully, and there would be no further trouble. Perhaps one +might even make a profit. The idea might include birthdays and +weddings. A firm would do the business thoroughly. They would see +that all your friends paid up--I mean sent presents; and they would +not forget to send to your most important relative. There is only +one member of our family capable of leaving a shilling; and of +course if I forget to send to any one it is to him. When I remember +him I generally make a muddle of the business. Two years ago I gave +him a bath--I don't mean I washed him--an india-rubber thing, that +he could pack in his portmanteau. I thought he would find it useful +for travelling. Would you believe it, he took it as a personal +affront, and wouldn't speak to me for a month, the snuffy old +idiot." + +"I suppose the children enjoy it," I said. + +"Enjoy what?" he asked. + +"Why, Christmas," I explained. + +"I don't believe they do," he snapped; "nobody enjoys it. We excite +them for three weeks beforehand, telling them what a good time they +are going to have, over-feed them for two or three days, take them +to something they do not want to see, but which we do, and then +bully them for a fortnight to get them back into their normal +condition. I was always taken to the Crystal Palace and Madame +Tussaud's when I was a child, I remember. How I did hate that +Crystal Palace! Aunt used to superintend. It was always a bitterly +cold day, and we always got into the wrong train, and travelled half +the day before we got there. We never had any dinner. It never +occurs to a woman that anybody can want their meals while away from +home. She seems to think that nature is in suspense from the time +you leave the house till the time you get back to it. A bun and a +glass of milk was her idea of lunch for a school-boy. Half her time +was taken up in losing us, and the other half in slapping us when +she had found us. The only thing we really enjoyed was the row with +the cabman coming home." + +I rose to go. + +"Then you won't join that symposium?" said B-----. "It would be an +easy enough thing to knock off--'Why Christmas should be +abolished.'" + +"It sounds simple," I answered. "But how do you propose to abolish +it?" The lady editor of an "advanced" American magazine once set +the discussion--"Should sex be abolished?" and eleven ladies and +gentlemen seriously argued the question. + +"Leave it to die of inanition," said B-----; "the first step is to +arouse public opinion. Convince the public that it should be +abolished." + +"But why should it be abolished?" I asked. + +"Great Scott! man," he exclaimed; "don't you want it abolished?" + +"I'm not sure that I do," I replied. + +"Not sure," he retorted; "you call yourself a journalist, and admit +there is a subject under Heaven of which you are not sure!" + +"It has come over me of late years," I replied. "It used not to be +my failing, as you know." + +He glanced round to make sure we were out of earshot, then sunk his +voice to a whisper. + +"Between ourselves," he said, "I'm not so sure of everything myself +as I used to be. Why is it?" + +"Perhaps we are getting older," I suggested. + +He said--"I started golf last year, and the first time I took the +club in my hand I sent the ball a furlong. 'It seems an easy game,' +I said to the man who was teaching me. 'Yes, most people find it +easy at the beginning,' he replied dryly. He was an old golfer +himself; I thought he was jealous. I stuck well to the game, and +for about three weeks I was immensely pleased with myself. Then, +gradually, I began to find out the difficulties. I feel I shall +never make a good player. Have you ever gone through that +experience?" + +"Yes," I replied; "I suppose that is the explanation. The game +seems so easy at the beginning. " + +I left him to his lunch, and strolled westward, musing on the time +when I should have answered that question of his about Christmas, or +any other question, off-hand. That good youth time when I knew +everything, when life presented no problems, dangled no doubts +before me! + +In those days, wishful to give the world the benefit of my wisdom, +and seeking for a candle-stick wherefrom my brilliancy might be +visible and helpful unto men, I arrived before a dingy portal in +Chequers Street, St. Luke's, behind which a conclave of young men, +together with a few old enough to have known better, met every +Friday evening for the purpose of discussing and arranging the +affairs of the universe. "Speaking members" were charged +ten-and-sixpence per annum, which must have worked out at an +extremely moderate rate per word; and "gentlemen whose subscriptions +were more than three months in arrear," became, by Rule seven, +powerless for good or evil. We called ourselves "The Stormy +Petrels," and, under the sympathetic shadow of those wings, I +laboured two seasons towards the reformation of the human race; +until, indeed, our treasurer, an earnest young man, and a tireless +foe of all that was conventional, departed for the East, leaving +behind him a balance sheet, showing that the club owed forty-two +pounds fifteen and fourpence, and that the subscriptions for the +current year, amounting to a little over thirty-eight pounds, had +been "carried forward," but as to where, the report afforded no +indication. Whereupon our landlord, a man utterly without ideals, +seized our furniture, offering to sell it back to us for fifteen +pounds. We pointed out to him that this was an extravagant price, +and tendered him five. + +The negotiations terminated with ungentlemanly language on his part, +and "The Stormy Petrels" scattered, never to be foregathered +together again above the troubled waters of humanity. Now-a-days, +listening to the feeble plans of modern reformers, I cannot help but +smile, remembering what was done in Chequers Street, St. Luke's, in +an age when Mrs. Grundy still gave the law to literature, while yet +the British matron was the guide to British art. I am informed that +there is abroad the question of abolishing the House of Lords! Why, +"The Stormy Petrels" abolished the aristocracy and the Crown in one +evening, and then only adjourned for the purpose of appointing a +committee to draw up and have ready a Republican Constitution by the +following Friday evening. They talk of Empire lounges! We closed +the doors of every music-hall in London eighteen years ago by +twenty-nine votes to seventeen. They had a patient hearing, and +were ably defended; but we found that the tendency of such +amusements was anti-progressive, and against the best interests of +an intellectually advancing democracy. I met the mover of the +condemnatory resolution at the old "Pav" the following evening, and +we continued the discussion over a bottle of Bass. He strengthened +his argument by persuading me to sit out the whole of the three +songs sung by the "Lion Comique"; but I subsequently retorted +successfully, by bringing under his notice the dancing of a lady in +blue tights and flaxen hair. I forget her name but never shall I +cease to remember her exquisite charm and beauty. Ah, me! how +charming and how beautiful "artistes" were in those golden days! +Whence have they vanished? Ladies in blue tights and flaxen hair +dance before my eyes to-day, but move me not, unless it be towards +boredom. Where be the tripping witches of twenty years ago, whom to +see once was to dream of for a week, to touch whose white hand would +have been joy, to kiss whose red lips would have been to foretaste +Heaven. I heard only the other day that the son of an old friend of +mine had secretly married a lady from the front row of the ballet, +and involuntarily I exclaimed, "Poor devil!" There was a time when +my first thought would have been, "Lucky beggar! is he worthy of +her?" For then the ladies of the ballet were angels. How could one +gaze at them--from the shilling pit--and doubt it? They danced to +keep a widowed mother in comfort, or to send a younger brother to +school. Then they were glorious creatures a young man did well to +worship; but now-a-days-- + +It is an old jest. The eyes of youth see through rose-tinted +glasses. The eyes of age are dim behind smoke-clouded spectacles. +My flaxen friend, you are not the angel I dreamed you, nor the +exceptional sinner some would paint you; but under your feathers, +just a woman--a bundle of follies and failings, tied up with some +sweetness and strength. You keep a brougham I am sure you cannot +afford on your thirty shillings a week. There are ladies I know, in +Mayfair, who have paid an extravagant price for theirs. You paint +and you dye, I am told: it is even hinted you pad. Don't we all of +us deck ourselves out in virtues that are not our own? When the +paint and the powder, my sister, is stripped both from you and from +me, we shall know which of us is entitled to look down on the other +in scorn. + +Forgive me, gentle Reader, for digressing. The lady led me astray. +I was speaking of "The Stormy Petrels," and of the reforms they +accomplished, which were many. We abolished, I remember, capital +punishment and war; we were excellent young men at heart. Christmas +we reformed altogether, along with Bank Holidays, by a majority of +twelve. I never recollect any proposal to abolish anything ever +being lost when put to the vote. There were few things that we +"Stormy Petrels" did not abolish. We attacked Christmas on grounds +of expediency, and killed it by ridicule. We exposed the hollow +mockery of Christmas sentiment; we abused the indigestible Christmas +dinner, the tiresome Christmas party, the silly Christmas pantomime. +Our funny member was side-splitting on the subject of Christmas +Waits; our social reformer bitter upon Christmas drunkenness; our +economist indignant upon Christmas charities. Only one argument of +any weight with us was advanced in favour of the festival, and that +was our leading cynic's suggestion that it was worth enduring the +miseries of Christmas, to enjoy the soul-satisfying comfort of the +after reflection that it was all over, and could not occur again for +another year. + +But since those days when I was prepared to put this old world of +ours to rights upon all matters, I have seen many sights and heard +many sounds, and I am not quite so sure as I once was that my +particular views are the only possibly correct ones. Christmas +seems to me somewhat meaningless; but I have looked through windows +in poverty-stricken streets, and have seen dingy parlours gay with +many chains of coloured paper. They stretched from corner to corner +of the smoke-grimed ceiling, they fell in clumsy festoons from the +cheap gasalier, they framed the fly-blown mirror and the tawdry +pictures; and I know tired hands and eyes worked many hours to +fashion and fix those foolish chains, saying, "It will please him-- +she will like to see the room look pretty;" and as I have looked at +them they have grown, in some mysterious manner, beautiful to me. +The gaudy-coloured child and dog irritates me, I confess; but I have +watched a grimy, inartistic personage, smoothing it affectionately +with toil-stained hand, while eager faces crowded round to admire +and wonder at its blatant crudity. It hangs to this day in its +cheap frame above the chimney-piece, the one bright spot relieving +those damp-stained walls; dull eyes stare and stare again at it, +catching a vista, through its flashy tints, of the far-off land of +art. Christmas Waits annoy me, and I yearn to throw open the window +and fling coal at them--as once from the window of a high flat in +Chelsea I did. I doubted their being genuine Waits. I was inclined +to the opinion they were young men seeking excuse for making a +noise. One of them appeared to know a hymn with a chorus, another +played the concertina, while a third accompanied with a step dance. +Instinctively I felt no respect for them; they disturbed me in my +work, and the desire grew upon me to injure them. It occurred to me +it would be good sport if I turned out the light, softly opened the +window, and threw coal at them. It would be impossible for them to +tell from which window in the block the coal came, and thus +subsequent unpleasantness would be avoided. They were a compact +little group, and with average luck I was bound to hit one of them. + +I adopted the plan. I could not see them very clearly. I aimed +rather at the noise; and I had thrown about twenty choice lumps +without effect, and was feeling somewhat discouraged, when a yell, +followed by language singularly unappropriate to the season, told me +that Providence had aided my arm. The music ceased suddenly, and +the party dispersed, apparently in high glee--which struck me as +curious. + +One man I noticed remained behind. He stood under the lamp-post, +and shook his fist at the block generally. + +"Who threw that lump of coal?" he demanded in stentorian tones. + +To my horror, it was the voice of the man at Eighty-eight, an Irish +gentleman, a journalist like myself. I saw it all, as the +unfortunate hero always exclaims, too late, in the play. He--number +Eighty-eight--also disturbed by the noise, had evidently gone out to +expostulate with the rioters. Of course my lump of coal had hit +him--him the innocent, the peaceful (up till then), the virtuous. +That is the justice Fate deals out to us mortals here below. There +were ten to fourteen young men in that crowd, each one of whom fully +deserved that lump of coal; he, the one guiltless, got it-- +seemingly, so far as the dim light from the gas lamp enabled me to +judge, full in the eye. + +As the block remained silent in answer to his demand, he crossed the +road and mounted the stairs. On each landing he stopped and +shouted-- + +"Who threw that lump of coal? I want the man who threw that lump of +coal. Out you come." + +Now a good man in my place would have waited till number +Eighty-eight arrived on his landing, and then, throwing open the +door would have said with manly candour-- + +"_I_ threw that lump of coal. I was-," He would not have got +further, because at that point, I feel confident, number Eighty-- +eight would have punched his head. There would have been an +unseemly fracas on the staircase, to the annoyance of all the other +tenants and later, there would have issued a summons and a +cross-summons. Angry passions would have been roused, bitter +feeling engendered which might have lasted for years. + +I do not pretend to be a good man. I doubt if the pretence would be +of any use were I to try: I am not a sufficiently good actor. I +said to myself, as I took off my boots in the study, preparatory to +retiring to my bedroom--"Number Eighty-eight is evidently not in a +frame of mind to listen to my story. It will be better to let him +shout himself cool; after which he will return to his own flat, +bathe his eye, and obtain some refreshing sleep. In the morning, +when we shall probably meet as usual on our way to Fleet Street, I +will refer to the incident casually, and sympathize with him. I +will suggest to him the truth--that in all probability some +fellow-tenant, irritated also by the noise, had aimed coal at the +Waits, hitting him instead by a regrettable but pure accident. With +tact I may even be able to make him see the humour of the incident. +Later on, in March or April, choosing my moment with judgment, I +will, perhaps, confess that I was that fellow-tenant, and over a +friendly brandy-and-soda we will laugh the whole trouble away." + +As a matter of fact, that is what happened. Said number +Eighty-eight--he was a big man, as good a fellow at heart as ever +lived, but impulsive--"Damned lucky for you, old man, you did not +tell me at the time." + +"I felt," I replied, "instinctively that it was a case for delay." + +There are times when one should control one's passion for candour; +and as I was saying, Christmas waits excite no emotion in my breast +save that of irritation. But I have known "Hark, the herald angels +sing," wheezily chanted by fog-filled throats, and accompanied, +hopelessly out of tune, by a cornet and a flute, bring a great look +of gladness to a work-worn face. To her it was a message of hope +and love, making the hard life taste sweet. The mere thought of +family gatherings, so customary at Christmas time, bores us superior +people; but I think of an incident told me by a certain man, a +friend of mine. One Christmas, my friend, visiting in the country, +came face to face with a woman whom in town he had often met amid +very different surroundings. The door of the little farmhouse was +open; she and an older woman were ironing at a table, and as her +soft white hands passed to and fro, folding and smoothing the +rumpled heap, she laughed and talked, concerning simple homely +things. My friend's shadow fell across her work, and she looking +up, their eyes met; but her face said plainly, "I do not know you +here, and here you do not know me. Here I am a woman loved and +respected." My friend passed in and spoke to the older woman, the +wife of one of his host's tenants, and she turned towards, and +introduced the younger--"My daughter, sir. We do not see her very +often. She is in a place in London, and cannot get away. But she +always spends a few days with us at Christmas." + +"It is the season for family re-unions," answered my friend with +just the suggestion of a sneer, for which he hated himself. + +"Yes, sir," said the woman, not noticing; "she has never missed her +Christmas with us, have you, Bess?" + +"No, mother," replied the girl simply, and bent her head again over +her work. + +So for these few days every year this woman left her furs and +jewels, her fine clothes and dainty foods, behind her, and lived for +a little space with what was clean and wholesome. It was the one +anchor holding her to womanhood; and one likes to think that it was, +perhaps, in the end strong enough to save her from the drifting +waters. All which arguments in favour of Christmas and of Christmas +customs are, I admit, purely sentimental ones, but I have lived long +enough to doubt whether sentiment has not its legitimate place in +the economy of life. + + + +ON THE TIME WASTED IN LOOKING BEFORE ONE LEAPS + +Have you ever noticed the going out of a woman? + +When a man goes out, he says--"I'm going out, shan't be long." + +"Oh, George," cries his wife from the other end of the house, "don't +go for a moment. I want you to--" She hears a falling of hats, +followed by the slamming of the front door. + +"Oh, George, you're not gone!" she wails. It is but the voice of +despair. As a matter of fact, she knows he is gone. She reaches +the hall, breathless. + +"He might have waited a minute," she mutters to herself, as she +picks up the hats, "there were so many things I wanted him to do." + +She does not open the door and attempt to stop him, she knows he is +already half-way down the street. It is a mean, paltry way of going +out, she thinks; so like a man. + +When a woman, on the other hand, goes out, people know about it. +She does not sneak out. She says she is going out. She says it, +generally, on the afternoon of the day before; and she repeats it, +at intervals, until tea-time. At tea, she suddenly decides that she +won't, that she will leave it till the day after to-morrow instead. +An hour later she thinks she will go to-morrow, after all, and makes +arrangements to wash her hair overnight. For the next hour or so +she alternates between fits of exaltation, during which she looks +forward to going out, and moments of despondency, when a sense of +foreboding falls upon her. At dinner she persuades some other woman +to go with her; the other woman, once persuaded, is enthusiastic +about going, until she recollects that she cannot. The first woman, +however, convinces her that she can. + +"Yes," replies the second woman, "but then, how about you, dear? +You are forgetting the Joneses." + +"So I was," answers the first woman, completely non-plussed. "How +very awkward, and I can't go on Wednesday. I shall have to leave it +till Thursday, now." + +"But _I_ can't go Thursday," says the second woman. + +"Well, you go without me, dear," says the first woman, in the tone +of one who is sacrificing a life's ambition. + +"Oh no, dear, I should not think of it," nobly exclaims the second +woman. "We will wait and go together, Friday!" + +"I'll tell you what we'll do," says the first woman. "We will start +early" (this is an inspiration), "and be back before the Joneses +arrive." + +They agree to sleep together; there is a lurking suspicion in both +their minds that this may be their last sleep on earth. They retire +early with a can of hot water. At intervals, during the night, one +overhears them splashing water, and talking. + +They come down very late for breakfast, and both very cross. Each +seems to have argued herself into the belief that she has been lured +into this piece of nonsense, against her better judgment, by the +persistent folly of the other one. During the meal each one asks +the other, every five minutes, if she is quite ready. Each one, it +appears, has only her hat to put on. They talk about the weather, +and wonder what it is going to do. They wish it would make up its +mind, one way or the other. They are very bitter on weather that +cannot make up its mind. After breakfast it still looks cloudy, and +they decide to abandon the scheme altogether. The first woman then +remembers that it is absolutely necessary for her, at all events, to +go. + +"But there is no need for you to come, dear," she says. + +Up to that point the second woman was evidently not sure whether she +wished to go or whether she didn't. Now she knows. + +"Oh yes, I'll come," she says, "then it will be over!" + +"I am sure you don't want to go," urges the first woman, "and I +shall be quicker by myself. I am ready to start now." + +The second woman bridles. + +"_I_ shan't be a couple of minutes," she retorts. "You know, dear, +it's generally I who have to wait for you." + +"But you've not got your boots on," the first woman reminds her. + +"Well, they won't take ANY time," is the answer. "But of course, +dear, if you'd really rather I did not come, say so." By this time +she is on the verge of tears. + +"Of course, I would like you to come, dear," explains the first in a +resigned tone. "I thought perhaps you were only coming to please +me." + +"Oh no, I'd LIKE to come," says the second woman. + +"Well, we must hurry up," says the first; "I shan't be more than a +minute myself, I've merely got to change my skirt." + +Half-an-hour later you hear them calling to each other, from +different parts of the house, to know if the other one is ready. It +appears they have both been ready for quite a long while, waiting +only for the other one. + +"I'm afraid," calls out the one whose turn it is to be down-stairs, +"it's going to rain." + +"Oh, don't say that," calls back the other one. + +"Well, it looks very like it." + +"What a nuisance," answers the up-stairs woman; "shall we put it +off?" + +"Well, what do YOU think, dear?" replies the down-stairs. + +They decide they will go, only now they will have to change their +boots, and put on different hats. + +For the next ten minutes they are still shouting and running about. +Then it seems as if they really were ready, nothing remaining but +for them to say "Good-bye," and go. + +They begin by kissing the children. A woman never leaves her house +without secret misgivings that she will never return to it alive. +One child cannot be found. When it is found it wishes it hadn't +been. It has to be washed, preparatory to being kissed. After +that, the dog has to be found and kissed, and final instructions +given to the cook. + +Then they open the front door. + +"Oh, George," calls out the first woman, turning round again. "Are +you there?" + +"Hullo," answers a voice from the distance. "Do you want me?" + +"No, dear, only to say good-bye. I'm going." + +"Oh, good-bye." + +"Good-bye, dear. Do you think it's going to rain?" + +"Oh no, I should not say so." + +"George." + +"Yes." + +"Have you got any money?" + +Five minutes later they come running back; the one has forgotten her +parasol, the other her purse. + +And speaking of purses, reminds one of another essential difference +between the male and female human animal. A man carries his money +in his pocket. When he wants to use it, he takes it out and lays it +down. This is a crude way of doing things, a woman displays more +subtlety. Say she is standing in the street, and wants fourpence to +pay for a bunch of violets she has purchased from a flower-girl. +She has two parcels in one hand, and a parasol in the other. With +the remaining two fingers of the left hand she secures the violets. +The question then arises, how to pay the girl? She flutters for a +few minutes, evidently not quite understanding why it is she cannot +do it. The reason then occurs to her: she has only two hands and +both these are occupied. First she thinks she will put the parcels +and the flowers into her right hand, then she thinks she will put +the parasol into her left. Then she looks round for a table or even +a chair, but there is not such a thing in the whole street. Her +difficulty is solved by her dropping the parcels and the flowers. +The girl picks them up for her and holds them. This enables her to +feel for her pocket with her right hand, while waving her open +parasol about with her left. She knocks an old gentleman's hat off +into the gutter, and nearly blinds the flower-girl before it occurs +to her to close it. This done, she leans it up against the +flower-girl's basket, and sets to work in earnest with both hands. +She seizes herself firmly by the back, and turns the upper part of +her body round till her hair is in front and her eyes behind. Still +holding herself firmly with her left hand--did she let herself go, +goodness knows where she would spin to;--with her right she +prospects herself. The purse is there, she can feel it, the problem +is how to get at it. The quickest way would, of course, be to take +off the skirt, sit down on the kerb, turn it inside out, and work +from the bottom of the pocket upwards. But this simple idea never +seems to occur to her. There are some thirty folds at the back of +the dress, between two of these folds commences the secret passage. +At last, purely by chance, she suddenly discovers it, nearly +upsetting herself in the process, and the purse is brought up to the +surface. The difficulty of opening it still remains. She knows it +opens with a spring, but the secret of that spring she has never +mastered, and she never will. Her plan is to worry it generally +until it does open. Five minutes will always do it, provided she is +not flustered. + +At last it does open. It would be incorrect to say that she opens +it. It opens because it is sick of being mauled about; and, as +likely as not, it opens at the moment when she is holding it upside +down. If you happen to be near enough to look over her shoulder, +you will notice that the gold and silver lies loose within it. In +an inner sanctuary, carefully secured with a second secret spring, +she keeps her coppers, together with a postage-stamp and a draper's +receipt, nine months old, for elevenpence three-farthings. + +I remember the indignation of an old Bus-conductor, once. Inside we +were nine women and two men. I sat next the door, and his remarks +therefore he addressed to me. It was certainly taking him some time +to collect the fares, but I think he would have got on better had he +been less bustling; he worried them, and made them nervous. + +"Look at that," he said, drawing my attention to a poor lady +opposite, who was diving in the customary manner for her purse, +"they sit on their money, women do. Blest if you wouldn't think +they was trying to 'atch it." + +At length the lady drew from underneath herself an exceedingly fat +purse. + +"Fancy riding in a bumpby bus, perched up on that thing," he +continued. "Think what a stamina they must have." He grew +confidential. "I've seen one woman," he said, "pull out from +underneath 'er a street doorkey, a tin box of lozengers, a +pencil-case, a whopping big purse, a packet of hair-pins, and a +smelling-bottle. Why, you or me would be wretched, sitting on a +plain door-knob, and them women goes about like that all day. I +suppose they gets used to it. Drop 'em on an eider-down pillow, and +they'd scream. The time it takes me to get tuppence out of them, +why, it's 'eart-breaking. First they tries one side, then they +tries the other. Then they gets up and shakes theirselves till the +bus jerks them back again, and there they are, a more 'opeless 'eap +than ever. If I 'ad my way I'd make every bus carry a female +searcher as could over'aul 'em one at a time, and take the money +from 'em. Talk about the poor pickpocket. What I say is, that a +man as finds his way into a woman's pocket--well, he deserves what +he gets." + +But it was the thought of more serious matters that lured me into +reflections concerning the over-carefulness of women. It is a +theory of mine--wrong possibly; indeed I have so been informed--that +we pick our way through life with too much care. We are for ever +looking down upon the ground. Maybe, we do avoid a stumble or two +over a stone or a brier, but also we miss the blue of the sky, the +glory of the hills. These books that good men write, telling us +that what they call "success" in life depends on our flinging aside +our youth and wasting our manhood in order that we may have the +means when we are eighty of spending a rollicking old age, annoy me. +We save all our lives to invest in a South Sea Bubble; and in +skimping and scheming, we have grown mean, and narrow, and hard. We +will put off the gathering of the roses till tomorrow, to-day it +shall be all work, all bargain-driving, all plotting. Lo, when to- +morrow comes, the roses are blown; nor do we care for roses, idle +things of small marketable value; cabbages are more to our fancy by +the time to-morrow comes. + +Life is a thing to be lived, not spent, to be faced, not ordered. +Life is not a game of chess, the victory to the most knowing; it is +a game of cards, one's hand by skill to be made the best of. Is it +the wisest who is always the most successful? I think not. The +luckiest whist-player I ever came across was a man who was never +QUITE certain what were trumps, and whose most frequent observation +during the game was "I really beg your pardon," addressed to his +partner; a remark which generally elicited the reply, "Oh, don't +apologize. All's well that ends well." The man I knew who made the +most rapid fortune was a builder in the outskirts of Birmingham, who +could not write his name, and who, for thirty years of his life, +never went to bed sober. I do not say that forgetfulness of trumps +should be cultivated by whist-players. I think my builder friend +might have been even more successful had he learned to write his +name, and had he occasionally--not overdoing it--enjoyed a sober +evening. All I wish to impress is, that virtue is not the road to +success--of the kind we are dealing with. We must find other +reasons for being virtuous; maybe, there are some. The truth is, +life is a gamble pure and simple, and the rules we lay down for +success are akin to the infallible systems with which a certain +class of idiot goes armed each season to Monte Carlo. We can play +the game with coolness and judgment, decide when to plunge and when +to stake small; but to think that wisdom will decide it, is to +imagine that we have discovered the law of chance. Let us play the +game of life as sportsmen, pocketing our winnings with a smile, +leaving our losings with a shrug. Perhaps that is why we have been +summoned to the board and the cards dealt round: that we may learn +some of the virtues of the good gambler; his self-control, his +courage under misfortune, his modesty under the strain of success, +his firmness, his alertness, his general indifference to fate. Good +lessons these, all of them. If by the game we learn some of them +our time on the green earth has not been wasted. If we rise from +the table having learned only fretfulness and self-pity I fear it +has been. + +The grim Hall Porter taps at the door: "Number Five hundred billion +and twenty-eight, your boatman is waiting, sir." + +So! is it time already? We pick up our counters. Of what use are +they? In the country the other side of the river they are no +tender. The blood-red for gold, and the pale-green for love, to +whom shall we fling them? Here is some poor beggar longing to play, +let us give them to him as we pass out. Poor devil! the game will +amuse him--for a while. + +Keep your powder dry, and trust in Providence, is the motto of the +wise. Wet powder could never be of any possible use to you. Dry, +it may be, WITH the help of Providence. We will call it Providence, +it is a prettier name than Chance--perhaps also a truer. + +Another mistake we make when we reason out our lives is this: we +reason as though we were planning for reasonable creatures. It is a +big mistake. Well-meaning ladies and gentlemen make it when they +picture their ideal worlds. When marriage is reformed, and the +social problem solved, when poverty and war have been abolished by +acclamation, and sin and sorrow rescinded by an overwhelming +parliamentary majority! Ah, then the world will be worthy of our +living in it. You need not wait, ladies and gentlemen, so long as +you think for that time. No social revolution is needed, no slow +education of the people is necessary. It would all come about +to-morrow, IF ONLY WE WERE REASONABLE CREATURES. + +Imagine a world of reasonable beings! The Ten Commandments would be +unnecessary: no reasoning being sins, no reasoning creature makes +mistakes. There would be no rich men, for what reasonable man cares +for luxury and ostentation? There would be no poor: that I should +eat enough for two while my brother in the next street, as good a +man as I, starves, is not reasonable. There would be no difference +of opinion on any two points: there is only one reason. You, dear +Reader, would find, that on all subjects you were of the same +opinion as I. No novels would be written, no plays performed; the +lives of reasonable creatures do not afford drama. No mad loves, no +mad laughter, no scalding tears, no fierce unreasoning, brief-lived +joys, no sorrows, no wild dreams--only reason, reason everywhere. + +But for the present we remain unreasonable. If I eat this +mayonnaise, drink this champagne, I shall suffer in my liver. Then, +why do I eat it? Julia is a charming girl, amiable, wise, and +witty; also she has a share in a brewery. Then, why does John marry +Ann? who is short-tempered, to say the least of it, who, he feels, +will not make him so good a house-wife, who has extravagant notions, +who has no little fortune. There is something about Ann's chin that +fascinates him--he could not explain to you what. On the whole, +Julia is the better-looking of the two. But the more he thinks of +Julia, the more he is drawn towards Ann. So Tom marries Julia and +the brewery fails, and Julia, on a holiday, contracts rheumatic +fever, and is a helpless invalid for life; while Ann comes in for +ten thousand pounds left to her by an Australian uncle no one had +ever heard of, + +I have been told of a young man, who chose his wife with excellent +care. Said he to himself, very wisely, "In the selection of a wife +a man cannot be too circumspect." He convinced himself that the +girl was everything a helpmate should be. She had every virtue that +could be expected in a woman, no faults, but such as are inseparable +from a woman. Speaking practically, she was perfection. He married +her, and found she was all he had thought her. Only one thing could +he urge against her--that he did not like her. And that, of course, +was not her fault. + +How easy life would be did we know ourselves. Could we always be +sure that tomorrow we should think as we do today. We fall in love +during a summer holiday; she is fresh, delightful, altogether +charming; the blood rushes to our head every time we think of her. +Our ideal career is one of perpetual service at her feet. It seems +impossible that Fate could bestow upon us any greater happiness than +the privilege of cleaning her boots, and kissing the hem of her +garment--if the hem be a little muddy that will please us the more. +We tell her our ambition, and at that moment every word we utter is +sincere. But the summer holiday passes, and with it the holiday +mood, and winter finds us wondering how we are going to get out of +the difficulty into which we have landed ourselves. Or worse still, +perhaps, the mood lasts longer than is usual. We become formally +engaged. We marry--I wonder how many marriages are the result of a +passion that is burnt out before the altar-rails are reached?--and +three months afterwards the little lass is broken-hearted to find +that we consider the lacing of her boots a bore. Her feet seem to +have grown bigger. There is no excuse for us, save that we are +silly children, never sure of what we are crying for, hurting one +another in our play, crying very loudly when hurt ourselves. + +I knew an American lady once who used to bore me with long accounts +of the brutalities exercised upon her by her husband. She had +instituted divorce proceedings against him. The trial came on, and +she was highly successful. We all congratulated her, and then for +some months she dropped out of my life. But there came a day when +we again found ourselves together. One of the problems of social +life is to know what to say to one another when we meet; every man +and woman's desire is to appear sympathetic and clever, and this +makes conversation difficult, because, taking us all round, we are +neither sympathetic nor clever--but this by the way. + +Of course, I began to talk to her about her former husband. I asked +her how he was getting on. She replied that she thought he was very +comfortable. + +"Married again?" I suggested. + +"Yes," she answered. + +"Serve him right," I exclaimed, "and his wife too." She was a +pretty, bright-eyed little woman, my American friend, and I wished +to ingratiate myself. "A woman who would marry such a man, knowing +what she must have known of him, is sure to make him wretched, and +we may trust him to be a curse to her." + +My friend seemed inclined to defend him. + +"I think he is greatly improved," she argued. + +"Nonsense!" I returned, "a man never improves. Once a villain, +always a villain." + +"Oh, hush!" she pleaded, "you mustn't call him that." + +"Why not?" I answered. "I have heard you call him a villain +yourself." + +"It was wrong of me," she said, flushing. "I'm afraid he was not +the only one to be blamed; we were both foolish in those days, but I +think we have both learned a lesson." + +I remained silent, waiting for the necessary explanation. + +"You had better come and see him for yourself," she added, with a +little laugh; "to tell the truth, I am the woman who has married +him. Tuesday is my day, Number 2, K---- Mansions," and she ran off, +leaving me staring after her. + +I believe an enterprising clergyman who would set up a little church +in the Strand, just outside the Law Courts, might do quite a trade, +re-marrying couples who had just been divorced. A friend of mine, a +respondent, told me he had never loved his wife more than on two +occasions--the first when she refused him, the second when she came +into the witness-box to give evidence against him. + +"You are curious creatures, you men," remarked a lady once to +another man in my presence. "You never seem to know your own mind." + +She was feeling annoyed with men generally. I do not blame her, I +feel annoyed with them myself sometimes. There is one man in +particular I am always feeling intensely irritated against. He says +one thing, and acts another. He will talk like a saint and behave +like a fool, knows what is right and does what is wrong. But we +will not speak further of him. He will be all he should be one day, +and then we will pack him into a nice, comfortably-lined box, and +screw the lid down tight upon him, and put him away in a quiet +little spot near a church I know of, lest he should get up and +misbehave himself again. + +The other man, who is a wise man as men go, looked at his fair +critic with a smile. + +"My dear madam," he replied, "you are blaming the wrong person. I +confess I do not know my mind, and what little I do know of it I do +not like. I did not make it, I did not select it. I am more +dissatisfied with it than you can possibly be. It is a greater +mystery to me than it is to you, and I have to live with it. You +should pity not blame me." + +There are moods in which I fall to envying those old hermits who +frankly, and with courageous cowardice, shirked the problem of life. +There are days when I dream of an existence unfettered by the +thousand petty strings with which our souls lie bound to Lilliputia +land. I picture myself living in some Norwegian sater, high above +the black waters of a rockbound fiord. No other human creature +disputes with me my kingdom. I am alone with the whispering fir +forests and the stars. How I live I am not quite sure. Once a +month I could journey down into the villages and return laden. I +should not need much. For the rest, my gun and fishing-rod would +supply me. I would have with me a couple of big dogs, who would +talk to me with their eyes, so full of dumb thought, and together we +would wander over the uplands, seeking our dinner, after the old +primitive fashion of the men who dreamt not of ten-course dinners +and Savoy suppers. I would cook the food myself, and sit down to +the meal with a bottle of good wine, such as starts a man's thoughts +(for I am inconsistent, as I acknowledge, and that gift of +civilization I would bear with me into my hermitage). Then in the +evening, with pipe in mouth, beside my log-wood fire, I would sit +and think, until new knowledge came to me. Strengthened by those +silent voices that are drowned in the roar of Streetland, I might, +perhaps, grow into something nearer to what it was intended that a +man should be--might catch a glimpse, perhaps, of the meaning of +life. + +No, no, my dear lady, into this life of renunciation I would not +take a companion, certainly not of the sex you are thinking of, even +would she care to come, which I doubt. There are times when a man +is better without the woman, when a woman is better without the man. +Love drags us from the depths, makes men and women of us, but if we +would climb a little nearer to the stars we must say good-bye to it. +We men and women do not show ourselves to each other at our best; +too often, I fear, at our worst. The woman's highest ideal of man +is the lover; to a man the woman is always the possible beloved. We +see each other's hearts, but not each other's souls. In each +other's presence we never shake ourselves free from the earth. +Match-making mother Nature is always at hand to prompt us. A woman +lifts us up into manhood, but there she would have us stay. "Climb +up to me," she cries to the lad, walking with soiled feet in muddy +ways; "be a true man that you may be worthy to walk by my side; be +brave to protect me, kind and tender, and true; but climb no higher, +stay here by my side." The martyr, the prophet, the leader of the +world's forlorn hopes, she would wake from his dream. Her arms she +would fling about his neck holding him down. + +To the woman the man says, "You are my wife. Here is your America, +within these walls, here is your work, your duty." True, in nine +hundred and ninety-nine cases out of every thousand, but men and +women are not made in moulds, and the world's work is various. +Sometimes to her sorrow, a woman's work lies beyond the home. The +duty of Mary was not to Joseph. + +The hero in the popular novel is the young man who says, "I love you +better than my soul." Our favourite heroine in fiction is the woman +who cries to her lover, "I would go down into Hell to be with you." +There are men and women who cannot answer thus--the men who dream +dreams, the women who see visions--impracticable people from the +Bayswater point of view. But Bayswater would not be the abode of +peace it is had it not been for such. + +Have we not placed sexual love on a pedestal higher than it +deserves? It is a noble passion, but it is not the noblest. There +is a wider love by the side of which it is but as the lamp +illumining the cottage, to the moonlight bathing the hills and +valleys. There were two women once. This is a play I saw acted in +the daylight. They had been friends from girlhood, till there came +between them the usual trouble--a man. A weak, pretty creature not +worth a thought from either of them; but women love the unworthy; +there would be no over-population problem did they not; and this +poor specimen, ill-luck had ordained they should contend for. + +Their rivalry brought out all that was worst in both of them. It is +a mistake to suppose love only elevates; it can debase. It was a +mean struggle for what to an onlooker must have appeared a +remarkably unsatisfying prize. The loser might well have left the +conqueror to her poor triumph, even granting it had been gained +unfairly. But the old, ugly, primeval passions had been stirred in +these women, and the wedding-bells closed only the first act. + +The second is not difficult to guess. It would have ended in the +Divorce Court had not the deserted wife felt that a finer revenge +would be secured to her by silence. + +In the third, after an interval of only eighteen months, the man +died--the first piece of good fortune that seems to have occurred to +him personally throughout the play. His position must have been an +exceedingly anxious one from the beginning. Notwithstanding his +flabbiness, one cannot but regard him with a certain amount of pity- +-not unmixed with amusement. Most of life's dramas can be viewed as +either farce or tragedy according to the whim of the spectator. The +actors invariably play them as tragedy; but then that is the essence +of good farce acting. + +Thus was secured the triumph of legal virtue and the punishment of +irregularity, and the play might be dismissed as uninterestingly +orthodox were it not for the fourth act, showing how the wronged +wife came to the woman she had once wronged to ask and grant +forgiveness. Strangely as it may sound, they found their love for +one another unchanged. They had been long parted: it was sweet to +hold each other's hands again. Two lonely women, they agreed to +live together. Those who knew them well in this later time say that +their life was very beautiful, filled with graciousness and +nobility. + +I do not say that such a story could ever be common, but it is more +probable than the world might credit. Sometimes the man is better +without the woman, the woman without the man. + + + +ON THE NOBILITY OF OURSELVES + +AN old Anglicized Frenchman, I used to meet often in my earlier +journalistic days, held a theory, concerning man's future state, +that has since come to afford me more food for reflection than, at +the time, I should have deemed possible. He was a bright-eyed, +eager little man. One felt no Lotus land could be Paradise to him. +We build our heaven of the stones of our desires: to the old, +red-bearded Norseman, a foe to fight and a cup to drain; to the +artistic Greek, a grove of animated statuary; to the Red Indian, his +happy hunting ground; to the Turk, his harem; to the Jew, his New +Jerusalem, paved with gold; to others, according to their taste, +limited by the range of their imagination. + +Few things had more terrors for me, when a child, than Heaven--as +pictured for me by certain of the good folks round about me. I was +told that if I were a good lad, kept my hair tidy, and did not tease +the cat, I would probably, when I died, go to a place where all day +long I would sit still and sing hymns. (Think of it! as reward to a +healthy boy for being good.) There would be no breakfast and no +dinner, no tea and no supper. One old lady cheered me a little with +a hint that the monotony might be broken by a little manna; but the +idea of everlasting manna palled upon me, and my suggestions, +concerning the possibilities of sherbet or jumbles, were scouted as +irreverent. There would be no school, but also there would be no +cricket and no rounders. I should feel no desire, so I was assured, +to do another angel's "dags" by sliding down the heavenly banisters. +My only joy would be to sing. + +"Shall we start singing the moment we get up in the morning?" I +asked. + +"There won't be any morning," was the answer. "There will be no day +and no night. It will all be one long day without end." + +"And shall we always be singing?" I persisted. + +"Yes, you will be so happy, you will always want to sing." + +"Shan't I ever get tired?" + +"No, you will never get tired, and you will never get sleepy or +hungry or thirsty." + +"And does it go on like that for ever?" + +"Yes, for ever and ever." + +"Will it go on for a million years?" + +"Yes, a million years, and then another million years, and then +another million years after that. There will never be any end to +it." + +I can remember to this day the agony of those nights, when I would +lie awake, thinking of this endless heaven, from which there seemed +to be no possible escape. For the other place was equally eternal, +or I might have been tempted to seek refuge there. + +We grown-up folk, our brains dulled by the slowly acquired habit of +not thinking, do wrong to torture children with these awful themes. +Eternity, Heaven, Hell are meaningless words to us. We repeat them, +as we gabble our prayers, telling our smug, self-satisfied selves +that we are miserable sinners. But to the child, the "intelligent +stranger" in the land, seeking to know, they are fearful realities. +If you doubt me, Reader, stand by yourself, beneath the stars, one +night, and SOLVE this thought, Eternity. Your next address shall be +the County Lunatic Asylum. + +My actively inclined French friend held cheerier views than are +common of man's life beyond the grave. His belief was that we were +destined to constant change, to everlasting work. We were to pass +through the older planets, to labour in the greater suns. + +But for such advanced career a more capable being was needed. No +one of us was sufficient, he argued, to be granted a future +existence all to himself. His idea was that two or three or four of +us, according to our intrinsic value, would be combined to make a +new and more important individuality, fitted for a higher existence. +Man, he pointed out, was already a collection of the beasts. "You +and I," he would say, tapping first my chest and then his own, "we +have them all here--the ape, the tiger, the pig, the motherly hen, +the gamecock, the good ant; we are all, rolled into one. So the man +of the future, he will be made up of many men--the courage of one, +the wisdom of another, the kindliness of a third." + +"Take a City man," he would continue, "say the Lord Mayor; add to +him a poet, say Swinburne; mix them with a religious enthusiast, say +General Booth. There you will have the man fit for the higher +life." + +Garibaldi and Bismarck, he held, should make a very fine mixture, +correcting one another; if needful, extract of Ibsen might be added, +as seasoning. He thought that Irish politicians would mix admirably +with Scotch divines; that Oxford Dons would go well with lady +novelists. He was convinced that Count Tolstoi, a few Gaiety +Johnnies (we called them "mashers" in those days), together with a +humourist--he was kind enough to suggest myself--would produce +something very choice. Queen Elizabeth, he fancied, was probably +being reserved to go--let us hope in the long distant future--with +Ouida. It sounds a whimsical theory, set down here in my words, not +his; but the old fellow was so much in earnest that few of us ever +thought to laugh as he talked. Indeed, there were moments on starry +nights, as walking home from the office, we would pause on Waterloo +Bridge to enjoy the witchery of the long line of the Embankment +lights, when I could almost believe, as I listened to him, in the +not impossibility of his dreams. + +Even as regards this world, it would often be a gain, one thinks, +and no loss, if some half-dozen of us were rolled together, or +boiled down, or whatever the process necessary might be, and +something made out of us in that way. + +Have not you, my fair Reader, sometimes thought to yourself what a +delightful husband Tom this, plus Harry that, plus Dick the other, +would make? Tom is always so cheerful and good-tempered, yet you +feel that in the serious moments of life he would be lacking. A +delightful hubby when you felt merry, yes; but you would not go to +him for comfort and strength in your troubles, now would you? No, in +your hour of sorrow, how good it would be to have near you grave, +earnest Harry. He is a "good sort," Harry. Perhaps, after all, he +is the best of the three--solid, staunch, and true. What a pity he +is just a trifle commonplace and unambitious. Your friends, not +knowing his sterling hidden qualities, would hardly envy you; and a +husband that no other girl envies you--well, that would hardly be +satisfactory, would it? Dick, on the other hand, is clever and +brilliant. He will make his way; there will come a day, you are +convinced, when a woman will be proud to bear his name. If only he +were not so self-centred, if only he were more sympathetic. + +But a combination of the three, or rather of the best qualities of +the three--Tom's good temper, Harry's tender strength, Dick's +brilliant masterfulness: that is the man who would be worthy of +you. + +The woman David Copperfield wanted was Agnes and Dora rolled into +one. He had to take them one after the other, which was not so +nice. And did he really love Agnes, Mr. Dickens; or merely feel he +ought to? Forgive me, but I am doubtful concerning that second +marriage of Copperfield's. Come, strictly between ourselves, Mr. +Dickens, was not David, good human soul! now and again a wee bit +bored by the immaculate Agnes? She made him an excellent wife, I am +sure. SHE never ordered oysters by the barrel, unopened. It would, +on any day, have been safe to ask Traddles home to dinner; in fact, +Sophie and the whole rose-garden might have accompanied him, Agnes +would have been equal to the occasion. The dinner would have been +perfectly cooked and served, and Agnes' sweet smile would have +pervaded the meal. But AFTER the dinner, when David and Traddles +sat smoking alone, while from the drawing-room drifted down the +notes of high-class, elevating music, played by the saintly Agnes, +did they never, glancing covertly towards the empty chair between +them, see the laughing, curl-framed face of a very foolish little +woman--one of those foolish little women that a wise man thanks God +for making--and wish, in spite of all, that it were flesh and blood, +not shadow? + +Oh, you foolish wise folk, who would remodel human nature! Cannot +you see how great is the work given unto childish hands? Think you +that in well-ordered housekeeping and high-class conversation lies +the whole making of a man? Foolish Dora, fashioned by clever old +magician Nature, who knows that weakness and helplessness are as a +talisman calling forth strength and tenderness in man, trouble +yourself not unduly about those oysters nor the underdone mutton, +little woman. Good plain cooks at twenty pounds a year will see to +these things for us; and, now and then, when a windfall comes our +way, we will dine together at a moderate-priced restaurant where +these things are managed even better. Your work, Dear, is to teach +us gentleness and kindliness. Lay your curls here, child. It is +from such as you that we learn wisdom. Foolish wise folk sneer at +you; foolish wise folk would pull up the useless lilies, the +needless roses, from the garden, would plant in their places only +serviceable wholesome cabbage. But the Gardener knowing better, +plants the silly short-lived flowers; foolish wise folk, asking for +what purpose. + +As for Agnes, Mr. Dickens, do you know what she always makes me +think of? You will not mind my saying?--the woman one reads about. +Frankly, I don't believe in her. I do not refer to Agnes in +particular, but the woman of whom she is a type, the faultless woman +we read of. Women have many faults, but, thank God, they have one +redeeming virtue--they are none of them faultless. + +But the heroine of fiction! oh, a terrible dragon of virtue is she. +May heaven preserve us poor men, undeserving though we be, from a +life with the heroine of fiction. She is all soul, and heart, and +intellect, with never a bit of human nature to catch hold of her by. +Her beauty, it appals one, it is so painfully indescribable. Whence +comes she, whither goes she, why do we never meet her like? Of +women I know a goodish few, and I look among them for her prototype; +but I find it not. They are charming, they are beautiful, all these +women that I know. It would not be right for me to tell you, +Ladies, the esteem and veneration with which I regard you all. You +yourselves, blushing, would be the first to cheek my ardour. But +yet, dear Ladies, seen even through my eyes, you come not near the +ladies that I read about. You are not--if I may be permitted an +expressive vulgarism--in the same street with them. Your beauty I +can look upon, and retain my reason--for whatever value that may be +to me. Your conversation, I admit, is clever and brilliant in the +extreme; your knowledge vast and various; your culture quite +Bostonian; yet you do not--I hardly know how to express it--you do +not shine with the sixteen full-moon-power of the heroine of +fiction. You do not--and I thank you for it--impress me with the +idea that you are the only women on earth. You, even you, possess +tempers of your own. I am inclined to think you take an interest in +your clothes. I would not be sure, even, that you do not mingle a +little of "your own hair" (you know what I mean) with the hair of +your head. There is in your temperament a vein of vanity, a +suggestion of selfishness, a spice of laziness. I have known you a +trifle unreasonable, a little inconsiderate, slightly exacting. +Unlike the heroine of fiction, you have a certain number of human +appetites and instincts; a few human follies, perhaps, a human +fault, or shall we say two? In short, dear Ladies, you also, even +as we men, are the children of Adam and Eve. Tell me, if you know, +where I may meet with this supernatural sister of yours, this woman +that one reads about. She never keeps any one waiting while she +does her back hair, she is never indignant with everybody else in +the house because she cannot find her own boots, she never scolds +the servants, she is never cross with the children, she never slams +the door, she is never jealous of her younger sister, she never +lingers at the gate with any cousin but the right one. + +Dear me, where DO they keep them, these women that one reads about? +I suppose where they keep the pretty girl of Art. You have seen +her, have you not, Reader, the pretty girl in the picture? She +leaps the six-barred gate with a yard and a half to spare, turning +round in her saddle the while to make some smiling remark to the +comic man behind, who, of course, is standing on his head in the +ditch. She floats gracefully off Dieppe on stormy mornings. Her +baigneuse--generally of chiffon and old point lace--has not lost a +curve. The older ladies, bathing round her, look wet. Their dress +clings damply to their limbs. But the pretty girl of Art dives, and +never a curl of her hair is disarranged. The pretty girl of Art +stands lightly on tip-toe and volleys a tennis-ball six feet above +her head. The pretty girl of Art keeps the head of the punt +straight against a stiff current and a strong wind. SHE never gets +the water up her sleeve, and down her back, and all over the +cushions. HER pole never sticks in the mud, with the steam launch +ten yards off and the man looking the other way. The pretty girl of +Art skates in high-heeled French shoes at an angle of forty-five to +the surface of the ice, both hands in her muff. SHE never sits down +plump, with her feet a yard apart, and says "Ough." The pretty girl +of Art drives tandem down Piccadilly, during the height of the +season, at eighteen miles an hour. It never occurs to HER leader +that the time has now arrived for him to turn round and get into the +cart. The pretty girl of Art rides her bicycle through the town on +market day, carrying a basket of eggs, and smiling right and left. +SHE never throws away both her handles and runs into a cow. The +pretty girl of Art goes trout fishing in open-work stockings, under +a blazing sun, with a bunch of dew-bespangled primroses in her hair; +and every time she gracefully flicks her rod she hauls out a salmon. +SHE never ties herself up to a tree, or hooks the dog. SHE never +comes home, soaked and disagreeable, to tell you that she caught +six, but put them all back again, because they were merely two or +three-pounders, and not worth the trouble of carrying. The pretty +girl of Art plays croquet with one hand, and looks as if she enjoyed +the game. SHE never tries to accidentally kick her ball into +position when nobody is noticing, or stands it out that she is +through a hoop that she knows she isn't. + +She is a good, all-round sportswoman, is the pretty girl in the +picture. The only thing I have to say against her is that she makes +one dissatisfied with the girl out of the picture--the girl who +mistakes a punt for a teetotum, so that you land feeling as if you +had had a day in the Bay of Biscay; and who, every now and again, +stuns you with the thick end of the pole: the girl who does not +skate with her hands in her muff; but who, throwing them up to +heaven, says, "I'm going," and who goes, taking care that you go +with her: the girl who, as you brush her down, and try to comfort +her, explains to you indignantly that the horse took the corner too +sharply and never noticed the mile-stone; the girl whose hair sea +water does NOT improve. + +There can be no doubt about it: that is where they keep the good +woman of Fiction, where they keep the pretty girl of Art. + +Does it not occur to you, Messieurs les Auteurs, that you are sadly +disturbing us? These women that are a combination of Venus, St. +Cecilia, and Elizabeth Fry! you paint them for us in your glowing +pages: it is not kind of you, knowing, as you must, the women we +have to put up with. + +Would we not be happier, we men and women, were we to idealize one +another less? My dear young lady, you have nothing whatever to +complain to Fate about, I assure you. Unclasp those pretty hands of +yours, and come away from the darkening window. Jack is as good a +fellow as you deserve; don't yearn so much. Sir Galahad, my dear-- +Sir Galahad rides and fights in the land that lies beyond the +sunset, far enough away from this noisy little earth where you and I +spend much of our time tittle-tattling, flirting, wearing fine +clothes, and going to shows. And besides, you must remember, Sir +Galahad was a bachelor: as an idealist he was wise. Your Jack is +by no means a bad sort of knight, as knights go nowadays in this un- +idyllic world. There is much solid honesty about him, and he does +not pose. He is not exceptional, I grant you; but, my dear, have +you ever tried the exceptional man? Yes, he is very nice in a +drawing-room, and it is interesting to read about him in the Society +papers: you will find most of his good qualities there: take my +advice, don't look into him too closely. You be content with Jack, +and thank heaven he is no worse. We are not saints, we men--none of +us, and our beautiful thoughts, I fear, we write in poetry not +action. The White Knight, my dear young lady, with his pure soul, +his heroic heart, his life's devotion to a noble endeavour, does not +live down here to any great extent. They have tried it, one or two +of them, and the world--you and I: the world is made up of you and +I--has generally starved, and hooted them. There are not many of +them left now: do you think you would care to be the wife of one, +supposing one were to be found for you? Would you care to live with +him in two furnished rooms in Clerkenwell, die with him on a chair +bedstead? A century hence they will put up a statue to him, and you +may be honoured as the wife who shared with him his sufferings. Do +you think you are woman enough for that? If not, thank your stars +you have secured, for your own exclusive use, one of us +UNexceptional men, who knows no better than to admire you. YOU are +not exceptional. + +And in us ordinary men there is some good. It wants finding, that +is all. We are not so commonplace as you think us. Even your Jack, +fond of his dinner, his conversation four-cornered by the Sporting +Press--yes, I agree he is not interesting, as he sits snoring in the +easy-chair; but, believe it or not, there are the makings of a great +hero in Jack, if Fate would but be kinder to him, and shake him out +of his ease. + +Dr. Jekyll contained beneath his ample waist-coat not two egos, but +three--not only Hyde but another, a greater than Jekyll--a man as +near to the angels as Hyde was to the demons. These well-fed City +men, these Gaiety Johnnies, these plough-boys, apothecaries, +thieves! within each one lies hidden the hero, did Fate, the +sculptor, choose to use his chisel. That little drab we have +noticed now and then, our way taking us often past the end of the +court, there was nothing by which to distinguish her. She was not +over-clean, could use coarse language on occasion--just the spawn of +the streets: take care lest the cloak of our child should brush +her. + +One morning the district Coroner, not, generally speaking, a poet +himself, but an adept at discovering poetry buried under unlikely +rubbish-heaps, tells us more about her. She earned six shillings a +week, and upon it supported a bed-ridden mother and three younger +children. She was housewife, nurse, mother, breadwinner, rolled +into one. Yes, there are heroines OUT of fiction. + +So loutish Tom has won the Victoria Cross--dashed out under a storm +of bullets and rescued the riddled flag. Who would have thought it +of loutish Tom? The village alehouse one always deemed the goal of +his endeavours. Chance comes to Tom and we find him out. To Harry +the Fates were less kind. A ne'er-do-well was Harry--drank, knocked +his wife about, they say. Bury him, we are well rid of him, he was +good for nothing. Are we sure? + +Let us acknowledge we are sinners. We know, those of us who dare to +examine ourselves, that we are capable of every meanness, of every +wrong under the sun. It is by the accident of circumstance, aided +by the helpful watchfulness of the policeman, that our possibilities +of crime are known only to ourselves. But having acknowledged our +evil, let us also acknowledge that we are capable of greatness. The +martyrs who faced death and torture unflinchingly for conscience' +sake, were men and women like ourselves. They had their wrong side. +Before the small trials of daily life they no doubt fell as we fall. +By no means were they the pick of humanity. Thieves many of them +had been, and murderers, evil-livers, and evil-doers. But the +nobility was there also, lying dormant, and their day came. Among +them must have been men who had cheated their neighbours over the +counter; men who had been cruel to their wives and children; +selfish, scandal-mongering women. In easier times their virtue +might never have been known to any but their Maker. + +In every age and in every period, when and where Fate has called +upon men and women to play the man, human nature has not been found +wanting. They were a poor lot, those French aristocrats that the +Terror seized: cowardly, selfish, greedy had been their lives. Yet +there must have been good, even in them. When the little things +that in their little lives they had thought so great were swept away +from them, when they found themselves face to face with the +realities; then even they played the man. Poor shuffling Charles +the First, crusted over with weakness and folly, deep down in him at +last we find the great gentleman. + +I like to hear stories of the littleness of great men. I like to +think that Shakespeare was fond of his glass. I even cling to the +tale of that disgraceful final orgie with friend Ben Jonson. +Possibly the story may not be true, but I hope it was. I like to +think of him as poacher, as village ne'er-do-well, denounced by the +local grammar-school master, preached at by the local J. P. of the +period. I like to reflect that Cromwell had a wart on his nose; the +thought makes me more contented with my own features. I like to +think that he put sweets upon the chairs, to see finely-dressed +ladies spoil their frocks; to tell myself that he roared with +laughter at the silly jest, like any East End 'Arry with his Bank +Holiday squirt of dirty water. I like to read that Carlyle threw +bacon at his wife and occasionally made himself highly ridiculous +over small annoyances, that would have been smiled at by a man of +well-balanced mind. I think of the fifty foolish things a week _I_ +do, and say to myself, "I, too, am a literary man." + +I like to think that even Judas had his moments of nobility, his +good hours when he would willingly have laid down his life for his +Master. Perhaps even to him there came, before the journey's end, +the memory of a voice saying--"Thy sins be forgiven thee." There +must have been good, even in Judas. + +Virtue lies like the gold in quartz, there is not very much of it, +and much pains has to be spent on the extracting of it. But Nature +seems to think it worth her while to fashion these huge useless +stones, if in them she may hide away her precious metals. Perhaps, +also, in human nature, she cares little for the mass of dross, +provided that by crushing and cleansing she can extract from it a +little gold, sufficient to repay her for the labour of the world. +We wonder why she troubles to make the stone. Why cannot the gold +lie in nuggets on the surface? But her methods are secrets to us. +Perchance there is a reason for the quartz. Perchance there is a +reason for the evil and folly, through which run, unseen to the +careless eye, the tiny veins of virtue. + +Aye, the stone predominates, but the gold is there. We claim to +have it valued. The evil that there is in man no tongue can tell. +We are vile among the vile, a little evil people. But we are great. +Pile up the bricks of our sins till the tower knocks at Heaven's +gate, calling for vengeance, yet we are great--with a greatness and +a virtue that the untempted angels may not reach to. The written +history of the human race, it is one long record of cruelty, of +falsehood, of oppression. Think you the world would be spinning +round the sun unto this day, if that written record were all? +Sodom, God would have spared had there been found ten righteous men +within its walls. The world is saved by its just men. History sees +them not; she is but the newspaper, a report of accidents. Judge +you life by that? Then you shall believe that the true Temple of +Hymen is the Divorce Court; that men are of two classes only, the +thief and the policeman; that all noble thought is but a +politician's catchword. History sees only the destroying +conflagrations, she takes no thought of the sweet fire-sides. +History notes the wrong; but the patient suffering, the heroic +endeavour, that, slowly and silently, as the soft processes of +Nature re-clothing with verdure the passion-wasted land, obliterate +that wrong, she has no eyes for. In the days of cruelty and +oppression--not altogether yet of the past, one fears--must have +lived gentle-hearted men and women, healing with their help and +sympathy the wounds that else the world had died of. After the +thief, riding with jingle of sword and spur, comes, mounted on his +ass, the good Samaritan. The pyramid of the world's evil--God help +us! it rises high, shutting out almost the sun. But the record of +man's good deeds, it lies written in the laughter of the children, +in the light of lovers' eyes, in the dreams of the young men; it +shall not be forgotten. The fires of persecution served as torches +to show Heaven the heroism that was in man. From the soil of +tyranny sprang self-sacrifice, and daring for the Right. Cruelty! +what is it but the vile manure, making the ground ready for the +flowers of tenderness and pity? Hate and Anger shriek to one +another across the ages, but the voices of Love and Comfort are none +the less existent that they speak in whispers, lips to ear. + +We have done wrong, oh, ye witnessing Heavens, but we have done +good. We claim justice. We have laid down our lives for our +friends: greater love hath no man than this. We have fought for +the Right. We have died for the Truth--as the Truth seemed to us. +We have done noble deeds; we have lived noble lives; we have +comforted the sorrowful; we have succoured the weak. Failing, +falling, making in our blindness many a false step, yet we have +striven. For the sake of the army of just men and true, for the +sake of the myriads of patient, loving women, for the sake of the +pitiful and helpful, for the sake of the good that lies hidden +within us,--spare us, O Lord. + + + +ON THE MOTHERLINESS OF MAN + +It was only a piece of broken glass. From its shape and colour, I +should say it had, in its happier days, formed portion of a cheap +scent-bottle. Lying isolated on the grass, shone upon by the early +morning sun, it certainly appeared at its best. It attracted him. + +He cocked his head, and looked at it with his right eye. Then he +hopped round to the other side, and looked at it with his left eye. +With either optic it seemed equally desirable. + +That he was an inexperienced young rook goes without saying. An +older bird would not have given a second glance to the thing. +Indeed, one would have thought his own instinct might have told him +that broken glass would be a mistake in a bird's nest. But its +glitter drew him too strongly for resistance. I am inclined to +suspect that at some time, during the growth of his family tree, +there must have occurred a mesalliance, perhaps worse. Possibly a +strain of magpie blood?--one knows the character of magpies, or +rather their lack of character--and such things have happened. But +I will not pursue further so painful a train: I throw out the +suggestion as a possible explanation, that is all. + +He hopped nearer. Was it a sweet illusion, this flashing fragment +of rainbow; a beautiful vision to fade upon approach, typical of so +much that is un-understandable in rook life? He made a dart forward +and tapped it with his beak. No, it was real--as fine a lump of +jagged green glass as any newly-married rook could desire, and to be +had for the taking. SHE would be pleased with it. He was a well- +meaning bird; the mere upward inclination of his tail suggested +earnest though possibly ill-directed endeavour. + +He turned it over. It was an awkward thing to carry; it had so very +many corners. But he succeeded at last in getting it firmly between +his beak, and in haste, lest some other bird should seek to dispute +with him its possession, at once flew off with it. + +A second rook who had been watching the proceedings from the lime +tree, called to a third who was passing. Even with my limited +knowledge of the language I found it easy to follow the +conversation: it was so obvious. + +"Issachar!" + +"Hallo!" + +"What do you think? Zebulan's found a piece of broken bottle. He's +going to line his nest with it." + +"No!" + +"God's truth. Look at him. There he goes, he's got it in his +beak." + +"Well, I'm --!" + +And they both burst into a laugh. + +But Zebulan heeded them not. If he overheard, he probably put down +the whole dialogue to jealousy. He made straight for his tree. By +standing with my left cheek pressed close against the window-pane, I +was able to follow him. He is building in what we call the Paddock +elms--a suburb commenced only last season, but rapidly growing. I +wanted to see what his wife would say. + +At first she said nothing. He laid it carefully down on the branch +near the half-finished nest, and she stretched up her head and +looked at it. + +Then she looked at him. For about a minute neither spoke. I could +see that the situation was becoming strained. When she did open her +beak, it was with a subdued tone, that had a vein of weariness +running through it. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +He was evidently chilled by her manner. As I have explained, he is +an inexperienced young rook. This is clearly his first wife, and he +stands somewhat in awe of her. + +"Well, I don't exactly know what it's CALLED," he answered. + +"Oh." + +"No. But it's pretty, isn't it?" he added. He moved it, trying to +get it where the sun might reach it. It was evident he was +admitting to himself that, seen in the shade, it lost much of its +charm. + +"Oh, yes; very pretty," was the rejoinder; "perhaps you'll tell me +what you're going to do with it." + +The question further discomforted him. It was growing upon him that +this thing was not going to be the success he had anticipated. It +would be necessary to proceed warily. + +"Of course, it's not a twig," he began. + +"I see it isn't." + +"No. You see, the nest is nearly all twigs as it is, and I thought- +-" + +"Oh, you did think." + +"Yes, my dear. I thought--unless you are of opinion that it's too +showy--I thought we might work it in somewhere." + +Then she flared out. + +"Oh, did you? You thought that a good idea. An A1 prize idiot I +seem to have married, I do. You've been gone twenty minutes, and +you bring me back an eight-cornered piece of broken glass, which you +think we might 'work into' the nest. You'd like to see me sitting +on it for a month, you would. You think it would make a nice bed +for the children to lie on. You don't think you could manage to +find a packet of mixed pins if you went down again, I suppose. +They'd look pretty 'worked in' somewhere, don't you think?--Here, +get out of my way. I'll finish this nest by myself." She always +had been short with him. + +She caught up the offending object--it was a fairly heavy lump of +glass--and flung it out of the tree with all her force. I heard it +crash through the cucumber frame. That makes the seventh pane of +glass broken in that cucumber frame this week. The couple in the +branch above are the worst. Their plan of building is the most +extravagant, the most absurd I ever heard of. They hoist up ten +times as much material as they can possibly use; you might think +they were going to build a block, and let it out in flats to the +other rooks. Then what they don't want they fling down again. +Suppose we built on such a principle? Suppose a human husband and +wife were to start erecting their house in Piccadilly Circus, let us +say; and suppose the man spent all the day steadily carrying bricks +up the ladder while his wife laid them, never asking her how many +she wanted, whether she didn't think he had brought up sufficient, +but just accumulating bricks in a senseless fashion, bringing up +every brick he could find. And then suppose, when evening came, and +looking round, they found they had some twenty cart-loads of bricks +lying unused upon the scaffold, they were to commence flinging them +down into Waterloo Place. They would get themselves into trouble; +somebody would be sure to speak to them about it. Yet that is +precisely what those birds do, and nobody says a word to them. They +are supposed to have a President. He lives by himself in the yew +tree outside the morning-room window. What I want to know is what +he is supposed to be good for. This is the sort of thing I want him +to look into. I would like him to be worming underneath one evening +when those two birds are tidying up: perhaps he would do something +then. I have done all I can. I have thrown stones at them, that, +in the course of nature, have returned to earth again, breaking more +glass. I have blazed at them with a revolver; but they have come to +regard this proceeding as a mere expression of light-heartedness on +my part, possibly confusing me with the Arab of the Desert, who, I +am given to understand, expresses himself thus in moments of deep +emotion. They merely retire to a safe distance to watch me; no +doubt regarding me as a poor performer, inasmuch as I do not also +dance and shout between each shot. I have no objection to their +building there, if they only would build sensibly. I want somebody +to speak to them to whom they will pay attention. + +You can hear them in the evening, discussing the matter of this +surplus stock. + +"Don't you work any more," he says, as he comes up with the last +load, "you'll tire yourself." + +"Well, I am feeling a bit done up," she answers, as she hops out of +the nest and straightens her back. + +"You're a bit peckish, too, I expect," he adds sympathetically. "I +know I am. We will have a scratch down, and be off." + +"What about all this stuff?" she asks, while titivating herself; +"we'd better not leave it about, it looks so untidy." + +"Oh, we'll soon get rid of that," he answers. "I'll have that down +in a jiffy." + +To help him, she seizes a stick and is about to drop it. He darts +forward and snatches it from her. + +"Don't you waste that one," he cries, "that's a rare one, that is. +You see me hit the old man with it." + +And he does. What the gardener says, I will leave you to imagine. + +Judged from its structure, the rook family is supposed to come next +in intelligence to man himself. Judging from the intelligence +displayed by members of certain human families with whom I have come +in contact, I can quite believe it. That rooks talk I am positive. +No one can spend half-an-hour watching a rookery without being +convinced of this. Whether the talk be always wise and witty, I am +not prepared to maintain; but that there is a good deal of it is +certain. A young French gentleman of my acquaintance, who visited +England to study the language, told me that the impression made upon +him by his first social evening in London was that of a +parrot-house. Later on, when he came to comprehend, he, of course, +recognized the brilliancy and depth of the average London +drawing-room talk; but that is how, not comprehending, it impressed +him at first. Listening to the riot of a rookery is much the same +experience. The conversation to us sounds meaningless; the rooks +themselves would probably describe it as sparkling. + +There is a Misanthrope I know who hardly ever goes into Society. I +argued the question with him one day. "Why should I?" he replied; +"I know, say, a dozen men and women with whom intercourse is a +pleasure; they have ideas of their own which they are not afraid to +voice. To rub brains with such is a rare and goodly thing, and I +thank Heaven for their friendship; but they are sufficient for my +leisure. What more do I require? What is this 'Society' of which +you all make so much ado? I have sampled it, and I find it +unsatisfying. Analyze it into its elements, what is it? Some +person I know very slightly, who knows me very slightly, asks me to +what you call an 'At Home.' The evening comes, I have done my day's +work and I have dined. I have been to a theatre or concert, or I +have spent a pleasant hour or so with a friend. I am more inclined +for bed than anything else, but I pull myself together, dress, and +drive to the house. While I am taking off my hat and coat in the +hall, a man enters I met a few hours ago at the Club. He is a man I +have very little opinion of, and he, probably, takes a similar view +of me. Our minds have no thought in common, but as it is necessary +to talk, I tell him it is a warm evening. Perhaps it is a warm +evening, perhaps it isn't; in either case he agrees with me. I ask +him if he is going to Ascot. I do not care a straw whether he is +going to Ascot or not. He says he is not quite sure, but asks me +what chance Passion Flower has for the Thousand Guineas. I know he +doesn't value my opinion on the subject at a brass farthing--he +would be a fool if he did, but I cudgel my brains to reply to him, +as though he were going to stake his shirt on my advice. We reach +the first floor, and are mutually glad to get rid of one another. I +catch my hostess' eye. She looks tired and worried; she would be +happier in bed, only she doesn't know it. She smiles sweetly, but +it is clear she has not the slightest idea who I am, and is waiting +to catch my name from the butler. I whisper it to him. Perhaps he +will get it right, perhaps he won't; it is quite immaterial. They +have asked two hundred and forty guests, some seventy-five of whom +they know by sight, for the rest, any chance passer-by, able, as the +theatrical advertisements say, 'to dress and behave as a gentleman,' +would do every bit as well. Indeed, I sometimes wonder why people +go to the trouble and expense of invitation cards at all. A +sandwich-man outside the door would answer the purpose. 'Lady +Tompkins, At Home, this afternoon from three to seven; Tea and +Music. Ladies and Gentlemen admitted on presentation of visiting +card. Afternoon dress indispensable.' The crowd is the thing +wanted; as for the items, well, tell me, what is the difference, +from the Society point of view, between one man in a black +frock-coat and another? + +"I remember being once invited to a party at a house in Lancaster +Gate. I had met the woman at a picnic. In the same green frock and +parasol I might have recognized her the next time I saw her. In any +other clothes I did not expect to. My cabman took me to the house +opposite, where they were also giving a party. It made no +difference to any of us. The hostess--I never learnt her name--said +it was very good of me to come, and then shunted me off on to a +Colonial Premier (I did not catch his name, and he did not catch +mine, which was not extraordinary, seeing that my hostess did not +know it) who, she whispered to me, had come over, from wherever it +was (she did not seem to be very sure) principally to make my +acquaintance. Half through the evening, and by accident, I +discovered my mistake, but judged it too late to say anything then. +I met a couple of people I knew, had a little supper with them, and +came away. The next afternoon I met my right hostess--the lady who +should have been my hostess. She thanked me effusively for having +sacrificed the previous evening to her and her friends; she said she +knew how seldom I went out: that made her feel my kindness all the +more. She told me that the Brazilian Minister's wife had told her +that I was the cleverest man she had ever met. I often think I +should like to meet that man, whoever he may be, and thank him. + +"But perhaps the butler does pronounce my name rightly, and perhaps +my hostess actually does recognize me. She smiles, and says she was +so afraid I was not coming. She implies that all the other guests +are but as a feather in her scales of joy compared with myself. I +smile in return, wondering to myself how I look when I do smile. I +have never had the courage to face my own smile in the +looking-glass. I notice the Society smile of other men, and it is +not reassuring. I murmur something about my not having been likely +to forget this evening; in my turn, seeking to imply that I have +been looking forward to it for weeks. A few men shine at this sort +of thing, but they are a small percentage, and without conceit I +regard myself as no bigger a fool than the average male. Not +knowing what else to say, I tell her also that it is a warm evening. +She smiles archly as though there were some hidden witticism in the +remark, and I drift away, feeling ashamed of myself. To talk as an +idiot when you ARE an idiot brings no discomfort; to behave as an +idiot when you have sufficient sense to know it, is painful. I hide +myself in the crowd, and perhaps I'll meet a woman I was introduced +to three weeks ago at a picture gallery. We don't know each other's +names, but, both of us feeling lonesome, we converse, as it is +called. If she be the ordinary type of woman, she asks me if I am +going on to the Johnsons'. I tell her no. We stand silent for a +moment, both thinking what next to say. She asks me if I was at the +Thompsons' the day before yesterday. I again tell her no. I begin +to feel dissatisfied with myself that I was not at the Thompsons'. +Trying to get even with her, I ask her if she is going to the +Browns' next Monday. (There are no Browns, she will have to say, +No.) She is not, and her tone suggests that a social stigma rests +upon the Browns. I ask her if she has been to Barnum's Circus; she +hasn't, but is going. I give her my impressions of Barnum's Circus, +which are precisely the impressions of everybody else who has seen +the show. + +"Or if luck be against me, she is possibly a smart woman, that is to +say, her conversation is a running fire of spiteful remarks at the +expense of every one she knows, and of sneers at the expense of +every one she doesn't. I always feel I could make a better woman +myself, out of a bottle of vinegar and a penn'orth of mixed pins. +Yet it usually takes one about ten minutes to get away from her. + +"Even when, by chance, one meets a flesh-and-blood man or woman at +such gatherings, it is not the time or place for real conversation; +and as for the shadows, what person in their senses would exhaust a +single brain cell upon such? I remember a discussion once +concerning Tennyson, considered as a social item. The dullest and +most densely-stupid bore I ever came across was telling how he had +sat next to Tennyson at dinner. 'I found him a most uninteresting +man,' so he confided to us; 'he had nothing to say for himself-- +absolutely nothing.' I should like to resuscitate Dr. Samuel +Johnson for an evening, and throw him into one of these 'At Homes' +of yours." + +My friend is an admitted misanthrope, as I have explained; but one +cannot dismiss him as altogether unjust. That there is a certain +mystery about Society's craving for Society must be admitted. I +stood one evening trying to force my way into the supper room of a +house in Berkeley Square. A lady, hot and weary, a few yards in +front of me was struggling to the same goal. + +"Why," remarked she to her companion, "why do we come to these +places, and fight like a Bank Holiday crowd for eighteenpenny-worth +of food?" + +"We come here," replied the man, whom I judged to be a philosopher, +"to say we've been here." + +I met A----- the other evening, and asked him to dine with me on +Monday. I don't know why I ask A----- to dine with me, but about +once a month I do. He is an uninteresting man. + +"I can't," he said, "I've got to go to the B-----s'; confounded +nuisance, it will be infernally dull." + +"Why go?" I asked. + +"I really don't know," he replied. + +A little later B----- met me, and asked me to dine with him on +Monday. + +"I can't," I answered, "some friends are coming to us that evening. +It's a duty dinner, you know the sort of thing." + +"I wish you could have managed it," he said, "I shall have no one to +talk to. The A-----s are coming, and they bore me to death." + +"Why do you ask him?" I suggested. + +"Upon my word, I really don't know," he replied. + +But to return to our rooks. We were speaking of their social +instincts. Some dozen of them--the "scallywags" and bachelors of +the community, I judge them to be--have started a Club. For a month +past I have been trying to understand what the affair was. Now I +know: it is a Club. + +And for their Club House they have chosen, of course, the tree +nearest my bedroom window. I can guess how that came about; it was +my own fault, I never thought of it. About two months ago, a single +rook--suffering from indigestion or an unhappy marriage, I know not- +-chose this tree one night for purposes of reflection. He woke me +up: I felt angry. I opened the window, and threw an empty +soda-water bottle at him. Of course it did not hit him, and finding +nothing else to throw, I shouted at him, thinking to frighten him +away. He took no notice, but went on talking to himself. I shouted +louder, and woke up my own dog. The dog barked furiously, and woke +up most things within a quarter of a mile. I had to go down with a +boot-jack--the only thing I could find handy--to soothe the dog. +Two hours later I fell asleep from exhaustion. I left the rook +still cawing. + +The next night he came again. I should say he was a bird with a +sense of humour. Thinking this might happen, I had, however, taken +the precaution to have a few stones ready. I opened the window +wide, and fired them one after another into the tree. After I had +closed the window, he hopped down nearer, and cawed louder than +ever. I think he wanted me to throw more stones at him: he +appeared to regard the whole proceeding as a game. On the third +night, as I heard nothing of him, I flattered myself that, in spite +of his bravado, I had discouraged him. I might have known rooks +better. + +What happened when the Club was being formed, I take it, was this: + +"Where shall we fix upon for our Club House?" said the secretary, +all other points having been disposed of. One suggested this tree, +another suggested that. Then up spoke this particular rook: + +"I'll tell you where," said he, "in the yew tree opposite the porch. +And I'll tell you for why. Just about an hour before dawn a man +comes to the window over the porch, dressed in the most comical +costume you ever set eyes upon. I'll tell you what he reminds me +of--those little statues that men use for decorating fields. He +opens the window, and throws a lot of things out upon the lawn, and +then he dances and sings. It's awfully interesting, and you can see +it all from the yew tree." + +That, I am convinced, is how the Club came to fix upon the tree next +my window. I have had the satisfaction of denying them the +exhibition they anticipated, and I cheer myself with the hope that +they have visited their disappointment upon their misleader. + +There is a difference between Rook Clubs and ours. In our clubs the +respectable members arrive early, and leave at a reasonable hour; in +Rook Clubs, it would appear, this principle is reversed. The Mad +Hatter would have liked this Club--it would have been a club after +his own heart. It opens at half-past two in the morning, and the +first to arrive are the most disreputable members. In Rook-land the +rowdy-dowdy, randy-dandy, rollicky-ranky boys get up very early in +the morning and go to bed in the afternoon. Towards dawn, the +older, more orderly members drop in for reasonable talk, and the +Club becomes more respectable. The tree closes about six. For the +first two hours, however, the goings-on are disgraceful. The +proceedings, as often as not, open with a fight. If no two +gentlemen can be found to oblige with a fight, the next noisiest +thing to fall back upon is held to be a song. It is no satisfaction +to me to be told that rooks cannot sing. _I_ know that, without the +trouble of referring to the natural history book. It is the rook +who does not know it; HE thinks he can; and as a matter of fact, he +does. You can criticize his singing, you can call it what you like, +but you can't stop it--at least, that is my experience. The song +selected is sure to be one with a chorus. Towards the end it +becomes mainly chorus, unless the soloist be an extra powerful bird, +determined to insist upon his rights. + +The President knows nothing of this Club. He gets up himself about +seven--three hours after all the others have finished breakfast--and +then fusses round under the impression that he is waking up the +colony, the fat-headed old fool. He is the poorest thing in +Presidents I have ever heard of. A South American Republic would +supply a better article. The rooks themselves, the married +majority, fathers of families, respectable nestholders, are as +indignant as I am. I hear complaints from all quarters. + +Reflection comes to one as, towards the close of these chill +afternoons in early spring, one leans upon the paddock gate watching +the noisy bustling in the bare elms. + +So the earth is growing green again, and love is come again unto the +hearts of us old sober-coated fellows. Oh, Madam, your feathers +gleam wondrous black, and your bonnie bright eye stabs deep. Come, +sit by our side, and we'll tell you a tale such as rook never told +before. It's the tale of a nest in a topmost bough, that sways in +the good west wind. It's strong without, but it's soft within, +where the little green eggs lie safe. And there sits in that nest a +lady sweet, and she caws with joy, for, afar, she sees the rook she +loves the best. Oh, he has been east, and he has been west, and his +crop it is full of worms and slugs, and they are all for her. + +We are old, old rooks, so many of us. The white is mingling with +the purple black upon our breasts. We have seen these tall elms +grow from saplings; we have seen the old trees fall and die. Yet +each season come to us again the young thoughts. So we mate and +build and gather that again our old, old hearts may quiver to the +thin cry of our newborn. + +Mother Nature has but one care, the children. We talk of Love as +the Lord of Life: it is but the Minister. Our novels end where +Nature's tale begins. The drama that our curtain falls upon, is but +the prologue to her play. How the ancient Dame must laugh as she +listens to the prattle of her children. "Is Marriage a Failure?" +"Is Life worth Living?" "The New Woman versus the Old." So, +perhaps, the waves of the Atlantic discuss vehemently whether they +shall flow east or west. + +Motherhood is the law of the Universe. The whole duty of man is to +be a mother. We labour: to what end? the children--the woman in +the home, the man in the community. The nation takes thought for +its future: why? In a few years its statesmen, its soldiers, its +merchants, its toilers, will be gathered unto their fathers. Why +trouble we ourselves about the future? The country pours its blood +and treasure into the earth that the children may reap. Foolish +Jacques Bonhomie, his addled brain full of dreams, rushes with +bloody hands to give his blood for Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. +He will not live to see, except in vision, the new world he gives +his bones to build--even his spinning word-whipped head knows that. +But the children! they shall live sweeter lives. The peasant leaves +his fireside to die upon the battle-field. What is it to him, a +grain in the human sand, that Russia should conquer the East, that +Germany should be united, that the English flag should wave above +new lands? the heritage his fathers left him shall be greater for +his sons. Patriotism! what is it but the mother instinct of a +people? + +Take it that the decree has gone forth from Heaven: There shall be +no more generations, with this life the world shall die. Think you +we should move another hand? The ships would rot in the harbours, +the grain would rot in the ground. Should we paint pictures, write +books, make music? hemmed in by that onward creeping sea of silence. +Think you with what eyes husband and wife would look on one another. +Think you of the wooing--the spring of Love dried up; love only a +pool of stagnant water. + +How little we seem to realize this foundation of our life. Herein, +if nowhere else, lies our eternity. This Ego shall never die-- +unless the human race from beginning to end be but a passing jest of +the Gods, to be swept aside when wearied of, leaving room for new +experiments. These features of mine--we will not discuss their +aesthetic value--shall never disappear; modified, varied, but in +essential the same, they shall continue in ever increasing circles +to the end of Time. This temperament of mine--this good and evil +that is in me, it shall grow with every age, spreading ever wider, +combining, amalgamating. I go into my children and my children's +children, I am eternal. I am they, they are I. The tree withers +and you clear the ground, thankful if out of its dead limbs you can +make good firewood; but its spirit, its life, is in fifty saplings. +The tree dies not, it changes. + +These men and women that pass me in the street, this one hurrying to +his office, this one to his club, another to his love, they are the +mothers of the world to come. + +This greedy trickster in stocks and shares, he cheats, he lies, he +wrongs all men--for what? Follow him to his luxurious home in the +suburbs: what do you find? A man with children on his knee, +telling them stories, promising them toys. His anxious, sordid +life, for what object is it lived? That these children may possess +the things that he thinks good for them. Our very vices, side by +side with our virtues, spring from this one root, Motherhood. It is +the one seed of the Universe. The planets are but children of the +sun, the moon but an offspring of the earth, stone of her stone, +iron of her iron. What is the Great Centre of us all, life animate +and inanimate--if any life be inanimate? Is the eternal universe one +dim figure, Motherhood, filling all space? + +This scheming Mother of Mayfair, angling for a rich son-in-law! Not +a pleasing portrait to look upon, from one point of view. Let us +look at it, for a moment, from another. How weary she must be! +This is her third "function" to-night; the paint is running off her +poor face. She has been snubbed a dozen times by her social +superiors, openly insulted by a Duchess; yet she bears it with a +patient smile. It is a pitiful ambition, hers: it is that her +child shall marry money, shall have carriages and many servants, +live in Park Lane, wear diamonds, see her name in the Society +Papers. At whatever cost to herself, her daughter shall, if +possible, enjoy these things. She could so much more comfortably go +to bed, and leave the child to marry some well-to-do commercial +traveller. Justice, Reader, even for such. Her sordid scheming is +but the deformed child of Motherhood. + +Motherhood! it is the gamut of God's orchestra, savageness and +cruelty at the one end, tenderness and self-sacrifice at the other. + +The sparrow-hawk fights the hen: he seeking food for his brood, she +defending hers with her life. The spider sucks the fly to feed its +myriad young; the cat tortures the mouse to give its still throbbing +carcase to her kittens, and man wrongs man for children's sake. +Perhaps when the riot of the world reaches us whole, not broken, we +shall learn it is a harmony, each jangling discord fallen into its +place around the central theme, Motherhood. + + + +ON THE INADVISABILITY OF FOLLOWING ADVICE + +I was pacing the Euston platform late one winter's night, waiting +for the last train to Watford, when I noticed a man cursing an +automatic machine. Twice he shook his fist at it. I expected every +moment to see him strike it. Naturally curious, I drew near softly. +I wanted to catch what he was saying. However, he heard my +approaching footsteps, and turned on me. "Are you the man," said +he, "who was here just now?" + +"Just where?" I replied. I had been pacing up and down the platform +for about five minutes. + +"Why here, where we are standing," he snapped out. "Where do you +think 'here' is--over there?" He seemed irritable. + +"I may have passed this spot in the course of my peregrinations, if +that is what you mean," I replied. I spoke with studied politeness; +my idea was to rebuke his rudeness. + +"I mean," he answered, "are you the man that spoke to me, just a +minute ago?" + +"I am not that man," I said; "good-night." + +"Are you sure?" he persisted. + +"One is not likely to forget talking to you," I retorted. + +His tone had been most offensive. "I beg your pardon," he replied +grudgingly. "I thought you looked like the man who spoke to me a +minute or so ago." + +I felt mollified; he was the only other man on the platform, and I +had a quarter of an hour to wait. "No, it certainly wasn't me," I +returned genially, but ungrammatically. "Why, did you want him?" + +"Yes, I did," he answered. "I put a penny in the slot here," he +continued, feeling apparently the need of unburdening himself: +"wanted a box of matches. I couldn't get anything put, and I was +shaking the machine, and swearing at it, as one does, when there +came along a man, about your size, and--you're SURE it wasn't you?" + +"Positive," I again ungrammatically replied; "I would tell you if it +had been. What did he do?" + +"Well, he saw what had happened, or guessed it. He said, 'They are +troublesome things, those machines; they want understanding.' I +said, 'They want taking up and flinging into the sea, that's what +they want!' I was feeling mad because I hadn't a match about me, +and I use a lot. He said, 'They stick sometimes; the thing to do is +to put another penny in; the weight of the first penny is not always +sufficient. The second penny loosens the drawer and tumbles out +itself; so that you get your purchase together with your first penny +back again. I have often succeeded that way.' Well, it seemed a +silly explanation, but he talked as if he had been weaned by an +automatic machine, and I was sawney enough to listen to him. I +dropped in what I thought was another penny. I have just discovered +it was a two-shilling piece. The fool was right to a certain +extent; I have got something out. I have got this." + +He held it towards me; I looked at it. It was a packet of Everton +toffee. + +"Two and a penny," he remarked, bitterly. "I'll sell it for a third +of what it cost me." + +"You have put your money into the wrong machine," I suggested. + +"Well, I know that!" he answered, a little crossly, as it seemed to +me--he was not a nice man: had there been any one else to talk to I +should have left him. "It isn't losing the money I mind so much; +it's getting this damn thing, that annoys me. If I could find that +idiot Id ram it down his throat." + +We walked to the end of the platform, side by side, in silence. + +"There are people like that," he broke out, as we turned, "people +who will go about, giving advice. I'll be getting six months over +one of them, I'm always afraid. I remember a pony I had once." (I +judged the man to be a small farmer; he talked in a wurzelly tone. +I don't know if you understand what I mean, but an atmosphere of +wurzels was the thing that somehow he suggested.) "It was a +thoroughbred Welsh pony, as sound a little beast as ever stepped. +I'd had him out to grass all the winter, and one day in the early +spring I thought I'd take him for a run. I had to go to Amersham on +business. I put him into the cart, and drove him across; it is just +ten miles from my place. He was a bit uppish, and had lathered +himself pretty freely by the time we reached the town. + +"A man was at the door of the hotel. He says, 'That's a good pony +of yours.' + +"'Pretty middling,' I says. + +"'It doesn't do to over-drive 'em, when they're young,' he says. + +"I says, 'He's done ten miles, and I've done most of the pulling. I +reckon I'm a jolly sight more exhausted than he is. + +"I went inside and did my business, and when I came out the man was +still there. 'Going back up the hill?' he says to me. + +"Somehow, I didn't cotton to him from the beginning. 'Well, I've +got to get the other side of it,' I says, 'and unless you know any +patent way of getting over a hill without going up it, I reckon I +am.' + +"He says, 'You take my advice: give him a pint of old ale before you +start.' + +"'Old ale,' I says; 'why he's a teetotaler.' + +"'Never you mind that,' he answers; 'you give him a pint of old ale. +I know these ponies; he's a good 'un, but he ain't set. A pint of +old ale, and he'll take you up that hill like a cable tramway, and +not hurt himself.' + +"I don't know what it is about this class of man. One asks oneself +afterwards why one didn't knock his hat over his eyes and run his +head into the nearest horse-trough. But at the time one listens to +them. I got a pint of old ale in a hand-bowl, and brought it out. +About half-a-dozen chaps were standing round, and of course there +was a good deal of chaff. + +"'You're starting him on the downward course, Jim,' says one of +them. 'He'll take to gambling, rob a bank, and murder his mother. +That's always the result of a glass of ale, 'cording to the tracts.' + +"'He won't drink it like that,' says another; 'it's as flat as ditch +water. Put a head on it for him.' + +"'Ain't you got a cigar for him?' says a third. + +"'A cup of coffee and a round of buttered toast would do him a sight +more good, a cold day like this,' says a fourth. + +"I'd half a mind then to throw the stuff away, or drink it myself; +it seemed a piece of bally nonsense, giving good ale to a +four-year-old pony; but the moment the beggar smelt the bowl he +reached out his head, and lapped it up as though he'd been a +Christian; and I jumped into the cart and started off, amid cheers. +We got up the hill pretty steady. Then the liquor began to work +into his head. I've taken home a drunken man more than once and +there's pleasanter jobs than that. I've seen a drunken woman, and +they're worse. But a drunken Welsh pony I never want to have +anything more to do with so long as I live. Having four legs he +managed to hold himself up; but as to guiding himself, he couldn't; +and as for letting me do it, he wouldn't. First we were one side of +the road, and then we were the other. When we were not either side, +we were crossways in the middle. I heard a bicycle bell behind me, +but I dared not turn my head. All I could do was to shout to the +fellow to keep where he was. + +"'I want to pass you,' he sang out, so soon as he was near enough. + +"'Well, you can't do it,' I called back. + +"'Why can't I?' he answered. 'How much of the road do YOU want?' + +"'All of it and a bit over,' I answered him, 'for this job, and +nothing in the way.' + +"He followed me for half-a-mile, abusing me; and every time he +thought he saw a chance he tried to pass me. But the pony was +always a bit too smart for him. You might have thought the brute +was doing it on purpose. + +"'You're not fit to be driving,' he shouted. He was quite right; I +wasn't. I was feeling just about dead beat. + +"'What do you think you are?' he continued, 'the charge of the Light +Brigade?' (He was a common sort of fellow.) 'Who sent YOU home with +the washing?' + +"Well, he was making me wild by this time. 'What's the good of +talking to me?' I shouted back. 'Come and blackguard the pony if +you want to blackguard anybody. I've got all I can do without the +help of that alarm clock of yours. Go away, you're only making him +worse.' + +"'What's the matter with the pony?' he called out. + +"'Can't you see?' I answered. 'He's drunk.' + +"Well, of course it sounded foolish; the truth often does. + +"'One of you's drunk,' he retorted; 'for two pins I'd come and haul +you out of the cart.' + +"I wish to goodness he had; I'd have given something to be out of +that cart. But he didn't have the chance. At that moment the pony +gave a sudden swerve; and I take it he must have been a bit too +close. I heard a yell and a curse, and at the same instant I was +splashed from head to foot with ditch water. Then the brute bolted. +A man was coming along, asleep on the top of a cart-load of windsor +chairs. It's disgraceful the way those wagoners go to sleep; I +wonder there are not more accidents. I don't think he ever knew +what had happened to him. I couldn't look round to see what became +of him; I only saw him start. Half-way down the hill a policeman +holla'd to me to stop. I heard him shouting out something about +furious driving. Half-a-mile this side of Chesham we came upon a +girls' school walking two and two--a 'crocodile' they call it, I +think. I bet you those girls are still talking about it. It must +have taken the old woman a good hour to collect them together again. + +"It was market-day in Chesham; and I guess there has not been a +busier market-day in Chesham before or since. We went through the +town at about thirty miles an hour. I've never seen Chesham so +lively--it's a sleepy hole as a rule. A mile outside the town I +sighted the High Wycombe coach. I didn't feel I minded much; I had +got to that pass when it didn't seem to matter to me what happened; +I only felt curious. A dozen yards off the coach the pony stopped +dead; that jerked me off the seat to the bottom of the cart. I +couldn't get up, because the seat was on top of me. I could see +nothing but the sky, and occasionally the head of the pony, when he +stood upon his hind legs. But I could hear what the driver of the +coach said, and I judged he was having trouble also. + +"'Take that damn circus out of the road,' he shouted. If he'd had +any sense he'd have seen how helpless I was. I could hear his +cattle plunging about; they are like that, horses--if they see one +fool, then they all want to be fools. + +"'Take it home, and tie it up to its organ,' shouted the guard. + +"Then an old woman went into hysterics, and began laughing like an +hyena. That started the pony off again, and, as far as I could +calculate by watching the clouds, we did about another four miles at +the gallop. Then he thought he'd try to jump a gate, and finding, I +suppose, that the cart hampered him, he started kicking it to +pieces. I'd never have thought a cart could have been separated +into so many pieces, if I hadn't seen it done. When he had got rid +of everything but half a wheel and the splashboard he bolted again. +I remained behind with the other ruins, and glad I was to get a +little rest. He came back later in the afternoon, and I was pleased +to sell him the next week for a five-pound-note: it cost me about +another ten to repair myself. + +"To this day I am chaffed about that pony, and the local temperance +society made a lecture out of me. That's what comes of following +advice." + +I sympathized with him. I have suffered from advice myself. I have +a friend, a City man, whom I meet occasionally. One of his most +ardent passions in life is to make my fortune. He button-holes me +in Threadneedle Street. "The very man I wanted to see," he says; +"I'm going to let you in for a good thing. We are getting up a +little syndicate." He is for ever "getting up" a little syndicate, +and for every hundred pounds you put into it you take a thousand +out. Had I gone into all his little syndicates, I could have been +worth at the present moment, I reckon, two million five hundred +thousand pounds. But I have not gone into all his little +syndicates. I went into one, years ago, when I was younger. I am +still in it; my friend is confident that my holding, later on, will +yield me thousands. Being, however, hard-up for ready money, I am +willing to part with my share to any deserving person at a genuine +reduction, upon a cash basis. Another friend of mine knows another +man who is "in the know" as regards racing matters. I suppose most +people possess a friend of this type. He is generally very popular +just before a race, and extremely unpopular immediately afterwards. +A third benefactor of mine is an enthusiast upon the subject of +diet. One day he brought me something in a packet, and pressed it +into my hand with the air of a man who is relieving you of all your +troubles. + +"What is it?" I asked. + +"Open it and see," he answered, in the tone of a pantomime fairy. + +I opened it and looked, but I was no wiser. + +"It's tea," he explained. + +"Oh!" I replied; "I was wondering if it could be snuff." + +"Well, it's not exactly tea," he continued, "it's a sort of tea. +You take one cup of that--one cup, and you will never care for any +other kind of tea again." + +He was quite right, I took one cup. After drinking it I felt I +didn't care for any other tea. I felt I didn't care for anything, +except to die quietly and inoffensively. He called on me a week +later. + +"You remember that tea I gave you?" he said. + +"Distinctly," I answered; "I've got the taste of it in my mouth +now." + +"Did it upset you?" he asked. + +"It annoyed me at the time," I answered; "but that's all over now." + +He seemed thoughtful. "You were quite correct," he answered; "it +WAS snuff, a very special snuff, sent me all the way from India." + +"I can't say I liked it," I replied. + +"A stupid mistake of mine," he went on--"I must have mixed up the +packets!" + +"Oh, accidents will happen," I said, "and you won't make another +mistake, I feel sure; so far as I am concerned." + +We can all give advice. I had the honour once of serving an old +gentleman whose profession it was to give legal advice, and +excellent legal advice he always gave. In common with most men who +know the law, he had little respect for it. I have heard him say to +a would-be litigant-- + +"My dear sir, if a villain stopped me in the street and demanded of +me my watch and chain, I should refuse to give it to him. If he +thereupon said, 'Then I shall take it from you by brute force,' I +should, old as I am, I feel convinced, reply to him, 'Come on.' But +if, on the other hand, he were to say to me, 'Very well, then I +shall take proceedings against you in the Court of Queen's Bench to +compel you to give it up to me,' I should at once take it from my +pocket, press it into his hand, and beg of him to say no more about +the matter. And I should consider I was getting off cheaply." + +Yet that same old gentleman went to law himself with his next-door +neighbour over a dead poll parrot that wasn't worth sixpence to +anybody, and spent from first to last a hundred pounds, if he spent +a penny. + +"I know I'm a fool," he confessed. "I have no positive proof that +it WAS his cat; but I'll make him pay for calling me an Old Bailey +Attorney, hanged if I don't!" + +We all know how the pudding OUGHT to be made. We do not profess to +be able to make it: that is not our business. Our business is to +criticize the cook. It seems our business to criticize so many +things that it is not our business to do. We are all critics +nowadays. I have my opinion of you, Reader, and you possibly have +your own opinion of me. I do not seek to know it; personally, I +prefer the man who says what he has to say of me behind my back. I +remember, when on a lecturing tour, the ground-plan of the hall +often necessitated my mingling with the audience as they streamed +out. This never happened but I would overhear somebody in front of +me whisper to his or her companion--"Take care, he's just behind +you." I always felt so grateful to that whisperer. + +At a Bohemian Club, I was once drinking coffee with a Novelist, who +happened to be a broad-shouldered, athletic man. A fellow-member, +joining us, said to the Novelist, "I have just finished that last +book of yours; I'll tell you my candid opinion of it." Promptly +replied the Novelist, "I give you fair warning--if you do, I shall +punch your head." We never heard that candid opinion. + +Most of our leisure time we spend sneering at one another. It is a +wonder, going about as we do with our noses so high in the air, we +do not walk off this little round world into space, all of us. The +Masses sneer at the Classes. The morals of the Classes are +shocking. If only the Classes would consent as a body to be taught +behaviour by a Committee of the Masses, how very much better it +would be for them. If only the Classes would neglect their own +interests and devote themselves to the welfare of the Masses, the +Masses would be more pleased with them. + +The Classes sneer at the Masses. If only the Masses would follow +the advice given them by the Classes; if only they would be thrifty +on their ten shillings a week; if only they would all be +teetotalers, or drink old claret, which is not intoxicating; if only +all the girls would be domestic servants on five pounds a year, and +not waste their money on feathers; if only the men would be content +to work for fourteen hours a day, and to sing in tune, "God bless +the Squire and his relations," and would consent to be kept in their +proper stations, all things would go swimmingly--for the Classes. + +The New Woman pooh-poohs the Old; the Old Woman is indignant with +the New. The Chapel denounces the Stage; the Stage ridicules Little +Bethel; the Minor Poet sneers at the world; the world laughs at the +Minor Poet. + +Man criticizes Woman. We are not altogether pleased with woman. We +discuss her shortcomings, we advise her for her good. If only +English wives would dress as French wives, talk as American wives, +cook as German wives! if only women would be precisely what we want +them to be--patient and hard-working, brilliantly witty and +exhaustively domestic, bewitching, amenable, and less suspicious; +how very much better it would be for them--also for us. We work so +hard to teach them, but they will not listen. Instead of paying +attention to our wise counsel, the tiresome creatures are wasting +their time criticizing us. It is a popular game, this game of +school. All that is needful is a doorstep, a cane, and six other +children. The difficulty is the six other children. Every child +wants to be the schoolmaster; they will keep jumping up, saying it +is their turn. + +Woman wants to take the stick now, and put man on the doorstep. +There are one or two things she has got to say to him. He is not at +all the man she approves of. He must begin by getting rid of all +his natural desires and propensities; that done, she will take him +in hand and make of him--not a man, but something very much +superior. + +It would be the best of all possible worlds if everybody would only +follow our advice. I wonder, would Jerusalem have been the cleanly +city it is reported, if, instead of troubling himself concerning his +own twopenny-halfpenny doorstep, each citizen had gone out into the +road and given eloquent lectures to all the other inhabitants on the +subject of sanitation? + +We have taken to criticizing the Creator Himself of late. The world +is wrong, we are wrong. If only He had taken our advice, during +those first six days! + +Why do I seem to have been scooped out and filled up with lead? Why +do I hate the smell of bacon, and feel that nobody cares for me? It +is because champagne and lobsters have been made wrong. + +Why do Edwin and Angelina quarrel? It is because Edwin has been +given a fine, high-spirited nature that will not brook +contradiction; while Angelina, poor girl, has been cursed with +contradictory instincts. + +Why is excellent Mr. Jones brought down next door to beggary? Mr. +Jones had an income of a thousand a year, secured by the Funds. But +there came along a wicked Company promoter (why are wicked Company +promoters permitted?) with a prospectus, telling good Mr. Jones how +to obtain a hundred per cent. for his money by investing it in some +scheme for the swindling of Mr. Jones's fellow-citizens. + +The scheme does not succeed; the people swindled turn out, contrary +to the promise of the prospectus, to be Mr. Jones and his +fellow-investors. Why does Heaven allow these wrongs? + +Why does Mrs. Brown leave her husband and children, to run off with +the New Doctor? It is because an ill-advised Creator has given Mrs. +Brown and the New Doctor unduly strong emotions. Neither Mrs. Brown +nor the New Doctor are to be blamed. If any human being be +answerable it is, probably, Mrs. Brown's grandfather, or some early +ancestor of the New Doctor's. + +We shall criticize Heaven when we get there. I doubt if any of us +will be pleased with the arrangements; we have grown so exceedingly +critical. + +It was once said of a very superior young man that he seemed to be +under the impression that God Almighty had made the universe chiefly +to hear what he would say about it. Consciously or unconsciously, +most of us are of this way of thinking. It is an age of mutual +improvement societies--a delightful idea, everybody's business being +to improve everybody else; of amateur parliaments, of literary +councils, of playgoers' clubs. + +First Night criticism seems to have died out of late, the Student of +the Drama having come to the conclusion, possibly, that plays are +not worth criticizing. But in my young days we were very earnest at +this work. We went to the play, less with the selfish desire of +enjoying our evening, than with the noble aim of elevating the +Stage. Maybe we did good, maybe we were needed--let us think so. +Certain it is, many of the old absurdities have disappeared from the +Theatre, and our rough-and-ready criticism may have helped the happy +dispatch. A folly is often served by an unwise remedy. + +The dramatist in those days had to reckon with his audience. +Gallery and Pit took an interest in his work such as Galleries and +Pits no longer take. I recollect witnessing the production of a +very blood-curdling melodrama at, I think, the old Queen's Theatre. +The heroine had been given by the author a quite unnecessary amount +of conversation, so we considered. The woman, whenever she appeared +on the stage, talked by the yard; she could not do a simple little +thing like cursing the Villain under about twenty lines. When the +hero asked her if she loved him she stood up and made a speech about +it that lasted three minutes by the watch. One dreaded to see her +open her mouth. In the Third Act, somebody got hold of her and shut +her up in a dungeon. He was not a nice man, speaking generally, but +we felt he was the man for the situation, and the house cheered him +to the echo. We flattered ourselves we had got rid of her for the +rest of the evening. Then some fool of a turnkey came along, and +she appealed to him, through the grating, to let her out for a few +minutes. The turnkey, a good but soft-hearted man, hesitated. + +"Don't you do it," shouted one earnest Student of the Drama, from +the Gallery; "she's all right. Keep her there!" + +The old idiot paid no attention to our advice; he argued the matter +to himself. "'Tis but a trifling request," he remarked; "and it +will make her happy." + +"Yes, but what about us?" replied the same voice from the Gallery. +"You don't know her. You've only just come on; we've been listening +to her all the evening. She's quiet now, you let her be." + +"Oh, let me out, if only for one moment!" shrieked the poor woman. +"I have something that I must say to my child." + +"Write it on a bit of paper, and pass it out," suggested a voice +from the Pit. "We'll see that he gets it." + +"Shall I keep a mother from her dying child?" mused the turnkey. +"No, it would be inhuman." + +"No, it wouldn't," persisted the voice of the Pit; "not in this +instance. It's too much talk that has made the poor child ill." + +The turnkey would not be guided by us. He opened the cell door +amidst the execrations of the whole house. She talked to her child +for about five minutes, at the end of which time it died. + +"Ah, he is dead!" shrieked the distressed parent. + +"Lucky beggar!" was the unsympathetic rejoinder of the house. + +Sometimes the criticism of the audience would take the form of +remarks, addressed by one gentleman to another. We had been +listening one night to a play in which action seemed to be +unnecessarily subordinated to dialogue, and somewhat poor dialogue +at that. Suddenly, across the wearying talk from the stage, came +the stentorian whisper-- + +"Jim!" + +"Hallo!" + +"Wake me up when the play begins." + +This was followed by an ostentatious sound as of snoring. Then the +voice of the second speaker was heard-- + +"Sammy!" + +His friend appeared to awake. + +"Eh? Yes? What's up? Has anything happened?" + +"Wake you up at half-past eleven in any event, I suppose?" + +"Thanks, do, sonny." And the critic slept again. + +Yes, we took an interest in our plays then. I wonder shall I ever +enjoy the British Drama again as I enjoyed it in those days? Shall +I ever enjoy a supper again as I enjoyed the tripe and onions washed +down with bitter beer at the bar of the old Albion? I have tried +many suppers after the theatre since then, and some, when friends +have been in generous mood, have been expensive and elaborate. The +cook may have come from Paris, his portrait may be in the +illustrated papers, his salary may be reckoned by hundreds; but +there is something wrong with his art, for all that, I miss a +flavour in his meats. There is a sauce lacking. + +Nature has her coinage, and demands payment in her own currency. At +Nature's shop it is you yourself must pay. Your unearned increment, +your inherited fortune, your luck, are not legal tenders across her +counter. + +You want a good appetite. Nature is quite willing to supply you. +"Certainly, sir," she replies, "I can do you a very excellent +article indeed. I have here a real genuine hunger and thirst that +will make your meal a delight to you. You shall eat heartily and +with zest, and you shall rise from the table refreshed, invigorated, +and cheerful." + +"Just the very thing I want," exclaims the gourmet delightedly. +"Tell me the price." + +"The price," answers Mrs. Nature, "is one long day's hard work." + +The customer's face falls; he handles nervously his heavy purse. + +"Cannot I pay for it in money?" he asks. "I don't like work, but I +am a rich man, I can afford to keep French cooks, to purchase old +wines." + +Nature shakes her head. + +"I cannot take your cheques, tissue and nerve are my charges. For +these I can give you an appetite that will make a rump-steak and a +tankard of ale more delicious to you than any dinner that the +greatest chef in Europe could put before you. I can even promise +you that a hunk of bread and cheese shall be a banquet to you; but +you must pay my price in my money; I do not deal in yours." + +And next the Dilettante enters, demanding a taste for Art and +Literature, and this also Nature is quite prepared to supply. + +"I can give you true delight in all these things," she answers. +"Music shall be as wings to you, lifting you above the turmoil of +the world. Through Art you shall catch a glimpse of Truth. Along +the pleasant paths of Literature you shall walk as beside still +waters." + +"And your charge?" cries the delighted customer. + +"These things are somewhat expensive," replies Nature. "I want from +you a life lived simply, free from all desire of worldly success, a +life from which passion has been lived out; a life to which appetite +has been subdued." + +"But you mistake, my dear lady," replies the Dilettante; "I have +many friends, possessed of taste, and they are men who do not pay +this price for it. Their houses are full of beautiful pictures, +they rave about 'nocturnes' and 'symphonies,' their shelves are +packed with first editions. Yet they are men of luxury and wealth +and fashion. They trouble much concerning the making of money, and +Society is their heaven. Cannot I be as one of these?" + +"I do not deal in the tricks of apes," answers Nature coldly; "the +culture of these friends of yours is a mere pose, a fashion of the +hour, their talk mere parrot chatter. Yes, you can purchase such +culture as this, and pretty cheaply, but a passion for skittles +would be of more service to you, and bring you more genuine +enjoyment. My goods are of a different class. I fear we waste each +other's time." + +And next comes the boy, asking with a blush for love, and Nature's +motherly old heart goes out to him, for it is an article she loves +to sell, and she loves those who come to purchase it of her. So she +leans across the counter, smiling, and tells him that she has the +very thing he wants, and he, trembling with excitement, likewise +asks the figure. + +"It costs a good deal," explains Nature, but in no discouraging +tone; "it is the most expensive thing in all my shop." + +"I am rich," replies the lad. "My father worked hard and saved, and +he has left me all his wealth. I have stocks and shares, and lands +and factories; and will pay any price in reason for this thing." + +But Nature, looking graver, lays her hand upon his arm. + +"Put by your purse, boy," she says, "my price is not a price in +reason, nor is gold the metal that I deal in. There are many shops +in various streets where your bank-notes will be accepted. But if +you will take an old woman's advice, you will not go to them. The +thing they will sell you will bring sorrow and do evil to you. It +is cheap enough, but, like all things cheap, it is not worth the +buying. No man purchases it, only the fool." + +"And what is the cost of the thing YOU sell then?" asks the lad. + +"Self-forgetfulness, tenderness, strength," answers the old Dame; +"the love of all things that are of good repute, the hate of all +things evil--courage, sympathy, self-respect, these things purchase +love. Put by your purse, lad, it will serve you in other ways, but +it will not buy for you the goods upon my shelves." + +"Then am I no better off than the poor man?" demands the lad. + +"I know not wealth or poverty as you understand it," answers Nature. +"Here I exchange realities only for realities. You ask for my +treasures, I ask for your brain and heart in exchange--yours, boy, +not your father's, not another's." + +"And this price," he argues, "how shall I obtain it?" + +"Go about the world," replies the great Lady. "Labour, suffer, +help. Come back to me when you have earned your wages, and +according to how much you bring me so we will do business." + +Is real wealth so unevenly distributed as we think? Is not Fate the +true Socialist? Who is the rich man, who the poor? Do we know? +Does even the man himself know? Are we not striving for the shadow, +missing the substance? Take life at its highest; which was the +happier man, rich Solomon or poor Socrates? Solomon seems to have +had most things that most men most desire--maybe too much of some +for his own comfort. Socrates had little beyond what he carried +about with him, but that was a good deal. According to our scales, +Solomon should have been one of the happiest men that ever lived, +Socrates one of the most wretched. But was it so? + +Or taking life at its lowest, with pleasure its only goal. Is my +lord Tom Noddy, in the stalls, so very much jollier than 'Arry in +the gallery? Were beer ten shillings the bottle, and champagne +fourpence a quart, which, think you, we should clamour for? If +every West End Club had its skittle alley, and billiards could only +be played in East End pubs, which game, my lord, would you select? +Is the air of Berkeley Square so much more joy-giving than the +atmosphere of Seven Dials? I find myself a piquancy in the air of +Seven Dials, missing from Berkeley Square. Is there so vast a +difference between horse-hair and straw, when you are tired? Is +happiness multiplied by the number of rooms in one's house? Are +Lady Ermintrude's lips so very much sweeter than Sally's of the +Alley? What IS success in life? + + + +ON THE PLAYING OF MARCHES AT THE FUNERALS OF MARIONETTES + +He began the day badly. He took me out and lost me. It would be so +much better, would he consent to the usual arrangement, and allow me +to take him out. I am far the abler leader: I say it without +conceit. I am older than he is, and I am less excitable. I do not +stop and talk with every person I meet, and then forget where I am. +I do less to distract myself: I rarely fight, I never feel I want +to run after cats, I take but little pleasure in frightening +children. I have nothing to think about but the walk, and the +getting home again. If, as I say, he would give up taking me out, +and let me take him out, there would be less trouble all round. But +into this I have never been able to persuade him. + +He had mislaid me once or twice, but in Sloane Square he lost me +entirely. When he loses me, he stands and barks for me. If only he +would remain where he first barked, I might find my way to him; but, +before I can cross the road, he is barking half-way down the next +street. I am not so young as I was and I sometimes think he +exercises me more than is good for me. I could see him from where I +was standing in the King's Road. Evidently he was most indignant. +I was too far off to distinguish the barks, but I could guess what +he was saying-- + +"Damn that man, he's off again." + +He made inquiries of a passing dog-- + +"You haven't smelt my man about anywhere, have you?" + +(A dog, of course, would never speak of SEEING anybody or anything, +smell being his leading sense. Reaching the top of a hill, he would +say to his companion--"Lovely smell from here, I always think; I +could sit and sniff here all the afternoon." Or, proposing a walk, +he would say--"I like the road by the canal, don't you? There's +something interesting to catch your nose at every turn.") + +"No, I haven't smelt any man in particular," answered the other dog. +"What sort of a smelling man is yours?" + +"Oh, an egg-and-bacony sort of a man, with a dash of soap about +him." + +"That's nothing to go by," retorted the other; "most men would +answer to that description, this time of the morning. Where were +you when you last noticed him?" + +At this moment he caught sight of me, and came up, pleased to find +me, but vexed with me for having got lost. + +"Oh, here you are," he barked; "didn't you see me go round the +corner? Do keep closer. Bothered if half my time isn't taken up, +finding you and losing you again." + +The incident appeared to have made him bad-tempered; he was just in +the humour for a row of any sort. At the top of Sloane Street a +stout military-looking gentleman started running after the Chelsea +bus. With a "Hooroo" William Smith was after him. Had the old +gentleman taken no notice, all would have been well. A butcher boy, +driving just behind, would--I could read it in his eye--have caught +Smith a flick as he darted into the road, which would have served +him right; the old gentleman would have captured his bus; and the +affair would have been ended. Unfortunately, he was that type of +retired military man all gout and curry and no sense. He stopped to +swear at the dog. That, of course, was what Smith wanted. It is +not often he gets a scrimmage with a full-grown man. "They're a +poor-spirited lot, most of them," he thinks; "they won't even answer +you back. I like a man who shows a bit of pluck." He was frenzied +with delight at his success. He flew round his victim, weaving +whooping circles and curves that paralyzed the old gentleman as +though they had been the mystic figures of a Merlin. The colonel +clubbed his umbrella, and attempted to defend himself. I called to +the dog, I gave good advice to the colonel (I judged him to be a +colonel; the louder he spoke, the less one could understand him), +but both were too excited to listen to me. A sympathetic bus driver +leaned over, and whispered hoarse counsel. + +"Ketch 'im by the tail, sir," he advised the old gentleman; "don't +you be afraid of him; you ketch 'im firmly by the tail." + +A milkman, on the other hand, sought rather to encourage Smith, +shouting as he passed-- + +"Good dog, kill him!" + +A child, brained within an inch by the old gentleman's umbrella, +began to cry. The nurse told the old gentleman he was a fool--a +remark which struck me as singularly apt The old gentleman gasped +back that perambulators were illegal on the pavement; and, between +his exercises, inquired after myself. A crowd began to collect; and +a policeman strolled up. + +It was not the right thing: I do not defend myself; but, at this +point, the temptation came to me to desert William Smith. He likes +a street row, I don't. These things are matters of temperament. I +have also noticed that he has the happy instinct of knowing when to +disappear from a crisis, and the ability to do so; mysteriously +turning up, quarter of a mile off, clad in a peaceful and +pre-occupied air, and to all appearances another and a better dog. + +Consoling myself with the reflection that I could be of no practical +assistance to him and remembering with some satisfaction that, by a +fortunate accident, he was without his collar, which bears my name +and address, I slipped round the off side of a Vauxhall bus, making +no attempt at ostentation, and worked my way home through Lowndes +Square and the Park. + +Five minutes after I had sat down to lunch, he flung open the +dining-room door, and marched in. It is his customary "entrance." +In a previous state of existence, his soul was probably that of an +Actor-Manager. + +From his exuberant self-satisfaction, I was inclined to think he +must have succeeded in following the milkman's advice; at all +events, I have not seen the colonel since. His bad temper had +disappeared, but his "uppishness" had, if possible, increased. +Previous to his return, I had given The O'Shannon a biscuit. The +O'Shannon had been insulted; he did not want a dog biscuit; if he +could not have a grilled kidney he did not want anything. He had +thrown the biscuit on the floor. Smith saw it and made for it. Now +Smith never eats biscuits. I give him one occasionally, and he at +once proceeds to hide it. He is a thrifty dog; he thinks of the +future. "You never know what may happen," he says; "suppose the +Guv'nor dies, or goes mad, or bankrupt, I may be glad even of this +biscuit; I'll put it under the door-mat--no, I won't, somebody will +find it there. I'll scratch a hole in the tennis lawn, and bury it +there. That's a good idea; perhaps it'll grow!" Once I caught him +hiding it in my study, behind the shelf devoted to my own books. It +offended me, his doing that; the argument was so palpable. +Generally, wherever he hides it somebody finds it. We find it under +our pillows--inside our boots; no place seems safe. This time he +had said to himself--"By Jove! a whole row of the Guv'nor's books. +Nobody will ever want to take these out; I'll hide it here." One +feels a thing like that from one's own dog. + +But The O'Shannon's biscuit was another matter. Honesty is the best +policy; but dishonesty is the better fun. He made a dash for it, +and commenced to devour it greedily; you might have thought he had +not tasted food for a week. + +The indignation of The O'Shannon was a sight for the gods. He has +the good-nature of his race: had Smith asked him for the biscuit he +would probably have given it to him; it was the insult--the +immorality of the proceeding, that maddened The O'Shannon. + +For a moment he was paralyzed. + +"Well, of all the--Did ye see that now?" he said to me with his +eyes. Then he made a rush and snatched the biscuit out of Smith's +very jaws. "Ye onprincipled black Saxon thief," growled The +O'Shannon; "how dare ye take my biscuit?" + +"You miserable Irish cur," growled Smith; "how was I to know it was +your biscuit? Does everything on the floor belong to you? Perhaps +you think I belong to you, I'm on the floor. I don't believe it is +your biscuit, you long-eared, snubbed-nosed bog-trotter; give it me +back." + +"I don't require any of your argument, you flop-eared son of a tramp +with half a tail," replied The O'Shannon. "You come and take it, if +you think you are dog enough." + +He did think he was dog enough. He is half the size of The +O'Shannon, but such considerations weigh not with him. His argument +is, if a dog is too big for you to fight the whole of him, take a +bit of him and fight that. He generally gets licked, but what is +left of him invariably swaggers about afterwards under the +impression it is the victor. When he is dead, he will say to +himself, as he settles himself in his grave--"Well, I flatter myself +I've laid out that old world at last. It won't trouble ME any more, +I'm thinking." + +On this occasion, _I_ took a hand in the fight. It becomes +necessary at intervals to remind Master Smith that the man, as the +useful and faithful friend of dog, has his rights. I deemed such +interval had arrived. He flung himself on to the sofa, muttering. +It sounded like--"Wish I'd never got up this morning. Nobody +understands me." + +Nothing, however, sobers him for long. Half-an-hour later, he was +killing the next-door cat. He will never learn sense; he has been +killing that cat for the last three months. Why the next morning +his nose is invariably twice its natural size, while for the next +week he can see objects on one side of his head only, he never seems +to grasp; I suppose he attributes it to change in the weather. + +He ended up the afternoon with what he no doubt regarded as a +complete and satisfying success. Dorothea had invited a lady to +take tea with her that day. I heard the sound of laughter, and, +being near the nursery, I looked in to see what was the joke. Smith +was worrying a doll. I have rarely seen a more worried-looking +doll. Its head was off, and its sawdust strewed the floor. Both +the children were crowing with delight; Dorothea, in particular, was +in an ecstasy of amusement. + +"Whose doll is it?" I asked. + +"Eva's," answered Dorothea, between her peals of laughter. + +"Oh no, it isn't," explained Eva, in a tone of sweet content; +"here's my doll." She had been sitting on it, and now drew it forth, +warm but whole. "That's Dorry's doll." + +The change from joy to grief on the part of Dorothea was distinctly +dramatic. Even Smith, accustomed to storm, was nonplussed at the +suddenness of the attack upon him. + +Dorothea's sorrow lasted longer than I had expected. I promised her +another doll. But it seemed she did not want another; that was the +only doll she would ever care for so long as life lasted; no other +doll could ever take its place; no other doll would be to her what +that doll had been. These little people are so absurd: as if it +could matter whether you loved one doll or another, when all are so +much alike! They have curly hair, and pink-and-white complexions, +big eyes that open and shut, a little red mouth, two little hands. +Yet these foolish little people! they will love one, while another +they will not look upon. I find the best plan is not to reason with +them, but to sympathize. Later on--but not too soon--introduce to +them another doll. They will not care for it at first, but in time +they will come to take an interest in it. Of course, it cannot make +them forget the first doll; no doll ever born in Lowther Arcadia +could be as that, but still-- It is many weeks before they forget +entirely the first love. + +We buried Dolly in the country under the yew tree. A friend of mine +who plays the fiddle came down on purpose to assist. We buried her +in the hot spring sunshine, while the birds from shady nooks sang +joyously of life and love. And our chief mourner cried real tears, +just for all the world as though it were not the fate of dolls, +sooner or later, to get broken--the little fragile things, made for +an hour, to be dressed and kissed; then, paintless and stript, to be +thrown aside on the nursery floor. Poor little dolls! I wonder do +they take themselves seriously, not knowing the springs that stir +their sawdust bosoms are but clockwork, not seeing the wires to +which they dance? Poor little marionettes! do they talk together, I +wonder, when the lights of the booth are out? + +You, little sister doll, were the heroine. You lived in the +white-washed cottage, all honeysuckle and clematis without--earwiggy +and damp within, maybe. How pretty you always looked in your +simple, neatly-fitting print dress. How good you were! How nobly +you bore your poverty. How patient you were under your many wrongs. +You never harboured an evil thought, a revengeful wish--never, +little doll? Were there never moments when you longed to play the +wicked woman's part, live in a room with many doors, be-clad in furs +and jewels, with lovers galore at your feet? In those long winter +evenings? the household work is done--the greasy dishes washed, the +floor scrubbed; the excellent child is asleep in the corner; the +one-and-elevenpenny lamp sheds its dismal light on the darned +table-cloth; you sit, busy at your coarse sewing, waiting for Hero +Dick, knowing--guessing, at least, where he is--! Yes, dear, I +remember your fine speeches, when you told her, in stirring language +the gallery cheered to the echo, what you thought of her and of such +women as she; when, lifting your hand to heaven, you declared you +were happier in your attic, working your fingers to the bone, than +she in her gilded salon--I think "gilded salon" was the term, was it +not?--furnished by sin. But speaking of yourself, weak little +sister doll, not of your fine speeches, the gallery listening, did +you not, in your secret heart, envy her? Did you never, before +blowing out the one candle, stand for a minute in front of the +cracked glass, and think to yourself that you, too, would look well +in low-cut dresses from Paris, the diamonds flashing on your white +smooth skin? Did you never, toiling home through the mud, bearing +your bundle of needlework, feel bitter with the wages of virtue, as +she splashed you, passing by in her carriage? Alone, over your cup +of weak tea, did you never feel tempted to pay the price for +champagne suppers, and gaiety, and admiration? Ah, yes, it is easy +for folks who have had their good time, to prepare copybooks for +weary little inkstained fingers, longing for play. The fine maxims +sound such cant when we are in that mood, do they not? You, too, +were young and handsome: did the author of the play think you were +never hungry for the good things of life? Did he think that reading +tracts to crotchety old women was joy to a full-blooded girl in her +twenties? Why should SHE have all the love, and all the laughter? +How fortunate that the villain, the Wicked Baronet, never opened the +cottage door at that moment, eh, dear! He always came when you were +strong, when you felt that you could denounce him, and scorn his +temptations. Would that the villain came to all of us at such time; +then we would all, perhaps, be heroes and heroines. + +Ah well, it was only a play: it is over now. You and I, little +tired dolls, lying here side by side, waiting to know our next part, +we can look back and laugh. Where is she, this wicked dolly, that +made such a stir on our tiny stage? Ah, here you are, Madam; I +thought you could not be far; they have thrown us all into this +corner together. But how changed you are, Dolly: your paint rubbed +off, your golden hair worn to a wisp. No wonder; it was a trying +part you had to play. How tired you must have grown of the glare +and the glitter! And even hope was denied you. The peace you so +longed for you knew you had lost the power to enjoy. Like the girl +bewitched in the fairy tale, you knew you must dance ever faster and +faster, with limbs growing palsied, with face growing ashen, and +hair growing grey, till Death should come to release you; and your +only prayer was he might come ere your dancing grew comic. + +Like the smell of the roses to Nancy, hawking them through the hot +streets, must the stifling atmosphere of love have been to you. The +song of passion, how monotonous in your ears, sung now by the young +and now by the old; now shouted, now whined, now shrieked; but ever +the one strident tune. Do you remember when first you heard it? +You dreamt it the morning hymn of Heaven. You came to think it the +dance music of Hell, ground from a cracked hurdy-gurdy, lent out by +the Devil on hire. + +An evil race we must have seemed to you, Dolly Faustine, as to some +Old Bailey lawyer. You saw but one side of us. You lived in a +world upside down, where the leaves and the blossoms were hidden, +and only the roots saw your day. You imagined the worm-beslimed +fibres the plant, and all things beautiful you deemed cant. +Chivalry, love, honour! how you laughed at the lying words. You +knew the truth--as you thought: aye, half the truth. We were swine +while your spell was upon us, Daughter of Circe, and you, not +knowing your island secret, deemed it our natural shape. + +No wonder, Dolly, your battered waxen face is stamped with an angry +sneer. The Hero, who eventually came into his estates amid the +plaudits of the Pit, while you were left to die in the streets! you +remembered, but the house had forgotten those earlier scenes in +always wicked Paris. The good friend of the family, the breezy man +of the world, the Deus ex Machina of the play, who was so good to +everybody, whom everybody loved! aye, YOU loved him once--but that +was in the Prologue. In the Play proper, he was respectable. (How +you loathed that word, that meant to you all you vainly longed for!) +To him the Prologue was a period past and dead; a memory, giving +flavour to his life. To you, it was the First Act of the Play, +shaping all the others. His sins the house had forgotten: at +yours, they held up their hands in horror. No wonder the sneer lies +on your waxen lips. + +Never mind, Dolly; it was a stupid house. Next time, perhaps, you +will play a better part; and then they will cheer, instead of +hissing you. You were wasted, I am inclined to think, on modern +comedy. You should have been cast for the heroine of some old-world +tragedy. The strength of character, the courage, the power of +self-forgetfulness, the enthusiasm were yours: it was the part that +was lacking. You might have worn the mantle of a Judith, a +Boadicea, or a Jeanne d'Arc, had such plays been popular in your +time. Perhaps they, had they played in your day, might have had to +be content with such a part as yours. They could not have played +the meek heroine, and what else would there have been for them in +modern drama? Catherine of Russia! had she been a waiter's daughter +in the days of the Second Empire, should we have called her Great? +The Magdalene! had her lodging in those days been in some bye-street +of Rome instead of in Jerusalem, should we mention her name in our +churches? + +You were necessary, you see, Dolly, to the piece. We cannot all +play heroes and heroines. There must be wicked people in the play, +or it would not interest. Think of it, Dolly, a play where all the +women were virtuous, all the men honest! We might close the booth; +the world would be as dull as an oyster-bed. Without you wicked +folk there would be no good. How should we have known and honoured +the heroine's worth, but by contrast with your worthlessness? Where +would have been her fine speeches, but for you to listen to them? +Where lay the hero's strength, but in resisting temptation of you? +Had not you and the Wicked Baronet between you robbed him of his +estates, falsely accused him of crime, he would have lived to the +end of the play an idle, unheroic, incomplete existence. You +brought him down to poverty; you made him earn his own bread--a most +excellent thing for him; gave him the opportunity to play the man. +But for your conduct in the Prologue, of what value would have been +that fine scene at the end of the Third Act, that stirred the house +to tears and laughter? You and your accomplice, the Wicked Baronet, +made the play possible. How would Pit and Gallery have known they +were virtuous, but for the indignation that came to them, watching +your misdeeds? Pity, sympathy, excitement, all that goes to the +making of a play, you were necessary for. It was ungrateful of the +house to hiss you. + +And you, Mr. Merryman, the painted grin worn from your pale lips, +you too were dissatisfied, if I remember rightly, with your part. +You wanted to make the people cry, not laugh. Was it a higher +ambition? The poor tired people! so much happens in their life to +make them weep, is it not good sport to make them merry for awhile? +Do you remember that old soul in the front row of the Pit? How she +laughed when you sat down on the pie! I thought she would have to +be carried out. I heard her talking to her companion as they passed +the stage-door on their way home. "I have not laughed, my dear, +till to-night," she was saying, the good, gay tears still in her +eyes, "since the day poor Sally died." Was not that alone worth the +old stale tricks you so hated? Aye, they were commonplace and +conventional, those antics of yours that made us laugh; are not the +antics that make us weep commonplace and conventional also? Are not +all the plays, played since the booth was opened, but of one +pattern, the plot old-fashioned now, the scenes now commonplace? +Hero, villain, cynic--are their parts so much the fresher? The love +duets, are they so very new? The death-bed scenes, would you call +them UNcommonplace? Hate, and Evil, and Wrong--are THEIR voices new +to the booth? What are you waiting for, people? a play with a plot +that is novel, with characters that have never strutted before? It +will be ready for you, perhaps, when you are ready for it, with new +tears and new laughter. + +You, Mr. Merryman, were the true philosopher. You saved us from +forgetting the reality when the fiction grew somewhat strenuous. +How we all applauded your gag in answer to the hero, when, bewailing +his sad fate, he demanded of Heaven how much longer he was to suffer +evil fortune. "Well, there cannot be much more of it in store for +you," you answered him; "it's nearly nine o'clock already, and the +show closes at ten." And true to your prophecy the curtain fell at +the time appointed, and his troubles were of the past. You showed +us the truth behind the mask. When pompous Lord Shallow, in ermine +and wig, went to take his seat amid the fawning crowd, you pulled +the chair from under him, and down he sat plump on the floor. His +robe flew open, his wig flew off. No longer he awed us. His aped +dignity fell from him; we saw him a stupid-eyed, bald little man; he +imposed no longer upon us. It is your fool who is the only true +wise man. + +Yours was the best part in the play, Brother Merryman, had you and +the audience but known it. But you dreamt of a showier part, where +you loved and fought. I have heard you now and again, when you did +not know I was near, shouting with sword in hand before your +looking-glass. You had thrown your motley aside to don a dingy red +coat; you were the hero of the play, you performed the gallant +deeds, you made the noble speeches. I wonder what the play would be +like, were we all to write our own parts. There would be no clowns, +no singing chambermaids. We would all be playing lead in the centre +of the stage, with the lime-light exclusively devoted to ourselves. +Would it not be so? + +What grand acting parts they are, these characters we write for +ourselves alone in our dressing-rooms. We are always brave and +noble--wicked sometimes, but if so, in a great, high-minded way; +never in a mean or little way. What wondrous deeds we do, while the +house looks on and marvels. Now we are soldiers, leading armies to +victory. What if we die: it is in the hour of triumph, and a +nation is left to mourn. Not in some forgotten skirmish do we ever +fall; not for some "affair of outposts" do we give our blood, our +very name unmentioned in the dispatches home. Now we are passionate +lovers, well losing a world for love--a very different thing to +being a laughter-provoking co-respondent in a sordid divorce case. + +And the house is always crowded when we play. Our fine speeches +always fall on sympathetic ears, our brave deeds are noted and +applauded. It is so different in the real performance. So often we +play our parts to empty benches, or if a thin house be present, they +misunderstand, and laugh at the pathetic passages. And when our +finest opportunity comes, the royal box, in which HE or SHE should +be present to watch us, is vacant. + +Poor little dolls, how seriously we take ourselves, not knowing the +springs that stir our bosoms are but clockwork, not seeing the wires +to which we dance. Poor little marionettes, shall we talk together, +I wonder, when the lights of the booth are out? + +We are little wax dollies with hearts. We are little tin soldiers +with souls. Oh, King of many toys, are you merely playing with us? +IS it only clockwork within us, this thing that throbs and aches? +Have you wound us up but to let us run down? Will you wind us again +to-morrow, or leave us here to rust? IS it only clockwork to which +we respond and quiver? Now we laugh, now we cry, now we dance; our +little arms go out to clasp one another, our little lips kiss, then +say good-bye. We strive, and we strain, and we struggle. We reach +now for gold, now for laurel. We call it desire and ambition: are +they only wires that you play? Will you throw the clockwork aside, +or use it again, O Master? + +The lights of the booth grow dim. The springs are broken that kept +our eyes awake. The wire that held us erect is snapped, and +helpless we fall in a heap on the stage. Oh, brother and sister +dollies we played beside, where are you? Why is it so dark and +silent? Why are we being put into this black box? And hark! the +little doll orchestra--how far away the music sounds! what is it +they are playing:-- + +[Start of Gounod's Funeral March of a Marionette] + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext The Second Thoughts of An Idle Fellow + |