'.WfKiHWCWr; 1^9 6-^ QJarnell Untueraxtg Slihrarjj Jittiaca. ^ew $ark H#Wii^2l|3|4994 HOME USE RULES .^T^^^HHtt. All Books subject to recall All borrowers must regis- ter in the library to bor- row books for home use. All books must be' re- turned at end of college year for inspection and repairs. Limited books must bo returned within the four week limit and not renewed. Students must return all books before leaving town. Officers should arrange for the return of books wanted during their absence from town. Volmnes of periodicals and of pamphlets are held in the library as much as possible. For special pur- poses they are given out for a limited time. Borrowers should not use their library privileges for the benefit of other persons. Books of special value and gift books, when the giver wishes it, are not al- lowed to circulate. Readers are asked to re- port all cases of books marked or mutilated. Do not deface books by marks and writing. __ Cornell University Library PR4639.E203O9 1895 Our square & circle; or, The annals off a 3 1924 013 454 198 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 34541 98 THE ANNALS OF A LITTLE LONDON HOUSE PR NTED IN MU CH Ettit or West, — Hanie s Best. Our Square & Circle OR THE ANNALS OF A LITTLE LONDON HOUSE BY JACK EASEL sometime Punch's ^Roving Correspondent if fefa forii MACMILLAN AND CO. 1895 n hi ^A%%^y^ CONTENTS CHAPTEK PAGH I. 'TERRA-COTTAGE ... . l II. OUR DINING-ROOM . 19 III. OUR DRAWING-ROOM .... . il IV. OUR 'LITTLE ONES' . ... (37 V. MY BOOKS . . . .... 90 VL MY 'SANCTUM' , lai VII. GOING TO BOOST . Ue VIII. IN THE BASEMENT ... . . .184 IX. OUR AMUSEMENTS .... , 184 X. OUR CIRCLE . ... 206 XL OUR NEIGHBOUKHUUi) . . . 22.5 XII. ' PER STRATA VIARUM ' 246 OUR SQUARE AND CIRCLE CHAPTER I 'TERRA-COTTAGE' Shortly after I had entered on possession of my house in Dexter Square, Bayswater, I dined with my old friend Banterfield, and described to him with no small satisfaction the various attractions and conveni- ences of that abode. His congratulations were hearty, but they would have pleased me more if he had been able to recall the exact locality of the residence, which he persisted in regarding as very remote. It was ia vain I pointed out to him that it was within three minutes' walk of Kensington Gardens, exactly mid- way between two well-known lines of omnibus routes, not far from a Metropolitan Eailway station, and very handy to Eastbourne Avenue, where Black- wood's great emporium daily attracts a thousand customers. The provoking wretch would have it that I had gone to live in some suburban spot extremely B 2 ' Terra-cottage ' difficult of access, and when wishing me good-bye at his own door at 11 p.m., he expressed a hope that I should find my way home on such a dark night, in case the street gas lamps had not yet been extended to Dexter Square. Gas lamps indeed ! Why the Square has been built for thirty years at least, and is as well lighted as any part of London. But Banter- field would always have his joke, and to do him justice he has since confessed, after inspecting the house, that my choice was a good one. ' Dexter Square is laid out on an mgenious plan. The fronts of the houses are approached from a street, and the back windows look into the Square garden, which you may enter direct from the dining-room without crossing a road. When the trees are in full leaf you can scarcely see the opposite houses through the foliage of plane-trees or limes ; the turf is kept in order ; the gravel paths are neatly rolled ; the flower beds are gay with stocks, tiger-lilies, marigolds, lilac and laburnum, geraniums, hyacinths, crocuses and daffodils — a pleasant sight in the midst of cloud-capped, sooty London, as we sit at breakfast on a summer morning. Moreover, each house has a little jMrterre of its own, railed off by balustrading and a wicket from the public garden, and affording a cool retreat in the dog-days for those who like an after-dinner cigar and cup of coffee. The turf outside forms a favourite A Flirtation Ground 3 promenade for the young people in twilight, and, without being unduly inquisitive, I have become aware that it is occasionally used as a flirtation ground by the sons and daughters of our neighbours, who meet here in friendly intercourse, and perhaps with less restraint than in the drawing-rooms of Dexter Square, though prudent materfamilias may be keeping a watchful eye upon them over her novel or needlework on the balcony overhead. It was in this convenient resort, I am told, that young FitzSpooner first made known his deep at- tachment to pretty Kate Papillon, and here, too, that Captain Shyleigh (home on sick-leave from India) summoned up courage to propose to the second Miss Chattermore, before rejoining his regiment at Bombay. Many other matches, I have reason to believe, have been made up in our Square garden, and since such incidents must occur, and there comes a time in every man's life when he has to choose a partner, I confess that I think an al fresco declaration in the cool of the evening is more likely to be based on a discreet and honest judgment, than if he planged into an engagement after whirling round a heated ball-room with the object of his affections, or settled his fate during a cricket-match at Lord's, under the transient influence of Heidsieck Monopole. The entrance to our house is, as I have said, from B 2 4 ' Terra-cottage^ a street which, as it lies midway between and parallel to two great thoroughfares, possesses the singular advantage of being a short cut to nowhere, and is therefore comparatively quiet even in the height of the season. The ceaseless roar of traffic and noise of wheels which belong to more fashionable neighbour- hoods are unknown here, and though the inhabitants of Dexter Square are within easy access of smart shops, cab ranks, and all the conveniences of habitable London, and can be in the midst of life and bustle by walking a few dozen yards, when they re-enter their own demesne it is as quiet and secluded a spot as one could hope to find in the centre of a busy capital, and after dusk the silence which reigns around, so beneficent and soothing to the worried nerves of a hard-worked man, is that of a rural retreat. In the early morning hours certainly the itinerant chair-mender and the peripatetic coal merchant will occasionally make their voices heard, but they only prevent one from sleeping too long, and just as we are informed on an eminent authority that ' the uses of adversity ' are sweet, so it may be inferred that these lugubrious cries are not without a certain advantage in counteracting matutinal laziness. And then to think of the advantage of living in a house with a large open space, and free current of air circulating as sailors would say, fore and aft. No A Cheerful House 5 dismal yards, no back settlements, no dingy walls or dirty stables to look out upon, but a street of smart- looking, cheerful houses on one side, with green turf and green trees on the other ! When I remember some of the dull and dusty tenements of a correspond- ing size which cost the occupiers 300Z. or 400Z. a year in a fashionable neighbourhood, when I recollect the mingled odours of mews and dust-cart which prevail in some of the smaller thoroughfares of Mayfair, I feel thankful that my social ambition has not taken a residential form, and that I am able to live for half the rent above mentioned in a light, well-ventilated home. As to the external appearance of our abode, there is nothing in an architectural sense to boast of. It was built long before the so-called ' Queen Anne ' revival began. Consequently it possesses no pictur- esque details to delight the eye — no mullioned windows or dainty casements, no canopied porch or moulded niches, no pretty string courses or tall chimney-shafts, no steep roofs or pedimental dormers, no carved panels or quaintly fashioned rain-pipes. It is a mere substantial-looking builder's house, with a few balconies front and back, and a fagade which, though eminently respectable, can hardly be called interesting. Such conventional features as it includes — pilasters, cornices, window dressings,and a festooned frieze — are, 6 ' Terra-cottage ' it must be confessed, executed in cement, and this being so, the only chance of concealing their mediocrity was to cover them with paint in two shades of the same colour, for the choice of which I am responsible. Now, colour is a matter of taste, which in the case of house-painting shows itself in infinite varieties. Some of my neighbours seem to have a fancy for pea- green, some for sky-blue. Others incline to chocolate- brown, which certainlj' does not show the London soot, but, on the other hand, it affords unusual temptations to the passing street boy, who, thanks to the School Board, has learnt to write, and goes about with a fine lump of white chalk in his pocket. So, after various experiments, we decided on two shades of terra-cotta, the lighter shade for the walls and the darker for pilasters, cornices, &c. This ' chromatic scheme ' (as the art critics have it) was generally pronounced a success by our friends and neighbours, and though Banterfield, when asked what he thought of it, made some frivolous comparison to anchovy paste, it must be remembered that he is a Philistine, utterly igno- rant of aesthetics, and so we don't mind his remarks at all. He calls our house Terra-cottage. We painted our railings a dull red, like the colour of an old Greek vase, and used the same tint for our front door. In the centre of the latter, just within easy reach of the postman's arm, is affixed an ancient A fay-fetched Door-knocker 7 and quaintly shaped iron knocker, which I found on a chalet in Switzerland. We were coming down from the Kieder-Alp, I remember, one blazing hot afternoon in September. The rustic owner stood at his portal smoking a pipe, and was greatly amused at the curiosity with which I examined his knocker. After a little preliminary parley he offered to sell it for five francs, and in a few minutes I was trudging off with my bargain. We were all delighted to get it, except my wife's maid, who viewed the acquisition with a smile of scorn. 'Law bless me, m'am,' said the art- less creature, ' master's surely never going to carry back that old rubbish to London ! ' But he did though, and there it hangs on my door, which is frequently struck with it. So by the way are many of our after- noon callers. Owing to the peculiar plan of our house (and here I may say in a, parenthesis that your builders' archi- tect is often a person with remarkable views on the subject of planning) the entrance hall is limited in size. At a guess it measures about ten feet by eight, so that there is just space enough for a hall table and chair besides the umbrella and hat stand. But, by an ingenious disposition of those indispensable articles of furniture, there is still room enough left for two persons to pass each other without jostling. Indeed, I have known it to hold three, but this is to 8 ' Terra-cottage ' be avoided if possible, especially when General O'Currie, who weighs about fifteen stone, is strug- gling into his fur-lined overcoat, and his arms are flying about like the sails of a windmill. I had the cement floor replaced by one of encaustic tiles of a size proportionate to so small an area. I was reluctantly obliged to reject the first design sub- mitted to me by Messrs. Hercules, Pompey & Co., not because I did not like it, for it was unimpeachable in taste, but because I found that the available floor space would have been all occupied by border. The same restrictions as to scale compel me to confess that the reindeer's antlers hung over the oak hall table (though as near the ceiling as possible) are somewhat bulky for their position. But as they were a present from Cousin Bridget, who has shared our home for the last ten years, and who brought them all the way from the North Cape, I was bound to find a place for them, and they certainly add dignity to the entrance. I found room on the walls for some prints and engravings, including Macbeth's fine etching from Titian's ' Bacchus and Ariadne.' What an ineffable charm there is in that famous picture ! Although the spirit of the Eenaissance is manifest in every line of the composition, it is unen- cumbered by pseudo-classicism or antiquarian pedan- try. The youthful vine-crowned lover leaping from ' Bacchus and Ariadne ' 9 his chariot with his peach-coloured mantle fluttering in the breeze, is an active yeoman rather than a god. The nymphs and fauns who follow dancing in his train are peasant girls and rustics. Even the deserted princess herself is a mere buxom lass, undistinguished by any ideal beauty of limb or feature. But what a sense of jocund action and vigorous humanity pervades the group ! There is life and motion in every figure. The supple forms seem to spring or glide over the turf beneath the shade of those tall beech trees. You may almost hear the jubilant shouts of the sylvan throng and listen to the merry jingle of their music as the procession wends its way towards the shore. See, yonder is Silenus, fuddled as usual, and bestrid- ing his ass, with a faithful friend by his side to suppoi't him. High up in the heavens above Ariadne's head we see the constellation of the golden crown — the bridal gift of her new lover, and far away in the dis- tance, calmly sailing over the blue iEgean Sea, is the vessel which bears away the faithless Theseus and his crew. It is interesting to pass from this work, executed in the early part of the sixteenth century, to the modern treatment of a similar subject painted at the close of the nineteenth. In the same tiny entrance hall hangs an engraving from Alma Tadema's picture of • The Vintage Festival.' Here we have another lo ' Terra-cottage' procession of a Bacchanalian character, but instead of wildly dancing in the chequered shade, it passes with measured steps along a colonnade of the Corinthian order, festooned with garlands, surrounding the atrium of a Eoman temple. At its head is a young woman draped in a white tunic, her fair hair bound up with grape bunches and vine leaves. In her hand she bears a burning torch, and as she walks along with graceful dignity she looks back with an approving smile towards the tibicince who follow at a respectful distance. We can see that they are beautiful, though their features are half masked by the ugly apparatus which binds the flageolets to their heads. To them succeed two laughing tambour players, who toss up their jingling instruments with gleeful action. After them come two solemn, bearded male priests bearing amphora, filled, let us say, with choice Falernian, and behind them a damsel, carrying a basket of grapes and a drinking vessel, brings up the rear. In the foreground is a tripod altar of bronze raised upon a marble pedestal enriched with bas-relief. A little towards the left is a huge earthenware vase — a clolium I think the scholars call it — and on the right lies a thyrsus just laid aside. In the middle distance a merry crowd, dancing or playing on musical instru- ments, fills the hypsethral court, and on a bench in the corridor sits a praetor, or some person of impor- Old and Modern Art ii tance, who gazes from afar with a gesture of rapt admiration at the fair priestess. These two prints are both favom-ites of mine, but though they hang near each other, and the subjects are somewhat similar, it is difficult, almost impossible, to compare them. Each is admirable in its way, and there is a certain affinity of object in the two painters' aims. But how differently their taste, their quality of work, their mode of treatment ! You might as well try to draw a parallel between Dryden's Ovid and Swinburne's ' Atalanta,' between an Elizabethan re- presentation of ' King Lear ' and Mr. Irving's Shake- sperian revivals, between the performance of a Greek chorus and one of Wagner's operas. Three centixries separate Alma Tadema from Titian. Before the great Venetian's picture we stand enthralled by the charm of colour, the facile distribution of light and shade, the amazing dexterity of composition, the vigour of his brush, the daring departure from archaic precedent, and the human interest which the painter gives to a mere romantic myth. The modern Koyal Academician approaches his subject more diffidently perhaps, but with a consummate sense of beauty, with a just appreciation of truth, with a technical skill which has rarely been surpassed, and with the advantage of antiquarian knowledge and research of which his predecessor never dreamed. 12 ' Terra-cottage' Alma Tadema's figures, let us confess it, are more gracefully proportioned than those on Titian's canvas ; they are far more appropriately draped; the acces- sories assume correcter forms. There is an air of realism about the scene. The actual life of ancient Eome is brought before us as though by a clever photographer. In Titian's design we only see a highly poetical rendering of a scene in Naxos. Between these two phases of art there is a wide span. But we eclectics of the Victorian age admire everything in turn : Egyptian sphinxes, Nineveh bulls, Greek bas-reliefs, Eoman mosaics, Michel Angelo and Vanucci, Botticelli and Burne-Jones, Leonardo da Yinci and Landseer. In the whirligig of time we adopt classic, mediaeval, and Queen Anne architecture. So, too, we read indiscriminately Chaucer and Eudyard Kipling, Milton and Lewis Morris, Ben Jonson and Mr. Gilbert. Truly we are omnivorous in matters of taste, whether structural, pictorial, or literary. That a porch of such modest size as that which forms the entrance to our house should contain any furniture at all is a wonder. But you must have a place to hang up your hats and stow away your umbrellas on the threshold of every Christian home- stead, or where are you ? Again, the page-boy, who comes with three-cornered notes from our good neigh- bour Miss Medlicott asking for the loan of my Post A Picturesque Hall Table 13 Office Directory, or begging my wife to send her that too rfeZicJot6s recipe for curried lobster— this silver-but- toned emissary, I say, must be provided with a seat while he waits for an answer, and so a hall chair becomes indispensable. Eespecting these two useful articles I have little to say beyond the expression of an earnest wish that lady callers would fold up their umbrellas and parasols before depositing them in the stand, for, what with the limited accommodation at our disposal and the fact of my being near-sighted, I have on more than one occasion put the ferrule of my favourite walking stick straight through the elegant twill silk covering of a fashionable sunshade or en-tout- cas left sprawling open inside the rail, and as a con- fession of these misadventures would involve an outlay of at least twelve shillings and sixpence a time, I can- not afford to be ingenuous on such occasions, and as a necessary result am conscience-smitten when I see my visitors to the door. But in my hall table I take an honest pride. It is of solid oak, and designed by myself at a time when the so-called ' art-furniture ' was unknown, with mould- ings and incised carved work of a sixteenth-century pattern, and having been well rubbed with oil for the last twenty years has acquired a rich dark colour so that it is frequently taken for an ' antique.' It has a couple of shelves for the display of china, and a couple 1 4 'Terra-cottage' of drawers, one handy for gloves (it is astonishing how soon a dozen pairs accumulate), and the other in which my wife hoards a vast store of visiting cards left by her friends and acquaintances. Of the latter I know many by name and some by sight. But when I try to identify them with their respective visiting cards, I get, as Americans say, a little ' mixed.' For instance, when walking the other day in Kensington Gardens we met a very charming woman, who greeted my wife most affectionately, but I had not the wildest notion what her name was. I felt that I ought to inquire after her husband, but I hesitated, for she might be unmarried or a widow. It would have been only civil to express a hope that the children were well — but, good heavens ! perhaps she had no family. We took leave of her, and it was only when she was walking away that I found that we had been talking to the Lady Wilhelmina Stubbs, whom we had met at dinner a month ago. On another occasion a man button- holed me at the Club, and offered to send my wife a couple of stalls for a concert if I would drop him a line to say whether she would go. I thanked him gratefully, promised that I would write by that evening's post, but who or what he was I no more knew than the man in the moon. The situation grew extremely embarrassing, but I was saved by a stratagem. I confessed that I had forgotten the Unremembered Acquaintances 15 number of the street in which he lived, and on this plea I asked him for his card. He gave it, thinking me no doubt a duffer, but even that was better than having to tell the truth. How is any man, occupied with his daily work, to remember everyone whom he meets accidentally in London society ? One's acquaintance goes on in- creasing like a snowball. We dine out a great deal — I fear far more often than is good for me. Well, say I take the bewitching Mrs. Smyth- Smythe down to dinner. Ten to one Mrs. Smyth- Smythe expresses a wish to know my wife. On the other hand, my wife herself sits next the Hon. Gwythyr Ap-Jones whose monograph on the disintegration of Stonehenge created such a furore in antiquarian circles last season. Personally I never heard of his book, but my wife vows I am much interested in the subject, and thus the two gentlemen are brought together in the drawing-room. The following week my door-knocker thunders twice distinctly under the influence of fresh hands. Cards are exchanged— one for each of the ladies and two apiece for the gentlemen, because, I suppose, they are printed on a smaller scale — with a net result that two new families are added to our visiting list. By-and-by we shall dine with the Smyth- Smythes, and the Ap-Joneses will be bidden to our humble 1 6 'Terra-cottage^ board. At each house there will be fresh introduc- tions, and so it goes on ad infinitum. It is the women who manage these things — bless their effusive little hearts ! — on a sort of ' more the merrier ' principle, and so it comes to pass that the drawer of my hall table gradually overflows with pasteboard. Passing through the glazed door which separates our hall from the adjoining passage, visitors find themselves opposite to a huge mirror ingeniously let into a recess of the wall. This contrivance, besides affording young ladies an excellent opportunity for re- flection, has the effect of widening the corridor and creating the impression — transient, indeed, but first impressions are important — of a double staircase, which in a tenement of only twenty feet frontage is almost phenomenal. It is true that guests ascending to the drawing-room see duplicates of themselves engaged in the same pursuit. But this gives an air of symmetry to the affair which in a well-balanced mind must be a source of satisfaction. And this reminds me of a curious incident which happened to me a few years ago. In a moment of weakness I had accepted an invitation to a fancy- dress ball at a friend's house — rather a rash act for a middle-aged man who has long given up dancing, and does not care to make a guy of himself in costume. I compromised the matter by appearing in levee-dress, Veluti in Speculum 17 to which, elegantice fjratid, as the grammarians say, I added a magnificent white satin waistcoat, elaborately embroidered with coloured silk, after the fashion in vogue at Court half a century ago. Having done my duty by entering the ball-room, and having watched the young people capering about in every conceivable attire for nearly an hour, I strolled from the festive scene towards an ante-chamber, where, as I thought, a supplementary quadrille was going on. Just as I was passing under the rather dimly lighted archway which led from one room to another, I saw coming towards me a man with whom I believed I had a slight acquaintance. Not being quite sure whether he would recognise me, I stood still for a moment and observed that he did the same. He then looked at me, and as he did not speak I moved aside to let him pass. But, like many people when they run across each other in the street, he took a step in the same direction as myself and stood confronting me. I smiled and saw that he was equally amused. I then felt sure that he remembered me, and I held out my hand. He did the same with his, but it seemed to elude my grasp. Somewhat disconcerted I was going to turn aside, when he again stood in my way. A moment and I stumbled against a mirror ! I had actually mistaken myself for somebody else. It was a most stupid thing to do — but I could only apologise to myself and walk away. c 1 8 ' Terra-cottage' And this reminds me that I am digressing in another sense. The ground floor passage in my house is narrow, I admit, but it is far wider than that in the residence of my old friend Sir Eackstraw Stableton, Bart., who hves half way down a mews in Mayfair, and is visited by some of the smartest people in London. In our own little domicile there is, at least, plenty of light from the staircase window, and if the dining-room door is open, you look right through the windows in that apartment on to the garden, giving the un- initiated visitor a transient impression that the house stands in its own grounds. Indeed, when I regard the vista myself at the close of a quiet day, I feel a sort of content akin to that which, after a general survey of his estate, must be experienced by a landed pro- prietor. 19 CHAPTER II OUR DINING-ROOM If there is one part of the house more than another which I regard with tolerable satisfaction (and I am not referring to what used to be called ' the pleasures of the table ') it is the dining-room. In respect to size a few more feet in length would certainly have added to its convenience. But it will hold a dozen guests comfortably — and what domestic feast was ever bettered by a larger number ? It is not, however, on ' party nights,' when the room is glittering with plate, smart dresses, and gewgaws, that it looks its best. I am pleased with it in the quiet of a summer evening, when one can look round and think how far a little taste, a little patience, and a little money will go to enliven the four walls of a commonplace London house. Perhaps my approval is partly due to the fact that most of the furniture in this room was designed ex- pressly for myself. It dates from a period when the ordinary and material appearance of our homes was at the mercy of the upholsterer, and a terrible time it c 2 20 Our Dining-room was. Young housekeepers of the present age who sit in picturesque chimney corners, sipping tea out of Oriental china, or lounge on 17th-century settles, in a parquetry-floored room filled with inlaid cabinets, Cromwell chairs, pictviresque sideboards, hanging shelves and bookcases, can form no idea of the heavy and graceless objects with which an English house was filled some twenty years ago — the sprawling sofas, the gouty-legged dining tables, cut-glass chandeliers, lum- bering ottomans, funereal buffets, horticultural carpets and zoological hearth-rugs. Heaven save us from a return to that phase of ugly conventionalism, of life- less ornament, of dull propriety, and inartistic gloom ! Well, from this slough of despond I was rescued at an early period of my domestic career by the author of a little book which advocated a reform in such matters. Influenced thenceforth by his doctrines, and guided by his advice, I had most of my furniture made ex- pressly for me, added to it from time to time, directed the paper-hanger, controlled the painter, supervised the carpet man, and made the interior of my house what I wanted it to be — rather picturesque. At first, of course, the style of my furniture was the subject of severe chaff from my friends. My favour- ite sideboard, which has upper shelves filled with blue- and-white china, was compared to a kitchen dresser. My substantial oaken settle, in the proportions of which ' Quot homines tot sententice ' 2 1 I had endeavoured to combine modern comfort with the spirit of the fifteenth century, reminded my critics, as they kindly told me, of a second-class railway carriage. Some of them found fault with the height of my chim- ney-piece fender (although it is barely two feet from the floor and is an admirable safeguard from fire). Others complained of the cross-bars in front of my Cromwell chairs, though they are beautifully covered with green morocco and stamped in gilt on the back with the family crest — a chevalet proper, and the motto ' NULLA DIBS SINE LiNBA.' Some Said my clock ticked too loudly — my beloved clock, a beautiful specimen of 17th-century brass-work, which I bought in Paris ten years ago for forty francs, and which has cost me at least that sum annually for repairs ever since. Others suggested that my corona lamp imparted an ecclesias- tical character to the room and implied a partiality for ritualism. Perhaps the kindest and most judicious critics of all were those who approved of this or that detail in my scheme of decoration, but regretted that they were misplaced. For instance, I had devised a ' frieze ' of stamped-leather panels for the walls, and formed a ' dado ' of ' Lincrusta Walton.' Now Bob Carpington, who writes for ' The ^Esthete,' to do him justice, admired both. He only hinted that the frieze should have been of ' Lincrusta Walton ' and the dado of stamped leather. ' Of course it can't be helped 2 2 Our Dining-room now,' said that gifted connoisseur amiably, ' but there is no doubt that would have been the thing to do.' Lord bless us ! if we all listened to monitors who tell us what we oiiglit to have done — generally the reverse of what we have done — what a miserable world this would be. About myself personally I don't so much mind. People may say that I wear my beard too short, that I smoke too much, that I ought to rise earlier, that I am inclined to banter, that I am intolerant of long sermons, and what not. Video meliora proboque. But really when it comes to matters of taste, and in his own house too, if a man may not do as he likes, there is an end to the liberty of the subject. So I am not going to be put out of conceit with my little dining- room, which for its size, and considering it only forms part of a commonplace tenement, is, I venture to think, rather effective. I had the walls painted pale green to form a good background for pictures, of which I have a few, picked up from time to time, and all bargains, for I can't afford long prices. There is a long horizontal battle-piece attributed to Campagnola, which evidently formed the front of an old Italian cassojic. I bought it in Venice years ago and brought it away from the Manfrin Palace in a gondola. It is painted on panel, and represents a camp with a number of tents stretching away in rapid perspective My Pic hires 23 towards a background of blue mountains. In the nearest tent sits a lordly personage "watching a terrific but apparently bloodless skirmish between cavalry and infantry, which is going on outside. The warriors are clad in a sort of semi-classic costume, and for what I know it may be an incident in the second Punic War, but it is no use to bother one's head about chronology or propriety of costume in a picture of the 16th century. Some of the figures are queerly drawn, but they are full of life and action. The scheme of colour is excellent and the landscape very charming. It is what the dealers call a ' decorative ' work, and after all what could be more suited for its purpose ? You don't want a moral preached at you from your dining-room walls. You want something to brighten the house, and make you forget the gloom of London air. Above this picture hangs a life-size portrait of Cosmo II., Grand Duke of Tuscany — a stolid-looking personage as depicted on this canvas (possibly by Sustermans); it is by no means an attractive painting, but it is inclosed in a pretty old frame, enriched with cinque-cento ornament in low relief, and it forms a good centre for the wall. Eight and left of it are smaller portraits of Mary Queen of Scots, and the Princess Elizabeth (afterwards good Queen Bess), both charmingly attired in the picturesque dresses of the 24 Otir Dining-room period. What beautiful brocades and embroidery ! Would that our modern looms and workshops pro- duced such now. But in those days robes and gowns were not made for a ' season,' to be thrown aside and called old-fashioned next year. Women's dress — and men's too, for that matter — was a work of art afford- ing exercise for genuine taste, not the result of a milliner's freak. Oh ladies, ladies, if you would but recognise this fact, and try to infuse a little character and common-sense into your costumes, instead of adopting your milliners' notions of what is ' elegant ' and 'novel,' what a reform you might effect in the art of dress, and how grateful the portrait painters — not to mention your lovers and husbands — would be for the change ! Pray don't suppose that I am advocating a return to the craze for what were known as ' aesthetic' garments, which prevailed in certain circles some years ago, when women draped themselves in sage- green bathing gowns with terra- cotta necker- chiefs, and hats which looked as if they had been bought from a theatrical costumier. I don't want your figures to look like woolsacks or scarecrows ; I don't want your hair to be dressed like a fancy coloured mop ; I don't want your mantle collars to conceal your throats, nor your sleeves to make you look high-shouldered. I should like you to wear The Follies of Fashioit 25 clothes which are graceful and convenient, and to wear them because they are pretty to look at, deftly designed and harmonious in colour — not because they are either eccentric or the latest novelty from Paris. I abhor tight lacing, first, because it is, as any medical man will tell you, ruinous to health, and, secondly, because it makes the human waist cylindrical, like a ninepin, which Nature never intended. I hate high heels, because they torture the feet and destroy the poetry of motion. I dislike your V-shaped bodices cut down fore and aft, and leaving the arms naked, because they are both indelicate and ugly. I detest unduly long skirts because one is always treading on them. Your great-grandmothers in 1815 wore skirts six inches off the ground, and so narrow that they could not with any sense of decency get over a stile. That was absurd. You, on the contrary, let your gowns fall into trains of a yard and a half in length behind you, sweeping up dust from the pavement, or tripping up elderly gentlemen as they come down- stairs. That is absurder still. Again, well-fitting gloves, which terminate just above the wrist, showing the shape of the hand, are right enough. But gloves with forty-eight buttons which run up to the shoulder are troublesome abomi- nations. Away with them ! Eeal taste does not regulate these matters, but pure caprice, and the best 26 Our Dining-room proof of this is that when by a rare stroke of luck a reasonable and becoming article of dress becomes fashionable, it is discarded in the course of a season or two. Not many years ago ladies' hats were very pic- turesque' — I mean the oval broad-brimmed ones — not those of the detestable ' pork-pie ' type. Where are they now ? Banished in favour of a crownless trencher perched on the top of the head, and pinned there Heaven knows how. As for bonnets, they have been explained away altogether, and we get in their place a lump of milliner's trumpery, without form and void ; while that useful and modest appendage, the veil, has degenerated into a net mask, fixed so tightly over the face that it turns the wearer's eyelids half inside out, when the lashes brush against it. There are a few other pictures worth looking at in my dining-room. A group of saints centred by Madonna, supporting on her knees a beautiful Infant Christ, who raises His tiny hand to bless St. John the Baptist and St. Eooh, while St. Joseph and St. James stand reverently in the rear: — a sober and graceful work by Bissolo, who caught something of Bellini's charm without rivalling his skill. In the opposite corner hangs a somewhat similar composition by an unknown Venetian painter of the same period — not so well drawn but richer in colour, and enshrined in a pretty frame which I believe Un-identified Portraits 27 to be as old as the painting itself. This picture -was the first ' Old Master ' we ever dared to buy, and I remem- ber feeling some scruples when I drew a cheque to pay for it in Venice, thinking that we ought not to have afforded what seemed in those days to us an extrava- gant price for the work. On another wall there is a small equestrian portrait ascribed to Van der Meulen, representing a young and gentle-looking field marshal in a fine plumed hat, em- broidered leathern doublet and jack- boots, mounted on a gaily caparisoned charger, prancing in a landscape by twilight. On the other side of the sideboard a handsome boy of sixteen, clad in a plum-coloured coat and lace ruffie, looks out with a kindly but dignified smile from the canvas of Sir Godfrey Kneller. I know neither the name nor the history of this youth — whether he ever grew to man's estate, whether he married and, if so, whether he left any children. How many portraits there must be in the world over which the same obscurity hangs ! A century or so before Kneller's time the artist would probably have inscribed his sitter's name in gold characters in a corner of the back- ground. We may smile nowadays at this antiquated custom, but after all it was based on common-sense, and if it had always prevailed I think posterity would have been grateful. 2 8 Our Dining-room Just below my ' Kneller ' is a gilt frame about twelve inches square, with an inner flat composed of ivory plaques carved in low relief, and enclosing a circular panel on which is painted a St. Cecilia bearing a palm branch, Avith her organ emblem in the background. This little picture presents an enigma which I have never been able to solve. The ivory plaques are of earlier date than the painting. The painting itself is older than the gilt-wood mouldings by which it is enclosed. The frame is evidently not a modern one, and yet it differs both in design and character from any specimen I have ever seen of ancient handicraft. Here is a nice little riddle for the cognoscenti. The saint's face is pretty and delicately painted, with large upturned eyes, clusters of chestnut-brown hair, and lips parted as though in song. It is probably by an Italian painter, but of what age or school I cannot say. After all what does it matter ? An old friend of mine used to say that he would undertake to form one of the most in- teresting collections in Europe if he could only select from every public picture gallery all the works labelled ' ignoto,' ' inconnu,' and ' unbekannt.' There are not so many as there used to be, for in our time the scientific critics have been at work, and their discoveries have deprived us to a great extent of the pleasures of speculation. Fortunately, however, your learned dilettante of to- ' The Crock and the Bowl' 29 day is sure to be contradicted by the gifted connois- seur of to-morrow, and if the ultimate result of all this dogmatic guess-work should be to let future lovers of art once more indulge in their own tastes and fancies, no great harm will have been done, and the world will have learnt a lesson. No one at present has ventured to question the authenticity of one picture in this room — a bust-length portrait of a man, by William Dobson (the English limner whose master was knighted by Charles I., and who himself was rescued from obscurity and befriended by Van Dyek). He is said with truth to have caught something of the style and manner of his great patron. Perhaps he learnt something of his extravagance too, for when, after the opulent Fleming's death, Dobson was appointed Court painter to his Majesty, he lived in good style and did not think of saving for his old age, which he passed, I fear, in poverty. Moralists of that age, and of the present too, will no doubt cry fie upon the spendthrift, and it must be confessed that to live beyond your means is very repre- hensible. But if a man of social habits, with a modest income and a large circle of friends, finds himself the object of frequent hospitality, he must either decline or return it. If in adopting the latter course poor Dobson tried to vie with his wealthier friends in the way of entertainment, he was foolish, but I fear that 30 Our Dining-room this species of folly is as frequent in the 19 th as it was in the 17th century. When shall we learn wisdom in such matters ? A wealthy banker, let us say, invites me to dinner. His house, compared with my modest domicile, is a palace. It is fitted up and furnished with splendour. The table glitters with costly plate, is decorated with hot- house flowers, and loaded with every delicacy in and out of season. Wines of the choicest vintage are set before you : ' Heidsieck Monopole ' and Chateau Lafite of 1875. The menu records the achievements of a French chef. You are served by half a dozen footmen resplendent in new livery. The banquet is elegant, recherche — faultless if you will. You don't despise these vanities — nor do I. I will go further and say that, in moderation, I enjoy them. But when Sir John Premium or Colonel Contango comes to dine with me, do you suppose that I could afford to regale them after this fashion ? Lord bless your heart, why the cost of such a dinner would absorb a week's income ! I attempt nothing of the kind. But they come never- theless, and I need not add that the social success of a dinner party is not always in proportion to the expen- diture involved. Of course it is absurd to pretend that the ordinary every-day fare would suffice on such occa- sions. It will not in any well-regulated household, and though I have no patience with people who content Good TVine needs no Bush 31 themselves with cold mutton enfamille and give osten- tatious banquets four or five times during the season, yet, as Charles Lamb puts it, enough is 7iot as good as a feast. But for all that there need not be extravagance — a little clear soup, a dish of fish, an entree or two, a saddle of mutton, and a bit of game to follow, with a few sweets for the ladies, will make a dinner fit for a king. In these days one can get excellent wine at a moderate price if you know what's what, and where to order it. The selection of claret and port is not a question of science, nor is it always a question of money, but the result of a discriminating palate, which every- one does not possess. It is astonishing what blind faith some men will put in brands, the dates of vintage, &e., &c., and it is a remarkable fact that at tables where such details are most earnestly discussed I have not unfrequently found the quality of the wine produced to be very so-so ; whereas in other houses, where the contents of the bottles before you are not so much as mentioned, you may be imbibing nectar. I remember on one occasion that a distinguished general officer who was dining with us did me the honour to praise very highly some port from my cellar, and he even volunteered to guess its age. He may have been right for what I know, but if I had mentioned the price I gave for it (which I dis- 32 Ottr Dining-room creetly refrained from doing), I think the gallant soldier would have been surprised. In a general way, of course, the provenance, so to speak, of wine is a suggestion of its excellence, but it is no guarantee. Even supposing that there has been no mistake in its authenticity — that the wine- grower, the importer, and the wine merchant are all above suspicion, a hundred accidents in storing or bottling, the state of the weather, the position of your cellar, and in claret especially the temperature of the room in which it is drunk, may make all the difference between a good and poor tap. I often think that there is some analogy between the conventional value of wine and the conventional value of works of art. Your scientific critic in both cases may be devoid of taste. A picture which pos- sesses an undoubted pedigree will often command admiration which is withheld from a better but un- authenticated example, 'i/that is a genuine Titian,' said an eminent amateur to me one day, as we were looking at an unknown canvas, ' it is a very fine thing ! ' Apart from the painter's name he could form no opinion on the work. I believe that a great many worthy people judge of pictures— and wine too— on this principle. Dinners are often rendered tediously long and un- wholesome by the introduction of ' courses ' which are 'Persicos odi, ptier, apparatus ' 33 wholly unnecessary. Although I am quite aware that the preliminary hors-cV centre is a French fashion and sanctioned by tradition, I venture to think it might be abolished with advantage. What on earth is the use of stuffing yourself with caviar, sardines, radishes, and bread and butter, before you begin an ample meal ? We are told that it is to whet the appetite. My answer is that people who require such a stimulant had far better wait until they are hungry. Besides, I don't believe that it ever had that effect. Whet the appetite, forsooth ! It would certainly take mine away. To give two kinds of soup, and two kinds of fish — whitebait perhaps excepted — is equally absurd. It involves much delay, and, while servants are dodging to and fro with the alternative dishes, both are likely to become cold. Try one soup and one fish, and you will find your guests quite content. If not, they ought to be. From a gastronomic point of view I consider ices mere waste of money. In summer, perhaps, an iced pudding, or a dish of iced fruit which they call (Heaven knows why) macedoine, may be conceded to the ladies, but why, after this, frozen creams and congealed syrup should be served round to impair still further one's digestion I cannot understand. It is not only extremely unwholesome — as any medical man would tell you — but a positive insult to a good dinner. 34 Otir Dining-roo^n Another preposterous custom is that of decanting champagne. What is the characteristic of this favourite wine ? Assuredly its effervescing quaUty. Some people don't like effervescence even in soda- water. But no one opens a bottle of soda-water and waits until it has become flat before drinking it. If such people do not like effervescing wine, let them drink ' still ' champagne. But to open a bottle of creaming epernay and pour it into a decanter before serving it is downright folly. As to liqueurs, I hope I shall not offend the ladies when I suggest that they are altogether superfluous — indeed worse than superfluous to anyone with a refined palate. Children may enjoy a sip of green chartreuse, maraschino, noyeau, and so forth ; but men and women who have had their share of wine at dinner, and are capable of appreciating a glass of good claret or port at dessert, should avoid the inevitable conse- quence of drinking liqueurs — hot syrupy stuff, after tasting which the finest Lafite is reduced to the level of mere ordinaire. Personally I don't much care for condiments, but as most people take musta.rd with their beef, pepper with their peas, and so forth, it has often struck me as curious that at many luxurious tables the contents of the homely cruet stand should be so persistently ignored. They generally appear on the sideboard but An Ideal Number at Table 35 are seldom handed round, and your shy guest never likes to ask for them. Another frequent and more serious omission is the biscuit box. Strawberries, candied fruit, pine-apple, chocolate creams, and what not are found in abundance. But the honest plain biscuit, a quite indispensable accompaniment to the after-dinner glass, is generally conspicuous by its absence. In my dining-room we cannot conveniently seat more than fourteen at table, and I am rather glad of the restriction. In a small household, of course, where the reception of friends, even in a quiet way, entails some little trouble on the mistress, that good lady is naturally anxious to repay as much hospitality as possible within the scope of a single evening. Other- wise, and for the real pleasure of social intercourse, I regard ten as an ideal number, because it admits of general conversation. With twenty, or more, it be- comes impossible. You talk to your neighbour on your right or left hand, but to no one else. The genial raconteur, no doubt, in these days has become obsolete. No individual guest is able to ' set the table on a roar.' It would be almost bad form to attempt it. But among intimate friends many a good story which might be admissible and entertaining in a party of ten or twelve is lost in the loud hum of conversation which prevails in a party of twenty. D 2 36 Our Dining-room Small dinner parties are, however, confessedly risky unless you get the right sort of people together. Indeed, the judicious assortment of guests is the one essential to success. Some hosts and hostesses are, I fear, strangely indifferent on this point. Others are unfortunate through force of circumstances. They set out with the best intentions, but owing to ' pre- vious engagements ' and consequent refusals, gaps are sure to occur in the little group of friends who were intended to meet. Those gaps must be filled up and possibly with less congenial spirits, and so a want of harmony may prevail. Supposing, for instance, the wife of a Conservative county member has to ' go down ' with an advocate for Home Eule — or rattling Bob Wagsby is asked to ' take in ' Miss Petronella Cramm, who distinguished herself so highly at Girton last term. Supposing my neighbour Lady Evangeline Bunyan, who, I feel convinced, is the anonymous donor of certain tracts which reach me once a fortnight, finds herself sitting next our ritualistic young curate, the Reverend Orphrey 0' Stole, or my wife in a moment of indiscretion introduces the only dean we know to our young friend Mrs. Flyte, who dabbles in Theosophy — what untoward results may ensue ! To prevent these temporary but ill-fated mesalliances should be the effort of every cautious host. Some- times, even with the utmost care, they cannot be pre- Judicious Pairing of Guests 37 vented, or even foreseen. I remember on one occasion pairing off two guests at my table — one a good-looking, well-bred, and agreeable barrister, the other a still young, handsome, and highly cultured matron. I did not know that they had ever met before, and I made no doubt that each would be charmed with the other. But what was my disappointment and mortification to find whenever I looked towards them that they seemed mutually bored. Tliey scarcely interchanged a word of conversation during dinner, and behaved, in short, like a couple of icebergs. On investigating this phenomenon in the drawing- room afterwards I ascertained its cause. My guests had been neighbours at another table. The lady held advanced views on certain subjects and possessed but little sense of humour. The gentleman, though a brilliant talker, was somewhat given to raillery, espe- cially on the matter of ' Women's rights.' He had resumed his bantering vein. She had become more and more serious. Hinc, illce lacrymcs ! It was cer- tainly unfortunate, but who could have foreseen such a result ? Sometimes it becomes a question whether it is better to promote a social duet between two guests of similar or of opposite temperament —to link together for a couple of hours the witty, the serious-minded, the shy, the forward, the intellectual, the frivolous, or 38 Our Dining-rooni vice versa to associate them on what may be called an allopathic principle— so that one may serve as a foil for the other. I have known the latter experiment answer occasionally, but its success is not without exception, and the only escape from the dilemma is to give every person present a chance of opening a conversation on both sides. This can only be managed by preliminary introductions upstairs, and though I know this harmless custom has fallen into disuse, and that such presentations are considered unnecessary, because in the great world everyone is supposed to know everyone else, we in humble circles must be quite aware that this is a mere fiction. Indeed, a clever, tactful hostess cannot spend what is called the mauvais quart d'heure in her drawing-room better than by bringing people together before dinner. It involves a little trouble of course, but the result achieved is well worth the pains. It gives every guest a double chance of talking at table, and that is a great gain ; for a dinner party where anyone sits mum may be regarded as a failure. Beyond repeating my faith in a moderate menu, 1 shall not attempt to offer any suggestions as to the character and quality of the dishes which it includes. Why they are still described in a foreign language is a mystery past my comprehension. In the early part of this century there may have been a reason for it, Plea for an English Bill of Fare 39 because French cookery was then superior to our own. But it is not so now, at least in domestic life. Assum- ing the same expense in each case, you may dine now- adays as well in London as you do in Paris. Why, therefore, should we not have an English bill of fare ? Why should we adopt the wretched jargon of ' rosbif ' and ' plombuden ' in describing our national dishes ? Don't you think a ' fore-quarter of lamb ' sounds quite as inviting as un qiiartur d'agneau ? The only serious difference I ever have with my wife on these occasions is on that point. I am for the Anglican usage, and I had nearly converted her to my opinion when she asked me satirically what was the English for supreme de volatile. I confess that I could not translate it into my mother tongue, and consequently she triumphed. Young housewives talk a great deal of nonsense about modes of cooking, but except in the case of a few complex and exceptional dishes, there are but two modes, the right and the wrong. The real secret of excellence in this, as in all other arts, is experience. In private life I have heard some heretics aver that they can ' eat anything ' — that is to say, that en famille they keep a slipslop, indifferent, or niggardly table, which means that they either have the digestion of an ostrich, or else that they incur doctor's bills unneces- sarily. Such people miss a great deal of harmless pleasure — may suffer greatly from dyspepsia and 40 Our Dinmg-roont consequent ill temper. If you feed — I cannot say dine — at their houses you will regret it. But if you insist on having dishes sent up properly for your family dinner — if you are particular about roasting and boil- ing — if you take care to be supplied with meat of the best quality, wholesomely jjrepared vegetables and sauces ; if, in short, your tradesmen know that you are not to be imposed upon, and if your cook's hand is kejpt in constant practice, your friends will find no fault with the occasional feast. And now, if you please, we will go upstairs and join the ladies. 41 CHAPTER III OUR DRAWING-ROOM The staircase is rather a ' feature ' in my house. It is wider and better lighted than in most tenements of the same size, but its plan is peculiar, not to say inconvenient. Generally speaking, there are two flights of stairs between the ground and first floor. Here there is but one and a graduated landing. You walk out of the drawing-room floor on to a flat, but you have scarcely taken three jjaces before you drop down six inches to a lower level. A yard or so further on you drop down again, and so on till you turn the corner, where there are three steps, and you find yourself on another landing. It is here that the fun begins, for the rest of the staircase descends in a rapid slope, and if you happen to be walking just behind Mrs. Trainly Peacock's long skirt, it is advisable to hold well on by the handrail, or you may rea&h the dining- room door more quickly than you anticipated, and possibly head foremost. It never happened to myself ; but then I am a careful man, and know the ways of the house very well. 42 Our Staircase I do not know the architect who designed it, but if by chance these lines should ever meet his eye, I hope he may have lived long enough to see the errors of his youth. I call it an error charitably, but a suspicion has more than once crossed my mind that he may have been on friendly terms with some surgeon in this neighbourhood. It is certain that the houses in Dexter Square present unusual opportunities for practice in the way of bone-setting. Nevertheless the staircase, on the whole, is satis- factory in appearance. Its walls afford a convenient space for pictures which I cannot hang elsewhere. There are water-colour sketches in Switzerland, France, Belgium, and Italy, but as they are chiefly productions of my own brush I shall modestly re- frain from describing them. You may, however, be attracted by a painting executed nearly four centuries ago, the work of Michele da Verona, and representing a group of mounted soldiers taking leave of their womankind on the eve of a battle. The warriors, it must be confessed, do not present a very heroic appearance, and my friend Banterfield, who has no reverence for antiquity, asked me one day whether the features and expression of one of them did not remind me of Sam Weller's father. The ladies of the party, too, are of that type which may be described as ' intense ' rather than beautiful, but then they a.re A Fiftee7itJi Century Charger 43 arrayed in a sort of pseudo-classical costume which compensates in dignity for what they want in grace. As for the chargers on which the cavalry are mounted, I have seldom seen any four-footed creatures out of Noah's Ark so supremely comical. My wife's maid told her that they attracted the notice of Snaffle, our groom, one morning as he was carrying a portmanteau upstairs, and that, viewmg the animals from a professional point of view, he could not conceal his scorn. ' Call that a 'oss. Miss Phyllis ! ' observed the expert ; ' why there ain't a butcher in Bayswater who would care to give a fifpun' note for sich a screw ; and if the picter's four 'undred years old, they must have 'ad queer notions of a mount in those days ! I don't think much of the young women neither, but there, what can you expect 0' gals who'd keep company with a lot of militiamen ? ' Opposite this work of art, and carefully enclosed in a glass case, hangs a curious specimen of mediaeval embroidery — part of some ecclesiastical vestment — which I bought in Siena more than twenty-five years ago ; and near it is a drawing I made of Niccolo Pisano's famous pulpit ia the cathedral of that beautiful and ancient city. I remember spending a fortnight over the woi-k, returning to it day after day with unceasing interest. It was an elaborate and 44 Ovir Staircase troublesome job to get the background of groined vaulting in right perspective, but I enjoyed it. What an age ago it seems ! ' Olim meminisse,' &c., &c. I doubt whether I should have patience enough to make such a drawing now. My staircase is lighted by three windows of ample size which surround the landing, and if you have a taste for flowers painted on glass, the ornamental borders of each sash may be studied as brilliant examples of all that should be avoided in decorative art. I have often thought of removing them, but have been deterred from doing so, partly out of con- sideration for my landlord, but chiefly, I confess, by motives of economy. My scruples, however, are being overcome by our good housemaid, Susan, who considerately manages to break one of the panes about once a month, and in these circumstances I feel amply justified in replacing it with plain glass. I calculate that on the expiration of my lease all the painted panes will have disappeared. If I remain in the house, I shall do so with a clear conscience, and if I don't, the next tenant will have much to be grateful for. I do not, however, contemplate all of Susan's accidents with the same equanimity. When, for instance, in the course of her dusting operations, she endeavoured to reach a top shelf in my bookcase by Domestic Catastrophes 45 standing on an inverted china bowl, which succumbed to her weight and was smashed to atoms on the floor, or when, under plea of cleaning my best specimen of Venetian glass, she plunged it into a tub of boiling water and was surprised to hear it ' go crack ' ; when she endeavoured to clean the gilding of an ancient picture-frame by a generous use of yehow soap and soda, and when she laid a piece of choice Oriental embroidery with its face downwards on a newly polished table (to keep it, as she said, from the dust), I must admit that I lost my temper. But these were the errors of youth and inexperience. She is more careful now. Out of my last two dozen hock glasses I have at least fifteen left, and I don't think the sash lines snap qidte, so frequently as they did. As a rule, servants have an accommodating way of sharing between them the blame which attaches to breakages. Thus, when Susan hits one of the gas- globes with a step ladder she expresses great regret, but cheerfully adds that it is only cracked and will last for years. A fortnight later the same globe comes to pieces in Mary's hands, but then, as she justly remarks, it was cracked ever so long ago, and '.was bound to go, pleassir, some time if you was as gentle as a lamb with it.' As master of the house I find it extremely difficult to answer these arguments, and, on the principle of ' the less said the better,' I 46 Our Staircase usually restrict myself to monosyllables more or less emphatic. In summer my wife, who is very fond of flowers, makes the staircase gay with geraniums, calceolarias, marguerites, and mignonette. They give a little trouble in the way of daily watering, leaf-picking, &c., and add something to the monthly bills, but, after all, it does not amount to more than a few pounds a year, and, to my mind, the money is well spent. What is a town house without flowers ? Not all the elegant furniture, gorgeous brocades, or costly bric-a-brac which a wealthy connoisseur can assemble under one roof will charm the eye like a country garden, and we, whom an unkindly fate rarely allows to set foot in one, may be thankful for the honest industry which fills our florists' shops with customers, and decks the dull windows of many a London street. A few con- servatory stands filled with evergreens, a majolica pedestal here and there crowned with a pretty bowpot, a solanum plant inserted in aterra-cotta vase, a bunch of daffodils in a Venetian beaker, are, after all, inex- pensive luxuries, and help to egayer many a modest home. Pictures, bronzes, marbles, and old china may be delightful in their way, but it is not everyone who can afford to buy them. Flowers and flowering shrubs are within reach of most purses. ' All a- blowing, a-gr owing ! ' Hark ! there is the botanical 'Duke Domttm!' 47 pedlar bawling out his variegated ware as he pushes his truck before him down the street. Let us hail him and buy a hyacinth for the mantelpiece. In the season my wife's smart friends are pleased to compliment her on the appearance of our staircase, and, to say the truth, it looks more cheerful than many which she sees during a round of calls on people whose income must be five times as much as ours. A little pains, a little sense of the picturesque, a little love of home life will often go as far as a big cheque in housekeeping. It is a very old and hackneyed ques- tion how far wealth increases one's happiness, and I am not going to moralise about it. The enjoyment of money I suppose mainly depends upon two questions : first, how it is acquired, and, secondly, how it is spent. To pass from narrow circumstances to comfort is a great gain in every sense — morally, physically, and socially. Few things are more humiliating than the painful minuteness of needful economy. The man who has to look twice at every shilling before he lays it down, who is perpetually worried by the considera- tion whether he can afford this or that trifle, is apt to grow mean and small-minded. To rise from this state to that of easy competence ; to be able to keep a fair balance at one's bankers', to have enough for oneself and a little more to spare for others — that indeed is worth a struggle in the great battle of life, and those 48 Our Staircase who win their way to such a condition are to be con- gratulated. But, having arrived at this goal, to plod wearily on toiling and moiling for more and more money, and allowing the attainment of that object to absorb one's energies — to sacrifice health, spirits, family affection, the cultivation of taste and easy leisure for the sake of amassing riches — is a career which no one need envy. You might as well be a galley-slave in golden chains. As for those who live on what is called an ' un- earned increment,' I cannot pretend to judge, having had little or no experience in that line, but I can truly say that if my patrimony had been a large one I should have missed a great deal of simple pleasure in house- keeping. The happy bride and bridegroom who return after a month's tour in Scotland or the Italian lakes to their mansion in Belgravia, which has been fitted up by those eminent decorators Messrs. Brocas & Gildwell, at a cost of say five thousand pounds, look round and admire no doubt, but can hardly take much interest in their surroundings. Those elegant appointments represent no indi- vidual taste, no long-deferred wishes, no nice calcula- tions of cost, no lucky bargains or gradual rises in the scale of comfort. The owners have acquired satiety too soon ; there is nothing left to desire. They have discounted the greater part of their pleasure. Res Augusta Domi 49 When we first set up an establishment it was a small flat in Bloomsbury, and I suppose our first out- lay in furniture did not exceed 500Z. In those days it was difficult — almost impossible — to buy even a chiffonier of decent design. Every article partaking of what is now called ' artistic ' taste had to be made expressly and at an extravagant price, not because it was elaborate in workmanship, but because it was unusual in form. Until we could afford more luxurious seats, I remember that we furnished our dining-room with ' Windsor ' chairs, which I preserve to this day — in my kitchen. The construction of our tables, book- cases, &c., was entrusted to an intelligent cabinet- maker, and their progress watched with vast interest. Our window curtains were selected after long consulta- tion as the only tolerable specimens of textile work among a heap of horrors. The fitting up of our mantelpieces was the result of deep study. The choice of wall-papers and carpets kept us in a state of enjoyable excitement. How delighted we were to find a dinner service of a tolerable pattern ! The arrival of our sofa was quite an event. As year by year we haunted sale-rooms and picked up bargains in the way of marquetry, blue china, and old metal-work, every fresh acquisition was a source of joy to us — something to anticipate, something to talk about, something to love and enjoy when we got E so Our Staircase it. We furnished our home, in short, by degrees, and every addition to its contents marked a little epoch in our experience. Now, supposing that, instead of this, some benefi- cent fairy — or wealthy ancestor — had given us the means to indulge in lavish expenditure just as we were starting in life, and we had been popped down all at once in a house crowded with luxuries, what a deal of amusement we should have lost. For this reason, among many others, I am thankful to a kindly fate that I was not born a rich man. If ever I should become one, may I keep a light heart ! ' Det vitam : det opes : asquum mi animum ipse parabo.' As I pass up or down my staircase the sketches on the walls recall pleasant memories of many a summer holiday. That view from the ivy- and clematis-clad arbour, looking on the lovely lake of Thun with the pyramidal Niesen in the distance, the red-roofed, picturesque, old town itself, in bright sunlight under a blue sky, reminds me of a pleasant fortnight in the hospitable Bellevue Hotel. That sturdy brick arch, through which one sees a lengthy vista of marble fish- stalls and a quaintly shadowed alley, was sketched in the Ghetto at Eome many, many years ago. They tell me that the Pescheria has been long pulled down, and that the walls of the Coliseum, thickly covered, when I saw them last, with overhanging foliage and ' Colours idly Spread' 51 creepers, are now shaved as clean as a billiard ball. Here is an old half-timbered cottage before which I sat down at Eochefort in Belgium during our stay in the Ardennes, and there is a bit of the ancient fosse which surrounds the walls of Dinan. That village scene, with the peasant girl riding down the street on a tall sleek mule, and rustic laundry-women kneeling over the conduit, occupied me for several happy morn- ings at Evolena in the Val d'Herens. The drawing just above it represents a church porch in the neigh- bourhood of Locarno, and the contadina sitting in its shade was, if the truth must be told, painted from a young English lady who good-naturedly donned that humble costume and posed as my model. Souvenirs of France, Germany, and Belgium— im- pressions of scenery in the Salzkammergut and the Pyrenees — effects of light and shade in Scotland, blots of colour in Wales, and studies of foliage in the New Forest — here they all hang side by side, relics of a harmless industry which, if unprofitable in a financial sense, has at least given me a vast deal of pleasure. A man who carries a sketch-book and can fill it with tolerable studies during his excursions has, I fancy, a certain advantage over his fellow tourists. Travelling itself is all very well for a while, but as you move from place to place looking at fresh scenery every day — lakes, mountains, waterfalls, woodland, E 2 52 Our Drawing-room rushing rivers, pasture-land, and snow-fields — as you hasten through town after town, inspecting cathedrals, museums, fiazze, and palaces, confess now, don't you find the whole business rather wearisome after a fort- night ? Isn't it rather a relief when you arrive at a place where there is no church to examine and no pictures to criticise ? What a deal of perfunctory work we discharge under the name of sightseeing ! And then the hurry and bustle of the whole afi'air. Half your time is spent in packing and unpacking — settling hotel bills, catching trains, and what not. How can one enjoy such a holiday ? There is no leisure, no repose, no comfort in touring. I protest that if anyone undertook to fi'ank me on a journey round the world free of charge, on condition that I should never remain more than two days in the same place, I would not accept the offer. No ; give me six weeks' leave with an alpenstock, a sketch-book, and permission to divide the time between a mountain valley in Switzerland, a comfortable hotel on one of the Italian lakes, and a fortnight's stay at Venice or Perugia, and I will undertake to enjoy myself — weather permitting. But we have been dawdling too long on the stair- case. Let us pass through that door on the left and enter the drawing-room. It is not a very large one, and certainly not big enough for what house-agents Frugal Hospitalities 53 describe as 'purposes of reception.' It might hold about thirty people — all told — with convenience. More would certainly crowd it. In our younger days, when we followed the practice of our betters and attempted an occasional ' At Home,' I am ashamed to remember how many guests we invited to assemble in that room — how they overflowed down the stair- case on to the balconies and even into the dining-room below. It is certainly an inexpensive mode of paying off social obligations, and I find that even people of afSuence are not deterred by their wealth from indulg- ing in this form of economy. A few quarts of tea and coffee (with the massive family plate of course en evi- dence), a dozen or so of champagne — or that dangerous mixture known as claret-cup — a modest supply of mayonnaise, parsley-decked sandwiches, and ices ad libitum, six ex-butlers or hired waiting- women behind the buffet, and a linkman bawling out for carriages at the door, do not, after all, represent a very large out- lay of income, and I have known these simple elements of hospitality form the basis of what is popularly regarded as an entertainment. But the follies of my youth are now abandoned. I hate ' crushes,' and unless I am dining out elsewhere, never go to evening parties. Consequently we never give them, and as a lounge for a few friends my drawing-room does very well. 54 Our Drawing-room The room is simply, but I hope prettily, furnished — so at least my friends are pleased to say. That velvet- covered settle is copied from one in the long gallery at Knole Park, and the chairs are an attempt to combine the comfortable with the picturesque. Those mantel- piece mirrors date from an early period — I mean the first days of our housekeeping — and though they are out of fashion now, I keep them for old association's sake, and because they brighten up the room. The glazed cabinet is filled with lucky bargains picked up for years past on the Continent and London sale-rooms — old china, A^enetian glass, and a hundred nick- nacks. That ebonised chiffonier between the windows is panelled with plaques of bristol-board overlaid with Italian needlework at least two centuries old. They represent the mythical adventures of one Bertoldo, a naughty boy, who may be seen riding backwards on a donkey, hiding in a furnace, carried up into the air by cranes, and taking part in a score of wonderful adventures too numerous to detaU. Each panel is inscribed with a distich from an old Florentine ballad describing the incident represented. There are four- and-twenty scenes, some of them full of humour, and reminding one of Caldecott's designs. In the days of my childhood a large round table was considered indispensable in every English draw- ing-room. Except in old-fashioned houses one never Music without Charms 55 sees such a thing nowadays. In its place are sub- stituted three or four small circular tables which upholsterers call ' occasional,' though wha.t they occasion, unless it is accidents when upset, I have never been able to see. On these pieces of furniture my wife is pleased to pile books, newspapers, flower-pots, work-baskets, and photograph stands in such an ingenious manner that it is difficult to remove one article without disturbing the rest. It is almost like a game of ' Spellicans ' on a large scale, and only constant practice enables me to play it successfully. For my own part I generally lose not only the game, but my temper, and all this comes of not understanding the requirements of a fashionable drawing-room. I can't say much for the piano, and, judging from the volume of sound which reaches our ears from a rival instrument next door, I should say that ours was not quite so noisy as my neighbour's. But whether that is an advantage or not I do not presume to judge, for taste differs so much on these matters, and I am not what is called a musical man. Once a month a gentle-looking youth comes to tune it, and is received with great joy by our little terrier 'Pixie,' who barks during the whole performance if he is not locked up elsewhere, a fact which I believe has seriously affected the quality of the bass notes. 56 Our Drawing-room The walls of our drawing-room are hung with water-colour drawings and a few copies from the old masters. Among the latter I chiefly prize a repro- duction of Botticelli's well-known ' tondo ' in the Uflizi Gallery at Florence, representing the Virgin and Child surrounded by angels, and another equally good copy of his ' Prima Vera.' In these two wonderful designs we may admire, I think, all that is most lovely and attractive in this gifted painter's work, and at the same time recognise the two great influences which inspired his hand. They are widely removed in aim and essence from each other, one breathing that spirit of devotion and saintly grace which, in art and literature at least, characterised mediaeval Christianity ; the other instinct with the love of life, of freedom, of intellectual exercise and physical beauty which we associate with the Eenaissance. Filipepi, no doubt, sincerely felt both in turn : hesi- tated as we know between them, and it is to this fortunate vacillation that the world owes one of the most beautiful religious pictures and one of the most interesting allegories ever portrayed. It would be too much to expect all the ladies who share my wife's five o'clock tea to appreciate these works, which I find they describe as ' quaint,' ' prse- Eaphaelite,' ' curious,' ' ritualistic,' or ' comical ' as the spirit moves them. But there is in the same A Sixteenth Centtiry Valentine 57 room another treasure of pictorial art which interests them vastly, because it represents a betrothal, a subject always sure to awaken sympathy in the female mind, whether depicted on canvas or recorded in the ' Morning Post.' The work in question is a miniature painting, evidently by a French or Flemish artist of the 16th century. The young couple stand side by side, clad in the costume of the period, and about to join hands. The features of each wear an expression of intense respect, but to a modern eye rather too serious to denote enthusiasm. The bridegroom is somewhat priggish in appearance, and the lady is only fairly good-looking, but the emblems by which they are surrounded leave no doubt as to their affection. Above the pair are two hearts intertwined in a true lovers' knot, a device suggestive of the 14th of February when valentines were in vogue. The scene is enriched by a border of marigolds and pansies, very cleverly painted, and in the background are inscribed, in old French, various verses of an amatory nature. The following is a specimen : — ■ ' Soulcy d'Amour en ma doulee pens^e heureusement a sorty son effaict, puisque tu m'as ta grace dispenses et ton vouloir pareil au mien est faiot, Le bien d'Amour monstre I'effaict parfaict. 58 Our Drawing-room ' En jouyssant de la vie amoureuse parfaicte amour de Vertu vigoreuse faict a nous deux ses gracieux accords : Et au soulcy de la pens6e heureuse Vindrent deux coeurs, deux &mes et deux corps.' The frame which encloses this httle picture is in itself a work of art. It is of cinque-cento design with a column on either side, resting on a plinth and supporting an entablature, both elaborately en- riched with gilt bas-reliefs, in which amorini, fruit and flowers are introduced, while in the tympanum of an arched pediment above is a finely modelled figure of Ceres, reclining in a cornfield. This is our latest and favourite toy, and in order to protect the gilding we have placed it in a glass case. Alack, alack ! what children we all are ! Three hundred years ago it was the plaything of other fools, perhaps the two lovers whose portraits I have just described. How did they fare, I wonder, in wed- lock ? Was that grace dispcnsec doled out habitually or did the supply run short after a while ? Soulcy d'Amour and doidccs pensces are all very well in a honeymoon, but when the business of life begins, those flowers of romance (for you will perceive the poet's punning allusion to pansies and marigolds) no longer symbolise the thoughts and cares which are uppermost in the minds of most mortals. There is the world before us, with ambition, duty, social obligations. ' At Home ' Days 59 family claims, the necessity for work perhaps, or the love of pleasure, all pulling us different ways : and we yield in this direction or that as our several tempera- ments, or the Fates, decree. It would interest me vastly to know the names of these young people, where they settled down, whether they Uved to grow old, how many children, if any, survived them, and what has become of their descend- ants. I should hke to trace out any existing members of the family, and show them this picture of their ancestors, who, for what I know, may have intended it as an heirloom to be handed down from generation to generation. And lo ! three centuries after it was painted, here it is among aliens in a modern London drawing-room. Once a week, when it pleases my wife to call her- self 'At Home,' her friends rally round her in this apartment. I am seldom present on those festive occasions, but I am given to understand that our best silver teapot has to be replenished several times between four and six o'clock; that cake, bread and butter, and biscuits are in constant requisition, that most of the guests stay an hour or so, and that con- versation never flags. With regard to the latter fact, I can readily believe — and I speak from personal experience — that my wife would set an excellent ex- ample, and indeed it seems a wise provision of nature 6o Our Drawing-room that women who are sent mto this world to cheer and solace us, and who are debarred by various causes from taking much physical exercise, should be pos- sessed of such remarkable energy as talkers. Take, for instance, my dear friend Lady Clacke Millington, who will entertain you for the best part of an afternoon with her artless prattle. It is not that what she says shows much erudition or even humour, but then there is so much of it — such an unceasing flow of language. She is never at a loss for a word. It is wonderful. Again, there is my wife's Scotch cousin, Mrs. McJauleigh, whose powers of verbal amplification are such, that one out of her vast y'vpcrhnre of anecdotes would fill a chapter in this volume. There is nothing too trival, nothing too abstruse to be included in her narrative. She omits no details, and I have known her to correct herself twice respecting the day of the week on which an apparently unimportant circum- stance occurred, so anxious is she always to be accurate in telling her good stories. It is a great virtue, that of accuracy in conversation, and it helps to while away the time so ! When Mrs. McJauleigh gets me into a convenient corner, I am, so to speak, absorbed. I can talk to no one else. Partly on this account, because it would seem rude to confine one's attention to a particular guest, and partly because Five clock Tea-Talk 6i our male friends rarely come to five o'clock teas, I modestly refrain from attending them myself, and thus the ladies have it all their own way. Among other advantages it gives them an excel- lent opportunity to admire each other's dresses ; to recount (of course in confidei:ice) the wonderful bargains which they struck at Blackwood's recent sale in the Avenue ; how that lovely mantle, of which the original price was ten guineas (so the shopman said), came to be acquired for six ; why that charming hat, which was sent as a pattern straight from Paris only two months ago, was purchased by its happy owner at half its proper cost ; and where elegant boots of the very best manufacture can be obtained at an absurdly cheap rate, simply because their heels are only two inches high, the present fashion requiring an elevation of three from the ground. Among the married ladies, no doubt, some of the conversation turns on family matters, as, for instance, the cutting of dear baby's teeth ; Bob's recent vaccina- tion ; Lucy's attack of measles ; Harry's first experi- ences at Eugby ; Sylvia's success at Girton, and what not. And here let me say in a parenthesis, that if the result of what is called the ' higher education ' of women be half as beneficial as our modern reformers antici- pate, British wives and mothers in the next generation will be- very remarkable members of society. 62 Our Drawing-room Every department of ' culture ' — art, literature, science, and moral philosophy — has been thrown open to them in girlhood. What a rich harvest of intel- lectual fruit this ought to bear hereafter ! One wonders sometimes how, in the midst of their multi- farious studies, these fair graduates will find time, or, indeed, feel inclination, for the humdrum functions of daily life, for household duties, for nursery cares, for friendly intercourse and domestic sympathy. Will they ever condescend to such homely offices as ordering the dinner, looking after their servants, keeping the rooms tidy, watching by the bed of a sick child, or cheering the bread-winner when he comes back after a hard day's work ? Perhaps some may be found who, while maintaming their high intellectual standard, will not neglect these feminine pleasures and obligations, but, at present, men who have arrived at the age of fogeydom may be excused for feeling a little doubtful on that point. Meanwhile, let us ask ourselves, what has been the immediate result of this education craze. Has it made our girls generally more agreeable, more modest, more useful, more unselfish, more dutiful, or more attrac- tive than their mothers ? Of the hundreds who, year by year, carry off high school prizes, pass local exami- nations and win scholarships, how many turn their erudition to account ? In their insatiable thirst for Prtiits of Culture 63 knowledge, some of them, I fancy, have imbibed but little of the milk of human kindness. Amid their devotion to the arts, not a few have left the graces unheeded. The study of quadratic equations may be all very well, but, for my part, I would rather that my daughter had mastered the mysteries of plam stitching. It seems flat heresy to say so, but I cannot help thinking it more important that she should be a good housewife than be able to remember the agrarian laws of Spurius Cassius. To be intelligent, to have a bright sense of humour — which means a quick perception and a kindly heart — to be affectionate and respectful to her elders, sym- pathetic to the young, patient and amiable to her inferiors, to be discreet, methodical, and zealous in the management of her home : these are the qualities which, if we spoke truly, most of us prize in a woman, and which will secure more happiness to herself and those about her, than if she had studied a dozen treatises on geology, and learned enough Greek to read Plato without a crib. Five o'clock teas supply to the ladies the same sort of social intercourse among themselves which a man gets at his club, and it would be selfish to be- grudge them an afternoon, once a week let us say during the season, to meet each other, exchange ideas, 64 Our Drawing-room and indulge in a little harmless gossip. There is a vulgar notion that at these re-unions a great deal of scandal is retailed. That I believe to be an unfounded calumny. Time was, no doubt, when Mrs. Candour and Lady Sneerwell said their say in London drawing- rooms, and found a ready audience among ' people of quality.' But, thank goodness. Society has undergone great changes since Sheridan's day, and ladies of fashion no longer meet to slander their fair neighbours. Apart from the moral aspects of the question, it would be considered bad form. Ill-natured innuendoes are now no more tolerated among well-bred women than dubious stories among gentlemen after dinner. There must be old folks, and smart old folks too, of both sexes, still living, who remember those odious customs, and preserve a wise reticence over the follies and bad taste of their youth. I don't suppose we are much wiser or more virtuous than our ancestors, but at least we have learnt to govern our tongues. So let us hope that no mischief or malice is whispered in our drawing-room. Perhaps the conver- sation is not very learned or edifying, but ladies, like ourselves, do not want to be always instructed, and, for my own part, I think a female prig is worse than a male one, which is saying a great deal. In these solemn days of culture let us be thankful that we have some leisure left for small talk and frivolity. Great heavens ! Duties, Social and Domestic 65 what a dreary world this would be without a little idleness and merriment ! The judicious goodwife who welcomes her husband's friends round her little tea table now and then does him an inestimable service, and indeed it is the only way in which a circle of acquaintance, whether useful or ornamental, can be properly kept up. Abolish five o'clock ' at homes,' and Society will soon forget you. I have no patience with women who say that they have no time for calling on each other. A man might as well urge that he has no time for exercise. Both are necessary for a healthy life. But our drawing-room is not always full. In the morning that old-fashioned bureau sees a deal of M'ork done ; letters written, accounts examined, household matters considered, daily orders given, invitations received or dispatched, new books cut open, maps consulted, dictionaries turned over, pens, ink, and paper usefully employed. Sometimes the flower -pots want replenishing, and one comes home to find the room gay with gems from Covent Garden or the neighbouring florist. Some- times the china requires washing; sometimes the furniture has to be rubbed up, or the pictures need dusting. The eyes of the mistress, if not her hands, are necessary for all these little domestic cares, and she who entrusts such work entirely to her servants is either an idle or a foolish one. F 66 Our Drawing-room I fancy there is more energy required in the management of a small household than we bearded creatures, who rush away every day after breakfast to our offices, our chambers, or our studios, generally realise. If ' man goeth forth to his work and to his labour until the evening,' the women whom he leaves at home are not idle. Here would be a famous opportunity for moralis- ing on the duties of a wife, but that, as every married man knows, is dangerous ground. We will assume, therefore, that by 8 o'clock p.m. we are all satisfied with ourselves and our belongings — down to the cook — at Terra-cottage, and if that is so, it will be pleasant after dinner to sit round the drawing-room fireplace for a quiet chat, or listen as some one reads aloud a smart article in our favourite review or a cheery novel, just to keep us all awake until bedtime. 67 CHAPTER IV OUR ' LITTLE ONES ' If I had to give a cursory and concise definition of Terra-cottage, I should describe it as the Paradise of Pets. Small domestic quadrupeds of one kind or another have been established there for years past, and during their successive lives have reigned supreme over the whole establishment, sometimes as single and abso- lute monarchs, sometimes adopting the principle of a dual government, occasionally lapsing into an olig- archy, but always exercising complete sway over their human subjects, and exacting from them an obedience and devotion which have rarely, if ever, faltered. It would be difficult to assign any particular date to the origin of this system of administration. The first ruler concerning whose life any authentic par- ticulars are recorded was a toy Maltese pup, named, probably from the silky texture of his snow-white coat, ' Fluffy,' who ascended the throne, or rather was lifted on to the best easy chair, at a very youthful age. He was adored by the household, who vied with each other in ministering to his comforts, and provid- F 2 68 Our 'Little Ones' ing him with dainty food and amusements suitable to his years, or, to speak more correctly, his months. Being of a frail constitution, it was naturally thought probable that ordinary canine fare might disagree with him. Accordingly chicken wings and milk, sopped sponge cakes, and other refined delicacies formed his principal diet, which he consumed with amazing relish and a lofty disregard for the conven- tional decorum of artificial life, more especially with respect to crumbs. He evinced an intelligent in- terest in his mistress's household duties — assisted her in the daily function of ordering dinner with such assiduity that he has been known to tumble down the kitchen stairs in the hasty prosecution of this object, and never failed when he had a chance to inspect the contents of the larder, where his curiosity was raised to a greater height than his front paws, which only reached to the lowest shelf. He was an amiable and affectionate creature if the outward and visible signs of puppy-pleasure may be trusted. But to say that he wagged his tail would be an empty compliment. It had been docked so short in infancy that it positively vibrated with delight — and he was never known to squeal except when his claws got entangled with his coat, or when a dinner guest occasionally mistook him for a footstool under the table. Unfortunately these endearing characteristics A Morbid Appetite 69 were not accompanied by much depth of intellect. Fluffy was, it must be confessed, of a very frivolous disposition. His habit of climbing over the parlour- maid's ankles during family prayers — even after having been carefully consigned to his basket — cannot be excused, and though a spirit of inquiry and investi- gation is perhaps natural to youth, it would hardly justify his endeavouring to scatter the contents of the coal-box on the drawing-room hearth-rug as a means of athletic exercise. Whether his daily regimen palled upon his ap- petite or whether his taste became perverted through premature self-indulgence we never could understand, but certain it is that before he had arrived at ma- turity, he had developed an abnormal craving for strange and unwholesome articles of diet, ranging from half-knitted woollen socks to best screened Wallsend. During these gastronomical experiments he one day unhappily selected for his lunch a sherry cork, which proved too much for his digestion, and cut short a career which will always live in our memory. Fluffy was a pure-bred dog, and under an impres- sion that the southern blood which he inherited was a cause of delicacy in his constitution we determined that his successor should be of a hardier sort. It so happened that about this time a highly respected cabman, with a turn for zoology, who "JO Our 'Little Ones' resided in a neighbouring mews, brought to us a litter of pups accompanied by their mother, a native of Scot- land, whose late husband had been of Maltese origin. They were fat little creatures, chiefly remarkable for their thick, curly, white coats and unsophisticated manners. There was not much to choose between them, but we selected the liveliest and dismissed the rest of the family. The Scotch widow, finding herself in the entrance hall with only four out of five of her little ones, looked uneasy, counted them again to make quite sure, and at first was for bolting back into the dining- room to reclaim her missing infant. But after a little moral persuasion and the free gift of a mutton-chop bone, she took a philosophical view of her domestic bereavement and trotted off at the cabman's heels. Our new pet was christened ' Mopsy,' but in course of time the name became corrupted into ' Mossy,' and finally settled down into ' Moss.' He was very small when he first came to us — so small that the exertion of barking frequently capsized him ; but as he grew older he developed longitudinally, like a pocket tele- scope. He had a fine white coat and a beautiful head, which I suspect he inherited from his papa, with large black eyes as brilliant as an onyx, but the proportions of his body were not satisfactory, and, if the truth must be told, somewhat plebeian. 'Moss,' neither Green nor Soft 71 Whatever deficiencies were observable, however, in his physical appearance, were more than redeemed by his moral nature. I use the word moral in its widest sense, because to this day I am still in doubt whether good or evil most predominated in his dis- position. But he certainly was a dog of great cha- racter. Having foreseen in early youth the personal inconvenience which would ensue from his being called on to perform any canine tricks, he steadily refused to learn any ; made believe that he was too weak in the spine to stand begging, and when we gave him a stick to carry let it drop out of his mouth with an absent air, as if he didn't know what we meant. He also shammed deafness when it suited his purpose, and the only whistle he ever paid attention to was one at the end of a whip. In reality he was wonderfully intelligent, and not only learned to discriminate between a coaxing voice and a scolding voice, but was particularly sensitive to ridicule or any imputation of disgrace. He lived in a little wicker house which he kept in great order, carefully shaking up the mat to ensure comfort in his afternoon nap, and looking out from the door with the conscious pride of possession ; but if he were peremptorily sent there by way of punishment, he regarded it in the light of an insult. There is not much difference in the sound of the words 72 Our 'Little Ones' ' biscuit ! ' and ' basket ! ' The former would set his tail wagging, but it stopped the moment he heard the latter, which was the signal for his retreat. He conceived a deep-rooted aversion to two objects, one was my umbrella, and the other a book of family photographs. In the first instance his dislike may be attributed to the fact that I found the umbrella ferrule useful when he lingered unnecessarily during our walks (for being a lazy dog I made a point of taking him out every morning for a constitutional)-, but why he hated the photograph book so bitterly I could never understand. The very sight of it threw him into a fury — and if Moss had a weak point it was temper. It was wonderful that a really harmless dog (for he was never known to bite man, woman, or child) should get into such frightful passions. A few words of sharp reproof would raise his indignation to such a height that he positively chattered with rage. It was neither a bark, nor a howl, nor a whine, but the sounds which he uttered on these occasions were the nearest approach to canine swearing that I ever heard, and his expression for the time was positively malig- nant. But his anger did not last long. After a few minutes' retirement in his basket he would come out again, very penitent, and heartily ashamed of himself. For, with all his bad temper, Mr, Moss was an affec- A Pleasant Cat and Dog Life 73 tionate little creature, and so devoted to his mistress that he positively pined away one autumn when she was away from home some weeks longer than usual. Among four-footed companions he contracted more than one friendship during his career. He was on excellent terms with the family cat, and took such a lively interest in her domestic troubles that we generally saved one kitten from each litter to be his special playmate. The delight which he evinced at the fresh advent of each little stranger never palled. He would bark and caper round it with the utmost glee as it lay sprawling on the hearth-rug; then stop breathless to watch its movements, and presently dart forward and seize the little creature's leg or tail in his mouth, but always with the most tender care and gentleness. Mistress Pussy, who came to regard him in the light of a privileged godfather, used to sit watching their antics with supreme satisfaction, and — though she disliked dogs in general — placed un- bounded confidence in Mr. Moss. Female cats no doubt are very interesting, but the interest in them culminates, if I may venture so to put it, too frequently, and the duty of providing a comfortable home or a watery grave two or three times a year for half a dozen limp little purblind squealing creatures is really a heavy responsibility, from which the inhabitants of Terra-cottage naturally 74 Our 'Little Ones' shrink. So we incline to Toms, and so long as they are respectably conducted (as they generally are) indoors, we don't trouble ourselves much about their morals elsewhere. We have had some delightful Toms. There was ' Parker ' (so called from the fact of his having been found while a wee kitten in Kensington Gardens). He used to sit on my shoulder at breakfast time, answer with a sort of chirrupy mew when he was called, scratched all the dining-room chairs with strict impartiality, and attained amazing skill in the capture of buzzing flies. There was ' Sandy,' whose lovely yellow-brown coat was the envy of all the cats in the neighbourhood, a splendid mouser, but he only hunted for amusement and never deigned to eat his prey. Indeed, so delicate was he in his diet that he has been known to turn aside from yesterday's milk with an air of disdain, and, fond as he was of fish, he never could bring himself to taste red-herring. Sandy was, in short, an epicure, and, if the truth must be told, somewhat of a rake. Some excuse may be urged on the ground of his youth and the dangerous attractiveness of his exterior, but nothing can palliate the indiscriminate gallantry of his conduct and the heedless disregard of principle, which made him at once the adoration and the terror of his neighbours. Abductioii of Sandy 75 I have seen five lady-cats sitting in watch for him (and pretending not to see each other) in the square garden outside our house. The nightly revels and early morning concerts held on the turf, in defiance of the Garden Committee's rules, filled us with dismay. Old General O'Currie, who lives a few doors off, vowed and declared that the next time he was dis- turbed from his slumbers at 5 a.m. he would have recourse to the revolver which he always kept in his bedroom, 'and let fly into the whole d d lot of them, by Jove ! ' But fate had ordained otherwise. Sandy's frailties were indeed avenged, but neither by poison nor pistol- shot. One unlucky day he disappeared. At first we made light of it, knowing at that time he was paying his attentions to a young and charming tabby at No. 25. But after forty-eight hours had elapsed we began to be uneasy. We sent round to all the adjacent houses to make inquiries after him, but without success. We had cards printed and dispatched by post to every shop and dwelling in the neighbourhood, offering a handsome reward for his recovery. Alas, all in vain ! We never saw Sandy again. I hope he came to no harm — I mean no bodily injury. But he was a handsome and valuable cat, well worth stealing. And my belief has always been that he was carried off and sold to some dealer, 76 Our 'Little Ones' After the demise of Mr. Moss the household became inconsolable, and it was generally agreed that out of respect to his memory a reasonable time should elapse before any steps were taken to supply his place. An impression seemed to prevail, indeed, that the void occasioned by his loss in all our hearts was one which no four-footed pet could ever fill again. Phyllis, whose opinion on such a point no one ventured to question, vowed and declared that she could never love another dog as well as her lamented favourite, and, in short, we came to regard any suggestion to the contrary as unfeeling and heartless. Time, however, will fortunately assuage the bitter- est of domestic griefs, and when, after a trip to Switzer- land, we had all returned in good health and spirits, I watched mj' opportunity and made a secret expedition to the neighbourhood of Seven Dials, with the view of in- specting the stock of several eminent dog- fanciers in that region. The result was that one fine October morning there arrived at our house a cab, out of which briskly stepped a stout and rather shrewd-looking gentleman in a velveteen coat, fur cap, and corduroy trousers, carrying a Yorkshire toy terrier in his hand, with two others peering out of his coat pockets, while a couple more followed at his heels at the imminent risk of being trodden on, as he wiped his feet at the door mat. A Lucky Choice Tj Presently they all came bounding into the dining- room, whence (their manners being as yet undisciplined and free from all sense of propriety) they were speedily allowed to escape from a window into the adjoining garden, where we inspected them and held a brief consultation as to their respective merits. To choose one out of five puppies, all presenting various physical attractions of form and colour, and asserting their individual claims to attention by bark- ing in a chorus, would under ordinary circumstances have been no easy matter, but as it luckily turned out three of this happy family were sisters, and as their sex placed them by general consent hors de concours, the choice lay between their two long-haired brothers, brown and grey. Our destinies in this world, whether we pass through it on two or four legs, are often ruled by trifles. While we were still deliberating, the gentleman in velveteen remarked ' that colour was in course a matter of taste, some parties inclining to brown while others preferred silver-grey, but that if we wanted a lively and reg'lar good-tempered little chap, with a good 'ead and lots of spring in him, we couldn't do better than take " Tiny." ' On hearing his name the brown puppy gave such a vigorous jump into the air, that he had some difficulty to alight on his feet again. This decided us. The gentleman in velveteen withdrew after pocketing two 78 Otir 'Little Ones' of the terriers aud carrying the others. Tiny made a pathetic but unsuccessful bolt after him as the door closed, but thenceforth became our property. He had been represented by a sort of poetical — or perhaps I should say a dog-fanciful— license, as sixteen months old and free from distemper, and before remitting a cheque to his master, I asked whether he would mind sending me a memorandum to that effect. In due course I received the following reply : — Monday. Dear Sir — The lowest price of the Dog is what my man told you and verey cheape he has a cold in one eye I carnt tell you how long it will be or how it may turn out dogs has so meney things come on them now to what they used to have that I never give a War- ranted with heney live Stock. Yours Obd. Sert., Job Bakker. After a little training in deportment and the con- ventional usages of society, Tiny became a general favourite. He was, it must be confessed, distinguished by no accomplishments, and indeed the only trick he ever learned was to jump over a stick held about three inches from the ground when a biscuit was placed on the other side of it. His early but deep-rooted aver- sion to children's stockings, manifested by an unfor- Tiny gets into Trouble 79 tunate tendency to snap at them whenever he got a chance, landed us in some difficulties, especially on one occasion, when an indignant mother, accompanied by a policeman, presented herself at our door, and in- sisted on having the dog immediately slaughtered as a preliminary step towards bringing an action for damages. But faithful Phyllis, taking possession of her new pet, bade defiance to the law, and the honest constable after a careful survey of the infant's calves declared that he could find no mark of injury upon them. A huge slice of cake for the child and a pro- found apology to his mamma brought this unlucky affair to a happy issue. Ladies' pocket handkerchiefs, the legs of male visitors' trousers, and the corners of housemaids' aprons afterwards became in turn the objects of Tiny's marked, not to say misdirected, attention ; but no serious harm ensued, and everyone said it was only his play. He was a pretty little dog, with an unfailing appe- tite, but careful in his diet. He wisely abstained from rich food. Cold roast mutton was his favourite dish, and the less bread he had with it the better he was pleased, but of spinach, perhaps on sanitary grounds, he always partook freely. As he grew older his long brown hair became tinged with silver, and having a remarkably pretty 8o Our ^Little Ones ' head his portrait was painted, and presented as a birthday gift to his fond mistress by a generous friend. How the restless Httle being was induced to remain quiet long enough for the completion of the picture has always been a marvel to me. Whether he came to a confidential understanding with the lady artist on the subject of biscuits, or whether, as I rather believe, she had acquired through long experience the knack of humouring her sitters, I don't know, but certain it is that in due course the portrait was finished, and was pronounced by everyone to be a capital likeness. Tiny was very regular and methodical in his habits, and divided his time in certain proportions between the various rooms of the house and the garden. Having once established a certain routine, he adhered to it with great precision. For instance, on his master's return home every evening, after greeting him in the entrance hall, Tinj' would run before him into the study, look up wistfully towards the door of a certain cabinet, and bark energetically until a duster was taken out. Seizing one corner of this, while his master held the other. Tiny would enter with great zeal into a brief game of ' pull devil, pull baker,' and make believe by sheer force of superior strength to tug his human play-mate into the adjoining room. If this fiction was faithfully preserved up to the end of the struggle, the Tiny's Characteristics 8i little creature would rush off with a triumphant air, wagging his tail. But if by any accident the game was abandoned before its climax, he at once became disconcerted, like a child baulked in his play. I don't think he liked being combed and brushed every morning, but after being accustomed to that ordeal he submitted to it with resignation, partly from his respect for routine, and partly I believe because he came to regard it at last in the light of a religious exercise. Tiny never grew fat or unwieldy, and indeed he was not naturally a greedy dog. It was therefore no doubt from a mistaken idea about proprietary rights that he returned to his platter and hastily bolted the remnants of his dinner whenever Belshazzar (the cat) entered the room at meal time. His sense of humour was remarkable, and manifested itself in various ways. But his favourite joke was to get up an imaginary ' row ' with his master, to whom he was greatly at- tached. Anything served as a pretext for the dispute, and the more trifling it was the better the fun. The assurance which the little creature showed in his mimic wrath was wonderful. Nothing daunted him. It was in vain that he was scolded and threatened with a walking-stick. He only barked the louder and wagged his tail more vigorously. Sometimes, when both com- batants were exhausted, a truce was made, and then G 82 Our 'Little Ones' to see Tiny rush up and lick his master's hand with dehght was truly pathetic. Tiny was often on the sick list. Eheumatism, coughs, boils, and toothache attacked him in turn, but, thanks to the careful nursing of his devoted Phyllis, he pulled through these disorders, and consideriag the amount of extra petting, not to mention warm blankets and tit-bits, which he got during conva- lescence, I think he rather enjoyed being laid up. One very severe winter, when he imprudently ventured in the snow without his sealskin coat, he caught a severe cold which resulted in chronic bronchitis. We were all in despair. Every veteri- nary surgeon of note at the West End was consulted on the case ; one eminent practitioner actually arrived at the house in his brougham. Draughts, pills, embro- cations, and what not, were prescribed for him. I am almost ashamed to remember what I paid for medicine and attendance. But the cough went on, poor Tiny got thinner and thinner, and we began to think that ' physicians were in vain.' What could we expect ? they all asked. The dog was eleven years old and his days were numbered. Autumn came and we went for a six weeks' trip on the Continent, secretly doubting, though we dared not say so, whether we should ever see Tiny again. But while we were away, it occurred to the faithful Tinys Last Tubbing 83 Phyllis that change of air would do him good. She took him to her country home, where he was made free of the garden and adjoining meadows. He ran about, made friends with the family cat, rose early, hunted imaginary rabbits, and thoroughly en- joyed himself. Better still, he got rid of his cough, and when we came back from abroad we found him thoroughly convalescent, and as lively as any middle- aged terrier could expect to be. He reached the ripe age of fifteen, and though rather ' groggy on his pins,' long remained in capital condition and enjoyed a romp with his master as much as ever. He succumbed, however, at last to time. The morning bath — once a weekly ceremony — was on account of his advancing years less frequently prescribed, but for obvious reasons it could not be altogether given up. One day he had just been placed in his little tub of comfortably warm water, and Phyllis was standing ready with a hot towel, when he just ' heeled over ' as the sailors say, and was gone in a moment, poor little dog! He was buried in the back garden, his faithful nurse Phyllis attending the funeral with streaming eyes. Indeed, we were all greatly distressed at his demise. But it is a comfort to think that he had had a life of 9-lmost uninterrupted happiness. G 2 84 Ottr 'Little Ones' His successor is called ' Pixie,' a name borrowed from the fairy lore of Devonshire, but to which he has no sort of local right, being a native of Leeds, and a small rough-haired terrier of Yorkshire breed. He travelled up to London in a soap-box about nine inches square, and seems to have resented the indig- nity by a rooted dislike to brown Windsor ever since. He is full grown now, weighs about seven pounds, and is of undaunted courage. I never yet saw him attack a German boar-hound, and I trust for his sake that he never may. But he is quite capable of doing so, and the probable result of such an encounter would never occur to him. There never was such a cheeky little animal. He has differences with other dogs about twice his size, and is quite indignant at being rescued. He runs after formidable-looking rams in the Park, and I believe he would ' chivvy ' a hippopotamus if he had a chance. The family cat (a huge and good- natured creature) could slaughter him at a moment's notice, but is content to fly before Pixie, who teases him dreadfully, craftily waiting for him in dark corners, pulling his fine Persian tail, bowling him over and rolling on him out of pure mischief, until poor pussy is fain to take refuge on the mantelpiece. Even big collie-dogs and retrievers do not resent his im- pertinence, but open their big mouths with a wonder- Pixie s A ccomplishments 85 ing smile as he barks at them, wag their tails and trot amiably away. The fact is that Pixie is a general favourite, and makes friends with all his companions whether they stand on two or four legs. For all his warlike demon- strations he is the most affectionate little soul in the world, and it is impossible to help loving him. As for his accomplishments, he can fetch and carry ; beg for biscuits in the most approved fashion ; find his pet india-rubber ball when it is hidden ; jump over a stick and through a hoop a dozen times running for a lump of sugar ; while for peeling hot chestnuts without burning himself I don't know his equal. His coat gets longer and more silvery every day ; his eyes are full of fun ; his ears, whidi happily have never been clipped in accordance with the barbarous custom of former days, are pricked with a knowing air, and, though his tail was reduced in early life to modest proportions, he carries what remains of it gaily. He welcomes all visitors enthusiastically, recog- nising all old friends with marked cordiahty and doing his best to conciliate new ones, especially those who have well-polished boots, the flavour of Day and Martin's blacking having a peculiar charm for his palate which seems irresistible. He has learnt to distinguish the postman's knock from the rat-a-tat-tat of Mr. James Yellowplush, and both from the mono- 86 Our 'Little Ones ' syllabic rap given at the street-door by tradesmen's boys, whom he regards with uneasiness— not to say aversion. His notion of supreme bliss is a run in Kensington Gardens without his leather 'leader,' which he regards as a ridiculous invention, wholly inconsistent with the liberties of the subject and a proper sense of canine dignity. He is devoted to children, and evidently considers their games in the Park as having been organised for his special amusement. He runs after the balls which they throw at each other and carries them off in triumph. He tries to persuade little boys that hoops were made to jui^p through, and that it is a waste of energy to trSndle them. He ' fields ' on his own account during improvised cricket, hangs on by the tails of toy-horses as if they were his natural prey, and once nearly frightened an infant out of its wits by leaping into a perambulator with the object of purloining its rattle. He respects his collar and bells as a badge of office, but, though a dog of taste, he seems absolutely indifferent to the colour of the ribbon top-knot which forms its crowning glory. I rather think he prefers pale yellow because it reminds him of bones, but I am not sure. Pixie is of very active habits and takes a vast deal of exercise during the day. Even in wet weather he devotes himself to athletics and, faute de mieux, will Phyllis and her Pet 87 run up and down stairs by way of a ' constitutional.' In the evening he lies by the drawing-room fire plan- ning new romps for to-morrow. He is very punctual in his habits, and obeys the sound of the dinner bell with great alacrity. It need scarcely be said that Phyllis, though by no means forgetful of her dear departed pets, has trans- ferred her affection to the latest favourite. She feeds him, doctors him, gives him his weekly bath — an honour which I firmly believe he would accept from no other hands — caresses him, lectures him when he allows his sense of humour to carry him beyond the bounds of propriety, and shares her little dormitory with him, where he sleeps on a cosy rug by the side of her bed. It would be invidious to gauge the scale of his affection as manifested to various members of the household — but I do not hesitate to say that he gives the preference to ladies — partly, perhaps, on the j^jZace anx dames principle, but mainly, I think, because he finds their laps more conducive to repose than the trousered legs of his male friends. For a prolonged siesta, however, he wisely contents himself with a soft cushion on the best arm-chair, and in the absence of human companions he makes himself quite happy with pussy. Tim is older and wiser than Pixie, but, like all 88 Our 'Little Ones' sensible creatures who have attained middle life, he regards the frivolities of youth with a calm and indul- gent benevolence. It is almost a moral lesson to see that big, solemn, stately cat, robed in fur of the finest quality, decorated with martial whiskers and a huge fluffy tail, condescending to play at hide and seek or pretending to fly in alarm round the table in order to indulge Pixie in the pleasures of the chase. But he knows where to draw the line, and when he is tired of romping he withdraws behind the mantelpiece curtain, tucks it well around his portly form, and, thus secured from his beloved pal and tormenter, enjoys the warmth of the fire and sleeps in peace. I am very fond of children's society — that is for half an hour or so — and I am told that it is endurable (some say enjoyable) for a longer period. But there is no nursery in ' Terra-cottage,' and when this is the case you may be sure that four-footed pets have it all their own way. When men and women don't care for small animals, depend on it it is due to one of three causes. Either their education has been neglected, in which case they are much to be pitied — or they have children who absorb all their love, in which case it is to be hoped that they will not be disillusioned — or they are of an unsympathetic nature altogether, in which case there is nothing more to be said. A Pardonable IVeakness 89 But I can't fancy a truly happy home without pets of some kind, and if it is a fact — as it most undoubt- edly is — that many of the wisest and best of mankind have found pleasant companionship, amusement, fidelity, and affection in what is called the lower scale of creation, who shall blame more ordinary mortals, like you and me, dear madam, for yielding to the same weakness and sharing the same joy ? 90 CHAPTER V MY BOOKS When we first entered into possession of our house, a great debate ensued as to what would be the fittest name for the httle sitting-room which I chiefly occupy myself, and which I like to consider specially my own. As it contains the greater part of my books, my wife, who has a strong sense of dignity in all domestic matters, proposed that it should be known as ' The Library,' and there is certainly a mansion-like sound in the word which prepossesses strangers. On the other hand, Cousin Bridget, who in my absence covers my writing desk with her dictionaries, grammars, and exercise books in profusion, suggested that ' The Study ' would be a far more appropriate title. Now, I frequently read and write in the place, but as I generally enjoy a pipe there late in the evening, I thought, being an unpretentious sort of man, that it would answer all practical purposes if we called it ' The Smoking Eoom.' That proposal having been overruled, as savouring too much of dissolute and bachelor habits, we adopted ' The Sanctum ' as a A Literary Republic 91 compromise, and this does very well — the only draw- back being that new servants, untU undeceived on the point, have a tendency to conceive that it is used as a private chapel, and expect to be summoned there for family prayers. My collection of books is not a large one. It com- prises, perhaps, five hundred volumes all told, and they are a very mixed lot. In a big library, of course it is possible to classify and arrange works under special heads ; history, travel, fiction, poetry, and so forth. But on the shelves of my sanctum it is a question not so much of subject as of size — quarto volumes are ranged with quartos, no matter what they respectively contain, and octavos go alongside of each other, be their pages grave or gay. It is a sort of literary republic. Some are smartly bound in ' tree calf ' and green morocco, others in ' tooled antique,' others in humble cloth, but there is no distinction of rank — all are housed alike in good oak bookcases, with no distinction but that of shape. This heterogeneous arrangement rather suits my temperament, for, to say the truth, I am what is called a desultory reader. I have an idle habit of taking down a book at random according to the humour I am in. Sometimes I feel inclined for Macaulay and am presently absorbed in one of his brilliant essays, clear and precise in language, sparkling with humour. 92 My Books and distinguished by that logical method of criticism which seems to carry conviction with it. History as illustrated by his magic pen is no dry record of government statecraft and international strife. It becomes as interesting as any novel. I know it is the fashion nowadays to say there was too much romance about it. Perhaps his political bias led him occasionally to overstate a case, to mis- interpret the motives of those whom he disliked, and eulogise some of his heroes to an extent which they did not. deserve. But, after all, what chronicler, from the Venerable Bede to Mr. Freeman, can escape this imputation ? Even contemporary writers on science, art, and philosophy are always contradicting each other. Who is to judge between them ? Scribimus indocti doctique. And we, the great majority of unlearned ones, who are unable to decide when experts disagree, cannot wait for the verdict of posterity. We must choose for ourselves. Macaulay may not be infallible, but his books delight me nevertheless. Partly from old associations, and partly because I am too lazy to glean from the mass of information collated by later writers, I can spend an hour or two very pleasantly over a volume of Hume and Smollett. Their entertaining work is not much in request among enlightened students of the present day, but I have no time to consult Eadmer and Historical Shidies 93 Boniface, Matthew Pain and Eoger of Wendover. I am irritated when I find the names of my old friends Canute and Egbert spelt Cnut and Ecgbehrt. Who knows what the ' thegn ' of Cawdor means ? I like to talk still of the battle of Hastings. The victory at Senlac seems to me quite another thing. I know that I ought to read Stubbs, Ellis, Kemble, Morley, and other authorities. Yet somehow T don't. After all, most of us who are not erudite scholars must take our history second-hand. Fifty years hence it will not much matter what notions I have formed respecting the characters of Mary Queen of Scots, Oliver Cromwell, and William III. Indeed, if I adopted the views of certain contemporary historians they would be somewhat conflicting. Faute de mieux, Hume and Smollett will serve my purpose. The appetite for ancient lore is robust with some readers. They can partake of the solid food provided for them by Gibbon, Hallam and Grote. Others cannot digest it easily. They like daintier and more appetising dishes — seasoned with a little romance or records of domestic life — such as those served up by Sir Walter Scott, or that good old gossip Samuel Pepys, whose famous Diary gives one a better picture of life in the 17th century than many a learned treatise. The late Professor Brewer's indefatigable researches 94 My Books respecting the reign of Henry VIII. represent a monument of human industry, which we must all reverence, but if, without following in his footsteps, one wants a little insight into the life and times of ' bluff King Hal,' Mr. Ernest Law's delightful ' History of Hampton Court ' will supply it. I won't jDretend that I have read steadily through my twelve volumes of Sismondi, though they deal with a country which, next to my own, I love best in the world, but there they are, bound in gilt Eoman parch- ment, on my shelves ready for reference and enlighten- ment on a hundred matters about which it is well to refresh one's memory before a visit to the sunny south. As for J. Addington Symonds's 'History of the Italian Kenaissanee ' — a bulky work, too, in its way — you may be sure that has a place of honour in my little library. What a mass of information on art, literature, poetry, romance, and politics is contained in those seven scholarly books ! What patient research, culti- vated taste, and judicious criticism they represent ! For style of diction, intimate acquaintance with his subject, and wide range of study, the author has scarcely a rival. It is a pity that one has not time and energy to read more, but it is sadder still for some of us. to reflect how soon what one reads is forgotten. My memory A Fleeting Memory 95 is like a sieve. General impressions of a great man's character, leading events in history, turning points in the destiny of nations, these linger — some of them are fixed indelibly in one's mind. But details, dates of battles, names of second-rate heroes, statesmen, geo- graphical boundaries, periods of national prosperity or influence, all the useful minutiae which help to build up knowledge, and tend to make what Bacon calls a ' full man,' are provokingly evanescent. To have a retentive brain is surely one of the in- dispensable conditions to success in life. I take up a volume of Gibbons's ' Decline and Fall,' and am amazed at the huge accumulation of mere facts which he must have sought out and collated as a foundation for that prodigious work. Every page teems with notes or quo- tations from ancient writers — Cicero, Strabo, Pliny, Tacitus, Philostratus, Eusebius — a hundred names would not complete the list. One's brain reels under the contemplation of such labour. A single chapter in the book would suffice to make a man's reputation as a scholar. You read on and on, admiring the author's industry, his vast command of language, his perspi- cuity, his wit and covert satire. But when you have come to the end (and even the ' Decline and Fall ' has a finis) how much do you recollect of details ? Supposing you were asked a month later by some earnest inquirer to give him some particulars of the 96 My Books siege of Aquileia, or the battles of Cibalis and Mardia. Could you tell him what led to the revolt of Procopius ? Who were the "White Huns of Sogdiana ? When did Gregory Nazianzen accept the mission to Constanti- nople ? Do you recollect anything at all of the life and character of Stilicho ? Alas ! I greatly fear that most of these matters, deeply interesting to you when you read about them, will have filtered away into oblivion within a fortnight afterwards. What memoria technica will help you in such a case ? Some semi-historical works, indeed, from the very nature of their aim and the author's ingenious method, bear intellectual fruit of which the flavour lingers long after it has been consumed. It is not the facts adduced in support of this or that theory, but the theory itself, which leaves a lasting impression. Among such books I think Lecky's 'European Morals ' and ' History of Eationalism ' may fairly be reckoned. They deal with questions which, to the end of time, cannot fail to interest every thoughtful reader. Unsettling, perhaps, in some respects; rending veils which the timid have not cared to peep behind ; subversive of some fond delusions ; illu- mining dark corners which do not quite bear the light, and explaining a ay much that one learnt in childhood to love and revere, but written in no Darwin s Theories 97 scoffing or cynical strain. The truth must be told, but our philosopher tells it gently — I fancy sometimes with a sort of kindly sympathy for the painful doubt which his revelations create. In one passage, I remember, he dwells rather sadly on the fact that an increase of knowledge is not always attended by a commensurate increase of happiness. Better some- times to be simple and ignorant than learn that which sooner or later must cut us adrift from early faith ! Darwin is another benevolent reformer. He never dogmatises. In reading his ' Origin of Species ' and ' Descent of Man,' one is struck with the singular modesty with which his views are expressed, or rather suggested. The scientific facts to which he draws attention are, for the most part, now regarded as indisputable. But he allows you to draw your own inference. It is curious to remember what alarm was occasioned among many good folks a score of years ago when the theory of Evolution first took a definite form — just such another panic as, I suppose, was raised when Galileo asserted that the earth moved round the sun, or when the geologists discovered that the age of the world had been underrated at 4,000 years. 400,000 will not suffice for them now. Yet it is not uncommon to find converts to Darwinism even among the clergy, H 98 My Books ' Sic volvenda setas commutat tempora rerum, Quod fuit in pretio fit nuUo denique honore ; Porro aliud succedit et e oontemptibus exit,' &o. &o. For my own part I confess myself a dunce in science. But, looking on the question from a social point of view, evolution does not strike me as such a terrible heresy. After all, it is more cheerful to trace man's life back to an anthropoid ape than to contem- plate its extinction by bacilli. Beyond an odd volume or two on zoology and a few elementary works on physics, I fear that my library does not afford much evidence of scientific culture. If I come across subjects of this class in the ordinary course of reading and want to be enlightened I turn to that invaluable repository of useful know- ledge, Chambers' Encyclopedia, and clear up my doubts in five minutes. I remember with a feeling akin to remorse the large sums of money which were spent on my education. But I am consoled when I find in later life how much instruction can be obtained for the modest outlay of five pounds. If I were consulted by a young householder of limited means as to the formation of a small library I should say : ' Begin with books of reference.' Encyclopfedias, biographical dictionaries, chronological records, scientific primers, and other works of a compendious form do not, of course, satisfy the ^Shallow Draughts' 99 specialist, but they supply a good basis for wider and deeper information to the average reader, and, thanks to the days in which we live, are within the reach of most purses. It is true that the Bard of Twickenham (who lived and died long before the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge was even dreamt of) cautions us to ' drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring,' but in this modern work-a-day world only people who can command exceptional leisure or exceptional energy find leisure to ' drink deep,' and even a superficia acquaintance with some subjects is better than stark ignorance. ' Beware of handbook knowledge ! ' cries Mr. Euskin, but what would the nineteenth century traveller do, whether he migrates on the Continent or wanders in his native land, without that little red octavo volume which is the vade, mecum of every British tourist ? I have at least a dozen of Murray's famous guides on my shelves and can truly say that they have materially enhanced the pleasures of many a holiday trip both at home and abroad. ' Annuals ' have long since gone out of fashion Indeed, the very name, as applied to periodical literature, would seem unintelligible to the rising generation, who can choose from a dozen sixpenny magazines every month, and find in them far better H 2 loo My Books illustrations and often better reading than could have been bought for a guinea in the early part of Queen Victoria's reign. Yet there was a good deal to be learnt, too, from some of those old-world publications. I well remember the absorbing interest with which as a boy I conned over Hone's delightful volumes — ' The Year Book,' ' The Table Book,' and ' The Everyday Book.' I have them still in a reprint, and I look with wonder at the queer, rudely-executed wood-cuts scattered through their pages, more like caricatures by Cruikshank than serious illustrations. But in the text one finds a good deal of information about old English customs, local traditions, provincial ceremonies, Church festivals, and popular lore collated in a useful form. A special old favourite of mine is Burton's ' Anatomy of Melancholy.' Dr. Johnson used to say that it was the only book which took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise. It has often kept me up two hours after I have bidden everyone goodnight ! Was ever so much erudition, so much world-wisdom, so much quaint advice, such a rich variety of entertainment, com- prised in one volume ? It has been aptly described as ' the delight of the learned, the solace of the indolent, the refuge of the uninformed.' In its own day it went through three editions. To how many generations of 'The Anatomy of Melancholy' loi readers has it since afforded pleasure and instruction ? Just as the Coliseum at Eome became a sort of quarry for the Eenaissance builders, so Barton's ' Anatomy ' has been ruthlessly pillaged by later writers. The author of ' Tristram Shandy ' plagiarised whole passages from its pages. Milton is said to have based a well known poem on its philosophy. Literary critics complain that the book is too full of quotations, but I suspect that a good many nameless scribblers have been glad to use them second hand. It is perhaps to be regretted that amid the crowd of passages cited from ancient and mediaeval literature the author should have told us so little of himself and his own sentiments. But no one can read his analysis of the causes of melancholy — idleness, physical in- fluences, ambition, over-study, love, poverty, ambi- tion, covetousness, and jealousy — without feeling that Burton was an enemy of superstition, impatient of hypocrisy, intolerant of vice, an advocate of manly pleasures and exercise, and a hater of prigs and grumblers. What could one say in higher praise of most men ? It is probably true that the compilation of his stupendous ' monograph ' did not relieve him of his spleen. Indeed, I doubt whether the preparation of manuscript in any form is conducive to that result. But he has left to posterity a work which will be I02 My Books prized wherever the Enghsh language is read or spoken. One can scarcely imagine any library com- plete without it. I cannot afford rare and choice editions of old books, but some years ago I picked up a capital copy of the ' Spectator,' published in sixteen small octavo volumes while George I. was still on the throne. It is printed in bold type, with the pretty initial letters, head lines, and tail pieces which were in vogue at that period, and which lend a picturesque interest to the text. I don't suppose that any one of our own time ever got through the whole of it. Life is too short and books are too numerous for the task. But I like to take down an odd volume now and then, and conjure up visions of life in the early part of the last century— a queer complex kind of life — half naive, half artificial, distinguished by sentiments of the highest order, and social habits perhaps not quite so elevated. I love to read Addison's sermons on the vanity of human ambition, though he did choose an Earl's widow for his wife, and Sir Eichard Steele's moral precepts, though I know he did not act up to them. It is pleasant to imagine oneself in the company of a model country gentleman, Sir Eoger de Coverley, and that charming old beau Will Honeycomb ; to find the fleeting follies of the day so graphically described, BO amiably satirised. As we turn over page after page 'The Spectator' 103 pictures of old London and the haunts of the ' quahty ' pass before us, as though in a diorama. We see the dandies bewigged and powdered in Hyde Park, the lady gossips gathered round Mrs. Modish's tea-table. We are at the Opera House and hear the pit joining in the chorus on the stage. We make acquaintance with Lesbia, Sophronia, and Lady Fanny Fickle, adorned with patches, encircled by hoops, and equipped with fans. These memorahle essays — some serious, others trivial, but most of them interesting, must have been a fresh source of weekly pleasure in countless homes for a period of four years. They are delightful reading now, although nearly two centuries old. The modern purist may find in them a coarse expression here and there, characteris- tic of days when a spade was called a spade, but nothing that is intentionally vicious or corrupt. There is, I fear, but little romance in my nature. It is certain that I have not much taste for modern poetry. The most exalted sentiments embodied in nineteenth century verse do not stir me to emotion. I often agree with a great deal which the author has to say, but I do not see what occasion there is for singing it. I know that my views on this point are crude and heretical, but I cannot help it. The serious versification of sentiment nowadays seems to me almost unreal and affected. I have read I04 My Books Tennyson's works with pleasure, Swinburne's ' Chaste- lard ' and ' Atalanta in Calydon,' W. Morris's ' Earthly Paradise,' and a few of Alfred Austin's pieces. I have tried to read Browning, but my taste, as I have said, does not lie in the direction of recent rhyme. The world seems to me to have outgrown the necessity for this form of literary art. Such is my strange obtuseness ! It is very different with the old poets. I can enjoy Chaucer, notwithstanding the initial difficulty of mas- tering mediaeval English. I know my ' Canterbury Tales ' and the ' Eomaunt of the Eose ' pretty well, and though those famous works, for obvious reasons, cannot be recommended for general reading, sooner or later they must be studied by every man who aims at even a superficial acquaintance with English litera- ture. A healthy love of nature, a keen sense of the picturesque, a graphic power of narration, a chivalrous reverence for virtue, a loyalty to ancient faith, and thorough knowledge of human character in all its aspects, may be traced in many a page, and combine to enhance our admiration for the father of English poetry. I cannot pretend to an equal enthusiasm for Dry- den. His versions of the classics are indeed wonderful achievements, not on account of their accuracy — for who can really translate poetry ?— but because of tlie Dry den 105 zest with which he threw himself into the task, imbibing as it were the very spirit of his great originals. He is as bitter as Javenal, as erotic as Ovid, as stately as Virgil. Pagan life and mythology are revived and realised by the 17th century poet. The gods and heroes of antiquity converse familiarly in our mother tongue. jEneas and Dido are no longer the creatures of fiction, but human beings. The follies and vices of ancient Eome are as graphically described as if the narrator were lashing the libertines and demireps of the Ee- storation. The author gives full license to his pen, and writes of many naughty matters with a certaia gusto, as if he really enjoyed the task. But when we turn from the ' Satires ' and the ' Art of Love,' and find the man who could draw upon the English language for such very free versions of those racy works, posing as a pillar of the Church and defender of the Faith in the ' Hind and the Panther,' it is the poet rather than the controversialist whom we admire. Whatever our theological convictions may be — Eoman CathoHc, Anglican, or Calvinist, one may, I think, distrust the sincerity of such a champion, and ■ feel that here at least Dryden was out of his element. The old heroic metre has been so long out of fashion, and English poetry from the days of Byron down to our own time has assumed so many different forms. io6 My Books that it would be difficult to find among the admirers of Tennyson and Swinburne many who take much genuine pleasure in Pope's works. Yet not a century ago the ' Eape of the Lock ' was read by thousands, who pronounced it one of the finest poems in our lan- guage, and who turned from the ' Lay of the last Minstrel ' as the feeble production of a degenerate age. For my own part I confess to be old fashioned in my literary tastes. In spite of the monotonous, one might say perfunctory, character of its versification, and although much of its interest depends upon con- temporary events and squabbles which the world has long forgotten, I can read the ' Dunciad ' with sincere enjoyment. The brilliant wit, the lofty scorn, the majestic rhythm of that memorable satire, compel the reader's attention and make one almost share the author's wrath. As for the ' Essay on Man,' though some of the sentiments which it embodies may appear trite to deeply read students of philosophy, it seems to my half tutored mind one of the noblest and most thoughtful compositions ever penned. The narrow creed in which the poet had been brought up, the artificial and often vicious character of the society in which he lived, the educational disadvantages under which he suffered, to say nothing of his physical infirmities, only enhance Pope 107 one's admiration for the wonderful courage and genius which inspired his pen. Every line is pregnant with meaning. Not a word is wasted. The polished elegance of the verse is almost unrivalled. In that broad, calm survey of human nature, we find reflected the most advanced and liberal thoughts of the author's own time, and an almost prophetic insight into theories which the progress of science and the gradual ex- tinction of prejudice have since evolved. It would be a curious and interesting subject for inquiry by our modern advocates for ' higher ' culture how far their doctrines have tended to mcrease the study of Shakespeare. Young folks nowadays flock to see Mr. Irving's revivals at the Lyceum. The scenery, the costumes, the mounting, the artistic beauty and scrupulous attention to realism in those famous representations, to say nothing of fashion's influence, cannot fail to make them attractive. But out of every hundred spectators among the nightly audience, how many are familiar with the text of the great playwright ? I have a notion that a genuine love of Shakespeare must be acquired in early youth. In my own case I remember that although slow at construing Euripides, at the age of fifteen I knew by heart whole passages in ' Hamlet,' ' Macbeth,' ' The Merchant of Venice,' and several other plays. To this day I have never io8 My Books forgotten them. Is there any period of one's life, indeed, from youth to old age, in which those immortal pages are not enjoyable ? The wide scope and com- prehensive humanity of the genius which inspires them, the versatile nature of its aim, the varied direction of its sympathy, ought surely to win all hearts. When Nasmyth invented his huge but docile hammer, the world was lost in admiration of the great engine which could drive a pile or crack a filbert. Shakespeare's vast but delicately poised intellect possessed this kind of power. There is nothing too high and nothing too lowly for him. Friendship, love, wrath, ambition, mirth, jealousy, courage, pusillanimity, and avarice, every passion which ennobles and every sin which degrades man- kind, he could analyse and describe. But the great philosopher was neither pedant nor ascetic. He knew the world in all its phases. In his finest tragedies he is tempted now and then to intro- duce a spice of humour. His romance, as we know, is often mingled with burlesque. Here is the high-souled Prince of Denmark puzzlmg over the great problem of existence, and presently appear a couple of grave- diggers chaffing each other over their gruesome task. Again, how easily the most versatile of authors passes from the lofty utterances of Henry IV. to the Shakespeare 109 jocund bluster of Falstaff. He is equally at home whether consorting with courtiers in the king's pre- sence chamber or hobnobbing with Bardolph in the ale-house. Even on the eve of Cleopatra's death, after we have been listening to Mark Antony and Csesar, the yokel who brings her the asp must have his little joke about ' the worm.' Who but Shakespeare would have dared, in a play of which the scene is laid in Greece with a Theseus, a Lysander and Demetrius included in the dramatis person