LIVING BEYOND THE MEANS.
"By no means run in debt: take thine own measure.
Who cannot live on twenty pounds a year,
Cannot on forty: he's a man of pleasure,
A kind of thing that's for itself too dear."--_George Herbert_.
"But what will Mrs. Grundy say?"--_Old Play._
"YES and No are, for good or evil, the Giants of Life."--_Jerrold_.
"A hundred years of vexation will not pay a farthing of debt."--_From
the French_.
"Respectability is all very well for folks who can have it for ready
money: but to be obliged to run into debt for it--it's enough to break
the heart of an angel."--_Jerrold._
Extravagance is the pervading sin of modern society. It is not confined
to the rich and moneyed classes, but extends also to the middle and
working classes.
There never was such a burning desire to be rich, or to _seem_ to be
rich. People are no longer satisfied with the earnings of honest
industry; but they must aim at becoming suddenly rich,--by speculation,
gambling, betting, swindling, or cheating.
General extravagance is to be seen everywhere. It is especially the
characteristic of town life. You see it in the streets, in the parks, in
the churches. The extravagance of dress is only one of its signs. There
is a general prodigality in social display. People live in a style
beyond their means; and the results are observed in commercial failures,
in lists of bankrupts, and in criminal courts, where business men are so
often convicted of dishonesty and fraud.
Appearances must be kept up. Men must _seem_ to be rich. Hypocrites can
easily impose upon those who are willing to be convinced. People must
now live in a certain style, inhabit handsome houses, give good dinners,
drink fine wines, and have a handsome equipage. Perhaps they are only
able to accomplish this by overreaching or by dishonesty. Everybody
wondered at the generosity and style of Redpath and Robson; but there
are hundreds, if not thousands, of Redpaths and Robsons now.
There is another class of people, not fraudulent, but extravagant;
though perhaps on the brink of becoming fraudulent. They live up to
their means, and often beyond them. They desire to be considered
"respectable people." They live according to the pernicious adage, "One
must do as others do." They do not consider whether they can afford to
live up to or beyond their means; but they think it necessary to secure
the "respect" of others. In doing so, they usually sacrifice their own
self-respect. They regard their dress, their establishments, their
manner of living, and their observance of fashion, as the sole tests of
respectability and rank. They make an appearance in the eyes of the
world; though it may be entirely hypocritical and false.
But they must not _seem_ poor! They must hide their poverty by every
effort. They spend their money before it is earned,--run into debt at
the grocer's, the baker's, the milliner's, and the butcher's. They must
entertain their fashionable "friends," at the expense of the
shopkeepers. And yet, when misfortunes overtake them, and when their
debts have become overwhelming, what becomes of the "friends"? They fly
away, and shun the man who is up to his ears in debt!
Yet poverty is more than half disarmed by those who have the moral
courage to say. "I can't afford it." Fair-weather friends are of no use
whatever, except as an indication of the depth of snobbery to which
human beings can descend. What is "a visiting connection"? It is not at
all calculated to elevate one in social, or even in business life.
Success mainly depends upon character, and the general esteem in which a
person is held. And if the attempt is made to snatch the reward of
success before it is earned, the half-formed footing may at once give
way, and the aspirant will fall, unlamented, into the open-mouthed
dragon of debt.
"Mrs. Grundy," in the play, is but an impersonation of the
conventionalism of the world. Custom, habit, fashion, use and wont, are
all represented in her. She may be a very vulgar and commonplace person,
but her power is nevertheless prodigious. We copy and imitate her in all
things. We are pinned to her apron-string. We are obedient at her
bidding. We are indolent and complaisant, and fear to provoke her
ill-word. "What will Mrs. Grundy say?" quells many a noble impulse,
hinders many a self-denying act.
There seems to be a general, though unconscious conspiracy existing,
against each other's individuality and manhood. We discourage
self-reliance, and demand conformity. Each must see with others' eyes,
and think through others' minds. We are idolaters of customs and
observances, looking behind, not forwards and upwards. Pinned down and
held back by ignorance and weakness, we are afraid of standing alone, or
of thinking and acting for ourselves. Conventionalism rules all. We fear
stepping out into the free air of independent thought and action. We
refuse to plant ourselves upon our instincts, and to vindicate our
spiritual freedom. We are content to bear others' fruit, not our own.
In private affairs, the same spirit is alike deleterious. We live as
society directs, each according to the standard of our class. We have a
superstitious reverence for custom. We dress, and eat, and live, in
conformity with the Grundy law. So long as we do this, we are
"respectable," according to class notions. Thus many rush open-eyed upon
misery, for no better excuse than a foolish fear of "the world." They
are afraid of "what others will say of them;" and, in nine cases out of
ten, those who might probably raise the voice of censure, are not the
wise or the far-seeing, but much oftener the foolish, the vain, and the
short-sighted.
Sir William Temple has said, that "a restlessness in men's minds to be
something that they are not, and to have something that they have not,
is the root of all immorality." The statement is strictly correct. It
has been attested by universal experience.
Keeping up appearances is one of the greatest social evils of the age.
There is a general effort, more particularly amongst the middle and
upper classes, at seeming to be something that they are not. They put on
appearances, live a life of sham, and endeavour to look something
superior to what they really are.
"Respectability" is one of the chief aims. Respectability, regarded in
its true sense, is a desirable thing. To be respected, on right grounds,
is an object which every man and woman is justified in obtaining. But
modern respectability consists of external appearances. It means wearing
fine clothes, dwelling in fine houses, and living in fine style. It
looks to the outside,--to sound, show, externals. It listens to the
chink of gold in the pocket. Moral worth or goodness forms no part of
modern respectability. A man in these days may be perfectly
"respectable," and yet altogether despicable.
This false and demoralizing habit arises from the overweening estimate
which is formed of two things, well enough in their place,--rank and
wealth. Everybody struggles to rise into some superior class. The spirit
of caste is found as keenly at work among the humblest as among the
highest ranks. At Birmingham, there was a club of workmen with tails to
their coats, and another without tails: the one looked down upon the
other. Cobbett, so felicitous in his nicknames, called his political
opponent, Mr. Sadler, "a linendraper." But the linendraper also has
plenty of people beneath him. The linendraper looks down on the
huckster, the huckster on the mechanic, and the mechanic on the day
labourer. The flunkey who exhibits his calves behind a baron, holds his
head considerably higher than the flunkey who serves a brewer.
It matters not at what class you begin, or however low in the social
scale, you will find that every man has somebody beneath him. Among the
middling ranks, this sort of exclusiveness is very marked. Each circle
would think it a degradation to mix on familiar terms with the members
of the circle beneath it. In small towns and villages, you will find
distinct coteries holding aloof from each other, perhaps despising each
other, and very often pelting each other with hard words. The cathedral
towns, generally, have at least six of such distinct classes, ranking
one beneath the other.
And while each has his or her own exclusive circle, which all of
supposed inferior rank are precluded from entering, they are at the same
time struggling to pass over the line of social demarcation which has
been drawn by those above them. They are eager to overleap it, and thus
gain admission into a circle still more exclusive than their own.
There is also a desperate scramble for front places, and many are the
mean shifts employed to gain them. We must possess the homage of
society! And for this purpose we must be rich, or at least _seem_ to be
so. Hence the struggles after style--the efforts made to put on the
appearances of wealth--the dash, the glitter, and the show of middle and
upper class life;--and hence, too, the motley train of palled and
vitiated tastes--of shrunken hearts and stunted intellects--of folly,
frivolity, and madness.
One of the most demoralizing practices of modern refinement is the
"large party" system. People cram their houses with respectable mobs;
thus conforming to a ridiculous custom. Rousseau, with all his
aberrations of mind, said, "I had rather have my house too small for a
day, than too large for a twelvemonth." Fashion exactly reverses the
maxim; and domestic mischief is often begun with a large dwelling and
suitable accommodations. The misfortune consists in this,--that we never
look below our level for an example, but always above it.
It is not so much, however, in the mere appearances kept up, as in the
means taken to keep them up, that the fruitful cause of immorality is to
be found. A man having assumed a class status, runs all risks to keep it
up. It is thought to be a descent in the world, to abridge oneself of a
superfluity. The seeming-rich man, who drives his close carriage and
drinks champagne, will not tolerate a descent to a gig and plain beer;
and the respectable man, who keeps his gig, would think it a degradation
to have to travel afoot or in a 'bus, between his country house and his
town office. They will descend to immorality rather than descend in
apparent rank; they will yield to dishonesty rather than yield up the
mock applause and hollow respect of that big fool, "the world."
Everybody can call to mind hundreds of cases of men--"respectable
men"--who, from one extravagance have gone on to another--wantonly
squandering wealth which was not theirs--in order to keep up a worldly
reputation, and cut a figure before their admiring fellows;--all ending
in a sudden smash, a frightful downfall, an utter bankruptcy--to the
ruin, perhaps, of thousands. They have finished up with paying a
respectable dividend of sixpence in the pound! Indeed it is not too much
to say, that five-sixths of the fraud and swindling that disgrace
commercial transactions, have had their origin in the diseased morality
of "keeping up appearances."
To be "respectable," in the false sense of the word,--what is not
sacrificed? Peace, honesty, truth, virtue,--all to keep up appearances.
We must cheat, and scrub, and deceive, and defraud, that "the world" may
not see behind our mask! We must torment and enslave ourselves, because
we must extort "the world's" applause, or at least obtain "the world's"
good opinion!
How often is suicide traceable to this false sentiment! Vain men will
give up their lives, rather than their class notions of respectability.
They will cut the thread of existence, rather than cut fashionable life.
Very few suicides are committed from real want. "We never hear," says
Joel Barlow, "of a man committing suicide for want of a loaf of bread,
but it is often done for want of a coach."
Of this mean and miserable spirit of class and caste, women are the
especial victims. They are generally brought up with false notions of
life, and are taught to estimate men and things rather by their external
appearances than by their intrinsic worth. Their education is conducted
mainly with the view of pleasing and attracting the admiration of
others, rather than of improving and developing their qualities of mind
and heart. They are imbued with notions of exclusiveness, fashion, and
gentility. A respectable position in society is held up to them as the
mark to be aimed at. To be criminal or vicious is virtually represented
to them as far less horrible than to be "vulgar." Immured within the
bastile of exclusivism, woman is held captive to all the paltry shifts
and expediencies of convention, fashion, gentility, and so forth. The
genuine benevolence of her nature is perverted; her heart becomes
contracted; and the very highest sources of happiness--those which
consist in a kindly sympathy with humanity in all ranks of life--are as
a well shut up and a fountain sealed.
Is it not a fact, that in what is called "fashionable society," a fine
outside appearance is regarded almost in the light of a virtue?--that to
be rich, or to have the appearance of riches, is esteemed as a merit of
a high order;--whereas, to be poor, or to seem so, ranks as something
like an unpardonable offence? Nay, such is the heartlessness of this
class spirit, that a young woman, belonging to the better class, who, by
misfortune or family reverses, has been thrown upon her own resources,
and who endeavours, by her own honest hands, to earn her honest bread,
immediately loses caste, and is virtually expelled from "respectable"
society. The resolution to be independent--the most invigorating
resolution which can take possession of the human mind--is scouted in
such circles as a degrading thing; and those who have been brought up
within the influence of fashion, will submit to the most severe
privations, rather than submit to the loss of their class and caste
respectability!
Thus brought up, it is no wonder that woman has been the co-partner with
man in upholding the general extravagance of the age. There never was
such a rage for dress and finery amongst English women as there is now.
It rivals the corrupt and debauched age of Louis XV. of France. A
delirium of fashion exists. Women are ranked by what they wear, not by
what they are. Extravagance of dress, and almost indecency of dress, has
taken the place of simple womanly beauty. Wordsworth once described the
"perfect woman nobly planned." Where will you find the perfect woman
now? Not in the parti-coloured, over-dressed creature--the thing of
shreds and patches--with false hair, false colour, false eyebrows,
false everything. "Some of nature's journeymen have made them, and not
made them well, they imitate humanity so abominably."
The evil does not stop with the moneyed classes. It descends to those
who have nothing but their salary to live upon. It descends to the wives
of clerks and shopmen. They, too, dress for respectability. They live
beyond their means. They must live in gimcrack suburban villas, and
"give parties." They must see what is going on at the theatres. Every
farthing is spent so soon as earned,--sometimes before. The husband does
not insure his life, and the wife runs into debt. If the man died
to-morrow, he would leave his wife and children paupers. The money he
ought to have saved during his life of toil, is spent on
"respectability;" and if he leaves a few pounds behind him, they are
usually spent in giving the thriftless husband a respectable funeral.
"Is that dress paid for?" asked a husband. "No." "Then you are allowing
yourself to be clothed at another man's expense!" No woman is justified
in running into debt for a dress, without her husband's knowledge and
consent. If she do so, she is clothing herself at the expense of the
draper. This is one of the things that worry a man who is trying to keep
his head above water; and it is often sufficient to turn his heart
against his wife and her extravagances. It is in this way that incomes
are muddled away, and that life is rendered the scene of bitterness and
discontent. This is especially the case when both husband and wife are
alike spendthrifts.
By running into debt yourself, or by your allowing your wife to run into
debt, you give another person power over your liberty. You cannot
venture to look your creditor in the face. A double knock at the door
frightens you: the postman may be delivering a lawyer's letter demanding
the amount you owe. You are unable to pay it, and make a sneaking
excuse. You invent some pretence for not paying. At length you are
driven to downright lying. For "lying rides on debt's back."
What madness it is to run in debt for superfluities! We buy fine
articles--finer than we can pay for. We are offered six months'--twelve
months' credit! It is the shopkeeper's temptation; and we fall before
it. We are too spiritless to live upon our own earnings; but must
meanwhile live upon others'. The Romans regarded their servants as their
enemies. One might almost regard modern shopkeepers in the same light.
By giving credit, by pressing women to buy fine clothes, they place the
strongest temptation before them. They inveigle the wives of men who are
disposed to be honest into debt, and afterwards send in untruthful
bills. They charge heavier prices, and their customers pay
them,--sometimes doubly pay them; for it is impossible to keep a proper
check upon long-due accounts.
Professor Newman's advice is worthy of being followed. "Heartily do I
wish," he says, "that shop debts were pronounced after a certain day
irrecoverable at law. The effect would be that no one would be able to
ask credit at a shop except where he was well known, and for trifling
sums. All prices would sink to the scale of cash prices. The
dishonourable system of fashionable debtors, who always pay too late, if
at all, and cast their deficiencies on other customers in the form of
increased charges, would be at once annihilated. Shopkeepers would be
rid of a great deal of care, which ruins the happiness of thousands."[1]
[Footnote 1: _Lectures on Political Economy_, p. 255.]
A perfect knowledge of human nature is in the prayer, "Lead us not into
temptation." No man and no woman ever resists temptation after it has
begun to be temptation. It is in the outworks of the habits that the
defence must lie. The woman who hesitates to incur a debt which she
ought not to incur, is lost. The clerk or apprentice who gloats over his
master's gold, sooner or later appropriates it. He does so when he has
got over the habitual feeling which made any approach to it an
impossibility. Thus the habits which insinuate themselves into the
thousand inconsiderable acts of life, constitute a very large part of
man's moral conduct.
This running into debt is a great cause of dishonesty. It does not
matter what the debt is, whether it be for bets unsettled, for losses by
cards, for milliners' or drapers' bills unpaid. Men who have been well
educated, well trained, and put in the way of earning money honestly,
are often run away with by extravagances, by keeping up appearances, by
betting, by speculation and gambling, and by the society of the
dissolute of both sexes.
The writer of this book has had considerable experience of the manner in
which young men have been led from the way of well-doing into that of
vice and criminality. On one occasion his name was forged by a clerk, to
enable him to obtain a sum of money to pay the debts incurred by him at
a public-house. The criminal was originally a young man of good
education, of reasonable ability, well-connected, and married to a
respectable young lady. But all his relatives and friends were
forgotten--wife and child and all--in his love for drink and
card-playing. He was condemned, and sentenced to several years'
imprisonment.
In another case the defaulter was the son of a dissenting minister. He
stole some valuable documents, which he converted into money. He
escaped, and was tracked. He had given out that he was going to
Australia, by Southampton. The Peninsular and Oriental steamer was
searched, but no person answering to his description was discovered.
Some time passed, when one of the Bank of England notes which he had
carried away with him, was returned to the Bank from Dublin. A detective
was put upon his track; he was found in the lowest company, brought back
to London, tried, and sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment.
In another case, the criminal occupied a high position in a railway
company,--so high that he was promoted from it to be Manager of the
Royal Swedish Railway. He was one of the too numerous persons who are
engaged in keeping up appearances, irrespective of honesty, morality, or
virtue. He got deeply into debt, as most of such people do; and then he
became dishonest. He became the associate of professional thieves. He
abstracted a key from the office of which he was in charge, and handed
it to a well-known thief. This was the key of the strong box in which
gold and silver were conveyed by railway from London to Paris. A cast of
the key was taken in wax, and it was copied in iron. It was by means of
this key that "The Great Gold Robbery" was effected. After some time the
thieves were apprehended, and the person who had stolen the key--the
keeper-up of appearances, then Manager of the Royal Swedish Railway--was
apprehended, convicted, and sentenced by Baron Martin to Transportation
for Life.
The Rev. John Davis, the late Chaplain of Newgate, published the
following among other accounts of the causes of crime among the
convicted young men who came under his notice:--
"I knew a youth, the child of an officer in the navy, who had served his
country with distinction, but whose premature death rendered his widow
thankful To receive an official appointment for her delicate boy in a
Government office. His income from the office was given faithfully to
his mother; and it was a pleasure and a pride to him to gladden her
heart by the thought that he was helping her. She had other
children--two little girls, just rising from the cradle to womanhood.
Her scanty pension and his salary made every one happy. But over this
youth came a love of dress. He had not strength of mind to see how much
more truly beautiful a pure mind is, than a finely decorated exterior.
He took pleasure in helping his mother and sisters, but did not take
greater pleasure in thinking that to do this kindness to them he must be
contented for a time to dress a little worse than his fellow-clerks; his
clothes might appear a little worn, but they were like the spot on the
dress of a soldier arising from the discharge of duty; they were no
marks of undue carelessness; necessity had wrought them; and while they
indicated necessity, they marked also the path of honour, and without
such spots duty must have been neglected. But this youth did not think
of such great thoughts as these. He felt ashamed at his threadbare but
clean coat. The smart, new-shining dress of other clerks mortified
him.... He wanted to appear finer. In an evil hour he ordered a suit of
clothes from a fashionable tailor. His situation and connections
procured him a short credit. But tradesmen must be paid, and he was
again and again importuned to defray his debt. To relieve himself of his
creditor he stole a letter containing a £10 note. His tailor was paid,
but the injured party knew the number of the note. It was traced to the
tailor, by him to the thief, with the means and opportunity of stealing
it, and in a few days he was transported. His handsome dress was
exchanged for the dress of a convict. Better by far would it have been
for him to have worn his poorer garb, with the marks of honest labour
upon it. He formed only another example of the intense folly of love of
dress, which, exists quite as much amongst foolish young men as amongst
foolish young women."
When Sir Charles Napier left India, he issued an order to the Army, in
which he reproved the officers for contracting debts without the
prospect of paying them. The Commander-in-Chief found that he was
subject to constant complaints against officers for non-payment of
debts; and in some cases he found that the ruin of deserving and
industrious tradesmen had been consequent on that cause. This growing
vice he severely reprimanded, as being derogatory to the character of
the gentleman, as a degrading thing, as entitling those who practised it
to "group with the infamous, with those who are cheats, and whose
society is contamination." He strongly urged them to stick to their
duties, to reprobate extravagance and expense of all sorts, and to
practise rigid economy; for "to drink unpaid-for champagne and
unpaid-for beer, and to ride unpaid-for horses, is to be a cheat and not
a gentleman."
The extravagance of these young "gentlemen" in India is, in too many
respects, but a counterpart of the extravagance of our young "gentlemen"
at home. The revelations of extravagances at Oxford and Cambridge point
to the school in which they have learnt their manners. Many worthy
parents have been ruined by the sons whom they had sent thither to be
made scholars of; but who have learnt only to be "gentlemen" in the
popular acceptation of the word. To be a "gentleman" nowadays, is to be
a gambler, a horse-racer, a card-player, a dancer, a hunter, a
_roué_,--or all combined. The "gentleman" lives fast, spends fast,
drinks fast, dies fast. The old style of gentleman has degenerated into
a "gent" and a "fast" man. "Gentleman" has become disreputable; and when
it is now employed, it oftener signifies an idle spendthrift, than an
accomplished, virtuous, laborious man.
Young men are growing quite shameless about being in debt; and the
immorality extends throughout society. Tastes are becoming more
extravagant and luxurious, without the corresponding increase of means
to enable them to be gratified. But they are gratified, nevertheless;
and debts are incurred, which afterwards weigh like a millstone round
the neck. Extravagant habits, once formed and fostered, are very
difficult to give up. The existing recklessness of running into debt
without the prospect, often without even the intention, of paying the
debt, saps the public morals, and spreads misery throughout the middle
and upper classes of society. The tone of morality has sunk, and it will
be long before it is fairly recovered again.
In the mean time, those who can, ought to set their faces against all
expenditure where there are not sufficient means to justify it. The
safest plan is, to run up no bills, and never to get into debt; and the
next is, if one does get into debt, to get out of it again as quickly as
possible. A man in debt is not his own master: he is at the mercy of the
tradesmen he employs. He is the butt of lawyers, the byword of
creditors, the scandal of neighbours; he is a slave in his own house;
his moral character becomes degraded and defiled; and even his own
household and family regard him with pity akin to contempt.
Montaigne said, "I always feel a pleasure in paying my debts, because I
discharge my shoulders of a wearisome load and of an image of slavery."
Johnson might well call Economy the mother of Liberty. No man can be
free who is in debt. The inevitable effect of debt is not only to injure
personal independence, but, in the long run, to inflict moral
degradation. The debtor is exposed to constant humiliations. Men of
honourable principles must be disgusted by borrowing money from persons
to whom they cannot pay it back;--disgusted with drinking wine, wearing
clothes, and keeping up appearances, with other people's money. The Earl
of Dorset, like many other young nobles, became involved in debt, and
borrowed money upon his property. He was cured of his prodigality by the
impertinence of a city alderman, who haunted his antechamber for the
purpose of dunning him for his debt. From that day the Earl determined
to economize, to keep entirely out of everybody's debt,--and he kept his
word.
Let every man have the fortitude to look his affairs in the face,--to
keep an account of his items of income and debts, no matter how long or
black the list may be. He must know how he stands from day to day, to be
able to look the world fairly in the face. Let him also inform his wife,
if he has one, how he stands with the world. If his wife be a prudent
woman, she will help him to economize his expenditure, and enable him to
live honourably and honestly. No good wife will ever consent to wear
clothes and give dinners that belong not to her, but to her shopkeeper.
The knowledge of arithmetic is absolutely necessary to those who would
live within their means. Women are especially ignorant of arithmetic;
they are scarcely taught the simplest elements, for female teachers
think the information useless. They prefer to teach languages, music,
deportment, the use of the globes. All these may be important, but the
first four rules of arithmetic are better than all. How can they compare
their expenditure with their receipts, without the knowledge of addition
and subtraction? How can they know precisely what to spend in rent, or
clothing, or food, or for service, unless they know the value of
figures? How can they check the accounts of their tradesmen or their
servants? This want of knowledge of arithmetic is the cause, not only of
great waste, but of great misery. Many a family of good position has
fallen into destitution merely because of their ignorance of this branch
of knowledge.
Young people often rush into marriage without reflection. A young man
meets a pretty face in a ball-room, likes it, dances with it, flirts
with it, and goes home to dream about it. At length he falls in love
with it, courts it, marries it, and then he takes the pretty face home,
and begins to know something more about it. All has as yet been "very
jolly." The face has hitherto been charming, graceful, artless, and
beautiful. It has now to enter upon another sphere of life. It has to be
seen much closer; it has to be seen daily; and it has to begin
housekeeping.
Most newly married people require some time to settle quietly down
together. Even those whose married life has been the happiest, arrive at
peace and repose through a period of little struggles and bewilderments.
The husband does not all at once find his place, nor the wife hers. One
of the very happiest women we know has told us, that the first year of
her married life was the most uncomfortable of all. She had so much to
learn--was so fearful of doing wrong--and had not yet found her proper
position. But, feeling their way, kind and loving natures will have no
difficulty in at last settling down comfortably and peacefully together.
It was not so with the supposed young man and his pretty "face." Both
entered upon their new life without thinking; or perhaps with
exaggerated expectations of its unalloyed happiness. They could not make
allowances for lovers subsiding into husband and wife; nor were they
prepared for the little ruffles and frettings of individual temper; and
both felt disappointed. There was a relaxation of the little attentions
which are so novel and charming to lovers. Then the pretty face, when
neglected, found relief in tears.
There is nothing of which men tire sooner, especially when the tears are
about trifles. Tears do not in such cases cause sympathy, but breed
repulsion. They occasion sourness, both on the one side and the other.
Tears are dangerous weapons to play with. Were women to try kindness and
cheerfulness instead, how infinitely happier would they be. Many are the
lives that are made miserable by an indulgence in fretting and carking,
until the character is indelibly stamped, and the rational enjoyment of
life becomes next to a moral impossibility.
Mental qualities are certainly admirable gifts in domestic life. But
though they may dazzle and delight, they will not excite love and
affection to anything like the same extent as a warm and happy heart.
They do not wear half so well, and do not please half so much. And yet
how little pains are taken to cultivate the beautiful quality of good
temper and happy disposition! And how often is life, which otherwise
might have been blessed, embittered and soured by the encouragement of
peevish and fretful habits, so totally destructive of everything like
social and domestic comfort! How often have we seen both men and women
set themselves round about as if with bristles, so that no one dared to
approach them without the fear of being pricked. For want of a little
occasional command over one's temper, an amount of misery is occasioned
in society which is positively frightful. Thus is enjoyment turned into
bitterness, and life becomes like a journey barefooted, amongst
prickles, and thorns, and briars.
In the instance we have cited, the pretty face soon became forgotten.
But as the young man had merely bargained for the "face"--as it was that
to which he had paid his attentions--that which he had vowed to love,
honour, and protect.--when it ceased to be pretty, he began to find out
that he had made a mistake. And if the home be not made attractive,--if
the newly married man finds that it is only an indifferent
boarding-house,--he will gradually absent himself from it. He will stay
out in the evenings, and console himself with cigars, cards, politics,
the theatre, the drinking club; and the poor pretty face will then
become more and more disconsolate, hopeless, and miserable.
Perhaps children grow up; but neither husband nor wife know much about
training them, or keeping them healthy. They are regarded as toys when
babies, dolls when boys and girls, drudges when young men and women.
There is scarcely a quiet, happy, hearty hour spent during the life of
such a luckless couple. Where there is no comfort at home, there is only
a succession of petty miseries to endure. Where there is no
cheerfulness,--no disposition to accommodate, to oblige, to sympathize
with one another,--affection gradually subsides on both sides.
It is said, that "When poverty comes in at the door, loves flies out at
the window." But it is not from poor men's houses only that love flies.
It flies quite as often from the homes of the rich, where there is a
want of loving and cheerful hearts. This little home might have been
snug enough; with no appearance of want about it; rooms well furnished;
cleanliness pervading it; the table well supplied; the fire burning
bright; and yet without cheerfulness. There wanted the happy faces,
radiant with contentment and good humour. Physical comfort, after all,
forms but a small part of the blessings of a happy home. As in all other
concerns of life, it is the moral state which determines the weal or woe
of the human condition.
Most young men think very little of what has to follow courtship and
marriage. They think little of the seriousness of the step. They forget
that when the pledge has once been given, there is no turning back, The
knot cannot be untied. If a thoughtless mistake has been made, the
inevitable results will nevertheless follow. The maxim is current, that
"marriage is a lottery." It may be so if we abjure the teachings of
prudence--if we refuse to examine, inquire, and think--if we are content
to choose a husband or a wife, with less reflection than we bestow upon
the hiring of a servant, whom we can discharge any day--if we merely
regard attractions of face, of form, or of purse, and give way to
temporary impulse or to greedy avarice--then, in such cases, marriage
does resemble a lottery, in which you _may_ draw a prize, though there
are a hundred chances to one that you will only draw a blank.
But we deny that marriage has any necessary resemblance to a lottery.
When girls are taught wisely how to love, and what qualities to esteem
in a companion for life, instead of being left to gather their stock of
information on the subject from the fictitious and generally false
personations given to them in novels; and when young men accustom
themselves to think of the virtues, graces, and solid acquirements
requisite in a wife, with whom they are to spend their days, and on
whose temper and good sense the whole happiness of their home is to
depend, then it will be found that there is very little of the "lottery
" in marriage; and that, like any concern of business or of life, the
man or woman who judges and acts wisely, with proper foresight and
discrimination, will reap the almost certain consequences in a happy and
prosperous future. True, mistakes may be made, and will be made, as in
all things human; but nothing like the grievous mistake of those who
stake their happiness in the venture of a lottery.
Another great point is, to be able to say No on proper occasions. When
enticements allure, or temptations assail, say No at once, resolutely
and determinedly. "No; I can't" afford it." Many have not the moral
courage to adopt this course. They consider only their selfish
gratification. They are unable to practise self-denial. They yield, give
way, and "enjoy themselves." The end is often defalcation, fraud, and
ruin. What is the verdict of society in such cases? "The man has been
living beyond his means." Of those who may have been entertained by him,
not one of them will thank him, not one of them will pity him, not one
of them will help him.
Every one has heard of the man who couldn't say No. He was everybody's
friend but his own. His worst enemy was himself. He ran rapidly through
his means, and then called upon his friends for bonds, bails, and
"promises to pay." After spending his last guinea, he died in the odour
of harmless stupidity and folly.
His course in life seemed to be directed by the maxim of doing for
everybody what everybody asked him to do. Whether it was that his heart
beat responsive to every other heart, or that he did not like to give
offence, could never be ascertained; but certain it is, that he was
rarely asked to sign a requisition, to promise a vote, to lend money, or
to endorse a bill, that he did not comply. He couldn't say "No;" and
there were many who knew him well, who said he had not the moral courage
to do so.
His father left him a snug little fortune, and he was at once beset by
persons wanting a share of it. Now was the time to say "No," if he
could; but he couldn't. His habit of yielding had been formed; he did
not like to be bored; could not bear to refuse; could not stand
importunity; and almost invariably yielded to the demands made upon his
purse. While his money lasted, he had no end of friends. He was a
universal referee--everybody's bondsman. "Just sign me this little bit
of paper," was a request often made to him by particular friends, "What
is it?" he would mildly ask; for, with all his simplicity, he prided
himself upon his caution! Yet he never refused. Three months after, a
bill for a rather heavy amount would fall due, and who should be called
upon to make it good but everybody's friend--the man who couldn't say
"No."
At last a maltster, for whom he was bondsman--a person with whom he had
only a nodding acquaintance--suddenly came to a stand in his business,
ruined by heavy speculations in funds and shares; when the man who
couldn't say "No" was called upon to make good the heavy duties due to
the Crown. It was a heavy stroke, and made him a poor man. But he never
grew wise. He was a post against which every needy fellow came and
rubbed himself; a tap, from which every thirsty soul could drink; a
flitch, at which every hungry dog had a pull; an ass, on which every
needy rogue must have his ride; a mill, that ground everybody's corn but
his own; in short, a "good-hearted fellow," who couldn't for the life of
him say "No."
It is of great importance to a man's peace and well-being that he should
be able to say "No" at the right time. Many are ruined because they
cannot or will not say it. Vice often gains a footing within us, because
we will not summon up the courage to say "No." We offer ourselves too
often as willing sacrifices to the fashion of the world, because we have
not the honesty to pronounce the little word. The duellist dares not say
"No," for he would be "cut." The beauty hesitates to say it, when a rich
blockhead offers her his hand, because she has set her ambition on an
"establishment." The courtier will not say it, for he must smile and
promise to all.
When pleasure tempts with its seductions, have the courage to say "No"
at once. The little monitor within will approve the decision; and virtue
will become stronger by the act. When dissipation invites, and offers
its secret pleasures, boldly say "No." If you do not, if you acquiesce
and succumb, virtue will have gone from you, and your self-reliance will
have received a fatal shock. The first time may require an effort; but
strength will grow with use. It is the only way of meeting temptations
to idleness, to self-indulgence, to folly, to bad custom, to meet it at
once with an indignant "No." There is, indeed, great virtue in a "No,"
when pronounced at the right time.
A man may live beyond his means until he has nothing left. He may die in
debt, and yet "society" does not quit its hold of him until he is laid
in his grave. He must be buried as "society" is buried. He must have a
fashionable funeral. He must, to the last, bear witness to the power of
Mrs. Grundy. It is to please her, that the funeral cloaks, hatbands,
scarves, mourning coaches, gilded hearses, and processions of mutes are
hired. And yet, how worthless and extravagant is the mummery of the
undertaker's grief; and the feigned woe of the mutes, saulies, and plume
bearers, who are paid for their day's parade!
It is not so much among the wealthy upper classes that the mischiefs of
this useless and expensive mummery are felt, as amongst the middle and
working classes. An expensive funeral is held to be "respectable."
Middle-class people, who are struggling for front places in society,
make an effort to rise into the region of mutes and nodding plumes; and,
like their "betters," they are victimised by the undertakers. These fix
the fashion for the rest; "we must do as Others do;" and most people
submit to pay the tax. They array themselves, friends, and servants, in
mourning; and a respectable funeral is thus purchased.
The expenditure falls heavily upon a family, at a time when they are the
least able to bear it. The bread-winner has been taken away, and
everything is left to the undertaker. How is a wretched widow in the
midst of her agony, or how are orphan children, deprived of the
protecting hand of a parent, to higgle with a tradesman about the
cheapening of mourning suits, black gloves, weepers, and the other
miserable "trappings of woe"? It is at such a moment, when in thousands
of cases every pound and every shilling is of consequence to the
survivors, that the little ready money they can scrape together is
lavished, without question, upon a vulgar and extravagant piece of
pageantry. Would not the means which have been thus foolishly expended
in paying an empty honour to the dead, be much better applied in being
used for the comfort and maintenance of the living?
The same evil propagates itself downwards in society. The working
classes suffer equally with the middle classes, in proportion to their
means. The average cost of a tradesman's funeral in England is about
fifty pounds; of a mechanic, or labourer, it ranges from five pounds to
ten pounds. In Scotland funeral expenses are considerably lower. The
desire to secure respectable interment for departed relatives, is a
strong and widely-diffused feeling among the labouring population; and
it does them honour. They will subscribe for this purpose, when they
will for no other. The largest of the working-men's clubs are burial
clubs. Ten pounds are usually allowed for the funeral of a husband, and
five pounds for the funeral of a wife. As much as fifteen, twenty,
thirty, and even forty pounds, are occasionally expended on a mechanic's
funeral, in cases where the deceased has been a member of several clubs,
on which occasions the undertakers meet and "settle" between them their
several shares in the performance of the funeral. It is not unusual to
insure a child's life in four or five of these burial clubs; and we have
heard of a case where one man had insured payments in no fewer than
nineteen different burial clubs in Manchester!
When the working-man, in whose family a death has occurred, does not
happen to be a member of a burial club, he is still governed by their
example, and has to tax himself seriously to comply with the usages of
society, and give to his wife or child a respectable funeral. Where it
is the father of the family himself who has died, the case is still
harder. Perhaps all the savings of his life are spent in providing
mourning for his wife and children at his death. Such an expense, at
such a time, is ruinous, and altogether unjustifiable.
Does putting on garments of a certain colour constitute true mourning?
Is it not the heart and the affections that mourn, rather than the
outside raiment? Bingham, in speaking of the primitive Christians, says
that "they did not condemn the notion of going into a mourning habit for
the dead, nor yet much approve of it, but left it to all men's liberty
as an indifferent thing, rather commending those that either omitted it
wholly, or in short laid it aside again, as acting more according to the
bravery and philosophy of a Christian."
John Wesley directed, in his will, that six poor men should have twenty
shillings each for carrying his body to the grave,--"For," said he, "I
particularly desire that there may be no hearse, no coach, no
escutcheon, no pomp, except the tears of those that loved me, and are
following me to Abraham's bosom. I solemnly adjure my executors, in the
name of God, punctually to observe this."
It will be very difficult to alter the mourning customs of our time. We
may anxiously desire to do so, but the usual question will occur--"What
will people say?" "What will the world say?" We involuntarily shrink
back, and play the coward like our neighbours. Still, common sense,
repeatedly expressed, will have its influence; and, in course of time,
it cannot fail to modify the fashions of society The last act of Queen
Adelaide, by which she dispensed with the hired mummery of undertakers'
grief,--and the equally characteristic request of Sir Robert Peel on his
deathbed, that no ceremony, nor pomp, should attend his last
obsequies,--cannot fail to have their due effect upon the fashionable
world; and through them, the middle classes, who are so disposed to
imitate them in all things, will in course of time benefit by their
example. There is also, we believe, a growing disposition on the part of
the people at large to avoid the unmeaning displays we refer to; and it
only needs the repeated and decided expression of public opinion, to
secure a large measure of beneficial reform in this direction.
Societies have already been established in the United States, the
members of which undertake to disuse mourning themselves, and to
discountenance the use of it by others. It is only, perhaps, by
association and the power of numbers that this reform is to be
accomplished; for individuals here and there could scarcely be expected
to make way against the deeply-rooted prejudices of the community at
large.