"Suppose," I said to one of the junior clerks at our office the other
day, "you were asked to describe yourself in a few words, could you do
it?"
His answer that he could describe me in two was no answer at all. Also
the two words were not a description, and were so offensive that I did
not continue the conversation.
I believe there are but few people who could give you an accurate
description of themselves. Often in the train to and from the city, or
while walking in the street, I think over myself--what I have been,
what I am, what I might be if, financially speaking, it would run to
it. I imagine how I should act under different circumstances--on the
receipt of a large legacy, or if for some specially clever action I
were taken into partnership, or if a mad bull came down the street. I
may say that I make a regular study of myself. I have from time to time
recorded on paper some of the more important incidents of our married
life, affecting Eliza and myself, and I present them to you, gentle
reader, in this little volume. I think they show how with a very
limited income--and but for occasional assistance from Eliza's mother I
do not know how we should have got along--a man may to a great extent
preserve respectability, show taste and judgment, and manage his wife
and home.
The more I think about myself, the more--I say it in all modesty--the
subject seems to grow. I should call myself many-sided, and in many
respects unlike ordinary men. Take, for instance, the question of
taste. Some people would hardly think it worth while to mention a
little thing like taste; but I do. I am not rich, but what I have I
like to have ornamental, though not loud. Only the other day the
question of glass-cloths for the kitchen turned up, and though those
with the red border were threepence a dozen dearer than the plain, I
ordered them without hesitation. Eliza changed them next day, contrary
to my wishes, and we had a few words about it, but that is not the
point. The real point is that if your taste comes out in a matter of
glass-cloths for the kitchen, it will also come out in antimacassars
for the drawing-room and higher things.
Again, ordinary men--men that might possibly call themselves my
equals--are not careful enough about respectability. Everywhere around
me I see betting on horse-races, check trousers on Sunday, the wash
hung out in the front garden, whiskey and soda, front steps not
properly whitened, and the door-handle not up to the mark. I could
point to houses where late hours on Sunday are so much the rule that
the lady of the house comes down in her dressing-gown to take in the
milk--which, I am sure, Eliza would sooner die than do. There are
families--in my own neighbourhood, I am sorry to say--where the
chimneys are not swept regularly, beer is fetched in broad daylight,
and attendance at a place of worship on Sunday is rather the exception
than the rule. Then, again, language is an important point; to my mind
nothing marks a respectable man more than the use of genteel language.
There may have been occasions when excessive provocation has led me to
the use of regrettable expressions, but they have been few. As a rule I
avoid not only what is profane, but also anything that is slangy. I
fail to understand this habit which the present generation has formed
of picking up some meaningless phrase and using it in season and out of
season. For some weeks I have been greatly annoyed by the way some of
the clerks use the phrase "What, ho, she bumps!" If you ask them who
bumps, or how, or why, they have no answer but fits of silly laughter.
Probably, before these words appear in print that phrase will have been
forgotten and another equally ridiculous will have taken its place. It
is not sensible; what is worse, it is not to my mind respectable. Do
not imagine that I object to humour in conversation. That is a very
different thing. I have made humourous remarks myself before now,
mostly of rather a cynical and sarcastic kind.
I am fond of my home, and any little addition to its furniture or
decorations gives me sincere pleasure. Both in the home and in our
manner of life there are many improvements which I am prevented by
financial considerations from carrying out. If I were a rich man I
would have the drawing-room walls a perfect mass of pictures. If I had
money I could spend it judiciously and without absurdity. I should have
the address stamped in gold on the note-paper, and use boot-trees, and
never be without a cake in the house in case a friend dropped in to
tea. Nor should I think twice about putting on an extra clean pair of
cuffs in the week if wanted. We should keep two servants. I am
interested in the drama, if serious, and two or three times every month
I should take Eliza to the dress-circle. Our suburb has a train service
which is particularly convenient for the theatres. Eliza would wear a
dressy blouse,--she shares my objections to anything cut out at the
neck,--a mackintosh, and a sailor hat, the two latter to be removed
before entering. I should carry her evening shoes in a pretty
crewel-worked bag. We have often discussed it. Curiously enough, she
already has the bag, though we seldom have an opportunity to use it in
this way. Doubtless there are many other innovations which, with
appropriate means, I could suggest. But I have said enough to show that
they would all be in the direction of refinement and elegance, and the
money would not be spent in foolishness or vice.
As Eliza's husband, I should perhaps say a word or two about her. She
is a lady of high principles and great activity. Owing to my absence
every day in the exercise of my profession, she is called upon to
settle many questions,--as, for instance, the other day the question of
what contribution, if any, should be given to the local Fire
Brigade,--where a word of advice from me would have been useful. If not
actually independent, she is certainly not what would be described as a
clinging woman. Indeed, she does occasionally take upon herself to
enter on a line of action without consulting me, when my advice is
perfectly at her disposal, and would perhaps save her from blunders.
Last year she filled the coal-cellar (unusually large for the type of
house) right up at summer prices. Undoubtedly, she thought that she was
practising an economy. But she was dealing with a coal-merchant who
does not give credit--a man who requires cash down and sees that he
gets it. And--well, I need not go into details here, but it proved to
be excessively inconvenient for me. She has lost the silly playfulness
which was rather a mark of her character during the period of our
engagement, and if this is due to the sobering effects of association
with a steady and thoughtful character, I am not displeased. She
herself says it's the work, but the women do not always know. Possibly,
too, her temper is more easily ruffled now than then when I point out
things to her. I should say that she was less ambitious than myself. I
do not mention these little matters at all by way of finding fault. On
the contrary, I have a very high opinion of Eliza.
[Illustration: "_Filled the coal-cellar right up at summer prices._"]
We have no children living.
With these few prefatory words, gentle reader, I fling open the front
door--to use a metaphorical expression--and invite you to witness a few
scenes of our domestic life that I have from time to time recorded.