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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5803-8.txt b/5803-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..739a3fe --- /dev/null +++ b/5803-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5324 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Not that it Matters, by A. A. Milne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Not that it Matters + +Author: A. A. Milne + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5803] +[Last updated: April 16, 2015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOT THAT IT MATTERS *** + + + +Scanned by Charles Aldarondo, text proof read +by the volunteers of the Distributed Proofreaders site +(http://charlz.dns2go.com/gutenberg/). Post production +formatting by JC Byers. + + + + + + + + Not That it Matters + by + A. A. Milne + + + + CONTENTS + +The Pleasure of Writing +Acacia Road +My Library +The Chase +Superstition +The Charm of Golf +Goldfish +Saturday to Monday +The Pond +A Seventeenth-century Story +Our Learned Friends +A Word for Autumn +A Christmas Number +No Flowers by Request +The Unfairness of Things +Daffodils +A Household Book +Lunch +The Friend of Man +The Diary Habit +Midsummer Day +At the Bookstall +"Who's Who" +A Day at Lord's +By the Sea +Golden Fruit +Signs of Character +Intellectual Snobbery +A Question of Form +A Slice of Fiction +The Label +The Profession +Smoking as a Fine Art +The Path to Glory +A Problem in Ethics +The Happiest Half-hours of Life +Natural Science +On Going Dry +A Misjudged Game +A Doubtful Character +Thoughts on Thermometers +For a Wet Afternoon +Declined with Thanks +On Going into a House +The Ideal Author + + + + +Not That it Matters + + + + +The Pleasure of Writing + + +Sometimes when the printer is waiting for an article which really +should have been sent to him the day before, I sit at my desk and +wonder if there is any possible subject in the whole world upon +which I can possibly find anything to say. On one such occasion I +left it to Fate, which decided, by means of a dictionary opened +at random, that I should deliver myself of a few thoughts about +goldfish. (You will find this article later on in the book.) But +to-day I do not need to bother about a subject. To-day I am +without a care. Nothing less has happened than that I have a new +nib in my pen. + +In the ordinary way, when Shakespeare writes a tragedy, or Mr. +Blank gives you one of his charming little essays, a certain +amount of thought goes on before pen is put to paper. One cannot +write "Scene I. An Open Place. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Three +Witches," or "As I look up from my window, the nodding daffodils +beckon to me to take the morning," one cannot give of one's best +in this way on the spur of the moment. At least, others cannot. +But when I have a new nib in my pen, then I can go straight from +my breakfast to the blotting-paper, and a new sheet of foolscap +fills itself magically with a stream of blue-black words. When +poets and idiots talk of the pleasure of writing, they mean the +pleasure of giving a piece of their minds to the public; with an +old nib a tedious business. They do not mean (as I do) the +pleasure of the artist in seeing beautifully shaped "k's" and +sinuous "s's" grow beneath his steel. Anybody else writing this +article might wonder "Will my readers like it?" I only tell +myself "How the compositors will love it!" + +But perhaps they will not love it. Maybe I am a little above +their heads. I remember on one First of January receiving an +anonymous postcard wishing me a happy New Year, and suggesting +that I should give the compositors a happy New Year also by +writing more generously. In those days I got a thousand words +upon one sheet 8 in. by 5 in. I adopted the suggestion, but it +was a wrench; as it would be for a painter of miniatures forced +to spend the rest of his life painting the Town Council of +Boffington in the manner of Herkomer. My canvases are bigger now, +but they are still impressionistic. "Pretty, but what is it?" +remains the obvious comment; one steps back a pace and saws the +air with the hand; "You see it better from here, my love," one +says to one's wife. But if there be one compositor not carried +away by the mad rush of life, who in a leisurely hour (the +luncheon one, for instance) looks at the beautiful words with the +eye of an artist, not of a wage-earner, he, I think, will be +satisfied; he will be as glad as I am of my new nib. Does it +matter, then, what you who see only the printed word think of it? + +A woman, who had studied what she called the science of +calligraphy, once offered to tell my character from my +handwriting. I prepared a special sample for her; it was full of +sentences like "To be good is to be happy," "Faith is the lode- +star of life," "We should always be kind to animals," and so on. +I wanted her to do her best. She gave the morning to it, and told +me at lunch that I was "synthetic." Probably you think that the +compositor has failed me here and printed "synthetic" when I +wrote "sympathetic." In just this way I misunderstood my +calligraphist at first, and I looked as sympathetic as I could. +However, she repeated "synthetic," so that there could be no +mistake. I begged her to tell me more, for I had thought that +every letter would reveal a secret, but all she would add was +"and not analytic." I went about for the rest of the day saying +proudly to myself "I am synthetic! I am synthetic! I am +synthetic!" and then I would add regretfully, "Alas, I am not +analytic!" I had no idea what it meant. + +And how do you think she had deduced my syntheticness? Simply +from the fact that, to save time, I join some of my words +together. That isn't being synthetic, it is being in a hurry. +What she should have said was, "You are a busy man; your life is +one constant whirl; and probably you are of excellent moral +character and kind to animals." Then one would feel that one did +not write in vain. + +My pen is getting tired; it has lost its first fair youth. +However, I can still go on. I was at school with a boy whose +uncle made nibs. If you detect traces of erudition in this +article, of which any decent man might be expected to be +innocent, I owe it to that boy. He once told me how many nibs his +uncle made in a year; luckily I have forgotten. Thousands, +probably. Every term that boy came back with a hundred of them; +one expected him to be very busy. After all, if you haven't the +brains or the inclination to work, it is something to have the +nibs. These nibs, however, were put to better uses. There is a +game you can play with them; you flick your nib against the other +boy's nib, and if a lucky shot puts the head of yours under his, +then a sharp tap capsizes him, and you have a hundred and one in +your collection. There is a good deal of strategy in the game +(whose finer points I have now forgotten), and I have no doubt +that they play it at the Admiralty in the off season. Another +game was to put a clean nib in your pen, place it lightly against +the cheek of a boy whose head was turned away from you, and then +call him suddenly. As Kipling says, we are the only really +humorous race. This boy's uncle died a year or two later and left +about £80,000, but none of it to his nephew. Of course, he had +had the nibs every term. One mustn't forget that. + +The nib I write this with is called the "Canadian Quill"; made, I +suppose, from some steel goose which flourishes across the seas, +and which Canadian housewives have to explain to their husbands +every Michaelmas. Well, it has seen me to the end of what I +wanted to say--if indeed I wanted to say anything. For it was +enough for me this morning just to write; with spring coming in +through the open windows and my good Canadian quill in my hand, I +could have copied out a directory. That is the real pleasure of +writing. + + + + +Acacia Road + + +Of course there are disadvantages of suburban life. In the fourth +act of the play there may be a moment when the fate of the erring +wife hangs in the balance, and utterly regardless of this the +last train starts from Victoria at 11.15. It must be annoying to +have to leave her at such a crisis; it must be annoying too to +have to preface the curtailed pleasures of the play with a meat +tea and a hasty dressing in the afternoon. But, after all, one +cannot judge life from its facilities for playgoing. It would be +absurd to condemn the suburbs because of the 11.15. + +There is a road eight miles from London up which I have walked +sometimes on my way to golf. I think it is called Acacia Road; +some pretty name like that. It may rain in Acacia Road, but never +when I am there. The sun shines on Laburnum Lodge with its pink +may tree, on the Cedars with its two clean limes, it casts its +shadow on the ivy of Holly House, and upon the whole road there +rests a pleasant afternoon peace. I cannot walk along Acacia Road +without feeling that life could be very happy in it--when the sun +is shining. It must be jolly, for instance, to live in Laburnum +Lodge with its pink may tree. Sometimes I fancy that a suburban +home is the true home after all. + +When I pass Laburnum Lodge I think of Him saying good-bye to Her +at the gate, as he takes the air each morning on his way to the +station. What if the train is crowded? He has his newspaper. That +will see him safely to the City. And then how interesting will be +everything which happens to him there, since he has Her to tell +it to when he comes home. The most ordinary street accident +becomes exciting if a story has to be made of it. Happy the man +who can say of each little incident, "I must remember to tell Her +when I get home." And it is only in the suburbs that one "gets +home." One does not "get home" to Grosvenor Square; one is simply +"in" or "out." + +But the master of Laburnum Lodge may have something better to +tell his wife than the incident of the runaway horse; he may have +heard a new funny story at lunch. The joke may have been all over +the City, but it is unlikely that his wife in the suburbs will +have heard it. Put it on the credit side of marriage that you can +treasure up your jokes for some one else. And perhaps She has +something for him too; some backward plant, it may be, has burst +suddenly into flower; at least he will walk more eagerly up +Acacia Road for wondering. So it will be a happy meeting under +the pink may tree of Laburnum Lodge when these two are restored +safely to each other after the excitements of the day. Possibly +they will even do a little gardening together in the still +glowing evening. + +If life has anything more to offer than this it will be found at +Holly House, where there are babies. Babies give an added +excitement to the master's homecoming, for almost anything may +have happened to them while he has been away. Dorothy perhaps has +cut a new tooth and Anne may have said something really clever +about the baker's man. In the morning, too, Anne will walk with +him to the end of the road; it is perfectly safe, for in Acacia +Road nothing untoward could occur. Even the dogs are quiet and +friendly. I like to think of the master of Holly House saying +good-bye to Anne at the end of the road and knowing that she will +be alive when he comes back in the evening. That ought to make +the day's work go quickly. + +But it is the Cedars which gives us the secret of the happiness +of the suburbs. The Cedars you observe is a grander house +altogether; there is a tennis lawn at the back. And there are +grown-up sons and daughters at the Cedars. In such houses in +Acacia Road the delightful business of love-making is in full +swing. Marriages are not "arranged" in the suburbs; they grow +naturally out of the pleasant intercourse between the Cedars, the +Elms, and Rose Bank. I see Tom walking over to the Elms, racket +in hand, to play tennis with Miss Muriel. He is hoping for an +invitation to remain to supper, and indeed I think he will get +it. Anyhow he is going to ask Miss Muriel to come across to lunch +to-morrow; his mother has so much to talk to her about. But it +will be Tom who will do most of the talking. + +I am sure that the marriages made in Acacia Road are happy. That +is why I have no fears for Holly House and Laburnum Lodge. Of +course they didn't make love in this Acacia Road; they are come +from the Acacia Road of some other suburb, wisely deciding that +they will be better away from their people. But they met each +other in the same way as Tom and Muriel are meeting; He has seen +Her in Her own home, in His home, at the tennis club, surrounded +by the young bounders (confound them!) of Turret Court and the +Wilderness; She has heard of him falling off his bicycle or +quarrelling with his father. Bless you, they know all about each +other; they are going to be happy enough together. + +And now I think of it, why of course there is a local theatre +where they can do their play- going, if they are as keen on it as +that. For ten shillings they can spread from the stage box an air +of luxury and refinement over the house; and they can nod in an +easy manner across the stalls to the Cedars in the opposite box-- +in the deep recesses of which Tom and Muriel, you may be sure, +are holding hands. + + + + +My Library + + +When I moved into a new house a few weeks ago, my books, as was +natural, moved with me. Strong, perspiring men shovelled them +into packing-cases, and staggered with them to the van, cursing +Caxton as they went. On arrival at this end, they staggered with +them into the room selected for my library, heaved off the lids +of the cases, and awaited orders. The immediate need was for an +emptier room. Together we hurried the books into the new white +shelves which awaited them, the order in which they stood being +of no matter so long as they were off the floor. Armful after +armful was hastily stacked, the only pause being when (in the +curious way in which these things happen) my own name suddenly +caught the eye of the foreman. "Did you write this one, sir?" he +asked. I admitted it. "H'm," he said noncommittally. He glanced +along the names of every armful after that, and appeared a +little surprised at the number of books which I hadn't written. +An easy-going profession, evidently. + +So we got the books up at last, and there they are still. I told +myself that when a wet afternoon came along I would arrange them +properly. When the wet afternoon came, I told myself that I would +arrange them one of these fine mornings. As they are now, I have +to look along every shelf in the search for the book which I +want. To come to Keats is no guarantee that we are on the road to +Shelley. Shelley, if he did not drop out on the way, is probably +next to How to Be a Golfer Though Middle-aged. + +Having written as far as this, I had to get up and see where +Shelley really was. It is worse than I thought. He is between +Geometrical Optics and Studies in New Zealand Scenery. Ella +Wheeler Wilcox, whom I find myself to be entertaining unawares, +sits beside Anarchy or Order, which was apparently "sent in the +hope that you will become a member of the Duty and Discipline +Movement"--a vain hope, it would seem, for I have not yet paid my +subscription. What I Found Out, by an English Governess, shares a +corner with The Recreations of a Country Parson; they are +followed by Villette and Baedeker's Switzerland. Something will +have to be done about it. +But I am wondering what is to be done. If I gave you the +impression that my books were precisely arranged in their old +shelves, I misled you. They were arranged in the order known as +"all anyhow." Possibly they were a little less "anyhow" than they +are now, in that the volumes of any particular work were at least +together, but that is all that can be claimed for them. For years +I put off the business of tidying them up, just as I am putting +it off now. It is not laziness; it is simply that I don't know +how to begin. + +Let us suppose that we decide to have all the poetry together. It +sounds reasonable. But then Byron is eleven inches high (my +tallest poet), and Beattie (my shortest) is just over four +inches. How foolish they will look standing side by side. Perhaps +you don't know Beattie, but I assure you that he was a poet. He +wrote those majestic lines:-- + + "The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made + On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock; + The sickle, scythe or plough he never swayed-- + An honest heart was almost all his stock." + +Of course, one would hardly expect a shepherd to sway a plough in +the ordinary way, but Beattie was quite right to remind us that +Edwin didn't either. Edwin was the name of the shepherd- swain. +"And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy," we are told a little +further on in a line that should live. Well, having satisfied you +that Beattie was really a poet, I can now return to my argument +that an eleven-inch Byron cannot stand next to a four-inch +Beattie, and be followed by an eight-inch Cowper, without making +the shelf look silly. Yet how can I discard Beattie-- Beattie who +wrote:-- + +"And now the downy cheek and deepened voice + Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime." + +You see the difficulty. If you arrange your books according to +their contents you are sure to get an untidy shelf. If you +arrange your books according to their size and colour you get an +effective wall, but the poetically inclined visitor may lose +sight of Beattie altogether. Before, then, we decide what to do +about it, we must ask ourselves that very awkward question, "Why +do we have books on our shelves at all?" It is a most +embarrassing question to answer. + +Of course, you think that the proper answer (in your own case) is +an indignant protest that you bought them in order to read them, +and that yon put them on your shelves in order that you could +refer to them when necessary. A little reflection will show you +what a stupid answer that is. If you only want to read them, why +are some of them bound in morocco and half-calf and other +expensive coverings? Why did you buy a first edition when a +hundredth edition was so much cheaper? Why have you got half a +dozen copies of The Rubaiyat? What is the particular value of +this other book that you treasure it so carefully? Why, the fact +that its pages are uncut. If you cut the pages and read it, the +value would go. + +So, then, your library is not just for reference. You know as +well as I do that it furnishes your room; that it furnishes it +more effectively than does paint or mahogany or china. Of course, +it is nice to have the books there, so that one can refer to them +when one wishes. One may be writing an article on sea-bathing, +for instance, and have come to the sentence which begins: "In the +well-remembered words of Coleridge, perhaps almost too familiar +to be quoted"--and then one may have to look them up. On these +occasions a library is not only ornamental but useful. But do not +let us be ashamed that we find it ornamental. Indeed, the more I +survey it, the more I feel that my library is sufficiently +ornamental as it stands. Any reassembling of the books might +spoil the colour-scheme. Baedeker's Switzerland and Villette are +both in red, a colour which is neatly caught up again, after an +interlude in blue, by a volume of Browning and Jevons' Elementary +Logic. We had a woman here only yesterday who said, "How pretty +your books look," and I am inclined to think that that is good +enough. There is a careless rapture about them which I should +lose if I started to arrange them methodically. + +But perhaps I might risk this to the extent of getting all their +heads the same way up. Yes, on one of these fine days (or wet +nights) I shall take my library seriously in hand. There are +still one or two books which are the wrong way round. I shall put +them the right way round. + + + + +The Chase + + +The fact, as revealed in a recent lawsuit, that there is a +gentleman in this country who spends £10,000 a year upon his +butterfly collection would have disturbed me more in the early +nineties than it does to-day. I can bear it calmly now, but +twenty-five years ago the knowledge would have spoilt my pride in +my own collection, upon which I was already spending the best +part of threepence a week pocket-money. Perhaps, though, I should +have consoled myself with the thought that I was the truer +enthusiast of the two; for when my rival hears of a rare +butterfly in Brazil, he sends a man out to Brazil to capture it, +whereas I, when I heard that there was a Clouded Yellow in the +garden, took good care that nobody but myself encompassed its +death. Our aims also were different. I purposely left Brazil out +of it. + +Whether butterfly-hunting is good or bad for the character I +cannot undertake to decide. No doubt it can be justified as +clearly as fox- hunting. If the fox eats chickens, the +butterfly's child eats vegetables; if fox-hunting improves the +breed of horses, butterfly-hunting improves the health of boys. +But at least, we never told ourselves that butterflies liked +being pursued, as (I understand) foxes like being hunted. We were +moderately honest about it. And we comforted ourselves in the end +with the assurance of many eminent naturalists that "insects +don't feel pain." + +I have often wondered how naturalists dare to speak with such +authority. Do they never have dreams at night of an after-life in +some other world, wherein they are pursued by giant insects eager +to increase their "naturalist collection"--insects who assure +each other carelessly that "naturalists don't feel pain"? Perhaps +they do so dream. But we, at any rate, slept well, for we had +never dogmatized about a butterfly's feelings. We only quoted the +wise men. + +But if there might be doubt about the sensitiveness of a +butterfly, there could be no doubt about his distinguishing +marks. It was amazing to us how many grown-up and (presumably) +educated men and women did not know that a butterfly had knobs on +the end of his antennae, and that the moth had none. Where had +they been all these years to be so ignorant? Well-meaning but +misguided aunts, with mysterious promises of a new butterfly for +our collection, would produce some common Yellow Underwing from +an envelope, innocent (for which they may be forgiven) that only +a personal capture had any value to us, but unforgivably ignorant +that a Yellow Underwing was a moth. We did not collect moths; +there were too many of them. And moths are nocturnal creatures. A +hunter whose bed-time depends upon the whim of another is +handicapped for the night-chase. + +But butterflies come out when the sun comes out, which is just +when little boys should be out; and there are not too many +butterflies in England. I knew them all by name once, and could +have recognized any that I saw--yes, even Hampstead's Albion Eye +(or was it Albion's Hampstead Eye?), of which only one specimen +had ever been caught in this country; presumably by Hampstead--or +Albion. In my day-dreams the second specimen was caught by me. +Yet he was an insignificant-looking fellow, and perhaps I should +have been better pleased with a Camberwell Beauty, a Purple +Emperor, or a Swallowtail. Unhappily the Purple Emperor (so the +book told us) haunted the tops of trees, which was to take an +unfair advantage of a boy small for his age, and the Swallowtail +haunted Norfolk, which was equally inconsiderate of a family +which kept holiday in the south. The Camberwell Beauty sounded +more hopeful, but I suppose the trams disheartened him. I doubt +if he ever haunted Camberwell in my time. + +With threepence a week one has to be careful. It was necessary to +buy killing-boxes and setting-boards, but butterfly-nets could be +made at home. A stick, a piece of copper wire, and some muslin +were all that were necessary. One liked the muslin to be green, +for there was a feeling that this deceived the butterfly in some +way; he thought that Birnam Wood was merely coming to Dunsinane +when he saw it approaching, and that the queer-looking thing +behind was some local efflorescence. So he resumed his dalliance +with the herbaceous border, and was never more surprised in his +life than when it turned out to be a boy and a butterfly-net. +Green muslin, then, but a plain piece of cane for the stick. None +of your collapsible fishing-rods--"suitable for a Purple +Emperor." Leave those to the millionaire's sons. + +It comes back to me now that I am doing this afternoon what I did +more than twenty-five years ago; I am writing an article upon the +way to make a butterfly-net. For my first contribution to the +press was upon this subject. I sent it to the editor of some +boys' paper, and his failure to print it puzzled me a good deal, +since every word in it (I was sure) was correctly spelt. Of +course, I see now that you want more in an article than that. But +besides being puzzled I was extremely disappointed, for I wanted +badly the money that it should have brought in. I wanted it in +order to buy a butterfly-net; the stick and the copper wire and +the green muslin being (in my hands, at any rate) more suited to +an article. + + + + +Superstition + + +I have just read a serious column on the prospects for next year. +This article consisted of contributions from experts in the +various branches of industry (including one from a meteorological +expert who, I need hardly tell you, forecasted a wet summer) and +ended with a general summing up of the year by Old Moore or one +of the minor prophets. Old Moore, I am sorry to say, left me +cold. + +I should like to believe in astrology, but I cannot. I should +like to believe that the heavenly bodies sort themselves into +certain positions in order that Zadkiel may be kept in touch with +the future; the idea of a star whizzing a million miles out of +its path by way of indicating a "sensational divorce case in high +life" is extraordinarily massive. But, candidly, I do not believe +the stars bother. What the stars are for, what they are like when +you get there, I do not know; but a starry night would not be so +beautiful if it were simply meant as a warning to some unpleasant +financier that Kaffirs were going up. The ordinary man looks at +the heavens and thinks what an insignificant atom he is beneath +them; the believer in astrology looks up and realizes afresh his +overwhelming importance. Perhaps, after all, I am glad I do not +believe. + +Life must be a very tricky thing for the superstitious. At dinner +a night or two ago I happened to say that I had never been in +danger of drowning. I am not sure now that it was true, but I +still think that it was harmless. However, before I had time to +elaborate my theme (whatever it was) I was peremptorily ordered +to touch wood. I protested that both my feet were on the polished +oak and both my elbows on the polished mahogany (one always knew +that some good instinct inspired the pleasant habit of elbows on +the table) and that anyhow I did not see the need. However, +because one must not argue at dinner I tapped the table two or +three times... and now I suppose I am immune. At the same time I +should like to know exactly whom I have appeased. + +For this must be the idea of the wood-touching superstition, that +a malignant spirit dogs one's conversational footsteps, listening +eagerly for the complacent word. "I have never had the mumps," +you say airily. "Ha, ha!" says the spirit, "haven't you? Just you +wait till next Tuesday, my boy." Unconsciously we are crediting +Fate with our own human weaknesses. If a man standing on the edge +of a pond said aloud, "I have never fallen into a pond in my +life," and we happened to be just behind him, the temptation to +push him in would be irresistible. Irresistible, that is by us; +but it is charitable to assume that Providence can control itself +by now. + +Of course, nobody really thinks that our good or evil spirits +have any particular feeling about wood, that they like it +stroked; nobody, I suppose, not even the most superstitious, +really thinks that Fate is especially touchy in the matter of +salt and ladders. Equally, of course, many people who throw spilt +salt over their left shoulders are not superstitious in the +least, and are only concerned to display that readiness in the +face of any social emergency which is said to be the mark of good +manners. But there are certainly many who feel that it is the +part of a wise man to propitiate the unknown, to bend before the +forces which work for harm; and they pay tribute to Fate by means +of these little customs in the hope that they will secure in +return an immunity from evil. The tribute is nominal, but it is +an acknowledgment all the same. + +A proper sense of proportion leaves no room for superstition. A +man says, "I have never been in a shipwreck," and becoming +nervous touches wood. Why is he nervous? He has this paragraph +before his eyes: "Among the deceased was Mr. ----. By a +remarkable coincidence this gentleman had been saying only a few +days before that he had never been in a shipwreck. Little did he +think that his next voyage would falsify his words so +tragically." It occurs to him that he has read paragraphs like +that again and again. Perhaps he has. Certainly he has never read +a paragraph like this: "Among the deceased was Mr. ----. By a +remarkable coincidence this gentleman had never made the remark +that he had not yet been in a shipwreck." Yet that paragraph +could have been written truthfully thousands of times. A sense of +proportion would tell you that, if only one side of a case is +ever recorded, that side acquires an undue importance. The truth +is that Fate does not go out of its way to be dramatic. If you or +I had the power of life and death in our hands, we should no +doubt arrange some remarkably bright and telling effects. A man +who spilt the salt callously would be drowned next week in the +Dead Sea, and a couple who married in May would expire +simultaneously in the May following. But Fate cannot worry to +think out all the clever things that we should think out. It goes +about its business solidly and unromantically, and by the +ordinary laws of chance it achieves every now and then something +startling and romantic. Superstition thrives on the fact that +only the accidental dramas are reported. + +But there are charms to secure happiness as well as charms to +avert evil. In these I am a firm believer. I do not mean that I +believe that a horseshoe hung up in the house will bring me good +luck; I mean that if anybody does believe this, then the hanging +up of his horseshoe will probably bring him good luck. For if you +believe that you are going to be lucky, you go about your +business with a smile, you take disaster with a smile, you start +afresh with a smile. And to do that is to be in the way of +happiness. + + + + +The Charm of Golf + + +When he reads of the notable doings of famous golfers, the +eighteen-handicap man has no envy in his heart. For by this time +he has discovered the great secret of golf. Before he began to +play he wondered wherein lay the fascination of it; now he knows. +Golf is so popular simply because it is the best game in the +world at which to be bad. + +Consider what it is to be bad at cricket. You have bought a new +bat, perfect in balance; a new pair of pads, white as driven +snow; gloves of the very latest design. Do they let you use them? +No. After one ball, in the negotiation of which neither your bat, +nor your pads, nor your gloves came into play, they send you back +into the pavilion to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to +fatuous stories of some old gentleman who knew Fuller Pilch. And +when your side takes the field, where are you? Probably at long +leg both ends, exposed to the public gaze as the worst fieldsman +in London. How devastating are your emotions. Remorse, anger, +mortification, fill your heart; above all, envy--envy of the +lucky immortals who disport themselves on the green level of +Lord's. + +Consider what it is to be bad at lawn tennis. True, you are +allowed to hold on to your new racket all through the game, but +how often are you allowed to employ it usefully? How often does +your partner cry "Mine!" and bundle you out of the way? Is there +pleasure in playing football badly? You may spend the full eighty +minutes in your new boots, but your relations with the ball will +be distant. They do not give you a ball to yourself at football. + +But how different a game is golf. At golf it is the bad player +who gets the most strokes. However good his opponent, the bad +player has the right to play out each hole to the end; he will +get more than his share of the game. He need have no fears that +his new driver will not be employed. He will have as many swings +with it as the scratch man; more, if he misses the ball +altogether upon one or two tees. If he buys a new niblick he is +certain to get fun out of it on the very first day. + +And, above all, there is this to be said for golfing mediocrity-- +the bad player can make the strokes of the good player. The poor +cricketer has perhaps never made fifty in his life; as soon as he +stands at the wickets he knows that he is not going to make fifty +to-day. But the eighteen-handicap man has some time or other +played every hole on the course to perfection. He has driven a +ball 250 yards; he has made superb approaches; he has run down +the long putt. Any of these things may suddenly happen to him +again. And therefore it is not his fate to have to sit in the +club smoking- room after his second round and listen to the +wonderful deeds of others. He can join in too. He can say with +perfect truth, "I once carried the ditch at the fourth with my +second," or "I remember when I drove into the bunker guarding the +eighth green," or even "I did a three at the eleventh this +afternoon"--bogey being five. But if the bad cricketer says, "I +remember when I took a century in forty minutes off Lockwood and +Richardson," he is nothing but a liar. + +For these and other reasons golf is the best game in the world +for the bad player. And sometimes I am tempted to go further and +say that it is a better game for the bad player than for the good +player. The joy of driving a ball straight after a week of +slicing, the joy of putting a mashie shot dead, the joy of even a +moderate stroke with a brassie; best of all, the joy of the +perfect cleek shot--these things the good player will never know. +Every stroke we bad players make we make in hope. It is never so +bad but it might have been worse; it is never so bad but we are +confident of doing better next time. And if the next stroke is +good, what happiness fills our soul. How eagerly we tell +ourselves that in a little while all our strokes will be as good. + +What does Vardon know of this? If he does a five hole in four he +blames himself that he did not do it in three; if he does it in +five he is miserable. He will never experience that happy +surprise with which we hail our best strokes. Only his bad +strokes surprise him, and then we may suppose that he is not +happy. His length and accuracy are mechanical; they are not the +result, as so often in our case, of some suddenly applied maxim +or some suddenly discovered innovation. The only thing which can +vary in his game is his putting, and putting is not golf but +croquet. + +But of course we, too, are going to be as good as Vardon one day. +We are only postponing the day because meanwhile it is so +pleasant to be bad. And it is part of the charm of being bad at +golf that in a moment, in a single night, we may become good. If +the bad cricketer said to a good cricketer, "What am I doing +wrong?" the only possible answer would be, "Nothing particular, +except that you can't play cricket." But if you or I were to say +to our scratch friend, "What am I doing wrong?" he would reply at +once, "Moving the head" or "Dropping the right knee" or "Not +getting the wrists in soon enough," and by to-morrow we should be +different players. Upon such a little depends, or seems to the +eighteen-handicap to depend, excellence in golf. + +And so, perfectly happy in our present badness and perfectly +confident of our future goodness, we long-handicap men remain. +Perhaps it would be pleasanter to be a little more certain of +getting the ball safely off the first tee; perhaps at the +fourteenth hole, where there is a right of way and the public +encroach, we should like to feel that we have done with topping; +perhaps--- + +Well, perhaps we might get our handicap down to fifteen this +summer. But no lower; certainly no lower. + + + + +Goldfish + + +Let us talk about--well, anything you will. Goldfish, for +instance. + +Goldfish are a symbol of old-world tranquillity or mid-Victorian +futility according to their position in the home. Outside the +home, in that wild state from which civilization has dragged +them, they may have stood for dare-devil courage or constancy or +devotion; I cannot tell. I may only speak of them now as I find +them, which is in the garden or in the drawing-room. In their +lily-leaved pool, sunk deep in the old flagged terrace, upon +whose borders the blackbird whistles his early-morning song, they +remind me of sundials and lavender and old delightful things. But +in their cheap glass bowl upon the three- legged table, above +which the cloth-covered canary maintains a stolid silence, they +remind me of antimacassars and horsehair sofas and all that is +depressing. It is hard that the goldfish himself should have so +little choice in the matter. Goldfish look pretty in the terrace +pond, yet I doubt if it was the need for prettiness which brought +them there. Rather the need for some thing to throw things to. No +one of the initiate can sit in front of Nature's most wonderful +effect, the sea, without wishing to throw stones into it, the +physical pleasure of the effort and the aesthetic pleasure of the +splash combining to produce perfect contentment. So by the margin +of the pool the same desires stir within one, and because ants' +eggs do not splash, and look untidy on the surface of the water, +there must be a gleam of gold and silver to put the crown upon +one's pleasure. + +Perhaps when you have been feeding the goldfish you have not +thought of it like that. But at least you must have wondered why, +of all diets, they should prefer ants' eggs. Ants' eggs are, I +should say, the very last thing which one would take to without +argument. It must be an acquired taste, and, this being so, one +naturally asks oneself how goldfish came to acquire it. + +I suppose (but I am lamentably ignorant on these as on all other +matters) that there was a time when goldfish lived a wild free +life of their own. They roamed the sea or the river, or whatever +it was, fighting for existence, and Nature showed them, as she +always does, the food which suited them. Now I have often come +across ants' nests in my travels, but never when swimming. In +seas and rivers, pools and lakes, I have wandered, but Nature has +never put ants' eggs in my way. No doubt--it would be only right- +-the goldfish has a keener eye than I have for these things, but +if they had been there, should I have missed them so completely? +I think not, for if they had been there, they must have been +there in great quantities. I can imagine a goldfish slowly +acquiring the taste for them through the centuries, but only if +other food were denied to him, only if, wherever he went, ants' +eggs, ants' eggs, ants' eggs drifted down the stream to him. + +Yet, since it would seem that he has acquired the taste, it can +only be that the taste has come to him with captivity--has been +forced upon him, I should have said. The old wild goldfish (this +is my theory) was a more terrible beast than we think. Given his +proper diet, he could not have been kept within the limits of the +terrace pool. He would have been unsuited to domestic life; he +would have dragged in the shrieking child as she leant to feed +him. As the result of many experiments ants' eggs were given him +to keep him thin (you can see for yourself what a bloodless diet +it is), ants' eggs were given him to quell his spirit; and just +as a man, if he has sufficient colds, can get up a passion even +for ammoniated quinine, so the goldfish has grown in captivity to +welcome the once-hated omelette. + +Let us consider now the case of the goldfish in the house. His +diet is the same, but how different his surroundings! If his bowl +is placed on a table in the middle of the floor, he has but to +flash his tail once and he has been all round the drawing-room. +The drawing-room may not seem much to you, but to him this +impressionist picture through the curved glass must be amazing. +Let not the outdoor goldfish boast of his freedom. What does he, +in his little world of water-lily roots, know of the vista upon +vista which opens to his more happy brother as he passes jauntily +from china dog to ottoman and from ottoman to Henry's father? Ah, +here is life! It may be that in the course of years he will get +used to it, even bored by it; indeed, for that reason I always +advocate giving him a glance at the dining-room or the bedrooms +on Wednesdays and Saturdays; but his first day in the bowl must +be the opening of an undreamt of heaven to him. + +Again, what an adventurous life is his. At any moment a cat may +climb up and fetch him out, a child may upset him, grown-ups may +neglect to feed him or to change his water. The temptation to +take him up and massage him must be irresistible to outsiders. +All these dangers the goldfish in the pond avoids; he lives a +sheltered and unexciting life, and when he wants to die he dies +unnoticed, unregretted, but for his brother the tears and the +solemn funeral. + +Yes; now that I have thought it out, I can see that I was wrong +in calling the indoor goldfish a symbol of mid-Victorian +futility. An article of this sort is no good if it does not teach +the writer something as well as his readers. I recognize him now +as the symbol of enterprise and endurance, of restlessness and +Post-Impressionism. He is not mid-Victorian, he is Fifth +Georgian. + +Which is all I want to say about goldfish. + + + + +Saturday to Monday + + +The happy man would have happy faces round him; a sad face is a +reproach to him for his happiness. So when I escape by the 2.10 +on Saturday I distribute largesse with a liberal hand. The +cabman, feeling that an effort is required of him, mentions that +I am the first gentleman he has met that day; he penetrates my +mufti and calls me captain, leaving it open whether he regards me +as a Salvation Army captain or the captain of a barge. The +porters hasten to the door of my cab; there is a little struggle +between them as to who shall have the honour of waiting upon me. +... + +Inside the station things go on as happily. The booking-office +clerk gives me a pleasant smile; he seems to approve of the +station I am taking. "Some do go to Brighton," he implies, "but +for a gentleman like you--" He pauses to point out that with this +ticket I can come back on the Tuesday if I like (as, between +ourselves, I hope to do). In exchange for his courtesies I push +him my paper through the pigeon hole. A dirty little boy thrust +it into my cab; I didn't want it, but as we are all being happy +to- day he had his penny. + +I follow my porter to the platform. "On the left," says the +ticket collector. He has said it mechanically to a hundred +persons, but he becomes human and kindly as he says it to me. I +feel that he really wishes me to get into the right train, to +have a pleasant journey down, to be welcomed heartily by my +friends when I arrive. It is not as to one of a mob but to an +individual that he speaks. + +The porter has found me an empty carriage. He is full of ideas +for my comfort; he tells me which way the train will start, where +we stop, and when we may be expected to arrive. Am I sure I +wouldn't like my bag in the van? Can he get me any papers? No; +no, thanks. I don't want to read. I give him sixpence, and there +is another one of us happy. + +Presently the guard. He also seems pleased that I have selected +this one particular station from among so many. Pleased, but not +astonished; he expected it of me. It is a very good run down in +his train, and he shouldn't be surprised if we had a fine week- +end. ... + +I stand at the door of ray carriage feeling very happy. It is +good to get out of London. Come to think of it, we are all +getting out of London, and none of us is going to do any work to- +morrow. How jolly! Oh, but what about my porter? Bother! I wish +now I'd given him more than sixpence. Still, he may have a +sweetheart and be happy that way. + +We are off. I have nothing to read, but then I want to think. It +is the ideal place in which to think, a railway carriage; the +ideal place in which to be happy. I wonder if I shall be in good +form this week-end at cricket and tennis, and croquet and +billiards, and all the other jolly games I mean to play. Look at +those children trying to play cricket in that dirty backyard. +Poor little beggars! Fancy living in one of those horrible +squalid houses. But you cannot spoil to- day for me, little +backyards. On Tuesday perhaps, when I am coming again to the ugly +town, your misery will make me miserable; I shall ask myself +hopelessly what it all means; but just now I am too happy for +pity. After all, why should I assume that you envy me, you two +children swinging on a gate and waving to me? You are happy, +aren't you? Of course; we are all happy to-day. See, I am waving +back to you. + +My eyes wander round the carriage and rest on my bag. Have I put +everything in? Of course I have. Then why this uneasy feeling +that I have left something very important out? Well, I can soon +settle the question. Let's start with to-night. Evening clothes-- +they're in, I know. Shirts, collars ... + +I go through the whole programme for the week-end, allotting +myself in my mind suitable clothes for each occasion. Yes; I seem +to have brought everything that I can possibly want. But what a +very jolly programme I am drawing up for myself! Will it really +be as delightful as that? Well, it was last time, and the time +before; that is why I am so happy. + +The train draws up at its only halt in the glow of a September +mid-afternoon. There is a little pleasant bustle; nice people get +out and nice people meet them; everybody seems very cheery and +contented. Then we are off again ... and now the next station is +mine. + +We are there. A porter takes my things with a kindly smile and a +"Nice day." I see Brant outside with the wagonette, not the trap; +then I am not the only guest coming by this train. Who are the +others, I wonder. Anybody I know? ... Why, yes, it's Bob and Mrs. +Bob, and--hallo!--Cynthia! And isn't that old Anderby? How +splendid! I must get that shilling back from Bob that I lost to +him at billiards last time. And if Cynthia really thinks that she +can play croquet ... + +We greet each other happily and climb into the wagonette. Never +has the country looked so lovely. "No; no rain at all," says +Brant, "and the glass is going up." The porter puts our luggage +in the cart and comes round with a smile. It is a rotten life +being a porter, and I do so want everybody to enjoy this +afternoon. Besides, I haven't any coppers. + +I slip half a crown into his palm. Now we are all very, very +happy. + + + + +The Pond + + +My friend Aldenham's pond stands at a convenient distance from +the house, and is reached by a well-drained gravel path; so that +in any weather one may walk, alone or in company, dry shod to its +brink, and estimate roughly how many inches of rain have fallen +in the night. The ribald call it the hippopotamus pond, tracing a +resemblance between it and the bath of the hippopotamus at the +Zoo, beneath the waters of which, if you particularly desire to +point the hippopotamus out to somebody, he always lies hidden. To +the rest of us it is known simply as "the pond"--a designation +which ignores the existence of several neighbouring ponds, the +gifts of nature, and gives the whole credit to the handiwork of +man. For "the pond" is just a small artificial affair of cement, +entirely unpretentious. + +There are seven steps to the bottom of the pond, and each step is +10 in. high. Thus the steps help to make the pond a convenient +rain- gauge; for obviously when only three steps are left +uncovered, as was the case last Monday, you know that there have +been 40 in. of rain since last month, when the pond began to +fill. To strangers this may seem surprising, and it is only fair +to tell them the great secret, which is that much of the +surrounding land drains secretly into the pond too. This seems to +me to give a much fairer indication of the rain that has fallen +than do the official figures in the newspapers. For when your +whole day's cricket has been spoilt, it is perfectly absurd to be +told that .026 of an inch of rain has done the damage; the soul +yearns for something more startling than that The record of the +pond, that there has been another 5 in., soothes us, where the +record of the ordinary pedantic rain-gauge would leave us +infuriated. It speaks much for my friend Aldenham's breadth of +view that he understood this, and planned the pond accordingly. + +A most necessary thing in a country house is that there should be +a recognized meeting-place, where the people who have been +writing a few letters after breakfast may, when they have +finished, meet those who have no intention of writing any, and +arrange plans with them for the morning. I am one of those who +cannot write letters in another man's house, and when my pipe is +well alight I say to Miss Robinson--or whoever it may be--"Let's +go and look at the pond." "Right oh," she says willingly enough, +having spent the last quarter of an hour with The Times Financial +Supplement, all of the paper that is left to the women in the +first rush for the cricket news. We wander down to the pond +together, and perhaps find Brown and Miss Smith there. "A lot of +rain in the night," says Brown. "It was only just over the third +step after lunch yesterday." We have a little argument about it, +Miss Robinson being convinced that she stood on the second step +after breakfast, and Miss Smith repeating that it looks exactly +the same to her this morning. By and by two or three others +stroll up, and we all make measurements together. The general +opinion is that there has been a lot of rain in the night, and +that 43 in. in three weeks must be a record. But, anyhow, it is +fairly fine now, and what about a little lawn tennis? Or golf? Or +croquet? Or---? And so the arrangements for the morning are made. + +And they can be made more readily out of doors; for--supposing it +is fine--the fresh air calls you to be doing something, and the +sight of the newly marked tennis lawn fills you with thoughts of +revenge for your accidental defeat the evening before. But +indoors it is so easy to drop into a sofa after breakfast, and, +once there with all the papers, to be disinclined to leave it +till lunch-time. A man or woman as lazy as this must not be +rushed. Say to such a one, "Come and play," and the invitation +will be declined. Say, "Come and look at the pond," and the worst +sluggard will not refuse such gentle exercise. And once he is out +he is out. + +All this for those delightful summer days when there are fine +intervals; but consider the advantages of the pond when the rain +streams down in torrents from morning till night. How tired we +get of being indoors on these days, even with the best of books, +the pleasantest of companions, the easiest of billiard tables. +Yet if our hostess were to see us marching out with an umbrella, +how odd she would think us. "Where are you off to?" she would +ask, and we could only answer lamely, "Er--I was just going to-- +er--walk about a bit." But now we tell her brightly, "I'm going +to see the pond. It must be nearly full. Won't you come too?" And +with any luck she comes. And you know, it even reconciles us a +little to these streaming days to reflect that it all goes to +fill the pond. For there is ever before our minds that great +moment in the future when the pond is at last full. What will +happen then? Aldenham may know, but we his guests do not. Some +think there will be merely a flood over the surrounding paths and +the kitchen garden, but for myself I believe that we are promised +something much bigger than that. A man with such a broad and +friendly outlook towards rain-gauges will be sure to arrange +something striking when the great moment arrives. Some sort of +fete will help to celebrate it, I have no doubt; with an open-air +play, tank drama, or what not. At any rate we have every hope +that he will empty the pond as speedily as possible so that we +may watch it fill again. + +I must say that he has been a little lucky in his choice of a +year for inaugurating the pond. But, all the same, there are now +45 in. of rain in it, 45 in. of rain have fallen in the last +three weeks, and I think that something ought to be done about +it. + + + + +A Seventeenth-Century Story + + +There is a story in every name in that first column of The Times- +-Births, Marriages, and Deaths--down which we glance each +morning, but, unless the name is known to us, we do not bother +about the stories of other people. They are those not very +interesting people, our contemporaries. But in a country +churchyard a name on an old tombstone will set us wondering a +little. What sort of life came to an end there a hundred years +ago? + +In the parish register we shall find the whole history of them; +when they were born, when they were married, how many children +they had, when they died--a skeleton of their lives which we can +clothe with our fancies and make living again. Simple lives, we +make them, in that pleasant countryside; "Man comes and tills the +field and lies beneath"; that is all. Simple work, simple +pleasures, and a simple death. + +Of course we are wrong. There were passions and pains in those +lives; tragedies perhaps. The tombstones and the registers say +nothing of them; or, if they say it, it is in a cypher to which +we have not the key. Yet sometimes the key is almost in our +hands. Here is a story from the register of a village church-- +four entries only, but they hide a tragedy which with a little +imagination we can almost piece together for ourselves. + +The first entry is a marriage. John Meadowes of Littlehaw Manor, +bachelor, took Mary Field to wife (both of this parish) on 7th +November 1681. + +There were no children of the marriage. Indeed, it only lasted a +year. A year later, on l2th November 1682, John died and was +buried. + +Poor Mary Meadowes was now alone at the Manor. We picture her +sitting there in her loneliness, broken-hearted, refusing to be +comforted. ... + +Until we come to the third entry. John has only been in his grave +a month, but here is the third entry, telling us that on l2th +December 1682, Robert Cliff, bachelor, was married to Mary +Meadowes, widow. It spoils our picture of her. ... + +And then the fourth entry. It is the fourth entry which reveals +the tragedy, which makes us wonder what is the story hidden away +in the parish register of Littlehaw--the mystery of Littlehaw +Manor. For here is another death, the death of Mary Cliff, and +Mary Cliff died on ... l3th December 1682. + +And she was buried in unconsecrated ground. For Mary Cliff (we +must suppose) had killed herself. She had killed herself on the +day after her marriage to her second husband. + +Well, what is the story? We shall have to make it up for +ourselves. Here is my rendering of it. I have no means of finding +out if it is the correct one, but it seems to fit itself within +the facts as we know them. + +Mary Field was the daughter of well-to-do parents, an only child, +and the most desirable bride, from the worldly point of view, in +the village. No wonder, then, that her parents' choice of a +husband for her fell upon the most desirable bridegroom of the +village--John Meadowes. The Fields' land adjoined Littlehaw +Manor; one day the child of John and Mary would own it all. Let a +marriage, then, be arranged. + +But Mary loved Robert Cliff whole-heartedly --Robert, a man of no +standing at all. A ridiculous notion, said her parents, but the +silly girl would grow out of it. She was taken by a handsome +face. Once she was safely wedded to John, she would forget her +foolishness. John might not be handsome, but he was a solid, +steady fellow; which was more--much more, as it turned out--than +could be said for Robert. + +So John and Mary married. But she still loved Robert. ... + +Did she kill her husband? Did she and Robert kill him together? +Or did she only hasten his death by her neglect of him in some +illness? Did she dare him to ride some devil of a horse which she +knew he could not master; did she taunt him into some foolhardy +feat; or did she deliberately kill him--with or without her +lover's aid? I cannot guess, but of this I am certain. His death +was on her conscience. Directly or indirectly she was responsible +for it --or, at any rate, felt herself responsible for it. But +she would not think of it too closely; she had room for only one +thought in her mind. She was mistress of Littlehaw Manor now, and +free to marry whom she wished. Free, at last, to marry Robert. +Whatever had been done had been worth doing for that. + +So she married him. And then--so I read the story--she discovered +the truth. Robert had never loved her. He had wanted to marry the +rich Miss Field, that was all. Still more, he had wanted to marry +the rich Mrs. Meadowes. He was quite callous about it. She might +as well know the truth now as later. It would save trouble in the +future, if she knew. + +So Mary killed herself. She had murdered John for nothing. +Whatever her responsibility for John's death, in the bitterness +of that discovery she would call it murder. She had a murder on +her conscience for love's sake--and there was no love. What else +to do but follow John? ... + +Is that the story? I wonder. + + + + +Our Learned Friends + + +I do not know why the Bar has always seemed the most respectable +of the professions, a profession which the hero of almost any +novel could adopt without losing caste. But so it is. A +schoolmaster can be referred to contemptuously as an usher; a +doctor is regarded humorously as a licensed murderer; a solicitor +is always retiring to gaol for making away with trust funds, and, +in any case, is merely an attorney; while a civil servant sleeps +from ten to four every day, and is only waked up at sixty in +order to be given a pension. But there is no humorous comment to +be made upon the barrister--unless it is to call him "my learned +friend." He has much more right than the actor to claim to be a +member of the profession. I don't know why. Perhaps it is because +he walks about the Temple in a top-hat. + +So many of one's acquaintances at some time or other have "eaten +dinners" that one hardly dares to say anything against the +profession. Besides, one never knows when one may not want to be +defended. However, I shall take the risk, and put the barrister +in the dock. "Gentlemen of the jury, observe this well-dressed +gentleman before you. What shall we say about him?" + +Let us begin by asking ourselves what we expect from a +profession. In the first place, certainly, we expect a living, +but I think we want something more than that. If we were offered +a thousand a year to walk from Charing Cross to Barnet every day, +reasons of poverty might compel us to accept the offer, but we +should hardly be proud of our new profession. We should prefer to +earn a thousand a year by doing some more useful work. Indeed, to +a man of any fine feeling the profession of Barnet walking would +only be tolerable if he could persuade himself that by his +exertions he was helping to revive the neglected art of +pedestrianism, or to make more popular the neglected beauties of +Barnet; if he could hope that, after his three- hundredth +journey, inquisitive people would begin to follow him, wondering +what he was after, and so come suddenly upon the old Norman +church at the cross-roads, or, if they missed this, at any rate +upon a much better appetite for their dinner. That is to say, he +would have to persuade himself that he was walking, not only for +himself, but also for the community. + +It seems to me, then, that a profession is a noble or an ignoble +one, according as it offers or denies to him who practises it the +opportunity of working for some other end than his own +advancement. A doctor collects fees from his patients, but he is +aiming at something more than pounds, shillings, and pence; he is +out to put an end to suffering. A schoolmaster earns a living by +teaching, but he does not feel that he is fighting only for +himself; he is a crusader on behalf of education. The artist, +whatever his medium, is giving a message to the world, expressing +the truth as he sees it; for his own profit, perhaps, but not for +that alone. All these and a thousand other ways of living have +something of nobility in them. We enter them full of high +resolves. We tell ourselves that we will follow the light as it +has been revealed to us; that our ideals shall never be lowered; +that we will refuse to sacrifice our principles to our interests. +We fail, of course. The painter finds that "Mother's Darling" +brings in the stuff, and he turns out Mother's Darlings +mechanically. The doctor neglects research and cultivates instead +a bedside manner. The schoolmaster drops all his theories of +education and conforms hastily to those of his employers. We +fail, but it is not because the profession is an ignoble one; we +had our chances. Indeed, the light is still there for those who +look. It beckons to us. + +Now what of the Bar? Is the barrister after anything other than +his own advancement? He follows what gleam? What are his ideals? +Never mind whether he fails more often or less often than others +to attain them; I am not bothering about that. I only want to +know what it is that he is after. In the quiet hours when we are +alone with ourselves and there is nobody to tell us what fine +fellows we are, we come sometimes upon a weak moment in which we +wonder, not how much money we are earning, nor how famous we are +becoming, but what good we are doing. If a barrister ever has +such a moment, what is his consolation? It can only be that he is +helping Justice to be administered. If he is to be proud of his +profession, and in that lonely moment tolerant of himself, he +must feel that he is taking a noble part in the vindication of +legal right, the punishment of legal wrong. But he must do more +than this. Just as the doctor, with increased knowledge and +experience, becomes a better fighter against disease, advancing +himself, no doubt, but advancing also medical science; just as +the schoolmaster, having learnt new and better ways of teaching, +can now give a better education to his boys, increasing thereby +the sum of knowledge; so the barrister must be able to tell +himself that the more expert he becomes as an advocate, the +better will he be able to help in the administration of this +Justice which is his ideal. + +Can he tell himself this? I do not see how he can. His increased +expertness will be of increased service to himself, of increased +service to his clients, but no ideal will be the better served by +reason of it. Let us take a case--Smith v. Jones. Counsel is +briefed for Smith. After examining the case he tells himself in +effect this: "As far as I can see, the Law is all on the other +side. Luckily, however, sentiment is on our side. Given an +impressionable jury, there's just a chance that we might pull it +off. It's worth trying." He tries, and if he is sufficiently +expert he pulls it off. A triumph for himself, but what has +happened to the ideal? Did he even think, "Of course I'm bound to +do the best for my client, but he's in the wrong, and I hope we +lose?" I imagine not. The whole teaching of the Bar is that he +must not bother about justice, but only about his own victory. +What ultimately, then, is he after? What does the Bar offer its +devotees--beyond material success? + +I asked just now what were a barrister's ideals. Suppose we ask +instead, What is the ideal barrister? If one spoke loosely of an +ideal doctor, one would not necessarily mean a titled gentleman +in Harley Street. An ideal schoolmaster is not synonymous with +the Headmaster of Eton or the owner of the most profitable +preparatory school. But can there be an ideal barrister other +than a successful barrister? The eager young writer, just +beginning a literary career, might fix his eyes upon Francis +Thompson rather than upon Sir Hall Caine; the eager young +clergyman might dream dreams over the Life of Father Damien more +often than over the Life of the Archbishop of Canterbury; but to +what star can the eager young barrister hitch his wagon, save to +the star of material success? If he does not see himself as Sir +Edward Carson, it is only because he thinks that perhaps after +all Sir John Simon's manner is the more effective. + +There may be other answers to the questions I have asked than the +answers I have given, but it is no answer to ask me how the law +can be administered without barristers. I do not know; nor do I +know how the roads can be swept without getting somebody to sweep +them. But that would not disqualify me from saying that road- +sweeping was an unattractive profession. So also I am entitled to +my opinion about the Bar, which is this. That because it offers +material victories only and never spiritual ones, that because +there can be no standard by which its disciples are judged save +the earthly standard, that because there is no place within its +ranks for the altruist or the idealist--for these reasons the Bar +is not one of the noble professions. + + + + +A Word for Autumn + + +Last night the waiter put the celery on with the cheese, and I +knew that summer was indeed dead. Other signs of autumn there may +be--the reddening leaf, the chill in the early-morning air, the +misty evenings--but none of these comes home to me so truly. +There may be cool mornings in July; in a year of drought the +leaves may change before their time; it is only with the first +celery that summer is over. + +I knew all along that it would not last. Even in April I was +saying that winter would soon be here. Yet somehow it had begun +to seem possible lately that a miracle might happen, that summer +might drift on and on through the months--a final upheaval to +crown a wonderful year. The celery settled that. Last night with +the celery autumn came into its own. + +There is a crispness about celery that is of the essence of +October. It is as fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of +heat. It crackles pleasantly in the mouth. Moreover it is +excellent, I am told, for the complexion. One is always hearing +of things which are good for the complexion, but there is no +doubt that celery stands high on the list. After the burns and +freckles of summer one is in need of something. How good that +celery should be there at one's elbow. + +A week ago--("A little more cheese, waiter") --a week ago I +grieved for the dying summer. I wondered how I could possibly +bear the waiting --the eight long months till May. In vain to +comfort myself with the thought that I could get through more +work in the winter undistracted by thoughts of cricket grounds +and country houses. In vain, equally, to tell myself that I could +stay in bed later in the mornings. Even the thought of after- +breakfast pipes in front of the fire left me cold. But now, +suddenly, I am reconciled to autumn. I see quite clearly that all +good things must come to an end. The summer has been splendid, +but it has lasted long enough. This morning I welcomed the chill +in the air; this morning I viewed the falling leaves with +cheerfulness; and this morning I said to myself, "Why, of course, +I'll have celery for lunch." ("More bread, waiter.") "Season of +mists and mellow fruitfulness," said Keats, not actually picking +out celery in so many words, but plainly including it in the +general blessings of the autumn. Yet what an opportunity he +missed by not concentrating on that precious root. Apples, +grapes, nuts, and vegetable marrows he mentions specially--and +how poor a selection! For apples and grapes are not typical of +any month, so ubiquitous are they, vegetable marrows are +vegetables pour rire and have no place in any serious +consideration of the seasons, while as for nuts, have we not a +national song which asserts distinctly, "Here we go gathering +nuts in May"? Season of mists and mellow celery, then let it be. +A pat of butter underneath the bough, a wedge of cheese, a loaf +of bread and--Thou. + +How delicate are the tender shoots unfolded layer by layer. Of +what, a whiteness is the last baby one of all, of what a +sweetness his flavour. It is well that this should be the last +rite of the meal--finis coronat opus--so that we may go straight +on to the business of the pipe. Celery demands a pipe rather than +a cigar, and it can be eaten better in an inn or a London tavern +than in the home. Yes, and it should be eaten alone, for it is +the only food which one really wants to hear oneself eat. +Besides, in company one may have to consider the wants of others. +Celery is not a thing to share with any man. Alone in your +country inn you may call for the celery; but if you are wise you +will see that no other traveller wanders into the room. Take +warning from one who has learnt a lesson. One day I lunched alone +at an inn, finishing with cheese and celery. Another traveller +came in and lunched too. We did not speak--I was busy with my +celery. From the other end of the table he reached across for the +cheese. That was all right; it was the public cheese. But he also +reached across for the celery--my private celery for which I +owed. Foolishly--you know how one does--I had left the sweetest +and crispest shoots till the last, tantalizing myself pleasantly +with the thought of them. Horror! to see them snatched from me by +a stranger. He realized later what he had done and apologized, +but of what good is an apology in such circumstances? Yet at +least the tragedy was not without its value. Now one remembers to +lock the door. + +Yes, I can face the winter with calm. I suppose I had forgotten +what it was really like. I had been thinking of the winter as a +horrid wet, dreary time fit only for professional football. Now I +can see other things--crisp and sparkling days, long pleasant +evenings, cheery fires. Good work shall be done this winter. Life +shall be lived well. The end of the summer is not the end of the +world. Here's to October--and, waiter, some more celery. + + + + +A Christmas Number + + +The common joke against the Christmas number is that it is +planned in July and made up in September. This enables it to be +published in the middle of November and circulated in New Zealand +by Christmas. If it were published in England at Christmas, New +Zealand wouldn't get it till February. Apparently it is more +important that the colonies should have it punctually than that +we should. + +Anyway, whenever it is made up, all journalists hate the +Christmas number. But they only hate it for one reason--this +being that the ordinary weekly number has to be made up at the +same time. As a journalist I should like to devote the autumn +exclusively to the Christmas number, and as a member of the +public I should adore it when it came out. Not having been asked +to produce such a number on my own I can amuse myself here by +sketching out a plan for it. I follow the fine old tradition. +First let us get the stories settled. Story No. 1 deals with the +escaped convict. The heroine is driving back from the country- +house ball, where she has had two or three proposals, when +suddenly, in the most lonely part of the snow-swept moor, a +figure springs out of the ditch and covers the coachman with a +pistol. Alarms and confusions. "Oh, sir," says the heroine, +"spare my aunt and I will give you all my jewels." The convict, +for such it is, staggers back. "Lucy!" he cries. "Harold!" she +gasps. The aunt says nothing, for she has swooned. At this point +the story stops to explain how Harold came to be in +knickerbockers. He had either been falsely accused or else he had +been a solicitor. Anyhow, he had by this time more than paid for +his folly, and Lucy still loved him. "Get in," she says, and +drives him home. Next day he leaves for New Zealand in an +ordinary lounge suit. Need I say that Lucy joins him later? No; +that shall be left for your imagination. The End. + + +So much for the first story. The second is an "i'-faith-and-stap- +me" story of the good old days. It is not seasonable, for most of +the action takes place in my lord's garden amid the scent of +roses; but it brings back to us the old romantic days when +fighting and swearing were more picturesque than they are now, +and when women loved and worked samplers. This sort of story can +be read best in front of the Christmas log; it is of the past, +and comes naturally into a Christmas number. I shall not describe +its plot, for that is unimportant; it is the "stap me's" and the +"la, sirs," which matter. But I may say that she marries him all +right in the end, and he goes off happily to the wars. + +We want another story. What shall this one be about? It might be +about the amateur burglar, or the little child who reconciled old +Sir John to his daughter's marriage, or the ghost at Enderby +Grange, or the millionaire's Christmas dinner, or the accident to +the Scotch express. Personally, I do not care for any of these; +my vote goes for the desert-island story. Proud Lady Julia has +fallen off the deck of the liner, and Ronald, refused by her that +morning, dives off the hurricane deck--or the bowsprit or +wherever he happens to be--and seizes her as she is sinking for +the third time. It is a foggy night and their absence is +unnoticed. Dawn finds them together on a little coral reef. They +are in no danger, for several liners are due to pass in a day or +two and Ronald's pockets are full of biscuits and chocolate, but +it is awkward for Lady Julia, who had hoped that they would never +meet again. So they sit on the beach back to back (drawn by Dana +Gibson) and throw sarcastic remarks over their shoulders at each +other. In the end he tames her proud spirit--I think by hiding +the turtles' eggs from her--and the next liner but one takes the +happy couple back to civilization. + +But it is time we had some poetry. I propose to give you one +serious poem about robins, and one double-page humorous piece, +well illustrated in colours. I think the humorous verses must +deal with hunting. Hunting does not lend itself to humour, for +there are only two hunting jokes --the joke of the horse which +came down at the brook and the joke of the Cockney who overrode +hounds; but there are traditions to keep up, and the artist +always loves it. So far we have not considered the artist +sufficiently. Let us give him four full pages. One of pretty +girls hanging up mistletoe, one of the squire and his family +going to church in the snow, one of a brokendown coach with +highwaymen coming over the hill, and one of the postman bringing +loads and loads of parcels. You have all Christmas in those four +pictures. But there is room for another page--let it be a +coloured page, of half a dozen sketches, the period and the +lettering very early English. "Ye Baron de Marchebankes calleth +for hys varlet." "Ye varlet cometh righte hastilie---" You know +the delightful kind of thing. + +I confess that this is the sort of Christmas number which I love. +You may say that you have seen it all before; I say that that is +why I love it. The best of Christmas is that it reminds us of +other Christmases; it should be the boast of Christmas numbers +that they remind us of other Christmas numbers. + +But though I doubt if I shall get quite what I want from any one +number this year, yet there will surely be enough in all the +numbers to bring Christmas very pleasantly before the eyes. In a +dull November one likes to be reminded that Christmas is coming. +It is perhaps as well that the demands of the colonies give us +our Christmas numbers so early. At the same time it is difficult +to see why New Zealand wants a Christmas number at all. As I +glance above at the plan of my model paper I feel more than ever +how adorable it would be--but not, oh not with the thermometer at +a hundred in the shade. + + + + +No Flowers by Request + + +If a statement is untrue, it is not the more respectable because +it has been said in Latin. We owe the war, directly, no doubt, to +the Kaiser, but indirectly to the Roman idiot who said, "Si vis +pacem, para bellum." Having mislaid my Dictionary of Quotations I +cannot give you his name, but I have my money on him as the +greatest murderer in history. + +Yet there have always been people who would quote this classical +lie as if it were at least as authoritative as anything said in +the Sermon on the Mount. It was said a long time ago, and in a +strange language--that was enough for them. In the same way they +will say, "De mortuis nil nisi bonum." But I warn them solemnly +that it will take a good deal more than this to stop me from +saying what I want to say about the recently expired month of +February. + +I have waited purposely until February was dead. Cynics may say +that this was only wisdom, in that a damnatory notice from me +might have inspired that unhappy month to an unusually brilliant +run, out of sheer wilfulness. I prefer to think that it was good +manners which forbade me to be disrespectful to her very face. It +is bad manners to speak the truth to the living, but February is +dead. De mortuis nil nisi veritas. + +The truth about poor February is that she is the worst month of +the year. But let us be fair to her. She has never had a chance. +We cannot say to her, "Look upon this picture and on this. This +you might have been; this you are." There is no "might have been" +for her, no ideal February. The perfect June we can imagine for +ourselves. Personally I do not mind how hot it be, but there must +be plenty of strawberries. The perfect April--ah, one dare not +think of the perfect April. That can only happen in the next +world. Yet April may always be striving for it, though she never +reach it. But the perfect February--what is it? I know not. Let +us pity February, then, even while we blame her. + +For February comes just when we are sick of winter, and therefore +she may not be wintry. Wishing to do her best, she ventures her +spring costume, crocus and primrose and daffodil days; days when +the first faint perfume of mint is blown down the breezes, and +one begins to wonder how the lambs are shaping. Is that the ideal +February? Ah no! For we cannot be deceived. We know that spring +is not here; that March is to come with its frosts and perchance +its snows, a worse March for the milder February, a plunge back +into the winter which poor February tried to flatter us was over. + +Such a February is a murderer--an accessory to the murders of +March. She lays the ground-bait for the victims. Out pop the +stupid little flowers, eager to be deceived (one could forgive +the annuals, but the perennials ought to know better by now), and +down comes March, a roaring lion, to gobble them up. + +And how much lost fruit do we not owe to February! One feels--a +layman like myself feels--that it should be enough to have a +strawberry-bed, a peach-tree, a fig-tree. If these are not +enough, then the addition of a gardener should make the thing a +certainty. Yet how often will not a gardener refer one back to +February as the real culprit. The tree blossomed too early; the +late frosts killed it; in the annoyance of the moment one may +reproach the gardener for allowing it to blossom so prematurely, +but one cannot absolve February of all blame. + +It is no good, then, for February to try to be spring; no hope +for her to please us by prolonging winter. What is left to her? +She cannot even give us the pleasure of the hairshirt. Did April +follow her, she could make the joys of that wonderful month even +keener for us by the contrast, but--she is followed by March. +What can one do with March? One does not wear a hair-shirt merely +to enjoy the pleasure of following it by one slightly less hairy. + +Well, we may agree that February is no good. "Oh, to be out of +England now that February's here," is what Browning should have +said. One has no use for her in this country. Pope Gregory, or +whoever it was that arranged the calendar, must have had +influential relations in England who urged on him the need for +making February the shortest month of the year. Let us be +grateful to His Holiness that he was so persuaded. He was a +little obstinate about Leap Year; a more imaginative pontiff +would have given the extra day to April; but he was amenable +enough for a man who only had his relations' word for it. Every +first of March I raise my glass to Gregory. Even as a boy I used +to drink one of his powders to him at about this time of the +year. + +February fill-dyke! Well, that's all that can be said for it. + + + + +The Unfairness of Things + + +The most interesting column in any paper (always excepting those +which I write myself) is that entitled "The World's Press," +wherein one may observe the world as it appears to a press of +which one has for the most part never heard. It is in this column +that I have just made the acquaintance of The Shoe Manufacturers' +Monthly, the journal to which the elect turn eagerly upon each +new moon. (Its one-time rival, The Footwear Fortnightly, has, I +am told, quite lost its following.) The bon mot of the current +number of The S.M.M. is a note to the effect that Kaffirs have a +special fondness for boots which make a noise. I quote this +simply as an excuse for referring to the old problem of the +squeaky boots and the squeaky collar; the problem, in fact, of +the unfairness of things. + +The majors and clubmen who assist their country with columns of +advice on clothes have often tried to explain why a collar +squeaks, but have never done so to the satisfaction of any man of +intelligence. They say that the collar is too large or too small, +too dirty or too clean. They say that if you have your collars +made for you (like a gentleman) you will be all right, but that +if you buy the cheap, ready-made article, what can you expect? +They say that a little soap on the outside of the shirt, or a +little something on the inside of something else, that this, +that, and the other will abate the nuisance. They are quite +wrong. + +The simple truth, and everybody knows it really, is that collars +squeak for some people and not for others. A squeaky collar round +the neck of a man is a comment, not upon the collar, but upon the +man. That man is unlucky. Things are against him. Nature may have +done all for him that she could, have given him a handsome +outside and a noble inside, but the world of inanimate objects is +against him. + +We all know the man whom children or dogs love instinctively. It +is a rare gift to be able to inspire this affection. The Fates +have been kind to him. But to inspire the affection of inanimate +things is something greater. The man to whom a collar or a window +sash takes instinctively is a man who may truly be said to have +luck on his side. Consider him for a moment. His collar never +squeaks; his clothes take a delight in fitting him. At a dinner- +party he walks as by instinct straight to his seat, what time you +and I are dragging our partners round and round the table in +search of our cards. The windows of taxicabs open to him easily. +When he travels by train his luggage works its way to the front +of the van and is the first to jump out at Paddington. String +hastens to undo itself when he approaches; he is the only man who +can make a decent impression with sealing-wax. If he is asked by +the hostess in a crowded drawing-room to ring the bell, that bell +comes out from behind the sofa where it hid from us and places +itself in a convenient spot before his eyes. Asparagus stiffens +itself at sight of him, macaroni winds itself round his fork. + +You will observe that I am not describing just the ordinary lucky +man. He may lose thousands on the Stock Exchange; he may be +jilted; whenever he goes to the Oval to see Hobbs, Hobbs may be +out first ball; he may invariably get mixed up in railway +accidents. That is a kind of ill-luck which one can bear, not +indeed without grumbling, but without rancour. The man who is +unlucky to experience these things at least has the consolation +of other people's sympathy; but the man who is the butt of +inanimate things has no one's sympathy. We may be on a motor bus +which overturns and nobody will say that it is our fault, but if +our collar deliberately and maliciously squeaks, everybody will +say that we ought to buy better collars; if our dinner cards hide +from us, or the string of our parcel works itself into knots, we +are called clumsy; our asparagus and macaroni give us a +reputation for bad manners; our luggage gets us a name for +dilatoriness. + +I think we, we others, have a right to complain. However lucky we +may be in other ways, if we have not this luck of inanimate +things we have a right to complain. It is pleasant, I admit, to +win £500 on the Stock Exchange by a stroke of sheer good fortune, +but even in the blue of this there is a cloud, for the next £500 +that we win by a stroke of shrewd business will certainly be put +down to luck. Luck is given the credit of all our successes, but +the other man is given the credit of all his luck. That is why we +have a right to complain. + +I do not know why things should conspire against a man. Perhaps +there is some justice in it. It is possible--nay, probable--that +the man whom things love is hated by animals and children--even +by his fellow-men. Certainly he is hated by me. Indeed, the more +I think of him, the more I see that he is not a nice man in any +way. The gods have neglected him; he has no good qualities. He is +a worm. No wonder, then, that this small compensation is doled +out to him--the gift of getting on with inanimate things. This +gives him (with the unthinking) a certain reputation for +readiness and dexterity. If ever you meet a man with such a +reputation, you will know what he really is. + +Circumstances connected with the hour at which I rose this +morning ordained that I should write this article in a dressing- +gown. I shall now put on a collar. I hope it will squeak. + + + + +Daffodils + + +The confession-book, I suppose, has disappeared. It is twenty +years since I have seen one. As a boy I told some inquisitive +owner what was my favourite food (porridge, I fancy), my +favourite hero in real life and in fiction, my favourite virtue +in woman, and so forth. I was a boy, and it didn't really matter +what were my likes and dislikes then, for I was bound to outgrow +them. But Heaven help the journalist of those days who had to +sign his name to opinions so definite! For when a writer has said +in print (as I am going to say directly) that the daffodil is his +favourite flower, simply because, looking round his room for +inspiration, he has seen a bowl of daffodils on his table and +thought it beautiful, it would be hard on him if some confession- +album-owner were to expose him in the following issue as already +committed on oath to the violet. Imaginative art would become +impossible. Fortunately I have no commitments, and I may affirm +that the daffodil is, and always has been, my favourite flower. +Many people will put their money on the rose, but it is +impossible that the rose can give them the pleasure which the +daffodil gives them, just as it is impossible that a thousand +pounds can give Rockefeller the pleasure which it gives you or +me. For the daffodil comes, not only before the swallow comes-- +which is a matter of indifference, as nobody thinks any the worse +of the swallow in consequence--but before all the many flowers of +summer; it comes on the heels of a flowerless winter. Whereby it +is as superior to the rose as an oasis in the Sahara is to +champagne at a wedding. + +Yes, a favourite flower must be a spring flower--there is no +doubt about that. You have your choice, then, of the daffodil, +the violet, the primrose, and the crocus. The bluebell comes too +late, the cowslip is but an indifferent primrose; camelias and +anemones and all the others which occur to you come into a +different class. Well, then, will you choose the violet or the +crocus? Or will you follow the legendary Disraeli and have +primroses on your statue? + +I write as one who spends most of his life in London, and for me +the violet, the primrose, and the crocus are lacking in the same +necessary quality--they pick badly. My favourite flower must +adorn my house; to show itself off to the best advantage within +doors it must have a long stalk. A crocus, least of all, is a +flower to be plucked. I admit its charm as the first hint of +spring that is vouchsafed to us in the parks, but I want it +nearer home than that. You cannot pick a crocus and put it in +water; nor can you be so cruel as to spoil the primrose and the +violet by taking them from their natural setting; but the +daffodil cries aloud to be picked. It is what it is waiting for. + +"Long stalks, please." Who, being commanded by his lady to bring +in flowers for the house, has not received this warning? And was +there ever a stalk to equal the daffodil's for length and +firmness and beauty? Other flowers must have foliage to set them +off, but daffodils can stand by themselves in a bowl, and their +green and yellow dress brings all spring into the room. A house +with daffodils in it is a house lit up, whether or no the sun be +shining outside. Daffodils in a green bowl--and let it snow if it +will. + +Wordsworth wrote a poem about daffodils. He wrote poems about +most flowers. If a plant would be unique it must be one which had +never inspired him to song. But he did not write about daffodils +in a bowl. The daffodils which I celebrate are stationary; +Wordsworth's lived on the banks of Ullswater, and fluttered and +tossed their heads and danced in the breeze. He hints that in +their company even he might have been jocose--a terrifying +thought, which makes me happier to have mine safely indoors. When +he first saw them there (so he says) he gazed and gazed and +little thought what wealth the show to him had brought. Strictly +speaking, it hadn't brought him in anything at the moment, but he +must have known from his previous experiences with the daisy and +the celandine that it was good for a certain amount. + + A simple daffodil to him + Was so much matter for a slim + Volume at two and four. + +You may say, of course, that I am in no better case, but then I +have never reproached other people (as he did) for thinking of a +primrose merely as a primrose. + +But whether you prefer them my way or Wordsworth's--indoors or +outdoors--will make no difference in this further matter to which +finally I call your attention. Was there ever a more beautiful +name in the world than daffodil? Say it over to yourself, and +then say "agapanthus" or "chrysanthemum," or anything else you +please, and tell me if the daffodils do not have it. + + Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their +praises; Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have +their glory; Long as there are violets They will have a place +in story; But for flowers my bowls to fill, Give me just the +daffodil. + +As Wordsworth ought to have said. + + + + +A Household Book + + +Once on a time I discovered Samuel Butler; not the other two, but +the one who wrote The Way of All Flesh, the second-best novel in +the English language. I say the second-best, so that, if you +remind me of Tom Jones or The Mayor of Casterbridge or any other +that you fancy, I can say that, of course, that one is the best. +Well, I discovered him, just as Voltaire discovered Habakkuk, or +your little boy discovered Shakespeare the other day, and I +committed my discovery to the world in two glowing articles. Not +unnaturally the world remained unmoved. It knew all about Samuel +Butler. + +Last week I discovered a Frenchman, Claude Tillier, who wrote in +the early part of last century a book called Mon Oncle Benjamin, +which may be freely translated My Uncle Benjamin. (I read it in +the translation.) Eager as I am to be lyrical about it, I shall +refrain. I think that I am probably safer with Tillier than with +Butler, but I dare not risk it. The thought of your scorn at my +previous ignorance of the world-famous Tillier, your amused +contempt because I have only just succeeded in borrowing the +classic upon which you were brought up, this is too much for me. +Let us say no more about it. Claude Tillier--who has not heard of +Claude Tillier? Mon oncle Benjamin--who has not read it, in +French or (as I did) in American? Let us pass on to another book. + +For I am going to speak of another discovery; of a book which +should be a classic, but is not; of a book of which nobody has +heard unless through me. It was published some twelve years ago, +the last-published book of a well-known writer. When I tell you +his name you will say, "Oh yes! I LOVE his books!" and you will +mention SO-AND-SO, and its equally famous sequel SUCH-AND-SUCH. +But when I ask you if you have read MY book, you will profess +surprise, and say that you have never heard of it. "Is it as good +as SO-AND-SO and SUCH-AND-SUCH?" you will ask, hardly believing +that this could be possible. "Much better," I shall reply--and +there, if these things were arranged properly, would be another +ten per cent, in my pocket. But, believe me, I shall be quite +content with your gratitude. Well, the writer of my book is +Kenneth Grahame. You have heard of him? Good, I thought so. The +books you have read are The Golden Age. and Dream Days. Am I not +right? Thank you. But the book you have not read-- my book--is +The Wind in the Willows. Am I not right again? Ah, I was afraid +so. + +The reason why I knew you had not read it is the reason why I +call it "my" book. For the last ten or twelve years I have been +recommending it. Usually I speak about it at my first meeting +with a stranger. It is my opening remark, just as yours is +something futile about the weather. If I don't get it in at the +beginning, I squeeze it in at the end. The stranger has got to +have it some time. Should I ever find myself in the dock, and one +never knows, my answer to the question whether I had anything to +say would be, "Well, my lord, if I might just recommend a book to +the jury before leaving." Mr. Justice Darling would probably +pretend that he had read it, but he wouldn't deceive me. + +For one cannot recommend a book to all the hundreds of people +whom one has met in ten years without discovering whether it is +well known or not. It is the amazing truth that none of those +hundreds had heard of The Wind in the Willows until I told them +about it. Some of them had never heard of Kenneth Grahame; well, +one did not have to meet them again, and it takes all sorts to +make a world. But most of them were in your position--great +admirers of the author and his two earlier famous books, but +ignorant thereafter. I had their promise before they left me, and +waited confidently for their gratitude. No doubt they also spread +the good news in their turn, and it is just possible that it +reached you in this way, but it was to me, none the less, that +your thanks were due. For instance, you may have noticed a couple +of casual references to it, as if it were a classic known to all, +in a famous novel published last year. It was I who introduced +that novelist to it six months before. Indeed, I feel sometimes +that it was I who wrote The Wind in the Willows, and recommended +it to Kenneth Grahame ... but perhaps I am wrong here, for I have +not the pleasure of his acquaintance. Nor, as I have already +lamented, am I financially interested in its sale, an explanation +which suspicious strangers require from me sometimes. + +I shall not describe the book, for no description would help it. +But I shall just say this; that it is what I call a Household +Book. By a Household Book I mean a book which everybody in the +household loves and quotes continually ever afterwards; a book +which is read aloud to every new guest, and is regarded as the +touchstone of his worth. But it is a book which makes you feel +that, though everybody in the house loves it, it is only you who +really appreciate it at its true value, and that the others are +scarcely worthy of it. It is obvious, you persuade yourself, that +the author was thinking of you when he wrote it. "I hope this +will please Jones," were his final words, as he laid down his +pen. + +Well, of course, you will order the book at once. But I must give +you one word of warning. When you sit down to it, don't be so +ridiculous as to suppose that you are sitting in judgment on my +taste, still less on the genius of Kenneth Grahame. You are +merely sitting in judgment on yourself. ... You may be worthy; I +do not know. But it is you who are on trial. + + + + +Lunch + + +Food is a subject of conversation more spiritually refreshing +even than the weather, for the number of possible remarks about +the weather is limited, whereas of food you can talk on and on +and on. Moreover, no heat of controversy is induced by mention of +the atmospheric conditions (seeing that we are all agreed as to +what is a good day and what is a bad one), and where there can be +no controversy there can be no intimacy in agreement. But tastes +in food differ so sharply (as has been well said in Latin and, I +believe, also in French) that a pronounced agreement in them is +of all bonds of union the most intimate. Thus, if a man hates +tapioca pudding he is a good fellow and my friend. + +To each his favourite meal. But if I say that lunch is mine I do +not mean that I should like lunch for breakfast, dinner, and tea; +I do not mean that of the four meals (or five, counting supper) +lunch is the one which I most enjoy--at which I do myself most +complete justice. This is so far from being true that I +frequently miss lunch altogether ... the exigencies of the +journalistic profession. To-day, for instance, I shall probably +miss it. No; what I mean is that lunch is the meal which in the +abstract appeals to me most because of its catholicity. + +We breakfast and dine at home, or at other people's homes, but we +give ourselves up to London for lunch, and London has provided an +amazing variety for us. We can have six courses and a bottle of +champagne, with a view of the river, or one poached egg and a box +of dominoes, with a view of the skylights; we can sit or we can +stand, and without doubt we could, if we wished, recline in the +Roman fashion; we can spend two hours or five minutes at it; we +can have something different, every day of the week, or cling +permanently (as I know one man to do) to a chop and chips--and +what you do with the chips I have never discovered, for they +combine so little of nourishment with so much of inconvenience +that Nature can never have meant them for provender. Perhaps as +counters. ... But I am wandering from my theme. + +There is this of romance about lunch, that one can imagine great +adventures with stockbrokers, actor-managers, publishers, and +other demigods to have had their birth at the luncheon table. If +it is a question of "bulling" margarine or "bearing" boot-polish, +if the name for the new play is still unsettled, if there is some +idea of an American edition--whatever the emergency, the final +word on the subject is always the same, "Come and have lunch with +me, and we'll talk it over"; and when the waiter has taken your +hat and coat, and you have looked diffidently at the menu, and in +reply to your host's question, "What will you drink?" have made +the only possible reply, "Oh, anything that you're drinking" +(thus showing him that you don't insist on a bottle to yourself)- +-THEN you settle down to business, and the history of England is +enlarged by who can say how many pages. + +And not only does one inaugurate business matters at lunch, but +one also renews old friendships. Who has not had said to him in +the Strand, "Hallo, old fellow, I haven't seen you for ages; you +must come and lunch with me one day"? And who has not answered, +"Rather! I should love to," and passed on with a glow at the +heart which has not died out until the next day, when the +incident is forgotten? An invitation to dinner is formal, to tea +unnecessary, to breakfast impossible, but there is a casualness, +very friendly and pleasant, about invitations to lunch which make +them complete in themselves, and in no way dependent on any lunch +which may or may not follow. + +Without having exhausted the subject of lunch in London (and I +should like to say that it is now certain that I shall not have +time to partake to-day), let us consider for a moment lunch in +the country. I do not mean lunch in the open air, for it is +obvious that there is no meal so heavenly as lunch thus eaten, +and in a short article like this I have no time in which to dwell +upon the obvious. I mean lunch at a country house. Now, the most +pleasant feature of lunch at a country house is this--that you +may sit next to whomsoever you please. At dinner she may be +entrusted to quite the wrong man; at breakfast you are faced with +the problem of being neither too early for her nor yet too late +for a seat beside her; at tea people have a habit of taking your +chair at the moment when a simple act of courtesy has drawn you +from it in search of bread and butter; but at lunch you follow +her in and there you are--fixed. + +But there is a place, neither London nor the country, which +brings out more than any other place all that is pleasant in +lunch. It was really the recent experience of this which set me +writing about lunch. Lunch in the train! It should be the "second +meal"--about 1.30-- because then you are really some distance +from London and are hungry. The panorama flashes by outside, +nearer and nearer comes the beautiful West; you cross rivers and +hurry by little villages, you pass slowly and reverently through +strange old towns ... and, inside, the waiter leaves the potatoes +next to you and slips away. + +Well, it is his own risk. Here goes. ... What I say is that, if a +man really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort of +fellow. + + + + +The Friend of Man + + +When swords went out of fashion, walking-sticks, I suppose, came +into fashion. The present custom has its advantages. Even in his +busiest day the hero's sword must have returned at times to its +scabbard, and what would he do then with nothing in his right +hand? But our walking-sticks have no scabbards. We grasp them +always, ready at any moment to summon a cab, to point out a view, +or to dig an enemy in the stomach. Meanwhile we slash the air in +defiance of the world. + +My first stick was a malacca, silver at the collar and polished +horn as to the handle. For weeks it looked beseechingly at me +from a shop window, until a lucky birthday tip sent me in after +it. We went back to school together that afternoon, and if +anything can lighten the cloud which hangs over the last day of +holidays, it is the glory of some such stick as mine. Of course +it was too beautiful to live long; yet its death became it. I had +left many a parental umbrella in the train unhonoured and unsung. +My malacca was mislaid in an hotel in Norway. And even now when +the blinds are drawn and we pull up our chairs closer round the +wood fire, what time travellers tell to awestruck stay-at-homes +tales of adventure in distant lands, even now if by a lucky +chance Norway is mentioned, I tap the logs carelessly with the +poker and drawl, "I suppose you didn't happen to stay at +Vossvangen? I left a malacca cane there once. Rather a good one +too." So that there is an impression among my friends that there +is hardly a town in Europe but has had its legacy from me. And +this I owe to my stick. + +My last is of ebony, ivory-topped. Even though I should spend +another fortnight abroad I could not take this stick with me. It +is not a stick for the country; its heart is in Piccadilly. +Perhaps it might thrive in Paris if it could stand the sea +voyage. But no, I cannot see it crossing the Channel; in a cap I +am no companion for it. Could I step on to the boat in a silk hat +and then retire below--but I am always unwell below, and that +would not suit its dignity. It stands now in a corner of my room +crying aloud to be taken to the opera. I used to dislike men who +took canes to Covent Garden, but I see now how it must have been +with them. An ebony stick topped with ivory has to be humoured. +Already I am considering a silk-lined cape, and it is settled +that my gloves are to have black stitchings. + +Such is my last stick, for it was given to me this very morning. +At my first sight of it I thought that it might replace the +common one which I lost in an Easter train. That was silly of me. +I must have a stick of less gentle birth which is not afraid to +be seen with a soft hat. It must be a stick which I can drop, or +on occasion kick; one with which I can slash dandelions; one for +which, when ultimately I leave it in a train, conscience does not +drag me to Scotland Yard. In short, a companionable stick for a +day's journey; a country stick. + +The ideal country stick will never be found. It must be thick +enough to stand much rough usage of a sort which I will explain +presently, and yet it must be thin so that it makes a pleasant +whistling sound through the air. Its handle must be curved so +that it can pull down the spray of blossom of which you are in +need, or pull up the luncheon basket which you want even more +badly, and yet it must be straight so that you can drive an old +golf ball with it. It must be unadorned, so that it shall lack +ostentation, and yet it must have a band, so that when you throw +stones at it you can count two if you hit the silver. You begin +to see how difficult it is to achieve the perfect stick. + +Well, each one of us must let go those properties which his own +stick can do best without. For myself I insist on this--my stick +must be good for hitting and good to hit with. A stick, we are +agreed, is something to have in the hand when walking. But there +are times when we sit down; and if our journey shall have taken +us to the beach, our stick must at once be propped in the sand +while from a suitable distance we throw stones at it. However +beautiful the sea, its beauty can only be appreciated properly in +this fashion. Scenery must not be taken at a gulp; we must absorb +it unconsciously. With the mind gently exercised as to whether we +scored a two on the band or a one just below it, and with the +muscles of the arm at stretch, we are in a state ideally +receptive of beauty. + +And, for my other essential of a country stick, it must be +possible to grasp it by the wrong end and hit a ball with it. So +it must have no ferrule, and the handle must be heavy and +straight. In this way was golf born; its creator roamed the +fields after his picnic lunch, knocking along the cork from his +bottle. At first he took seventy-nine from the gate in one field +to the oak tree in the next; afterwards fifty-four. Then suddenly +he saw the game. We cannot say that he was no lover of Nature. +The desire to knock a ball about, to play silly games with a +stick, comes upon a man most keenly when he is happy; let it be +ascribed that he is happy to the streams and the hedges and the +sunlight through the trees. And so let my stick have a handle +heavy and straight, and let there be no ferrule on the end. Be +sure that I have an old golf ball in my pocket. + +In London one is not so particular. Chiefly we want a stick for +leaning on when we are talking to an acquaintance suddenly met. +After the initial "Hulloa!" and the discovery that we have +nothing else of importance to say, the situation is distinctly +eased by the remembrance of our stick. It gives us a support +moral and physical, such as is supplied in a drawing-room by a +cigarette. For this purpose size and shape are immaterial. Yet +this much is essential--it must not be too slippery, or in our +nervousness we may drop it altogether. My ebony stick with the +polished ivory top-- + +But I have already decided that my ebony stick is out of place +with the everyday hat. It stands in its corner waiting for the +opera season, I must get another stick for rough work. + + + + +The Diary Habit + + +A newspaper has been lamenting the decay of the diary-keeping +habit, with the natural result that several correspondents have +written to say that they have kept diaries all their lives. No +doubt all these diaries now contain the entry, "Wrote to the +Daily ---- to deny the assertion that the diary-keeping habit is +on the wane." Of such little things are diaries made. + +I suppose this is the reason why diaries are so rarely kept +nowadays--that nothing ever happens to anybody. A diary would be +worth writing up if it could be written like this:-- + +MONDAY.--"Another exciting day. Shot a couple of hooligans on my +way to business and was forced to give my card to the police. On +arriving at the office was surprised to find the building on +fire, but was just in time to rescue the confidential treaty +between England and Switzerland. Had this been discovered by the +public, war would infallibly have resulted. Went out to lunch and +saw a runaway elephant in the Strand. Thought little of it at the +time, but mentioned it to my wife in the evening. She agreed that +it was worth recording." + +TUESDAY.--"Letter from solicitor informing me that I have come +into £1,000,000 through the will of an Australian gold-digger +named Tomkins. On referring to my diary I find that I saved his +life two years ago by plunging into the Serpentine. This is very +gratifying. Was late at the office as I had to look in at the +Palace on the way, in order to get knighted, but managed to get a +good deal of work done before I was interrupted by a madman with +a razor, who demanded £100. Shot him after a desperate struggle. +Tea at an ABC, where I met the Duke of ---. Fell into the Thames +on my way home, but swam ashore without difficulty." + +Alas! we cannot do this. Our diaries are very prosaic, very dull +indeed. They read like this:-- + +Monday.--"Felt inclined to stay in bed this morning and send an +excuse to the office, but was all right after a bath and +breakfast. Worked till 1.30 and had lunch. Afterwards worked till +five, and had my hair cut on the way home. After dinner read A +Man's Passion, by Theodora Popgood. Rotten. Went to bed at +eleven." + +Tuesday.--"Had a letter from Jane. Did some good work in the +morning, and at lunch met Henry, who asked me to play golf with +him on Saturday. Told him I was playing with Peter, but said I +would like a game with him on the Saturday after. However, it +turned out he was playing with William then, so we couldn't fix +anything up. Bought a pair of shoes on my way home, but think +they will be too tight. The man says, though, that they will +stretch." + +Wednesday.--"Played dominoes at lunch and won fivepence." + +If this sort of diary is now falling into decay, the world is not +losing much. But at least it is a harmless pleasure to some to +enter up their day's doings each evening, and in years to come it +may just possibly be of interest to the diarist to know that it +was on Monday, 27th April, that he had his hair cut. Again, if in +the future any question arose as to the exact date of Henry's +decease, we should find in this diary proof that anyhow he was +alive as late as Tuesday, 28th April. That might, though it +probably won't, be of great importance. But there is another sort +of diary which can never be of any importance at all. I make no +apology for giving a third selection of extracts. + +Monday.--"Rose at nine and came down to find a letter from Mary. +How little we know our true friends! Beneath the mask of outward +affection there may lurk unknown to us the serpent's tooth of +jealousy. Mary writes that she can make nothing for my stall at +the bazaar as she has her own stall to provide for. Ate my +breakfast mechanically, my thoughts being far away. What, after +all, is life? Meditated deeply on the inner cosmos till lunch- +time. Afterwards I lay down for an hour and composed my mind. I +was angry this morning with Mary. Ah, how petty! Shall I never be +free from the bonds of my own nature? Is the better self within +me never to rise to the sublime heights of selflessness of which +it is capable? Rose at four and wrote to Mary, forgiving her. +This has been a wonderful day for the spirit." + +Yes; I suspect that a good many diaries record adventures of the +mind and soul for lack of stirring adventures to the body. If +they cannot say, "Attacked by a lion in Bond Street to-day," they +can at least say, "Attacked by doubt in St. Paul's Cathedral." +Most people will prefer, in the absence of the lion, to say +nothing, or nothing more important than "Attacked by the +hairdresser with a hard brush"; but there are others who must get +pen to paper somehow, and who find that only in regard to their +emotions have they anything unique to say. + +But, of course, there is ever within the breasts of all diarists +the hope that their diaries may some day be revealed to the +world. They may be discovered by some future generation, amazed +at the simple doings of the twentieth century, or their +publication may be demanded by the next generation, eager to know +the inner life of the great man just dead. Best of all, they may +be made public by the writers themselves in their +autobiographies. + +Yes; the diarist must always have his eye on a possible +autobiography. "I remember," he will write in that great work, +having forgotten all about it, "I distinctly remember"--and here +he will refer to his diary--"meeting X. at lunch one Sunday and +saying to him ..." + +What he said will not be of much importance, but it will show you +what a wonderful memory the distinguished author retains in his +old age. + + + + +Midsummer Day + + +There is magic in the woods on Midsummer Day--so people tell me. +Titania conducts her revels. Let others attend her court; for +myself I will beg to be excused. I have no heart for revelling on +Midsummer Day. On any other festival I will be as jocund as you +please, but on the longest day of the year I am overburdened by +the thought that from this moment the evenings are beginning to +draw in. We are on the way to winter. + +It is on Midsummer Day, or thereabouts, that the cuckoo changes +his tune, knowing well that the best days are over and that in a +little while it will be time for him to fly away. I should like +this to be a learned article on "The Habits of the Cuckoo," and +yet, if it were, I doubt if I should love him at the end of it. +It is best to know only the one thing of him, that he lays his +eggs in another bird's nest--a friendly idea--and beyond that to +take him as we find him. And we find that his only habit which +matters is the delightful one of saying "Cuckoo." + +The nightingale is the bird of melancholy, the thrush sings a +disturbing song of the good times to come, the blackbird whistles +a fine, cool note which goes best with a February morning, and +the skylark trills his way to a heaven far out of the reach of +men; and what the lesser white-throat says I have never rightly +understood. But the cuckoo is the bird of present joys; he keeps +us company on the lawns of summer, he sings under a summer sun in +a wonderful new world of blue and green. I think only happy +people hear him. He is always about when one is doing pleasant +things. He never sings when the sun hides behind banks of clouds, +or if he does, it is softly to himself so that he may not lose +the note. Then "Cuckoo!" he says aloud, and you may be sure that +everything is warm and bright again. + +But now he is leaving us. Where he goes I know not, but I think +of him vaguely as at Mozambique, a paradise for all good birds +who like their days long. If geography were properly taught at +schools, I should know where Mozambique was, and what sort of +people live there. But it may be that, with all these cuckoos +cuckooing and swallows swallowing from July to April, the country +is so full of immigrants that there is no room for a stable +population. It may also be, of course, that Mozambique is not the +place I am thinking of; yet it has a birdish sound. + +The year is arranged badly. If Mr. Willett were alive he would do +something about it. Why should the days begin to get shorter at +the moment when summer is fully arrived? Why should it be +possible for the vicar to say that the evenings are drawing in, +when one is still having strawberries for tea? Sometimes I think +that if June were called August, and April June, these things +would be easier to bear. The fact that in what is now called +August we should be telling each other how wonderfully hot it was +for October would help us to bear the slow approach of winter. On +a Midsummer Day in such a calendar one would revel gladly, and +there would be no midsummer madness. + +Already the oak trees have taken on an autumn look. I am told +that this is due to a local irruption of caterpillars, and not to +the waning of the summer, but it has a suspicious air. Probably +the caterpillars knew. It seems strange now to reflect that there +was a time when I liked caterpillars; when I chased them up +suburban streets, and took them home to fondle them; when I knew +them all by their pretty names, assisted them to become +chrysalises, and watched over them in that unprotected state as +if I had been their mother. Ah, how dear were my little charges +to me then! But now I class them with mosquitoes and blight and +harvesters, the pests of the countryside. Why, I would let them +crawl up my arm in those happy days of old, and now I cannot even +endure to have them dropping gently into my hair. And I should +not know what to say to a chrysalis. + +There are great and good people who know all about solstices and +zeniths, and they can tell you just why it is that 24th June is +so much hotter and longer than 24th December--why it is so in +England, I should say. For I believe (and they will correct me if +I am wrong) that at the equator the days and nights are always of +equal length. This must make calling almost an impossibility, for +if one cannot say to one's hostess, "How quickly the days are +lengthening (or drawing in)," one might as well remain at home. +"How stationary the days are remaining" might pass on a first +visit, but the old inhabitants would not like it rubbed into +them. They feel, I am sure, that however saddening a Midsummer +Day may be, an unchanging year is much more intolerable. One can +imagine the superiority of a resident who lived a couple of miles +off the equator, and took her visitors proudly to the end of the +garden where the seasons were most mutable. There would be no +bearing with her. + +In these circumstances I refuse to be depressed. I console myself +with the thought that if 25th June is the beginning of winter, at +least there is a next summer to which I may look forward. Next +summer anything may happen. I suppose a scientist would be +considerably surprised if the sun refused to get up one morning, +or, having got up, declined to go to bed again. It would not +surprise ME. The amazing thing is that Nature goes on doing the +same things in the same way year after year; any sudden little +irrelevance on her part would be quite understandable. When the +wise men tell us so confidently that there will be an eclipse of +the sun in 1921, invisible at Greenwich, do they have no qualms +of doubt as the day draws near? Do they glance up from their +whitebait at the appointed hour, just in case it IS visible after +all? Or if they have journeyed to Pernambuco, or wherever the +best view is to be obtained, do they wonder ... perhaps ... and +tell each other the night before that, of course, they were +coming to Pernambuco anyhow, to see an aunt? + +Perhaps they don't. But for myself I am not so certain, and I +have hopes that, certainly next year, possibly even this year, +the days will go on lengthening after midsummer is over. + + + + +At the Bookstall + + +I have often longed to be a grocer. To be surrounded by so many +interesting things-- sardines, bottled raspberries, biscuits with +sugar on the top, preserved ginger, hams, brawn under glass, +everything in fact that makes life worth living; at one moment to +walk up a ladder in search of nutmeg, at the next to dive under a +counter in pursuit of cinnamon; to serve little girls with a +ha'porth of pear drops and lordly people like you and me with a +pint of cherry gin --is not this to follow the king of trades? +Some day I shall open a grocer's shop, and you will find me in my +spare evenings aproned behind the counter. Look out for the +currants in the window as you come in--I have an idea for +something artistic in the way of patterns there; but, as you love +me, do not offer to buy any. We grocers only put the currants out +for show, and so that we may run our fingers through them +luxuriously when business is slack. I have a good line in +shortbreads, madam, if I can find the box, but no currants this +evening, I beg you. + +Yes, to be a grocer is to live well; but, after all, it is not to +see life. A grocer, in as far as it is possible to a man who +sells both scented soap and pilchards, would become narrow. We do +not come into contact with the outside world much, save through +the medium of potted lobster, and to sell a man potted lobster is +not to have our fingers on his pulse. Potted lobster does not +define a man. All customers are alike to the grocer, provided +their money is good. I perceive now that I was over-hasty in +deciding to become a grocer. That is rather for one's old age. +While one is young, and interested in persons rather than in +things, there is only one profession to follow--the profession of +bookstall clerk. + +To be behind a bookstall is indeed to see life. The fascination +of it struck me suddenly as 1 stood in front of a station +bookstall last Monday and wondered who bought the tie-clips. The +answer came to me just as I got into my train-- Ask the man +behind the bookstall. He would know. Yes, and he would know who +bought all his papers and books and pamphlets, and to know this +is to know something about the people in the world. You cannot +tell a man by the lobster he eats, but you can tell something +about him by the literature he reads. + +For instance, I once occupied a carriage on an eastern line with, +among others, a middle-aged woman. As soon as we left Liverpool +Street she produced a bag of shrimps, grasped each individual in +turn firmly by the head and tail, and ate him. When she had +finished, she emptied the ends out of the window, wiped her +hands, and settled down comfortably to her paper. What paper? +You'll never guess; I shall have to tell you--The Morning Post. +Now doesn't that give you the woman? The shrimps alone, no; the +paper alone, no; but the two to-gether. Conceive the holy joy of +the bookstall clerk as she and her bag of shrimps-- yes, he could +have told at once they were shrimps--approached and asked for The +Morning Post. + +The day can never be dull to the bookstall clerk. I imagine him +assigning in his mind the right paper to each customer. This man +will ask for Golfing--wrong, he wants Cage Birds; that one over +there wants The Motor--ah, well, The Auto-Car, that's near +enough. Soon he would begin to know the different types; he would +learn to distinguish between the patrons of The Dancing Times and +of The Vote, The Era and The Athenaeum. Delightful surprises +would overwhelm him at intervals; as when--a red-letter day in +all the great stations--a gentleman in a check waistcoat makes +the double purchase of Homer's Penny Stories and The Spectator. +On those occasions, and they would be very rare, his faith in +human nature would begin to ooze away, until all at once he would +tell himself excitedly that the man was obviously an escaped +criminal in disguise, rather overdoing the part. After which he +would hand over The Winning Post and The Animals' Friend to the +pursuing detective in a sort of holy awe. What a life! + +But he has other things than papers to sell. He knows who buys +those little sixpenny books of funny stories--a problem which has +often puzzled us others; he understands by now the type of man +who wants to read up a few good jokes to tell them down at old +Robinson's, where he is going for the week-end. Our bookstall +clerk doesn't wait to be asked. As soon as this gentleman +approaches, he whips out the book, dusts it, and places it before +the raconteur. He recognizes also at a glance the sort of silly +ass who is always losing his indiarubber umbrella ring. Half-way +across the station he can see him, and he hastens to get a new +card out in readiness. ("Or we would let you have seven for +sixpence, sir.") And even when one of those subtler characters +draws near, about whom it is impossible to say immediately +whether they require a fountain pen with case or the Life and +Letters, reduced to 3s. 6d., of Major-General Clement Bulger, +C.B., even then the man behind the bookstall is not found +wanting. If he is wrong the first time, he never fails to recover +with his second. "Bulger, sir. One of our greatest soldiers." + +I thought of these things last Monday, and definitely renounced +the idea of becoming a grocer; and as I wandered round the +bookstall, thinking, I came across a little book, sixpence in +cloth, a shilling in leather, called Proverbs and Maxims. It +contained some thousands of the best thoughts in all languages, +such as have guided men along the path of truth since the +beginning of the world, from "What ho, she bumps!" to "Ich dien," +and more. The thought occurred to me that an interesting article +might be extracted from it, so I bought the book. Unfortunately +enough I left it in the train before I had time to master it. I +shall be at the bookstall next Monday and I shall have to buy +another copy. That will be all right; you shan't miss it. + +But I am wondering now what the bookstall clerk will make of me. +A man who keeps on buying Proverbs and Maxims. Well, as I say, +they see life. + + + + +"Who's Who" + + +I like my novels long. When I had read three pages of this one I +glanced at the end, and found to my delight that there were two +thousand seven hundred and twenty-five pages more to come. I +returned with a sigh of pleasure to page 4. I was just at the +place where Leslie Patrick Abercrombie wins the prize "for laying +out Prestatyn," some local wrestler, presumably, who had +challenged the crowd at a country fair. After laying him out, +Abercrombie returns to his books and becomes editor of the Town +Planning Review. A wonderfully drawn character. + +The plot of this oddly named novel is too complicated to describe +at length. It opens with the conferment of the C.M.G. on Kuli +Khan Abbas in 1903, an incident of which the anonymous author +might have made a good deal more, and closes with a brief +description of the Rev. Samuel Marinus Zwemer's home in New York +City; but much has happened in the meanwhile. Thousands of +characters have made their brief appearance on the stage, and +have been hustled off to make room for others, but so unerringly +are they drawn that we feel that we are in the presence of living +people. Take Colette Willy, for example, who comes in on page +2656 at a time when the denouement is clearly at hand. The +author, who is working up to his great scene --the appointment of +Dr. Norman Wilsmore to the International Commission for the +Publication of Annual Tables of Physical and Chemical Constants-- +draws her for us in a few lightning touches. She is "authoress, +actress." She has written two little books: Dialogue de Betes and +La Retraite Sentimentale. That is all. But is it not enough? Has +he not made Colette Willy live before us? A lesser writer might +have plunged into elaborate details about her telephone number +and her permanent address, but, like the true artist that he is, +our author leaves all those things unsaid. For though he can be a +realist when necessary (as in the case of Wallis Budge, to which +I shall refer directly), he does not hesitate to trust to the +impressionist sketch when the situation demands it. + +Wallis Budge is apparently the hero of the tale; at any rate, the +author devotes most space to him--some hundred and twenty lines +or so. He does not appear until page 341, by which time we are on +familiar terms with some two or three thousand of the less +important characters. It is typical of the writer that, once he +has described a character to us, has (so to speak) set him on his +feet, he appears to lose interest in his creation, and it is only +rarely that further reference is made to him. Alfred Budd, for +instance, who became British Vice-Consul of San Sebastian in +1907, and resides, as the intelligent reader will have guessed, +at the San Sebastian British Vice-Consulate, obtains the M.V.O. +in 1908. Nothing is said, however, of the resultant effect on his +character, nor is any adequate description given--either then or +later--of the San Sebastian scenery. On the other hand, Bucy, who +first appears on page 340, turns up again on page 644 as the +Marquess de Bucy, a Grandee of Spain. I was half-expecting that +the body would be discovered about this time, but the author is +still busy over his protagonists, and only leaves the Marquess in +order to introduce to us his three musketeers, de Bunsen, de +Burgh, and de Butts. + +But it is time that I returned to our hero, Dr. Wallis Budge. +Although Budge is a golfer of world-wide experience, having +"conducted excavations in Egypt, the Island of Meroe, Nineveh and +Mesopotamia," it is upon his mental rather than his athletic +abilities that the author dwells most lovingly. The fact that in +1886 he wrote a pamphlet upon The Coptic History of Elijah the +Tishbite, and followed it up in 1888 with one on The Coptic +Martyrdom of George of Cappadocia (which is, of course, in every +drawing-room) may not seem at first to have much bearing upon the +tremendous events which followed later. But the author is +artistically right in drawing our attention to them; for it is +probable that, had these popular works not been written, our hero +would never have been encouraged to proceed with his Magical +Texts of Za-Walda-Hawaryat, Tasfa Maryam, Sebhat-Le'ab, Gabra +Shelase Tezasu, Aheta-Mikael, which had such a startling effect +on the lives of all the other characters, and led indirectly to +the finding of the blood-stain on the bath-mat. My own suspicions +fell immediately upon Thomas Rooke, of whom we are told nothing +more than "R.W.S.," which is obviously the cabbalistic sign of +some secret society. + +One of the author's weaknesses is a certain carelessness in the +naming of his characters. For instance, no fewer than two hundred +and forty-one of them are called Smith. True, he endeavours to +distinguish between them by giving them such different Christian +names as John, Henry, Charles, and so forth, but the result is +bound to be confusing. Sometimes, indeed, he does not even bother +to distinguish between their Christian names. Thus we have three +Henry Smiths, who appear to have mixed themselves up even in the +author's mind. He tells us that Colonel Henry's chief recreation +is "the study of the things around him," but it sounds much more +like that of the Reverend Henry, whose opportunities in the +pulpit would be considerably greater. It is the same with the +Thomsons, the Williamses and others. When once he hits upon one +of these popular names, he is carried away for several pages, and +insists on calling everybody Thomson. But occasionally he has an +inspiration. Temistocle Zammit is a good name, though the humour +of calling a famous musician Zimbalist is perhaps a little too +obvious. + +In conclusion, one can say that while our author's merits are +many, his faults are of no great moment. Certainly he handles his +love-scenes badly. Many of his characters are married but he +tells us little of the early scenes of courtship, and says +nothing of any previous engagements which were afterwards broken +off. Also, he is apparently incapable of describing a child, +unless it is the offspring of titled persons and will itself +succeed to the title; even then he prefers to dismiss it in a +parenthesis. But as a picture of the present-day Englishman his +novel can hardly be surpassed. He is not a writer who is only at +home with one class. He can describe the utterly unknown and +unimportant with as much gusto as he describes the genius or the +old nobility. True, he overcrowds his canvas, but one must +recognize this as his method. It is so that he expresses himself +best; just as one painter can express himself best in a rendering +of the whole Town Council of Slappenham, while another only +requires a single haddock on a plate. + +His future will be watched with interest. He hints in his +introduction that he has another volume in preparation, in which +he will introduce to us several entirely new C.B.E.'s, besides +carrying on the histories (in the familiar manner of our modern +novelists) of many of those with whom we have already made +friends. Who's Who, 1920, it is to be called, and I, for one, +shall look out for it with the utmost eagerness. + + + + +A Day at Lord's + + +When one has been without a certain pleasure for a number of +years, one is accustomed to find on returning to it that it is +not quite so delightful as one had imagined. In the years of +abstinence one had built up too glowing a picture, and the +reality turns out to be something much more commonplace. +Pleasant, yes; but, after all, nothing out of the ordinary. Most +of us have made this discovery for ourselves in the last few +months of peace. We have been doing the things which we had +promised ourselves so often during the war, and though they have +been jolly enough, they are not quite all that we dreamed in +France and Flanders. As for the negative pleasures, the pleasure +of not saluting or not attending medical boards, they soon lose +their first freshness. + +Yet I have had one pre-war pleasure this week which carried with +it no sort of disappointment. It was as good as I had thought it +would be. I went to Lord's and watched first-class cricket again. + +There are people who want to "brighten cricket." They remind me +of a certain manager to whom I once sent a play. He told me, more +politely than truthfully, how much he had enjoyed reading it, and +then pointed out what was wrong with the construction. "You have +two brothers here," he said. "They oughtn't to have been +brothers, they should have been strangers. Then one of them +marries the heroine. That's wrong; the other one ought to have +married her. Then there's Aunt Jane--she strikes me as a very +colourless person. If she could have been arrested in the second +act for bigamy--- And then I should leave out your third act +altogether, and put the fourth act at Monte Carlo, and let the +heroine be blackmailed by-- what's the fellow's name? See what I +mean?" I said that I saw. "You don't mind my criticizing your +play?" he added carelessly. I said that he wasn't criticizing my +play. He was writing another one--one which I hadn't the least +wish to write myself. + +And this is what the brighteners of cricket are doing. They are +inventing a new game, a game which those of us who love cricket +have not the least desire to watch. If anybody says that he finds +Lord's or the Oval boring, I shall not be at all surprised; the +only thing that would surprise me would be to hear that he found +it more boring than I find Epsom or Newmarket. Cricket is not to +everybody's taste; nor is racing. But those who like cricket like +it for what it is, and they don't want it brightened by those who +don't like it. Lord Lonsdale, I am sure, would hate me to +brighten up Newmarket for him. + +Lord's as it is, which is as it was five years ago, is good +enough for me. I would not alter any of it. To hear the pavilion +bell ring out again was to hear the most musical sound in the +world. The best note is given at 11.20 in the morning; later on +it lacks something of its early ecstasy. When people talk of the +score of this or that opera I smile pityingly to myself. They +have never heard the true music. The clink of ice against glass +gives quite a good note on a suitable day, but it has not the +magic of the Lord's bell. + +As was my habit on these occasions five years ago, I bought a +copy of The Daily Telegraph on entering the ground. In the +ordinary way I do not take in this paper, but I have always had a +warm admiration for it, holding it to have qualities which place +it far above any other London journal of similar price. For the +seats at Lord's are uncommonly hard, and a Daily Telegraph, +folded twice and placed beneath one, brings something of the +solace which good literature will always bring. My friends had +noticed before the war, without being able to account for it, +that my views became noticeably more orthodox as the summer +advanced, only to fall away again with the approach of autumn. I +must have been influenced subconsciously by the leading articles. + +It rained, and play was stopped for an hour or two. Before the +war I should have been annoyed about this, and I should have said +bitterly that it was just my luck. But now I felt that I was +indeed lucky thus to recapture in one day all the old sensations. +It was delightful to herald again a break in the clouds, and to +hear the crowd clapping hopefully as soon as ever the rain had +ceased; to applaud the umpires, brave fellows, when they ventured +forth at last to inspect the pitch; to realize from the sudden +activity of the groundsmen that the decision was a favourable +one; to see the umpires, this time in their white coats, come out +again with the ball and the bails; and so to settle down once +more to the business of the day. + +Perhaps the cricket was slow from the point of view of the +follower of league football, but I do not feel that this is any +condemnation of it. An essay of Lamb's would be slow to a reader +of William le Queux's works, who wanted a new body in each +chapter. I shall not quarrel with anyone who holds that a day at +Lord's is a dull day; if he thinks so, let him take his amusement +elsewhere. But let him not quarrel with me, because I keep to my +opinion, as firmly now as before the war, that a day at Lord's is +a joyous day. If he will leave me the old Lord's, I will promise +not to brighten his football for him. + + + + +By the Sea + + +It is very pleasant in August to recline in Fleet Street, or +wherever stern business keeps one, and to think of the sea. I do +not envy the millions at Margate and Blackpool, at Salcombe and +Minehead, for I have persuaded myself that the sea is not what it +was in my day. Then the pools were always full of starfish; +crabs--really big crabs--stalked the deserted sands; and anemones +waved their feelers at you from every rock. + +Poets have talked of the unchanging sea (and they may be right as +regards the actual water), but I fancy that the beach must be +deteriorating. In the last ten years I don't suppose I have seen +more than five starfishes, though I have walked often enough by +the margin of the waves --and not only to look for lost golf +balls. There have been occasional belated little crabs whom I +have interrupted as they were scuttling home, but none of those +dangerous monsters to whom in fearful excitement, and as a +challenge to one's companion, one used to offer a forefinger. I +refuse regretfully your explanation that it is my finger which is +bigger; I should like to think that it were indeed so, and that +the boys and girls of to-day find their crabs and starfishes in +the size and quantity to which I was accustomed. But I am afraid +we cannot hide it from ourselves that the supply is giving out. +It is in fact obvious that one cannot keep on taking starfishes +home and hanging them up in the hall as barometers without +detriment to the coming race. + +We had another amusement as children, in which I suppose the +modern child is no longer able to indulge. We used to wait until +the tide was just beginning to go down, and then start to climb +round the foot of the cliffs from one sandy bay to another. The +waves lapped the cliffs, a single false step would have plunged +us into the sea, and we had all the excitement of being caught by +the tide without any of the danger. We had the further +excitement, if we were lucky, of seeing frantic people waving to +us from the top of the cliff, people of inconceivable ignorance, +who thought that the tide was coming up and that we were in +desperate peril. But it was a very special day when that +happened. + +I have done a little serious climbing since those days, but not +any which was more enjoyable. The sea was never more than a foot +below us and never more than two feet deep, but the shock of +falling into it would have been momentarily as great as that of +falling down a precipice. You had therefore the two joys of +climbing--the physical pleasure of the accomplished effort, and +the glorious mental reaction when your heart returns from the +middle of your throat to its normal place in your chest. And you +had the additional advantages that you couldn't get killed, and +that, if an insuperable difficulty presented itself, you were not +driven back, but merely waited five minutes for the tide to lower +itself and disclose a fresh foothold. + +But, as I say, these are not joys for the modern child. The tide, +I dare say, is not what it was --it does not, perhaps, go down so +certainly. Or the cliffs are of a different and of an inferior +shape. Or people are no longer so ignorant as to mistake the +nature of your position. One way or another I expect I do better +in Fleet Street. I shall stay and imagine myself by the sea; I +shall not disappoint myself with the reality. + +But I imagine myself away from bands and piers; for a band by a +moonlit sea calls you to be very grown-up, and the beach and the +crabs --such as are left--call you to be a child; and between the +two you can very easily be miserable. I can see myself with a +spade and bucket being extraordinarily happy. The other day I met +a lucky little boy who had a pile of sand in his garden to play +with, and I was fortunate enough to get an order for a tunnel. +The tunnel which I constructed for him was a good one, but not so +good that I couldn't see myself building a better one with +practice. I came away with an ambition for architecture. If ever +I go to the sea again I shall build a proper tunnel; and +afterwards-- well, we shall see. At the moment I feel in +tremendous form. I feel that I could do a cathedral. + +There is one joy of childhood, however, which one can never +recapture, and that is the joy of getting wet in the sea. There +is a statue not so far from Fleet Street of the man who +introduced Sunday schools into England, but the man whom boys and +girls would really like to commemorate in lasting stone is the +doctor who first said that salt water couldn't give you a cold. +Whether this was true or not I do not know, but it was a splendid +and never-failing retort to anxious grown-ups, and added much to +the joys of the seaside. But it is a joy no longer possible to +one who is his own master. I, for instance, can get my feet wet +in fresh water if I like; to get them wet in salt water is no +special privilege. + +Feeling as I do, writing as I have written, it is sad for me to +know that if I really went to the sea this August it would not be +with a spade and a bucket but with a bag of golf clubs; that even +my evenings would be spent, not on the beach, but on a bicycle +riding to the nearest town for a paper. Yet it is useless for you +to say that I do not love the sea with my old love, that I am no +longer pleased with the old childish things. I shall maintain +that it is the sea which is not what it was, and that I am very +happy in Fleet Street thinking of it as it used to be. + + + + +Golden Fruit + + +Of the fruits of the year I give my vote to the orange. In the +first place it is a perennial--if not in actual fact, at least in +the greengrocer's shop. On the days when dessert is a name given +to a handful of chocolates and a little preserved ginger, when +macêdoine de fruits is the title bestowed on two prunes and a +piece of rhubarb, then the orange, however sour, comes nobly to +the rescue; and on those other days of plenty when cherries and +strawberries and raspberries and gooseberries riot together upon +the table, the orange, sweeter than ever, is still there to hold +its own. Bread and butter, beef and mutton, eggs and bacon, are +not more necessary to an ordered existence than the orange. + +It is well that the commonest fruit should be also the best. Of +the virtues of the orange I have not room fully to speak. It has +properties of health-giving, as that it cures influenza and +establishes the complexion. It is clean, for whoever handles it +on its way to your table but handles its outer covering, its top +coat, which is left in the hall. It is round, and forms an +excellent substitute with the young for a cricket ball. The pips +can be flicked at your enemies, and quite a small piece of peel +makes a slide for an old gentleman. + +But all this would count nothing had not the orange such +delightful qualities of taste. I dare not let myself go upon this +subject. I am a slave to its sweetness. I grudge every marriage +in that it means a fresh supply of orange blossom, the promise of +so much golden fruit cut short. However, the world must go on. + +Next to the orange I place the cherry. The cherry is a +companionable fruit. You can eat it while you are reading or +talking, and you can go on and on, absent-mindedly as it were, +though you must mind not to swallow the stone. The trouble of +disengaging this from the fruit is just sufficient to make the +fruit taste sweeter for the labour. The stalk keeps you from +soiling your fingers; it enables you also to play bob cherry. +Lastly, it is by means of cherries that one penetrates the great +mysteries of life--when and whom you will marry, and whether she +really loves you or is taking you for your worldly prospects. (I +may add here that I know a girl who can tie a knot in the stalk +of a cherry with her tongue. It is a tricky business, and I am +doubtful whether to add it to the virtues of the cherry or not.) + +There are only two ways of eating strawberries. One is neat in +the strawberry bed, and the other is mashed on the plate. The +first method generally requires us to take up a bent position +under a net--in a hot sun very uncomfortable, and at any time +fatal to the hair. The second method takes us into the privacy of +the home, for it demands a dressing-gown and no spectators. For +these reasons I think the strawberry an overrated fruit. Yet I +must say that I like to see one floating in cider cup. It gives a +note of richness to the affair, and excuses any shortcomings in +the lunch itself. + +Raspberries are a good fruit gone wrong. A raspberry by itself +might indeed be the best fruit of all; but it is almost +impossible to find it alone. I do not refer to its attachment to +the red currant; rather to the attachment to it of so many of our +dumb little friends. The instinct of the lower creatures for the +best is well shown in the case of the raspberry. If it is to be +eaten it must be picked by the hand, well shaken, and then taken. + +When you engage a gardener the first thing to do is to come to a +clear understanding with him about the peaches. The best way of +settling the matter is to give him the carrots and the black +currants and the rhubarb for himself, to allow him a free hand +with the groundsel and the walnut trees, and to insist in return +for this that you should pick the peaches when and how you like. +If he is a gentleman he will consent. Supposing that some +satisfactory arrangement were come to, and supposing also that +you had a silver-bladed pocket-knife with which you could peel +them in the open air, then peaches would come very high in the +list of fruits. But the conditions are difficult. + +Gooseberries burst at the wrong end and smother you; melons--as +the nigger boy discovered--make your ears sticky; currants, when +you have removed the skin and extracted the seeds, are +unsatisfying; blackberries have the faults of raspberries without +their virtues; plums are never ripe. Yet all these fruits are +excellent in their season. Their faults are faults which we can +forgive during a slight acquaintance, which indeed seem but +pleasant little idiosyncrasies in the stranger. But we could not +live with them. + +Yet with the orange we do live year in and year out. That speaks +well for the orange. The fact is that there is an honesty about +the orange which appeals to all of us. If it is going to be bad-- +for even the best of us are bad sometimes --it begins to be bad +from the outside, not from the inside. How many a pear which +presents a blooming face to the world is rotten at the core. How +many an innocent-looking apple is harbouring a worm in the bud. +But the orange has no secret faults. Its outside is a mirror of +its inside, and if you are quick you can tell the shopman so +before he slips it into the bag. + + + + +Signs of Character + + +Wellington is said to have chosen his officers by their noses and +chins. The standard for them in noses must have been rather high, +to judge by the portraits of the Duke, but no doubt he made +allowances. Anyhow, by this method he got the men he wanted. Some +people, however, may think that he would have done better to have +let the mouth be the deciding test. The lines of one's nose are +more or less arranged for one at birth. A baby, born with a snub +nose, would feel it hard that the decision that he would be no +use to Wellington should be come to so early. And even if he +arrived in the world with a Roman nose, he might smash it up in +childhood, and with it his chances of military fame. This, I +think you will agree with me, would be unfair. + +Now the mouth is much more likely to be a true index of +character. A man may clench his teeth firmly or smile +disdainfully or sneer, or do a hundred things which will be +reflected in his mouth rather than in his nose or chin. It is +through the mouth and eyes that all emotions are expressed, and +in the mouth and eyes therefore that one would expect the marks +of such emotions to be left. I did read once of a man whose nose +quivered with rage, but it is not usual; I never heard of anyone +whose chin did anything. It would be absurd to expect it to. + +But there arises now the objection that a man may conceal his +mouth, and by that his character, with a moustache. There arises, +too, the objection that a person whom you thought was a fool, +because he always went about with his mouth open, may only have +had a bad cold in the head. In fact the difficulties of telling +anyone's character by his face seem more insuperable every +moment. How, then, are we to tell whether we may safely trust a +man with our daughter, or our favourite golf club, or whatever we +hold most dear? + +Fortunately a benefactor has stepped in at the right moment with +an article on the cigar-manner. Our gentleman has made the +discovery that you can tell a man's nature by the way he handles +his cigar, and he gives a dozen illustrations to explain his +theory. True, this leaves out of account the men who don't smoke +cigars; although, of course, you might sum them all up, with a +certain amount of justification, as foolish. But you do get, I am +assured, a very important index to the characters of smokers-- +which is as much as to say of the people who really count. + +I am not going to reveal all the clues to you now; partly because +I might be infringing the copyright of another, partly because I +have forgotten them. But the idea roughly is that if a man holds +his cigar between his finger and thumb, he is courageous and kind +to animals (or whatever it may be), and if he holds it between +his first and second fingers he is impulsive but yet considerate +to old ladies, and if he holds it upside down he is (besides +being an ass) jealous and self-assertive, and if he sticks a +knife into the stump so as to smoke it to the very end he is-- +yes, you have guessed this one--he is mean. You see what a useful +thing a cigar may be. + +I think now I am sorry that this theory has been given to the +world. Yes; I blame myself for giving it further publicity. In +the old days when we bought--or better, had presented to us--a +cigar, a doubt as to whether it was a good one was all that +troubled us. We bit one end and lit the other, and, the doubt +having been solved, proceeded tranquilly to enjoy ourselves. But +all this will be changed now. We shall be horribly self- +conscious. When we take our cigars from our mouths we shall feel +our neighbours' eyes rooted upon our hands, the while we try to +remember which of all the possible manipulations is the one which +represents virtue at its highest power. Speaking for myself, I +hold my cigar in a dozen different ways during an evening (though +never, of course, on the end of a knife), and I tremble to think +of the diabolically composite nature which the modern Wellingtons +of the table must attribute to me. In future I see that I must +concentrate on one method. If only I could remember the one which +shows me at my best! + +But the tobacco test is not the only one. We may be told by the +way we close our hands; the tilt of a walking-stick may unmask +us. It is useless to model ourselves now on the strong, silent +man of the novel whose face is a shutter to hide his emotions. +This is a pity; yes, I am convinced now that it is a pity. If my +secret fault is cheque-forging I do not want it to be revealed to +the world by the angle of my hat; still less do I wish to +discover it in a friend whom I like or whom I can beat at +billiards. + +How dull the world would be if we knew every acquaintance inside +out as soon as we had offered him our cigar-case. Suppose--I put +an extreme case to you--suppose a pleasant young bachelor who +admired our bowling showed himself by his shoe laces to be a +secret wife-beater. What could we do? Cut so unique a friend? Ah +no. Let us pray to remain in ignorance of the faults of those we +like. Let us pray it as sincerely as we pray that they shall +remain in ignorance of ours. + + + + +Intellectual Snobbery + + +A good many years ago I had a painful experience. I was +discovered by my house-master reading in bed at the unauthorized +hour of midnight. Smith minor in the next bed (we shared a +candle) was also reading. We were both discovered. But the most +annoying part of the business, as it seemed to me then, was that +Smith minor was discovered reading Alton Locke, and that I was +discovered reading Marooned Among Cannibals. If only our house- +master had come in the night before! Then he would have found me +reading Alton Locke. Just for a moment it occurred to me to tell +him this, but after a little reflection I decided that it would +be unwise. He might have misunderstood the bearings of the +revelation. + +There is hardly one of us who is proof against this sort of +intellectual snobbery. A detective story may have been a very +good friend to us, but we don't want to drag it into the +conversation; we prefer a casual reference to The Egoist, with +which we have perhaps only a bowing acquaintance; a reference +which leaves the impression that we are inseparable companions, +or at any rate inseparable until such day when we gather from our +betters that there are heights even beyond The Egoist. Dead or +alive, we would sooner be found with a copy of Marcus Aurelius +than with a copy of Marie Corelli. I used to know a man who +carried always with him a Russian novel in the original; not +because he read Russian, but because a day might come when, as +the result of some accident, the "pockets of the deceased" would +be exposed in the public Press. As he said, you never know; but +the only accident which happened to him was to be stranded for +twelve hours one August at a wayside station in the Highlands. +After this he maintained that the Russians were overrated. + +I should like to pretend that I myself have grown out of these +snobbish ways by this time, but I am doubtful if it would be +true. It happened to me not so long ago to be travelling in +company of which I was very much ashamed; and to be ashamed of +one's company is to be a snob. At this period I was trying to +amuse myself (and, if it might be so, other people) by writing a +burlesque story in the manner of an imaginary collaboration by +Sir Hall Caine and Mrs. Florence Barclay. In order to do this I +had to study the works of these famous authors, and for many +week-ends in succession I might have been seen travelling to, or +returning from, the country with a couple of their books under my +arm. To keep one book beneath the arm is comparatively easy; to +keep two is much more difficult. Many was the time, while waiting +for my train to come in, that one of those books slipped from me. +Indeed, there is hardly a junction in the railway system of the +southern counties at which I have not dropped on some Saturday or +other a Caine or a Barclay; to have it restored to me a moment +later by a courteous fellow-passenger--courteous, but with a +smile of gentle pity in his eye as he glimpsed the author's name. +"Thanks very much," I would stammer, blushing guiltily, and +perhaps I would babble about a sick friend to whom I was taking +them, or that I was running out of paper-weights. But he never +believed me. He knew that he would have said something like that +himself. + +Nothing is easier than to assume that other people share one's +weaknesses. No doubt Jack the Ripper excused himself on the +ground that it was human nature; possibly, indeed, he wrote an +essay like this, in which he speculated mildly as to the reasons +which made stabbing so attractive to us all. So I realize that I +may be doing you an injustice in suggesting that you who read may +also have your little snobberies. But I confess that I should +like to cross-examine you. If in conversation with you, on the +subject (let us say) of heredity, a subject to which you had +devoted a good deal of study, I took it for granted that you had +read Ommany's Approximations, would you make it quite clear to me +that you had not read it? Or would you let me carry on the +discussion on the assumption that you knew it well; would you, +even, in answer to a direct question, say shamefacedly that +though you had not--er--actually read it, you--er--knew about it, +of course, and had--er--read extracts from it? Somehow I think +that I could lead you on to this; perhaps even make you say that +you had actually ordered it from your library, before I told you +the horrid truth that Ommany's Approximations was an invention of +my own. + +It is absurd that we (I say "we," for I include you now) should +behave like this, for there is no book over which we need be +ashamed, either to have read it or not to have read it. Let us, +therefore, be frank. In order to remove the unfortunate +impression of myself which I have given you, I will confess that +I have only read three of Scott's novels, and begun, but never +finished, two of Henry James'. I will also confess --and here I +am by way of restoring that unfortunate impression--that I do +quite well in Scottish and Jacobean circles on those five books. +For, if a question arises as to which is Scott's masterpiece, it +is easy for me to suggest one of my three, with the air of one +who has chosen it, not over two others, but over twenty. Perhaps +one of my three is the acknowledged masterpiece; I do not know. +If it is, then, of course, all is well. But if it is not, then I +must appear rather a clever fellow for having rejected the +obvious. With regard to Henry James, my position is not quite so +secure; but at least I have good reason for feeling that the two +novels which I was unable to finish cannot be his best, and with +a little tact I can appear to be defending this opinion hotly +against some imaginary authority who has declared in favour of +them. One might have read the collected works of both authors, +yet make less of an impression. + +Indeed, sometimes I feel that I have read their collected works, +and Ommany's Approximations, and many other books with which you +would be only too glad to assume familiarity. For in giving +others the impression that I am on terms with these masterpieces, +I have but handed on an impression which has gradually formed +itself in my own mind. So I take no advantage of them; and if it +appears afterwards that we have been deceived together, I shall +be at least as surprised and indignant about it as they. + + + + +A Question of Form + + +The latest invention on the market is the wasp gun. In theory it +is something like a letter clip; you pull the trigger and the +upper and lower plates snap together with a suddenness which +would surprise any insect in between. The trouble will be to get +him in the right place before firing. But I can see that a lot of +fun can be got out of a wasp drive. We shall stand on the edge of +the marmalade while the beaters go through it, and, given +sufficient guns, there will not be many insects to escape. A +loader to clean the weapon at regular intervals will be a +necessity. + +Yet I am afraid that society will look down upon the wasp gun. +Anything useful and handy is always barred by the best people. I +can imagine a bounder being described as "the sort of person who +uses a wasp gun instead of a teaspoon." As we all know, a hat- +guard is the mark of a very low fellow. I suppose the idea is +that you and I, being so dashed rich, do not much mind if our +straw hat does blow off into the Serpentine; it is only the poor +wretch of a clerk, unable to afford a new one every day, who must +take precautions against losing his first. Yet how neat, how +useful, is the hat-guard. With what pride its inventor must have +given birth to it. Probably he expected a statue at the corner of +Cromwell Road, fitting reward for a public benefactor. He did not +understand that, since his invention was useful, it was probably +bad form. + +Consider, again, the Richard or "dicky." Could there be anything +neater or more dressy, anything more thoroughly useful? Yet you +and I scorn to wear one. I remember a terrible situation in a +story by Mr. W. S. Jackson. The hero found himself in a foreign +hotel without his luggage. To that hotel came, with her father, +the girl whom he adored silently. An invitation was given him to +dinner with them, and he had to borrow what clothes he could from +friendly waiters. These, alas! included a dicky. Well, the dinner +began well; our hero made an excellent impression; all was +gaiety. Suddenly a candle was overturned and the flame caught the +heroine's frock. The hero knew what the emergency demanded. He +knew how heroes always whipped off their coats and wrapped them +round burning heroines. He jumped up like a bullet (or whatever +jumps up quickest) and --remembered. + +He had a dicky on! Without his coat, he would discover the dicky +to the one person of all from whom he wished to hide it. Yet if +he kept his coat on, she might die. A truly horrible dilemma. I +forget which horn he impaled himself upon, but I expect you and I +would have kept the secret of the Richard at all costs. And what +really is wrong with a false shirt-front? Nothing except that it +betrays the poverty of the wearer. Laundry bills don't worry us, +bless you, who have a new straw hat every day; but how terrible +if it was suspected that they did. + +Our gentlemanly objection to the made-up tie seems to rest on a +different foundation; I am doubtful as to the psychology of that. +Of course it is a deception, but a deception is only serious when +it passes itself off as something which really matters. Nobody +thinks that a self-tied tie matters; nobody is really proud of +being able to make a cravat out of a length of silk. I suppose it +is simply the fact that a made-up tie saves time which condemns +it; the safety razor was nearly condemned for a like reason. We +of the leisured classes can spend hours over our toilet; by all +means let us despise those who cannot. + +As far as dress goes, a man only knows the things which a man +mustn't do. It would be interesting if women would tell us what +no real lady ever does. I have heard a woman classified +contemptuously as one who does her hair up with two hair-pins, +and no doubt bad feminine form can be observed in other shocking +directions. But again it seems to be that the semblance of +poverty, whether of means or of leisure, is the one thing which +must be avoided. + +Why, then, should the wasp gun be considered bad form? I don't +know, but I have an instinctive feeling that it will be. Perhaps +a wasp gun indicates a lack of silver spoons suitable for lethal +uses. Perhaps it shows too careful a consideration of the +marmalade. A man of money drowns his wasp in the jar with his +spoon, and carelessly calls for another pot to be opened. The +poor man waits on the outskirts with his gun, and the marmalade, +void of corpses, can still be passed round. Your gun proclaims +your poverty; then let it be avoided. + +All the same I think I shall have one. I have kept clear of hat- +guards and Richards and made-up ties without quite knowing why, +but honestly I have not felt the loss of them. The wasp gun is +different; having seen it, I feel that I should be miserable +without it. It is going to be excellent sport, wasp-shooting; a +steady hand, a good eye, and a certain amount of courage will be +called for. When the season opens I shall be there, good form or +bad form. We shall shoot the apple-quince coverts first. "Hornet +over!" + + + + +A Slice of Fiction + + +This is a jolly world, and delightful things go on in it. For +instance, I had a picture post card only yesterday from William +Benson, who is staying at Ilfracombe. He wrote to say that he had +gone down to Ilfracombe for a short holiday, and had been much +struck by the beauty of the place. On one of his walks he +happened to notice that there was to be a sale of several plots +of land occupying a quite unique position in front of the sea. He +had immediately thought of me in connection with it. My readiness +to consider a good investment had long been known to him, and in +addition he had heard rumours that I might be coming down to +Ilfracombe in order to recruit my health. If so, here was a +chance which should be brought to my knowledge. Further +particulars ... and so on. Which was extremely friendly of +William Benson. In fact, my only complaint of William is that he +has his letters lithographed--a nasty habit in a friend. But I +have allowed myself to be carried away. It was not really of Mr. +Benson that I was thinking when I said that delightful things go +on in this world, but of a certain pair of lovers, the tragedy of +whose story has been revealed to me in a two-line "agony" in a +morning paper. When anything particularly attractive happens in +real life, we express our appreciation by saying that it is the +sort of thing which one reads about in books --perhaps the +highest compliment we can pay to Nature. Well, the story +underlying this advertisement reeks of the feuilleton and the +stage. + +"PAT, I was alone when you called. You heard me talking to the +dog. PLEASE make appointment. --DAISY." + +You will agree with me when you read this that it is almost too +good to be true. There is a freshness and a naïveté about it +which is only to be found in American melodrama. Let us +reconstruct the situation, and we shall see at once how +delightfully true to fiction real life can be. + +Pat was in love with Daisy--engaged to her we may say with +confidence (for a reason which will appear in a moment). But even +though she had plighted her troth to him, he was jealous, +miserably jealous, of every male being who approached her. One +day last week he called on her at the house in Netting Hill. The +parlour-maid opened the door and smiled brightly at him. "Miss +Daisy is upstairs in the drawing-room," she said. "Thank you," he +replied, "I will announce myself." (Now you see how we know that +they were engaged. He must have announced himself in order to +have reached the situation implied in the "agony," and he would +not have been allowed to do so if he had not had the standing of +a fiance.) + +For a moment before knocking Patrick stood outside the drawing- +room door, and in that moment the tragedy occurred; he heard his +lady's voice. "DARLING!" it said, "she SHALL kiss her sweetest, +ownest, little pupsy-wupsy." + +Patrick's brow grew black. His strong jaw clenched (just like the +jaws of those people on the stage), and he staggered back from +the door. "This is the end," he muttered. Then he strode down the +stairs and out into the stifling streets. And up in the drawing- +room of the house in Netting Hill Daisy and the toy pom sat and +wondered why their lord and master was so late. + +Now we come to the letter which Patrick wrote to Daisy, telling +her that it was all over. He would explain to her how he had +"accidentally"(he would dwell upon that) accidentally overheard +her and her----(probably he was rather coarse here) exchanging +terms of endearment; he would accuse her of betraying one whose +only fault was that he loved her not wisely but too well; he +would announce gloomily that he had lost his faith in women. All +this is certain. But it would appear also that he made some such +threat as this--most likely in a postscript: "It is no good your +writing. There can be no explanation. Your letters will be +destroyed unopened." It is a question, however, if even this +would have prevented Daisy from trying an appeal by post, for +though one may talk about destroying letters unopened, it is an +extremely difficult thing to do. I feel, therefore, that +Patrick's letter almost certainly contained a P.P.S. also--to +this effect: "I cannot remain in London where we have spent so +many happy hours together. I am probably leaving for the Rocky +Mountains to-night. Letters will not be forwarded. Do not attempt +to follow me." + +And so Daisy was left with only the one means of communication +and explanation--the agony columns of the morning newspapers. "I +was alone when you called. You heard me talking to the dog. +PLEASE make appointment." In the last sentence there is just a +hint of irony which I find very attractive. It seems to me to +say, "Don't for heaven's sake come rushing back to Notting Hill +(all love and remorse) without warning, or you might hear me +talking to the cat or the canary. Make an appointment, and I'll +take care that there's NOTHING in the room when you come." We may +tell ourselves, I think, that Daisy understands her Patrick. In +fact, I am beginning to understand Patrick myself, and I see now +that the real reason why Daisy chose the agony column as the +medium of communication was that she knew Patrick would prefer +it. Patrick is distinctly the sort of man who likes agony +columns. I am sure it was the first thing he turned to on +Wednesday morning. + +It occurs to me to wonder if the honeymoon will be spent at +Ilfracombe. Patrick must have received William Benson's picture +post card too. We have all had one. Just fancy if he HAD gone to +the Rocky Mountains; almost certainly Mr. Benson's letters would +not have been forwarded. + + + + +The Label + + +On those rare occasions when I put on my best clothes and venture +into society, I am always astonished at the number of people in +it whom I do not know. I have stood in a crowded ball-room, or +sat in a crowded restaurant, and reflected that, of all the +hundreds of souls present, there was not one of whose existence I +had previously had any suspicion. Yet they all live tremendously +important lives, lives not only important to themselves but to +numbers of friends and relations; every day they cross some sort +of Rubicon; and to each one of them there comes a time when the +whole of the rest of the world (including--confound it!--me) +seems absolutely of no account whatever. That I had lived all +these years in contented ignorance of their existence makes me a +little ashamed. + +To-day in my oldest clothes I have wandered through the index of +The Times Literary Supplement, and I am now feeling a little +ashamed of my ignorance of so many books. Of novels alone there +seem to be about 900. To write even a thoroughly futile novel is, +to my thinking, a work of extraordinary endurance; yet in, say, +600 houses this work has been going on, and I (and you, and all +of us) have remained utterly unmoved. Well, I have been making up +for my indifference this morning. I have been reading the titles +of the books. That is not so good (or bad) as reading the books +themselves, but it enables me to say that I have heard of such +and such a novel, and in some cases it does give me a slight clue +to what goes on inside. + +I should imagine that the best part of writing a novel was the +choosing a title. My idea of a title is that it should be +something which reflects the spirit of your work and gives the +hesitating purchaser some indication of what he is asked to buy. +To call your book Ethnan Frame or Esther Grant or John Temple or +John Merridew (I quote from the index) is to help the reader not +at all. All it tells him is that one of the characters inside +will be called John or Esther--a matter, probably, of +indifference to him. Phyllis is a better title, because it does +give a suggestion of the nature of the book. No novel with a +tragic ending, no powerful realistic novel, would be called +Phyllis. Without having read Phyllis I should say that it was a +charming story of suburban life, told mostly in dialogue, and +that Phyllis herself was a perfect dear--though a little cruel +about that first box of chocolates he sent her. However, she +married him in the end all right. + +But if you don't call your book Phyllis or John Temple or Mrs. +Elmsley, what--I hear you asking--are you to call it? Well, you +might call it Kapak, as I see somebody has done. The beauty of +Kapak as a title is that if you come into the shop by the back +entrance, and so approach the book from the wrong end, it is +still Kapak. A title which looks the same from either end is of +immense advantage to an author. Besides, in this particular case +there is a mystery about Kapak which one is burning to solve. Is +it the bride's pet name for her father-in-law, the password into +the magic castle, or that new stuff with which you polish brown +boots? Or is it only a camera? Let us buy the book at once and +find out. + +Another mystery title is The Man with Thicker Beard, which +probably means something. It is like Kapak in this, that it reads +equally well backwards; but it is not so subtle. Still, we should +probably be lured on to buy it. On the other hand, A Welsh +Nightingale and a Would-be Suffragette is just the sort of book +to which we would not be tempted by the title. It is bad enough +to have to say to the shopman, "Have you A Welsh Nightingale and +a Would-be Suffragette?" but if we forgot the title, as we +probably should, and had to ask at random for a would-be +nightingale and a Welsh suffragette, or a wood nightingale and a +Welsh rabbit, or the Welsh suffragette's night in gaol, we should +soon begin to wish that we had decided on some quite simple book +such as Greed, Earth, or Jonah. + +And this is why a French title is always such a mistake. Authors +must remember that their readers have not only to order the book, +in many cases, verbally, but also to recommend it to their +friends. So I think Mr. Oliver Onions made a mistake when he +called his collection of short stories Pot au Feu. It is a good +title, but it is the sort of title to which the person to whom +you are recommending the book always answers, "What?" And when +people say "What?" in reply to your best Parisian accent, the +only thing possible for you is to change the subject altogether. +But it is quite time that we came to some sort of decision as to +what makes the perfect title. Kapak will attract buyers, as I +have said, though to some it may not seem quite fair. Excellent +from a commercial point of view, it does not satisfy the +conditions we laid down at first. The title, we agreed, must +reflect the spirit of the book. In one sense Five Gallons of +Gasolene does this, but of course nobody could ask for that in a +book-shop. + +Well, then, here is a perfect title, Their High Adventure. That +explains itself just sufficiently. When a Man's Married, For +Henri and Navarre, and The King Over the Water are a little more +obvious, but they are still good. The Love Story of a Mormon +makes no attempt to deceive the purchaser, but it can hardly be +called a beautiful title. Melody in Silver, on the other hand, is +beautiful, but for this reason makes one afraid to buy it, lest +there should be disappointment within. In fact, as I look down +the index, I am beginning to feel glad that there are so many +hundreds of novels which I haven't read. In most of them there +would be disappointment. And really one only reads books nowadays +so as to be able to say to one's neighbour on one's rare +appearances in society, "HAVE you read The Forged Coupon, and +WHAT do you think of The Muck Rake?" And for this an index is +quite enough. + + + + +The Profession + + +I have been reading a little book called How to Write for the +Press. Other books which have been published upon the same +subject are How to Be an Author, How to Write a Play, How to +Succeed as a Journalist, How to Write for the Magazines, and How +to Earn £600 a Year with the Pen. Of these the last-named has, I +think, the most pleasing title. Anybody can write a play; the +trouble is to get it produced. Almost anybody can be an author; +the business is to collect money and fame from this state of +being. Writing for the magazines, again, sounds a delightful +occupation, but literally it means nothing without the co- +operation of the editors of the magazines, and it is this co- +operation which is so difficult to secure. But to earn £600 a +year with the pen is to do a definite thing; if the book could +really tell the secret of that, it would have an enormous sale. I +have not read it, so I cannot say what the secret is. Perhaps it +was only a handbook on forgery. + +How to Write for the Press disappointed me. It is concerned not +with the literary journalist (as I believe he is called) but with +the reporter (as he is never called, the proper title being +"special representative"). It gives in tabular form a list of the +facts you should ascertain at the different functions you attend; +with this book in your pocket there would be no excuse if you +neglected to find out at a wedding the names of the bride and +bridegroom. It also gives--and I think this is very friendly of +it--a list of useful synonyms for the principal subjects, animate +and inanimate, of description. The danger of calling the +protagonists at the court of Hymen (this one is not from the +book; I thought of it myself just now)--the danger of calling +them "the happy pair" more than once in a column is that your +readers begin to suspect that you are a person of extremely +limited mind, and when once they get this idea into their heads +they are not in a proper state to appreciate the rest of your +article. But if in your second paragraph you speak of "the joyful +couple," and in your third of "the ecstatic brace," you give an +impression of careless mystery of the language which can never be +shed away. + +Among the many interesting chapters is one dealing with contested +elections. One of the questions to which the special +representative was advised to find an answer was this: "What +outside bodies are taking active part in the contest?" In the bad +old days--now happily gone for ever--the outside bodies of dead +cats used to take an active and important part in the contest, +and as the same body would often be used twice the reporter in +search of statistics was placed in a position of great +responsibility. Nowadays, I suppose, he is only meant to concern +himself with such bodies as the Coal Consumers' League and the +Tariff Reform League, and there would be no doubt in the mind of +anybody as to whether they were there or not. + +I am afraid I should not be a success as "our special +representative." I should never think of half the things which +occur to the good reporter. You read in your local paper a +sentence like this: "The bride's brother, who only arrived last +week from Australia, where he held an important post under the +Government, and is about to proceed on a tour through Canada +with--curiously enough--a nephew of the bride-groom, gave her +away." Well, what a mass of information has to be gleaned before +that sentence can be written. Or this. "The hall was packed to +suffocation, and beneath the glare of the electric light-- +specially installed for this occasion by Messrs. Ampère & Son of +Pumpton, the building being at ordinary times strikingly +deficient in the matter of artificial lighting in spite of the +efforts of the more progressive members of the town council--the +faces of not a few of the fairer sex could be observed." You +know, I am afraid I should have forgotten all that. I should +simply have obtained a copy of the principal speech, and prefaced +it with the words," Mr. Dodberry then spoke as follows"; or, if +my conscience would not allow of such a palpable misstatement, +"Mr. Dodberry then rose with the intention of speaking as +follows." + +In the more human art of interviewing I should be equally at +fault. The interview itself would be satisfactory, but I am +afraid that its publication would lead people to believe that all +the best things had been said by me. To remember what anybody +else has said is easy; to remember, even five minutes after, what +one has said oneself is almost impossible. For to recall YOUR +remarks in our argument at the club last night is simply a matter +of memory; to recall MINE, I have to forget all that I meant to +have said, all that I ought to have said, and all that I have +thought upon the subject since. + +In fact, I begin to see that the successful reporter must +eliminate his personality altogether, whereas the successful +literary journalist depends for his success entirely upon his +personality --which is what is meant by "style." I suppose it is +for this reason that, when the literary journalist is sent as +"our extra-special representative" to report a prize fight or a +final cup tie or a political meeting, the result is always +appalling. The "ego" bulges out of every line, obviously +conscious that it is showing us no ordinary reporting, determined +that it will not be overshadowed by the importance of the +subject. And those who are more interested in the matter than in +the manner regard him as an intruder, and the others regret that +he is so greatly overtaxing his strength. + +So each to his business, and his handbook to each--How to Write +for the Press to the special representative, and How to Be an +Author to the author. There is no book, I believe, called How to +Be a Solicitor, or a doctor or an admiral or a brewer. That is a +different matter altogether; but any fool can write for the +papers. + + + + +Smoking as a Fine Art + + +My first introduction to Lady Nicotine was at the innocent age of +eight, when, finding a small piece of somebody else's tobacco +lying unclaimed on the ground, I decided to experiment with it. +Numerous desert island stories had told me that the pangs of +hunger could be allayed by chewing tobacco; it was thus that the +hero staved off death before discovering the bread-fruit tree. +Every right-minded boy of eight hopes to be shipwrecked one day, +and it was proper that I should find out for myself whether my +authorities could be trusted in this matter. So I chewed tobacco. +In the sense that I certainly did not desire food for some time +afterwards, my experience justified the authorities, but I felt +at the time that it was not so much for staving off death as for +reconciling oneself to it that tobacco-chewing was to be +recommended. I have never practised it since. + +At eighteen I went to Cambridge, and bought two pipes in a case. +In those days Greek was compulsory, but not more so than two +pipes in a case. One of the pipes had an amber stem and the other +a vulcanite stem, and both of them had silver belts. That also +was compulsory. Having bought them, one was free to smoke +cigarettes. However, at the end of my first year I got to work +seriously on a shilling briar, and I have smoked that, or +something like it, ever since. + +In the last four years there has grown up a new school of pipe- +smokers, by which (I suspect) I am hardly regarded as a pipe- +smoker at all. This school buys its pipes always at one +particular shop; its pupils would as soon think of smoking a pipe +without the white spot as of smoking brown paper. So far are they +from smoking brown paper that each one of them has his tobacco +specially blended according to the colour of his hair, his taste +in revues, and the locality in which he lives. The first blend is +naturally not the ideal one. It is only when he has been a +confirmed smoker for at least three months, and knows the best +and worst of all tobaccos, that his exact requirements can be +satisfied. + +However, it is the pipe rather than the tobacco which marks him +as belonging to this particular school. He pins his faith, not so +much to its labour-saving devices as to the white spot outside, +the white spot of an otherwise aimless life. This tells the world +that it is one of THE pipes. Never was an announcement more +superfluous. From the moment, shortly after breakfast, when he +strikes his first match to the moment, just before bed-time, when +he strikes his hundredth, it is obviously THE pipe which he is +smoking. + +For whereas men of an older school, like myself, smoke for the +pleasure of smoking, men of this school smoke for the pleasure of +pipe-owning--of selecting which of their many white-spotted pipes +they will fill with their specially-blended tobacco, of filling +the one so chosen, of lighting it, of taking it from the mouth to +gaze lovingly at the white spot and thus letting it go out, of +lighting it again and letting it go out again, of polishing it up +with their own special polisher and putting it to bed, and then +the pleasure of beginning all over again with another white- +spotted one. They are not so much pipe-smokers as pipe-keepers; +and to have spoken as I did just now of their owning pipes was +wrong, for it is they who are in bondage to the white spot. This +school is founded firmly on four years of war. When at the age of +eighteen you are suddenly given a cheque-book and called "Sir," +you must do something by way of acknowledgment. A pipe in the +mouth makes it clear that there has been no mistake--you are +undoubtedly a man. But you may be excused for feeling after the +first pipe that the joys of smoking have been rated too high, and +for trying to extract your pleasure from the polish on the pipe's +surface, the pride of possessing a special mixture of your own, +and such-like matters, rather than from the actual inspiration +and expiration of smoke. In the same way a man not fond of +reading may find delight in a library of well-bound books. They +are pleasant to handle, pleasant to talk about, pleasant to show +to friends. But it is the man without the library of well-bound +books who generally does most of the reading. + +So I feel that it is we of the older school who do most of the +smoking. We smoke unconsciously while we are doing other things; +THEY try, but not very successfully, to do other things while +they are consciously smoking. No doubt they despise us, and tell +themselves that we are not real smokers, but I fancy that they +feel a little uneasy sometimes. For my young friends are always +trying to persuade me to join their school, to become one of the +white-spotted ones. I have no desire to be of their company, but +I am prepared to make a suggestion to the founder of the school. +It is that he should invent a pipe, white spot and all, which +smokes itself. His pupils could hang it in the mouth as +picturesquely as before, but the incidental bother of keeping it +alight would no longer trouble them. + + + + +The Path to Glory + + +My friend Mr. Sidney Mandragon is getting on. He is now one of +the great ones of the earth. He has just been referred to as +"Among those present was Mr. Sidney Mandragon." + +As everybody knows (or will know when they have read this +article) the four stages along the road to literary fame are +marked by the four different manners in which the traveller's +presence at a public function is recorded in the Press. At the +first stage the reporter glances at the list of guests, and says +to himself, "Mr. George Meredith --never heard of him," and for +all the world knows next morning, Mr. George Meredith might just +as well have stayed at home. At the second stage (some years +later) the reporter murmurs to his neighbour in a puzzled sort of +way: "George Meredith? George Meredith? Now where have I come +across that name lately? Wasn't he the man who pushed a +wheelbarrow across America? Or was he the chap who gave evidence +in that murder trial last week?" And, feeling that in either case +his readers will be interested in the fellow, he says: "The +guests included ... Mr. George Meredith and many others." At the +third stage the reporter knows at last who Mr. George Meredith +is. Having seen an advertisement of one of his books, and being +pretty sure that the public has read none of them, he refers to +him as "Mr. George Meredith, the well-known novelist." The fourth +and final stage, beyond the reach of all but the favoured few, is +arrived at when the reporter can leave the name to his public +unticketed, and says again, "Among those present was Mr. George +Meredith." + +The third stage is easy to reach--indeed, too easy. The "well- +known actresses" are not Ellen Terry, Irene Vanbrugh and Marie +Tempest, but Miss Birdie Vavasour, who has discovered a new way +of darkening the hair, and Miss Girlie de Tracy, who has been +arrested for shop-lifting. In the same way, the more the Press +insists that a writer is "well-known," the less hope will he have +that the public has heard of him. Better far to remain at the +second stage, and to flatter oneself that one has really arrived +at the fourth. + +But my friend Sidney Mandragon is, indeed, at the final stage +now, for he had been "the well-known writer" for at least a dozen +years previously. Of course, he has been helped by his name. +Shakespeare may say what he likes, but a good name goes a long +way in the writing profession. It was my business at one time to +consider contributions for a certain paper, and there was one +particular contributor whose work I approached with an awe +begotten solely of his name. It was not exactly Milton, and not +exactly Carlyle, and not exactly Charles Lamb, but it was a sort +of mixture of all three and of many other famous names thrown in, +so that, without having seen any of his work printed elsewhere, I +felt that I could not take the risk of refusing it myself. "This +is a good man," I would say before beginning his article; "this +man obviously has style. And I shouldn't be surprised to hear +that he was an authority on fishing." I wish I could remember his +name now, and then you would see for yourself. + +Well, take Mr. Hugh Walpole (if he will allow me). It is safe to +say that, when Mr. Walpole's first book came out, the average +reader felt vaguely that she had heard of him before. She hadn't +actually read his famous Letters, but she had often wanted to, +and--or was that his uncle? Anyway, she had often heard people +talking about him. What a very talented family it was! In the +same way Sidney Mandragon has had the great assistance of one of +the two Christian names which carry weight in journalism. The +other, of course, is Harold. If you are Sidney or Harold, the +literary world is before you. + +Another hall-mark by which we can tell whether a man has arrived +or not is provided by the interview. If (say) a Lepidopterist is +just beginning his career, nobody bothers about his opinions on +anything. If he is moderately well-known in his profession, the +papers will seek his help whenever his own particular subject +comes up in the day's news. There is a suggestion, perhaps, in +Parliament that butterflies should be muzzled, and "Our +Representative" promptly calls upon "the well-known +Lepidopterist" to ask what HE thinks about it. But if he be of an +established reputation, then his professional opinion is no +longer sought. What the world is eager for now is to be told his +views on Sunday Games, the Decadence of the Theatre or Bands in +the Parks. + +The modern advertising provides a new scale of values. No doubt +Mr. Pelman offers his celebrated hundred guineas' fee equally to +all his victims, but we may be pretty sure that in his business- +like brain he has each one of them nicely labelled, a Gallant +Soldier being good for so much new business, a titled Man of +Letters being good for slightly less; and that real Fame is best +measured by the number of times that one's unbiased views on +Pelmanism (or Tonics or Hair-Restorers) are considered to be +worth reprinting. In this matter my friend Mandragon is doing +nicely. For a suitable fee he is prepared to attribute his +success to anything in reason, and his confession of faith can +count upon a place in every full-page advertisement of the +mixture, and frequently in the odd half-columns. I never quite +understand why a tonic which has tightened up Mandragon's fibres, +or a Mind-Training System which has brought General Blank's +intellect to its present pitch, should be accepted more greedily +by the man-in-the-street than a remedy which has only proved its +value in the case of his undistinguished neighbour, but then I +can never understand quite a number of things. However, that +doesn't matter. All that matters at the moment is that Mr. Sidney +Mandragon has now achieved glory. Probably the papers have +already pigeon-holed his obituary notice. It is a pleasing +thought. + + + + +A Problem in Ethics + + +Life is full of little problems, which arise suddenly and find +one wholly unprepared with a solution. For instance, you travel +down to Wimbledon on the District Railway--first-class, let us +suppose, because it is your birthday. On your arrival you find +that you have lost your ticket. Now, doubtless there is some sort +of recognized business to be gone through which relieves you of +the necessity of paying again. You produce an affidavit of a +terribly affirmative nature, together with your card and a +testimonial from a beneficed member of the Church of England. Or +you conduct a genial correspondence with the traffic manager +which spreads itself over six months. To save yourself this +bother you simply tell the collector that you haven't a ticket +and have come from Charing Cross. Is it necessary to add "first- +class"? + +Of course one has a strong feeling that one ought to, but I think +a still stronger feeling that one isn't defrauding the railway +company if one doesn't. (I will try not to get so many "ones" +into my next sentence.) For you may argue fairly that you +established your right to travel first-class when you stepped +into the carriage with your ticket--and, it may be, had it +examined therein by an inspector. All that you want to do now is +to establish your right to leave the Wimbledon platform for the +purer air of the common. And you can do this perfectly easily +with a third-class ticket. + +However, this is a problem which will only arise if you are +careless with your property. But however careful you are, it may +happen to you at any moment that you become suddenly the owner of +a shilling with a hole in it. + +I am such an owner. I entered into possession a week ago--Heaven +knows who played the thing off on me. As soon as I made the +discovery I went into a tobacconist's and bought a box of +matches. + +"This," he said, looking at me reproachfully, "is a shilling with +a hole in it." + +"I know," I said, "but it's all right, thanks. I don't want to +wear it any longer. The fact is, Joanna has thrown me--However, I +needn't go into that." He passed it back to me. + +"I am afraid I can't take it," he said. + +"Why not? I managed to." + +However, I had to give him one without a hole before he would let +me out of his shop. Next time I was more thoughtful. I handed +three to the cashier at my restaurant in payment of lunch, and +the ventilated one was in the middle. He saw the joke of it just +as I was escaping down the stairs. + +"Hi!" he said, "this shilling has a hole in it." + +I went back and looked at it. Sure enough it had. + +"Well, that's funny," I said. "Did you drop it, or what?" + +He handed the keepsake back to me. He also had something of +reproach in his eye. + +"Thanks, very much," I said. "I wouldn't have lost it for worlds; +Emily--But I mustn't bore you with the story. Good day to you." +And I gave him a more solid coin and went. + +Well, that's how we are at present. A more unscrupulous person +than myself would have palmed it off long ago. He would have told +himself with hateful casuistry that the coin was none the worse +for the air-hole in it, and that, if everybody who came into +possession of it pressed it on to the next man, nobody would be +injured by its circulation. But I cannot argue like this. It +pleases me to give my shilling a run with the others sometimes. I +like to put it down on a counter with one or two more, preferably +in the middle of them where the draught cannot blow through it; +but I should indeed be surprised--I mean sorry--if it did not +come back to me at once. + +There is one thing, anyhow, that I will not do. I will not give +it to a waiter or a taxi-driver or to anybody else as a tip. If +you estimate the market value of a shilling with a hole in it at +anything from ninepence to fourpence according to the owner's +chances of getting rid of it, then it might be considered +possibly a handsome, anyhow an adequate, tip for a driver; but +somehow the idea does not appeal to me at all. For if the +recipient did not see the hole, you would feel that you had been +unnecessarily generous to him, and that one last effort to have +got it off on to a shopkeeper would have been wiser; while if he +did see it--well, we know what cabmen are. He couldn't legally +object, it is a voluntary gift on your part, and even regarded as +a contribution to his watch chain worthy of thanks, but--Well, I +don't like it. I don't think it's sportsmanlike. + +However, I have an idea at last. I know a small boy who owns some +lead soldiers. I propose to borrow one of these--a corporal or +perhaps a serjeant--and boil him down, and then fill up the hole +in the shilling with lead. Shillings, you know, are not solid +silver; oh no, they have alloy in them. This one will have a +little more than usual perhaps. One cannot tie oneself down to an +ounce or two. + +We set out, I believe, to discuss the morals of the question. It +is a most interesting subject. + + + + +The Happiest Half-Hours of Life + + +Yesterday I should have gone back to school, had I been a hundred +years younger. My most frequent dream nowadays--or nowanights I +suppose I should say--is that I am back at school, and trying to +construe difficult passages from Greek authors unknown to me. +That they are unknown is my own fault, as will be pointed out to +me sternly in a moment. Meanwhile I stand up and gaze blankly at +the text, wondering how it is that I can have forgotten to +prepare it. "Er--him the--er--him the--the er many-wiled +Odysseus--h'r'm--then, him addressing, the many-wiled Odysseus-- +er--addressed. Er--er --the er--" And then, sweet relief, I wake +up. That is one of my dreams; and another is that I am trying to +collect my books for the next school and that an algebra, or +whatever you like, is missing. The bell has rung, as it seems +hours ago, I am searching my shelves desperately, I am diving +under my table, behind the chair ... I shall be late, I shall be +late, late, late ... + +No doubt I had these bad moments in real life a hundred years +ago. Indeed I must have had them pretty often that they should +come back to me so regularly now. But it is curious that I should +never dream that I am going back to school, for the misery of +going back must have left a deeper mark on my mind than all the +little accidental troubles of life when there. I was very happy +at school; but oh! the utter wretchedness of the last day of the +holidays. + +One began to be apprehensive on the Monday. Foolish visitors +would say sometimes on the Monday, "When are you going back to +school?" and make one long to kick them for their tactlessness. +As well might they have said to a condemned criminal, "When are +you going to be hanged?" or, "What kind of--er--knot do you think +they'll use?" Througout Monday and Tuesday we played the usual +games, amused ourselves in the usual way, but with heavy hearts. +In the excitement of the moment we would forget and be happy, and +then suddenly would come the thought, "We're going back on +Wednesday." + +And on Tuesday evening we would bring a moment's comfort to +ourselves by imagining that we were not going back on the morrow. +Our favourite dream was that the school was burnt down early on +Wednesday morning, and that a telegram arrived at breakfast +apologizing for the occurrence, and pointing out that it would be +several months before even temporary accommodation could be +erected. No Vandal destroyed historic buildings so light- +heartedly as we. And on Tuesday night we prayed that, if the +lightnings of Heaven failed us, at least a pestilence should be +sent in aid. Somehow, SOMEHOW, let the school be uninhabitable! + +But the telegram never came. We woke on Wednesday morning as +wakes the murderer on his last day. We took a dog or two for a +walk; we pretended to play a game of croquet. After lunch we +donned the badges of our servitude. The comfortable, careless, +dirty flannels were taken off, and the black coats and stiff +white collars put on. At 3.30 an early tea was ready for us-- +something rather special, a last mockery of holiday. (Dressed +crab, I remember, on one occasion, and I travelled with my back +to the engine after it--a position I have never dared to assume +since.) Then good-byes, tips, kisses, a last look, and--the 4.10 +was puffing out of the station. And nothing, nothing had +happened. I can remember thinking in the train how unfair it all +was. Fifty-two weeks in the year, I said to myself, and only +fifteen of them spent at home. A child snatched from his mother +at nine, and never again given back to her for more than two +months at a time. "Is this Russia?" I said; and, getting no +answer, could only comfort myself with the thought, "This day +twelve weeks!" + +And once the incredible did happen. It was through no +intervention of Providence; no, it was entirely our own doing. We +got near some measles, and for a fortnight we were kept in +quarantine. I can say truthfully that we never spent a duller two +weeks. There seemed to be nothing to do at all. The idea that we +were working had to be fostered by our remaining shut up in one +room most of the day, and within the limits of that room we found +very little in the way of amusement. We were bored extremely. And +always we carried with us the thought of Smith or Robinson taking +our place in the Junior House team and making hundreds of runs. +... + +Because, of course, we were very happy at school really. The +trouble was that we were so much happier in the holidays. I have +had many glorious moments since I left school, but I have no +doubt as to what have been the happiest half-hours in my life. +They were the half-hours on the last day of term before we +started home. We spent them on a lunch of our own ordering. It +was the first decent meal we had had for weeks, and when it was +over there were all the holidays before us. Life may have better +half-hours than that to offer, but I have not met them. + + + + +Natural Science + + +It is when Parliament is not sitting that the papers are most +interesting to read. I have found an item of news to-day which +would never have been given publicity in the busy times, and it +has moved me strangely. Here it is, backed by the authority of +Dr. Chalmers Mitchell:-- + +"The caterpillar of the puss-moth, not satisfied with Nature's +provisions for its safety, makes faces at young birds, and is +said to alarm them considreably." + +I like that "is said to." Probably the young bird would deny +indignantly that he was alarmed, and would explain that he was +only going away because he suddenly remembered that he had an +engagement on the croquet lawn, or that he had forgotten his +umbrella. But whether he alarms them or not, the fact remains +that the caterpillar of the puss-moth does make faces at young +birds; and we may be pretty sure that, even if he began the +practice in self-defence, the habit is one that has grown on him. +Indeed, I can see him actually looking out for a thrush's nest, +and then climbing up to it, popping his head over the edge +suddenly and making a face. Probably, too, the mother birds +frighten their young ones by telling them that, if they aren't +good, the puss-moth caterpillar will be after them; while the +poor caterpillar himself, never having known a mother's care, has +had no one to tell him that if he goes on making such awful faces +he will be struck like that one day. + +These delvings into natural history bring back my youth very +vividly. I never kept a puss-moth, but I had a goat-moth which +ate its way out of a match-box, and as far as I remember took all +the matches with it. There were caterpillars, though, of a +gentler nature who stayed with me, and of these some were +obliging enough to turn into chrysalises. Not all by any means. A +caterpillar is too modest to care about changing in public. To +conduct his metamorphosis in some quiet corner--where he is not +poked every morning to see if he is getting stiffer --is what +your caterpillar really wants. Mine had no private life to +mention. They were as much before the world as royalty or an +actress. And even those who brought off the first event safely +never emerged into the butterfly world. Something would always +happen to them. "Have you seen my chrysalis?" we used to ask each +other. "I left him in the bathroom yesterday." + +But what I kept most successfully were minerals. One is or is not +a successful mineralogist according as one is or is not allowed a +geological hammer. I had a geological hammer. To scour the cliffs +armed with a geological hammer and a bag for specimens is to be a +king among boys. The only specimen I can remember taking with my +hammer was a small piece of shin. That was enough, however, to +end my career as a successful mineralogist. As an unsuccessful +one I persevered for some months, and eventually had a collection +of eighteen units. They were put out on the bed every evening in +order of size, and ranged from a large lump of Iceland spar down +to a small dead periwinkle. In those days I could have told you +what granite was made of. In those days I had over my bed a map +of the geological strata of the district--in different colours +like a chocolate macaroon. And in those days I knew my way to the +Geological Museum. + +As a botanist I never really shone, but two of us joined an open- +air course and used to be taken expeditions into Kew Gardens and +such places, where our lecturer explained to his pupils--all +grown-up save ourselves--the less recondite mysteries. There was +one golden Saturday when we missed the rendezvous at Pinner and +had a picnic by ourselves instead; and, after that, many other +golden Saturdays when some unaccountable accident separated us +from the party. I remember particularly a day in Highgate Woods-- +a good place for losing a botanical lecturer in; if you had been +there, you would have seen two little boys very content, lying +one each side of a large stone slab, racing caterpillars against +each other. + +But there was one episode in my career as a natural scientist--a +career whose least details are brought back by the magic word, +caterpillar-- over which I still go hot with the sense of +failure. This was an attempt to stuff a toad. I don't know to +this day if toads can be stuffed, but when our toad died he had +to be commemorated in some way, and, failing a marble statue, it +seemed good to stuff him. It was when we had got the skin off him +that we began to realize our difficulties. I don't know if you +have had the skin of a fair-sized toad in your hand; if so, you +will understand that our first feeling was one of surprise that a +whole toad could ever have got into it. There seemed to be no +shape about the thing at all. You could have carried it--no doubt +we did, I have forgotten--in the back of a watch. But it had lost +all likeness to a toad, and it was obvious that stuffing meant +nothing to it. + +Of course, little boys ought not to skin toads and carry +geological hammers and deceive learned professors of botany; I +know it is wrong. And of course caterpillars of the puss-moth +variety oughtn't to make faces at timid young thrushes. But it is +just these things which make such pleasant memories afterwards-- +when professors and toads are departed, when the hammers lie +rusty in the coal cellar, and when the young thrushes are grown +up to be quite big birds. + + + + +On Going Dry + + +There are fortunate mortals who can always comfort themselves with a +cliché. If any question arises as to the moral value of Racing, whether +in war-time or in peace-time, they will murmur something about +"improving the breed of horses," and sleep afterwards with an easy +conscience. To one who considers how many millions of people are engaged +upon this important work, it is surprising that nothing more notable in +the way of a super-horse has as yet emerged; one would have expected at +least by this time something which combined the flying-powers of the +hawk with the diving-powers of the seal. No doubt this is what the +followers of the Colonel's Late Wire are aiming at, and even if they +have to borrow ten shillings from the till in the good cause, they feel +that possibly by means of that very ten shillings Nature has +approximated a little more closely to the desired animal. Supporters of +Hunting, again, will tell you, speaking from inside knowledge, that "the +fox likes it," and one is left breathless at the thought of the altruism +of the human race, which will devote so much time and money to amusing a +small, bushy-tailed four-legged friend who might otherwise be bored. And +the third member of the Triple Alliance, which has made England what it +is, is Beer, and in support of Beer there is also a cliché ready. Talk +to anybody about Intemperance, and he will tell you solemnly, as if this +disposed of the trouble, that "one can just as easily be intemperate in +other matters as in the matter of alcohol." After which, it seems almost +a duty to a broad-minded man to go out and get drunk. + +It is, of course, true that we can be intemperate in eating as +well as in drinking, but the results of the intemperance would +appear to be different. After a fifth help of rice-pudding one +does not become over-familiar with strangers, nor does an extra +slice of ham inspire a man to beat his wife. After five pints of +beer (or fifteen, or fifty) a man will "go anywhere in reason, +but he won't go home"; after five helps of rice-pudding, I +imagine, home would seem to him the one- desired haven. The two +intemperances may be equally blameworthy, but they are not +equally offensive to the community. Yet for some reason over- +eating is considered the mark of the beast, and over-drinking the +mark of rather a fine fellow. + +The poets and other gentlemen who have written so much romantic +nonsense about "good red wine" and "good brown ale" are +responsible for this. I admit that a glass of Burgundy is a more +beautiful thing than a blancmange, but I do not think that it +follows that a surfeit of one is more heroic than a surfeit of +the other. There may be a divinity in the grape which excuses +excess, but if so, one would expect it to be there even before +the grape had been trodden on by somebody else. Yet no poet ever +hymned the man who tucked into the dessert, or told him that he +was by way of becoming a jolly good fellow. He is only by way of +becoming a pig. + +"It is the true, the blushful Hippocrene." To tell oneself this +is to pardon everything. However unpleasant a drunken man may +seem at first sight, as soon as one realizes that he has merely +been putting away a blushful Hippocrene, one ceases to be angry +with him. If Keats or somebody had said of a piece of underdone +mutton, "It is the true, the blushful Canterbury," indigestion +would carry a more romantic air, and at the third helping one +could claim to be a bit of a devil. "The beaded bubbles winking +at the brim"--this might also have been sung of a tapioca- +pudding, in which case a couple of tapioca- puddings would +certainly qualify the recipient as one of the boys. If only the +poets had praised over-eating rather than over-drinking, how much +pleasanter the streets would be on festival nights! + +I suppose that I have already said enough to have written myself +down a Temperance Fanatic, a Thin-Blooded Cocoa-Drinker, and a +number of other things equally contemptible; which is all very +embarrassing to a man who is composing at the moment on port, and +who gets entangled in the skin of cocoa whenever he tries to +approach it. But if anything could make me take kindly to cocoa, +it would be the sentimental rubbish which is written about the +"manliness" of drinking alcohol. It is no more manly to drink +beer (not even if you call it good brown ale) than it is to drink +beef-tea. It may be more healthy; I know nothing about that, nor, +from the diversity of opinion expressed, do the doctors; it may +be cheaper, more thirst-quenching, anything you like. But it is a +thing the village idiot can do--and often does, without becoming +thereby the spiritual comrade of Robin Hood, King Harry the +Fifth, Drake, and all the other heroes who (if we are to believe +the Swill School) have made old England great on beer. + +But to doubt the spiritual virtues of alcohol is not to be a +Prohibitionist. For my own sake I want neither England nor +America dry. Whether I want them dry for the sake of England and +America I cannot quite decide. But if I ever do come to a +decision, it will not be influenced by that other cliché, which +is often trotted out complacently, as if it were something to +thank Heaven for. "You can't make people moral by Act of +Parliament." It is not a question of making them moral, but of +keeping them from alcohol. It may be a pity to do this, but it is +obviously possible, just as it is possible to keep them--that is +to say, the overwhelming majority of them--from opium. Nor shall +I be influenced by the argument that such prohibition is outside +the authority of a Government. For if a Government can demand a +man's life for reasons of foreign policy, it can surely demand +his whisky for reasons of domestic policy; if it can call upon +him to start fighting, it can call upon him to stop drinking. + +But if opium and alcohol is prohibited, you say, why not tobacco? +When tobacco is mentioned I feel like the village Socialist, who +was quite ready to share two theoretical cows with his neighbour, +but when asked if the theory applied also to pigs, answered +indignantly, "What are you talking about--I've GOT two pigs!" I +could bear an England which "went dry," but an England which +"went out"--! So before assenting to the right of a Government to +rob the working-man of his beer, I have to ask myself if I assent +to its right to rob me of my pipe. Well, if it were agreed by a +majority of the community (in spite of all my hymns to Nicotine) +that England would be happier without tobacco, then I think I +should agree also. But I might feel that I should be happier +without England. Just a little way without--the Isle of Man, say. + + + + +A Misjudged Game + + +Chess has this in common with making poetry, that the desire for +it comes upon the amateur in gusts. It is very easy for him not +to make poetry; sometimes he may go for months without writing a +line of it. But when once he is delivered of an ode, then the +desire to write another ode is strong upon him. A sudden passion +for rhyme masters him, and must work itself out. It will be all +right in a few weeks; he will go back to prose or bills-of- +parcels or whatever is his natural method of expressing himself, +none the worse for his adventure. But he will have gained this +knowledge for his future guidance--that poems never come singly. + +Every two or three years I discover the game of chess. In normal +times when a man says to me, "Do you play chess?" I answer +coldly, "Well, I know the moves." "Would you like a game?" he +asks, and I say, "I don't think I will, thanks very much. I +hardly ever play." And there the business ends. But once in two +years, or it may be three, circumstances are too strong for me. I +meet a man so keen or a situation so dull that politeness or +boredom leads me to accept. The board is produced, I remind +myself that the queen stands on a square of her own colour, and +that the knight goes next to the castle; I push forward the +king's pawn two squares, and we are off. Yes, we are off; but not +for one game only. For a month at least I shall dream of chess at +night and make excuses to play it in the day. For a month chess +will be even more to me than golf or billiards--games which I +adore because I am so bad at them. For a month, starting from +yesterday when I was inveigled into a game, you must regard me, +please, as a chess maniac. + +Among small boys with no head for the game I should probably be +described as a clever player. If my opponent only learnt +yesterday, and is still a little doubtful as to what a knight can +do, I know one or two rather good tricks for removing his queen. +My subtlest stroke is to wait until Her Majesty is in front of +the king, and then to place my castle in front of her, with a +pawn in support. Sometimes I forget the pawn and he takes my +castle, in which case I try to look as if the loss of my castle +was the one necessary preliminary to my plan of campaign, and +that now we were off. When he is busy on one side of the board, I +work a knight up on the other, and threaten two of his pieces +simultaneously. To the extreme novice I must seem rather +resourceful. + +But then I am an old hand at the game. My career dates from-- +well, years ago when I won my house championship at school. This +championship may have carried a belt with it; I have forgotten. +But there was certainly a prize--a prize of five solid shillings, +supposing the treasurer had managed to collect the subscriptions. +In the year when I won it I was also treasurer. I assure you that +the quickness and skill necessary for winning the competition +were as nothing to that necessary for collecting the money. If +any pride remains to me over that affair, if my name is written +in letters of fire in the annals of our house chess club, it is +because I actually obtained the five shillings. + +After this the game did not trouble me for some time. But there +came a day when a friend and I lunched at a restaurant in which +chess-boards formed as permanent a part the furniture of the +dining tables as the salt and mustard. Partly in joke, because it +seemed to be the etiquette of the building, we started a game. We +stayed there two hours ... and the fever remained with me for two +months. Another year or so of normal development followed. Then I +caught influenza and spent dull days in bed. Nothing can be worse +for an influenza victim than chess, but I suppose my warders did +not realize how much I suffered under the game. Anyhow, I played +it all day and dreamed of it all night--a riot of games in which +all the people I knew moved diagonally and up and down, took each +other, and became queens. + +And now I have played again, and am once more an enthusiast. You +will agree with me, will you not, that it is a splendid game? +People mock at it. They say that it is not such good exercise as +cricket or golf. How wrong they are. That it brings the same +muscles into play as does cricket I do not claim for it. Each +game develops a different set of sinews; but what chess-player +who has sat with an extended forefinger on the head of his queen +for five minutes, before observing the enemy's bishop in the +distance and bringing back his piece to safety--what chess- +player, I say, will deny that the muscles of the hand ridge up +like lumps of iron after a month at the best of games? What +chess-player who has stretched his arm out in order to open with +the Ruy Lopez gambit, who has then withdrawn it as the +possibilities of the Don Quixote occur to him, and who has +finally, after another forward and backward movement, decided to +rely upon the bishop's declined pawn--what chess-player, I ask, +will not affirm that the biceps are elevated by this noblest of +pastimes? And, finally, what chess-player, who in making too +eagerly the crowning move, has upset with his elbow the victims +of the preliminary skirmishing, so that they roll upon the floor- +-what chess-player, who has to lean down and pick them up, will +not be the better for the strain upon his diaphragm? No; say what +you will against chess, but do not mock at it for its lack of +exercise. + +Yet there is this against it. The courtesies of the game are few. +I think that this must be why the passion for it leaves me after +a month. When at cricket you are bowled first ball, the +wicketkeeper can comfort you by murmuring that the light is bad; +when at tennis your opponent forces for the dedans and strikes +you heavily under the eye, he can shout, "Sorry!" when at golf +you reach a bunker in 4 and take 3 to get out, your partner can +endear himself by saying, "Hard luck"; but at chess everything +that the enemy does to you is deliberate. He cannot say, "Sorry!" +as he takes your knight; he does not call it hard luck when your +king is surrounded by vultures eager for his death; and though it +would be kindly in him to attribute to the bad light the fact +that you never noticed his castle leaning against your queen, yet +it would be quite against the etiquette of the game. + +Indeed, it is impossible to win gracefully at chess. No man yet +has said "Mate!" in a voice which failed to sound to his opponent +bitter, boastful, and malicious. It is the tone of that voice +which, after a month, I find it impossible any longer to stand. + + + + +A Doubtful Character + + +I find it difficult to believe in Father Christmas. If he is the +jolly old gentleman he is always said to be, why doesn't he +behave as such? How is it that the presents go so often to the +wrong people? + +This is no personal complaint; I speak for the world. The rich +people get the rich presents, and the poor people get the poor +ones. That may not be the fault of Father Christmas; he may be +under contract for a billion years to deliver all presents just +as they are addressed; but how can he go on smiling? He must long +to alter all that. There is Miss Priscilla A---- who gets five +guineas worth of the best every year from Mr. Cyril B---- who +hopes to be her heir. Mustn't that make Father Christmas mad? Yet +he goes down the chimney with it just the same. When his contract +is over, and he has a free hand, he'll arrange something about +THAT, I'm sure. If he is the jolly old gentleman of the pictures +his sense of humour must trouble him. He must be itching to have +jokes with the parcels. "Only just this once," he would plead. +"Let me give Mrs. Brown the safety-razor, and Mr. Brown the +night-dress case; I swear I won't touch any of the others." Of +course that wouldn't be a very subtle joke; but jolly old +gentlemen with white beards aren't very subtle in their humour. +They lean to the broader effects--the practical joke and the pun. +I can imagine Father Christmas making his annual pun on the word +"reindeer," and the eldest reindeer making a feeble attempt to +smile. The younger ones wouldn't so much as try. Yet he would +make it so gaily that you would love him even if you couldn't +laugh. + +Coming down chimneys is dangerous work for white beards, and if I +believed in him I should ask myself how he manages to keep so +clean. I suppose his sense of humour suggested the chimney to him +in the first place, and for a year or two it was the greatest +joke in the world. But now he must wish sometimes that he came in +by the door or the window. Some chimneys are very dirty for white +beards. + +Have you noticed that children, who hang up their stockings, +always get lots of presents, and that we grown-ups, who don't +hang up our stockings, never get any? This makes me think that +perhaps after all Father Christmas has some say in the +distribution. When he sees an empty stocking he pops in a few +things on his own account--with "from Aunt Emma" pinned on to +them. Then you write to Aunt Emma to thank her for her delightful +present, and she is so ashamed of herself for not having sent you +one that she never lets on about it. But when Father Christmas +doesn't see a stocking, he just leaves you the embroidered +tobacco pouch from your sister and the postal order from your +rich uncle, and is glad to get out of the house. + +Of his attitude towards Christmas cards I cannot speak with +certainty, but I fancy that he does not bring these down the +chimney too; the truth being, probably, that it is he who +composes the mottoes on them, and that with the customary modesty +of the author he leaves the distribution of them to others. "The +old, old wish--a merry Christmas and a happy New Year" he +considers to be his masterpiece so far, but "A righte merrie +Christemasse" runs it close. "May happy hours be yours" is +another epigram in the same vein which has met with considerable +success. You can understand how embarrassing it would be to an +author if he had to cart round his own works, and practically to +force them on people. This is why you so rarely find a Christmas +card in your stocking. + +There is one other thing at which Father Christmas draws the +line; he will not deliver venison. The reindeer say it comes too +near home to them. But, apart from this, he is never so happy as +when dealing with hampers. He would put a plum-pudding into every +stocking if he could, for like all jolly old gentlemen with nice +white beards he loves to think of people enjoying their food. I +am not sure that he holds much with chocolates, although he is +entrusted with so many boxes that he has learnt to look on them +with kindly tolerance. But the turkey idea, I imagine (though I +cannot speak with authority), the turkey idea was entirely his +own. Nothing like turkey for making the beard grow. + +If I believed in Father Christmas I should ask myself what he +does all the summer--all the year, indeed, after his one day is +over. The reindeer, of course, are put out to grass. But where is +Father Christmas? Does he sleep for fifty-one weeks? Does he +shave, and mix with us mortals? Or does he--yes, that must be it- +-does he spend the year in training, in keeping down his figure? +Chimney work is terribly trying; the figure wants watching if one +is to carry it through successfully. This is especially so in the +case of jolly old gentlemen with white beards. I can see Father +Christmas, as soon as his day is over, taking himself off to the +Equator and running round and round it. By next December he is in +splendid condition. + +When his billion years are over, when his contract expires and he +is allowed a free hand with the presents, I suppose I shall not +be alive to take part in the distribution. But none the less I +like to think of the things I should get. There are at least half +a dozen things which I deserve, and Father Christmas knows it. In +any equitable scheme of allotment I should come out well. "Half a +minute," he would say, "I must just put these cigars aside for +the gentleman who had the picture post card last year. What have +you got there? The country cottage and the complete edition of +Meredith? Ah yes, perhaps he'd better have those too." + +That would be something like a Father Christmas. + + + + +Thoughts on Thermometers + + +Our thermometer went down to 11 deg. the other night. The +excitement was intense. It was, of course, the first person down +to breakfast who rushed into the garden and made the discovery, +and as each of us appeared he was greeted with the news. + +"I say, do you know there were twenty-one degrees of frost last +night?" + +"Really? By Jove!" + +We were all very happy and talkative at breakfast--an event rare +enough to be chronicled. It was not that we particularly wanted a +frost, but that we felt that, if it was going to freeze, it might +as well do it properly--so as to show other nations that England +was still to be reckoned with. And there was also the feeling +that if the thermometer could get down to 11 deg. it might some +day get down to zero; and then perhaps the Thames would be frozen +over again at Westminster, and the papers would be full of +strange news, and--generally speaking--life would be a little +different from the ordinary. In a word, there would be a chance +of something "happening"-- which, I take it, is why one buys a +thermometer and watches it so carefully. + +Of course, every nice thermometer has a device for registering +the maximum and minimum temperatures, which can only be set with +a magnet. This gives you an opportunity of using a magnet in +ordinary life, an opportunity which occurs all too seldom. +Indeed, I can think of no other occasion on which it plays any +important part in one's affairs. It would be interesting to know +if the sale of magnets exceeds the sale of thermometers, and if +so, why?--and it would also be interesting to know why magnets +are always painted red, as if they were dangerous, or belonged to +the Government, or--but this is a question into which it is +impossible to go now. My present theme is thermometers. + +Our thermometer (which went down to 11 deg. the other night) is +not one of your common mercury ones; it is filled with a pink +fluid which I am told is alcohol, though I have never tried. It +hangs in the kitchen garden. This gives you an excuse in summer +for going into the kitchen garden and leaning against the fruit +trees. "Let's go and look at the thermometer" you say to your +guest from London, and just for the moment he thinks that the +amusements of the country are not very dramatic. But after a day +or two he learns that what you really mean is, "Let's go and see +if any fruit has blown down in the night." And he takes care to +lean against the right tree. An elaborate subterfuge, but +necessary if your gardener is at all strict. + +But whether your thermometer hangs in the kitchen garden or at +the back of the shrubbery, you must recognize one thing about it, +namely, that it is an open-air plant. There are people who keep +thermometers shut up indoors, which is both cruel and +unnecessary. When you complain that the library is a little +chilly--as surely you are entitled to--they look at the +thermometer nailed to the Henry Fielding shelf and say, "Oh no; I +don't think so. It's sixty-five." As if anybody wanted a +thermometer to know if a room were cold or not. These people +insult thermometers and their guests further by placing one of +the former in the bathroom soap-dish, in order that the latter +may discover whether it is a hot or cold bath which they are +having. All decent people know that a hot bath is one which you +can just bear to get into, and that a cold bath is one which you +cannot bear to think of getting into, but have to for honour's +sake. They do riot want to be told how many degrees Fahrenheit it +is. + + The undersized temperature-taker which the doctor puts under +your tongue before telling you to keep warm and take plenty of +milk puddings is properly despised by every true thermometer- +lover. Any record which it makes is too personal for a breakfast- +table topic, and moreover it is a thermometer which affords no +scope for the magnet. Altogether it is a contemptible thing. An +occasional devotee will bite it in two before returning it to its +owner, but this is rather a strong line to take. It is perhaps +best to avoid it altogether by not being ill. + +A thermometer must always be treated with care, for the mercury +once spilt can only be replaced with great difficulty. It is +considered to be one of the most awkward things to pick up after +dinner, and only a very steady hand will be successful. Some +people with a gift for handling mercury or alcohol make their own +thermometers; but even when you have got the stuff into the tube, +it is always a question where to put the little figures. So much +depends upon them. + +Now I must tell you the one hereditary failing of the +thermometer. I had meant to hide it from you, but I see that you +are determined to have it. It is this: you cannot go up to it and +tap it. At least you can, but you don't get that feeling of +satisfaction from it which the tapping of a barometer gives you. +Of course you can always put a hot thumb on the bulb and watch +the mercury run up; this is satisfying for a short time, but it +is not the same thing as tapping. And I am wrong to say "always," +for in some thermometers--indeed, in ours, alas!--the bulb is +wired in, so that no falsifying thumb can get to work. However, +this has its compensations, for if no hot thumb can make our +thermometer untrue to itself, neither can any cold thumb. And so +when I tell you again that our thermometer did go down to 11 deg. +the other night, you have no excuse for not believing that our +twenty-one degrees of frost was a genuine affair. In fact, you +will appreciate our excitement at breakfast. + + + + +For a Wet Afternoon + + +Let us consider something seasonable; let us consider indoor +games for a moment. + +And by indoor games I do not mean anything so serious as bridge +and billiards, nor anything so commercial as vingt-et-un with +fish counters, nor anything so strenuous as "bumps." The games I +mean are those jolly, sociable ones in which everybody in the +house can join with an equal chance of distinction, those +friendly games which are played with laughter round a fire what +time the blizzards rattle against the window-pane. + +These games may be divided broadly into two classes; namely, +paper games and guessing games. The initial disadvantage of the +paper game is that pencils have to be found for everybody; +generally a difficult business. Once they are found, there is no +further trouble until the game is over, when the pencils have to +be collected from everybody; generally an impossible business. If +you are a guest in the house, insist upon a paper game, for it +gives you a chance of acquiring a pencil; if you are the host, +consider carefully whether you would not rather play a guessing +game. + +But the guessing game has one great disadvantage too. It demands +periodically that a member of the company should go out by +himself into the hall and wait there patiently until his +companions have "thought of something." (It may be supposed that +he, too, is thinking of something in the cold hall, but perhaps +not liking to say it.) However careful the players are, +unpleasantness is bound to arise sometimes over this preliminary +stage of the game. I knew of one case where the people in the +room forgot all about the lady waiting in the hall and began to +tell each other ghost stories. The lights were turned out, and +sitting round the flickering fire the most imaginative members of +the household thrilled their hearers with ghostly tales of the +dead. Suddenly, in the middle of the story of Torfrida of the +Towers--a lady who had strangled her children, and ever +afterwards haunted the battlements, headless, and in a night- +gown--the door opened softly, and Miss Robinson entered to ask +how much longer they would be. Miss Robinson was wearing a white +frock, and the effect of her entry was tremendous. I remember, +too, another evening when we were playing "proverbs." William, +who had gone outside, was noted for his skill at the game, and we +were determined to give him something difficult; something which +hadn't a camel or a glass house or a stable door in it. After +some discussion a member of the company suggested a proverb from +the Persian, as he alleged. It went something like this: "A wise +man is kind to his dog, but a poor man riseth early in the +morning." We took his word for it, and, feeling certain that +William would never guess, called him to come in. + +Unfortunately William, who is a trifle absentminded, had gone to +bed. + +To avoid accidents of this nature it is better to play "clumps," +a guessing game in which the procedure is slightly varied. In +"clumps" two people go into the hall and think of something, +while the rest remain before the fire. Thus, however long the +interval of waiting, all are happy; for the people inside can +tell each other stories (or, as a last resort, play some other +game) and the two outside are presumably amusing themselves in +arranging something very difficult. Personally I adore clumps; +not only for this reason, but because of its revelation of hidden +talent. There may be a dozen persons in each clump, and in theory +every one of the dozen is supposed to take a hand in the cross- +examination, but in practice it is always one person who extracts +the information required by a cataract of searching questions. +Always one person and generally a girl. I love to see her coming +out of her shell. She has excelled at none of the outdoor games +perhaps; she has spoken hardly a word at meals. In our little +company she has scarcely seemed to count. But suddenly she awakes +into life. Clumps is the family game at home; she has been +brought up on it. In a moment she discovers herself as our +natural leader, a leader whom we follow humbly. And however we +may spend the rest of our time together, the effect of her short +hour's triumph will not wholly wear away. She is now established. + +But the paper games will always be most popular, and once you are +over the difficulty of the pencils you may play them for hours +without wearying. But of course you must play the amusing ones +and not the dull ones. The most common paper game of all, that of +making small words out of a big one, has nothing to recommend it; +for there can be no possible amusement in hearing somebody else +read out "but," "bat," "bet," "bin," "ben," and so forth, riot +even if you spend half an hour discussing whether "ben" is really +a word. On the other hand your game, however amusing, ought to +have some finality about it; a game is not really a game unless +somebody can win it. For this reason I cannot wholly approve +"telegrams." To concoct a telegram whose words begin with certain +selected letters of the alphabet, say the first ten, is to amuse +yourself anyhow and possibly your friends; whether you say, "Am +bringing camel down early Friday. Got hump. Inform Jamrach"; or, +"Afraid better cancel dinner engagement. Fred got horrid +indigestion.--JANE." But it is impossible to declare yourself +certainly the winner. Fortunately, however, there are games which +combine amusement with a definite result; games in which the +others can be funny while you can get the prize--or, if you +prefer it, the other way about. + +When I began to write this, the rain was streaming against the +window-panes. It is now quite fine. This, you will notice, often +happens when you decide to play indoor games on a wet afternoon. +Just as you have found the pencils, the sun comes out. + + + + +Declined with Thanks + + +A paragraph in the papers of last week recorded the unusual +action of a gentleman called Smith (or some such name) who had +refused for reasons of conscience to be made a justice of the +peace. Smith's case was that the commission was offered to him as +a reward for political services, and that this was a method of +selecting magistrates of which he did not approve. So he showed +his contempt for the system by refusing an honour which most +people covet, and earned by this such notoriety as the papers can +give. "Portrait (on page 8) of a gentleman who has refused +something!" He takes his place with Brittlebones in the gallery +of freaks. + +The subject for essay has frequently been given, "If a million +pounds were left to you, how could you do most good with it?" +Some say they would endow hospitals, some that they would +establish almshouses; there may even be some who would go as far +as to build half a Dreadnought. But there would be a more +decisive way of doing good than any of these. You might refuse +the million pounds. That would be a shock to the systems of the +comfortable --a blow struck at the great Money God which would +make it totter; a thrust in defence of pride and freedom such as +had not been seen before. That would be a moral tonic more needed +than all the draughts of your newly endowed hospitals. Will it +ever be administered? Well, perhaps when the D.W.T. club has +grown a little stronger. + +Have you heard of the D.W.T.--the Declined- with-Thanks Club? +There are no club rooms and not many members, but the balance +sheet for the last twelve months is wonderful, showing that more +than £11,000 was refused. The entrance fee is one hundred guineas +and the annual subscription fifty guineas; that is to say, you +must have refused a hundred guineas before you can be elected, +and you are expected to refuse another fifty guineas a year while +you retain membership. It is possible also to compound with a +life refusal, but the sum is not fixed, and remains at the +discretion of the committee. + +Baines is a life member. He saved an old lady from being run over +by a motor bus some years ago, and when she died she left him a +legacy of £1000. Baines wrote to the executors and pointed out +that he did not go about dragging persons from beneath motor +buses as a profession; that, if she had offered him £1000 at the +time, he would have refused it, not being in the habit of +accepting money from strangers, still less from women; and that +he did not see that the fact of the money being offered two years +later in a will made the slightest difference. Baines was earning +£300 a year at this time, and had a wife and four children, but +he will not admit that he did anything at all out of the common. + +The case of Sedley comes up for consideration at the next +committee meeting. Sedley's rich uncle, a cantankerous old man, +insulted him grossly; there was a quarrel; and the old man left, +vowing to revenge himself by disinheriting his nephew and +bequeathing his money to a cats' home. He died on his way to his +solicitors, and Sedley was told of his good fortune in good legal +English. He replied, "What on earth do you take me for? I +wouldn't touch a penny. Give it to the cats' home or any blessed +thing you like." Sedley, of course, will be elected as an +ordinary member, but as there is a strong feeling on the +committee that no decent man could have done anything else, his +election as a life member is improbable. + +Though there are one or two other members like Baines and Sedley, +most of them are men who have refused professional openings +rather than actual money. There are, for instance, half a dozen +journalists and authors. Now a journalist, before he can be +elected, must have a black-list of papers for which he will +refuse to write. A concocted wireless message in the Daily Blank, +which subsequent events proved to have been invented deliberately +for the purpose of raking in ha'pennies, so infuriated Henderson +(to take a case) that he has pledged himself never to write a +line for any paper owned by the same proprietors. Curiously +enough he was asked a day or two later to contribute a series to +a most respectable magazine published by this firm. He refused in +a letter which breathed hatred and utter contempt in every word. +It was Henderson, too, who resigned his position as dramatic +critic because the proprietor of his paper did rather a shady +thing in private life. "I know the paper isn't mixed up in it at +all," he said, "but he's my employer and he pays me. Well, I like +to be loyal to my employers, and if I'm loyal to this man I can't +go about telling everybody that he's a dirty cad. As I +particularly want to." + +Then there is the case of Bolus the author. He is only an +honorary member, for he has not as yet had the opportunity of +refusing money or work. But he has refused to be photographed and +interviewed, and he has refused to contribute to symposia in the +monthly magazines. He has declined with thanks, moreover, +invitations to half a dozen houses sent to him by hostesses who +only knew him by reputation. Myself, I think it is time that he +was elected a full member; indirectly he must have been a +financial loser by his action, and even if he is not actually +assisting to topple over the Money God, he is at least striking a +blow for the cause of independence. However, there he is, and +with him goes a certain M.P. who contributed £20,000 to the party +chest, and refused scornfully the peerage which was offered to +him. + +The Bar is represented by P. J. Brewster, who was elected for +refusing to defend a suspected murderer until he had absolutely +convinced himself of the man's innocence. It was suggested to him +by his legal brothers that counsel did not pledge themselves to +the innocence of their clients, but merely put the case for one +side in a perfectly detached way, according to the best +traditions of the Bar. Brewster replied that he was also quite +capable of putting the case for Tariff Reform in a perfectly +detached way according to the best traditions of The Morning +Post, but as he was a Free Trader he thought he would refuse any +such offer if it were made to him. He added, however, that he was +not in the present case worrying about moral points of view; he +was simply expressing his opinion that the luxury of not having +little notes passed to him in court by a probable murderer, of +not sharing a page in an illustrated paper with him, and of not +having to shake hands with him if he were acquitted, was worth +paying for. Later on, when as K.C., M.P., he refused the position +of standing counsel to a paper which he was always attacking in +the House, he became a life member of the club. + +But it would be impossible to mention all the members of the +D.W.T. by name. I have been led on to speaking about the club by +the mention of that Mr. Smith (or whatever his name was) who +refused to be made a justice of the peace. If Mr. Smith cared to +put up as an honorary member, I have no doubt that he would be +elected; for though it is against the Money God that the chief +battle is waged, yet the spirit of refusal is the same. "Blessed +are they who know how to refuse," runs the club's motto, "for +they will have a chance to be clean." + + + + +On Going into a House + + +It is nineteen years since I lived in a house; nineteen years +since I went upstairs to bed and came downstairs to breakfast. Of +course I have done these things in other people's houses from +time to time, but what we do in other people's houses does not +count. We are holiday-making then. We play cricket and golf and +croquet, and run up and down stairs, and amuse ourselves in a +hundred difierent ways, but all this is no fixed part of our +life. Now, however, for the first time for nineteen years, I am +actually living in a house. I have (imagine my excitement) a +staircase of my own. + +Flats may be convenient (I thought so myself when I lived in one +some days ago), but they have their disadvantages. One of the +disadvantages is that you are never in complete possession of the +flat. You may think that the drawing-room floor (to take a case) +is your very own, but it isn't; you share it with a man below who +uses it as a ceiling. If you want to dance a step-dance, you have +to consider his plaster. I was always ready enough to accommodate +myself in this matter to his prejudices, but I could not put up +with his old-fashioned ideas about bathroom ceilings. It is very +cramping to one's style in the bath to reflect that the slightest +splash may call attention to itself on the ceiling of the +gentleman below. This is to share a bathroom with a stranger--an +intolerable position for a proud man. To-day I have a bathroom of +my own for the first time in my life. + +I can see already that living in a house is going to be +extraordinarily healthy both for mind and body. At present I go +upstairs to my bedroom (and downstairs again) about once in every +half-hour; not simply from pride of ownership, to make sure that +the bedroom is still there, and that the staircase is continuing +to perform its functions, but in order to fetch something, a +letter or a key, which as likely as not I have forgotten about +again as soon as I have climbed to the top of the house. No such +exercise as this was possible in a flat, and even after two or +three days I feel the better for it. But obviously I cannot go on +like this, if I am to have leisure for anything else. With +practice I shall so train my mind that, when I leave my bedroom +in the morning, I leave it with everything that I can possibly +require until nightfall. This, I imagine, will not happen for +some years yet; meanwhile physical training has precedence. + +Getting up to breakfast means something different now; it means +coming down to breakfast. To come down to breakfast brings one +immediately in contact with the morning. The world flows past the +window, that small and (as it seems to me) particularly select +portion of the world which finds itself in our quiet street; I +can see it as I drink my tea. When I lived in a flat (days and +days ago) anything might have happened to London, and I should +never have known it until the afternoon. Everybody else could +have perished in the night, and I should settle down as +complacently as ever to my essay on making the world safe for +democracy. Not so now. As soon as I have reached the bottom of my +delightful staircase I am one with the outside world. + +Also one with the weather, which is rather convenient. On the +third floor it is almost impossible to know what sort of weather +they are having in London. A day which looks cold from a third- +floor window may be very sultry down below, but by that time one +is committed to an overcoat. How much better to live in a house, +and to step from one's front door and inhale a sample of whatever +day the gods have sent. Then one can step back again and dress +accordingly. + +But the best of a house is that it has an outside personality as +well as an inside one. Nobody, not even himself, could admire a +man's flat from the street; nobody could look up and say, "What +very delightful people must live behind those third-floor +windows." Here it is different. Any of you may find himself some +day in our quiet street, and stop a moment to look at our house; +at the blue door with its jolly knocker, at the little trees in +their blue tubs standing within a ring of blue posts linked by +chains, at the bright-coloured curtains. You may not like it, but +we shall be watching you from one of the windows, and telling +each other that you do. In any case, we have the pleasure of +looking at it ourselves, and feeling that we are contributing +something to London, whether for better or for worse. We are part +of a street now, and can take pride in that street. Before, we +were only part of a big unmanageable building. It is a solemn +thought that I have got this house for (apparently) eighty-seven +years. One never knows, and it may be that by the end of that +time I shall be meditating an article on the advantages of living +in a flat. A flat, I shall say, is so convenient. + + + + +The Ideal Author + + +Samuel Butler made a habit (and urged it upon every young writer) +of carrying a notebook about with him. The most profitable ideas, +he felt, do not come from much seeking, but rise unbidden in the +mind, and if they are not put down at once on paper, they may be +lost for ever. But with a notebook in the pocket you are safe; no +thought is too fleeting to escape you. Thus, if an inspiration +for a five-thousand word story comes suddenly to you during the +dessert, you murmur an apology to your neighbour, whip out your +pocket-book, and jot down a few rough notes. "Hero choked peach- +stone eve marriage Lady Honoria. Pchtree planted by jltd frst +love. Ironyofthings. Tragic." Next morning you extract your +notebook from its white waistcoat, and prepare to develop your +theme (if legible) a little more fully. Possibly it does not seem +so brilliant in the cold light of morning as it did after that +fourth glass of Bollinger. If this be so, you can then make +another note--say, for a short article on "Disillusionment." One +way or another a notebook and a pencil will keep you well +supplied with material. + +If I do not follow Butler's advice myself, it is not because I +get no brilliant inspirations away from my inkpot, nor because, +having had the inspirations, I am capable of retaining them until +I get back to my inkpot again, but simply because I should never +have the notebook and the pencil in the right pockets. But though +I do not imitate him, I can admire his wisdom, even while making +fun of it. Yet I am sure it was unwise of him to take the public +into his confidence. The public prefers to think that an author +does not require these earthly aids to composition. It will never +quite reconcile itself to the fact that an author is following a +profession-- a profession by means of which he pays the rent and +settles the weekly bills. No doubt the public wants its favourite +writers to go on living, but not in the sordid way that its +barrister and banker friends live. It would prefer to feel that +manna dropped on them from Heaven, and that the ravens erected +them a residence; but, having regretfully to reject this theory, +it likes to keep up the pretence that the thousand pounds that an +author received for his last story came as something of a +surprise to him--being, in fact, really more of a coincidence +than a reward. + +The truth is that a layman will never take an author quite +seriously. He regards authorship, not as a profession, but as +something between au inspiration and a hobby. In as far as it is +an inspiration, it is a gift from Heaven, and ought, therefore, +to be shared with the rest of the world; in as far as it is a +hobby, it is something which should be done not too expertly, but +in a casual, amateur, haphazard fashion. For this reason a layman +will never hesitate to ask of an author a free contribution for +some local publication, on such slender grounds as that he and +the author were educated at the same school or had both met +Robinson. But the same man would be horrified at the idea of +asking a Harley Street surgeon (perhaps even more closely +connected with him) to remove his adenoids for nothing. To ask +for this (he would feel) would be almost as bad as to ask a gift +of ten guineas (or whatever the fee is), whereas to ask a writer +for an article is like asking a friend to decant your port for +you--a delicate compliment to his particular talent. But in truth +the matter is otherwise; and it is the author who has the better +right to resent such a request. For the supply of available +adenoids is limited, and if the surgeon hesitates to occupy +himself in removing one pair for nothing, it does not follow that +in the time thus saved he can be certain of getting employment +upon a ten-guinea pair. But when a Harley Street author has +written an article, there are a dozen papers which will give him +his own price for it, and if he sends it to his importunate +schoolfellow for nothing, he is literally giving up, not only ten +or twenty or a hundred guineas, but a publicity for his work +which he may prize even more highly. Moreover, he has lost what +can never be replaced-- an idea; whereas the surgeon would have +lost nothing. + +Since, then, the author is not to be regarded as a professional, +he must by no means adopt the professional notebook. He is to +write by inspiration; which comes as regularly to him (it is to +be presumed) as indigestion to a lesser-favoured mortal. He must +know things by intuition; not by experience or as the result of +reading. This, at least, is what one gathers from hearing some +people talk about our novelists. The hero of Smith's new book +goes to the Royal College of Science, and the public says +scornfully: "Of course, he WOULD. Because Smith went to the Royal +College himself, all his heroes have to go there. This isn't art, +this is photography." In his next novel Smith sends his hero to +Cambridge, and the public says indignantly, "What the deuce does +SMITH know about Cambridge? Trying to pretend he is a 'Varsity +man, when everybody knows that he went to the Royal College of +Science! I suppose he's been mugging it up in a book." Perhaps +Brown's young couple honeymoons in Switzerland. "So did Brown," +sneer his acquaintances. Or they go to Central Africa. "How +ridiculous," say his friends this time. "Why, he actually writes +as though he'd been there! I suppose he's just spent a week-end +with Sir Harry Johnston." Meredith has been blamed lately for +being so secretive about his personal affairs, but he knew what +he was doing. Happy is the writer who has no personal affairs; at +any rate, he will avoid this sort of criticism. + +Indeed, Isaiah was the ideal author. He intruded no private +affairs upon the public. He took no money for his prophecies, and +yet managed to live on it. He responded readily, I imagine, to +any request for "something prophetic, you know," from +acquaintances or even strangers. Above all, he kept to one style, +and did not worry the public, when once it had got used to him, +by tentative gropings after a new method. And Isaiah, we may be +sure, did NOT carry a notebook. + + +End of Not That it Matters. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Not that it Matters, by A. A. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/5803-8.zip b/5803-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a725aec --- /dev/null +++ b/5803-8.zip diff --git a/5803.txt b/5803.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d883963 --- /dev/null +++ b/5803.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5332 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Not that it Matters, by A. A. Milne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Not that it Matters + +Author: A. A. Milne + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5803] +[Last updated: April 16, 2015] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOT THAT IT MATTERS *** + + + + +Scanned by Charles Aldarondo, text proof read +by the volunteers of the Distributed Proofreaders site +(http://charlz.dns2go.com/gutenberg/). Post production +formatting by JC Byers. + + + + + + + + + + + + Not That it Matters + by + A. A. Milne + + + + CONTENTS + +The Pleasure of Writing +Acacia Road +My Library +The Chase +Superstition +The Charm of Golf +Goldfish +Saturday to Monday +The Pond +A Seventeenth-century Story +Our Learned Friends +A Word for Autumn +A Christmas Number +No Flowers by Request +The Unfairness of Things +Daffodils +A Household Book +Lunch +The Friend of Man +The Diary Habit +Midsummer Day +At the Bookstall +"Who's Who" +A Day at Lord's +By the Sea +Golden Fruit +Signs of Character +Intellectual Snobbery +A Question of Form +A Slice of Fiction +The Label +The Profession +Smoking as a Fine Art +The Path to Glory +A Problem in Ethics +The Happiest Half-hours of Life +Natural Science +On Going Dry +A Misjudged Game +A Doubtful Character +Thoughts on Thermometers +For a Wet Afternoon +Declined with Thanks +On Going into a House +The Ideal Author + + + + +Not That it Matters + + + + +The Pleasure of Writing + + +Sometimes when the printer is waiting for an article which really +should have been sent to him the day before, I sit at my desk and +wonder if there is any possible subject in the whole world upon +which I can possibly find anything to say. On one such occasion I +left it to Fate, which decided, by means of a dictionary opened +at random, that I should deliver myself of a few thoughts about +goldfish. (You will find this article later on in the book.) But +to-day I do not need to bother about a subject. To-day I am +without a care. Nothing less has happened than that I have a new +nib in my pen. + +In the ordinary way, when Shakespeare writes a tragedy, or Mr. +Blank gives you one of his charming little essays, a certain +amount of thought goes on before pen is put to paper. One cannot +write "Scene I. An Open Place. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Three +Witches," or "As I look up from my window, the nodding daffodils +beckon to me to take the morning," one cannot give of one's best +in this way on the spur of the moment. At least, others cannot. +But when I have a new nib in my pen, then I can go straight from +my breakfast to the blotting-paper, and a new sheet of foolscap +fills itself magically with a stream of blue-black words. When +poets and idiots talk of the pleasure of writing, they mean the +pleasure of giving a piece of their minds to the public; with an +old nib a tedious business. They do not mean (as I do) the +pleasure of the artist in seeing beautifully shaped "k's" and +sinuous "s's" grow beneath his steel. Anybody else writing this +article might wonder "Will my readers like it?" I only tell +myself "How the compositors will love it!" + +But perhaps they will not love it. Maybe I am a little above +their heads. I remember on one First of January receiving an +anonymous postcard wishing me a happy New Year, and suggesting +that I should give the compositors a happy New Year also by +writing more generously. In those days I got a thousand words +upon one sheet 8 in. by 5 in. I adopted the suggestion, but it +was a wrench; as it would be for a painter of miniatures forced +to spend the rest of his life painting the Town Council of +Boffington in the manner of Herkomer. My canvases are bigger now, +but they are still impressionistic. "Pretty, but what is it?" +remains the obvious comment; one steps back a pace and saws the +air with the hand; "You see it better from here, my love," one +says to one's wife. But if there be one compositor not carried +away by the mad rush of life, who in a leisurely hour (the +luncheon one, for instance) looks at the beautiful words with the +eye of an artist, not of a wage-earner, he, I think, will be +satisfied; he will be as glad as I am of my new nib. Does it +matter, then, what you who see only the printed word think of it? + +A woman, who had studied what she called the science of +calligraphy, once offered to tell my character from my +handwriting. I prepared a special sample for her; it was full of +sentences like "To be good is to be happy," "Faith is the lode- +star of life," "We should always be kind to animals," and so on. +I wanted her to do her best. She gave the morning to it, and told +me at lunch that I was "synthetic." Probably you think that the +compositor has failed me here and printed "synthetic" when I +wrote "sympathetic." In just this way I misunderstood my +calligraphist at first, and I looked as sympathetic as I could. +However, she repeated "synthetic," so that there could be no +mistake. I begged her to tell me more, for I had thought that +every letter would reveal a secret, but all she would add was +"and not analytic." I went about for the rest of the day saying +proudly to myself "I am synthetic! I am synthetic! I am +synthetic!" and then I would add regretfully, "Alas, I am not +analytic!" I had no idea what it meant. + +And how do you think she had deduced my syntheticness? Simply +from the fact that, to save time, I join some of my words +together. That isn't being synthetic, it is being in a hurry. +What she should have said was, "You are a busy man; your life is +one constant whirl; and probably you are of excellent moral +character and kind to animals." Then one would feel that one did +not write in vain. + +My pen is getting tired; it has lost its first fair youth. +However, I can still go on. I was at school with a boy whose +uncle made nibs. If you detect traces of erudition in this +article, of which any decent man might be expected to be +innocent, I owe it to that boy. He once told me how many nibs his +uncle made in a year; luckily I have forgotten. Thousands, +probably. Every term that boy came back with a hundred of them; +one expected him to be very busy. After all, if you haven't the +brains or the inclination to work, it is something to have the +nibs. These nibs, however, were put to better uses. There is a +game you can play with them; you flick your nib against the other +boy's nib, and if a lucky shot puts the head of yours under his, +then a sharp tap capsizes him, and you have a hundred and one in +your collection. There is a good deal of strategy in the game +(whose finer points I have now forgotten), and I have no doubt +that they play it at the Admiralty in the off season. Another +game was to put a clean nib in your pen, place it lightly against +the cheek of a boy whose head was turned away from you, and then +call him suddenly. As Kipling says, we are the only really +humorous race. This boy's uncle died a year or two later and left +about L80,000, but none of it to his nephew. Of course, he had +had the nibs every term. One mustn't forget that. + +The nib I write this with is called the "Canadian Quill"; made, I +suppose, from some steel goose which flourishes across the seas, +and which Canadian housewives have to explain to their husbands +every Michaelmas. Well, it has seen me to the end of what I +wanted to say--if indeed I wanted to say anything. For it was +enough for me this morning just to write; with spring coming in +through the open windows and my good Canadian quill in my hand, I +could have copied out a directory. That is the real pleasure of +writing. + + + + +Acacia Road + + +Of course there are disadvantages of suburban life. In the fourth +act of the play there may be a moment when the fate of the erring +wife hangs in the balance, and utterly regardless of this the +last train starts from Victoria at 11.15. It must be annoying to +have to leave her at such a crisis; it must be annoying too to +have to preface the curtailed pleasures of the play with a meat +tea and a hasty dressing in the afternoon. But, after all, one +cannot judge life from its facilities for playgoing. It would be +absurd to condemn the suburbs because of the 11.15. + +There is a road eight miles from London up which I have walked +sometimes on my way to golf. I think it is called Acacia Road; +some pretty name like that. It may rain in Acacia Road, but never +when I am there. The sun shines on Laburnum Lodge with its pink +may tree, on the Cedars with its two clean limes, it casts its +shadow on the ivy of Holly House, and upon the whole road there +rests a pleasant afternoon peace. I cannot walk along Acacia Road +without feeling that life could be very happy in it--when the sun +is shining. It must be jolly, for instance, to live in Laburnum +Lodge with its pink may tree. Sometimes I fancy that a suburban +home is the true home after all. + +When I pass Laburnum Lodge I think of Him saying good-bye to Her +at the gate, as he takes the air each morning on his way to the +station. What if the train is crowded? He has his newspaper. That +will see him safely to the City. And then how interesting will be +everything which happens to him there, since he has Her to tell +it to when he comes home. The most ordinary street accident +becomes exciting if a story has to be made of it. Happy the man +who can say of each little incident, "I must remember to tell Her +when I get home." And it is only in the suburbs that one "gets +home." One does not "get home" to Grosvenor Square; one is simply +"in" or "out." + +But the master of Laburnum Lodge may have something better to +tell his wife than the incident of the runaway horse; he may have +heard a new funny story at lunch. The joke may have been all over +the City, but it is unlikely that his wife in the suburbs will +have heard it. Put it on the credit side of marriage that you can +treasure up your jokes for some one else. And perhaps She has +something for him too; some backward plant, it may be, has burst +suddenly into flower; at least he will walk more eagerly up +Acacia Road for wondering. So it will be a happy meeting under +the pink may tree of Laburnum Lodge when these two are restored +safely to each other after the excitements of the day. Possibly +they will even do a little gardening together in the still +glowing evening. + +If life has anything more to offer than this it will be found at +Holly House, where there are babies. Babies give an added +excitement to the master's homecoming, for almost anything may +have happened to them while he has been away. Dorothy perhaps has +cut a new tooth and Anne may have said something really clever +about the baker's man. In the morning, too, Anne will walk with +him to the end of the road; it is perfectly safe, for in Acacia +Road nothing untoward could occur. Even the dogs are quiet and +friendly. I like to think of the master of Holly House saying +good-bye to Anne at the end of the road and knowing that she will +be alive when he comes back in the evening. That ought to make +the day's work go quickly. + +But it is the Cedars which gives us the secret of the happiness +of the suburbs. The Cedars you observe is a grander house +altogether; there is a tennis lawn at the back. And there are +grown-up sons and daughters at the Cedars. In such houses in +Acacia Road the delightful business of love-making is in full +swing. Marriages are not "arranged" in the suburbs; they grow +naturally out of the pleasant intercourse between the Cedars, the +Elms, and Rose Bank. I see Tom walking over to the Elms, racket +in hand, to play tennis with Miss Muriel. He is hoping for an +invitation to remain to supper, and indeed I think he will get +it. Anyhow he is going to ask Miss Muriel to come across to lunch +to-morrow; his mother has so much to talk to her about. But it +will be Tom who will do most of the talking. + +I am sure that the marriages made in Acacia Road are happy. That +is why I have no fears for Holly House and Laburnum Lodge. Of +course they didn't make love in this Acacia Road; they are come +from the Acacia Road of some other suburb, wisely deciding that +they will be better away from their people. But they met each +other in the same way as Tom and Muriel are meeting; He has seen +Her in Her own home, in His home, at the tennis club, surrounded +by the young bounders (confound them!) of Turret Court and the +Wilderness; She has heard of him falling off his bicycle or +quarrelling with his father. Bless you, they know all about each +other; they are going to be happy enough together. + +And now I think of it, why of course there is a local theatre +where they can do their play- going, if they are as keen on it as +that. For ten shillings they can spread from the stage box an air +of luxury and refinement over the house; and they can nod in an +easy manner across the stalls to the Cedars in the opposite box-- +in the deep recesses of which Tom and Muriel, you may be sure, +are holding hands. + + + + +My Library + + +When I moved into a new house a few weeks ago, my books, as was +natural, moved with me. Strong, perspiring men shovelled them +into packing-cases, and staggered with them to the van, cursing +Caxton as they went. On arrival at this end, they staggered with +them into the room selected for my library, heaved off the lids +of the cases, and awaited orders. The immediate need was for an +emptier room. Together we hurried the books into the new white +shelves which awaited them, the order in which they stood being +of no matter so long as they were off the floor. Armful after +armful was hastily stacked, the only pause being when (in the +curious way in which these things happen) my own name suddenly +caught the eye of the foreman. "Did you write this one, sir?" he +asked. I admitted it. "H'm," he said noncommittally. He glanced +along the names of every armful after that, and appeared a +little surprised at the number of books which I hadn't written. +An easy-going profession, evidently. + +So we got the books up at last, and there they are still. I told +myself that when a wet afternoon came along I would arrange them +properly. When the wet afternoon came, I told myself that I would +arrange them one of these fine mornings. As they are now, I have +to look along every shelf in the search for the book which I +want. To come to Keats is no guarantee that we are on the road to +Shelley. Shelley, if he did not drop out on the way, is probably +next to How to Be a Golfer Though Middle-aged. + +Having written as far as this, I had to get up and see where +Shelley really was. It is worse than I thought. He is between +Geometrical Optics and Studies in New Zealand Scenery. Ella +Wheeler Wilcox, whom I find myself to be entertaining unawares, +sits beside Anarchy or Order, which was apparently "sent in the +hope that you will become a member of the Duty and Discipline +Movement"--a vain hope, it would seem, for I have not yet paid my +subscription. What I Found Out, by an English Governess, shares a +corner with The Recreations of a Country Parson; they are +followed by Villette and Baedeker's Switzerland. Something will +have to be done about it. +But I am wondering what is to be done. If I gave you the +impression that my books were precisely arranged in their old +shelves, I misled you. They were arranged in the order known as +"all anyhow." Possibly they were a little less "anyhow" than they +are now, in that the volumes of any particular work were at least +together, but that is all that can be claimed for them. For years +I put off the business of tidying them up, just as I am putting +it off now. It is not laziness; it is simply that I don't know +how to begin. + +Let us suppose that we decide to have all the poetry together. It +sounds reasonable. But then Byron is eleven inches high (my +tallest poet), and Beattie (my shortest) is just over four +inches. How foolish they will look standing side by side. Perhaps +you don't know Beattie, but I assure you that he was a poet. He +wrote those majestic lines:-- + + "The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made + On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock; + The sickle, scythe or plough he never swayed-- + An honest heart was almost all his stock." + +Of course, one would hardly expect a shepherd to sway a plough in +the ordinary way, but Beattie was quite right to remind us that +Edwin didn't either. Edwin was the name of the shepherd- swain. +"And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy," we are told a little +further on in a line that should live. Well, having satisfied you +that Beattie was really a poet, I can now return to my argument +that an eleven-inch Byron cannot stand next to a four-inch +Beattie, and be followed by an eight-inch Cowper, without making +the shelf look silly. Yet how can I discard Beattie-- Beattie who +wrote:-- + +"And now the downy cheek and deepened voice + Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime." + +You see the difficulty. If you arrange your books according to +their contents you are sure to get an untidy shelf. If you +arrange your books according to their size and colour you get an +effective wall, but the poetically inclined visitor may lose +sight of Beattie altogether. Before, then, we decide what to do +about it, we must ask ourselves that very awkward question, "Why +do we have books on our shelves at all?" It is a most +embarrassing question to answer. + +Of course, you think that the proper answer (in your own case) is +an indignant protest that you bought them in order to read them, +and that yon put them on your shelves in order that you could +refer to them when necessary. A little reflection will show you +what a stupid answer that is. If you only want to read them, why +are some of them bound in morocco and half-calf and other +expensive coverings? Why did you buy a first edition when a +hundredth edition was so much cheaper? Why have you got half a +dozen copies of The Rubaiyat? What is the particular value of +this other book that you treasure it so carefully? Why, the fact +that its pages are uncut. If you cut the pages and read it, the +value would go. + +So, then, your library is not just for reference. You know as +well as I do that it furnishes your room; that it furnishes it +more effectively than does paint or mahogany or china. Of course, +it is nice to have the books there, so that one can refer to them +when one wishes. One may be writing an article on sea-bathing, +for instance, and have come to the sentence which begins: "In the +well-remembered words of Coleridge, perhaps almost too familiar +to be quoted"--and then one may have to look them up. On these +occasions a library is not only ornamental but useful. But do not +let us be ashamed that we find it ornamental. Indeed, the more I +survey it, the more I feel that my library is sufficiently +ornamental as it stands. Any reassembling of the books might +spoil the colour-scheme. Baedeker's Switzerland and Villette are +both in red, a colour which is neatly caught up again, after an +interlude in blue, by a volume of Browning and Jevons' Elementary +Logic. We had a woman here only yesterday who said, "How pretty +your books look," and I am inclined to think that that is good +enough. There is a careless rapture about them which I should +lose if I started to arrange them methodically. + +But perhaps I might risk this to the extent of getting all their +heads the same way up. Yes, on one of these fine days (or wet +nights) I shall take my library seriously in hand. There are +still one or two books which are the wrong way round. I shall put +them the right way round. + + + + +The Chase + + +The fact, as revealed in a recent lawsuit, that there is a +gentleman in this country who spends L10,000 a year upon his +butterfly collection would have disturbed me more in the early +nineties than it does to-day. I can bear it calmly now, but +twenty-five years ago the knowledge would have spoilt my pride in +my own collection, upon which I was already spending the best +part of threepence a week pocket-money. Perhaps, though, I should +have consoled myself with the thought that I was the truer +enthusiast of the two; for when my rival hears of a rare +butterfly in Brazil, he sends a man out to Brazil to capture it, +whereas I, when I heard that there was a Clouded Yellow in the +garden, took good care that nobody but myself encompassed its +death. Our aims also were different. I purposely left Brazil out +of it. + +Whether butterfly-hunting is good or bad for the character I +cannot undertake to decide. No doubt it can be justified as +clearly as fox- hunting. If the fox eats chickens, the +butterfly's child eats vegetables; if fox-hunting improves the +breed of horses, butterfly-hunting improves the health of boys. +But at least, we never told ourselves that butterflies liked +being pursued, as (I understand) foxes like being hunted. We were +moderately honest about it. And we comforted ourselves in the end +with the assurance of many eminent naturalists that "insects +don't feel pain." + +I have often wondered how naturalists dare to speak with such +authority. Do they never have dreams at night of an after-life in +some other world, wherein they are pursued by giant insects eager +to increase their "naturalist collection"--insects who assure +each other carelessly that "naturalists don't feel pain"? Perhaps +they do so dream. But we, at any rate, slept well, for we had +never dogmatized about a butterfly's feelings. We only quoted the +wise men. + +But if there might be doubt about the sensitiveness of a +butterfly, there could be no doubt about his distinguishing +marks. It was amazing to us how many grown-up and (presumably) +educated men and women did not know that a butterfly had knobs on +the end of his antennae, and that the moth had none. Where had +they been all these years to be so ignorant? Well-meaning but +misguided aunts, with mysterious promises of a new butterfly for +our collection, would produce some common Yellow Underwing from +an envelope, innocent (for which they may be forgiven) that only +a personal capture had any value to us, but unforgivably ignorant +that a Yellow Underwing was a moth. We did not collect moths; +there were too many of them. And moths are nocturnal creatures. A +hunter whose bed-time depends upon the whim of another is +handicapped for the night-chase. + +But butterflies come out when the sun comes out, which is just +when little boys should be out; and there are not too many +butterflies in England. I knew them all by name once, and could +have recognized any that I saw--yes, even Hampstead's Albion Eye +(or was it Albion's Hampstead Eye?), of which only one specimen +had ever been caught in this country; presumably by Hampstead--or +Albion. In my day-dreams the second specimen was caught by me. +Yet he was an insignificant-looking fellow, and perhaps I should +have been better pleased with a Camberwell Beauty, a Purple +Emperor, or a Swallowtail. Unhappily the Purple Emperor (so the +book told us) haunted the tops of trees, which was to take an +unfair advantage of a boy small for his age, and the Swallowtail +haunted Norfolk, which was equally inconsiderate of a family +which kept holiday in the south. The Camberwell Beauty sounded +more hopeful, but I suppose the trams disheartened him. I doubt +if he ever haunted Camberwell in my time. + +With threepence a week one has to be careful. It was necessary to +buy killing-boxes and setting-boards, but butterfly-nets could be +made at home. A stick, a piece of copper wire, and some muslin +were all that were necessary. One liked the muslin to be green, +for there was a feeling that this deceived the butterfly in some +way; he thought that Birnam Wood was merely coming to Dunsinane +when he saw it approaching, and that the queer- looking thing +behind was some local efflorescence. So he resumed his dalliance +with the herbaceous border, and was never more surprised in his +life than when it turned out to be a boy and a butterfly-net. +Green muslin, then, but a plain piece of cane for the stick. None +of your collapsible fishing-rods--"suitable for a Purple +Emperor." Leave those to the millionaire's sons. + +It comes back to me now that I am doing this afternoon what I did +more than twenty-five years ago; I am writing an article upon the +way to make a butterfly-net. For my first contribution to the +press was upon this subject. I sent it to the editor of some +boys' paper, and his failure to print it puzzled me a good deal, +since every word in it (I was sure) was correctly spelt. Of +course, I see now that you want more in an article than that. But +besides being puzzled I was extremely disappointed, for I wanted +badly the money that it should have brought in. I wanted it in +order to buy a butterfly-net; the stick and the copper wire and +the green muslin being (in my hands, at any rate) more suited to +an article. + + + + +Superstition + + +I have just read a serious column on the prospects for next year. +This article consisted of contributions from experts in the +various branches of industry (including one from a meteorological +expert who, I need hardly tell you, forecasted a wet summer) and +ended with a general summing up of the year by Old Moore or one +of the minor prophets. Old Moore, I am sorry to say, left me +cold. + +I should like to believe in astrology, but I cannot. I should +like to believe that the heavenly bodies sort themselves into +certain positions in order that Zadkiel may be kept in touch with +the future; the idea of a star whizzing a million miles out of +its path by way of indicating a "sensational divorce case in high +life" is extraordinarily massive. But, candidly, I do not believe +the stars bother. What the stars are for, what they are like when +you get there, I do not know; but a starry night would not be so +beautiful if it were simply meant as a warning to some unpleasant +financier that Kaffirs were going up. The ordinary man looks at +the heavens and thinks what an insignificant atom he is beneath +them; the believer in astrology looks up and realizes afresh his +overwhelming importance. Perhaps, after all, I am glad I do not +believe. + +Life must be a very tricky thing for the superstitious. At dinner +a night or two ago I happened to say that I had never been in +danger of drowning. I am not sure now that it was true, but I +still think that it was harmless. However, before I had time to +elaborate my theme (whatever it was) I was peremptorily ordered +to touch wood. I protested that both my feet were on the polished +oak and both my elbows on the polished mahogany (one always knew +that some good instinct inspired the pleasant habit of elbows on +the table) and that anyhow I did not see the need. However, +because one must not argue at dinner I tapped the table two or +three times... and now I suppose I am immune. At the same time I +should like to know exactly whom I have appeased. + +For this must be the idea of the wood-touching superstition, that +a malignant spirit dogs one's conversational footsteps, listening +eagerly for the complacent word. "I have never had the mumps," +you say airily. "Ha, ha!" says the spirit, "haven't you? Just you +wait till next Tuesday, my boy." Unconsciously we are crediting +Fate with our own human weaknesses. If a man standing on the edge +of a pond said aloud, "I have never fallen into a pond in my +life," and we happened to be just behind him, the temptation to +push him in would be irresistible. Irresistible, that is by us; +but it is charitable to assume that Providence can control itself +by now. + +Of course, nobody really thinks that our good or evil spirits +have any particular feeling about wood, that they like it +stroked; nobody, I suppose, not even the most superstitious, +really thinks that Fate is especially touchy in the matter of +salt and ladders. Equally, of course, many people who throw spilt +salt over their left shoulders are not superstitious in the +least, and are only concerned to display that readiness in the +face of any social emergency which is said to be the mark of good +manners. But there are certainly many who feel that it is the +part of a wise man to propitiate the unknown, to bend before the +forces which work for harm; and they pay tribute to Fate by means +of these little customs in the hope that they will secure in +return an immunity from evil. The tribute is nominal, but it is +an acknowledgment all the same. + +A proper sense of proportion leaves no room for superstition. A +man says, "I have never been in a shipwreck," and becoming +nervous touches wood. Why is he nervous? He has this paragraph +before his eyes: "Among the deceased was Mr. ----. By a +remarkable coincidence this gentleman had been saying only a few +days before that he had never been in a shipwreck. Little did he +think that his next voyage would falsify his words so +tragically." It occurs to him that he has read paragraphs like +that again and again. Perhaps he has. Certainly he has never read +a paragraph like this: "Among the deceased was Mr. ----. By a +remarkable coincidence this gentleman had never made the remark +that he had not yet been in a shipwreck." Yet that paragraph +could have been written truthfully thousands of times. A sense of +proportion would tell you that, if only one side of a case is +ever recorded, that side acquires an undue importance. The truth +is that Fate does not go out of its way to be dramatic. If you or +I had the power of life and death in our hands, we should no +doubt arrange some remarkably bright and telling effects. A man +who spilt the salt callously would be drowned next week in the +Dead Sea, and a couple who married in May would expire +simultaneously in the May following. But Fate cannot worry to +think out all the clever things that we should think out. It goes +about its business solidly and unromantically, and by the +ordinary laws of chance it achieves every now and then something +startling and romantic. Superstition thrives on the fact that +only the accidental dramas are reported. + +But there are charms to secure happiness as well as charms to +avert evil. In these I am a firm believer. I do not mean that I +believe that a horseshoe hung up in the house will bring me good +luck; I mean that if anybody does believe this, then the hanging +up of his horseshoe will probably bring him good luck. For if you +believe that you are going to be lucky, you go about your +business with a smile, you take disaster with a smile, you start +afresh with a smile. And to do that is to be in the way of +happiness. + + + + +The Charm of Golf + + +When he reads of the notable doings of famous golfers, the +eighteen-handicap man has no envy in his heart. For by this time +he has discovered the great secret of golf. Before he began to +play he wondered wherein lay the fascination of it; now he knows. +Golf is so popular simply because it is the best game in the +world at which to be bad. + +Consider what it is to be bad at cricket. You have bought a new +bat, perfect in balance; a new pair of pads, white as driven +snow; gloves of the very latest design. Do they let you use them? +No. After one ball, in the negotiation of which neither your bat, +nor your pads, nor your gloves came into play, they send you back +into the pavilion to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to +fatuous stories of some old gentleman who knew Fuller Pilch. And +when your side takes the field, where are you? Probably at long +leg both ends, exposed to the public gaze as the worst fieldsman +in London. How devastating are your emotions. Remorse, anger, +mortification, fill your heart; above all, envy--envy of the +lucky immortals who disport themselves on the green level of +Lord's. + +Consider what it is to be bad at lawn tennis. True, you are +allowed to hold on to your new racket all through the game, but +how often are you allowed to employ it usefully? How often does +your partner cry "Mine!" and bundle you out of the way? Is there +pleasure in playing football badly? You may spend the full eighty +minutes in your new boots, but your relations with the ball will +be distant. They do not give you a ball to yourself at football. + +But how different a game is golf. At golf it is the bad player +who gets the most strokes. However good his opponent, the bad +player has the right to play out each hole to the end; he will +get more than his share of the game. He need have no fears that +his new driver will not be employed. He will have as many swings +with it as the scratch man; more, if he misses the ball +altogether upon one or two tees. If he buys a new niblick he is +certain to get fun out of it on the very first day. + +And, above all, there is this to be said for golfing mediocrity-- +the bad player can make the strokes of the good player. The poor +cricketer has perhaps never made fifty in his life; as soon as he +stands at the wickets he knows that he is not going to make fifty +to-day. But the eighteen-handicap man has some time or other +played every hole on the course to perfection. He has driven a +ball 250 yards; he has made superb approaches; he has run down +the long putt. Any of these things may suddenly happen to him +again. And therefore it is not his fate to have to sit in the +club smoking- room after his second round and listen to the +wonderful deeds of others. He can join in too. He can say with +perfect truth, "I once carried the ditch at the fourth with my +second," or "I remember when I drove into the bunker guarding the +eighth green," or even "I did a three at the eleventh this +afternoon"--bogey being five. But if the bad cricketer says, "I +remember when I took a century in forty minutes off Lockwood and +Richardson," he is nothing but a liar. + +For these and other reasons golf is the best game in the world +for the bad player. And sometimes I am tempted to go further and +say that it is a better game for the bad player than for the good +player. The joy of driving a ball straight after a week of +slicing, the joy of putting a mashie shot dead, the joy of even a +moderate stroke with a brassie; best of all, the joy of the +perfect cleek shot--these things the good player will never know. +Every stroke we bad players make we make in hope. It is never so +bad but it might have been worse; it is never so bad but we are +confident of doing better next time. And if the next stroke is +good, what happiness fills our soul. How eagerly we tell +ourselves that in a little while all our strokes will be as good. + +What does Vardon know of this? If he does a five hole in four he +blames himself that he did not do it in three; if he does it in +five he is miserable. He will never experience that happy +surprise with which we hail our best strokes. Only his bad +strokes surprise him, and then we may suppose that he is not +happy. His length and accuracy are mechanical; they are not the +result, as so often in our case, of some suddenly applied maxim +or some suddenly discovered innovation. The only thing which can +vary in his game is his putting, and putting is not golf but +croquet. + +But of course we, too, are going to be as good as Vardon one day. +We are only postponing the day because meanwhile it is so +pleasant to be bad. And it is part of the charm of being bad at +golf that in a moment, in a single night, we may become good. If +the bad cricketer said to a good cricketer, "What am I doing +wrong?" the only possible answer would be, "Nothing particular, +except that you can't play cricket." But if you or I were to say +to our scratch friend, "What am I doing wrong?" he would reply at +once, "Moving the head" or "Dropping the right knee" or "Not +getting the wrists in soon enough," and by to-morrow we should be +different players. Upon such a little depends, or seems to the +eighteen-handicap to depend, excellence in golf. + +And so, perfectly happy in our present badness and perfectly +confident of our future goodness, we long-handicap men remain. +Perhaps it would be pleasanter to be a little more certain of +getting the ball safely off the first tee; perhaps at the +fourteenth hole, where there is a right of way and the public +encroach, we should like to feel that we have done with topping; +perhaps--- + +Well, perhaps we might get our handicap down to fifteen this +summer. But no lower; certainly no lower. + + + + +Goldfish + + +Let us talk about--well, anything you will. Goldfish, for +instance. + +Goldfish are a symbol of old-world tranquillity or mid-Victorian +futility according to their position in the home. Outside the +home, in that wild state from which civilization has dragged +them, they may have stood for dare-devil courage or constancy or +devotion; I cannot tell. I may only speak of them now as I find +them, which is in the garden or in the drawing-room. In their +lily-leaved pool, sunk deep in the old flagged terrace, upon +whose borders the blackbird whistles his early-morning song, they +remind me of sundials and lavender and old delightful things. But +in their cheap glass bowl upon the three- legged table, above +which the cloth-covered canary maintains a stolid silence, they +remind me of antimacassars and horsehair sofas and all that is +depressing. It is hard that the goldfish himself should have so +little choice in the matter. Goldfish look pretty in the terrace +pond, yet I doubt if it was the need for prettiness which brought +them there. Rather the need for some thing to throw things to. No +one of the initiate can sit in front of Nature's most wonderful +effect, the sea, without wishing to throw stones into it, the +physical pleasure of the effort and the aesthetic pleasure of the +splash combining to produce perfect contentment. So by the margin +of the pool the same desires stir within one, and because ants' +eggs do not splash, and look untidy on the surface of the water, +there must be a gleam of gold and silver to put the crown upon +one's pleasure. + +Perhaps when you have been feeding the goldfish you have not +thought of it like that. But at least you must have wondered why, +of all diets, they should prefer ants' eggs. Ants' eggs are, I +should say, the very last thing which one would take to without +argument. It must be an acquired taste, and, this being so, one +naturally asks oneself how goldfish came to acquire it. + +I suppose (but I am lamentably ignorant on these as on all other +matters) that there was a time when goldfish lived a wild free +life of their own. They roamed the sea or the river, or whatever +it was, fighting for existence, and Nature showed them, as she +always does, the food which suited them. Now I have often come +across ants' nests in my travels, but never when swimming. In +seas and rivers, pools and lakes, I have wandered, but Nature has +never put ants' eggs in my way. No doubt--it would be only right- +-the goldfish has a keener eye than I have for these things, but +if they had been there, should I have missed them so completely? +I think not, for if they had been there, they must have been +there in great quantities. I can imagine a goldfish slowly +acquiring the taste for them through the centuries, but only if +other food were denied to him, only if, wherever he went, ants' +eggs, ants' eggs, ants' eggs drifted down the stream to him. + +Yet, since it would seem that he has acquired the taste, it can +only be that the taste has come to him with captivity--has been +forced upon him, I should have said. The old wild goldfish (this +is my theory) was a more terrible beast than we think. Given his +proper diet, he could not have been kept within the limits of the +terrace pool. He would have been unsuited to domestic life; he +would have dragged in the shrieking child as she leant to feed +him. As the result of many experiments ants' eggs were given him +to keep him thin (you can see for yourself what a bloodless diet +it is), ants' eggs were given him to quell his spirit; and just +as a man, if he has sufficient colds, can get up a passion even +for ammoniated quinine, so the goldfish has grown in captivity to +welcome the once-hated omelette. + +Let us consider now the case of the goldfish in the house. His +diet is the same, but how different his surroundings! If his bowl +is placed on a table in the middle of the floor, he has but to +flash his tail once and he has been all round the drawing-room. +The drawing-room may not seem much to you, but to him this +impressionist picture through the curved glass must be amazing. +Let not the outdoor goldfish boast of his freedom. What does he, +in his little world of water-lily roots, know of the vista upon +vista which opens to his more happy brother as he passes jauntily +from china dog to ottoman and from ottoman to Henry's father? Ah, +here is life! It may be that in the course of years he will get +used to it, even bored by it; indeed, for that reason I always +advocate giving him a glance at the dining-room or the bedrooms +on Wednesdays and Saturdays; but his first day in the bowl must +be the opening of an undreamt of heaven to him. + +Again, what an adventurous life is his. At any moment a cat may +climb up and fetch him out, a child may upset him, grown-ups may +neglect to feed him or to change his water. The temptation to +take him up and massage him must be irresistible to outsiders. +All these dangers the goldfish in the pond avoids; he lives a +sheltered and unexciting life, and when he wants to die he dies +unnoticed, unregretted, but for his brother the tears and the +solemn funeral. + +Yes; now that I have thought it out, I can see that I was wrong +in calling the indoor goldfish a symbol of mid-Victorian +futility. An article of this sort is no good if it does not teach +the writer something as well as his readers. I recognize him now +as the symbol of enterprise and endurance, of restlessness and +Post-Impressionism. He is not mid-Victorian, he is Fifth +Georgian. + +Which is all I want to say about goldfish. + + + + +Saturday to Monday + + +The happy man would have happy faces round him; a sad face is a +reproach to him for his happiness. So when I escape by the 2.10 +on Saturday I distribute largesse with a liberal hand. The +cabman, feeling that an effort is required of him, mentions that +I am the first gentleman he has met that day; he penetrates my +mufti and calls me captain, leaving it open whether he regards me +as a Salvation Army captain or the captain of a barge. The +porters hasten to the door of my cab; there is a little struggle +between them as to who shall have the honour of waiting upon me. +... + +Inside the station things go on as happily. The booking-office +clerk gives me a pleasant smile; he seems to approve of the +station I am taking. "Some do go to Brighton," he implies, "but +for a gentleman like you--" He pauses to point out that with this +ticket I can come back on the Tuesday if I like (as, between +ourselves, I hope to do). In exchange for his courtesies I push +him my paper through the pigeon hole. A dirty little boy thrust +it into my cab; I didn't want it, but as we are all being happy +to- day he had his penny. + +I follow my porter to the platform. "On the left," says the +ticket collector. He has said it mechanically to a hundred +persons, but he becomes human and kindly as he says it to me. I +feel that he really wishes me to get into the right train, to +have a pleasant journey down, to be welcomed heartily by my +friends when I arrive. It is not as to one of a mob but to an +individual that he speaks. + +The porter has found me an empty carriage. He is full of ideas +for my comfort; he tells me which way the train will start, where +we stop, and when we may be expected to arrive. Am I sure I +wouldn't like my bag in the van? Can he get me any papers? No; +no, thanks. I don't want to read. I give him sixpence, and there +is another one of us happy. + +Presently the guard. He also seems pleased that I have selected +this one particular station from among so many. Pleased, but not +astonished; he expected it of me. It is a very good run down in +his train, and he shouldn't be surprised if we had a fine week- +end. ... + +I stand at the door of ray carriage feeling very happy. It is +good to get out of London. Come to think of it, we are all +getting out of London, and none of us is going to do any work to- +morrow. How jolly! Oh, but what about my porter? Bother! I wish +now I'd given him more than sixpence. Still, he may have a +sweetheart and be happy that way. + +We are off. I have nothing to read, but then I want to think. It +is the ideal place in which to think, a railway carriage; the +ideal place in which to be happy. I wonder if I shall be in good +form this week-end at cricket and tennis, and croquet and +billiards, and all the other jolly games I mean to play. Look at +those children trying to play cricket in that dirty backyard. +Poor little beggars! Fancy living in one of those horrible +squalid houses. But you cannot spoil to- day for me, little +backyards. On Tuesday perhaps, when I am coming again to the ugly +town, your misery will make me miserable; I shall ask myself +hopelessly what it all means; but just now I am too happy for +pity. After all, why should I assume that you envy me, you two +children swinging on a gate and waving to me? You are happy, +aren't you? Of course; we are all happy to-day. See, I am waving +back to you. + +My eyes wander round the carriage and rest on my bag. Have I put +everything in? Of course I have. Then why this uneasy feeling +that I have left something very important out? Well, I can soon +settle the question. Let's start with to-night. Evening clothes-- +they're in, I know. Shirts, collars ... + +I go through the whole programme for the week-end, allotting +myself in my mind suitable clothes for each occasion. Yes; I seem +to have brought everything that I can possibly want. But what a +very jolly programme I am drawing up for myself! Will it really +be as delightful as that? Well, it was last time, and the time +before; that is why I am so happy. + +The train draws up at its only halt in the glow of a September +mid-afternoon. There is a little pleasant bustle; nice people get +out and nice people meet them; everybody seems very cheery and +contented. Then we are off again ... and now the next station is +mine. + +We are there. A porter takes my things with a kindly smile and a +"Nice day." I see Brant outside with the wagonette, not the trap; +then I am not the only guest coming by this train. Who are the +others, I wonder. Anybody I know? ... Why, yes, it's Bob and Mrs. +Bob, and--hallo!--Cynthia! And isn't that old Anderby? How +splendid! I must get that shilling back from Bob that I lost to +him at billiards last time. And if Cynthia really thinks that she +can play croquet ... + +We greet each other happily and climb into the wagonette. Never +has the country looked so lovely. "No; no rain at all," says +Brant, "and the glass is going up." The porter puts our luggage +in the cart and comes round with a smile. It is a rotten life +being a porter, and I do so want everybody to enjoy this +afternoon. Besides, I haven't any coppers. + +I slip half a crown into his palm. Now we are all very, very +happy. + + + + +The Pond + + +My friend Aldenham's pond stands at a convenient distance from +the house, and is reached by a well-drained gravel path; so that +in any weather one may walk, alone or in company, dry shod to its +brink, and estimate roughly how many inches of rain have fallen +in the night. The ribald call it the hippopotamus pond, tracing a +resemblance between it and the bath of the hippopotamus at the +Zoo, beneath the waters of which, if you particularly desire to +point the hippopotamus out to somebody, he always lies hidden. To +the rest of us it is known simply as "the pond"--a designation +which ignores the existence of several neighbouring ponds, the +gifts of nature, and gives the whole credit to the handiwork of +man. For "the pond" is just a small artificial affair of cement, +entirely unpretentious. + +There are seven steps to the bottom of the pond, and each step is +10 in. high. Thus the steps help to make the pond a convenient +rain- gauge; for obviously when only three steps are left +uncovered, as was the case last Monday, you know that there have +been 40 in. of rain since last month, when the pond began to +fill. To strangers this may seem surprising, and it is only fair +to tell them the great secret, which is that much of the +surrounding land drains secretly into the pond too. This seems to +me to give a much fairer indication of the rain that has fallen +than do the official figures in the newspapers. For when your +whole day's cricket has been spoilt, it is perfectly absurd to be +told that .026 of an inch of rain has done the damage; the soul +yearns for something more startling than that The record of the +pond, that there has been another 5 in., soothes us, where the +record of the ordinary pedantic rain-gauge would leave us +infuriated. It speaks much for my friend Aldenham's breadth of +view that he understood this, and planned the pond accordingly. + +A most necessary thing in a country house is that there should be +a recognized meeting-place, where the people who have been +writing a few letters after breakfast may, when they have +finished, meet those who have no intention of writing any, and +arrange plans with them for the morning. I am one of those who +cannot write letters in another man's house, and when my pipe is +well alight I say to Miss Robinson--or whoever it may be--"Let's +go and look at the pond." "Right oh," she says willingly enough, +having spent the last quarter of an hour with The Times Financial +Supplement, all of the paper that is left to the women in the +first rush for the cricket news. We wander down to the pond +together, and perhaps find Brown and Miss Smith there. "A lot of +rain in the night," says Brown. "It was only just over the third +step after lunch yesterday." We have a little argument about it, +Miss Robinson being convinced that she stood on the second step +after breakfast, and Miss Smith repeating that it looks exactly +the same to her this morning. By and by two or three others +stroll up, and we all make measurements together. The general +opinion is that there has been a lot of rain in the night, and +that 43 in. in three weeks must be a record. But, anyhow, it is +fairly fine now, and what about a little lawn tennis? Or golf? Or +croquet? Or---? And so the arrangements for the morning are made. + +And they can be made more readily out of doors; for--supposing it +is fine--the fresh air calls you to be doing something, and the +sight of the newly marked tennis lawn fills you with thoughts of +revenge for your accidental defeat the evening before. But +indoors it is so easy to drop into a sofa after breakfast, and, +once there with all the papers, to be disinclined to leave it +till lunch-time. A man or woman as lazy as this must not be +rushed. Say to such a one, "Come and play," and the invitation +will be declined. Say, "Come and look at the pond," and the worst +sluggard will not refuse such gentle exercise. And once he is out +he is out. + +All this for those delightful summer days when there are fine +intervals; but consider the advantages of the pond when the rain +streams down in torrents from morning till night. How tired we +get of being indoors on these days, even with the best of books, +the pleasantest of companions, the easiest of billiard tables. +Yet if our hostess were to see us marching out with an umbrella, +how odd she would think us. "Where are you off to?" she would +ask, and we could only answer lamely, "Er--I was just going to-- +er--walk about a bit." But now we tell her brightly, "I'm going +to see the pond. It must be nearly full. Won't you come too?" And +with any luck she comes. And you know, it even reconciles us a +little to these streaming days to reflect that it all goes to +fill the pond. For there is ever before our minds that great +moment in the future when the pond is at last full. What will +happen then? Aldenham may know, but we his guests do not. Some +think there will be merely a flood over the surrounding paths and +the kitchen garden, but for myself I believe that we are promised +something much bigger than that. A man with such a broad and +friendly outlook towards rain-gauges will be sure to arrange +something striking when the great moment arrives. Some sort of +fete will help to celebrate it, I have no doubt; with an open-air +play, tank drama, or what not. At any rate we have every hope +that he will empty the pond as speedily as possible so that we +may watch it fill again. + +I must say that he has been a little lucky in his choice of a +year for inaugurating the pond. But, all the same, there are now +45 in. of rain in it, 45 in. of rain have fallen in the last +three weeks, and I think that something ought to be done about +it. + + + + +A Seventeenth-Century Story + + +There is a story in every name in that first column of The Times- +-Births, Marriages, and Deaths--down which we glance each +morning, but, unless the name is known to us, we do not bother +about the stories of other people. They are those not very +interesting people, our contemporaries. But in a country +churchyard a name on an old tombstone will set us wondering a +little. What sort of life came to an end there a hundred years +ago? + +In the parish register we shall find the whole history of them; +when they were born, when they were married, how many children +they had, when they died--a skeleton of their lives which we can +clothe with our fancies and make living again. Simple lives, we +make them, in that pleasant countryside; "Man comes and tills the +field and lies beneath"; that is all. Simple work, simple +pleasures, and a simple death. + +Of course we are wrong. There were passions and pains in those +lives; tragedies perhaps. The tombstones and the registers say +nothing of them; or, if they say it, it is in a cypher to which +we have not the key. Yet sometimes the key is almost in our +hands. Here is a story from the register of a village church-- +four entries only, but they hide a tragedy which with a little +imagination we can almost piece together for ourselves. + +The first entry is a marriage. John Meadowes of Littlehaw Manor, +bachelor, took Mary Field to wife (both of this parish) on 7th +November 1681. + +There were no children of the marriage. Indeed, it only lasted a +year. A year later, on l2th November 1682, John died and was +buried. + +Poor Mary Meadowes was now alone at the Manor. We picture her +sitting there in her loneliness, broken-hearted, refusing to be +comforted. ... + +Until we come to the third entry. John has only been in his grave +a month, but here is the third entry, telling us that on l2th +December 1682, Robert Cliff, bachelor, was married to Mary +Meadowes, widow. It spoils our picture of her. ... + +And then the fourth entry. It is the fourth entry which reveals +the tragedy, which makes us wonder what is the story hidden away +in the parish register of Littlehaw--the mystery of Littlehaw +Manor. For here is another death, the death of Mary Cliff, and +Mary Cliff died on ... l3th December 1682. + +And she was buried in unconsecrated ground. For Mary Cliff (we +must suppose) had killed herself. She had killed herself on the +day after her marriage to her second husband. + +Well, what is the story? We shall have to make it up for +ourselves. Here is my rendering of it. I have no means of finding +out if it is the correct one, but it seems to fit itself within +the facts as we know them. + +Mary Field was the daughter of well-to-do parents, an only child, +and the most desirable bride, from the worldly point of view, in +the village. No wonder, then, that her parents' choice of a +husband for her fell upon the most desirable bridegroom of the +village--John Meadowes. The Fields' land adjoined Littlehaw +Manor; one day the child of John and Mary would own it all. Let a +marriage, then, be arranged. + +But Mary loved Robert Cliff whole-heartedly --Robert, a man of no +standing at all. A ridiculous notion, said her parents, but the +silly girl would grow out of it. She was taken by a handsome +face. Once she was safely wedded to John, she would forget her +foolishness. John might not be handsome, but he was a solid, +steady fellow; which was more--much more, as it turned out--than +could be said for Robert. + +So John and Mary married. But she still loved Robert. ... + +Did she kill her husband? Did she and Robert kill him together? +Or did she only hasten his death by her neglect of him in some +illness? Did she dare him to ride some devil of a horse which she +knew he could not master; did she taunt him into some foolhardy +feat; or did she deliberately kill him--with or without her +lover's aid? I cannot guess, but of this I am certain. His death +was on her conscience. Directly or indirectly she was responsible +for it --or, at any rate, felt herself responsible for it. But +she would not think of it too closely; she had room for only one +thought in her mind. She was mistress of Littlehaw Manor now, and +free to marry whom she wished. Free, at last, to marry Robert. +Whatever had been done had been worth doing for that. + +So she married him. And then--so I read the story--she discovered +the truth. Robert had never loved her. He had wanted to marry the +rich Miss Field, that was all. Still more, he had wanted to marry +the rich Mrs. Meadowes. He was quite callous about it. She might +as well know the truth now as later. It would save trouble in the +future, if she knew. + +So Mary killed herself. She had murdered John for nothing. +Whatever her responsibility for John's death, in the bitterness +of that discovery she would call it murder. She had a murder on +her conscience for love's sake--and there was no love. What else +to do but follow John? ... + +Is that the story? I wonder. + + + + +Our Learned Friends + + +I do not know why the Bar has always seemed the most respectable +of the professions, a profession which the hero of almost any +novel could adopt without losing caste. But so it is. A +schoolmaster can be referred to contemptuously as an usher; a +doctor is regarded humorously as a licensed murderer; a solicitor +is always retiring to gaol for making away with trust funds, and, +in any case, is merely an attorney; while a civil servant sleeps +from ten to four every day, and is only waked up at sixty in +order to be given a pension. But there is no humorous comment to +be made upon the barrister--unless it is to call him "my learned +friend." He has much more right than the actor to claim to be a +member of the profession. I don't know why. Perhaps it is because +he walks about the Temple in a top-hat. + +So many of one's acquaintances at some time or other have "eaten +dinners" that one hardly dares to say anything against the +profession. Besides, one never knows when one may not want to be +defended. However, I shall take the risk, and put the barrister +in the dock. "Gentlemen of the jury, observe this well-dressed +gentleman before you. What shall we say about him?" + +Let us begin by asking ourselves what we expect from a +profession. In the first place, certainly, we expect a living, +but I think we want something more than that. If we were offered +a thousand a year to walk from Charing Cross to Barnet every day, +reasons of poverty might compel us to accept the offer, but we +should hardly be proud of our new profession. We should prefer to +earn a thousand a year by doing some more useful work. Indeed, to +a man of any fine feeling the profession of Barnet walking would +only be tolerable if he could persuade himself that by his +exertions he was helping to revive the neglected art of +pedestrianism, or to make more popular the neglected beauties of +Barnet; if he could hope that, after his three- hundredth +journey, inquisitive people would begin to follow him, wondering +what he was after, and so come suddenly upon the old Norman +church at the cross-roads, or, if they missed this, at any rate +upon a much better appetite for their dinner. That is to say, he +would have to persuade himself that he was walking, not only for +himself, but also for the community. + +It seems to me, then, that a profession is a noble or an ignoble +one, according as it offers or denies to him who practises it the +opportunity of working for some other end than his own +advancement. A doctor collects fees from his patients, but he is +aiming at something more than pounds, shillings, and pence; he is +out to put an end to suffering. A schoolmaster earns a living by +teaching, but he does not feel that he is fighting only for +himself; he is a crusader on behalf of education. The artist, +whatever his medium, is giving a message to the world, expressing +the truth as he sees it; for his own profit, perhaps, but not for +that alone. All these and a thousand other ways of living have +something of nobility in them. We enter them full of high +resolves. We tell ourselves that we will follow the light as it +has been revealed to us; that our ideals shall never be lowered; +that we will refuse to sacrifice our principles to our interests. +We fail, of course. The painter finds that "Mother's Darling" +brings in the stuff, and he turns out Mother's Darlings +mechanically. The doctor neglects research and cultivates instead +a bedside manner. The schoolmaster drops all his theories of +education and conforms hastily to those of his employers. We +fail, but it is not because the profession is an ignoble one; we +had our chances. Indeed, the light is still there for those who +look. It beckons to us. + +Now what of the Bar? Is the barrister after anything other than +his own advancement? He follows what gleam? What are his ideals? +Never mind whether he fails more often or less often than others +to attain them; I am not bothering about that. I only want to +know what it is that he is after. In the quiet hours when we are +alone with ourselves and there is nobody to tell us what fine +fellows we are, we come sometimes upon a weak moment in which we +wonder, not how much money we are earning, nor how famous we are +becoming, but what good we are doing. If a barrister ever has +such a moment, what is his consolation? It can only be that he is +helping Justice to be administered. If he is to be proud of his +profession, and in that lonely moment tolerant of himself, he +must feel that he is taking a noble part in the vindication of +legal right, the punishment of legal wrong. But he must do more +than this. Just as the doctor, with increased knowledge and +experience, becomes a better fighter against disease, advancing +himself, no doubt, but advancing also medical science; just as +the schoolmaster, having learnt new and better ways of teaching, +can now give a better education to his boys, increasing thereby +the sum of knowledge; so the barrister must be able to tell +himself that the more expert he becomes as an advocate, the +better will he be able to help in the administration of this +Justice which is his ideal. + +Can he tell himself this? I do not see how he can. His increased +expertness will be of increased service to himself, of increased +service to his clients, but no ideal will be the better served by +reason of it. Let us take a case--Smith v. Jones. Counsel is +briefed for Smith. After examining the case he tells himself in +effect this: "As far as I can see, the Law is all on the other +side. Luckily, however, sentiment is on our side. Given an +impressionable jury, there's just a chance that we might pull it +off. It's worth trying." He tries, and if he is sufficiently +expert he pulls it off. A triumph for himself, but what has +happened to the ideal? Did he even think, "Of course I'm bound to +do the best for my client, but he's in the wrong, and I hope we +lose?" I imagine not. The whole teaching of the Bar is that he +must not bother about justice, but only about his own victory. +What ultimately, then, is he after? What does the Bar offer its +devotees--beyond material success? + +I asked just now what were a barrister's ideals. Suppose we ask +instead, What is the ideal barrister? If one spoke loosely of an +ideal doctor, one would not necessarily mean a titled gentleman +in Harley Street. An ideal schoolmaster is not synonymous with +the Headmaster of Eton or the owner of the most profitable +preparatory school. But can there be an ideal barrister other +than a successful barrister? The eager young writer, just +beginning a literary career, might fix his eyes upon Francis +Thompson rather than upon Sir Hall Caine; the eager young +clergyman might dream dreams over the Life of Father Damien more +often than over the Life of the Archbishop of Canterbury; but to +what star can the eager young barrister hitch his wagon, save to +the star of material success? If he does not see himself as Sir +Edward Carson, it is only because he thinks that perhaps after +all Sir John Simon's manner is the more effective. + +There may be other answers to the questions I have asked than the +answers I have given, but it is no answer to ask me how the law +can be administered without barristers. I do not know; nor do I +know how the roads can be swept without getting somebody to sweep +them. But that would not disqualify me from saying that road- +sweeping was an unattractive profession. So also I am entitled to +my opinion about the Bar, which is this. That because it offers +material victories only and never spiritual ones, that because +there can be no standard by which its disciples are judged save +the earthly standard, that because there is no place within its +ranks for the altruist or the idealist--for these reasons the Bar +is not one of the noble professions. + + + + +A Word for Autumn + + +Last night the waiter put the celery on with the cheese, and I +knew that summer was indeed dead. Other signs of autumn there may +be--the reddening leaf, the chill in the early-morning air, the +misty evenings--but none of these comes home to me so truly. +There may be cool mornings in July; in a year of drought the +leaves may change before their time; it is only with the first +celery that summer is over. + +I knew all along that it would not last. Even in April I was +saying that winter would soon be here. Yet somehow it had begun +to seem possible lately that a miracle might happen, that summer +might drift on and on through the months--a final upheaval to +crown a wonderful year. The celery settled that. Last night with +the celery autumn came into its own. + +There is a crispness about celery that is of the essence of +October. It is as fresh and clean as a rainy day after a spell of +heat. It crackles pleasantly in the mouth. Moreover it is +excellent, I am told, for the complexion. One is always hearing +of things which are good for the complexion, but there is no +doubt that celery stands high on the list. After the burns and +freckles of summer one is in need of something. How good that +celery should be there at one's elbow. + +A week ago--("A little more cheese, waiter") --a week ago I +grieved for the dying summer. I wondered how I could possibly +bear the waiting --the eight long months till May. In vain to +comfort myself with the thought that I could get through more +work in the winter undistracted by thoughts of cricket grounds +and country houses. In vain, equally, to tell myself that I could +stay in bed later in the mornings. Even the thought of after- +breakfast pipes in front of the fire left me cold. But now, +suddenly, I am reconciled to autumn. I see quite clearly that all +good things must come to an end. The summer has been splendid, +but it has lasted long enough. This morning I welcomed the chill +in the air; this morning I viewed the falling leaves with +cheerfulness; and this morning I said to myself, "Why, of course, +I'll have celery for lunch." ("More bread, waiter.") "Season of +mists and mellow fruitfulness," said Keats, not actually picking +out celery in so many words, but plainly including it in the +general blessings of the autumn. Yet what an opportunity he +missed by not concentrating on that precious root. Apples, +grapes, nuts, and vegetable marrows he mentions specially--and +how poor a selection! For apples and grapes are not typical of +any month, so ubiquitous are they, vegetable marrows are +vegetables pour rire and have no place in any serious +consideration of the seasons, while as for nuts, have we not a +national song which asserts distinctly, "Here we go gathering +nuts in May"? Season of mists and mellow celery, then let it be. +A pat of butter underneath the bough, a wedge of cheese, a loaf +of bread and--Thou. + +How delicate are the tender shoots unfolded layer by layer. Of +what, a whiteness is the last baby one of all, of what a +sweetness his flavour. It is well that this should be the last +rite of the meal--finis coronat opus--so that we may go straight +on to the business of the pipe. Celery demands a pipe rather than +a cigar, and it can be eaten better in an inn or a London tavern +than in the home. Yes, and it should be eaten alone, for it is +the only food which one really wants to hear oneself eat. +Besides, in company one may have to consider the wants of others. +Celery is not a thing to share with any man. Alone in your +country inn you may call for the celery; but if you are wise you +will see that no other traveller wanders into the room. Take +warning from one who has learnt a lesson. One day I lunched alone +at an inn, finishing with cheese and celery. Another traveller +came in and lunched too. We did not speak--I was busy with my +celery. From the other end of the table he reached across for the +cheese. That was all right; it was the public cheese. But he also +reached across for the celery--my private celery for which I +owed. Foolishly--you know how one does--I had left the sweetest +and crispest shoots till the last, tantalizing myself pleasantly +with the thought of them. Horror! to see them snatched from me by +a stranger. He realized later what he had done and apologized, +but of what good is an apology in such circumstances? Yet at +least the tragedy was not without its value. Now one remembers to +lock the door. + +Yes, I can face the winter with calm. I suppose I had forgotten +what it was really like. I had been thinking of the winter as a +horrid wet, dreary time fit only for professional football. Now I +can see other things--crisp and sparkling days, long pleasant +evenings, cheery fires. Good work shall be done this winter. Life +shall be lived well. The end of the summer is not the end of the +world. Here's to October--and, waiter, some more celery. + + + + +A Christmas Number + + +The common joke against the Christmas number is that it is +planned in July and made up in September. This enables it to be +published in the middle of November and circulated in New Zealand +by Christmas. If it were published in England at Christmas, New +Zealand wouldn't get it till February. Apparently it is more +important that the colonies should have it punctually than that +we should. + +Anyway, whenever it is made up, all journalists hate the +Christmas number. But they only hate it for one reason--this +being that the ordinary weekly number has to be made up at the +same time. As a journalist I should like to devote the autumn +exclusively to the Christmas number, and as a member of the +public I should adore it when it came out. Not having been asked +to produce such a number on my own I can amuse myself here by +sketching out a plan for it. I follow the fine old tradition. +First let us get the stories settled. Story No. 1 deals with the +escaped convict. The heroine is driving back from the country- +house ball, where she has had two or three proposals, when +suddenly, in the most lonely part of the snow-swept moor, a +figure springs out of the ditch and covers the coachman with a +pistol. Alarms and confusions. "Oh, sir," says the heroine, +"spare my aunt and I will give you all my jewels." The convict, +for such it is, staggers back. "Lucy!" he cries. "Harold!" she +gasps. The aunt says nothing, for she has swooned. At this point +the story stops to explain how Harold came to be in +knickerbockers. He had either been falsely accused or else he had +been a solicitor. Anyhow, he had by this time more than paid for +his folly, and Lucy still loved him. "Get in," she says, and +drives him home. Next day he leaves for New Zealand in an +ordinary lounge suit. Need I say that Lucy joins him later? No; +that shall be left for your imagination. The End. + + +So much for the first story. The second is an "i'-faith-and-stap- +me" story of the good old days. It is not seasonable, for most of +the action takes place in my lord's garden amid the scent of +roses; but it brings back to us the old romantic days when +fighting and swearing were more picturesque than they are now, +and when women loved and worked samplers. This sort of story can +be read best in front of the Christmas log; it is of the past, +and comes naturally into a Christmas number. I shall not describe +its plot, for that is unimportant; it is the "stap me's" and the +"la, sirs," which matter. But I may say that she marries him all +right in the end, and he goes off happily to the wars. + +We want another story. What shall this one be about? It might be +about the amateur burglar, or the little child who reconciled old +Sir John to his daughter's marriage, or the ghost at Enderby +Grange, or the millionaire's Christmas dinner, or the accident to +the Scotch express. Personally, I do not care for any of these; +my vote goes for the desert-island story. Proud Lady Julia has +fallen off the deck of the liner, and Ronald, refused by her that +morning, dives off the hurricane deck--or the bowsprit or +wherever he happens to be--and seizes her as she is sinking for +the third time. It is a foggy night and their absence is +unnoticed. Dawn finds them together on a little coral reef. They +are in no danger, for several liners are due to pass in a day or +two and Ronald's pockets are full of biscuits and chocolate, but +it is awkward for Lady Julia, who had hoped that they would never +meet again. So they sit on the beach back to back (drawn by Dana +Gibson) and throw sarcastic remarks over their shoulders at each +other. In the end he tames her proud spirit--I think by hiding +the turtles' eggs from her--and the next liner but one takes the +happy couple back to civilization. + +But it is time we had some poetry. I propose to give you one +serious poem about robins, and one double-page humorous piece, +well illustrated in colours. I think the humorous verses must +deal with hunting. Hunting does not lend itself to humour, for +there are only two hunting jokes --the joke of the horse which +came down at the brook and the joke of the Cockney who overrode +hounds; but there are traditions to keep up, and the artist +always loves it. So far we have not considered the artist +sufficiently. Let us give him four full pages. One of pretty +girls hanging up mistletoe, one of the squire and his family +going to church in the snow, one of a brokendown coach with +highwaymen coming over the hill, and one of the postman bringing +loads and loads of parcels. You have all Christmas in those four +pictures. But there is room for another page--let it be a +coloured page, of half a dozen sketches, the period and the +lettering very early English. "Ye Baron de Marchebankes calleth +for hys varlet." "Ye varlet cometh righte hastilie---" You know +the delightful kind of thing. + +I confess that this is the sort of Christmas number which I love. +You may say that you have seen it all before; I say that that is +why I love it. The best of Christmas is that it reminds us of +other Christmases; it should be the boast of Christmas numbers +that they remind us of other Christmas numbers. + +But though I doubt if I shall get quite what I want from any one +number this year, yet there will surely be enough in all the +numbers to bring Christmas very pleasantly before the eyes. In a +dull November one likes to be reminded that Christmas is coming. +It is perhaps as well that the demands of the colonies give us +our Christmas numbers so early. At the same time it is difficult +to see why New Zealand wants a Christmas number at all. As I +glance above at the plan of my model paper I feel more than ever +how adorable it would be--but not, oh not with the thermometer at +a hundred in the shade. + + + + +No Flowers by Request + + +If a statement is untrue, it is not the more respectable because +it has been said in Latin. We owe the war, directly, no doubt, to +the Kaiser, but indirectly to the Roman idiot who said, "Si vis +pacem, para bellum." Having mislaid my Dictionary of Quotations I +cannot give you his name, but I have my money on him as the +greatest murderer in history. + +Yet there have always been people who would quote this classical +lie as if it were at least as authoritative as anything said in +the Sermon on the Mount. It was said a long time ago, and in a +strange language--that was enough for them. In the same way they +will say, "De mortuis nil nisi bonum." But I warn them solemnly +that it will take a good deal more than this to stop me from +saying what I want to say about the recently expired month of +February. + +I have waited purposely until February was dead. Cynics may say +that this was only wisdom, in that a damnatory notice from me +might have inspired that unhappy month to an unusually brilliant +run, out of sheer wilfulness. I prefer to think that it was good +manners which forbade me to be disrespectful to her very face. It +is bad manners to speak the truth to the living, but February is +dead. De mortuis nil nisi veritas. + +The truth about poor February is that she is the worst month of +the year. But let us be fair to her. She has never had a chance. +We cannot say to her, "Look upon this picture and on this. This +you might have been; this you are." There is no "might have been" +for her, no ideal February. The perfect June we can imagine for +ourselves. Personally I do not mind how hot it be, but there must +be plenty of strawberries. The perfect April--ah, one dare not +think of the perfect April. That can only happen in the next +world. Yet April may always be striving for it, though she never +reach it. But the perfect February--what is it? I know not. Let +us pity February, then, even while we blame her. + +For February comes just when we are sick of winter, and therefore +she may not be wintry. Wishing to do her best, she ventures her +spring costume, crocus and primrose and daffodil days; days when +the first faint perfume of mint is blown down the breezes, and +one begins to wonder how the lambs are shaping. Is that the ideal +February? Ah no! For we cannot be deceived. We know that spring +is not here; that March is to come with its frosts and perchance +its snows, a worse March for the milder February, a plunge back +into the winter which poor February tried to flatter us was over. + +Such a February is a murderer--an accessory to the murders of +March. She lays the ground-bait for the victims. Out pop the +stupid little flowers, eager to be deceived (one could forgive +the annuals, but the perennials ought to know better by now), and +down comes March, a roaring lion, to gobble them up. + +And how much lost fruit do we not owe to February! One feels--a +layman like myself feels--that it should be enough to have a +strawberry-bed, a peach-tree, a fig-tree. If these are not +enough, then the addition of a gardener should make the thing a +certainty. Yet how often will not a gardener refer one back to +February as the real culprit. The tree blossomed too early; the +late frosts killed it; in the annoyance of the moment one may +reproach the gardener for allowing it to blossom so prematurely, +but one cannot absolve February of all blame. + +It is no good, then, for February to try to be spring; no hope +for her to please us by prolonging winter. What is left to her? +She cannot even give us the pleasure of the hairshirt. Did April +follow her, she could make the joys of that wonderful month even +keener for us by the contrast, but--she is followed by March. +What can one do with March? One does not wear a hair-shirt merely +to enjoy the pleasure of following it by one slightly less hairy. + +Well, we may agree that February is no good. "Oh, to be out of +England now that February's here," is what Browning should have +said. One has no use for her in this country. Pope Gregory, or +whoever it was that arranged the calendar, must have had +influential relations in England who urged on him the need for +making February the shortest month of the year. Let us be +grateful to His Holiness that he was so persuaded. He was a +little obstinate about Leap Year; a more imaginative pontiff +would have given the extra day to April; but he was amenable +enough for a man who only had his relations' word for it. Every +first of March I raise my glass to Gregory. Even as a boy I used +to drink one of his powders to him at about this time of the +year. + +February fill-dyke! Well, that's all that can be said for it. + + + + +The Unfairness of Things + + +The most interesting column in any paper (always excepting those +which I write myself) is that entitled "The World's Press," +wherein one may observe the world as it appears to a press of +which one has for the most part never heard. It is in this column +that I have just made the acquaintance of The Shoe Manufacturers' +Monthly, the journal to which the elect turn eagerly upon each +new moon. (Its one-time rival, The Footwear Fortnightly, has, I +am told, quite lost its following.) The bon mot of the current +number of The S.M.M. is a note to the effect that Kaffirs have a +special fondness for boots which make a noise. I quote this +simply as an excuse for referring to the old problem of the +squeaky boots and the squeaky collar; the problem, in fact, of +the unfairness of things. + +The majors and clubmen who assist their country with columns of +advice on clothes have often tried to explain why a collar +squeaks, but have never done so to the satisfaction of any man of +intelligence. They say that the collar is too large or too small, +too dirty or too clean. They say that if you have your collars +made for you (like a gentleman) you will be all right, but that +if you buy the cheap, ready-made article, what can you expect? +They say that a little soap on the outside of the shirt, or a +little something on the inside of something else, that this, +that, and the other will abate the nuisance. They are quite +wrong. + +The simple truth, and everybody knows it really, is that collars +squeak for some people and not for others. A squeaky collar round +the neck of a man is a comment, not upon the collar, but upon the +man. That man is unlucky. Things are against him. Nature may have +done all for him that she could, have given him a handsome +outside and a noble inside, but the world of inanimate objects is +against him. + +We all know the man whom children or dogs love instinctively. It +is a rare gift to be able to inspire this affection. The Fates +have been kind to him. But to inspire the affection of inanimate +things is something greater. The man to whom a collar or a window +sash takes instinctively is a man who may truly be said to have +luck on his side. Consider him for a moment. His collar never +squeaks; his clothes take a delight in fitting him. At a dinner- +party he walks as by instinct straight to his seat, what time you +and I are dragging our partners round and round the table in +search of our cards. The windows of taxicabs open to him easily. +When he travels by train his luggage works its way to the front +of the van and is the first to jump out at Paddington. String +hastens to undo itself when he approaches; he is the only man who +can make a decent impression with sealing-wax. If he is asked by +the hostess in a crowded drawing-room to ring the bell, that bell +comes out from behind the sofa where it hid from us and places +itself in a convenient spot before his eyes. Asparagus stiffens +itself at sight of him, macaroni winds itself round his fork. + +You will observe that I am not describing just the ordinary lucky +man. He may lose thousands on the Stock Exchange; he may be +jilted; whenever he goes to the Oval to see Hobbs, Hobbs may be +out first ball; he may invariably get mixed up in railway +accidents. That is a kind of ill-luck which one can bear, not +indeed without grumbling, but without rancour. The man who is +unlucky to experience these things at least has the consolation +of other people's sympathy; but the man who is the butt of +inanimate things has no one's sympathy. We may be on a motor bus +which overturns and nobody will say that it is our fault, but if +our collar deliberately and maliciously squeaks, everybody will +say that we ought to buy better collars; if our dinner cards hide +from us, or the string of our parcel works itself into knots, we +are called clumsy; our asparagus and macaroni give us a +reputation for bad manners; our luggage gets us a name for +dilatoriness. + +I think we, we others, have a right to complain. However lucky we +may be in other ways, if we have not this luck of inanimate +things we have a right to complain. It is pleasant, I admit, to +win L500 on the Stock Exchange by a stroke of sheer good fortune, +but even in the blue of this there is a cloud, for the next L500 +that we win by a stroke of shrewd business will certainly be put +down to luck. Luck is given the credit of all our successes, but +the other man is given the credit of all his luck. That is why we +have a right to complain. + +I do not know why things should conspire against a man. Perhaps +there is some justice in it. It is possible--nay, probable--that +the man whom things love is hated by animals and children--even +by his fellow-men. Certainly he is hated by me. Indeed, the more +I think of him, the more I see that he is not a nice man in any +way. The gods have neglected him; he has no good qualities. He is +a worm. No wonder, then, that this small compensation is doled +out to him--the gift of getting on with inanimate things. This +gives him (with the unthinking) a certain reputation for +readiness and dexterity. If ever you meet a man with such a +reputation, you will know what he really is. + +Circumstances connected with the hour at which I rose this +morning ordained that I should write this article in a dressing- +gown. I shall now put on a collar. I hope it will squeak. + + + + +Daffodils + + +The confession-book, I suppose, has disappeared. It is twenty +years since I have seen one. As a boy I told some inquisitive +owner what was my favourite food (porridge, I fancy), my +favourite hero in real life and in fiction, my favourite virtue +in woman, and so forth. I was a boy, and it didn't really matter +what were my likes and dislikes then, for I was bound to outgrow +them. But Heaven help the journalist of those days who had to +sign his name to opinions so definite! For when a writer has said +in print (as I am going to say directly) that the daffodil is his +favourite flower, simply because, looking round his room for +inspiration, he has seen a bowl of daffodils on his table and +thought it beautiful, it would be hard on him if some confession- +album-owner were to expose him in the following issue as already +committed on oath to the violet. Imaginative art would become +impossible. Fortunately I have no commitments, and I may affirm +that the daffodil is, and always has been, my favourite flower. +Many people will put their money on the rose, but it is +impossible that the rose can give them the pleasure which the +daffodil gives them, just as it is impossible that a thousand +pounds can give Rockefeller the pleasure which it gives you or +me. For the daffodil comes, not only before the swallow comes-- +which is a matter of indifference, as nobody thinks any the worse +of the swallow in consequence--but before all the many flowers of +summer; it comes on the heels of a flowerless winter. Whereby it +is as superior to the rose as an oasis in the Sahara is to +champagne at a wedding. + +Yes, a favourite flower must be a spring flower--there is no +doubt about that. You have your choice, then, of the daffodil, +the violet, the primrose, and the crocus. The bluebell comes too +late, the cowslip is but an indifferent primrose; camelias and +anemones and all the others which occur to you come into a +different class. Well, then, will you choose the violet or the +crocus? Or will you follow the legendary Disraeli and have +primroses on your statue? + +I write as one who spends most of his life in London, and for me +the violet, the primrose, and the crocus are lacking in the same +necessary quality--they pick badly. My favourite flower must +adorn my house; to show itself off to the best advantage within +doors it must have a long stalk. A crocus, least of all, is a +flower to be plucked. I admit its charm as the first hint of +spring that is vouchsafed to us in the parks, but I want it +nearer home than that. You cannot pick a crocus and put it in +water; nor can you be so cruel as to spoil the primrose and the +violet by taking them from their natural setting; but the +daffodil cries aloud to be picked. It is what it is waiting for. + +"Long stalks, please." Who, being commanded by his lady to bring +in flowers for the house, has not received this warning? And was +there ever a stalk to equal the daffodil's for length and +firmness and beauty? Other flowers must have foliage to set them +off, but daffodils can stand by themselves in a bowl, and their +green and yellow dress brings all spring into the room. A house +with daffodils in it is a house lit up, whether or no the sun be +shining outside. Daffodils in a green bowl--and let it snow if it +will. + +Wordsworth wrote a poem about daffodils. He wrote poems about +most flowers. If a plant would be unique it must be one which had +never inspired him to song. But he did not write about daffodils +in a bowl. The daffodils which I celebrate are stationary; +Wordsworth's lived on the banks of Ullswater, and fluttered and +tossed their heads and danced in the breeze. He hints that in +their company even he might have been jocose--a terrifying +thought, which makes me happier to have mine safely indoors. When +he first saw them there (so he says) he gazed and gazed and +little thought what wealth the show to him had brought. Strictly +speaking, it hadn't brought him in anything at the moment, but he +must have known from his previous experiences with the daisy and +the celandine that it was good for a certain amount. + + A simple daffodil to him + Was so much matter for a slim + Volume at two and four. + +You may say, of course, that I am in no better case, but then I +have never reproached other people (as he did) for thinking of a +primrose merely as a primrose. + +But whether you prefer them my way or Wordsworth's--indoors or +outdoors--will make no difference in this further matter to which +finally I call your attention. Was there ever a more beautiful +name in the world than daffodil? Say it over to yourself, and +then say "agapanthus" or "chrysanthemum," or anything else you +please, and tell me if the daffodils do not have it. + + Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their +praises; Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have +their glory; Long as there are violets They will have a place +in story; But for flowers my bowls to fill, Give me just the +daffodil. + +As Wordsworth ought to have said. + + + + +A Household Book + + +Once on a time I discovered Samuel Butler; not the other two, but +the one who wrote The Way of All Flesh, the second-best novel in +the English language. I say the second-best, so that, if you +remind me of Tom Jones or The Mayor of Casterbridge or any other +that you fancy, I can say that, of course, that one is the best. +Well, I discovered him, just as Voltaire discovered Habakkuk, or +your little boy discovered Shakespeare the other day, and I +committed my discovery to the world in two glowing articles. Not +unnaturally the world remained unmoved. It knew all about Samuel +Butler. + +Last week I discovered a Frenchman, Claude Tillier, who wrote in +the early part of last century a book called Mon Oncle Benjamin, +which may be freely translated My Uncle Benjamin. (I read it in +the translation.) Eager as I am to be lyrical about it, I shall +refrain. I think that I am probably safer with Tillier than with +Butler, but I dare not risk it. The thought of your scorn at my +previous ignorance of the world-famous Tillier, your amused +contempt because I have only just succeeded in borrowing the +classic upon which you were brought up, this is too much for me. +Let us say no more about it. Claude Tillier--who has not heard of +Claude Tillier? Mon oncle Benjamin--who has not read it, in +French or (as I did) in American? Let us pass on to another book. + +For I am going to speak of another discovery; of a book which +should be a classic, but is not; of a book of which nobody has +heard unless through me. It was published some twelve years ago, +the last-published book of a well-known writer. When I tell you +his name you will say, "Oh yes! I LOVE his books!" and you will +mention SO-AND-SO, and its equally famous sequel SUCH-AND-SUCH. +But when I ask you if you have read MY book, you will profess +surprise, and say that you have never heard of it. "Is it as good +as SO-AND-SO and SUCH-AND-SUCH?" you will ask, hardly believing +that this could be possible. "Much better," I shall reply--and +there, if these things were arranged properly, would be another +ten per cent, in my pocket. But, believe me, I shall be quite +content with your gratitude. Well, the writer of my book is +Kenneth Grahame. You have heard of him? Good, I thought so. The +books you have read are The Golden Age. and Dream Days. Am I not +right? Thank you. But the book you have not read-- my book--is +The Wind in the Willows. Am I not right again? Ah, I was afraid +so. + +The reason why I knew you had not read it is the reason why I +call it "my" book. For the last ten or twelve years I have been +recommending it. Usually I speak about it at my first meeting +with a stranger. It is my opening remark, just as yours is +something futile about the weather. If I don't get it in at the +beginning, I squeeze it in at the end. The stranger has got to +have it some time. Should I ever find myself in the dock, and one +never knows, my answer to the question whether I had anything to +say would be, "Well, my lord, if I might just recommend a book to +the jury before leaving." Mr. Justice Darling would probably +pretend that he had read it, but he wouldn't deceive me. + +For one cannot recommend a book to all the hundreds of people +whom one has met in ten years without discovering whether it is +well known or not. It is the amazing truth that none of those +hundreds had heard of The Wind in the Willows until I told them +about it. Some of them had never heard of Kenneth Grahame; well, +one did not have to meet them again, and it takes all sorts to +make a world. But most of them were in your position--great +admirers of the author and his two earlier famous books, but +ignorant thereafter. I had their promise before they left me, and +waited confidently for their gratitude. No doubt they also spread +the good news in their turn, and it is just possible that it +reached you in this way, but it was to me, none the less, that +your thanks were due. For instance, you may have noticed a couple +of casual references to it, as if it were a classic known to all, +in a famous novel published last year. It was I who introduced +that novelist to it six months before. Indeed, I feel sometimes +that it was I who wrote The Wind in the Willows, and recommended +it to Kenneth Grahame ... but perhaps I am wrong here, for I have +not the pleasure of his acquaintance. Nor, as I have already +lamented, am I financially interested in its sale, an explanation +which suspicious strangers require from me sometimes. + +I shall not describe the book, for no description would help it. +But I shall just say this; that it is what I call a Household +Book. By a Household Book I mean a book which everybody in the +household loves and quotes continually ever afterwards; a book +which is read aloud to every new guest, and is regarded as the +touchstone of his worth. But it is a book which makes you feel +that, though everybody in the house loves it, it is only you who +really appreciate it at its true value, and that the others are +scarcely worthy of it. It is obvious, you persuade yourself, that +the author was thinking of you when he wrote it. "I hope this +will please Jones," were his final words, as he laid down his +pen. + +Well, of course, you will order the book at once. But I must give +you one word of warning. When you sit down to it, don't be so +ridiculous as to suppose that you are sitting in judgment on my +taste, still less on the genius of Kenneth Grahame. You are +merely sitting in judgment on yourself. ... You may be worthy; I +do not know. But it is you who are on trial. + + + + +Lunch + + +Food is a subject of conversation more spiritually refreshing +even than the weather, for the number of possible remarks about +the weather is limited, whereas of food you can talk on and on +and on. Moreover, no heat of controversy is induced by mention of +the atmospheric conditions (seeing that we are all agreed as to +what is a good day and what is a bad one), and where there can be +no controversy there can be no intimacy in agreement. But tastes +in food differ so sharply (as has been well said in Latin and, I +believe, also in French) that a pronounced agreement in them is +of all bonds of union the most intimate. Thus, if a man hates +tapioca pudding he is a good fellow and my friend. + +To each his favourite meal. But if I say that lunch is mine I do +not mean that I should like lunch for breakfast, dinner, and tea; +I do not mean that of the four meals (or five, counting supper) +lunch is the one which I most enjoy--at which I do myself most +complete justice. This is so far from being true that I +frequently miss lunch altogether ... the exigencies of the +journalistic profession. To-day, for instance, I shall probably +miss it. No; what I mean is that lunch is the meal which in the +abstract appeals to me most because of its catholicity. + +We breakfast and dine at home, or at other people's homes, but we +give ourselves up to London for lunch, and London has provided an +amazing variety for us. We can have six courses and a bottle of +champagne, with a view of the river, or one poached egg and a box +of dominoes, with a view of the skylights; we can sit or we can +stand, and without doubt we could, if we wished, recline in the +Roman fashion; we can spend two hours or five minutes at it; we +can have something different, every day of the week, or cling +permanently (as I know one man to do) to a chop and chips--and +what you do with the chips I have never discovered, for they +combine so little of nourishment with so much of inconvenience +that Nature can never have meant them for provender. Perhaps as +counters. ... But I am wandering from my theme. + +There is this of romance about lunch, that one can imagine great +adventures with stockbrokers, actor-managers, publishers, and +other demigods to have had their birth at the luncheon table. If +it is a question of "bulling" margarine or "bearing" boot-polish, +if the name for the new play is still unsettled, if there is some +idea of an American edition--whatever the emergency, the final +word on the subject is always the same, "Come and have lunch with +me, and we'll talk it over"; and when the waiter has taken your +hat and coat, and you have looked diffidently at the menu, and in +reply to your host's question, "What will you drink?" have made +the only possible reply, "Oh, anything that you're drinking" +(thus showing him that you don't insist on a bottle to yourself)- +-THEN you settle down to business, and the history of England is +enlarged by who can say how many pages. + +And not only does one inaugurate business matters at lunch, but +one also renews old friendships. Who has not had said to him in +the Strand, "Hallo, old fellow, I haven't seen you for ages; you +must come and lunch with me one day"? And who has not answered, +"Rather! I should love to," and passed on with a glow at the +heart which has not died out until the next day, when the +incident is forgotten? An invitation to dinner is formal, to tea +unnecessary, to breakfast impossible, but there is a casualness, +very friendly and pleasant, about invitations to lunch which make +them complete in themselves, and in no way dependent on any lunch +which may or may not follow. + +Without having exhausted the subject of lunch in London (and I +should like to say that it is now certain that I shall not have +time to partake to-day), let us consider for a moment lunch in +the country. I do not mean lunch in the open air, for it is +obvious that there is no meal so heavenly as lunch thus eaten, +and in a short article like this I have no time in which to dwell +upon the obvious. I mean lunch at a country house. Now, the most +pleasant feature of lunch at a country house is this--that you +may sit next to whomsoever you please. At dinner she may be +entrusted to quite the wrong man; at breakfast you are faced with +the problem of being neither too early for her nor yet too late +for a seat beside her; at tea people have a habit of taking your +chair at the moment when a simple act of courtesy has drawn you +from it in search of bread and butter; but at lunch you follow +her in and there you are--fixed. + +But there is a place, neither London nor the country, which +brings out more than any other place all that is pleasant in +lunch. It was really the recent experience of this which set me +writing about lunch. Lunch in the train! It should be the "second +meal"--about 1.30-- because then you are really some distance +from London and are hungry. The panorama flashes by outside, +nearer and nearer comes the beautiful West; you cross rivers and +hurry by little villages, you pass slowly and reverently through +strange old towns ... and, inside, the waiter leaves the potatoes +next to you and slips away. + +Well, it is his own risk. Here goes. ... What I say is that, if a +man really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort of +fellow. + + + + +The Friend of Man + + +When swords went out of fashion, walking-sticks, I suppose, came +into fashion. The present custom has its advantages. Even in his +busiest day the hero's sword must have returned at times to its +scabbard, and what would he do then with nothing in his right +hand? But our walking-sticks have no scabbards. We grasp them +always, ready at any moment to summon a cab, to point out a view, +or to dig an enemy in the stomach. Meanwhile we slash the air in +defiance of the world. + +My first stick was a malacca, silver at the collar and polished +horn as to the handle. For weeks it looked beseechingly at me +from a shop window, until a lucky birthday tip sent me in after +it. We went back to school together that afternoon, and if +anything can lighten the cloud which hangs over the last day of +holidays, it is the glory of some such stick as mine. Of course +it was too beautiful to live long; yet its death became it. I had +left many a parental umbrella in the train unhonoured and unsung. +My malacca was mislaid in an hotel in Norway. And even now when +the blinds are drawn and we pull up our chairs closer round the +wood fire, what time travellers tell to awestruck stay-at-homes +tales of adventure in distant lands, even now if by a lucky +chance Norway is mentioned, I tap the logs carelessly with the +poker and drawl, "I suppose you didn't happen to stay at +Vossvangen? I left a malacca cane there once. Rather a good one +too." So that there is an impression among my friends that there +is hardly a town in Europe but has had its legacy from me. And +this I owe to my stick. + +My last is of ebony, ivory-topped. Even though I should spend +another fortnight abroad I could not take this stick with me. It +is not a stick for the country; its heart is in Piccadilly. +Perhaps it might thrive in Paris if it could stand the sea +voyage. But no, I cannot see it crossing the Channel; in a cap I +am no companion for it. Could I step on to the boat in a silk hat +and then retire below--but I am always unwell below, and that +would not suit its dignity. It stands now in a corner of my room +crying aloud to be taken to the opera. I used to dislike men who +took canes to Covent Garden, but I see now how it must have been +with them. An ebony stick topped with ivory has to be humoured. +Already I am considering a silk-lined cape, and it is settled +that my gloves are to have black stitchings. + +Such is my last stick, for it was given to me this very morning. +At my first sight of it I thought that it might replace the +common one which I lost in an Easter train. That was silly of me. +I must have a stick of less gentle birth which is not afraid to +be seen with a soft hat. It must be a stick which I can drop, or +on occasion kick; one with which I can slash dandelions; one for +which, when ultimately I leave it in a train, conscience does not +drag me to Scotland Yard. In short, a companionable stick for a +day's journey; a country stick. + +The ideal country stick will never be found. It must be thick +enough to stand much rough usage of a sort which I will explain +presently, and yet it must be thin so that it makes a pleasant +whistling sound through the air. Its handle must be curved so +that it can pull down the spray of blossom of which you are in +need, or pull up the luncheon basket which you want even more +badly, and yet it must be straight so that you can drive an old +golf ball with it. It must be unadorned, so that it shall lack +ostentation, and yet it must have a band, so that when you throw +stones at it you can count two if you hit the silver. You begin +to see how difficult it is to achieve the perfect stick. + +Well, each one of us must let go those properties which his own +stick can do best without. For myself I insist on this--my stick +must be good for hitting and good to hit with. A stick, we are +agreed, is something to have in the hand when walking. But there +are times when we sit down; and if our journey shall have taken +us to the beach, our stick must at once be propped in the sand +while from a suitable distance we throw stones at it. However +beautiful the sea, its beauty can only be appreciated properly in +this fashion. Scenery must not be taken at a gulp; we must absorb +it unconsciously. With the mind gently exercised as to whether we +scored a two on the band or a one just below it, and with the +muscles of the arm at stretch, we are in a state ideally +receptive of beauty. + +And, for my other essential of a country stick, it must be +possible to grasp it by the wrong end and hit a ball with it. So +it must have no ferrule, and the handle must be heavy and +straight. In this way was golf born; its creator roamed the +fields after his picnic lunch, knocking along the cork from his +bottle. At first he took seventy-nine from the gate in one field +to the oak tree in the next; afterwards fifty-four. Then suddenly +he saw the game. We cannot say that he was no lover of Nature. +The desire to knock a ball about, to play silly games with a +stick, comes upon a man most keenly when he is happy; let it be +ascribed that he is happy to the streams and the hedges and the +sunlight through the trees. And so let my stick have a handle +heavy and straight, and let there be no ferrule on the end. Be +sure that I have an old golf ball in my pocket. + +In London one is not so particular. Chiefly we want a stick for +leaning on when we are talking to an acquaintance suddenly met. +After the initial "Hulloa!" and the discovery that we have +nothing else of importance to say, the situation is distinctly +eased by the remembrance of our stick. It gives us a support +moral and physical, such as is supplied in a drawing-room by a +cigarette. For this purpose size and shape are immaterial. Yet +this much is essential--it must not be too slippery, or in our +nervousness we may drop it altogether. My ebony stick with the +polished ivory top-- + +But I have already decided that my ebony stick is out of place +with the everyday hat. It stands in its corner waiting for the +opera season, I must get another stick for rough work. + + + + +The Diary Habit + + +A newspaper has been lamenting the decay of the diary-keeping +habit, with the natural result that several correspondents have +written to say that they have kept diaries all their lives. No +doubt all these diaries now contain the entry, "Wrote to the +Daily ---- to deny the assertion that the diary-keeping habit is +on the wane." Of such little things are diaries made. + +I suppose this is the reason why diaries are so rarely kept +nowadays--that nothing ever happens to anybody. A diary would be +worth writing up if it could be written like this:-- + +MONDAY.--"Another exciting day. Shot a couple of hooligans on my +way to business and was forced to give my card to the police. On +arriving at the office was surprised to find the building on +fire, but was just in time to rescue the confidential treaty +between England and Switzerland. Had this been discovered by the +public, war would infallibly have resulted. Went out to lunch and +saw a runaway elephant in the Strand. Thought little of it at the +time, but mentioned it to my wife in the evening. She agreed that +it was worth recording." + +TUESDAY.--"Letter from solicitor informing me that I have come +into L1,000,000 through the will of an Australian gold-digger +named Tomkins. On referring to my diary I find that I saved his +life two years ago by plunging into the Serpentine. This is very +gratifying. Was late at the office as I had to look in at the +Palace on the way, in order to get knighted, but managed to get a +good deal of work done before I was interrupted by a madman with +a razor, who demanded L100. Shot him after a desperate struggle. +Tea at an ABC, where I met the Duke of ---. Fell into the Thames +on my way home, but swam ashore without difficulty." + +Alas! we cannot do this. Our diaries are very prosaic, very dull +indeed. They read like this:-- + +Monday.--"Felt inclined to stay in bed this morning and send an +excuse to the office, but was all right after a bath and +breakfast. Worked till 1.30 and had lunch. Afterwards worked till +five, and had my hair cut on the way home. After dinner read A +Man's Passion, by Theodora Popgood. Rotten. Went to bed at +eleven." + +Tuesday.--"Had a letter from Jane. Did some good work in the +morning, and at lunch met Henry, who asked me to play golf with +him on Saturday. Told him I was playing with Peter, but said I +would like a game with him on the Saturday after. However, it +turned out he was playing with William then, so we couldn't fix +anything up. Bought a pair of shoes on my way home, but think +they will be too tight. The man says, though, that they will +stretch." + +Wednesday.--"Played dominoes at lunch and won fivepence." + +If this sort of diary is now falling into decay, the world is not +losing much. But at least it is a harmless pleasure to some to +enter up their day's doings each evening, and in years to come it +may just possibly be of interest to the diarist to know that it +was on Monday, 27th April, that he had his hair cut. Again, if in +the future any question arose as to the exact date of Henry's +decease, we should find in this diary proof that anyhow he was +alive as late as Tuesday, 28th April. That might, though it +probably won't, be of great importance. But there is another sort +of diary which can never be of any importance at all. I make no +apology for giving a third selection of extracts. + +Monday.--"Rose at nine and came down to find a letter from Mary. +How little we know our true friends! Beneath the mask of outward +affection there may lurk unknown to us the serpent's tooth of +jealousy. Mary writes that she can make nothing for my stall at +the bazaar as she has her own stall to provide for. Ate my +breakfast mechanically, my thoughts being far away. What, after +all, is life? Meditated deeply on the inner cosmos till lunch- +time. Afterwards I lay down for an hour and composed my mind. I +was angry this morning with Mary. Ah, how petty! Shall I never be +free from the bonds of my own nature? Is the better self within +me never to rise to the sublime heights of selflessness of which +it is capable? Rose at four and wrote to Mary, forgiving her. +This has been a wonderful day for the spirit." + +Yes; I suspect that a good many diaries record adventures of the +mind and soul for lack of stirring adventures to the body. If +they cannot say, "Attacked by a lion in Bond Street to-day," they +can at least say, "Attacked by doubt in St. Paul's Cathedral." +Most people will prefer, in the absence of the lion, to say +nothing, or nothing more important than "Attacked by the +hairdresser with a hard brush"; but there are others who must get +pen to paper somehow, and who find that only in regard to their +emotions have they anything unique to say. + +But, of course, there is ever within the breasts of all diarists +the hope that their diaries may some day be revealed to the +world. They may be discovered by some future generation, amazed +at the simple doings of the twentieth century, or their +publication may be demanded by the next generation, eager to know +the inner life of the great man just dead. Best of all, they may +be made public by the writers themselves in their +autobiographies. + +Yes; the diarist must always have his eye on a possible +autobiography. "I remember," he will write in that great work, +having forgotten all about it, "I distinctly remember"--and here +he will refer to his diary--"meeting X. at lunch one Sunday and +saying to him ..." + +What he said will not be of much importance, but it will show you +what a wonderful memory the distinguished author retains in his +old age. + + + + +Midsummer Day + + +There is magic in the woods on Midsummer Day--so people tell me. +Titania conducts her revels. Let others attend her court; for +myself I will beg to be excused. I have no heart for revelling on +Midsummer Day. On any other festival I will be as jocund as you +please, but on the longest day of the year I am overburdened by +the thought that from this moment the evenings are beginning to +draw in. We are on the way to winter. + +It is on Midsummer Day, or thereabouts, that the cuckoo changes +his tune, knowing well that the best days are over and that in a +little while it will be time for him to fly away. I should like +this to be a learned article on "The Habits of the Cuckoo," and +yet, if it were, I doubt if I should love him at the end of it. +It is best to know only the one thing of him, that he lays his +eggs in another bird's nest--a friendly idea--and beyond that to +take him as we find him. And we find that his only habit which +matters is the delightful one of saying "Cuckoo." + +The nightingale is the bird of melancholy, the thrush sings a +disturbing song of the good times to come, the blackbird whistles +a fine, cool note which goes best with a February morning, and +the skylark trills his way to a heaven far out of the reach of +men; and what the lesser white-throat says I have never rightly +understood. But the cuckoo is the bird of present joys; he keeps +us company on the lawns of summer, he sings under a summer sun in +a wonderful new world of blue and green. I think only happy +people hear him. He is always about when one is doing pleasant +things. He never sings when the sun hides behind banks of clouds, +or if he does, it is softly to himself so that he may not lose +the note. Then "Cuckoo!" he says aloud, and you may be sure that +everything is warm and bright again. + +But now he is leaving us. Where he goes I know not, but I think +of him vaguely as at Mozambique, a paradise for all good birds +who like their days long. If geography were properly taught at +schools, I should know where Mozambique was, and what sort of +people live there. But it may be that, with all these cuckoos +cuckooing and swallows swallowing from July to April, the country +is so full of immigrants that there is no room for a stable +population. It may also be, of course, that Mozambique is not the +place I am thinking of; yet it has a birdish sound. + +The year is arranged badly. If Mr. Willett were alive he would do +something about it. Why should the days begin to get shorter at +the moment when summer is fully arrived? Why should it be +possible for the vicar to say that the evenings are drawing in, +when one is still having strawberries for tea? Sometimes I think +that if June were called August, and April June, these things +would be easier to bear. The fact that in what is now called +August we should be telling each other how wonderfully hot it was +for October would help us to bear the slow approach of winter. On +a Midsummer Day in such a calendar one would revel gladly, and +there would be no midsummer madness. + +Already the oak trees have taken on an autumn look. I am told +that this is due to a local irruption of caterpillars, and not to +the waning of the summer, but it has a suspicious air. Probably +the caterpillars knew. It seems strange now to reflect that there +was a time when I liked caterpillars; when I chased them up +suburban streets, and took them home to fondle them; when I knew +them all by their pretty names, assisted them to become +chrysalises, and watched over them in that unprotected state as +if I had been their mother. Ah, how dear were my little charges +to me then! But now I class them with mosquitoes and blight and +harvesters, the pests of the countryside. Why, I would let them +crawl up my arm in those happy days of old, and now I cannot even +endure to have them dropping gently into my hair. And I should +not know what to say to a chrysalis. + +There are great and good people who know all about solstices and +zeniths, and they can tell you just why it is that 24th June is +so much hotter and longer than 24th December--why it is so in +England, I should say. For I believe (and they will correct me if +I am wrong) that at the equator the days and nights are always of +equal length. This must make calling almost an impossibility, for +if one cannot say to one's hostess, "How quickly the days are +lengthening (or drawing in)," one might as well remain at home. +"How stationary the days are remaining" might pass on a first +visit, but the old inhabitants would not like it rubbed into +them. They feel, I am sure, that however saddening a Midsummer +Day may be, an unchanging year is much more intolerable. One can +imagine the superiority of a resident who lived a couple of miles +off the equator, and took her visitors proudly to the end of the +garden where the seasons were most mutable. There would be no +bearing with her. + +In these circumstances I refuse to be depressed. I console myself +with the thought that if 25th June is the beginning of winter, at +least there is a next summer to which I may look forward. Next +summer anything may happen. I suppose a scientist would be +considerably surprised if the sun refused to get up one morning, +or, having got up, declined to go to bed again. It would not +surprise ME. The amazing thing is that Nature goes on doing the +same things in the same way year after year; any sudden little +irrelevance on her part would be quite understandable. When the +wise men tell us so confidently that there will be an eclipse of +the sun in 1921, invisible at Greenwich, do they have no qualms +of doubt as the day draws near? Do they glance up from their +whitebait at the appointed hour, just in case it IS visible after +all? Or if they have journeyed to Pernambuco, or wherever the +best view is to be obtained, do they wonder ... perhaps ... and +tell each other the night before that, of course, they were +coming to Pernambuco anyhow, to see an aunt? + +Perhaps they don't. But for myself I am not so certain, and I +have hopes that, certainly next year, possibly even this year, +the days will go on lengthening after midsummer is over. + + + + +At the Bookstall + + +I have often longed to be a grocer. To be surrounded by so many +interesting things-- sardines, bottled raspberries, biscuits with +sugar on the top, preserved ginger, hams, brawn under glass, +everything in fact that makes life worth living; at one moment to +walk up a ladder in search of nutmeg, at the next to dive under a +counter in pursuit of cinnamon; to serve little girls with a +ha'porth of pear drops and lordly people like you and me with a +pint of cherry gin --is not this to follow the king of trades? +Some day I shall open a grocer's shop, and you will find me in my +spare evenings aproned behind the counter. Look out for the +currants in the window as you come in--I have an idea for +something artistic in the way of patterns there; but, as you love +me, do not offer to buy any. We grocers only put the currants out +for show, and so that we may run our fingers through them +luxuriously when business is slack. I have a good line in +shortbreads, madam, if I can find the box, but no currants this +evening, I beg you. + +Yes, to be a grocer is to live well; but, after all, it is not to +see life. A grocer, in as far as it is possible to a man who +sells both scented soap and pilchards, would become narrow. We do +not come into contact with the outside world much, save through +the medium of potted lobster, and to sell a man potted lobster is +not to have our fingers on his pulse. Potted lobster does not +define a man. All customers are alike to the grocer, provided +their money is good. I perceive now that I was over-hasty in +deciding to become a grocer. That is rather for one's old age. +While one is young, and interested in persons rather than in +things, there is only one profession to follow--the profession of +bookstall clerk. + +To be behind a bookstall is indeed to see life. The fascination +of it struck me suddenly as 1 stood in front of a station +bookstall last Monday and wondered who bought the tie-clips. The +answer came to me just as I got into my train-- Ask the man +behind the bookstall. He would know. Yes, and he would know who +bought all his papers and books and pamphlets, and to know this +is to know something about the people in the world. You cannot +tell a man by the lobster he eats, but you can tell something +about him by the literature he reads. + +For instance, I once occupied a carriage on an eastern line with, +among others, a middle-aged woman. As soon as we left Liverpool +Street she produced a bag of shrimps, grasped each individual in +turn firmly by the head and tail, and ate him. When she had +finished, she emptied the ends out of the window, wiped her +hands, and settled down comfortably to her paper. What paper? +You'll never guess; I shall have to tell you--The Morning Post. +Now doesn't that give you the woman? The shrimps alone, no; the +paper alone, no; but the two to-gether. Conceive the holy joy of +the bookstall clerk as she and her bag of shrimps-- yes, he could +have told at once they were shrimps--approached and asked for The +Morning Post. + +The day can never be dull to the bookstall clerk. I imagine him +assigning in his mind the right paper to each customer. This man +will ask for Golfing--wrong, he wants Cage Birds; that one over +there wants The Motor--ah, well, The Auto-Car, that's near +enough. Soon he would begin to know the different types; he would +learn to distinguish between the patrons of The Dancing Times and +of The Vote, The Era and The Athenaeum. Delightful surprises +would overwhelm him at intervals; as when--a red-letter day in +all the great stations--a gentleman in a check waistcoat makes +the double purchase of Homer's Penny Stories and The Spectator. +On those occasions, and they would be very rare, his faith in +human nature would begin to ooze away, until all at once he would +tell himself excitedly that the man was obviously an escaped +criminal in disguise, rather overdoing the part. After which he +would hand over The Winning Post and The Animals' Friend to the +pursuing detective in a sort of holy awe. What a life! + +But he has other things than papers to sell. He knows who buys +those little sixpenny books of funny stories--a problem which has +often puzzled us others; he understands by now the type of man +who wants to read up a few good jokes to tell them down at old +Robinson's, where he is going for the week-end. Our bookstall +clerk doesn't wait to be asked. As soon as this gentleman +approaches, he whips out the book, dusts it, and places it before +the raconteur. He recognizes also at a glance the sort of silly +ass who is always losing his indiarubber umbrella ring. Half-way +across the station he can see him, and he hastens to get a new +card out in readiness. ("Or we would let you have seven for +sixpence, sir.") And even when one of those subtler characters +draws near, about whom it is impossible to say immediately +whether they require a fountain pen with case or the Life and +Letters, reduced to 3s. 6d., of Major-General Clement Bulger, +C.B., even then the man behind the bookstall is not found +wanting. If he is wrong the first time, he never fails to recover +with his second. "Bulger, sir. One of our greatest soldiers." + +I thought of these things last Monday, and definitely renounced +the idea of becoming a grocer; and as I wandered round the +bookstall, thinking, I came across a little book, sixpence in +cloth, a shilling in leather, called Proverbs and Maxims. It +contained some thousands of the best thoughts in all languages, +such as have guided men along the path of truth since the +beginning of the world, from "What ho, she bumps!" to "Ich dien," +and more. The thought occurred to me that an interesting article +might be extracted from it, so I bought the book. Unfortunately +enough I left it in the train before I had time to master it. I +shall be at the bookstall next Monday and I shall have to buy +another copy. That will be all right; you shan't miss it. + +But I am wondering now what the bookstall clerk will make of me. +A man who keeps on buying Proverbs and Maxims. Well, as I say, +they see life. + + + + +"Who's Who" + + +I like my novels long. When I had read three pages of this one I +glanced at the end, and found to my delight that there were two +thousand seven hundred and twenty-five pages more to come. I +returned with a sigh of pleasure to page 4. I was just at the +place where Leslie Patrick Abercrombie wins the prize "for laying +out Prestatyn," some local wrestler, presumably, who had +challenged the crowd at a country fair. After laying him out, +Abercrombie returns to his books and becomes editor of the Town +Planning Review. A wonderfully drawn character. + +The plot of this oddly named novel is too complicated to describe +at length. It opens with the conferment of the C.M.G. on Kuli +Khan Abbas in 1903, an incident of which the anonymous author +might have made a good deal more, and closes with a brief +description of the Rev. Samuel Marinus Zwemer's home in New York +City; but much has happened in the meanwhile. Thousands of +characters have made their brief appearance on the stage, and +have been hustled off to make room for others, but so unerringly +are they drawn that we feel that we are in the presence of living +people. Take Colette Willy, for example, who comes in on page +2656 at a time when the denouement is clearly at hand. The +author, who is working up to his great scene --the appointment of +Dr. Norman Wilsmore to the International Commission for the +Publication of Annual Tables of Physical and Chemical Constants-- +draws her for us in a few lightning touches. She is "authoress, +actress." She has written two little books: Dialogue de Betes and +La Retraite Sentimentale. That is all. But is it not enough? Has +he not made Colette Willy live before us? A lesser writer might +have plunged into elaborate details about her telephone number +and her permanent address, but, like the true artist that he is, +our author leaves all those things unsaid. For though he can be a +realist when necessary (as in the case of Wallis Budge, to which +I shall refer directly), he does not hesitate to trust to the +impressionist sketch when the situation demands it. + +Wallis Budge is apparently the hero of the tale; at any rate, the +author devotes most space to him--some hundred and twenty lines +or so. He does not appear until page 341, by which time we are on +familiar terms with some two or three thousand of the less +important characters. It is typical of the writer that, once he +has described a character to us, has (so to speak) set him on his +feet, he appears to lose interest in his creation, and it is only +rarely that further reference is made to him. Alfred Budd, for +instance, who became British Vice-Consul of San Sebastian in +1907, and resides, as the intelligent reader will have guessed, +at the San Sebastian British Vice-Consulate, obtains the M.V.O. +in 1908. Nothing is said, however, of the resultant effect on his +character, nor is any adequate description given--either then or +later--of the San Sebastian scenery. On the other hand, Bucy, who +first appears on page 340, turns up again on page 644 as the +Marquess de Bucy, a Grandee of Spain. I was half-expecting that +the body would be discovered about this time, but the author is +still busy over his protagonists, and only leaves the Marquess in +order to introduce to us his three musketeers, de Bunsen, de +Burgh, and de Butts. + +But it is time that I returned to our hero, Dr. Wallis Budge. +Although Budge is a golfer of world-wide experience, having +"conducted excavations in Egypt, the Island of Meroe, Nineveh and +Mesopotamia," it is upon his mental rather than his athletic +abilities that the author dwells most lovingly. The fact that in +1886 he wrote a pamphlet upon The Coptic History of Elijah the +Tishbite, and followed it up in 1888 with one on The Coptic +Martyrdom of George of Cappadocia (which is, of course, in every +drawing-room) may not seem at first to have much bearing upon the +tremendous events which followed later. But the author is +artistically right in drawing our attention to them; for it is +probable that, had these popular works not been written, our hero +would never have been encouraged to proceed with his Magical +Texts of Za-Walda-Hawaryat, Tasfa Maryam, Sebhat-Le'ab, Gabra +Shelase Tezasu, Aheta-Mikael, which had such a startling effect +on the lives of all the other characters, and led indirectly to +the finding of the blood-stain on the bath-mat. My own suspicions +fell immediately upon Thomas Rooke, of whom we are told nothing +more than "R.W.S.," which is obviously the cabbalistic sign of +some secret society. + +One of the author's weaknesses is a certain carelessness in the +naming of his characters. For instance, no fewer than two hundred +and forty-one of them are called Smith. True, he endeavours to +distinguish between them by giving them such different Christian +names as John, Henry, Charles, and so forth, but the result is +bound to be confusing. Sometimes, indeed, he does not even bother +to distinguish between their Christian names. Thus we have three +Henry Smiths, who appear to have mixed themselves up even in the +author's mind. He tells us that Colonel Henry's chief recreation +is "the study of the things around him," but it sounds much more +like that of the Reverend Henry, whose opportunities in the +pulpit would be considerably greater. It is the same with the +Thomsons, the Williamses and others. When once he hits upon one +of these popular names, he is carried away for several pages, and +insists on calling everybody Thomson. But occasionally he has an +inspiration. Temistocle Zammit is a good name, though the humour +of calling a famous musician Zimbalist is perhaps a little too +obvious. + +In conclusion, one can say that while our author's merits are +many, his faults are of no great moment. Certainly he handles his +love-scenes badly. Many of his characters are married but he +tells us little of the early scenes of courtship, and says +nothing of any previous engagements which were afterwards broken +off. Also, he is apparently incapable of describing a child, +unless it is the offspring of titled persons and will itself +succeed to the title; even then he prefers to dismiss it in a +parenthesis. But as a picture of the present-day Englishman his +novel can hardly be surpassed. He is not a writer who is only at +home with one class. He can describe the utterly unknown and +unimportant with as much gusto as he describes the genius or the +old nobility. True, he overcrowds his canvas, but one must +recognize this as his method. It is so that he expresses himself +best; just as one painter can express himself best in a rendering +of the whole Town Council of Slappenham, while another only +requires a single haddock on a plate. + +His future will be watched with interest. He hints in his +introduction that he has another volume in preparation, in which +he will introduce to us several entirely new C.B.E.'s, besides +carrying on the histories (in the familiar manner of our modern +novelists) of many of those with whom we have already made +friends. Who's Who, 1920, it is to be called, and I, for one, +shall look out for it with the utmost eagerness. + + + + +A Day at Lord's + + +When one has been without a certain pleasure for a number of +years, one is accustomed to find on returning to it that it is +not quite so delightful as one had imagined. In the years of +abstinence one had built up too glowing a picture, and the +reality turns out to be something much more commonplace. +Pleasant, yes; but, after all, nothing out of the ordinary. Most +of us have made this discovery for ourselves in the last few +months of peace. We have been doing the things which we had +promised ourselves so often during the war, and though they have +been jolly enough, they are not quite all that we dreamed in +France and Flanders. As for the negative pleasures, the pleasure +of not saluting or not attending medical boards, they soon lose +their first freshness. + +Yet I have had one pre-war pleasure this week which carried with +it no sort of disappointment. It was as good as I had thought it +would be. I went to Lord's and watched first-class cricket again. + +There are people who want to "brighten cricket." They remind me +of a certain manager to whom I once sent a play. He told me, more +politely than truthfully, how much he had enjoyed reading it, and +then pointed out what was wrong with the construction. "You have +two brothers here," he said. "They oughtn't to have been +brothers, they should have been strangers. Then one of them +marries the heroine. That's wrong; the other one ought to have +married her. Then there's Aunt Jane--she strikes me as a very +colourless person. If she could have been arrested in the second +act for bigamy--- And then I should leave out your third act +altogether, and put the fourth act at Monte Carlo, and let the +heroine be blackmailed by-- what's the fellow's name? See what I +mean?" I said that I saw. "You don't mind my criticizing your +play?" he added carelessly. I said that he wasn't criticizing my +play. He was writing another one--one which I hadn't the least +wish to write myself. + +And this is what the brighteners of cricket are doing. They are +inventing a new game, a game which those of us who love cricket +have not the least desire to watch. If anybody says that he finds +Lord's or the Oval boring, I shall not be at all surprised; the +only thing that would surprise me would be to hear that he found +it more boring than I find Epsom or Newmarket. Cricket is not to +everybody's taste; nor is racing. But those who like cricket like +it for what it is, and they don't want it brightened by those who +don't like it. Lord Lonsdale, I am sure, would hate me to +brighten up Newmarket for him. + +Lord's as it is, which is as it was five years ago, is good +enough for me. I would not alter any of it. To hear the pavilion +bell ring out again was to hear the most musical sound in the +world. The best note is given at 11.20 in the morning; later on +it lacks something of its early ecstasy. When people talk of the +score of this or that opera I smile pityingly to myself. They +have never heard the true music. The clink of ice against glass +gives quite a good note on a suitable day, but it has not the +magic of the Lord's bell. + +As was my habit on these occasions five years ago, I bought a +copy of The Daily Telegraph on entering the ground. In the +ordinary way I do not take in this paper, but I have always had a +warm admiration for it, holding it to have qualities which place +it far above any other London journal of similar price. For the +seats at Lord's are uncommonly hard, and a Daily Telegraph, +folded twice and placed beneath one, brings something of the +solace which good literature will always bring. My friends had +noticed before the war, without being able to account for it, +that my views became noticeably more orthodox as the summer +advanced, only to fall away again with the approach of autumn. I +must have been influenced subconsciously by the leading articles. + +It rained, and play was stopped for an hour or two. Before the +war I should have been annoyed about this, and I should have said +bitterly that it was just my luck. But now I felt that I was +indeed lucky thus to recapture in one day all the old sensations. +It was delightful to herald again a break in the clouds, and to +hear the crowd clapping hopefully as soon as ever the rain had +ceased; to applaud the umpires, brave fellows, when they ventured +forth at last to inspect the pitch; to realize from the sudden +activity of the groundsmen that the decision was a favourable +one; to see the umpires, this time in their white coats, come out +again with the ball and the bails; and so to settle down once +more to the business of the day. + +Perhaps the cricket was slow from the point of view of the +follower of league football, but I do not feel that this is any +condemnation of it. An essay of Lamb's would be slow to a reader +of William le Queux's works, who wanted a new body in each +chapter. I shall not quarrel with anyone who holds that a day at +Lord's is a dull day; if he thinks so, let him take his amusement +elsewhere. But let him not quarrel with me, because I keep to my +opinion, as firmly now as before the war, that a day at Lord's is +a joyous day. If he will leave me the old Lord's, I will promise +not to brighten his football for him. + + + + +By the Sea + + +It is very pleasant in August to recline in Fleet Street, or +wherever stern business keeps one, and to think of the sea. I do +not envy the millions at Margate and Blackpool, at Salcombe and +Minehead, for I have persuaded myself that the sea is not what it +was in my day. Then the pools were always full of starfish; +crabs--really big crabs--stalked the deserted sands; and anemones +waved their feelers at you from every rock. + +Poets have talked of the unchanging sea (and they may be right as +regards the actual water), but I fancy that the beach must be +deteriorating. In the last ten years I don't suppose I have seen +more than five starfishes, though I have walked often enough by +the margin of the waves --and not only to look for lost golf +balls. There have been occasional belated little crabs whom I +have interrupted as they were scuttling home, but none of those +dangerous monsters to whom in fearful excitement, and as a +challenge to one's companion, one used to offer a forefinger. I +refuse regretfully your explanation that it is my finger which is +bigger; I should like to think that it were indeed so, and that +the boys and girls of to-day find their crabs and starfishes in +the size and quantity to which I was accustomed. But I am afraid +we cannot hide it from ourselves that the supply is giving out. +It is in fact obvious that one cannot keep on taking starfishes +home and hanging them up in the hall as barometers without +detriment to the coming race. + +We had another amusement as children, in which I suppose the +modern child is no longer able to indulge. We used to wait until +the tide was just beginning to go down, and then start to climb +round the foot of the cliffs from one sandy bay to another. The +waves lapped the cliffs, a single false step would have plunged +us into the sea, and we had all the excitement of being caught by +the tide without any of the danger. We had the further +excitement, if we were lucky, of seeing frantic people waving to +us from the top of the cliff, people of inconceivable ignorance, +who thought that the tide was coming up and that we were in +desperate peril. But it was a very special day when that +happened. + +I have done a little serious climbing since those days, but not +any which was more enjoyable. The sea was never more than a foot +below us and never more than two feet deep, but the shock of +falling into it would have been momentarily as great as that of +falling down a precipice. You had therefore the two joys of +climbing--the physical pleasure of the accomplished effort, and +the glorious mental reaction when your heart returns from the +middle of your throat to its normal place in your chest. And you +had the additional advantages that you couldn't get killed, and +that, if an insuperable difficulty presented itself, you were not +driven back, but merely waited five minutes for the tide to lower +itself and disclose a fresh foothold. + +But, as I say, these are not joys for the modern child. The tide, +I dare say, is not what it was --it does not, perhaps, go down so +certainly. Or the cliffs are of a different and of an inferior +shape. Or people are no longer so ignorant as to mistake the +nature of your position. One way or another I expect I do better +in Fleet Street. I shall stay and imagine myself by the sea; I +shall not disappoint myself with the reality. + +But I imagine myself away from bands and piers; for a band by a +moonlit sea calls you to be very grown-up, and the beach and the +crabs --such as are left--call you to be a child; and between the +two you can very easily be miserable. I can see myself with a +spade and bucket being extraordinarily happy. The other day I met +a lucky little boy who had a pile of sand in his garden to play +with, and I was fortunate enough to get an order for a tunnel. +The tunnel which I constructed for him was a good one, but not so +good that I couldn't see myself building a better one with +practice. I came away with an ambition for architecture. If ever +I go to the sea again I shall build a proper tunnel; and +afterwards-- well, we shall see. At the moment I feel in +tremendous form. I feel that I could do a cathedral. + +There is one joy of childhood, however, which one can never +recapture, and that is the joy of getting wet in the sea. There +is a statue not so far from Fleet Street of the man who +introduced Sunday schools into England, but the man whom boys and +girls would really like to commemorate in lasting stone is the +doctor who first said that salt water couldn't give you a cold. +Whether this was true or not I do not know, but it was a splendid +and never-failing retort to anxious grown-ups, and added much to +the joys of the seaside. But it is a joy no longer possible to +one who is his own master. I, for instance, can get my feet wet +in fresh water if I like; to get them wet in salt water is no +special privilege. + +Feeling as I do, writing as I have written, it is sad for me to +know that if I really went to the sea this August it would not be +with a spade and a bucket but with a bag of golf clubs; that even +my evenings would be spent, not on the beach, but on a bicycle +riding to the nearest town for a paper. Yet it is useless for you +to say that I do not love the sea with my old love, that I am no +longer pleased with the old childish things. I shall maintain +that it is the sea which is not what it was, and that I am very +happy in Fleet Street thinking of it as it used to be. + + + + +Golden Fruit + + +Of the fruits of the year I give my vote to the orange. In the +first place it is a perennial--if not in actual fact, at least in +the greengrocer's shop. On the days when dessert is a name given +to a handful of chocolates and a little preserved ginger, when +macedoine de fruits is the title bestowed on two prunes and a +piece of rhubarb, then the orange, however sour, comes nobly to +the rescue; and on those other days of plenty when cherries and +strawberries and raspberries and gooseberries riot together upon +the table, the orange, sweeter than ever, is still there to hold +its own. Bread and butter, beef and mutton, eggs and bacon, are +not more necessary to an ordered existence than the orange. + +It is well that the commonest fruit should be also the best. Of +the virtues of the orange I have not room fully to speak. It has +properties of health-giving, as that it cures influenza and +establishes the complexion. It is clean, for whoever handles it +on its way to your table but handles its outer covering, its top +coat, which is left in the hall. It is round, and forms an +excellent substitute with the young for a cricket ball. The pips +can be flicked at your enemies, and quite a small piece of peel +makes a slide for an old gentleman. + +But all this would count nothing had not the orange such +delightful qualities of taste. I dare not let myself go upon this +subject. I am a slave to its sweetness. I grudge every marriage +in that it means a fresh supply of orange blossom, the promise of +so much golden fruit cut short. However, the world must go on. + +Next to the orange I place the cherry. The cherry is a +companionable fruit. You can eat it while you are reading or +talking, and you can go on and on, absent-mindedly as it were, +though you must mind not to swallow the stone. The trouble of +disengaging this from the fruit is just sufficient to make the +fruit taste sweeter for the labour. The stalk keeps you from +soiling your fingers; it enables you also to play bob cherry. +Lastly, it is by means of cherries that one penetrates the great +mysteries of life--when and whom you will marry, and whether she +really loves you or is taking you for your worldly prospects. (I +may add here that I know a girl who can tie a knot in the stalk +of a cherry with her tongue. It is a tricky business, and I am +doubtful whether to add it to the virtues of the cherry or not.) + +There are only two ways of eating strawberries. One is neat in +the strawberry bed, and the other is mashed on the plate. The +first method generally requires us to take up a bent position +under a net--in a hot sun very uncomfortable, and at any time +fatal to the hair. The second method takes us into the privacy of +the home, for it demands a dressing-gown and no spectators. For +these reasons I think the strawberry an overrated fruit. Yet I +must say that I like to see one floating in cider cup. It gives a +note of richness to the affair, and excuses any shortcomings in +the lunch itself. + +Raspberries are a good fruit gone wrong. A raspberry by itself +might indeed be the best fruit of all; but it is almost +impossible to find it alone. I do not refer to its attachment to +the red currant; rather to the attachment to it of so many of our +dumb little friends. The instinct of the lower creatures for the +best is well shown in the case of the raspberry. If it is to be +eaten it must be picked by the hand, well shaken, and then taken. + +When you engage a gardener the first thing to do is to come to a +clear understanding with him about the peaches. The best way of +settling the matter is to give him the carrots and the black +currants and the rhubarb for himself, to allow him a free hand +with the groundsel and the walnut trees, and to insist in return +for this that you should pick the peaches when and how you like. +If he is a gentleman he will consent. Supposing that some +satisfactory arrangement were come to, and supposing also that +you had a silver-bladed pocket-knife with which you could peel +them in the open air, then peaches would come very high in the +list of fruits. But the conditions are difficult. + +Gooseberries burst at the wrong end and smother you; melons--as +the nigger boy discovered--make your ears sticky; currants, when +you have removed the skin and extracted the seeds, are +unsatisfying; blackberries have the faults of raspberries without +their virtues; plums are never ripe. Yet all these fruits are +excellent in their season. Their faults are faults which we can +forgive during a slight acquaintance, which indeed seem but +pleasant little idiosyncrasies in the stranger. But we could not +live with them. + +Yet with the orange we do live year in and year out. That speaks +well for the orange. The fact is that there is an honesty about +the orange which appeals to all of us. If it is going to be bad-- +for even the best of us are bad sometimes --it begins to be bad +from the outside, not from the inside. How many a pear which +presents a blooming face to the world is rotten at the core. How +many an innocent-looking apple is harbouring a worm in the bud. +But the orange has no secret faults. Its outside is a mirror of +its inside, and if you are quick you can tell the shopman so +before he slips it into the bag. + + + + +Signs of Character + + +Wellington is said to have chosen his officers by their noses and +chins. The standard for them in noses must have been rather high, +to judge by the portraits of the Duke, but no doubt he made +allowances. Anyhow, by this method he got the men he wanted. Some +people, however, may think that he would have done better to have +let the mouth be the deciding test. The lines of one's nose are +more or less arranged for one at birth. A baby, born with a snub +nose, would feel it hard that the decision that he would be no +use to Wellington should be come to so early. And even if he +arrived in the world with a Roman nose, he might smash it up in +childhood, and with it his chances of military fame. This, I +think you will agree with me, would be unfair. + +Now the mouth is much more likely to be a true index of +character. A man may clench his teeth firmly or smile +disdainfully or sneer, or do a hundred things which will be +reflected in his mouth rather than in his nose or chin. It is +through the mouth and eyes that all emotions are expressed, and +in the mouth and eyes therefore that one would expect the marks +of such emotions to be left. I did read once of a man whose nose +quivered with rage, but it is not usual; I never heard of anyone +whose chin did anything. It would be absurd to expect it to. + +But there arises now the objection that a man may conceal his +mouth, and by that his character, with a moustache. There arises, +too, the objection that a person whom you thought was a fool, +because he always went about with his mouth open, may only have +had a bad cold in the head. In fact the difficulties of telling +anyone's character by his face seem more insuperable every +moment. How, then, are we to tell whether we may safely trust a +man with our daughter, or our favourite golf club, or whatever we +hold most dear? + +Fortunately a benefactor has stepped in at the right moment with +an article on the cigar-manner. Our gentleman has made the +discovery that you can tell a man's nature by the way he handles +his cigar, and he gives a dozen illustrations to explain his +theory. True, this leaves out of account the men who don't smoke +cigars; although, of course, you might sum them all up, with a +certain amount of justification, as foolish. But you do get, I am +assured, a very important index to the characters of smokers-- +which is as much as to say of the people who really count. + +I am not going to reveal all the clues to you now; partly because +I might be infringing the copyright of another, partly because I +have forgotten them. But the idea roughly is that if a man holds +his cigar between his finger and thumb, he is courageous and kind +to animals (or whatever it may be), and if he holds it between +his first and second fingers he is impulsive but yet considerate +to old ladies, and if he holds it upside down he is (besides +being an ass) jealous and self-assertive, and if he sticks a +knife into the stump so as to smoke it to the very end he is-- +yes, you have guessed this one--he is mean. You see what a useful +thing a cigar may be. + +I think now I am sorry that this theory has been given to the +world. Yes; I blame myself for giving it further publicity. In +the old days when we bought--or better, had presented to us--a +cigar, a doubt as to whether it was a good one was all that +troubled us. We bit one end and lit the other, and, the doubt +having been solved, proceeded tranquilly to enjoy ourselves. But +all this will be changed now. We shall be horribly self- +conscious. When we take our cigars from our mouths we shall feel +our neighbours' eyes rooted upon our hands, the while we try to +remember which of all the possible manipulations is the one which +represents virtue at its highest power. Speaking for myself, I +hold my cigar in a dozen different ways during an evening (though +never, of course, on the end of a knife), and I tremble to think +of the diabolically composite nature which the modern Wellingtons +of the table must attribute to me. In future I see that I must +concentrate on one method. If only I could remember the one which +shows me at my best! + +But the tobacco test is not the only one. We may be told by the +way we close our hands; the tilt of a walking-stick may unmask +us. It is useless to model ourselves now on the strong, silent +man of the novel whose face is a shutter to hide his emotions. +This is a pity; yes, I am convinced now that it is a pity. If my +secret fault is cheque-forging I do not want it to be revealed to +the world by the angle of my hat; still less do I wish to +discover it in a friend whom I like or whom I can beat at +billiards. + +How dull the world would be if we knew every acquaintance inside +out as soon as we had offered him our cigar-case. Suppose--I put +an extreme case to you--suppose a pleasant young bachelor who +admired our bowling showed himself by his shoe laces to be a +secret wife-beater. What could we do? Cut so unique a friend? Ah +no. Let us pray to remain in ignorance of the faults of those we +like. Let us pray it as sincerely as we pray that they shall +remain in ignorance of ours. + + + + +Intellectual Snobbery + + +A good many years ago I had a painful experience. I was +discovered by my house-master reading in bed at the unauthorized +hour of midnight. Smith minor in the next bed (we shared a +candle) was also reading. We were both discovered. But the most +annoying part of the business, as it seemed to me then, was that +Smith minor was discovered reading Alton Locke, and that I was +discovered reading Marooned Among Cannibals. If only our house- +master had come in the night before! Then he would have found me +reading Alton Locke. Just for a moment it occurred to me to tell +him this, but after a little reflection I decided that it would +be unwise. He might have misunderstood the bearings of the +revelation. + +There is hardly one of us who is proof against this sort of +intellectual snobbery. A detective story may have been a very +good friend to us, but we don't want to drag it into the +conversation; we prefer a casual reference to The Egoist, with +which we have perhaps only a bowing acquaintance; a reference +which leaves the impression that we are inseparable companions, +or at any rate inseparable until such day when we gather from our +betters that there are heights even beyond The Egoist. Dead or +alive, we would sooner be found with a copy of Marcus Aurelius +than with a copy of Marie Corelli. I used to know a man who +carried always with him a Russian novel in the original; not +because he read Russian, but because a day might come when, as +the result of some accident, the "pockets of the deceased" would +be exposed in the public Press. As he said, you never know; but +the only accident which happened to him was to be stranded for +twelve hours one August at a wayside station in the Highlands. +After this he maintained that the Russians were overrated. + +I should like to pretend that I myself have grown out of these +snobbish ways by this time, but I am doubtful if it would be +true. It happened to me not so long ago to be travelling in +company of which I was very much ashamed; and to be ashamed of +one's company is to be a snob. At this period I was trying to +amuse myself (and, if it might be so, other people) by writing a +burlesque story in the manner of an imaginary collaboration by +Sir Hall Caine and Mrs. Florence Barclay. In order to do this I +had to study the works of these famous authors, and for many +week-ends in succession I might have been seen travelling to, or +returning from, the country with a couple of their books under my +arm. To keep one book beneath the arm is comparatively easy; to +keep two is much more difficult. Many was the time, while waiting +for my train to come in, that one of those books slipped from me. +Indeed, there is hardly a junction in the railway system of the +southern counties at which I have not dropped on some Saturday or +other a Caine or a Barclay; to have it restored to me a moment +later by a courteous fellow-passenger--courteous, but with a +smile of gentle pity in his eye as he glimpsed the author's name. +"Thanks very much," I would stammer, blushing guiltily, and +perhaps I would babble about a sick friend to whom I was taking +them, or that I was running out of paper-weights. But he never +believed me. He knew that he would have said something like that +himself. + +Nothing is easier than to assume that other people share one's +weaknesses. No doubt Jack the Ripper excused himself on the +ground that it was human nature; possibly, indeed, he wrote an +essay like this, in which he speculated mildly as to the reasons +which made stabbing so attractive to us all. So I realize that I +may be doing you an injustice in suggesting that you who read may +also have your little snobberies. But I confess that I should +like to cross-examine you. If in conversation with you, on the +subject (let us say) of heredity, a subject to which you had +devoted a good deal of study, I took it for granted that you had +read Ommany's Approximations, would you make it quite clear to me +that you had not read it? Or would you let me carry on the +discussion on the assumption that you knew it well; would you, +even, in answer to a direct question, say shamefacedly that +though you had not--er--actually read it, you--er--knew about it, +of course, and had--er--read extracts from it? Somehow I think +that I could lead you on to this; perhaps even make you say that +you had actually ordered it from your library, before I told you +the horrid truth that Ommany's Approximations was an invention of +my own. + +It is absurd that we (I say "we," for I include you now) should +behave like this, for there is no book over which we need be +ashamed, either to have read it or not to have read it. Let us, +therefore, be frank. In order to remove the unfortunate +impression of myself which I have given you, I will confess that +I have only read three of Scott's novels, and begun, but never +finished, two of Henry James'. I will also confess --and here I +am by way of restoring that unfortunate impression--that I do +quite well in Scottish and Jacobean circles on those five books. +For, if a question arises as to which is Scott's masterpiece, it +is easy for me to suggest one of my three, with the air of one +who has chosen it, not over two others, but over twenty. Perhaps +one of my three is the acknowledged masterpiece; I do not know. +If it is, then, of course, all is well. But if it is not, then I +must appear rather a clever fellow for having rejected the +obvious. With regard to Henry James, my position is not quite so +secure; but at least I have good reason for feeling that the two +novels which I was unable to finish cannot be his best, and with +a little tact I can appear to be defending this opinion hotly +against some imaginary authority who has declared in favour of +them. One might have read the collected works of both authors, +yet make less of an impression. + +Indeed, sometimes I feel that I have read their collected works, +and Ommany's Approximations, and many other books with which you +would be only too glad to assume familiarity. For in giving +others the impression that I am on terms with these masterpieces, +I have but handed on an impression which has gradually formed +itself in my own mind. So I take no advantage of them; and if it +appears afterwards that we have been deceived together, I shall +be at least as surprised and indignant about it as they. + + + + +A Question of Form + + +The latest invention on the market is the wasp gun. In theory it +is something like a letter clip; you pull the trigger and the +upper and lower plates snap together with a suddenness which +would surprise any insect in between. The trouble will be to get +him in the right place before firing. But I can see that a lot of +fun can be got out of a wasp drive. We shall stand on the edge of +the marmalade while the beaters go through it, and, given +sufficient guns, there will not be many insects to escape. A +loader to clean the weapon at regular intervals will be a +necessity. + +Yet I am afraid that society will look down upon the wasp gun. +Anything useful and handy is always barred by the best people. I +can imagine a bounder being described as "the sort of person who +uses a wasp gun instead of a teaspoon." As we all know, a hat- +guard is the mark of a very low fellow. I suppose the idea is +that you and I, being so dashed rich, do not much mind if our +straw hat does blow off into the Serpentine; it is only the poor +wretch of a clerk, unable to afford a new one every day, who must +take precautions against losing his first. Yet how neat, how +useful, is the hat-guard. With what pride its inventor must have +given birth to it. Probably he expected a statue at the corner of +Cromwell Road, fitting reward for a public benefactor. He did not +understand that, since his invention was useful, it was probably +bad form. + +Consider, again, the Richard or "dicky." Could there be anything +neater or more dressy, anything more thoroughly useful? Yet you +and I scorn to wear one. I remember a terrible situation in a +story by Mr. W. S. Jackson. The hero found himself in a foreign +hotel without his luggage. To that hotel came, with her father, +the girl whom he adored silently. An invitation was given him to +dinner with them, and he had to borrow what clothes he could from +friendly waiters. These, alas! included a dicky. Well, the dinner +began well; our hero made an excellent impression; all was +gaiety. Suddenly a candle was overturned and the flame caught the +heroine's frock. The hero knew what the emergency demanded. He +knew how heroes always whipped off their coats and wrapped them +round burning heroines. He jumped up like a bullet (or whatever +jumps up quickest) and --remembered. + +He had a dicky on! Without his coat, he would discover the dicky +to the one person of all from whom he wished to hide it. Yet if +he kept his coat on, she might die. A truly horrible dilemma. I +forget which horn he impaled himself upon, but I expect you and I +would have kept the secret of the Richard at all costs. And what +really is wrong with a false shirt-front? Nothing except that it +betrays the poverty of the wearer. Laundry bills don't worry us, +bless you, who have a new straw hat every day; but how terrible +if it was suspected that they did. + +Our gentlemanly objection to the made-up tie seems to rest on a +different foundation; I am doubtful as to the psychology of that. +Of course it is a deception, but a deception is only serious when +it passes itself off as something which really matters. Nobody +thinks that a self-tied tie matters; nobody is really proud of +being able to make a cravat out of a length of silk. I suppose it +is simply the fact that a made-up tie saves time which condemns +it; the safety razor was nearly condemned for a like reason. We +of the leisured classes can spend hours over our toilet; by all +means let us despise those who cannot. + +As far as dress goes, a man only knows the things which a man +mustn't do. It would be interesting if women would tell us what +no real lady ever does. I have heard a woman classified +contemptuously as one who does her hair up with two hair-pins, +and no doubt bad feminine form can be observed in other shocking +directions. But again it seems to be that the semblance of +poverty, whether of means or of leisure, is the one thing which +must be avoided. + +Why, then, should the wasp gun be considered bad form? I don't +know, but I have an instinctive feeling that it will be. Perhaps +a wasp gun indicates a lack of silver spoons suitable for lethal +uses. Perhaps it shows too careful a consideration of the +marmalade. A man of money drowns his wasp in the jar with his +spoon, and carelessly calls for another pot to be opened. The +poor man waits on the outskirts with his gun, and the marmalade, +void of corpses, can still be passed round. Your gun proclaims +your poverty; then let it be avoided. + +All the same I think I shall have one. I have kept clear of hat- +guards and Richards and made-up ties without quite knowing why, +but honestly I have not felt the loss of them. The wasp gun is +different; having seen it, I feel that I should be miserable +without it. It is going to be excellent sport, wasp-shooting; a +steady hand, a good eye, and a certain amount of courage will be +called for. When the season opens I shall be there, good form or +bad form. We shall shoot the apple-quince coverts first. "Hornet +over!" + + + + +A Slice of Fiction + + +This is a jolly world, and delightful things go on in it. For +instance, I had a picture post card only yesterday from William +Benson, who is staying at Ilfracombe. He wrote to say that he had +gone down to Ilfracombe for a short holiday, and had been much +struck by the beauty of the place. On one of his walks he +happened to notice that there was to be a sale of several plots +of land occupying a quite unique position in front of the sea. He +had immediately thought of me in connection with it. My readiness +to consider a good investment had long been known to him, and in +addition he had heard rumours that I might be coming down to +Ilfracombe in order to recruit my health. If so, here was a +chance which should be brought to my knowledge. Further +particulars ... and so on. Which was extremely friendly of +William Benson. In fact, my only complaint of William is that he +has his letters lithographed--a nasty habit in a friend. But I +have allowed myself to be carried away. It was not really of Mr. +Benson that I was thinking when I said that delightful things go +on in this world, but of a certain pair of lovers, the tragedy of +whose story has been revealed to me in a two-line "agony" in a +morning paper. When anything particularly attractive happens in +real life, we express our appreciation by saying that it is the +sort of thing which one reads about in books --perhaps the +highest compliment we can pay to Nature. Well, the story +underlying this advertisement reeks of the feuilleton and the +stage. + +"PAT, I was alone when you called. You heard me talking to the +dog. PLEASE make appointment. --DAISY." + +You will agree with me when you read this that it is almost too +good to be true. There is a freshness and a naivete, about it +which is only to be found in American melodrama. Let us +reconstruct the situation, and we shall see at once how +delightfully true to fiction real life can be. + +Pat was in love with Daisy--engaged to her we may say with +confidence (for a reason which will appear in a moment). But even +though she had plighted her troth to him, he was jealous, +miserably jealous, of every male being who approached her. One +day last week he called on her at the house in Netting Hill. The +parlour-maid opened the door and smiled brightly at him. "Miss +Daisy is upstairs in the drawing-room," she said. "Thank you," he +replied, "I will announce myself." (Now you see how we know that +they were engaged. He must have announced himself in order to +have reached the situation implied in the "agony," and he would +not have been allowed to do so if he had not had the standing of +a fiance.) + +For a moment before knocking Patrick stood outside the drawing- +room door, and in that moment the tragedy occurred; he heard his +lady's voice. "DARLING!" it said, "she SHALL kiss her sweetest, +ownest, little pupsy-wupsy." + +Patrick's brow grew black. His strong jaw clenched (just like the +jaws of those people on the stage), and he staggered back from +the door. "This is the end," he muttered. Then he strode down the +stairs and out into the stifling streets. And up in the drawing- +room of the house in Netting Hill Daisy and the toy pom sat and +wondered why their lord and master was so late. + +Now we come to the letter which Patrick wrote to Daisy, telling +her that it was all over. He would explain to her how he had +"accidentally"(he would dwell upon that) accidentally overheard +her and her----(probably he was rather coarse here) exchanging +terms of endearment; he would accuse her of betraying one whose +only fault was that he loved her not wisely but too well; he +would announce gloomily that he had lost his faith in women. All +this is certain. But it would appear also that he made some such +threat as this--most likely in a postscript: "It is no good your +writing. There can be no explanation. Your letters will be +destroyed unopened." It is a question, however, if even this +would have prevented Daisy from trying an appeal by post, for +though one may talk about destroying letters unopened, it is an +extremely difficult thing to do. I feel, therefore, that +Patrick's letter almost certainly contained a P.P.S. also--to +this effect: "I cannot remain in London where we have spent so +many happy hours together. I am probably leaving for the Rocky +Mountains to-night. Letters will not be forwarded. Do not attempt +to follow me." + +And so Daisy was left with only the one means of communication +and explanation--the agony columns of the morning newspapers. "I +was alone when you called. You heard me talking to the dog. +PLEASE make appointment." In the last sentence there is just a +hint of irony which I find very attractive. It seems to me to +say, "Don't for heaven's sake come rushing back to Notting Hill +(all love and remorse) without warning, or you might hear me +talking to the cat or the canary. Make an appointment, and I'll +take care that there's NOTHING in the room when you come." We may +tell ourselves, I think, that Daisy understands her Patrick. In +fact, I am beginning to understand Patrick myself, and I see now +that the real reason why Daisy chose the agony column as the +medium of communication was that she knew Patrick would prefer +it. Patrick is distinctly the sort of man who likes agony +columns. I am sure it was the first thing he turned to on +Wednesday morning. + +It occurs to me to wonder if the honeymoon will be spent at +Ilfracombe. Patrick must have received William Benson's picture +post card too. We have all had one. Just fancy if he HAD gone to +the Rocky Mountains; almost certainly Mr. Benson's letters would +not have been forwarded. + + + + +The Label + + +On those rare occasions when I put on my best clothes and venture +into society, I am always astonished at the number of people in +it whom I do not know. I have stood in a crowded ball-room, or +sat in a crowded restaurant, and reflected that, of all the +hundreds of souls present, there was not one of whose existence I +had previously had any suspicion. Yet they all live tremendously +important lives, lives not only important to themselves but to +numbers of friends and relations; every day they cross some sort +of Rubicon; and to each one of them there comes a time when the +whole of the rest of the world (including--confound it!--me) +seems absolutely of no account whatever. That I had lived all +these years in contented ignorance of their existence makes me a +little ashamed. + +To-day in my oldest clothes I have wandered through the index of +The Times Literary Supplement, and I am now feeling a little +ashamed of my ignorance of so many books. Of novels alone there +seem to be about 900. To write even a thoroughly futile novel is, +to my thinking, a work of extraordinary endurance; yet in, say, +600 houses this work has been going on, and I (and you, and all +of us) have remained utterly unmoved. Well, I have been making up +for my indifference this morning. I have been reading the titles +of the books. That is not so good (or bad) as reading the books +themselves, but it enables me to say that I have heard of such +and such a novel, and in some cases it does give me a slight clue +to what goes on inside. + +I should imagine that the best part of writing a novel was the +choosing a title. My idea of a title is that it should be +something which reflects the spirit of your work and gives the +hesitating purchaser some indication of what he is asked to buy. +To call your book Ethnan Frame or Esther Grant or John Temple or +John Merridew (I quote from the index) is to help the reader not +at all. All it tells him is that one of the characters inside +will be called John or Esther--a matter, probably, of +indifference to him. Phyllis is a better title, because it does +give a suggestion of the nature of the book. No novel with a +tragic ending, no powerful realistic novel, would be called +Phyllis. Without having read Phyllis I should say that it was a +charming story of suburban life, told mostly in dialogue, and +that Phyllis herself was a perfect dear--though a little cruel +about that first box of chocolates he sent her. However, she +married him in the end all right. + +But if you don't call your book Phyllis or John Temple or Mrs. +Elmsley, what--I hear you asking--are you to call it? Well, you +might call it Kapak, as I see somebody has done. The beauty of +Kapak as a title is that if you come into the shop by the back +entrance, and so approach the book from the wrong end, it is +still Kapak. A title which looks the same from either end is of +immense advantage to an author. Besides, in this particular case +there is a mystery about Kapak which one is burning to solve. Is +it the bride's pet name for her father-in-law, the password into +the magic castle, or that new stuff with which you polish brown +boots? Or is it only a camera? Let us buy the book at once and +find out. + +Another mystery title is The Man with Thicker Beard, which +probably means something. It is like Kapak in this, that it reads +equally well backwards; but it is not so subtle. Still, we should +probably be lured on to buy it. On the other hand, A Welsh +Nightingale and a Would-be Suffragette is just the sort of book +to which we would not be tempted by the title. It is bad enough +to have to say to the shopman, "Have you A Welsh Nightingale and +a Would-be Suffragette?" but if we forgot the title, as we +probably should, and had to ask at random for a would-be +nightingale and a Welsh suffragette, or a wood nightingale and a +Welsh rabbit, or the Welsh suffragette's night in gaol, we should +soon begin to wish that we had decided on some quite simple book +such as Greed, Earth, or Jonah. + +And this is why a French title is always such a mistake. Authors +must remember that their readers have not only to order the book, +in many cases, verbally, but also to recommend it to their +friends. So I think Mr. Oliver Onions made a mistake when he +called his collection of short stories Pot au Feu. It is a good +title, but it is the sort of title to which the person to whom +you are recommending the book always answers, "What?" And when +people say "What?" in reply to your best Parisian accent, the +only thing possible for you is to change the subject altogether. +But it is quite time that we came to some sort of decision as to +what makes the perfect title. Kapak will attract buyers, as I +have said, though to some it may not seem quite fair. Excellent +from a commercial point of view, it does not satisfy the +conditions we laid down at first. The title, we agreed, must +reflect the spirit of the book. In one sense Five Gallons of +Gasolene does this, but of course nobody could ask for that in a +book-shop. + +Well, then, here is a perfect title, Their High Adventure. That +explains itself just sufficiently. When a Man's Married, For +Henri and Navarre, and The King Over the Water are a little more +obvious, but they are still good. The Love Story of a Mormon +makes no attempt to deceive the purchaser, but it can hardly be +called a beautiful title. Melody in Silver, on the other hand, is +beautiful, but for this reason makes one afraid to buy it, lest +there should be disappointment within. In fact, as I look down +the index, I am beginning to feel glad that there are so many +hundreds of novels which I haven't read. In most of them there +would be disappointment. And really one only reads books nowadays +so as to be able to say to one's neighbour on one's rare +appearances in society, "HAVE you read The Forged Coupon, and +WHAT do you think of The Muck Rake?" And for this an index is +quite enough. + + + + +The Profession + + +I have been reading a little book called How to Write for the +Press. Other books which have been published upon the same +subject are How to Be an Author, How to Write a Play, How to +Succeed as a Journalist, How to Write for the Magazines, and How +to Earn L600 a Year with the Pen. Of these the last-named has, I +think, the most pleasing title. Anybody can write a play; the +trouble is to get it produced. Almost anybody can be an author; +the business is to collect money and fame from this state of +being. Writing for the magazines, again, sounds a delightful +occupation, but literally it means nothing without the co- +operation of the editors of the magazines, and it is this co- +operation which is so difficult to secure. But to earn L600 a +year with the pen is to do a definite thing; if the book could +really tell the secret of that, it would have an enormous sale. I +have not read it, so I cannot say what the secret is. Perhaps it +was only a handbook on forgery. + +How to Write for the Press disappointed me. It is concerned not +with the literary journalist (as I believe he is called) but with +the reporter (as he is never called, the proper title being +"special representative"). It gives in tabular form a list of the +facts you should ascertain at the different functions you attend; +with this book in your pocket there would be no excuse if you +neglected to find out at a wedding the names of the bride and +bridegroom. It also gives--and I think this is very friendly of +it--a list of useful synonyms for the principal subjects, animate +and inanimate, of description. The danger of calling the +protagonists at the court of Hymen (this one is not from the +book; I thought of it myself just now)--the danger of calling +them "the happy pair" more than once in a column is that your +readers begin to suspect that you are a person of extremely +limited mind, and when once they get this idea into their heads +they are not in a proper state to appreciate the rest of your +article. But if in your second paragraph you speak of "the joyful +couple," and in your third of "the ecstatic brace," you give an +impression of careless mystery of the language which can never be +shed away. + +Among the many interesting chapters is one dealing with contested +elections. One of the questions to which the special +representative was advised to find an answer was this: "What +outside bodies are taking active part in the contest?" In the bad +old days--now happily gone for ever--the outside bodies of dead +cats used to take an active and important part in the contest, +and as the same body would often be used twice the reporter in +search of statistics was placed in a position of great +responsibility. Nowadays, I suppose, he is only meant to concern +himself with such bodies as the Coal Consumers' League and the +Tariff Reform League, and there would be no doubt in the mind of +anybody as to whether they were there or not. + +I am afraid I should not be a success as "our special +representative." I should never think of half the things which +occur to the good reporter. You read in your local paper a +sentence like this: "The bride's brother, who only arrived last +week from Australia, where he held an important post under the +Government, and is about to proceed on a tour through Canada +with--curiously enough--a nephew of the bride-groom, gave her +away." Well, what a mass of information has to be gleaned before +that sentence can be written. Or this. "The hall was packed to +suffocation, and beneath the glare of the electric light-- +specially installed for this occasion by Messrs. Ampere & Son of +Pumpton, the building being at ordinary times strikingly +deficient in the matter of artificial lighting in spite of the +efforts of the more progressive members of the town council--the +faces of not a few of the fairer sex could be observed." You +know, I am afraid I should have forgotten all that. I should +simply have obtained a copy of the principal speech, and prefaced +it with the words," Mr. Dodberry then spoke as follows"; or, if +my conscience would not allow of such a palpable misstatement, +"Mr. Dodberry then rose with the intention of speaking as +follows." + +In the more human art of interviewing I should be equally at +fault. The interview itself would be satisfactory, but I am +afraid that its publication would lead people to believe that all +the best things had been said by me. To remember what anybody +else has said is easy; to remember, even five minutes after, what +one has said oneself is almost impossible. For to recall YOUR +remarks in our argument at the club last night is simply a matter +of memory; to recall MINE, I have to forget all that I meant to +have said, all that I ought to have said, and all that I have +thought upon the subject since. + +In fact, I begin to see that the successful reporter must +eliminate his personality altogether, whereas the successful +literary journalist depends for his success entirely upon his +personality --which is what is meant by "style." I suppose it is +for this reason that, when the literary journalist is sent as +"our extra-special representative" to report a prize fight or a +final cup tie or a political meeting, the result is always +appalling. The "ego" bulges out of every line, obviously +conscious that it is showing us no ordinary reporting, determined +that it will not be overshadowed by the importance of the +subject. And those who are more interested in the matter than in +the manner regard him as an intruder, and the others regret that +he is so greatly overtaxing his strength. + +So each to his business, and his handbook to each--How to Write +for the Press to the special representative, and How to Be an +Author to the author. There is no book, I believe, called How to +Be a Solicitor, or a doctor or an admiral or a brewer. That is a +different matter altogether; but any fool can write for the +papers. + + + + +Smoking as a Fine Art + + +My first introduction to Lady Nicotine was at the innocent age of +eight, when, finding a small piece of somebody else's tobacco +lying unclaimed on the ground, I decided to experiment with it. +Numerous desert island stories had told me that the pangs of +hunger could be allayed by chewing tobacco; it was thus that the +hero staved off death before discovering the bread-fruit tree. +Every right-minded boy of eight hopes to be shipwrecked one day, +and it was proper that I should find out for myself whether my +authorities could be trusted in this matter. So I chewed tobacco. +In the sense that I certainly did not desire food for some time +afterwards, my experience justified the authorities, but I felt +at the time that it was not so much for staving off death as for +reconciling oneself to it that tobacco-chewing was to be +recommended. I have never practised it since. + +At eighteen I went to Cambridge, and bought two pipes in a case. +In those days Greek was compulsory, but not more so than two +pipes in a case. One of the pipes had an amber stem and the other +a vulcanite stem, and both of them had silver belts. That also +was compulsory. Having bought them, one was free to smoke +cigarettes. However, at the end of my first year I got to work +seriously on a shilling briar, and I have smoked that, or +something like it, ever since. + +In the last four years there has grown up a new school of pipe- +smokers, by which (I suspect) I am hardly regarded as a pipe- +smoker at all. This school buys its pipes always at one +particular shop; its pupils would as soon think of smoking a pipe +without the white spot as of smoking brown paper. So far are they +from smoking brown paper that each one of them has his tobacco +specially blended according to the colour of his hair, his taste +in revues, and the locality in which he lives. The first blend is +naturally not the ideal one. It is only when he has been a +confirmed smoker for at least three months, and knows the best +and worst of all tobaccos, that his exact requirements can be +satisfied. + +However, it is the pipe rather than the tobacco which marks him +as belonging to this particular school. He pins his faith, not so +much to its labour-saving devices as to the white spot outside, +the white spot of an otherwise aimless life. This tells the world +that it is one of THE pipes. Never was an announcement more +superfluous. From the moment, shortly after breakfast, when he +strikes his first match to the moment, just before bed-time, when +he strikes his hundredth, it is obviously THE pipe which he is +smoking. + +For whereas men of an older school, like myself, smoke for the +pleasure of smoking, men of this school smoke for the pleasure of +pipe-owning--of selecting which of their many white-spotted pipes +they will fill with their specially-blended tobacco, of filling +the one so chosen, of lighting it, of taking it from the mouth to +gaze lovingly at the white spot and thus letting it go out, of +lighting it again and letting it go out again, of polishing it up +with their own special polisher and putting it to bed, and then +the pleasure of beginning all over again with another white- +spotted one. They are not so much pipe-smokers as pipe-keepers; +and to have spoken as I did just now of their owning pipes was +wrong, for it is they who are in bondage to the white spot. This +school is founded firmly on four years of war. When at the age of +eighteen you are suddenly given a cheque-book and called "Sir," +you must do something by way of acknowledgment. A pipe in the +mouth makes it clear that there has been no mistake--you are +undoubtedly a man. But you may be excused for feeling after the +first pipe that the joys of smoking have been rated too high, and +for trying to extract your pleasure from the polish on the pipe's +surface, the pride of possessing a special mixture of your own, +and such-like matters, rather than from the actual inspiration +and expiration of smoke. In the same way a man not fond of +reading may find delight in a library of well-bound books. They +are pleasant to handle, pleasant to talk about, pleasant to show +to friends. But it is the man without the library of well-bound +books who generally does most of the reading. + +So I feel that it is we of the older school who do most of the +smoking. We smoke unconsciously while we are doing other things; +THEY try, but not very successfully, to do other things while +they are consciously smoking. No doubt they despise us, and tell +themselves that we are not real smokers, but I fancy that they +feel a little uneasy sometimes. For my young friends are always +trying to persuade me to join their school, to become one of the +white-spotted ones. I have no desire to be of their company, but +I am prepared to make a suggestion to the founder of the school. +It is that he should invent a pipe, white spot and all, which +smokes itself. His pupils could hang it in the mouth as +picturesquely as before, but the incidental bother of keeping it +alight would no longer trouble them. + + + + +The Path to Glory + + +My friend Mr. Sidney Mandragon is getting on. He is now one of +the great ones of the earth. He has just been referred to as +"Among those present was Mr. Sidney Mandragon." + +As everybody knows (or will know when they have read this +article) the four stages along the road to literary fame are +marked by the four different manners in which the traveller's +presence at a public function is recorded in the Press. At the +first stage the reporter glances at the list of guests, and says +to himself, "Mr. George Meredith --never heard of him," and for +all the world knows next morning, Mr. George Meredith might just +as well have stayed at home. At the second stage (some years +later) the reporter murmurs to his neighbour in a puzzled sort of +way: "George Meredith? George Meredith? Now where have I come +across that name lately? Wasn't he the man who pushed a +wheelbarrow across America? Or was he the chap who gave evidence +in that murder trial last week?" And, feeling that in either case +his readers will be interested in the fellow, he says: "The +guests included ... Mr. George Meredith and many others." At the +third stage the reporter knows at last who Mr. George Meredith +is. Having seen an advertisement of one of his books, and being +pretty sure that the public has read none of them, he refers to +him as "Mr. George Meredith, the well-known novelist." The fourth +and final stage, beyond the reach of all but the favoured few, is +arrived at when the reporter can leave the name to his public +unticketed, and says again, "Among those present was Mr. George +Meredith." + +The third stage is easy to reach--indeed, too easy. The "well- +known actresses" are not Ellen Terry, Irene Vanbrugh and Marie +Tempest, but Miss Birdie Vavasour, who has discovered a new way +of darkening the hair, and Miss Girlie de Tracy, who has been +arrested for shop-lifting. In the same way, the more the Press +insists that a writer is "well-known," the less hope will he have +that the public has heard of him. Better far to remain at the +second stage, and to flatter oneself that one has really arrived +at the fourth. + +But my friend Sidney Mandragon is, indeed, at the final stage +now, for he had been "the well-known writer" for at least a dozen +years previously. Of course, he has been helped by his name. +Shakespeare may say what he likes, but a good name goes a long +way in the writing profession. It was my business at one time to +consider contributions for a certain paper, and there was one +particular contributor whose work I approached with an awe +begotten solely of his name. It was not exactly Milton, and not +exactly Carlyle, and not exactly Charles Lamb, but it was a sort +of mixture of all three and of many other famous names thrown in, +so that, without having seen any of his work printed elsewhere, I +felt that I could not take the risk of refusing it myself. "This +is a good man," I would say before beginning his article; "this +man obviously has style. And I shouldn't be surprised to hear +that he was an authority on fishing." I wish I could remember his +name now, and then you would see for yourself. + +Well, take Mr. Hugh Walpole (if he will allow me). It is safe to +say that, when Mr. Walpole's first book came out, the average +reader felt vaguely that she had heard of him before. She hadn't +actually read his famous Letters, but she had often wanted to, +and--or was that his uncle? Anyway, she had often heard people +talking about him. What a very talented family it was! In the +same way Sidney Mandragon has had the great assistance of one of +the two Christian names which carry weight in journalism. The +other, of course, is Harold. If you are Sidney or Harold, the +literary world is before you. + +Another hall-mark by which we can tell whether a man has arrived +or not is provided by the interview. If (say) a Lepidopterist is +just beginning his career, nobody bothers about his opinions on +anything. If he is moderately well-known in his profession, the +papers will seek his help whenever his own particular subject +comes up in the day's news. There is a suggestion, perhaps, in +Parliament that butterflies should be muzzled, and "Our +Representative" promptly calls upon "the well-known +Lepidopterist" to ask what HE thinks about it. But if he be of an +established reputation, then his professional opinion is no +longer sought. What the world is eager for now is to be told his +views on Sunday Games, the Decadence of the Theatre or Bands in +the Parks. + +The modern advertising provides a new scale of values. No doubt +Mr. Pelman offers his celebrated hundred guineas' fee equally to +all his victims, but we may be pretty sure that in his business- +like brain he has each one of them nicely labelled, a Gallant +Soldier being good for so much new business, a titled Man of +Letters being good for slightly less; and that real Fame is best +measured by the number of times that one's unbiased views on +Pelmanism (or Tonics or Hair-Restorers) are considered to be +worth reprinting. In this matter my friend Mandragon is doing +nicely. For a suitable fee he is prepared to attribute his +success to anything in reason, and his confession of faith can +count upon a place in every full-page advertisement of the +mixture, and frequently in the odd half-columns. I never quite +understand why a tonic which has tightened up Mandragon's fibres, +or a Mind-Training System which has brought General Blank's +intellect to its present pitch, should be accepted more greedily +by the man-in-the-street than a remedy which has only proved its +value in the case of his undistinguished neighbour, but then I +can never understand quite a number of things. However, that +doesn't matter. All that matters at the moment is that Mr. Sidney +Mandragon has now achieved glory. Probably the papers have +already pigeon-holed his obituary notice. It is a pleasing +thought. + + + + +A Problem in Ethics + + +Life is full of little problems, which arise suddenly and find +one wholly unprepared with a solution. For instance, you travel +down to Wimbledon on the District Railway--first-class, let us +suppose, because it is your birthday. On your arrival you find +that you have lost your ticket. Now, doubtless there is some sort +of recognized business to be gone through which relieves you of +the necessity of paying again. You produce an affidavit of a +terribly affirmative nature, together with your card and a +testimonial from a beneficed member of the Church of England. Or +you conduct a genial correspondence with the traffic manager +which spreads itself over six months. To save yourself this +bother you simply tell the collector that you haven't a ticket +and have come from Charing Cross. Is it necessary to add "first- +class"? + +Of course one has a strong feeling that one ought to, but I think +a still stronger feeling that one isn't defrauding the railway +company if one doesn't. (I will try not to get so many "ones" +into my next sentence.) For you may argue fairly that you +established your right to travel first-class when you stepped +into the carriage with your ticket--and, it may be, had it +examined therein by an inspector. All that you want to do now is +to establish your right to leave the Wimbledon platform for the +purer air of the common. And you can do this perfectly easily +with a third-class ticket. + +However, this is a problem which will only arise if you are +careless with your property. But however careful you are, it may +happen to you at any moment that you become suddenly the owner of +a shilling with a hole in it. + +I am such an owner. I entered into possession a week ago--Heaven +knows who played the thing off on me. As soon as I made the +discovery I went into a tobacconist's and bought a box of +matches. + +"This," he said, looking at me reproachfully, "is a shilling with +a hole in it." + +"I know," I said, "but it's all right, thanks. I don't want to +wear it any longer. The fact is, Joanna has thrown me--However, I +needn't go into that." He passed it back to me. + +"I am afraid I can't take it," he said. + +"Why not? I managed to." + +However, I had to give him one without a hole before he would let +me out of his shop. Next time I was more thoughtful. I handed +three to the cashier at my restaurant in payment of lunch, and +the ventilated one was in the middle. He saw the joke of it just +as I was escaping down the stairs. + +"Hi!" he said, "this shilling has a hole in it." + +I went back and looked at it. Sure enough it had. + +"Well, that's funny," I said. "Did you drop it, or what?" + +He handed the keepsake back to me. He also had something of +reproach in his eye. + +"Thanks, very much," I said. "I wouldn't have lost it for worlds; +Emily--But I mustn't bore you with the story. Good day to you." +And I gave him a more solid coin and went. + +Well, that's how we are at present. A more unscrupulous person +than myself would have palmed it off long ago. He would have told +himself with hateful casuistry that the coin was none the worse +for the air-hole in it, and that, if everybody who came into +possession of it pressed it on to the next man, nobody would be +injured by its circulation. But I cannot argue like this. It +pleases me to give my shilling a run with the others sometimes. I +like to put it down on a counter with one or two more, preferably +in the middle of them where the draught cannot blow through it; +but I should indeed be surprised--I mean sorry--if it did not +come back to me at once. + +There is one thing, anyhow, that I will not do. I will not give +it to a waiter or a taxi-driver or to anybody else as a tip. If +you estimate the market value of a shilling with a hole in it at +anything from ninepence to fourpence according to the owner's +chances of getting rid of it, then it might be considered +possibly a handsome, anyhow an adequate, tip for a driver; but +somehow the idea does not appeal to me at all. For if the +recipient did not see the hole, you would feel that you had been +unnecessarily generous to him, and that one last effort to have +got it off on to a shopkeeper would have been wiser; while if he +did see it--well, we know what cabmen are. He couldn't legally +object, it is a voluntary gift on your part, and even regarded as +a contribution to his watch chain worthy of thanks, but--Well, I +don't like it. I don't think it's sportsmanlike. + +However, I have an idea at last. I know a small boy who owns some +lead soldiers. I propose to borrow one of these--a corporal or +perhaps a serjeant--and boil him down, and then fill up the hole +in the shilling with lead. Shillings, you know, are not solid +silver; oh no, they have alloy in them. This one will have a +little more than usual perhaps. One cannot tie oneself down to an +ounce or two. + +We set out, I believe, to discuss the morals of the question. It +is a most interesting subject. + + + + +The Happiest Half-Hours of Life + + +Yesterday I should have gone back to school, had I been a hundred +years younger. My most frequent dream nowadays--or nowanights I +suppose I should say--is that I am back at school, and trying to +construe difficult passages from Greek authors unknown to me. +That they are unknown is my own fault, as will be pointed out to +me sternly in a moment. Meanwhile I stand up and gaze blankly at +the text, wondering how it is that I can have forgotten to +prepare it. "Er--him the--er--him the--the er many-wiled +Odysseus--h'r'm--then, him addressing, the many-wiled Odysseus-- +er--addressed. Er--er --the er--" And then, sweet relief, I wake +up. That is one of my dreams; and another is that I am trying to +collect my books for the next school and that an algebra, or +whatever you like, is missing. The bell has rung, as it seems +hours ago, I am searching my shelves desperately, I am diving +under my table, behind the chair ... I shall be late, I shall be +late, late, late ... + +No doubt I had these bad moments in real life a hundred years +ago. Indeed I must have had them pretty often that they should +come back to me so regularly now. But it is curious that I should +never dream that I am going back to school, for the misery of +going back must have left a deeper mark on my mind than all the +little accidental troubles of life when there. I was very happy +at school; but oh! the utter wretchedness of the last day of the +holidays. + +One began to be apprehensive on the Monday. Foolish visitors +would say sometimes on the Monday, "When are you going back to +school?" and make one long to kick them for their tactlessness. +As well might they have said to a condemned criminal, "When are +you going to be hanged?" or, "What kind of--er--knot do you think +they'll use?" Througout Monday and Tuesday we played the usual +games, amused ourselves in the usual way, but with heavy hearts. +In the excitement of the moment we would forget and be happy, and +then suddenly would come the thought, "We're going back on +Wednesday." + +And on Tuesday evening we would bring a moment's comfort to +ourselves by imagining that we were not going back on the morrow. +Our favourite dream was that the school was burnt down early on +Wednesday morning, and that a telegram arrived at breakfast +apologizing for the occurrence, and pointing out that it would be +several months before even temporary accommodation could be +erected. No Vandal destroyed historic buildings so light- +heartedly as we. And on Tuesday night we prayed that, if the +lightnings of Heaven failed us, at least a pestilence should be +sent in aid. Somehow, SOMEHOW, let the school be uninhabitable! + +But the telegram never came. We woke on Wednesday morning as +wakes the murderer on his last day. We took a dog or two for a +walk; we pretended to play a game of croquet. After lunch we +donned the badges of our servitude. The comfortable, careless, +dirty flannels were taken off, and the black coats and stiff +white collars put on. At 3.30 an early tea was ready for us-- +something rather special, a last mockery of holiday. (Dressed +crab, I remember, on one occasion, and I travelled with my back +to the engine after it--a position I have never dared to assume +since.) Then good-byes, tips, kisses, a last look, and--the 4.10 +was puffing out of the station. And nothing, nothing had +happened. I can remember thinking in the train how unfair it all +was. Fifty-two weeks in the year, I said to myself, and only +fifteen of them spent at home. A child snatched from his mother +at nine, and never again given back to her for more than two +months at a time. "Is this Russia?" I said; and, getting no +answer, could only comfort myself with the thought, "This day +twelve weeks!" + +And once the incredible did happen. It was through no +intervention of Providence; no, it was entirely our own doing. We +got near some measles, and for a fortnight we were kept in +quarantine. I can say truthfully that we never spent a duller two +weeks. There seemed to be nothing to do at all. The idea that we +were working had to be fostered by our remaining shut up in one +room most of the day, and within the limits of that room we found +very little in the way of amusement. We were bored extremely. And +always we carried with us the thought of Smith or Robinson taking +our place in the Junior House team and making hundreds of runs. +... + +Because, of course, we were very happy at school really. The +trouble was that we were so much happier in the holidays. I have +had many glorious moments since I left school, but I have no +doubt as to what have been the happiest half-hours in my life. +They were the half-hours on the last day of term before we +started home. We spent them on a lunch of our own ordering. It +was the first decent meal we had had for weeks, and when it was +over there were all the holidays before us. Life may have better +half-hours than that to offer, but I have not met them. + + + + +Natural Science + + +It is when Parliament is not sitting that the papers are most +interesting to read. I have found an item of news to-day which +would never have been given publicity in the busy times, and it +has moved me strangely. Here it is, backed by the authority of +Dr. Chalmers Mitchell:-- + +"The caterpillar of the puss-moth, not satisfied with Nature's +provisions for its safety, makes faces at young birds, and is +said to alarm them considreably." + +I like that "is said to." Probably the young bird would deny +indignantly that he was alarmed, and would explain that he was +only going away because he suddenly remembered that he had an +engagement on the croquet lawn, or that he had forgotten his +umbrella. But whether he alarms them or not, the fact remains +that the caterpillar of the puss-moth does make faces at young +birds; and we may be pretty sure that, even if he began the +practice in self-defence, the habit is one that has grown on him. +Indeed, I can see him actually looking out for a thrush's nest, +and then climbing up to it, popping his head over the edge +suddenly and making a face. Probably, too, the mother birds +frighten their young ones by telling them that, if they aren't +good, the puss-moth caterpillar will be after them; while the +poor caterpillar himself, never having known a mother's care, has +had no one to tell him that if he goes on making such awful faces +he will be struck like that one day. + +These delvings into natural history bring back my youth very +vividly. I never kept a puss-moth, but I had a goat-moth which +ate its way out of a match-box, and as far as I remember took all +the matches with it. There were caterpillars, though, of a +gentler nature who stayed with me, and of these some were +obliging enough to turn into chrysalises. Not all by any means. A +caterpillar is too modest to care about changing in public. To +conduct his metamorphosis in some quiet corner--where he is not +poked every morning to see if he is getting stiffer --is what +your caterpillar really wants. Mine had no private life to +mention. They were as much before the world as royalty or an +actress. And even those who brought off the first event safely +never emerged into the butterfly world. Something would always +happen to them. "Have you seen my chrysalis?" we used to ask each +other. "I left him in the bathroom yesterday." + +But what I kept most successfully were minerals. One is or is not +a successful mineralogist according as one is or is not allowed a +geological hammer. I had a geological hammer. To scour the cliffs +armed with a geological hammer and a bag for specimens is to be a +king among boys. The only specimen I can remember taking with my +hammer was a small piece of shin. That was enough, however, to +end my career as a successful mineralogist. As an unsuccessful +one I persevered for some months, and eventually had a collection +of eighteen units. They were put out on the bed every evening in +order of size, and ranged from a large lump of Iceland spar down +to a small dead periwinkle. In those days I could have told you +what granite was made of. In those days I had over my bed a map +of the geological strata of the district--in different colours +like a chocolate macaroon. And in those days I knew my way to the +Geological Museum. + +As a botanist I never really shone, but two of us joined an open- +air course and used to be taken expeditions into Kew Gardens and +such places, where our lecturer explained to his pupils--all +grown-up save ourselves--the less recondite mysteries. There was +one golden Saturday when we missed the rendezvous at Pinner and +had a picnic by ourselves instead; and, after that, many other +golden Saturdays when some unaccountable accident separated us +from the party. I remember particularly a day in Highgate Woods-- +a good place for losing a botanical lecturer in; if you had been +there, you would have seen two little boys very content, lying +one each side of a large stone slab, racing caterpillars against +each other. + +But there was one episode in my career as a natural scientist--a +career whose least details are brought back by the magic word, +caterpillar-- over which I still go hot with the sense of +failure. This was an attempt to stuff a toad. I don't know to +this day if toads can be stuffed, but when our toad died he had +to be commemorated in some way, and, failing a marble statue, it +seemed good to stuff him. It was when we had got the skin off him +that we began to realize our difficulties. I don't know if you +have had the skin of a fair-sized toad in your hand; if so, you +will understand that our first feeling was one of surprise that a +whole toad could ever have got into it. There seemed to be no +shape about the thing at all. You could have carried it--no doubt +we did, I have forgotten--in the back of a watch. But it had lost +all likeness to a toad, and it was obvious that stuffing meant +nothing to it. + +Of course, little boys ought not to skin toads and carry +geological hammers and deceive learned professors of botany; I +know it is wrong. And of course caterpillars of the puss-moth +variety oughtn't to make faces at timid young thrushes. But it is +just these things which make such pleasant memories afterwards-- +when professors and toads are departed, when the hammers lie +rusty in the coal cellar, and when the young thrushes are grown +up to be quite big birds. + + + + +On Going Dry + + +There are fortunate mortals who can +always comfort themselves with a cliche. If any question arises +as to the moral value of Racing, whether in war-time or in peace- +time, they will murmur something about "improving the breed of +horses," and sleep afterwards with an easy conscience. To one who +considers how many millions of people are engaged upon this +important work, it is surprising that nothing more notable in the +way of a super-horse has as yet emerged; one would have expected +at least by this time something which combined the flying-powers +of the hawk with the diving-powers of the seal. No doubt this is +what the followers of the Colonel's Late Wire are aiming at, and +even if they have to borrow ten shillings from the till in the +good cause, they feel that possibly by means of that very ten +shillings Nature has approximated a little more closely to the +desired animal. Supporters of Hunting, again, will tell you, +speaking from inside knowledge, that "the fox likes it," and one +is left breathless at the thought of the altruism of the human +race, which will devote so much time and money to amusing a +small, bushy-tailed four-legged friend who might otherwise be +bored. And the third member of the Triple Alliance, which has +made England what it is, is Beer, and in support of Beer there is +also a cliche ready. Talk to anybody about Intemperance, and he +will tell you solemnly, as if this disposed of the trouble, that +"one can just as easily be intemperate in other matters as in the +matter of alcohol." After which, it seems almost a duty to a +broad-minded man to go out and get drunk. + +It is, of course, true that we can be intemperate in eating as +well as in drinking, but the results of the intemperance would +appear to be different. After a fifth help of rice-pudding one +does not become over-familiar with strangers, nor does an extra +slice of ham inspire a man to beat his wife. After five pints of +beer (or fifteen, or fifty) a man will "go anywhere in reason, +but he won't go home"; after five helps of rice-pudding, I +imagine, home would seem to him the one- desired haven. The two +intemperances may be equally blameworthy, but they are not +equally offensive to the community. Yet for some reason over- +eating is considered the mark of the beast, and over-drinking the +mark of rather a fine fellow. + +The poets and other gentlemen who have written so much romantic +nonsense about "good red wine" and "good brown ale" are +responsible for this. I admit that a glass of Burgundy is a more +beautiful thing than a blancmange, but I do not think that it +follows that a surfeit of one is more heroic than a surfeit of +the other. There may be a divinity in the grape which excuses +excess, but if so, one would expect it to be there even before +the grape had been trodden on by somebody else. Yet no poet ever +hymned the man who tucked into the dessert, or told him that he +was by way of becoming a jolly good fellow. He is only by way of +becoming a pig. + +"It is the true, the blushful Hippocrene." To tell oneself this +is to pardon everything. However unpleasant a drunken man may +seem at first sight, as soon as one realizes that he has merely +been putting away a blushful Hippocrene, one ceases to be angry +with him. If Keats or somebody had said of a piece of underdone +mutton, "It is the true, the blushful Canterbury," indigestion +would carry a more romantic air, and at the third helping one +could claim to be a bit of a devil. "The beaded bubbles winking +at the brim"--this might also have been sung of a tapioca- +pudding, in which case a couple of tapioca- puddings would +certainly qualify the recipient as one of the boys. If only the +poets had praised over-eating rather than over-drinking, how much +pleasanter the streets would be on festival nights! + +I suppose that I have already said enough to have written myself +down a Temperance Fanatic, a Thin-Blooded Cocoa-Drinker, and a +number of other things equally contemptible; which is all very +embarrassing to a man who is composing at the moment on port, and +who gets entangled in the skin of cocoa whenever he tries to +approach it. But if anything could make me take kindly to cocoa, +it would be the sentimental rubbish which is written about the +"manliness" of drinking alcohol. It is no more manly to drink +beer (not even if you call it good brown ale) than it is to drink +beef-tea. It may be more healthy; I know nothing about that, nor, +from the diversity of opinion expressed, do the doctors; it may +be cheaper, more thirst-quenching, anything you like. But it is a +thing the village idiot can do--and often does, without becoming +thereby the spiritual comrade of Robin Hood, King Harry the +Fifth, Drake, and all the other heroes who (if we are to believe +the Swill School) have made old England great on beer. + +But to doubt the spiritual virtues of alcohol is not to be a +Prohibitionist. For my own sake I want neither England nor +America dry. Whether I want them dry for the sake of England and +America I cannot quite decide. But if I ever do come to a +decision, it will not be influenced by that other cliche, which +is often trotted out complacently, as if it were something to +thank Heaven for. "You can't make people moral by Act of +Parliament." It is not a question of making them moral, but of +keeping them from alcohol. It may be a pity to do this, but it is +obviously possible, just as it is possible to keep them--that is +to say, the overwhelming majority of them--from opium. Nor shall +I be influenced by the argument that such prohibition is outside +the authority of a Government. For if a Government can demand a +man's life for reasons of foreign policy, it can surely demand +his whisky for reasons of domestic policy; if it can call upon +him to start fighting, it can call upon him to stop drinking. + +But if opium and alcohol is prohibited, you say, why not tobacco? +When tobacco is mentioned I feel like the village Socialist, who +was quite ready to share two theoretical cows with his neighbour, +but when asked if the theory applied also to pigs, answered +indignantly, "What are you talking about--I've GOT two pigs!" I +could bear an England which "went dry," but an England which +"went out"--! So before assenting to the right of a Government to +rob the working-man of his beer, I have to ask myself if I assent +to its right to rob me of my pipe. Well, if it were agreed by a +majority of the community (in spite of all my hymns to Nicotine) +that England would be happier without tobacco, then I think I +should agree also. But I might feel that I should be happier +without England. Just a little way without--the Isle of Man, say. + + + + +A Misjudged Game + + +Chess has this in common with making poetry, that the desire for +it comes upon the amateur in gusts. It is very easy for him not +to make poetry; sometimes he may go for months without writing a +line of it. But when once he is delivered of an ode, then the +desire to write another ode is strong upon him. A sudden passion +for rhyme masters him, and must work itself out. It will be all +right in a few weeks; he will go back to prose or bills-of- +parcels or whatever is his natural method of expressing himself, +none the worse for his adventure. But he will have gained this +knowledge for his future guidance--that poems never come singly. + +Every two or three years I discover the game of chess. In normal +times when a man says to me, "Do you play chess?" I answer +coldly, "Well, I know the moves." "Would you like a game?" he +asks, and I say, "I don't think I will, thanks very much. I +hardly ever play." And there the business ends. But once in two +years, or it may be three, circumstances are too strong for me. I +meet a man so keen or a situation so dull that politeness or +boredom leads me to accept. The board is produced, I remind +myself that the queen stands on a square of her own colour, and +that the knight goes next to the castle; I push forward the +king's pawn two squares, and we are off. Yes, we are off; but not +for one game only. For a month at least I shall dream of chess at +night and make excuses to play it in the day. For a month chess +will be even more to me than golf or billiards--games which I +adore because I am so bad at them. For a month, starting from +yesterday when I was inveigled into a game, you must regard me, +please, as a chess maniac. + +Among small boys with no head for the game I should probably be +described as a clever player. If my opponent only learnt +yesterday, and is still a little doubtful as to what a knight can +do, I know one or two rather good tricks for removing his queen. +My subtlest stroke is to wait until Her Majesty is in front of +the king, and then to place my castle in front of her, with a +pawn in support. Sometimes I forget the pawn and he takes my +castle, in which case I try to look as if the loss of my castle +was the one necessary preliminary to my plan of campaign, and +that now we were off. When he is busy on one side of the board, I +work a knight up on the other, and threaten two of his pieces +simultaneously. To the extreme novice I must seem rather +resourceful. + +But then I am an old hand at the game. My career dates from-- +well, years ago when I won my house championship at school. This +championship may have carried a belt with it; I have forgotten. +But there was certainly a prize--a prize of five solid shillings, +supposing the treasurer had managed to collect the subscriptions. +In the year when I won it I was also treasurer. I assure you that +the quickness and skill necessary for winning the competition +were as nothing to that necessary for collecting the money. If +any pride remains to me over that affair, if my name is written +in letters of fire in the annals of our house chess club, it is +because I actually obtained the five shillings. + +After this the game did not trouble me for some time. But there +came a day when a friend and I lunched at a restaurant in which +chess-boards formed as permanent a part the furniture of the +dining tables as the salt and mustard. Partly in joke, because it +seemed to be the etiquette of the building, we started a game. We +stayed there two hours ... and the fever remained with me for two +months. Another year or so of normal development followed. Then I +caught influenza and spent dull days in bed. Nothing can be worse +for an influenza victim than chess, but I suppose my warders did +not realize how much I suffered under the game. Anyhow, I played +it all day and dreamed of it all night--a riot of games in which +all the people I knew moved diagonally and up and down, took each +other, and became queens. + +And now I have played again, and am once more an enthusiast. You +will agree with me, will you not, that it is a splendid game? +People mock at it. They say that it is not such good exercise as +cricket or golf. How wrong they are. That it brings the same +muscles into play as does cricket I do not claim for it. Each +game develops a different set of sinews; but what chess-player +who has sat with an extended forefinger on the head of his queen +for five minutes, before observing the enemy's bishop in the +distance and bringing back his piece to safety--what chess- +player, I say, will deny that the muscles of the hand ridge up +like lumps of iron after a month at the best of games? What +chess-player who has stretched his arm out in order to open with +the Ruy Lopez gambit, who has then withdrawn it as the +possibilities of the Don Quixote occur to him, and who has +finally, after another forward and backward movement, decided to +rely upon the bishop's declined pawn--what chess-player, I ask, +will not affirm that the biceps are elevated by this noblest of +pastimes? And, finally, what chess-player, who in making too +eagerly the crowning move, has upset with his elbow the victims +of the preliminary skirmishing, so that they roll upon the floor- +-what chess-player, who has to lean down and pick them up, will +not be the better for the strain upon his diaphragm? No; say what +you will against chess, but do not mock at it for its lack of +exercise. + +Yet there is this against it. The courtesies of the game are few. +I think that this must be why the passion for it leaves me after +a month. When at cricket you are bowled first ball, the +wicketkeeper can comfort you by murmuring that the light is bad; +when at tennis your opponent forces for the dedans and strikes +you heavily under the eye, he can shout, "Sorry!" when at golf +you reach a bunker in 4 and take 3 to get out, your partner can +endear himself by saying, "Hard luck"; but at chess everything +that the enemy does to you is deliberate. He cannot say, "Sorry!" +as he takes your knight; he does not call it hard luck when your +king is surrounded by vultures eager for his death; and though it +would be kindly in him to attribute to the bad light the fact +that you never noticed his castle leaning against your queen, yet +it would be quite against the etiquette of the game. + +Indeed, it is impossible to win gracefully at chess. No man yet +has said "Mate!" in a voice which failed to sound to his opponent +bitter, boastful, and malicious. It is the tone of that voice +which, after a month, I find it impossible any longer to stand. + + + + +A Doubtful Character + + +I find it difficult to believe in Father Christmas. If he is the +jolly old gentleman he is always said to be, why doesn't he +behave as such? How is it that the presents go so often to the +wrong people? + +This is no personal complaint; I speak for the world. The rich +people get the rich presents, and the poor people get the poor +ones. That may not be the fault of Father Christmas; he may be +under contract for a billion years to deliver all presents just +as they are addressed; but how can he go on smiling? He must long +to alter all that. There is Miss Priscilla A---- who gets five +guineas worth of the best every year from Mr. Cyril B---- who +hopes to be her heir. Mustn't that make Father Christmas mad? Yet +he goes down the chimney with it just the same. When his contract +is over, and he has a free hand, he'll arrange something about +THAT, I'm sure. If he is the jolly old gentleman of the pictures +his sense of humour must trouble him. He must be itching to have +jokes with the parcels. "Only just this once," he would plead. +"Let me give Mrs. Brown the safety-razor, and Mr. Brown the +night-dress case; I swear I won't touch any of the others." Of +course that wouldn't be a very subtle joke; but jolly old +gentlemen with white beards aren't very subtle in their humour. +They lean to the broader effects--the practical joke and the pun. +I can imagine Father Christmas making his annual pun on the word +"reindeer," and the eldest reindeer making a feeble attempt to +smile. The younger ones wouldn't so much as try. Yet he would +make it so gaily that you would love him even if you couldn't +laugh. + +Coming down chimneys is dangerous work for white beards, and if I +believed in him I should ask myself how he manages to keep so +clean. I suppose his sense of humour suggested the chimney to him +in the first place, and for a year or two it was the greatest +joke in the world. But now he must wish sometimes that he came in +by the door or the window. Some chimneys are very dirty for white +beards. + +Have you noticed that children, who hang up their stockings, +always get lots of presents, and that we grown-ups, who don't +hang up our stockings, never get any? This makes me think that +perhaps after all Father Christmas has some say in the +distribution. When he sees an empty stocking he pops in a few +things on his own account--with "from Aunt Emma" pinned on to +them. Then you write to Aunt Emma to thank her for her delightful +present, and she is so ashamed of herself for not having sent you +one that she never lets on about it. But when Father Christmas +doesn't see a stocking, he just leaves you the embroidered +tobacco pouch from your sister and the postal order from your +rich uncle, and is glad to get out of the house. + +Of his attitude towards Christmas cards I cannot speak with +certainty, but I fancy that he does not bring these down the +chimney too; the truth being, probably, that it is he who +composes the mottoes on them, and that with the customary modesty +of the author he leaves the distribution of them to others. "The +old, old wish--a merry Christmas and a happy New Year" he +considers to be his masterpiece so far, but "A righte merrie +Christemasse" runs it close. "May happy hours be yours" is +another epigram in the same vein which has met with considerable +success. You can understand how embarrassing it would be to an +author if he had to cart round his own works, and practically to +force them on people. This is why you so rarely find a Christmas +card in your stocking. + +There is one other thing at which Father Christmas draws the +line; he will not deliver venison. The reindeer say it comes too +near home to them. But, apart from this, he is never so happy as +when dealing with hampers. He would put a plum-pudding into every +stocking if he could, for like all jolly old gentlemen with nice +white beards he loves to think of people enjoying their food. I +am not sure that he holds much with chocolates, although he is +entrusted with so many boxes that he has learnt to look on them +with kindly tolerance. But the turkey idea, I imagine (though I +cannot speak with authority), the turkey idea was entirely his +own. Nothing like turkey for making the beard grow. + +If I believed in Father Christmas I should ask myself what he +does all the summer--all the year, indeed, after his one day is +over. The reindeer, of course, are put out to grass. But where is +Father Christmas? Does he sleep for fifty-one weeks? Does he +shave, and mix with us mortals? Or does he--yes, that must be it- +-does he spend the year in training, in keeping down his figure? +Chimney work is terribly trying; the figure wants watching if one +is to carry it through successfully. This is especially so in the +case of jolly old gentlemen with white beards. I can see Father +Christmas, as soon as his day is over, taking himself off to the +Equator and running round and round it. By next December he is in +splendid condition. + +When his billion years are over, when his contract expires and he +is allowed a free hand with the presents, I suppose I shall not +be alive to take part in the distribution. But none the less I +like to think of the things I should get. There are at least half +a dozen things which I deserve, and Father Christmas knows it. In +any equitable scheme of allotment I should come out well. "Half a +minute," he would say, "I must just put these cigars aside for +the gentleman who had the picture post card last year. What have +you got there? The country cottage and the complete edition of +Meredith? Ah yes, perhaps he'd better have those too." + +That would be something like a Father Christmas. + + + + +Thoughts on Thermometers + + +Our thermometer went down to 11 deg. the other night. The +excitement was intense. It was, of course, the first person down +to breakfast who rushed into the garden and made the discovery, +and as each of us appeared he was greeted with the news. + +"I say, do you know there were twenty-one degrees of frost last +night?" + +"Really? By Jove!" + +We were all very happy and talkative at breakfast--an event rare +enough to be chronicled. It was not that we particularly wanted a +frost, but that we felt that, if it was going to freeze, it might +as well do it properly--so as to show other nations that England +was still to be reckoned with. And there was also the feeling +that if the thermometer could get down to 11 deg. it might some +day get down to zero; and then perhaps the Thames would be frozen +over again at Westminster, and the papers would be full of +strange news, and--generally speaking--life would be a little +different from the ordinary. In a word, there would be a chance +of something "happening"-- which, I take it, is why one buys a +thermometer and watches it so carefully. + +Of course, every nice thermometer has a device for registering +the maximum and minimum temperatures, which can only be set with +a magnet. This gives you an opportunity of using a magnet in +ordinary life, an opportunity which occurs all too seldom. +Indeed, I can think of no other occasion on which it plays any +important part in one's affairs. It would be interesting to know +if the sale of magnets exceeds the sale of thermometers, and if +so, why?--and it would also be interesting to know why magnets +are always painted red, as if they were dangerous, or belonged to +the Government, or--but this is a question into which it is +impossible to go now. My present theme is thermometers. + +Our thermometer (which went down to 11 deg. the other night) is +not one of your common mercury ones; it is filled with a pink +fluid which I am told is alcohol, though I have never tried. It +hangs in the kitchen garden. This gives you an excuse in summer +for going into the kitchen garden and leaning against the fruit +trees. "Let's go and look at the thermometer" you say to your +guest from London, and just for the moment he thinks that the +amusements of the country are not very dramatic. But after a day +or two he learns that what you really mean is, "Let's go and see +if any fruit has blown down in the night." And he takes care to +lean against the right tree. An elaborate subterfuge, but +necessary if your gardener is at all strict. + +But whether your thermometer hangs in the kitchen garden or at +the back of the shrubbery, you must recognize one thing about it, +namely, that it is an open-air plant. There are people who keep +thermometers shut up indoors, which is both cruel and +unnecessary. When you complain that the library is a little +chilly--as surely you are entitled to--they look at the +thermometer nailed to the Henry Fielding shelf and say, "Oh no; I +don't think so. It's sixty-five." As if anybody wanted a +thermometer to know if a room were cold or not. These people +insult thermometers and their guests further by placing one of +the former in the bathroom soap-dish, in order that the latter +may discover whether it is a hot or cold bath which they are +having. All decent people know that a hot bath is one which you +can just bear to get into, and that a cold bath is one which you +cannot bear to think of getting into, but have to for honour's +sake. They do riot want to be told how many degrees Fahrenheit it +is. + + The undersized temperature-taker which the doctor puts under +your tongue before telling you to keep warm and take plenty of +milk puddings is properly despised by every true thermometer- +lover. Any record which it makes is too personal for a breakfast- +table topic, and moreover it is a thermometer which affords no +scope for the magnet. Altogether it is a contemptible thing. An +occasional devotee will bite it in two before returning it to its +owner, but this is rather a strong line to take. It is perhaps +best to avoid it altogether by not being ill. + +A thermometer must always be treated with care, for the mercury +once spilt can only be replaced with great difficulty. It is +considered to be one of the most awkward things to pick up after +dinner, and only a very steady hand will be successful. Some +people with a gift for handling mercury or alcohol make their own +thermometers; but even when you have got the stuff into the tube, +it is always a question where to put the little figures. So much +depends upon them. + +Now I must tell you the one hereditary failing of the +thermometer. I had meant to hide it from you, but I see that you +are determined to have it. It is this: you cannot go up to it and +tap it. At least you can, but you don't get that feeling of +satisfaction from it which the tapping of a barometer gives you. +Of course you can always put a hot thumb on the bulb and watch +the mercury run up; this is satisfying for a short time, but it +is not the same thing as tapping. And I am wrong to say "always," +for in some thermometers--indeed, in ours, alas!--the bulb is +wired in, so that no falsifying thumb can get to work. However, +this has its compensations, for if no hot thumb can make our +thermometer untrue to itself, neither can any cold thumb. And so +when I tell you again that our thermometer did go down to 11 deg. +the other night, you have no excuse for not believing that our +twenty-one degrees of frost was a genuine affair. In fact, you +will appreciate our excitement at breakfast. + + + + +For a Wet Afternoon + + +Let us consider something seasonable; let us consider indoor +games for a moment. + +And by indoor games I do not mean anything so serious as bridge +and billiards, nor anything so commercial as vingt-et-un with +fish counters, nor anything so strenuous as "bumps." The games I +mean are those jolly, sociable ones in which everybody in the +house can join with an equal chance of distinction, those +friendly games which are played with laughter round a fire what +time the blizzards rattle against the window-pane. + +These games may be divided broadly into two classes; namely, +paper games and guessing games. The initial disadvantage of the +paper game is that pencils have to be found for everybody; +generally a difficult business. Once they are found, there is no +further trouble until the game is over, when the pencils have to +be collected from everybody; generally an impossible business. If +you are a guest in the house, insist upon a paper game, for it +gives you a chance of acquiring a pencil; if you are the host, +consider carefully whether you would not rather play a guessing +game. + +But the guessing game has one great disadvantage too. It demands +periodically that a member of the company should go out by +himself into the hall and wait there patiently until his +companions have "thought of something." (It may be supposed that +he, too, is thinking of something in the cold hall, but perhaps +not liking to say it.) However careful the players are, +unpleasantness is bound to arise sometimes over this preliminary +stage of the game. I knew of one case where the people in the +room forgot all about the lady waiting in the hall and began to +tell each other ghost stories. The lights were turned out, and +sitting round the flickering fire the most imaginative members of +the household thrilled their hearers with ghostly tales of the +dead. Suddenly, in the middle of the story of Torfrida of the +Towers--a lady who had strangled her children, and ever +afterwards haunted the battlements, headless, and in a night- +gown--the door opened softly, and Miss Robinson entered to ask +how much longer they would be. Miss Robinson was wearing a white +frock, and the effect of her entry was tremendous. I remember, +too, another evening when we were playing "proverbs." William, +who had gone outside, was noted for his skill at the game, and we +were determined to give him something difficult; something which +hadn't a camel or a glass house or a stable door in it. After +some discussion a member of the company suggested a proverb from +the Persian, as he alleged. It went something like this: "A wise +man is kind to his dog, but a poor man riseth early in the +morning." We took his word for it, and, feeling certain that +William would never guess, called him to come in. + +Unfortunately William, who is a trifle absentminded, had gone to +bed. + +To avoid accidents of this nature it is better to play "clumps," +a guessing game in which the procedure is slightly varied. In +"clumps" two people go into the hall and think of something, +while the rest remain before the fire. Thus, however long the +interval of waiting, all are happy; for the people inside can +tell each other stories (or, as a last resort, play some other +game) and the two outside are presumably amusing themselves in +arranging something very difficult. Personally I adore clumps; +not only for this reason, but because of its revelation of hidden +talent. There may be a dozen persons in each clump, and in theory +every one of the dozen is supposed to take a hand in the cross- +examination, but in practice it is always one person who extracts +the information required by a cataract of searching questions. +Always one person and generally a girl. I love to see her coming +out of her shell. She has excelled at none of the outdoor games +perhaps; she has spoken hardly a word at meals. In our little +company she has scarcely seemed to count. But suddenly she awakes +into life. Clumps is the family game at home; she has been +brought up on it. In a moment she discovers herself as our +natural leader, a leader whom we follow humbly. And however we +may spend the rest of our time together, the effect of her short +hour's triumph will not wholly wear away. She is now established. + +But the paper games will always be most popular, and once you are +over the difficulty of the pencils you may play them for hours +without wearying. But of course you must play the amusing ones +and not the dull ones. The most common paper game of all, that of +making small words out of a big one, has nothing to recommend it; +for there can be no possible amusement in hearing somebody else +read out "but," "bat," "bet," "bin," "ben," and so forth, riot +even if you spend half an hour discussing whether "ben" is really +a word. On the other hand your game, however amusing, ought to +have some finality about it; a game is not really a game unless +somebody can win it. For this reason I cannot wholly approve +"telegrams." To concoct a telegram whose words begin with certain +selected letters of the alphabet, say the first ten, is to amuse +yourself anyhow and possibly your friends; whether you say, "Am +bringing camel down early Friday. Got hump. Inform Jamrach"; or, +"Afraid better cancel dinner engagement. Fred got horrid +indigestion.--JANE." But it is impossible to declare yourself +certainly the winner. Fortunately, however, there are games which +combine amusement with a definite result; games in which the +others can be funny while you can get the prize--or, if you +prefer it, the other way about. + +When I began to write this, the rain was streaming against the +window-panes. It is now quite fine. This, you will notice, often +happens when you decide to play indoor games on a wet afternoon. +Just as you have found the pencils, the sun comes out. + + + + +Declined with Thanks + + +A paragraph in the papers of last week recorded the unusual +action of a gentleman called Smith (or some such name) who had +refused for reasons of conscience to be made a justice of the +peace. Smith's case was that the commission was offered to him as +a reward for political services, and that this was a method of +selecting magistrates of which he did not approve. So he showed +his contempt for the system by refusing an honour which most +people covet, and earned by this such notoriety as the papers can +give. "Portrait (on page 8) of a gentleman who has refused +something!" He takes his place with Brittlebones in the gallery +of freaks. + +The subject for essay has frequently been given, "If a million +pounds were left to you, how could you do most good with it?" +Some say they would endow hospitals, some that they would +establish almshouses; there may even be some who would go as far +as to build half a Dreadnought. But there would be a more +decisive way of doing good than any of these. You might refuse +the million pounds. That would be a shock to the systems of the +comfortable --a blow struck at the great Money God which would +make it totter; a thrust in defence of pride and freedom such as +had not been seen before. That would be a moral tonic more needed +than all the draughts of your newly endowed hospitals. Will it +ever be administered? Well, perhaps when the D.W.T. club has +grown a little stronger. + +Have you heard of the D.W.T.--the Declined- with-Thanks Club? +There are no club rooms and not many members, but the balance +sheet for the last twelve months is wonderful, showing that more +than L11,000 was refused. The entrance fee is one hundred guineas +and the annual subscription fifty guineas; that is to say, you +must have refused a hundred guineas before you can be elected, +and you are expected to refuse another fifty guineas a year while +you retain membership. It is possible also to compound with a +life refusal, but the sum is not fixed, and remains at the +discretion of the committee. + +Baines is a life member. He saved an old lady from being run over +by a motor bus some years ago, and when she died she left him a +legacy of L1000. Baines wrote to the executors and pointed out +that he did not go about dragging persons from beneath motor +buses as a profession; that, if she had offered him L1000 at the +time, he would have refused it, not being in the habit of +accepting money from strangers, still less from women; and that +he did not see that the fact of the money being offered two years +later in a will made the slightest difference. Baines was earning +L300 a year at this time, and had a wife and four children, but +he will not admit that he did anything at all out of the common. + +The case of Sedley comes up for consideration at the next +committee meeting. Sedley's rich uncle, a cantankerous old man, +insulted him grossly; there was a quarrel; and the old man left, +vowing to revenge himself by disinheriting his nephew and +bequeathing his money to a cats' home. He died on his way to his +solicitors, and Sedley was told of his good fortune in good legal +English. He replied, "What on earth do you take me for? I +wouldn't touch a penny. Give it to the cats' home or any blessed +thing you like." Sedley, of course, will be elected as an +ordinary member, but as there is a strong feeling on the +committee that no decent man could have done anything else, his +election as a life member is improbable. + +Though there are one or two other members like Baines and Sedley, +most of them are men who have refused professional openings +rather than actual money. There are, for instance, half a dozen +journalists and authors. Now a journalist, before he can be +elected, must have a black-list of papers for which he will +refuse to write. A concocted wireless message in the Daily Blank, +which subsequent events proved to have been invented deliberately +for the purpose of raking in ha'pennies, so infuriated Henderson +(to take a case) that he has pledged himself never to write a +line for any paper owned by the same proprietors. Curiously +enough he was asked a day or two later to contribute a series to +a most respectable magazine published by this firm. He refused in +a letter which breathed hatred and utter contempt in every word. +It was Henderson, too, who resigned his position as dramatic +critic because the proprietor of his paper did rather a shady +thing in private life. "I know the paper isn't mixed up in it at +all," he said, "but he's my employer and he pays me. Well, I like +to be loyal to my employers, and if I'm loyal to this man I can't +go about telling everybody that he's a dirty cad. As I +particularly want to." + +Then there is the case of Bolus the author. He is only an +honorary member, for he has not as yet had the opportunity of +refusing money or work. But he has refused to be photographed and +interviewed, and he has refused to contribute to symposia in the +monthly magazines. He has declined with thanks, moreover, +invitations to half a dozen houses sent to him by hostesses who +only knew him by reputation. Myself, I think it is time that he +was elected a full member; indirectly he must have been a +financial loser by his action, and even if he is not actually +assisting to topple over the Money God, he is at least striking a +blow for the cause of independence. However, there he is, and +with him goes a certain M.P. who contributed L20,000 to the party +chest, and refused scornfully the peerage which was offered to +him. + +The Bar is represented by P. J. Brewster, who was elected for +refusing to defend a suspected murderer until he had absolutely +convinced himself of the man's innocence. It was suggested to him +by his legal brothers that counsel did not pledge themselves to +the innocence of their clients, but merely put the case for one +side in a perfectly detached way, according to the best +traditions of the Bar. Brewster replied that he was also quite +capable of putting the case for Tariff Reform in a perfectly +detached way according to the best traditions of The Morning +Post, but as he was a Free Trader he thought he would refuse any +such offer if it were made to him. He added, however, that he was +not in the present case worrying about moral points of view; he +was simply expressing his opinion that the luxury of not having +little notes passed to him in court by a probable murderer, of +not sharing a page in an illustrated paper with him, and of not +having to shake hands with him if he were acquitted, was worth +paying for. Later on, when as K.C., M.P., he refused the position +of standing counsel to a paper which he was always attacking in +the House, he became a life member of the club. + +But it would be impossible to mention all the members of the +D.W.T. by name. I have been led on to speaking about the club by +the mention of that Mr. Smith (or whatever his name was) who +refused to be made a justice of the peace. If Mr. Smith cared to +put up as an honorary member, I have no doubt that he would be +elected; for though it is against the Money God that the chief +battle is waged, yet the spirit of refusal is the same. "Blessed +are they who know how to refuse," runs the club's motto, "for +they will have a chance to be clean." + + + + +On Going into a House + + +It is nineteen years since I lived in a house; nineteen years +since I went upstairs to bed and came downstairs to breakfast. Of +course I have done these things in other people's houses from +time to time, but what we do in other people's houses does not +count. We are holiday-making then. We play cricket and golf and +croquet, and run up and down stairs, and amuse ourselves in a +hundred difierent ways, but all this is no fixed part of our +life. Now, however, for the first time for nineteen years, I am +actually living in a house. I have (imagine my excitement) a +staircase of my own. + +Flats may be convenient (I thought so myself when I lived in one +some days ago), but they have their disadvantages. One of the +disadvantages is that you are never in complete possession of the +flat. You may think that the drawing-room floor (to take a case) +is your very own, but it isn't; you share it with a man below who +uses it as a ceiling. If you want to dance a step-dance, you have +to consider his plaster. I was always ready enough to accommodate +myself in this matter to his prejudices, but I could not put up +with his old-fashioned ideas about bathroom ceilings. It is very +cramping to one's style in the bath to reflect that the slightest +splash may call attention to itself on the ceiling of the +gentleman below. This is to share a bathroom with a stranger--an +intolerable position for a proud man. To-day I have a bathroom of +my own for the first time in my life. + +I can see already that living in a house is going to be +extraordinarily healthy both for mind and body. At present I go +upstairs to my bedroom (and downstairs again) about once in every +half-hour; not simply from pride of ownership, to make sure that +the bedroom is still there, and that the staircase is continuing +to perform its functions, but in order to fetch something, a +letter or a key, which as likely as not I have forgotten about +again as soon as I have climbed to the top of the house. No such +exercise as this was possible in a flat, and even after two or +three days I feel the better for it. But obviously I cannot go on +like this, if I am to have leisure for anything else. With +practice I shall so train my mind that, when I leave my bedroom +in the morning, I leave it with everything that I can possibly +require until nightfall. This, I imagine, will not happen for +some years yet; meanwhile physical training has precedence. + +Getting up to breakfast means something different now; it means +coming down to breakfast. To come down to breakfast brings one +immediately in contact with the morning. The world flows past the +window, that small and (as it seems to me) particularly select +portion of the world which finds itself in our quiet street; I +can see it as I drink my tea. When I lived in a flat (days and +days ago) anything might have happened to London, and I should +never have known it until the afternoon. Everybody else could +have perished in the night, and I should settle down as +complacently as ever to my essay on making the world safe for +democracy. Not so now. As soon as I have reached the bottom of my +delightful staircase I am one with the outside world. + +Also one with the weather, which is rather convenient. On the +third floor it is almost impossible to know what sort of weather +they are having in London. A day which looks cold from a third- +floor window may be very sultry down below, but by that time one +is committed to an overcoat. How much better to live in a house, +and to step from one's front door and inhale a sample of whatever +day the gods have sent. Then one can step back again and dress +accordingly. + +But the best of a house is that it has an outside personality as +well as an inside one. Nobody, not even himself, could admire a +man's flat from the street; nobody could look up and say, "What +very delightful people must live behind those third-floor +windows." Here it is different. Any of you may find himself some +day in our quiet street, and stop a moment to look at our house; +at the blue door with its jolly knocker, at the little trees in +their blue tubs standing within a ring of blue posts linked by +chains, at the bright-coloured curtains. You may not like it, but +we shall be watching you from one of the windows, and telling +each other that you do. In any case, we have the pleasure of +looking at it ourselves, and feeling that we are contributing +something to London, whether for better or for worse. We are part +of a street now, and can take pride in that street. Before, we +were only part of a big unmanageable building. It is a solemn +thought that I have got this house for (apparently) eighty-seven +years. One never knows, and it may be that by the end of that +time I shall be meditating an article on the advantages of living +in a flat. A flat, I shall say, is so convenient. + + + + +The Ideal Author + + +Samuel Butler made a habit (and urged it upon every young writer) +of carrying a notebook about with him. The most profitable ideas, +he felt, do not come from much seeking, but rise unbidden in the +mind, and if they are not put down at once on paper, they may be +lost for ever. But with a notebook in the pocket you are safe; no +thought is too fleeting to escape you. Thus, if an inspiration +for a five-thousand word story comes suddenly to you during the +dessert, you murmur an apology to your neighbour, whip out your +pocket-book, and jot down a few rough notes. "Hero choked peach- +stone eve marriage Lady Honoria. Pchtree planted by jltd frst +love. Ironyofthings. Tragic." Next morning you extract your +notebook from its white waistcoat, and prepare to develop your +theme (if legible) a little more fully. Possibly it does not seem +so brilliant in the cold light of morning as it did after that +fourth glass of Bollinger. If this be so, you can then make +another note--say, for a short article on "Disillusionment." One +way or another a notebook and a pencil will keep you well +supplied with material. + +If I do not follow Butler's advice myself, it is not because I +get no brilliant inspirations away from my inkpot, nor because, +having had the inspirations, I am capable of retaining them until +I get back to my inkpot again, but simply because I should never +have the notebook and the pencil in the right pockets. But though +I do not imitate him, I can admire his wisdom, even while making +fun of it. Yet I am sure it was unwise of him to take the public +into his confidence. The public prefers to think that an author +does not require these earthly aids to composition. It will never +quite reconcile itself to the fact that an author is following a +profession-- a profession by means of which he pays the rent and +settles the weekly bills. No doubt the public wants its favourite +writers to go on living, but not in the sordid way that its +barrister and banker friends live. It would prefer to feel that +manna dropped on them from Heaven, and that the ravens erected +them a residence; but, having regretfully to reject this theory, +it likes to keep up the pretence that the thousand pounds that an +author received for his last story came as something of a +surprise to him--being, in fact, really more of a coincidence +than a reward. + +The truth is that a layman will never take an author quite +seriously. He regards authorship, not as a profession, but as +something between au inspiration and a hobby. In as far as it is +an inspiration, it is a gift from Heaven, and ought, therefore, +to be shared with the rest of the world; in as far as it is a +hobby, it is something which should be done not too expertly, but +in a casual, amateur, haphazard fashion. For this reason a layman +will never hesitate to ask of an author a free contribution for +some local publication, on such slender grounds as that he and +the author were educated at the same school or had both met +Robinson. But the same man would be horrified at the idea of +asking a Harley Street surgeon (perhaps even more closely +connected with him) to remove his adenoids for nothing. To ask +for this (he would feel) would be almost as bad as to ask a gift +of ten guineas (or whatever the fee is), whereas to ask a writer +for an article is like asking a friend to decant your port for +you--a delicate compliment to his particular talent. But in truth +the matter is otherwise; and it is the author who has the better +right to resent such a request. For the supply of available +adenoids is limited, and if the surgeon hesitates to occupy +himself in removing one pair for nothing, it does not follow that +in the time thus saved he can be certain of getting employment +upon a ten-guinea pair. But when a Harley Street author has +written an article, there are a dozen papers which will give him +his own price for it, and if he sends it to his importunate +schoolfellow for nothing, he is literally giving up, not only ten +or twenty or a hundred guineas, but a publicity for his work +which he may prize even more highly. Moreover, he has lost what +can never be replaced-- an idea; whereas the surgeon would have +lost nothing. + +Since, then, the author is not to be regarded as a professional, +he must by no means adopt the professional notebook. He is to +write by inspiration; which comes as regularly to him (it is to +be presumed) as indigestion to a lesser-favoured mortal. He must +know things by intuition; not by experience or as the result of +reading. This, at least, is what one gathers from hearing some +people talk about our novelists. The hero of Smith's new book +goes to the Royal College of Science, and the public says +scornfully: "Of course, he WOULD. Because Smith went to the Royal +College himself, all his heroes have to go there. This isn't art, +this is photography." In his next novel Smith sends his hero to +Cambridge, and the public says indignantly, "What the deuce does +SMITH know about Cambridge? Trying to pretend he is a 'Varsity +man, when everybody knows that he went to the Royal College of +Science! I suppose he's been mugging it up in a book." Perhaps +Brown's young couple honeymoons in Switzerland. "So did Brown," +sneer his acquaintances. Or they go to Central Africa. "How +ridiculous," say his friends this time. "Why, he actually writes +as though he'd been there! I suppose he's just spent a week-end +with Sir Harry Johnston." Meredith has been blamed lately for +being so secretive about his personal affairs, but he knew what +he was doing. Happy is the writer who has no personal affairs; at +any rate, he will avoid this sort of criticism. + +Indeed, Isaiah was the ideal author. He intruded no private +affairs upon the public. He took no money for his prophecies, and +yet managed to live on it. He responded readily, I imagine, to +any request for "something prophetic, you know," from +acquaintances or even strangers. Above all, he kept to one style, +and did not worry the public, when once it had got used to him, +by tentative gropings after a new method. And Isaiah, we may be +sure, did NOT carry a notebook. + + +End of Not That it Matters. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Not that it Matters, by A. A. 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