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〃Well；〃 says the other； 〃I shall wear my plum…colored body to the Jones'； with a yellow plastron； and they've got some lovely gloves at Puttick's； only one and eleven pence。〃
I went for a drive through a part of Derbyshire once with a couple of ladies。 It was a beautiful bit of country； and they enjoyed themselves immensely。 They talked dressmaking the whole time。
〃Pretty view； that；〃 I would say； waving my umbrella round。 〃Look at those blue distant hills！ That little white speck； nestling in the woods； is Chatsworth； and over there〃
〃Yes； very pretty indeed；〃 one would reply。 〃Well； why not get a yard of sarsenet？〃
〃What； and leave the skirt exactly as it is？〃
〃Certainly。 What place d'ye call this？〃
Then I would draw their attention to the fresh beauties that kept sweeping into view； and they would glance round and say 〃charming；〃 〃sweetly pretty；〃 and immediately go off into raptures over each other's pocket…handkerchiefs； and mourn with one another over the decadence of cambric frilling。
I believe if two women were cast together upon a desert island； they would spend each day arguing the respective merits of sea…shells and birds' eggs considered as trimmings； and would have a new fashion in fig…leaves every month。
Very young men think a good deal about clothes； but they don't talk about them to each other。 They would not find much encouragement。 A fop is not a favorite with his own sex。 Indeed； he gets a good deal more abuse from them than is necessary。 His is a harmless failing and it soon wears out。 Besides； a man who has no foppery at twenty will be a slatternly； dirty…collar； unbrushed…coat man at forty。 A little foppishness in a young man is good； it is human。 I like to see a young cock ruffle his feathers； stretch his neck； and crow as if the whole world belonged to him。 I don't like a modest； retiring man。 Nobody doesnot really； however much they may prate about modest worth and other things they do not understand。
A meek deportment is a great mistake in the world。 Uriah Heap's father was a very poor judge of human nature； or he would not have told his son； as he did； that people liked humbleness。 There is nothing annoys them more； as a rule。 Rows are half the fun of life； and you can't have rows with humble； meek…answering individuals。 They turn away our wrath； and that is just what we do not want。 We want to let it out。 We have worked ourselves up into a state of exhilarating fury； and then just as we are anticipating the enjoyment of a vigorous set…to； they spoil all our plans with their exasperating humility。
Xantippe's life must have been one long misery； tied to that calmly irritating man； Socrates。 Fancy a married woman doomed to live on from day to day without one single quarrel with her husband！ A man ought to humor his wife in these things。
Heaven knows their lives are dull enough； poor girls。 They have none of the enjoyments we have。 They go to no political meetings； they may not even belong to the local amateur parliament； they are excluded from smoking…carriages on the Metropolitan Railway； and they never see a comic paperor if they do； they do not know it is comic： nobody tells them。
Surely； with existence such a dreary blank for them as this； we might provide a little row for their amusement now and then； even if we do not feel inclined for it ourselves。 A really sensible man does so and is loved accordingly； for it is little acts of kindness such as this that go straight to a woman's heart。 It is such like proofs of loving self…sacrifice that make her tell her female friends what a good husband he wasafter he is dead。
Yes； poor Xantippe must have had a hard time of it。 The bucket episode was particularly sad for her。 Poor woman！ she did think she would rouse him up a bit with that。 She had taken the trouble to fill the bucket； perhaps been a long way to get specially dirty water。 And she waited for him。 And then to be met in such a way； after all！ Most likely she sat down and had a good cry afterward。 It must have seemed all so hopeless to the poor child； and for all we know she had no mother to whom she could go and abuse him。
What was it to her that her husband was a great philosopher？ Great philosophy don't count in married life。
There was a very good little boy once who wanted to go to sea。 And the captain asked him what he could do。 He said he could do the multiplication…table backward and paste sea…weed in a book； that he knew how many times the word 〃begat〃 occurred in the Old Testament； and could recite 〃The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck〃 and Wordsworth's 〃We Are Seven。〃
〃Werry goodwerry good； indeed；〃 said the man of the sea； 〃and ken ye kerry coals？〃
It is just the same when you want to marry。 Great ability is not required so much as little usefulness。 Brains are at a discount in the married state。 There is no demand for them； no appreciation even。 Our wives sum us up according to a standard of their own； in which brilliancy of intellect obtains no marks。 Your lady and mistress is not at all impressed by your cleverness and talent； my dear readernot in the slightest。 Give her a man who can do an errand neatly； without attempting to use his own judgment over it or any nonsense of that kind； and who can be trusted to hold a child the right way up； and not make himself objectionable whenever there is lukewarm mutton for dinner。 That is the sort of a husband a sensible woman likes； not one of your scientific or literary nuisances； who go upsetting the whole house and putting everybody out with their foolishness。
ON MEMORY。
〃I remember； I remember； In the days of chill November； How the blackbird on the〃 I forget the rest。 It is the beginning of the first piece of poetry I ever learned； for
〃Hey； diddle diddle； The cat and the fiddle；〃 I take no note of； it being of a frivolous character and lacking in the qualities of true poetry。 I collected fourpence by the recital of 〃I remember； I remember。〃 I knew it was fourpence； because they told me that if I kept it until I got twopence more I should have sixpence； which argument； albeit undeniable； moved me not； and the money was squandered； to the best of my recollection； on the very next morning； although upon what memory is a blank。
That is just the way with Memory； nothing that she brings to us is complete。 She is a willful child； all her toys are broken。 I remember tumbling into a huge dust…hole when a very small boy； but I have not the faintest recollection of ever getting out again； and if memory were all we had to trust to； I should be compelled to believe I was there still。
At another timesome years laterI was assisting at an exceedingly interesting love scene； but the only thing about it I can call to mind distinctly is that at the most critical moment somebody suddenly opened the door and said； 〃Emily； you're wanted；〃 in a sepulchral tone that gave one the idea the police had come for her。 All the tender words she said to me and all the beautiful things I said to her are utterly forgotten。
Life altogether is but a crumbling ruin when we turn to look behind： a shattered column here； where a massive portal stood； the broken shaft of a window to mark my lady's bower； and a moldering heap of blackened stones where the glowing flames once leaped； and over all the tinted lichen and the ivy clinging green。
For everything looms pleasant through the softening haze of time。 Even the sadness that is past seems sweet。 Our boyish days look very merry to us now； all nutting； hoop； and gingerbread。 The snubbings and toothaches and the Latin verbs are all forgottenthe Latin verbs especially。 And we fancy we were very happy when we were hobbledehoys and loved； and we wish that we could love again。 We never think of the heartaches； or the sleepless nights； or the hot dryness of our throats； when she said she could never be anything to us but a sisteras if any man wanted more sisters！
Yes； it is the brightness； not the darkness； that we see when we look back。 The sunshine casts no shadows on the past。 The road that we have traversed stretches very fair behind us。 We see not the sharp stones。 We dwell but on the roses by the wayside； and the strong briers that stung us are； to our distant eyes； but gentle tendrils waving in the wind。 God be thanked that it is sothat the ever…lengthening chain of memory has only pleasant links； and that the bitterness and sorrow of to…day are smiled at on the morrow。
It seems as though the brightest side of everything were also its highest and best； so that as our little lives sink back behind us into the dark sea of forgetfulness； all that which is the lightest and the most gladsome is the last to sink； and stands above the waters； long in sight； when the angry thoughts and smarting pain are buried deep below the waves and trouble us no more。
It is this glamour of the past； I suppose； that makes old folk talk so much nonsense about the days when they were young。 The world appears to have been a very superior sort of place then； and things were more like what they ought to be。 Boys were boys then； and girls were very different。 Also winters were something lik