A third benefactor of mine is an enthusiast upon the subject of diet.One day he brought me something in a packet, and pressed it into my hand with the air of a man who is relieving you of all your troubles.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Open it and see," he answered, in the tone of a pantomime fairy.
I opened it and looked, but I was no wiser.
"It's tea," he explained.
"Oh!" I replied; "I was wondering if it could be snuff.""Well, it's not exactly tea," he continued, "it's a sort of tea.
You take one cup of that--one cup, and you will never care for any other kind of tea again."He was quite right, I took one cup.After drinking it I felt Ididn't care for any other tea.I felt I didn't care for anything, except to die quietly and inoffensively.He called on me a week later.
"You remember that tea I gave you?" he said.
"Distinctly," I answered; "I've got the taste of it in my mouth now.""Did it upset you?" he asked.
"It annoyed me at the time," I answered; "but that's all over now."He seemed thoughtful."You were quite correct," he answered; "it WAS snuff, a very special snuff, sent me all the way from India.""I can't say I liked it," I replied.
"A stupid mistake of mine," he went on--"I must have mixed up the packets!""Oh, accidents will happen," I said, "and you won't make another mistake, I feel sure; so far as I am concerned."We can all give advice.I had the honour once of serving an old gentleman whose profession it was to give legal advice, and excellent legal advice he always gave.In common with most men who know the law, he had little respect for it.I have heard him say to a would-be litigant--"My dear sir, if a villain stopped me in the street and demanded of me my watch and chain, I should refuse to give it to him.If he thereupon said, 'Then I shall take it from you by brute force,' Ishould, old as I am, I feel convinced, reply to him, 'Come on.' But if, on the other hand, he were to say to me, 'Very well, then Ishall take proceedings against you in the Court of Queen's Bench to compel you to give it up to me,' I should at once take it from my pocket, press it into his hand, and beg of him to say no more about the matter.And I should consider I was getting off cheaply."Yet that same old gentleman went to law himself with his next-door neighbour over a dead poll parrot that wasn't worth sixpence to anybody, and spent from first to last a hundred pounds, if he spent a penny.
"I know I'm a fool," he confessed."I have no positive proof that it WAS his cat; but I'll make him pay for calling me an Old Bailey Attorney, hanged if I don't!"We all know how the pudding OUGHT to be made.We do not profess to be able to make it: that is not our business.Our business is to criticize the cook.It seems our business to criticize so many things that it is not our business to do.We are all critics nowadays.I have my opinion of you, Reader, and you possibly have your own opinion of me.I do not seek to know it; personally, Iprefer the man who says what he has to say of me behind my back.Iremember, when on a lecturing tour, the ground-plan of the hall often necessitated my mingling with the audience as they streamed out.This never happened but I would overhear somebody in front of me whisper to his or her companion--"Take care, he's just behind you." I always felt so grateful to that whisperer.
At a Bohemian Club, I was once drinking coffee with a Novelist, who happened to be a broad-shouldered, athletic man.A fellow-member, joining us, said to the Novelist, "I have just finished that last book of yours; I'll tell you my candid opinion of it." Promptly replied the Novelist, "I give you fair warning--if you do, I shall punch your head." We never heard that candid opinion.
Most of our leisure time we spend sneering at one another.It is a wonder, going about as we do with our noses so high in the air, we do not walk off this little round world into space, all of us.The Masses sneer at the Classes.The morals of the Classes are shocking.If only the Classes would consent as a body to be taught behaviour by a Committee of the Masses, how very much better it would be for them.If only the Classes would neglect their own interests and devote themselves to the welfare of the Masses, the Masses would be more pleased with them.
The Classes sneer at the Masses.If only the Masses would follow the advice given them by the Classes; if only they would be thrifty on their ten shillings a week; if only they would all be teetotalers, or drink old claret, which is not intoxicating; if only all the girls would be domestic servants on five pounds a year, and not waste their money on feathers; if only the men would be content to work for fourteen hours a day, and to sing in tune, "God bless the Squire and his relations," and would consent to be kept in their proper stations, all things would go swimmingly--for the Classes.
The New Woman pooh-poohs the Old; the Old Woman is indignant with the New.The Chapel denounces the Stage; the Stage ridicules Little Bethel; the Minor Poet sneers at the world; the world laughs at the Minor Poet.
Man criticizes Woman.We are not altogether pleased with woman.We discuss her shortcomings, we advise her for her good.If only English wives would dress as French wives, talk as American wives, cook as German wives! if only women would be precisely what we want them to be--patient and hard-working, brilliantly witty and exhaustively domestic, bewitching, amenable, and less suspicious;how very much better it would be for them--also for us.We work so hard to teach them, but they will not listen.Instead of paying attention to our wise counsel, the tiresome creatures are wasting their time criticizing us.It is a popular game, this game of school.All that is needful is a doorstep, a cane, and six other children.The difficulty is the six other children.Every child wants to be the schoolmaster; they will keep jumping up, saying it is their turn.
Woman wants to take the stick now, and put man on the doorstep.