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FLY-LEAVES FROM MY DIARY.

I.

ON THE BORDER-LAND OF UTOPIA.

ANYONE who might be interested in the consideration of abstruse mental problems, would find it a useful exercise of the intellect to enquire which of the two would be greeted generally with the more. contemptuous smile,—the man who innocently expressed his belief in the general soundness and sincerity of "Society," as at present constituted; or the man who, equally innocently, proposed in any way to reform it. It might, I say, be interesting to ask the question, but I am by no means inclined to warrant the production of any satisfactory reply. My own candid opinion is, that there would not be a pin to choose in the respective receptions of the two; the principal difference probably being, that while the former would be considered a great fool, and somewhat of a bore; the latter would be considered a great bore, and somewhat of a fool. Strange as this may seem, and unreasonable as it is, few who are acquainted with the manners and customs of the nineteenth century, will deny that it is uncomfortably near to the truth; and while everyone will admit that Society needs reform, no one will dispute that the very words "Social Reformer," amount to a term of abuse. The young men who are most involved in the intricacies and convolutions of modern life, will be the first to recount with a cynical insouciance, its quicksands and pitfalls; more advanced in the road of experience, their fathers will willingly lend their voices to swell this chorus, and will perform their variations upon the same tune with fully as much unction, and perhaps a little more sincerity. Men and women,

(I beg their pardons, I should say ladies and gentlemen), young and old, are all frankly agreed that much of what is now in the fashionable argot of the day, known as "Society," means simply expenditure without result, etiquette without manners, and social intercourse without sympathy; yet no sacred ark was ever so jealously guarded from the sacrilegious hands of too-zealous Uzzahs, as this rotten lumber chest,

universally admitted to be decorated in the worst possible taste outside, and strongly suspected of being innocent of all contents save dust and cobwebs within.

What makes the intense bigotry of mankind upon this point the stranger is, that travel, telegraphs, and the Press have long since cleared the way for a most accommodating catholicity upon almost every other subject. Venture, for instance to express to a musician the opinion that the manner in which the great Handel occasionally hunts a luckless word up and down the gamut, is unworthy of his greatness; or that the melodies of a Wagner are now and then so far in futuro as to be just beyond reach of your limited vision; and he will blandly admit, that to the musically uneducated mind, these impressions are not unnatural. Hazard to an art critic the supposition, that when Signor Spifflicando, having accidentally sat upon his palette, has the hinder portion of his garment framed, and under the appellation of a "Concerto in U flat," offers it to an admiring public at the rate of ten guineas per square atom;-the price is at least equal to the value; and (if there is no one near) he may even agree with you. Converse with an architect upon the merits of any modern building whatever, (not designed in his own office,) and it is amazing with what attentive patience he will listen to your criticisms, and how frankly he will sympathise with your complaints. Nay, go so far as to dispute the authority of the Prophets, and to disavow all belief in the Pentateuch; and though your arguments may be absurd and yourself a bishop, you may live unpersecuted and die unmartyred. Little eccentricities such as these are not considered blemishes upon a man's character, to which, on the contrary, they rather add an individuality and a distinctiveness which enable it to be grasped with more comfort by his friends than if it were entirely smooth. But woe! treble woe, to the unlucky one who presumes to infringe even with the most modestly eccentric steps, upon the sacred mantle of Society. The more polished of his audience will change the subject with startling rapidity; the more charitable will throw cold water upon him for his own good with amiable pertinacity. The names of Malthus, of Proudhon, of Owen, and of Bradlaugh are paraded before him with the same relevancy as though some humble candidate for a collectorship of water rates were referred to the ultimate issue of ambition in the tragic story of Macbeth, and the guilty one speedily finds himself reduced to a society of one, which he may reform quite at his leisure.

Questions, however, which it would be obviously unwise to hazard viva voce may not inappropriately be put to no one in particular, through the medium of a magazine, which modestly limits its circulation to some few hundreds of copies, and these questions will be all the more likely to be listened to because no one is bound to answer them. Is there any valid reason then, may I ask, that social changes should be so slow and so unpopular ;-that the social shoe should pinch so long and so bitterly before an alteration in the fashion of its make can be decided upon? Because it took our country gentry from Charles the Second to William the Fourth, to find out that drunkenness was not necessarily a

gentlemanly accomplishment; need we have to bequeath by will to our great grand-children the knife wherewith to cut the cords of social tyranny which are throttling ourselves? Society changes its garments frequently enough ;-why not its habits, which fit quite as ill and borrow no charm from variety? Society can expand the skirts of its female votaries to the size of three to a drawing-room in one decade, and contract them until they seem ambitious to occupy less space than the limbs they enclose, in the next decade; can make her male adherents wear hats of fourteen different curls in the brim within four years, and all hideous;-why should she be so very conservative with regard to certain of her customs, which are as encroaching as the first of these examples, as hampering as the second, and as ugly as all the rest?

Seriously speaking, will it ever be better in our time? Will the rules of social intercourse ever admit of that freedom and simplicity without which it is apt to degenerate into a mere question of ostentation upon the one hand, and boredom upon the other? Will companionship and society ever become again what they have been in the past, and still are elsewhere-questions, not of ability to pay, but of ability to please? And will intellect without means ever prove so ready a passport to the charmed circle of society, as is now found in means without intellect? If our hopes of any amendment are based upon argument, persuasion, or appeal, I believe them to be utterly futile. There remains one resource in which we may feel some confidence: it is the force of example. It can hardly be satisfactory to spend a month's income in providing your circle with an occasional indigestion; it can hardly be pleasant to dress like a waiter in order to dance like a dervish. Suppose we drop precept and try practice; let others see that we, at any rate, can distil ease from leisure, sociability out of society, and peace of mind out of competence; and, in fact, generally sweep our own door-steps clean. Is there not a bare chance, at least, that others might covet our peace and emulate our saintly footsteps; and that, finding the way neither hard to discover nor difficult to travel, they might walk therein.

Here, however, let me hasten to explain that I have not been so rash as to take any such steps myself. My set dinners are still such as neither I can readily afford nor my guests readily digest; no friend visits me uninvited; and my evening parties have quite a reputation (especially among the medical men of my district) for the pleasing sense of exhaustion which they carry forward to the end of the week in which they occur. What follows is simply a leaf from my diary-a leaf still green in my memory, and offered freely to my friends, if perchance, judging of the tree by the sample, they may care to set the seeds of the like in their own little social gardens.

Some months ago I was invited to dine with a friend at the pretty suburb of Nevermind Where-the exact locality I do not intend to specify for sundry obvious reasons, one of them being that many of my readers will know perfectly well the place I mean; and another being that I do not feel justified in translating my own admiration into the dubious language of publicity. After dinner my friend proposed a visit

to "the" billiard room, and the ladies having performed a hasty but picturesque toilette with the aid of shawls, we sallied out en masse. The night was intensely dark, and our route, which lay along the winding paths of two or three private gardens, was so devious that I felt constrained to attach myself to the lady who piloted me with an af fectionate closeness which might have excited remark, had not my years exceeded hers almost as much as her charms exceeded mine. Arrived at length at our destination, we crossed a stable yard, ascended a flight of stairs, and entered a room which, in some respects, I am sorry to believe unique-" the Billiard Room." Of ample size, but moderate adornment, comfortable all over, furnished with more regard to ease than upholstering, and looking as if made to be used rather than to be looked at, the room itself would probably have conveyed a favourable impression had one been able to attend to it; but the company was so remarkable in many respects as to dwarf all interest in their surroundings. Standing, sitting, and lounging about, were some thirty or forty people -as many as could be brought together at three or four distinct, dismal dinner parties-assembled without trouble, associating without gêne, enjoying themselves without restraint, and entertained without cost, ceremony, or obligation. The billiard table was providing occupation for two only; but the rest were by no means idle. Here a little group was deep in the intricacies of a hand at whist; here a knot of young ladies exchanged their innocent confidences over unhurried fancy-work; and there one of our best-known local editors smoked the calumet of peace as calmly as though his fingers had never grasped the tomahawk of criticism. Little children played about the cushioned benches; their parents discussed grave questions of politics or business over a quiet weed; in a cosy corner, aided by a piano, the more musical trolled bravely the choruses of "H.M.S. Pinafore" to a blended obligato of conversation, clicking balls, and pleasant laughter. All looked happy; and not the least pleasant, though certainly the most touching, part of the scene, was the couch of an invalid who, debarred from active fun, seemed almost to enjoy all the more thoroughly the well-bred riot around him, only turning now and then to the perusal of a book—which, I trust, did not require consecutive attention-to be ever afresh interrupted by the fondlings of some roguish girl, taking shameful advantage of his helplessness, as she moved past. There were almost as many doors in the room as on a well-appointed stage, and through these doors visitors were constantly making their appearance without formal introduction, and their disappearances without formal leave-taking. One of the entrances communicated with the outer world; the others appeared to conduct to private houses, the billiard room forming actually part of more than one private property, although very frankly enjoyed as a common possession. Children quietly dropped off to their early beds, matrons slipped out to see their charges safely stowed away for the evening; now a party collected itself together and disappeared supperwards, and anon another party sauntered back to enjoy their evening pipes, or to indulge in the week's last chat, for it was Saturday. The absence of cere

mony, the impossibility of display, the lack of all chance for affectation, the feeling of complete freedom-where no host invited, or guests expected invitations-combined to form what seemed to me a very oasis in the desert of our average daily life. The current of conversation, now ebbing, now flowing, here rippling into laughter, there tumbling into a miniature cataract of merriment, was always free and unconstrained. No professional jester disturbed it with the carefully-aimed pebbles of his wit; no rigid barrier of mauvaise-honte repressed it into stagnation; but those who had anything to say were free to speak, and those who had not as free to hold their peace. There were no refreshments, unless we may be permitted to class under that head the fragrant incense of that blessed weed which burns that fevered brains may cool; and, to all appearance, the first comers would make themselves at home by lighting the gas, and the last stayers close the proceedings by turning it out.

This sketch is of necessity a brief one, and must suffer by the absence of that light and shade of detail which I have no right to give. But brief and imperfect as it is, I am mistaken if it does not contain food for pregnant thought. In that world-famous dream of his, which Time. in its changeful course has since in some measure translated into the prose of fact, Sir Thomas More describes the common dinners and re-unions of the people of Utopia. And, answering an objection which would be sure to fall from many a hasty lip, he says that any who preferred solitude were entirely free to dine alone; but "who," he asks in return, "would be so simple to eat at home alone when he might freely enjoy better fare, devoid of trouble in good and pleasant company?" We all freely admit that social intercourse is a necessity,we can scarcely honestly deny that, as at present arranged, it is a tedium. Here is a large step towards the solution of the difficulty made;-not by argument or in theory, but as a simple matter of fact. I take it that my friends at Nevermind Where are beings not created by a special Providence to special order; I think I run no risk of offending them by supposing them to have some tincture of the frailties of our common nature as well as a large share of its graces. No doubt they have their likes and dislikes,—their whims and fancies,-their oddities and their peccadilloes,-the same as the rest of us. But who cannot see that every defect stands a fair chance of being lessened, and every good quality of being enhanced, by that free intercourse whose most marked tendency it is to polish manners and to rub off angles, and which is no less than a necessity of our well-being. Even the children must speedily learn in such an atmosphere, the differences between bashfulness and modesty,-between frankness and obtrusiveness, which are so difficult to teach, but which in manners make all the difference. And while the paltry jealousies, and petty sulks which are answerable for half our broken loves and semi-cemented friendships, would be just as free to sprout forth about the daily paths of Nevermind Where as about those of anywhere else; sure I am that the air would not be favourable to their growth, and that the mere traffic of constant meetings would be the likeliest means to trample them down. And all this

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