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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
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW。
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。
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW。
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；
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW。
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 like wi