The Traveller.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 996, 3 April 1891, Page 10

The Traveller.

ASPECTS OE LONDON LIFE BY AN ONLOOKER. (WHITTEN FOR TIIE NEW ZEALAND MAIL.) On Shops and Shopping. It has often been wisely observed that to lire in London is an education in itself, though less often the subject of remark it is not less true that to live in London is a great temptation to the needy. It must be a very pleasant sensation to walk down Oxford street with a full purse feeling monarch of all one surveys —bo it jewellery or underclothing. I cannot speak from experience, for my purse is generally empty. But I know the miserable state of mind produced by a desire to buy without the corresponding means of doing so. Then my wants accumulate. Everything is so marvellously cheap that I very often buy on credit, that is when I find a confiding shopkeeper ready to give unlimited credit, and trust to some future lucky windfall enabling me to pay. I have not yet failed to meet my creditoi'a, but it is often rather a hard matter to keep an accumulation of bills at bay. This is the temptation to which wo who are not possessed of unlimited cash are exposed. I find the only safe way of walking fi‘om Oxford Circnß to the Bank is firstly to take no money with me, secondly to keep my eyes from the shop windows. I do sometimes keep secure in that way. For there are almost all conceivable goods and chattels for sale from a priceless set of diamonds to a penny whistle. If I look even curiously at a shop window there I see three or four of the very things I want. Of course I pause to see the price. 4 How cheap they are,’ I mutter, ‘ surely I can afford as little as that. ‘ No,’ says prudence, 4 you already owe too much.’ Then I fall to reflecting morosely over other fellows’ good luck as a well-dressed man enters the shop —probably he’s just as hard up as I am, but I don’t think of that at the time. ‘ Hang it all, I will buy it,’ I mutter, as if to spite prudence, so I enter hurriedly lest my resolution have time to cool. The shop is full, so I must wait my turn. A lady of rather prepossessing appearance in front of me is making her purchases in a way common to many ladies. She first asks to see a fifty guinea article. The man serving her goes for it exultantly. If he sells that he is a marked man. The lady looks at it superciliously, finds faults innumerable in it, demands to see another less costly article, and finally descends gradually until she ends by making ten shillings worth of purchases and sails majestically from the shop. The deluded shopman looks rather dejected, and with a faint heart I approach him. Having seen and purchased what I want I tell him in lordly tones to put it down to me. ‘ We don’t give credit here,’ he answers. ‘Oh!’ I reply, as I.hurry towards the door, 4 I’ve left my purse at home. I’ll call again.’ I make my exit among the scornful glances of shopmen and customers. To add to my confusion I hear the man who entered before me tell them to put down what he has purchased and receive a ready assent from the shopman. It speaks so badly for my personal appearance. However, having once determined to buy anything I feel that I can’t do without it, and I probably obtain it on credit at a higher price from someone else. I am rather afraid of females behind the counter; why it should be"so I do not know —perhaps it is natural bashfulness, They seem to find such a cause for merriment as I enter the shop. It may be some joke made before my appearance, but it makes me feel inclined to turn tail and flee. Then to unconcernedly run the battery of half a dozen more or less fair maidens is a trying ordeal. I always feel as if something were wrong, perhaps my hat is daren’t take it off to 100k —or my well-plastered hair is untidy ; my collar may be limp, my coat may be dirty behind, or perhaps it is my tie that is not quite straight.. ■ To add to my confusion my boot-lace generally comes untied, and I daren’t stoop to do it up. All the time I remain in the shop the joke continues. Four or five nymphs cluster at one end of the counter whispering together and exchanging arch smiles with my Bpecial tormentor, who every now and. then splutters to herself with suppressed mirth and is compelled to hide her laughter behind a handkerchief. When I emerge from the scene of my sufferings I feel altogether crashed, and mutter a feeble exclamation of joy that I am freed from such misery. I now find the best way to face such a shop is in company with a lady'. She pretty soon puts a stopper on the untimely mirth or else she knows the reason why. All the shopgirls are too busy to look up, and things go very smoothly. I know that my personal appearance is not worse than usual or I should have heard of it before. If ever I marry—which heaven forfend —I'll marry a protectress. The more gentle and kind she is to me the more shall I rely upon her when a stop is to be put to female folly. For it is the sweet-tempered women who are most formidable when occasion demands it. Not that I know much of women, I take pretty good care of that. I like them best in the distance, then they are pretty, graceful, and charming ; bub when at close quarters and I have to talk, in my mad attempts to speak calmly I lose all pleasure in my companion and merely feel the awful pain of bashfnlneßS. I don t mind sisters—they don’t matter; I rather like cousins ; I can speak to aunts if I ve known them long enough; but further than that I can’t go without misery. Hot long ago I did that which I fancy has been done by lew men before —I penetrated into that female elyaium a milliner's shop. I took pretty good care to be supported by a woman and had an additional defence in the shape of a man, who boasts intimate acquaintance with the weaker sex. I don’t think he really knows a 3 much about women as he declares, but still he was a support to one entirely unversed in their wiles. Our entrance caused great commotion. For a few minutes I feared we were about to be evicted. Luckily the excitement evaporated without any violence being done. Then , while my female companion made her purchases I had leisure to look round. Some of the articles of head gear were rather curious. Whether they, were hats or bonnets it would be hard to decide —probably they were bonnets in miniature, though what covering or

' protection they could afford to the head it would be difficult to say. Every now. and then a lady would come in, and though rather taken aback at our presence, consult a lookingglass, of which there were a large supply in all parts of the shop. In the meantime my male friend was more intent on ogling a girl, whom he afterwards told ine was ‘ a stunner.’ I really enjoyed that afternoon’s adventure, which I would never have undertaken singlehanded. My miseries in shopping do not all arise from women. Some young men have a stand off kind of way when they are serving me. No notice is taken of my entrance, and when I call attention to my existence by an apologetic request to see some ties, or whatever I may require, the nearest man is too busy to attend to me. When I do manage to get served it is done in such a manner as to make me feel ashamed of the trouble 1 cause one so infinitely my superior. After all the annoyance I have caused I feel forced to buy the ugliest and dearest tie I am shown. Then when I leave, in addition to feeling a trouble and annoyance to others, I am saddled with an unwearable tie. Of course it is only the exception to meet with such treatment in London. As a rule the shopmen are very civil and seem delighted to open box after box in order to allow me to choose a sixpenny tie. Speaking of civility leads me on to make a few remarks upon barbel’s—the two are inseparably connected in my mind. In truth I find barbers rather too affable. When I have my hair cut they are always anxious that I should purchase a bottle of bay rum or some other concoction for the benefit of my hair. Of course I know that I may be bald some day, but why Bhould I be constantly reminded of future evils. I always refuse their kindly offers, whereupon they observe that a shampoo would do me a world of good, and often in desperation I resign . myself to fate. Of course it is a pleasant fate, but it is also a costly one. Then my next visit to the hairdresser has to be deferred until my hair hangs in dense masses upon my neck. There is one class of shop that I have to studiously avoid unless I be possessed of a credit balance at my banker’s, and that is the second-hand booksellers’. Books are always a temptation, and second-hand books more so than others. Why is it that an old book, no matter how worthless, possesses a fascination for so many of us? To be sure the binding is as a rule more costly, but we don’t buy boobs for their binding. I have books on my shelf that I never have and probably never shall read. I bought them because they were second-hand, and they are no use to me except to make my shelves look more formidable. I have, however, made some splendid, bargains at second-hand bookstalls, and it is the recollection of former triumphs that makes me pause so frequently and only depart with a worthless volume under my arm. Some second-hand booksellers appear to have no notion of the value of their stock ; good books they price at some trifling figure while the bad ones are sold at more than their original cost. Among tbe various collections are some curiously named volumes ; among others I have noticed 4 The Education of a Princess,’ which ivould be useless for ordinary readers. ‘ Tom and Jerry’ is another volume that may be frequently seen. It tells of the adventures of two youths in London, but none seems to cure what did when in this city. I suppose moat of the authors looked upon their works as first class and likely to endure for all ages. The books no doubt have lasted well, but they’re not much read nowadays. Probably some of them never were read except as a sort of mental emetic. That they have not long ago been used for fuel speaks wonders for the patience of the booksellers. That such will be their ultimate fate is certain, unless they be broken up that from their fragments fresh books may rise. From second-hand to ordinary bookshops is but a step, though books generally go the other way. Nowadays what with the • Chandos ’ and numerous other cheap editions even classic works can be bought for a mere nothing :to those who've got it. But sensational works, such as Stanley’s 4 In Darkest Africa,’ sell largely at costly prices. I can’t afford to buy them, and I don’t know anybody who would lend me a copy, so I am waiting until the present furore ends ; then I shall step in and buy at a reasonable prioe. A friend did once lend me a book. It now lies on my bookshelf mutilated and inkstained. I daren’t return it, so I have conveniently forgotten the loan. I should’nt advise anyone to repeat the experiment. Lately I have not been to many bookshops. This sudden change was caused by a rather disagreeable experience I had. I went one day to a fashionable bookseller’s, determined to make large purchases. Having looked round all the shelves I decided to purchase at least three volumes. I was being courteously attended to when I chanced to put my hand in my waistcoat pocket. To my horror I felt there —a penny. I asked for a penny notebook and retreated in confusion. Next time I want books I shall go elsewhere. At Christmas time I met with another even more unhappy experience. At that festive season many shops are entirely used for cards. They are placed in trays marked Id, 2d and upwards. To select from suqh a varied assortment one would think a light task. I tried it and failed. I have many relations and friends, or rather I had many friends before Christmas, but I sent them all wrong cards. To a testy but rich aunt I sent a oat with exceptionally long nails. She gave me no New Year’s present. To a man who hates sport of every description I gave a picture of a redcoat emerging from a river in which his fiery steed had deposited him. ’No doubt he will not forget. , To a by no means young or lovely female I sent a rosebud with a glowing piece of poetry describing my tender feelings. She has not answered me, but I expect soon to figure as defendant in a broach of promise caso. Finally, to make confusion worse copfounded, I sent a rather pretty young lady of whom I was fond an ugly card with, meie y «A Happy Christmas ’ upon it. As a New Year's card she sent me a puppy dancing on its hind legs, and now I’m desperate. These were only a few of my many mistakes* and I have since tried to account for them. It was all caused by my beto noir—“the shopgirl. When I entered she was waiting for me, and

as I looked through the trays kept metaphorically throwing cards at me. My brain became muddled, and at last I left the shop in an almost comatose condition, with an assorted collection of rubbish. I continued dazed until I had sent off my cards, and then I awoke to bewail my folly. Next year I shall seek a shop in which there are men or dummies, or I shall commit even greater blunders—perhaps send my persecutor a card. Besides cards and presents New Year is the occasion of turning over new leaves. This New Year I determined to look through my wardrobe, hoping the above-mentioned aunt would send me something ; and determining never more to buy on credit. Alas 1 what a melancholy sight it was as I drew out white shirt after white shirt and found all of them more or less tattered. Now as I have only had them eighteen months you can realise how hard the London climate is. on shirts. All my other articles of apparel were in a like condition. To be sure time and a very determined washerwoman determined at least in demanding her money—may have had something to do with their woebegone appearance. I remember well the occasion on which I purchased them. It was my first appearance in a London shop, and I had a full purse. I had allowed my clothes to disappear one by one, as I looked on London as the best place in which to purchase wearing apparel. Accompanied by a friend I bravely entered a shop and bought the 1 best ’ things 1 could get. When I left my purse was empty; yet those things have only lasted a year and a half. Not that they won’t have to hang together longer unless I find a shop in which my credit is still good. Of course my acquaintances look at my frayed cuffs—when they can see them—but I make a point of expressing my dislike for dandies. A few of the more charitable believe me. I find the tailors in London are very reasonable men—they give three months’ credit. I wish I could find a ‘ six months’ credit ’ man, no matter how dear his clothes might be. I’d patronize him. I’m afraid my figure is not sufficiently shapely or I should apply for a situation as tailors’ model. It must be rather nice to wear really fashionable clothes for nothing. Between ourselves I did twice apply for such a billet. On the first occasion I thought I had a chance. The tailor looked me over carefully, but unfortunately his tooth began to ache or his nose to bleed, which it was I have never been able to discover, and putting his handkerchief to his mouth he rushed from the room. Presently a boy eame in sniggering—a way common to boys—and said his master was sorry that he had no vacancy. That toothache or loss of blood no doubt spoilt my chance. The second man was not so polite — . in fact he was very rude. He told me that a\ friend had asked him to recommend a useful scarecrow, and if I cared for the situation I was just the man. I shall order a suit of clothes and never pay him—a glorious revenge. On second thoughts I shall take no more notice of him. I did once order a suit of clothes and waited too long to pay the tailor. He got six to four the best of it. He didn’t proceed against me, knowing my pecuniary difficulties, but he employed a man to waylay me wherever I went and demand his money. After three or four encounters I borrowed the sum and paid him. 1 have not patronised him since. My life at that time was too utterly miserable for words. Although I am not swimming in wealth I think that after all my life is happier than that of the richest man in London. Wealth has responsibilities unknown to poverty. ■ The rich man must some day account for the use he has made of his money. I don’t suppose that any man has all that he wishes. One desire gratified often leads to a hundred that are unattainable. There is always something that money can’t buy ; sometimes it is love, at other times it is honour. The richest racing man often tries in vain for the blue ribbon of the turf and fails to win, while the one horse sportsman wins it with his single thoroughbred, and it is the same way in every walk of life. Money can buy most things ; it cannot purchase content.