Attempt > Volume 1 and Select writings

THE ATTEMPT.
57
Lizzie insisted (in spite of our protestations that we were not in the least hungry) that
we should partake of scons and cheese, with a choice between whisky and water, and
ginger cordial, which potations I politely refused. But it was now time to return
home, so we took our leave, after declining a warm invitation “ to sit into the fire, and
stay to tea,” as it was their custom to take that meal at three o’clock.
On our way home I was entertained with a few particulars of Lizzie’s history.
Her husband was a shepherd, who, by dint of great industry and a little careful
speculation, was enabled at his death to leave his wife a little money, with which she
educated her four children, and set them (to use her own expression) “ on their own
coat-tails.” She had two very eccentric old bachelor brothers, who spent the whole of
their lives in the little room behind their shop, and got their sister to come in once a
week to clean up, and brush fourteen pairs of hoots, a pair for each of them every day
of the week. Although Lizzie came into all their savings at their death, she never
changed her way of life, hut was content to work away as she had always done. “ And
yet,” added my friend, “ Lizzie can come out very fine on state occasions; for once,
when she was invited out to tea, she appeared arrayed in a black satin gown, gold
chain, and such other grandeur as completely astonished the neighbours, who had
always been accustomed to see her in a short gown and petticoat.”
Now (in my opinion), Lizzie went over the score in cleanliness; for although
“ cleanliness is next to godliness,” yet it is “ too much of a good thing ” when it
becomes the one great aim in life; for if it is true, “ that enough is as good as a feast,”
it is also true “ that over cleanliness makes some people like dirt.”
Vista.
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Soon the streets will lose their crowds,
The world go out of town,
Nothing be seen hut moss-grown squares,
And windows lined with brown.
Dear friends, our duty surely is,
To do as others do—
To town with all its dust and heat,
To bid a glad adieu.
For if we should stay here to write,
When there are none to read,
We think, and so do you no doubt,
We should be fools indeed,
So then, farewell! but let us hope,
This Magazine of ours
Has pleased you well, and helped to fill
With pleasure leisure hours.