y horse corn.
Merci! that would be a very losing game indeed, and your humble servant
has no relish for such.

But in the very pursuit of saving there must be a hundred harmless
delights and pleasures which we who are careless necessarily forego.
What do you know about the natural history of your household? Upon your
honor and conscience, do you know the price of a pound of butter? Can
you say what sugar costs, and how much your family consumes and ought
to consume? How much lard do you use in your house? As I think on these
subjects I own I hang down the head of shame. I suppose for a moment
that you, who are reading this, are a middle-aged gentleman, and
paterfamilias. Can you answer the above questions? You know, sir, you
cannot. Now turn round, lay down the book, and suddenly ask Mrs. Jones
and your daughters if THEY can answer? They cannot. They look at one
another. They pretend they can answer. They can tell you the plot and
principal characters of the last novel. Some of them know something
about history, geology, and so forth. But of the natural history of
home--Nichts, and for shame on you all! Honnis soyez! For shame on you?
for shame on us!

In the early morning I hear a sort of call or jodel under my window: and
know 'tis the matutinal milkman leaving his can at my gate. O household
gods! have I lived all these years and don't know the price or the
quantity of the milk which is delivered in that can? Why don't I know?
As I live, if I live till to-morrow morning, as soon as I hear the call
of Lactantius, I will dash out upon him. How many cows? How much milk,
on an average, all the year round? What rent? What cost of food and
dairy servants? What loss of animals, and average cost of purchase? If
I interested myself properly about my pint (or hogshead, whatever it be)
of milk, all this knowledge would ensue; all this additional interest
in life. What is this talk of my friend, Mr. Lewes, about objects at
the seaside, and so forth?* Objects at the seaside? Objects at the
area-bell: objects before my nose: objects which the butcher brings me
in his tray: which the cook dresses and puts down before me, and over
which I say grace! My daily life is surrounded with objects which ought
to interest me. The pudding I eat (or refuse, that is neither here nor
there; and, between ourselves, what I have said about batter-pudding may
be taken cum grano--we are not come to that yet, except for the sake
of argument or illus