week: I earned four or five; but he bought happiness with his work,
whereas I bought discontent and weariness. Money may be bought at too
dear a rate. The average citizen, if he did but know it, is always
buying money too dear. He earns, let us say, four hundred pounds a
year; but the larger proportion of this sum goes in what is called
'keeping up appearances.' He must live in a house at a certain rental;
by the time that his rates and taxes are paid he finds one-eighth of
his income at least has gone to provide a shelter for his head. A
cottage, at ten pounds a year, would have served him better, and would
have been equally commodious. He must needs send his children to some
private 'academy' for education, getting only bad education and high
charges for his pains; a village board-school at twopence a week would
have offered undeniable advantages. He must wear the black coat and
top-hat sacred to the clerking tribe; a tweed suit and cap are more
comfortable, and half the price. At all points he is the slave of
convention, and he pays a price for his convention out of all
proportion to its value. At a moderate estimate half the daily
expenditure of London is a sacrifice to the convention or imposture of
respectability.

Unless a man have, however, a large endowment of that liberal
discontent which makes him perpetually examine and reexamine the
conditions of his life, he will be a long time before he even suspects
that he is the victim of artificial needs. When once the yoke of habit
is imposed, the shoulder soon accustoms itself to the bondage, and the
aches and bruises of initiation are forgotten. There are spasms of
disgust, moments of wise suspicion; but they are transient, and men
soon come to regard a city as the prison from whence there is no
escape. But is no escape possible? That was the question which
pressed more and more upon me as the years went on. I saw that the