Chapter 1

           MydearwifeCarrieandIhavejustbeenaweekinournewhouse,“TheLaurels,”BrickfieldTerrace,Holloway—anicesix-roomedresidence,notcountingbasement,withafrontbreakfast-parlour.Wehavealittlefrontgarden;andthereisaflightoftenstepsuptothefrontdoor,which,by-the-by,wekeeplockedwiththechainup.Cummings,Gowing,andourotherintimatefriendsalwayscometothelittlesideentrance,whichsavestheservantthetroubleofgoinguptothefrontdoor,therebytakingherfromherwork.Wehaveanicelittlebackgardenwhichrunsdowntotherailway.Wewereratherafraidofthenoiseofthetrainsatfirst,butthelandlordsaidweshouldnotnoticethemafterabit,andtook£2offtherent.Hewascertainlyright;andbeyondthecrackingofthegardenwallatthebottom,wehavesufferednoinconvenience.

           AftermyworkintheCity,Iliketobeathome.What’sthegoodofahome,ifyouareneverinit?“Home,SweetHome,”that’smymotto.Iamalwaysinofanevening.OuroldfriendGowingMaydropinwithoutceremony;soMayCummings,wholivesopposite.MydearwifeCarolineandIarepleasedtoseethem,iftheyliketodropinonus.ButCarrieandIcanmanagetopassoureveningstogetherwithoutfriends.