Its aim was noble. It sought to teach the
beautiful lesson of independence, to inculcate the fine doctrine of
self-help. One chapter explained to a man how he might make
flower-pots out of Australian meat cans; another how he might turn
butter-tubs into music-stools; a third how he might utilize old
bonnet boxes for Venetian blinds: that was the principle of the
whole scheme, you made everything from something not intended for
it, and as ill-suited to the purpose as possible.
Two pages, I distinctly recollect, were devoted to the encouragement
of the manufacture of umbrella stands out of old gaspiping.
Anything less adapted to the receipt of hats and umbrellas than
gas-piping I cannot myself conceive: had there been, I feel sure the
author would have thought of it, and would have recommended it.
Picture-frames you fashioned out of gingerbeer corks. You saved
your ginger-beer corks, you found a picture--and the thing was
complete. How much ginger-beer it would be necessary to drink,
preparatory to the making of each frame; and the effect of it upon
the frame-maker's physical, mental and moral well-being, did not
concern The Amateur. I calculate that for a fair-sized picture
sixteen dozen bottles might suffice.
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