Strictures on the modern system of female education: ... By Hannah More. In two volumes. ... [pt.2]

CHAP. XIV. CONVERSATION.—Hints suggested on the subject.—On the tempers and dispositions to be introduced in it.—Errors to be avoided. —Vanity under various shapes the cause of those errors.

THE sexes will naturally desire to appear to each other, such as each believes the other will best like; their conversation will act reciprocally; and each sex will appear more or less rational as they per|ceive it will more or less recommend them to the other. It is therefore to be regret|ted, that many men, even of distinguished sense and learning, are too apt to consider the society of ladies, rather as a scene in which to rest their understandings, than to exercise them; and ladies, in return, are too much addicted to make their court by lending themselves to this spirit of trifling;

they often avoid to make use of what abili|ties they have; and affect to talk below their natural and acquired powers of mind; considering it as a tacit and welcome flat|tery to the understanding of men, to re|nounce the exercise of their own.

But since their taste and principles thus mutually operate; men, by keeping up conversation to its proper standard, would not only call into exercise the powers of mind which women actually possess; but would even awaken energies which they do not know they possess; and men of sense would find their account in doing this, for their own talents would be more highly rated by companions who were better able to appreciate them. And, on the other hand, if young women found it did not often recommend them in the eyes of those whom they wish to please, to be frivolous and superficial, they would become more sedulous in correcting their own habits; and, whenever fashionable women indicate a relish for instructive conversation,

men will not be apt to hazard what is vain or unprofitable; much less will they ever presume to bring forward what is loose or corrupt, where some signal has not been previously given, that it will be acceptable, or at least that it will be par|doned.

Ladies commonly bring into company minds already too much relaxed by petty pursuits, rather than overstrained by too intense application; the littleness of the employments in which they are usually engaged, does not so strain their minds or exhaust their spirits as to make them stand in need of that relaxation from company which severe application or overwhelming business makes requisite for studious or public men. The due consideration of this circumstance might serve to bring the sexes more nearly on a level in society; and each might meet the other half way; for that degree of lively and easy conversation which is a necessary refreshment to the learned and the busy, would not decrease

in pleasantness by being made of so rational a cast as would yet somewhat raise the minds of women, who commonly seek so|ciety as a scene of pleasure, not as a refuge from overwhelming thought or labour.

It is a disadvantage even to those women who keep the best company, that it is un|happily almost established into a system, by the other sex, to postpone every thing like instructive discourse till the ladies are with|drawn; their retreat serving as a kind of signal for the exercise of intellect. And in the few cases in which it happens that any important discussion takes place in their presence, they are for the most part con|sidered as having little interest in serious subjects. Strong truths, whenever such happen to be addressed to them, are either diluted with flattery, or kept back in part, or softened to their taste; or if the ladies express a wish for information on any point, they are put off with a compliment, instead of a reason; and are considered

as beings who are not expected to see and to judge of things as they really exist.

Do we then wish to see the ladies, whose opportunities leave them so incompetent, and the modesty of whose sex ought never to allow them even to be as shining as they are able;—do we wish to see them take the lead in metaphysical disquisitions? Do we wish them to plunge into the depths of theological polemics, And find no end in wand'ring mazes lost? Do we wish them to revive the animo|fities of the Bangorian controversy, or to decide the process between the Jesuits and the five propositions of Jansenius? Do we wish to enthrone them in the pro|fessor's chair, to deliver oracles, harangues, and dissertations? to weigh the merits of every new production in the scales of Quintilian, or to regulate the unities of dramatic composition by Aristotle's clock? Or, renouncing those foreign aids, do

we desire to behold them, inflated with their original powers, labouring to strike out sparks of wit, with a restless anxiety to shine, which generally fails, and with an affectation to please, which never pleases? Diseurs de bons mots, fades caracteres!

All this be far from them!—But we do wish to see the conversation of well bred women rescued from vapid common places, from uninteresting tattle, from trite and hackneyed communications, from frivolous earnestness, from false sensibility, from a warm interest about things of no moment, and an indifference to topics the most important; from a cold vanity, from the overflowings of self love, exhibiting itself under the smiling mask of an engag|ing flattery, and from all the factitious manners of artificial intercourse. We do wish to see the time passed in polished and intelligent society, considered among the beneficial, as well as the pleasant portions of our existence, and not too frequently

consigned over to premeditated trifling or systematic unprofitableness. Let us not, however, be misunderstood; it is not meant to prescribe that they should affect to talk on lofty subjects, so much as to suggest that they should bring good sense, simplicity, and precision into those com|mon subjects, of which, after all, both the business and the conversation of mankind is in a great measure made up.

It is too well known how much the dread of imputed pedantry keeps off any thing that verges towards learned, and the terror of imputed enthusiasm, staves off any thing that approaches to serious con|versation, so that the two topics which peculiarly distinguish us, as rational and immortal beings, are by general consent in a good degree banished from the society of rational and immortal creatures. But we might almost as consistently give up the comforts of fire because a few per|sons have been burnt, and the benefit of water because some others have been

drowned, as relinquish the enjoyments of reasonable and the blessings of religious intercourse, because the learned world has sometimes been infested with pedants, and the religious world with fanatics.

As in the momentous times in which we live, it is next to impossible to pass an evening in company, but the talk will so inevitably revert to politics, that, without any premeditated design, every one present shall infallibly get to know to which side the other inclines; why, in the far higher concern of eternal things, should we so carefully shun every offered opportunity of bearing even a casual testimony to the part we espouse in religion? Why, while we make it a sort of point of conscience to leave no doubt on the mind of a stranger, whether we adopt the party of Pitt or Fox, shall we chuse to leave it very problematical whether we belong to God or Baal? Why, in religion, as well as in politics, should we not act like people who, having their all at stake, cannot forbear now and then

adverting for a moment to the object of their grand concern, and dropping, at least, an incidental intimation of the side to which they belong?

Even the news of the day, in such an eventful period as the present, may lend frequent occasions to a woman of prin|ciple, to declare, without parade, her faith in a moral Governor of the world; her trust in a particular Providence; her belief in the Divine Omnipotence; her confi|dence in the power of God, in educing good from evil, in his employing wicked nations, not as favourites but instruments; her persuasion that present success is no proof of the divine favour; in short, some intimation that she is not ashamed to de|clare that her mind is under the influence of Christian faith and principle. A general concurrence in exhibiting this spirit of decided faith and holy trust, would incon|ceivably discourage that pert infidelity which is ever on the watch to produce itself; and, as we have already observed, if

women, who derive authority from their rank or talents, did but reflect how their sentiments are repeated and their authority quoted, they would be so on their guard, that general society might become a scene of general improvement, and the young, who are looking for models on which to fashion themselves, would be ashamed of exhibiting any thing like levity or scepticism.

Let it be understood, that it is not meant to intimate that serious subjects should make up the bulk of conversation; this, as it is impossible, would also often be improper. It is not intended to suggest that they should be studiously introduced, or affectedly prolonged; but only that they should not be systematically shunned, nor the brand of fanaticism be fixed on the person who, with whatever propriety, hazards the intro|duction of them. It is evident, however, that this general dread of serious topics arises a good deal from an ignorance of the true nature of religion; people avoid

it on the principle expressed by the vulgar phrase of the danger of playing with edge tools. They conceive of it as something which involves controversy, and dispute, and mischief; something of an inflammatory nature, which is to stir up ill humours; as of a sort of party business which sets friends at variance. So much is this notion adopted, that I have seen two works announced of considerable merit, in which it was stipulated as an attraction, that religion, as being likely to excite anger and party distinctions, should be excluded. Such is the worldly idea of the spirit of that religion, whose precise object it was to bring

peace and good will to men!

Women too little live or converse up to their understandings; and however we have deprecated affectation or pedantry, let it be remembered, that both in reading and conversing the understanding gains more by stretching, than stooping. If by ex|erting itself it may not attain to all it de|sires,

yet it will be sure to gain something. The mind, by always applying itself to ob|jects below its level, contracts and shrinks itself to the size, and lowers itself to the level, of the object about which it is con|versant: while the mind which is active expands and raises itself, grows larger by exercise, abler by diffusion, and richer by communication.

But the taste of general society is not favourable to improvement. The serious|ness with which the most frivolous subjects are agitated, and the levity with which the most serious are dispatched, bear a pretty exact proportion to each other. Society too is a sort of magic lanthorn; the scene is perpetually shifting. In this in|cessant change, the evanescent fashion of the existing minute, which, while in many it leads to the cultivation of real know|ledge, has also sometimes led even the gay and idle to the affectation of mixing a sprinkling of science with the mass of dissi|pation. The ambition of appearing to be

well informed breaks out even in those triflers who will not spare time from their pleasurable pursuits sufficient for acquiring that knowledge, of which, however, the re|ception is so desirable. A little smattering of philosophy often dignifies the pursuits of their day, without rescuing them from the vanities of the night. A course of lectures (that admirable assistant for en|lightening the understanding) is not seldom resorted to as a means to substitute the appearance of knowledge for the fatigue of application; but where this valuable help is attended merely like any other public exhibition, and is not furthered by correspondent reading at home, it often serves to set off the reality of ignorance with the affectation of skill. But instead of producing in conversation a few reigning scientific terms, with a familiarity and readiness, which Amaze the unlearn'd, and make the learned smile, would it not be more modest even for those who are better informed, to avoid

the common use of technical terms when|ever the idea can be conveyed without them? For it argues no real ability to know the names of tools; the ability lies in knowing their use: and while it is in the thing, and not in the term, that real know|ledge consists, the charge of pedantry is attached to the use of the term, which would not attach to the knowledge of the science.

In the faculty of speaking well, ladies have such a happy promptitude of turning their slender advantages to account, that there are many who, though they have never been taught a rule of syntax, yet, by a quick facility in profiting from the best books and the best company, hardly ever violate one; and who often possess an elegant and perspicuous arrangement of style, without having studied any of the laws of composition. Every kind of knowledge which appears to be the result of observation, reflection, and natural taste sits gracefully on women. Yet on the

other hand it sometimes happens, that ladies of no contemptible natural parts are too ready to produce, not only pedan|tic expressions, but crude notions; and still oftner to bring forward obvious and hackneyed remarks, which float on the very surface of a subject, with the imposing air of recent invention, and all the vanity of conscious discovery. This is because their acquirements have not been woven into their minds by early instruction; what knowledge they have gotten stands out as it were above the very surface of their minds, like the appliquée of the embroiderer, instead of having been interwoven with the growth of the piece, so as to have be|come a part of the stuff. They did not, like men, acquire what they know while the texture was forming. Perhaps no better preventive could be devised for this literary vanity, than early instruct|ion: that woman would be less likely to be vain of her knowledge who did not remember the time when she was ignorant.

Knowledge that is burnt in, if I may so speak, is seldom obtrusive.

Their reading also has probably consisted much in abridgments from larger works, as was observed in a former chapter; this makes a readier talker, but a shallower thinker, than books of more bulk. By these scanty sketches their critical spirit has been excited, while their critical pow|ers have not been formed. For in those crippled mutilations they have seen no|thing of that just proportion of parts, that skilful arrangement of the plan, and that artful distribution of the subject, which, while they prove the master hand of the writer, serve also to form the taste of the reader, far more than a dis-jointed skeleton, or a beautiful feature or two can do. The instruction of women is also too much drawn from the scanty and penurious sources of short writings of the essay kind: this, when it comprises the best part of a person's reading, makes smatterers and spoils scholars; for though it supplies

ready talk, yet it does not make a full mind; it does not furnish a store house of materials to stock the understand|ing, neither does it accustom the mind to any trains of reflection: for the subjects, besides being each succinctly, and, on ac|count of this brevity, superficially treated, are distinct and disconnected; they form no concatenation of ideas, nor any depend|ent series of deduction. Yet on this plea|sant but desultory reading, the mind which has not been trained to severer ex|ercise, loves to repose itself in a sort of creditable indolence, instead of stretching its powers in the wholesome labour of con|fecutive investigation * 1.1.

I am not discouraging study at a late period of life, or even slender knowledge;

information is good at whatever period and in whatever degree it be acquired. But in such cases it should be at|tended with peculiar humility; and the new possessor should bear in mind, that what is fresh to her has been long known to others; and she should be aware of ad|vancing as novel that which is common, and obtruding as rare that which every body possesses. Some ladies are eager to exhibit proofs of their reading, though at the expence of their judgment, and will in|troduce in conversation quotations quite irrelevant to the matter in hand, because they happen to recur to their recollection, or were, perhaps, found in the book they have just been reading. Inappropriate quotations or strained analogy may shew reading, but they do not shew taste. That just and happy allusion which knows by a word how to awaken a corresponding image, or to excite in the mind of the hearer the idea which fills the mind of the speaker, shews less pedantry and more

taste than bare citations; and a mind imbued with elegant knowledge will in|evitably betray the opulence of its re|sources, even on topics which do not relate to science or literature. Well informed persons will easily be discovered to have read the best books, though they are not always detailing catalogues of authors. True taste will detect the infusion which true modesty will not display; and even common subjects passing through a cultivated understanding, borrow a flavour of its richness. A power of apt selection is more valuable than any power of general retention; and an appo|site remark, which shoots strait to the point, demands higher powers of mind than an hundred simple acts of mere memory: for the business of the memory is only to store up materials which the understanding is to mix and work up with its native faculties, and which the judgment is to bring out and apply. But young women, who have more vivacity than sense, and more vanity than vivacity, often risk the charge of ab|surdity

to escape that of ignorance, and will even compare two authors who are totally unlike rather than miss the occasion to shew that they have read both.

Among the arts to spoil conversation, some ladies possess that of suddenly divert|ing it from the channel in which it was beneficially flowing, because some word used by the person who was speaking has accidentally struck out a new train of thinking in their own minds, and not be|cause the idea expressed has struck out a fresh idea, which sort of collision is in|deed the way of eliciting the true fire. Young ladies, whose sprightliness has not been disciplined by a correct education, are sometimes willing to purchase the praise of being lively at the risk of being thought rash or vain. They now and then consider how things may be prettily said, rather than how they may be prudently or seasonably spoken; and hazard being thought wrong for the chance of being reckoned pleasant.

The flowers of rhetoric captivate them more than the justest deductions of reason; and to repel an argument they arm themselves with a metaphor. Those also who do not aim so high as eloquence, are often surprised that you refuse to accept of a pre|judice instead of a reason; they are apt to take up with a probability in place of a demonstration, and cheaply put you off with an assertion when you are requiring a proof. The same mode of education ren|ders them also impatient of opposition; and if they happen to possess beauty, and to be vain of it, they may be tempted to con|sider that as an additional proof of their being in the right. In this case, they will not ask the conviction of your judgment to the force of their argument, so much as to the authority of their charms; for they prefer a sacrifice to a convert, and submission to their will flatters them more than proselytism to their

pleaded reason.

The same turn of mind, strengthened by the same cause, (a neglected educa|tion,) leads lively women often to pro|nounce on a question without examining it: on any given point they seldomet doubt than men; not because they are more clear-sighted, but because they have not been accustomed to look into a sub|ject long enough to discover its depths and its intricacies; and, not discerning its difficulties, they conclude that it has none. Is it a contradiction to say, that they seem at once to be quick-sighted and short-sighted? What they see at all, they com|monly see at once; a little difficulty dis|courages them; and, having caught a hasty glimpse of a subject, they rush to this conclusion, that either there is no more to be seen, or that what is behind will not pay them for the trouble of searching. They pursue their object eagerly, but not regularly; rapidly, but not pertinaciously; for they want that obstinate patience of investigation which

grows stouter by repulse. What they have not attained, they do not believe exists; what they cannot seize at once, they persuade themselves is not worth having.

Is a subject of moment started in com|pany? While the more sagacious are de|liberating on its difficulties, and viewing it under all its aspects, in order to form a competent judgment what to say, you will often find the most superficial woman present determine the matter without hesitation. Not seeing the perplexities in which the question is involved, she won|ders at the want of penetration in him whose very penetration keeps him silent. She secretly despises the dull perception and slow decision of him who is patiently untying the knot which she fancies she ex|hibits more dexterity by cutting. By this shallow sprightliness, the person whose opinion was best worth having is dis|couraged from delivering it, and an im|portant subject is dismissed without dis|cussion

inconsequent flippancy, and voluble rashness. It is this abundance of florid talk, from superficial matter, which has brought on so many of the sex the charge of inverting the Apostle's precept, and being swift to speak, slow to hear.

For if the great Roman Orator could observe, that silence was so important a part of conversation, that

there was not only an art but an eloquence in it,

how peculiarly does the remark apply to the modesty of youthful females! But the silence of listless ignorance, and the silence of sparkling intelligence, are two things almost as obviously distinct, as the wisdom and the folly of the tongue. And an in|violable and marked attention may shew, that a woman is pleased with a subject, and an illuminated countenance may prove that she understands it, amost as unequi|vocally as language itself could do; and this, with a modest question, is in many cases as large a share of the conversation as is decorous for feminine delicacy to take. It

is also as flattering an encouragement as men of sense require, for pursuing such topics in their presence, which they would do, did they oftener gain by it the attention which it is natural to wish to excite.

Yet do we not sometimes see an impa|tience to be heard (nor is it a feminine failing only) which good breeding can scarcely subdue? And even when these incorrigible talkers are compelled to be silent, is it not evident that they are not listening to what is said, but are only thinking of what they themselves shall say when they can seize the first lucky interval for which they are so narrowly watching?

But conversation must not be con|sidered as a stage for the display of our talents, so much as a field for the exercise and improvement of our virtues; as a means for promoting the glory of our Creator and the good and happiness of our fellow creatures. Well bred and intelli|gent Christians are not, when they join in society, to consider themselves as entering

the lists like intellectual prize-fighters, in order to exhibit their own vigour and dexterity, to discomfit their adversary, and to bear away the palm of victory. Truth and not triumph should be the object; and there are few occasions in life, in which we are more unremittingly called upon to watch ourselves narrowly, and to resist the assaults of various temptations, than in conversation. Vanity, jealousy, envy, misrepresentation, resentment, disdain, le|vity, impatience, insincerity, will in turn solicit to be gratified. Constantly to strug|gle against the desire of being thought more wise, more witty, and more knowing, than those with whom we associate, demands the incessant exertion of that Christian vigilance which the generality are so far from suspecting, ought to be brought into exercise in the intercourse of common society; that cheerful conversa|tion is rather considered as an exemption and release from watchfulness, than as an additional obligation to it.

But society, as was observed before, is not a stage on which to throw down our gauntlet, and prove our own prowess by the number of falls we give to our adver|sary; so far from it, that good breeding as well as Christianity, considers as an indispensable requisite for conversation, the disposition to bring forward to notice any talent in others, which their own modesty, or conscious inferiority, would lead them to keep back. To do this with effect requires a penetration exer|cised to discern merit, and a generous candour which delights in drawing it out. There are few who cannot converse tole|rably on some one topic; what that is, we should try to find out, and introduce that topic, though to the suppression of any one on which we ourselves are supposed to excel: and however superior we may be in other respects to the persons in question, we may, perhaps, in that parti|cular point, improve by them; and if we do not gain information, we shall at least

gain a wholesome exercise to our humility and self-denial; we shall be restraining our own impetuousity; we shall be giving confidence to a doubting, or cheerfulness to a depressed spirit. And to place a just remark, hazarded by the diffident in the most advantageous point of view; to call the attention of the inattentive to the ob|servation of one, who, though of much worth, is perhaps of little note; these are requisites for conversation, less brilliant, but far more valuable, than the power of exciting bursts of laughter by the brightest wit, or of extorting admiration by the most poignant sallies.

For wit is of all the qualities of the female mind that which requires the severest castigation; yet the temperate ex|ercise of this fascinating quality throws an additional lustre round the character of an amiable woman; for to manage with discreet modesty a dangerous talent, con|fers a higher praise than can be claimed by those in whom the absence of the talent

takes away the temptation to misemploy it. But to women, wit is a peculiarly perilous possession, which nothing short of the sobermindedness of Christianity can keep in order. Intemperate wit craves admiration as its natural aliment; it lives on flattery as its daily bread. The pro|fessed wit is a hungry beggar that subsists on the extorted alms of perpetual panegy|ric; and, like the vulture in the Grecian fable, its appetite increases by indulgence. Simple truth and sober approbation be|come tasteless and insipid to the palate, daily vitiated by the delicious poignancies of exaggerated commendation.

But if it be true that some women are too apt to affect brilliancy and display in their own discourse, and to undervalue the more humble pretensions of less showy characters; it must be confessed also, that some of more ordinary abilities are now and then guilty of the opposite error, and foolishly affect to value themselves on not making use of the understanding they

really possess. They exhibit no small satisfac|tion in ridiculing women of high intellectual endowments, while they exclaim with much affected humility, and much real envy, that

they are thankful they are not geniuses.

Now, though one is glad to hear gratitude expressed on any occasion, yet the want of sense is really no such great mercy to be thankful for; and it would indicate a better spirit, were they to pray to be enabled to make a right use of the moderate understanding they possess, than to expose with a too visible pleasure the imaginary or real defects of their more shining acquaintance. Women of the brightest faculties should not only "bear those faculties meekly," but consider it as no derogation, cheerfully to fulfil those humbler duties which make up the business of common life, always taking into the account the higher respon|sibility attached to higher gifts. While women of lower attainments should exert to the utmost such abilities as Providence

has assigned them; and while they should not deride excellencies which are above their reach, they should not despond at an inferiority which did not depend on themselves; nor, because God has denied them ten talents, should they forget that they are equally responsible for the one he has allotted them, but set about devoting that one with humble diligence to the glory of the Giver.

Vanity, however, is not the monopoly of talents; let not a young lady, there|fore, fancy that she is humble, merely because she is not ingenious. Humility is not the exclusive privilege of dulness. Folly is as conceited as wit, and ignorance many a time outstrips knowledge in the race of vanity. Equally earnest competi|tions in conversation spring from causes less worthy to excite them than wit and genius. Vanity insinuates itself into the female heart under a variety of unsuspect|ed forms, and seizes on many a little pass which was not thought worth guarding.

Who has not seen a restless emotion agitate the features of an anxious matron, while peace and fame hung trembling in doubtful suspence on the success of a soup or a sauce, on which sentence was about to be pronounced by some consummate critic, as could have been excited by any competition for literary renown, or any struggle for contested wit?

There is another species of vanity in some women which disguises itself under the thin veil of an affected humility; they will accuse themselves of some fault from which they are remarkably exempt, and lament the want of some talent which they are rather notorious for possessing. This is not only a clumsy trap for praise, but there is a disingenuous intention, by renouncing a quality they eminently pos|sess, to gain credit for others in which they are really deficient. All affectation involves a species of deceit. The Apostle when he enjoins,

not to think of our|selves more highly than we ought,

does not exhort us to think falsely of our|selves, but to think "soberly;" and it is worth observing that in this injunction he does not use the word speak, but think, inferring possibly, that it would be safer not to speak of ourselves at all; for it is so far from being an unequivocal proof of our humility to talk even of our defects, that while we make self the subject, in whatever way, self-love contrives to be gratified, and will even be content that our faults should be talked of, rather than that we should not be talked of at all. Some are also attacked with such proud fits of humility, that while they are ready to accuse themselves of almost every sin in the lump, they yet take fire at the imputation of the slightest individual fault; and instantly enter upon their own vindication as warmly as if you, and not themselves, had brought forward the charge. The truth is, they ventured to condemn themselves, in the full confidence that you would contradict them; the last

thing they intended was that you should believe them, and they are never so much piqued, and disappointed as when they are taken at their word.

Of the various shapes and undefined forms into which vanity branches out in conversation there is no end. Out of a restless desire to please, grows the spurious desire to astonish: from vanity as much as from credulity, arises that strong love of the marvellous, with which the conver|sation of the ill-educated abounds. Hence that fondness for dealing in narratives hardly within the compass of possibility. Here vanity has many shades of gratifica|tion; those shades will be stronger or weaker, whether the relater have been an eye witness of the wonder she recounts; or whether she claim only the second hand renown of its having happened to her friend, or the still remoter celebrity of its having been witnessed only by her friend's friend: but even though that friend only knew the man, who remembered the

woman, who actually beheld the thing which is now causing admiration in the company, still self, though in a fainter degree, is brought into notice, and the relater contrives in some circuitous way to be connected with the wonder.

To correct this propensity

to elevate and surprise * 1.2

it would be well in mixed society to abstain altogether from hazard|ing stories, which though they may not be absolutely false, yet lying without the verge of probability, are apt to impeach the credit of the narrator; in whom the very consciousness that she is not believed, excites an increased eagerness to depart still farther from the soberness of truth, and induces a habit of vehement assevera|tion, which is too often called in to help out a questionable point † 1.3

There is another shape, and a very de|formed shape it is, in which loquacious vanity shews itself; I mean, the betraying of confi|dence. Though the act be treacherous, yet the fault, in the first instance, is not treachery, but vanity. It does not so often spring from the mischievous desire of divulging a secret, as from the pride of having been trusted with it. It is the secret inclination of mixing self with whatever is important. The secret is of little value, if the reveal|ing it did not serve to intimate our con|nexion with it: the pleasure of its having been deposited with us would be nothing, if others may not know it has been so deposted.—When we continue to see the variety of serious evils it involves, shall we

persist in asserting that vanity is a slender mischief?

There is one offence committed in con|versation of much too serious a nature to be overlooked, or to be animadverted on without sorrow and indignation: I mean, the habitual and thoughtless prophaneness of those who are repeatedly invoking their Maker's name on occasions the most trivial. It is offensive in all its variety of aspects;—it is very pernicious in its effects; —it is a growing evil;—those who are most guilty of it, are from habit hardly conscious when they do it; are not aware of the sin; and for both these reasons, without the admonitions of faith|ful friendship, little likely to discontinue it; —it it utterly INEXCUSABLE;—it has none of the palliatives of temptation which other vices plead, and in that respect stands distinguished from all others both in its nature and degree of guilt.—Like many other sins, however, it is at once cause and effect; it proceeds from want of

love and reverence to the best of Beings, and causes that want both in themselves and others. Yet with all those aggrava|tions, there is, perhaps, hardly any sin so frequently committed, so seldom repented of, and so little guarded against. On the score of impropriety too, it is additionally offensive, as being utterly repugnant to female delicacy, which often affects to be shocked at swearing in a man. Now this species of profaneness is not only swearing, but, perhaps, swearing of the worst sort; as it is a direct breach of an express com|mand, and offends against the very letter of that law which says in so many words, THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD THY GOD IN VAIN. It offends against delicacy and good breeding; for those who commit it, little think of the pain they are inflicting on the sober mind, which is deeply wounded when it hears the holy name it loves dishonoured; and it is as contrary to good breeding to give pain, as it is to true piety to be profane.

I would endeavour to give some faint idea of the grossness of this offence, by an analogy (Oh! how inadequate!) with which the feeling heart, even though not seasoned with religion, may be touched. To such I would earnestly say:—Suppose you had some beloved friend, —to put the case still more strongly, a departed friend —a revered parent, perhaps, —whose image never occurs without awaking in your bosom sentiments of tender love and gratitude; how would you feel if you heard this honoured name bandied about with unfeeling familiarity, and indecent levity; or at best, thrust into every pause of speech as a vulgar expletive? Does not your affectionate heart recoil at the thought? And yet the hallowed name of your truest Benefactor, your heavenly Father, your best friend, who gives you all you enjoy, those very friends in whom you so much delight, those very organs with which you dishonour him, is treated with an irreverence, a contempt, a wanton|ness,

with which you cannot bear the mention of treating a human friend. HIS name is impiously, is unfeelingly, is un|gratefully singled out as the object of decided irreverence, of systematic con|tempt, of thoughtless levity. It is used indiscriminately to express anger, joy, grief, surprise, impatience; and what is almost still more unpardonable than all, it is wantonly used as a mere unmeaning expletive, which, being excited by no emotion, can have nothing to recommend it, unless it be the pleasure of the sin.

Among the deep, but less obvious mischiefs of conversation, misrepresentation must not be overlooked. Self-love is continually at work, to give to all we say a bias in our own favour; the counter|action of this fault should be set about in the earliest stages of education. If young persons have not been discouraged in the natural, but evil propensity, to relate every dispute they have had with others to their own advantage; if they

have not been trained to the duty of doing justice even to those with whom they are at variance; if they have not been led to aim at a complete impartiality in their little narratives; and, instructed never to take advantage of the absence of the other party, in order to make the story lean to their own side more than the truth will admit; how shall we in advanced life look for correct habits, for unpre|judiced representations, for fidelity, ac|curacy, and unbiassed justice?

Yet, how often in society, otherwise respectable, are we pained with narrations in which prejudice warps, and self-love blinds! How often do we see, that with|holding part of a truth answers the worst ends of a falsehood! How often regret the unfair turn given to a business, by placing a sentiment in one point of view, which the speaker had used in another! the letter of truth preserved where its spirit is violated! A superstitious exactness scrupulously maintained in the underparts

of a detail, in order to impress such an idea of integrity, as shall gain credit when the leading principle is designedly mis|stated! nay, a new character given to a fact by a different look, tone or emphasis, which alters it as much as words could have done! the false impression conveyed of a sermon, when we do not like the preacher, or when through him we wish to make religion itself ridiculous! the avoiding of literal untruths, while the mis|chief is better effected by the unfair quota|tion of a passage divested of its context! the bringing together detached portions of a subject and making those parts ludi|crous when connected, which were perfect in their distinct position! the insidious use made of a sentiment by representing it as the opinion of him, who had only brought it forward in order to expose it! the relating opinions which had merely been put hypothetically, as the avowed principles of him we would discredit! that subtle falsehood which is so made

to incorporate with a certain quantity of truth, that the most skilful moral chemist cannot analyse or separate them! for a misrepresenter knows that a successful lie must have a certain infusion of truth, or it will not go down. All that indefinable ambiguity and equivocation; all that pru|dent deceit, which is rather implied than expressed; those more delicate artifices of the school of Loyala and of Chesterfield, which allow us when we dare not deny a truth, yet so to disguise and discolour it, that the truth we relate shall not resemble the truth we heard! These and all the thousand shades of simulation and dissimu|lation will be carefully guarded against in the conversation of vigilant Christians.

Again, it is surprising to mark the com|mon deviations from strict veracity which spring, not from enmity to truth, not from intentional deceit, not from malevolence or envy, or the least design to injure, but from mere levity, habitual inattention, and a current notion that it is not worth

while to be correct in small things. But here the doctrine of habits comes in with great force, and in that view no error is small. The cure of this disease in its more inveterate stages being next to im|possible, its prevention ought to be one of the earliest objects of education. * 1.4

The grievous fault of gross and obvious detraction which infects conversation, has been so heavily and so justly condemned by divines and moralists, that the subject is exhausted. But there is an error of an opposite complexion, which we have be|fore noticed, and against which the pecu|liar temper of the times requires, that young ladies of a better cast should be guarded. From the narrowness of their own sphere of observation, they are some|times addicted to accuse of uncharitable|ness, that distinguishing judgment which, resulting from a sound penetration and a zeal for truth, forbids persons of a very

correct principle to be indiscriminately prodigal of commendation without in|quiry, and of praise without distinction. There is an affectation of candour, which is almost as mischievous as calumny itself; nay, if it be less injurious in its individual application, it is, perhaps, more alarming in its general principle, as it lays waste the strong fences which separate good from evil. They know (though they sometimes calumniate) that calumny is wrong but they have not been told that flattery is wrong also; and youth being apt to fancy that the direct contrary to wrong must necessarily be right, are apt to be driven into extremes. The dread of being only suspected of one fault makes them actually guilty of the other; and to avoid the charge of envy they plunge into insincerity. In this they are actuated by an unsound judgment or an unfound principle. But the standard of truth and of justice must neither be elevated nor depressed, in order to accom|modate

it to existing circumstances. Good natured young people often speak favour|ably of unworthy, or extravagantly of com|mon characters, from one of these motives; either their own views of excellence are low, or they speak respectully of the un|deserving, to purchase for themselves the reputation of tenderness and generosity; or they lavish unsparing praise on almost all alike, in the usurious hope of buying back universal commendation in return; or in these captivating characters in which the simple and masculine language of truth is sacrificed to the jargon of affect|ed softness; and in which smooth and pliant manners are substituted for intrinsic worth, the inexperienced are too apt to suppose virtues, and to forgive vices. But they should carefully guard against the error of making manner the criterion of merit, and of giving unlimited credit to strangers for possessing every perfection, only because they bring into company the engaging exterior of alluring gentleness.

They should also remember that it is an easy, but not an honest way of obtaining the praise of candour to get into the soft and popular habit of saying of all their acquaintance, when speaking of them, that they are so good! True Christian candour conceals faults, but it does not invent virtues. It tenderly forbears to expose the evil which may belong to a character, but it dares not ascribe to it the good which does not exist. To correct this propensity to insincerity, it would be well to bear in mind, that while every good action, come from what source it may, and every good quality, be it found in whomsoever it will, deserves its fair proportion of distinct and willing com|mendation; yet no character is GOOD in the true sense of the word which is not RELIGIOUS.

In fine—to recapitulate what has been said, with some additional hints.—Study to promote both intellectual and moral improvement in conversation; labour to

bring into it a disposition to bear with others, and to be watchful over yourself; Keep out of sight any prominent talent of your own, which, if indulged, might discourage or oppress the feeble-minded. If you know any one present to possess any particular weakness or infirmity, never exercise your wit by maliciously inventing occasions which may lead her to expose or betray it; but give as favourable a turn as you can to the follies which appear, and kindly help her to keep the rest out of sight. Never gratify your own humour, by hazarding what you suspect may wound any one present in their persons, connexions, professions, or religious opinions; and do not forget to examine whether the laugh your wit has raised be never bought at this expence. Give credit to those, who without your kindness will get none; do not talk at any one whom you dare not talk to, unless from motives in which the golden rule will bear you out. Seek neither to

shine nor to triumph, and if your seek to please, take care that it be in order to convert the influence you may gain by pleasing to the good of others. Cultivate true politeness, for it grows out of true principle, and is consistent with the Gospel of Christ; but avoid those feigned atten|tions which are not stimulated by good will, and those stated professions of fond|ness which are not dictated by esteem. Remember that the praise of being thought amiable by strangers, may be bought too dear, if it be bought at the expence of truth and simplicity: remem|ber that Simplicity is the first charm in manner, as Truth is in mind; and could Truth make herself visible, she would ap|pear invested in Simplicity.

Remember also, that true good nature is the soul, of which politeness is only the garb. It is not that artifical quality which is taken up by many when they go into society, in order to charm those whom it is not their particular business

to please; and is laid down when they return home to those to whom to appear amiable is a real duty. It is not that fascinating but deceitful softness, which, after having acted over a hundred scenes of the most lively sympathy and tender interest with every slight acquaintance; after having exhausted every phrase of feeling, for the trivial sicknesses or petty sorrows of multitudes who are scarcely known, leaves it doubtful whether a grain of real feeling or genuine sympathy be reserved for the dearest connexions; and which dismisses a woman to her immediate friends with little affection, and to her own family with little attachment.

True good nature, that which alone deserves the name, is not a holiday orna|ment, but an every-day habit. It does not consist in servile complaisance, or dishonest flattery, or affected sympathy, or unqualified assent, or unwarrantable compliance, or eternal smiles. Before it can be allowed to rank with the virtues,

it must be wrought up from a disposition into a principle, from a humour into a habit. It must be the result of an equal and well-governed mind, not the start of casual gaiety, the trick of designing vanity, or the whim of capricious fondness. It is compounded of kindness, forbearance, for|giveness, and self-denial;

it seeketh not its own,

but must be capable of making continual sacrifices of its own tastes, hu|mours, and self-love; but among the sacrisices it makes, it must never include its integrity. Politeness on the one hand, and insensibility on the other, assume its name and wear its honours; but they assume the honours of a triumph, without the merit of a victory; for politeness sub|dues nothing, and insensibility has nothing to subdue. Good nature of the true cast, and under the foregoing regulations, is above all price in the common intercourse of domestic society; for an ordinary quality which is constantly brought into action, by the perpetually recurring

though minute events of daily life, is of higher value than more brilliant qualities which are more seldom called into use. And indeed, Christianity has given that new turn to the character of all the virtues, that perhaps it is the best test of the excellence of many that they have little brilliancy in them. The Christian Religion has degraded some splendid qua|lities from the rank they held, and elevated those which were obscure into distinction.

Notes

• * 1.1

  The writer cannot be supposed desirous of depre|ciating the value of those many beautiful periodical effays which adorn our language. But, perhaps, it might be better to regale the mind with them singly, at different times, than to read at the same sitting, a multitude of short pieces on dissimilar and contradict|ory topics, by way of getting through the book.
• * 1.2

  The Rehearsal.
• † 1.3

  This is also a good rule in composition. An event, though it may actually have happened, yet if it be out of the reach of probability, or contrary to the common course of nature, will seldom be chosen as a subject by a writer of good taste; for he knows that a probable fiction will interest the feelings more than an unlikely truth. Verisimilitude is indeed the poet's truth, but the truth of the moralist is of a more sturdy growth.
• * 1.4

  See the Chapter on the Use of Definitions.