That conversation may answer the ends for which it was designed, the
parties who are to join in it must come together with a determined
resolution to please, and to be pleased. If a man feels that an east
wind has rendered him dull and sulky, he should by all means stay at
home till the wind changes, and not be troublesome to his friends; for
dulness is infectious, and one sour face will make many, as one cheerful
countenance is soon productive of others. If two gentlemen desire to
quarrel, it should not be done in a company met to enjoy the pleasures
of conversation. It is obvious, for these reasons, that he who is about
to form a conversation party should be careful to invite men of
congenial minds, and of similar ideas respecting the entertainment of
which they are to partake, and to which they must contribute.
With gloomy persons, gloomy topics likewise should be (as indeed they
will be) excluded, such as ill health, bad weather, bad news, or
forebodings of such, &c. To preserve the temper calm and pleasant, it is
of unspeakable importance that we always accustom ourselves thro’ life
to make the best of things, to view them on their bright side, and to
represent them to others, for our mutual comfort and encouragement. Few
things (especially if, as christians, we take the other world into
account) but have a bright side; diligence and practice will easily find
it. Perhaps there is no circumstance better calculated than this to
render conversation equally pleasing and profitable.
In the conduct of it, be not eager to interrupt others, or uneasy at
being yourself interrupted; since you speak either to amuse or instruct
the company, or to receive those benefits from it. Give all, therefore,
leave to speak. Hear with patience, and answer with precision.
Inattention is ill manners; it shews contempt; contempt is never
forgiven.
Trouble not the company with your own private concerns, as you do not
love to be troubled with those of others. Yours are as little to them,
as theirs are to you. You will need no other rule whereby to judge of
this matter.
Contrive, but with dexterity and propriety, that each person may have an
opportunity of discoursing on the subject with which he is best
acquainted. He will be pleased, and you will be informed. By observing
this rule, every one has it in his power to assist in rendering
conversation agreeable; since, though he may not choose or be qualified,
to say much himself, he can propose questions to those who are able to
answer them.
Avoid stories, unless short, pointed, and quite _a-propos_. He who deals
in them, says Swift, must either have a very large stock, or a good
memory, or must often change his company. Some have a set of them strung
together like onions; they take possession of the conversation by an
early introduction of one; and then you must have the whole rope; and
there is an end of every thing else, perhaps, for that meeting, though
you may have heard all twenty times before.
Talk _often_ but not _long_. The talent of haranguing in private company
is insupportable. Senators and barristers are apt to be guilty of this
fault; and members, who never harangue in the house, will often do it
out of the house. If the majority of the company be naturally silent, or
cautious, the conversation will flag, unless it be often renewed by one
among them who can start new subjects. Forbear, however, if possible, to
broach a second before the first is out, lest your stock should not
last, and you should be obliged to come back to the old barrel. There
are those who will repeatedly cross upon, and break into the
conversation with a fresh topic, till they have touched upon all, and
exhausted none. Œconomy here is necessary for most people.
Laugh not at your own wit and humour; leave that to the company.
When the conversation is flowing in a serious and useful channel, never
interrupt it by an ill-timed jest. The stream is scattered, and cannot
be again collected.
Discourse not in a whisper, or half voice, to your next neighbour. It is
ill breeding, and, in some degree, a fraud; conversation-stock being, as
one has well observed, a joint and common property.
In reflexions on absent people, go no farther than you would go if they
were present. ‘I resolve,’ says bishop Beveridge, ‘never to speak of a
man’s virtues to his face, nor of his faults behind his back;’ a golden
rule! the observation of which would, at one stroke, banish flattery and
defamation from the earth.
* * * * *
* * * *
THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION;
_OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A._
Unfolding Many Curious Unknown Historical Facts.
_Translated from the German of Tschink._
(Continued from page 147.)
I thanked him, and when he was going to leave me, asked him, “how does
our royal hermit do?”
“He----is well, and you shall hear from him as soon as the Duke of
B----a shall have dispossessed the King of Sp---n of the throne of
P---t------.”
“But my old friend------”
“Will soon press you again to his bosom.”
“And Amelia?”
“Considering the terms on which you already are with her, you will not
be in want of the assistance of my power.” So saying, he took,
a friendly leave of me.
It was indeed high time that the Irishman released me from my
engagement, for my stay at Mad---d began so grow extremely irksome to
me. An irresistible power urged me to return to her who had inthralled
me with magic bonds. My separation from her, and the letters I received
from the dear woman, had heated my passion to the highest degree. Her
letters, breathing nothing but tenderness and affection, were indeed
entirely destitute of that fiery impetuosity of love which characterised
mine; however, this was just adding fuel to the flame, which consumed
me. I felt that I could not live without her. She did not indeed
encourage my hope of getting possession of her hand, yet she did not
repel it entirely, and several hints which Lady Delier had given me,
served to support it. I was already computing with rapture the effect
which my unexpected arrival would produce on Amelia, and made the
necessary preparation, for my return to her without apprising her of it;
however, my soul preceded these preparations, and only the lesser part
of it was remaining at Mad---d; no wonder therefore, that the letters of
my father, and the Marquis of Ferei*a, which recalled me to Port----l,
had no effect upon me.
“I cannot divine,” the Marquis wrote to me, “what may have induced your
father to return this year to the capital much earlier than usual.
However, I can tell you that you will scarcely know him again when you
shall see him. Ever since he pretends to have seen the ghost of Count
Santeval, he is changed most wonderfully. He is in a state of utter
apathy, gloomy and reserved, and I may truly say, superstitious. He
avoids, since his late illness, as much as decency will permit, all
conversation, even mine. There is but one person who has free access to
him, and seems to have possessed himself entirely of his confidence. Let
me give you a description of that man.
“Imagine to yourself an elderly man above the middle size, with a long,
thin face, a yellow complexion, a strongly-furrowed brow, hollow, small,
and red eyes, and staring, almost deadened features, which, when he
smiles, changes into a kind of grinning. This physiognomy, of which no
faithful verbal description can be given, and which has been stamped in
a most unfavourable manner by nature’s forming hand, is softened by an
affected air of piety; however, if examined minutely and narrowly, peeps
with increased horrors through the borrowed veil. This countenance
appears to me like a dreadful mystery, and I cannot behold it without
secret terror. The _tout ensemble_ of that man exactly fits this
head---a sneaking gait--a stooping neck--a grey coat---but you must and
will see him yourself. I hate him from the bottom of my soul, and think
that he is not capable of a good action, and that his mere presence must
be sufficient to dispel even from the hearts of others every noble
sentiment. It would be a mystery to me, how your father can converse
with him, if I did not know that he has been blinded by his hypocrisy
and devout discourses. That man (he calls himself _Alumbrado_) pretends
to be regenerated, and talks a great deal of the gifts of supernatural
light. Your father, who takes for sterling truth whatever comes from his
lips, seems to be more charmed with him every day. O hasten, my friend,
to deliver your father from this ignoble, and, as I fear, dangerous
enchantment. I think that an emotion like that which the sight of you
after so long a separation, must cause in the mind of your father will
be necessary to rouse from his apathy, &c. &c. &c.”
My situation rendered this letter, as I have already mentioned,
ineffectual. The apprehensions of the Marquis appeared to me
exaggerated; his unfavourable judgment of Alumbrado, originating from
physiognomical reasons, unjust, and uncharitable, and my father old and
sensible enough to see and avoid the danger, if any should be existing.
I deemed the return to the Countess much more pressing than the journey
to P--------l, took leave of Oliva*z and Suma*ez, assuring them that the
affair concerning the Duke of B----a had been pushed to a point where it
soon would come to a crisis without our assistance. They were of the
same opinion, and dismissed me in a very obliging manner.
I had already made every preparation for setting out the next morning,
when a letter from Amelia and Lady Delier defeated my design. The former
informed me that a pressing letter from her uncle, who was on the brink
of eternity, and desired to see her once more before his death, rendered
it necessary for her to hasten to Cadiz. In the letter of the Baroness,
which, amongst others, contained the direction of the Countess at Cadiz,
the portrait of Amelia was enclosed.
Amelia’s portrait! the image of those heavenly charms, the contemplation
of which would afford delight even to angels, and the lifeless imitation
of which filled my soul with rapture. O! with what an unspeakable
delight did my entranced eyes imbibe them! how did the sight of him
recall to my enraptured bosom all those sweet emotions which the
presence of the original had formerly excited in my breast.
This softened the blow which repelled me so suddenly from the port of
happiness which I fancied I had almost reached. Alas! this blow
inflicted a deep wound on my heart, which at once found all the sweet
presentments of meeting again changed into the nameless throes of a new
separation. However, the sight of the picture representing to me the
absent darling of my heart, and the secret meaning of that gift gave me
some comfort, and inspired me with new hopes. Who else but my Amelia
could have sent me that present? Her letter did, indeed contain only a
few distant hints, and the picture was enclosed in that of Lady Delier;
yet this did not misguide me, for I was too well acquainted with
Amelia’s delicacy. I resolved now to return to my father, and to prepare
him for my union with the Countess.
I acted wisely in surprising him by my sudden arrival, for otherwise he
would, probably, not have received me with that kindness to which my
unexpected appearance impelled him. No sooner were the first moments of
mutual fondness past, when he said, with apparent coldness, “the world
must have had very irresistible charms for you?”
“The charms of novelty, my dear father.”
“It must have been very painful to you to return to your paternal house;
for it seems you had almost forgot your way homeward.”
“I had much to see, and have experienced a great deal!”
“I do not doubt it; you have had very little leisure for thinking of
your father.”
I endeavoured to refute his reproach which I had expected, and succeeded
pretty well. The Marquis grew warmer and more affectionate; he enquired
after my tutor and Count Clairval. It seemed to wound him deeply that I
could give no satisfactory account of the former. With regard to the
latter, I told him that important family affairs had called him from me
unexpectedly.
My father appeared then not to be in a favourable disposition for
listening to an account of my connection with the Countess, and how
strongly soever the impulse of my heart pressed me to speak on that
subject, yet prudence advised me to wait for a more favourable
opportunity. The following morning appeared to me propitious for that
purpose. My father was very cheerful, and I contrived being surprised by
him with Amelia’s picture in my hand.
“What have you there?” he asked me.
“The picture of the Dowager Countess of Clairval.”
“How far is she related to your travelling companion?”
“She was married to his brother.”
“So young, and already a widow?” said he, looking at the picture;
“I should have mistaken it for the picture of a girl of seventeen years.
However, the painters are used to flatter.”
“I assure you, the original possesses numberless charms which have
escaped the artist.”
“Then the Countess must be extremely handsome.”
“She is an angel.”
“The face is more interesting than handsome.”
“Handsome and interesting to a high degree.”
“You are in love with her.”
“My father--”
“I should be very sorry at it.”
“For what reason?” I asked, thunderstruck.
“The young Princess of L**** --what do you think of her?”
“I don’t like her at all.”
“This would grieve me extremely, for I have chosen her for your wife.”
“My heart has already chosen. Your consent, my father--”
“The Countess of Clairval? Never!”
“You don’t know her. Her family and fortune are very considerable.”
“I hope you will not liken her, in that respect, to the Princess
of L****?”
“Not at all! but the amiable character of the Countess--”
“The character of the Princess is without blame. My dear son, consider
the splendor and the honour which our family would derive from that
alliance. Consider that you will render me happy by that union. When
you, by my desire, broke off your connection with a certain Darbis, you
revived my hope of seeing you allied to the family of L****; do not
thwart my plan by a new love, do not cross my fondest wishes. You are,
indeed, your own master, and may chuse for yourself; you must, however,
not expect my consent and a father’s blessing, if you do not marry the
Princess of L****. I am sensible that it will give you pain to renounce
the Countess, and for that reason will not press you farther at present.
I shall not desire you to come to a resolution before the end of seven
weeks. Till then, do not mention a word about the matter.”
Seeing that I was going to reply, he took me by the hand. “Be a man,”
said he, “who knows how to conquer juvenile passions. Gain my regard as
you have gained my affection. My life is joyless, do not make me hate
it. My dear son, I have sacrificed much for you, sacrifice now in return
a little for your father!” So saying, he left me.
(_To be continued._)
* * * * *