ingenuity of plan and contrivance, of accurate and well-supported
discrimination of character, and of force and elegance of language.
Some of them have professedly been composed with a design to favour
the interests of morality. And among those which are deemed to
have, on the whole, a moral tendency, a very few, perhaps, might
be selected, which are not liable to the disgraceful charge of
being occasionally contaminated by incidents and passions unfit
to be represented to the reader. This charge, however, may so
very generally be alleged with justice, that even of the novels
which possess high and established reputation, by far the greater
number is totally improper, in consequence of such admixture, to
be perused by the eye of delicacy. Poor indeed are the services
rendered to virtue by a writer, however he may boast that the
object of his performance is to exhibit the vicious as infamous
and unhappy, who, in tracing the progress of vice to infamy and
unhappiness, introduces the readers to scenes and language adapted
to wear away the quick feelings of modesty, which form at once
the ornament and safeguard of innocence; and, like the bloom upon
a plum, if once effaced, commonly disappear for ever. To indulge
in a practice of reading novels is, in several other particulars,
liable to produce mischievous effects. Such compositions are, to
most people, extremely engaging. That story must be singularly
barren, or wretchedly told, of which, having heard the beginning, we
desire not to know the end. To the pleasure of learning the ultimate
fortunes of the heroes and heroines of the tale, the novel commonly
adds, in a greater or less degree, that which arises from animated
description, from lively dialogue, or from interesting sentiment.
Hence, the perusal of one publication of this class leads, with much
more frequency than is the case with respect to works of other kinds
(except, perhaps, of dramatic writings, to which most of the present
remarks may be transferred), to the speedy perusal of another.
Thus a habit is formed--a habit at first, perhaps, of limited
indulgence--but a habit that is continually found more formidable
and more encroaching. The appetite becomes too keen to be denied;
and in proportion as it is more urgent, grows less nice and select
in its fare. What would formerly have given offence now gives none.
The palate is vitiated or made dull. The produce of the book-club,
and the contents of the circulating library, are devoured with
indiscriminate and insatiable avidity. Hence, the mind is secretly
corrupted. Let it be observed too, that in exact correspondence
with the increase of a passion for reading novels, an aversion to
reading of a more improving nature will gather strength. Even in
the class of novels least objectionable in point of delicacy, false
sentiment unfitting the mind for sober life, applause and censure
distributed amiss, morality estimated by an erroneous standard, and
the capricious laws and empty sanctions of honour set up in the
place of religion, are the lessons usually presented. There is yet
another consequence too important to be overlooked. The catastrophe
and the incidents of these fictitious narratives commonly turn on
the vicissitudes and effects of a passion, the most powerful which
agitates the human heart. Hence, the study of them frequently
creates a susceptibility of impression, and a premature warmth of
tender emotions, which, not to speak of other possible effects, have
been known to betray young women into a sudden attachment to persons
unworthy of their affection, and thus to hurry them into marriages
terminating in unhappiness."
"He reasons excellently well against such books; but to be candid,
dear Miss Holmes, and I know you idolize candour, I must confess I
am rather partial to them. They serve to beguile away the tedious
hours of unoccupied time, and remove us to an enchanted land where
we forget the mortifications of life. Then they often enable us to
get through a day with tolerable composure, when we are prevented
taking our walks or drives abroad. And what a relief do they afford
us when indisposed! Indeed, I don't know what I should do, if I were
interdicted from such a source of exquisite gratification."
"I have no doubt but such reading affords you gratification, and
enables you to get through the tedious hours of time with some
degree of patience; but is it profitable? Does it enlarge and
strengthen the intellectual faculty, or extend the boundary of our
practical knowledge? Does it refine the _moral_ taste, or call into
action the best feelings of our nature? Does it tend to prepare us
for our final destiny, as candidates for immortality?"
"Well, I don't know. Then, as you object to the novel, I presume you
are equally averse to the card-table?"
"I am."
"But why, when it affords so much gratification?"
"Because it often gives rise to a passion for gaming, which has
brought many to ruin."
"Well, I will admit, that it does sometimes lead to such a fatal
issue; but I will suppose a case which frequently occurs in social
life. A virtuous family receives a visit from a few select friends;
and in the evening the card-tables are brought out, and they divide
themselves into small parties, and play a few games for their own
amusement, without risking more than a few shillings. Now, what evil
can result from such a method of passing away the evening?"
"In the first place, there is a great sacrifice of time, without any
adequate compensation. If the time thus devoted to an unprofitable
amusement were employed in instructive conversation, some moral
benefit would result from it. Then important and interesting
questions might be discussed and answered--the events of the day
would pass under review--enlivening anecdotes might be told--and
every one would have an opportunity of displaying and increasing the
resources of his mind."
"But, begging pardon for interrupting you, does not the
introduction of cards, by occupying the attention of a party,
prevent the conversation from degenerating into gossip and scandal?
This advantage you have overlooked, but I have no doubt, on
reflection, you will admit it to be a very important one."
"Why not, dear Miss Orme, allow a sense of honour and strict
integrity to impose restraint on the tongue of scandal, without
requiring the charm of the card-table to do it? This principle, when
inwrought in the mind, will be always present, and vigilant in the
exercise of its restraining power; but you cannot always have the
card-table with you. But now to advert to the hypothetical case of
the virtuous family receiving a visit from a few select friends.
I admit, that they may sustain no positive injury, either moral
or social, by spending the evening together in such a way; but if
we advert to some facts which have come within our own knowledge,
we must admit, that some of the party may sustain great, if not
irreparable injury. I know a lady who never touched a pack of
cards till after her marriage, but as soon as she did touch them,
she became passionately fond of them. She first played with her
husband--then a few select friends were invited to the game--then
larger parties thronged her drawing-room--till at length, the
passion became so inveterate in its influence over her, that she
neglected all her domestic duties, involved her husband in pecuniary
embarrassments by the sums she lost; and eventually abandoned her
home and children, with a worthless wretch, who, after degrading
her, threw her off on the merciless contempt of the world! In a
conversation which I lately had with her, when endeavouring to
point her to Him who came to save sinners (for she is now in the
last stage of a decline), she owned that her ruin was owing to her
passion for cards, which became so strong that she was unable to
control it."
"This is a most painful case," observed Miss Orme: "happily an
extreme one!"
"I admit this; but there is no disputing this fact, that
card-playing very frequently kindles in the female breast, no less
than in the breast of the other sex, a passion for gaming. Yes, many
a husband would have been saved from ruin, if his wife had employed
that influence to subdue his passion for the card-table, which she
has employed to keep it alive and vigorous. She has lived to deplore
the evil, when it has become irreparable."
"Both the novel and the card-table," remarked Emma, "are the
forbidden fruit of our Eden."
"I have no doubt, my dear," replied Miss Orme, "that your parents
act conscientiously in prohibiting novels and cards; but you know
that religious people, in general, do so: though I have known some
rather conspicuous professors who have not objected to play a game
at whist after family prayer in the evening."
"Yes, and so have I. I was on a visit at Mr. Ridout's, some few
months since, when the card-table was brought out for our amusement;
and I don't know when I have spent a more pleasant evening."
"And who is Mr. Ridout, my dear? Is he a pious man, or does he
belong to the world?"
"He professes to be a pious man; and I should suppose he is one, for
he has prayer in his family morning and evening."
"Had he family prayer, the evening you refer to, _before_ or _after_
the games were introduced?"
"O! it was omitted that evening."
"And why, Emma," here interposed Miss Holmes, "was it omitted? Was
it not because he was ashamed to place the Bible on the same table
with the cards; and because, after enticing others to a conformity
to the customs of the world, he could not, in their presence, go and
pray, that they might be renewed in the spirit of their mind? Do you
recollect the remark which you made on your return home?"
"It has escaped my recollection."
"That he wanted only one thing to finish his character."
"And did I say what that one thing was?"
"Yes; you said, and said very justly, it was consistency."
"O! I recollect, that was the opinion I then entertained."
"And have you changed your opinion? Do you not think that religious
people ought to abstain from the appearance of evil? Does your
moral sense, dear Emma, receive no offence, when you see a person,
who makes a profession of personal piety, acting like a worldling?"
"Yes, it does. I remember that droll creature, Bessie Lane, came and
whispered in my ear, just as we began a fresh game,--'Make haste,
as Mr. Ridout has just rung the bell for prayers!' This remark was
heard by all our party; and I must confess that I was hurt by some
of the observations which were made."
"I don't know," said Miss Orme, "why the most religious people may
not indulge themselves in these amusements as well as others; but
certainly we think it strange when they do so."
"I love consistency," replied Miss Holmes. "If a family have prayer,
they ought not, in my opinion, to spend the evenings in games which
certainly have not a religious tendency; and if they have these
games, they had better leave off prayer, as they cannot be prepared
for it. I knew a young friend, the daughter of pious parents, who
once had her mind very deeply impressed by a sense of the vanity
of the world and the importance of religion; but in consequence of
paying a visit to the house of a professor, who in the temple was
grave, and in the parlour gay--who alternately played and prayed,
sang songs or psalms, as fancy dictated--she lost all her pious
impressions, and from that time she became inveterately averse to
religion; and in a conversation which passed between us only a few
days since, a reference being made to it, she frankly said she could
not conquer her aversion, and she thought she never should. Example
has a powerful influence, especially in doing moral injury; but the
most pernicious and dangerous, is the example of a religious man who
acts in opposition to the obligations of his profession--who, while
he professes to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, displays a spirit
that is at variance with the sacredness of that character--and
retains his religious habits, even while he conforms to the customs
of the world."
"Well, my dear Miss Holmes, no one will impeach your consistency;
for you are, without exception, one of the most decidedly religious
I ever knew."
"Yes," said Emma, "my sister goes rather too far; and I sometimes
tell her that she is in danger of becoming a Pharisee. She sees,
or think she sees, a dangerous moral tendency in almost every
amusement; and such is the influence she possesses over the fears of
our parents, that they are kept in a state of constant terror lest I
should read a novel or dance a polka."
"And is it possible, my dear Miss Holmes, that either you or
your parents can object to dancing!--an exercise so conducive to
health--so calculated to give elegance to the form, to the walk,
and to the action--an accomplishment of so much importance, that no
female can be fit to move in polished society who has not attained
it? I believe you learned at school, dear Emma; did you not?"
"Yes; but now I am not permitted to go out to parties, which I
consider very mortifying. My parents allowed me to learn; and now
I have learned, and am fond of the amusement, they will not suffer
me to practise, except at home, where we never have any dancing
parties."
"This is sadly mortifying."
"They permitted you to learn dancing," replied her sister, "that you
might derive from it those personal accomplishments which Miss Orme
has so well described; but as they are aware of its dangerous moral
tendency, they very properly object to your going into large mixed
parties."
"Then ought they not to have refused letting me learn to dance, if
they intended to deny me the pleasure of it?[23] This is like a
father teaching his son the art of engraving, and then taking away
his tools lest he should be transported for coining."
[23] The author knows a lady who, when young, requested her pious
father to permit her to learn to dance. "No, my child," he replied,
"I cannot consent to comply with a request which may subject me to
your censures at some future period." "No, father, I will never
censure you for complying with my request." "Nor can I consent to
give you an opportunity. If you learn, I have no doubt but you will
excel; and when you leave school, you may then want to go into
company to exhibit your skill. If I then object to let you, as I
most likely should, you would very naturally reply, Why, father,
did you permit me to learn, if I am not permitted to practise?"
This reply convinced her that her father acted wisely, though he
opposed her inclination: and though she did learn, yet, not having
his consent, she never ventured to expose herself to the dangers of
the assembly-room; as she well knew that she could not do it without
grieving her affectionate father. She is now become a parent; has
often mentioned this occurrence as having had a powerful moral
influence over her mind in her young and thoughtless days; and has
incorporated this maxim in her system of domestic management--Never
to comply with a request which may subject her to any future
reflections from her children.
"You may dance for the purposes for which you were permitted to
learn; but I appeal to your good sense, if it be not an act of
kindness, on the part of our parents, in withholding their consent
from your visiting the ball-room, when they apprehend you will
sustain some moral injury?"
"But you know, dear Miss Holmes," remarked Miss Orme, "that
the chief gratification which we derive from any attainment or
accomplishment, is the opportunity of displaying it. What pleasure
would there be in learning to paint, unless we had the liberty
of exhibiting our drawings--or who would submit to the labour of
learning the notes of the gamut, if, after she has succeeded, she is
to be prohibited from playing?"
"We certainly ought to acquire the accomplishments which are
necessary to fit us to act our parts in refined society; but to
acquire them for the purpose of mere display, will be productive of
two evils: in the first place, it will injure the moral tone of our
mind; and, in the next place, it will expose us to the severe satire
of the opposite sex, who have little charity for female vanity."
"I am sure the gentlemen admire a lady who can sing well, and play
well, and dance well, and move with grace as she enters or leaves a
room."
"Yes, my dear Miss Orme; but if she have no higher accomplishments,
though she may be admired, she will not be respected; she may have
her name mentioned with _eclât_ in the circles of fashion, but she
will not be held in esteem among the wise and the good; and she may
do very well as a partner for a quadrille, but no man of sense would
think of her as his companion for life. The bee is an insect of more
value than the butterfly."
"But do you wish the assembly-rooms deserted? If so, I fear you
will never have your wishes realized. But, to come to the point,
what are the evils which you think result from such scenes of
amusement?"
"I do not expect to see such places deserted, as they hold out so
many attractions; but they are productive of so many evils, that I
consider them essentially injurious to the morals of society. There
is the expense which they incur, and the long train of evils which
often follow. What costly dresses! What a profusion of useless
ornaments must be purchased, beside the incidental items of expense
in going and returning, and paying for the admission ticket! If
the whole expense of one evening's gratification were accurately
calculated, it would astonish us. And what is the consequence of
this? The bills of tradesmen are often left undischarged--the claims
of benevolence are rejected--and a habit of useless extravagance is
formed, which extends its destructive influence to other branches
of domestic expenditure. But I have a still more serious objection
to urge against such scenes of amusement: the perilous risk which a
female often runs. She goes clad in a light attire--moves about in a
warm room--and then suddenly exposes herself, without any adequate
increase of clothing, to a cold and damp atmosphere, by which she
often sacrifices her health, and sometimes her life."
"But you know, Miss Holmes, that this objection will apply with
equal force against our attending a crowded place of worship."
"Not with equal force; because in a place of worship we remain still
during the time of service, and usually go in warmer, not to say in
more decent attire. The moral influence which such public amusements
have over the mind, is another very powerful objection against them.
By your permission I will read a paragraph from a good writer, who
expresses himself in very correct and forcible language:--'The
objects which, during the season of youth, most easily excite vanity
and envy in the female breast, are those which are presented in the
ball-room. This is deemed the stage for displaying the attractions,
by the possession of which a young woman is apt to be most elated;
and they are here displayed under circumstances most calculated to
call forth the triumph and the animosities of personal competition.
This triumph and these animosities betray themselves occasionally to
the least discerning eye. But were the recesses of the heart laid
open, how often would the sight of a stranger, of an acquaintance,
even of a friend, superior for the evening in the attractions of
dress, or enjoying the supposed advantage of having secured a
wealthier, a more lively, a more graceful, or a more fashionable
partner, be found to excite feelings of disgust and of aversion,
not always stopping short of malevolence! How often would the
passions be seen inflamed, and every nerve agitated, by a thirst for
precedence; and invention be observed labouring to mortify a rival
by the affectation of indifference or of contempt!'"
"But do you not think it possible for a female to attend a ball
without having her breast inflated with vanity, or surcharged with
envy?"
"I certainly admit that it is possible, but not probable. If she
excel others in the richness or the elegance of her dress, or if
she receive any peculiar marks of attention, will she not feel
the flush of vain-glory? And if others excel her, or receive more
marked attentions, will she not retire from the company stung with
envy? And can either of these passions be excited without producing
some demoralizing effect? If she become devoted to her personal
decoration, she will be under a strong temptation to neglect the
improvement of her mind; and while this passion enslaves and governs
her, the more amiable and lovely graces will be neglected. And if
she become envious of the superior attainments or honours of others,
she will be restless--mortified, consume her time and expend her
money in making useless efforts to equal or surpass them, and may be
induced to invent or to circulate tales of calumny to their injury."
"But you do not mean to say that these effects are invariably
produced?"
"Not invariably; because there are some females who merely visit
these places as a passing compliment to the fashion of the
age. They attend as spectators of the scene, rather than as
actors[24]--to oblige a friend, rather than gratify themselves;
and having accomplished the design of their visit, they retire
uninjured, because they felt no desire to be seen or heard, alike
indifferent whether they have been the objects of attention or have
remained unnoticed."
[24] The author has known some professors of evangelical religion
who have occasionally frequented these scenes of amusement; and
though he would not condemn them as insincere in their religious
profession, yet he cannot conceive how they can approve of their own
conduct. If they go occasionally, others will feel at liberty to go
habitually; and though they may go, and retire without sustaining
any material injury to their principles, yet they know not how much
injury their example may do to others, and especially their own
children.
"You have stated the evils which you think often result from such
public amusements, but you have made no allusion to the advantages
which attend them; amongst which I reckon, the introduction which
they give to the best society. You know that we are confined within
the precincts of home--our duties and pursuits are of the more
retired order--and though we may take our walks, and occasionally go
to Bath or Cheltenham, or some other fashionable resort, yet, if it
were not for these public amusements, we should have no opportunity
of being introduced to the company of the other sex. Here we are
brought together; and you know, dear Miss Holmes, that the most
important consequences often follow."
"Very true; but these important consequences are not always the most
beneficial. The writer to whom I have previously referred, has made
some good remarks on this subject, which, by your permission, I will
read to you:--
"'An evil of great moment, which is too frequently known to occur
at the places of amusement now under notice, is the introduction of
women to undesirable and improper acquaintance among the other sex;
undesirable and improper, as I would now be understood to mean, in
a moral point of view. Men of this description commonly abound at
all scenes of public resort and entertainment, who are distinguished
by fortune and birth--gay and conciliating manners--and every
qualification which is needful to procure a favourable reception
in polite company. Hence, when they propose themselves as partners
in an assembly-room, a lady does not always find it easy, according
to the rules of decorum, to decline the offer; and she is sometimes
enticed, by their external appearance, and by having seen other
ladies ambitious of dancing with them, into a reprehensible
inclination not to decline it.
"'Women, in various occurrences of life, are betrayed by a dread
of appearing ungenteelly bashful, and by a desire of rendering
themselves agreeable, into an indiscreet freedom of manners and
conversation with men of whom they know perhaps but little; and
still more frequently, into a greater degree of freedom with those
of whom they have more knowledge than can fitly be indulged, except
towards persons with whom they are connected by particular ties.
The temptation is in no place more powerful than in a ball-room.
Let not indiscriminate familiarity be shown towards all partners,
nor injudicious familiarity towards any. To reject every boisterous
and unbecoming mode of dancing, and to observe, in every point, the
strictest modesty in attire, are cautions on which, in addressing
women of delicacy, it is surely needless to insist.'"
"Well, I assure you, my dear Miss Holmes, I think both you and the
writer you have just quoted, overrate the dangers to which we are
exposed by attending such scenes of amusement; for I have never
known a friend injured by them, nor have I ever heard of such a
thing."
"You forget what befell Miss Moss."[25]
[25] Miss Moss was a young lady of rare accomplishments--the only
child of a pious and affectionate mother. Shortly after leaving
school, she succeeded, with much difficulty, in obtaining her
mother's reluctant consent to go _once_ to the assembly-room, just
to see the parties. She was dressed most elegantly; and having a
graceful form, and a fine open countenance, glowing with health,
she excited considerable attention. One gentleman, who had been
very polite during the evening, and who was her superior in rank,
solicited the honour of conducting her home, which was granted.
Having ascertained the usual time and place of her evening walk, he
met her--made her an offer, which she accepted; when, having secured
her affections, he accomplished her ruin, and left her. This broke
her mother's heart, and eventually broke her own; and the parent and
the daughter were buried in the same grave, at the distance of about
six months from each other's funeral, each deploring, when too late,
the danger resulting from the assembly-room. Nor is this an uncommon
instance. At these places the spirits of evil resort, availing
themselves of the freedom of intercourse which is tolerated; and
having marked their victim, they proceed, with all the cunning and
duplicity of the author of all evil, to accomplish their unhallowed
purpose. If, then, parents wish to preserve the honour of their
children uncontaminated, or if females, who are grown to years of
discretion, wish to avoid the snares in which others have been
overtaken, they ought to shun the resorts of the licentious and
impure, as no one can be safe in their society.