vicious and degraded walks of life, where, to the eyes of ordinary
observers, there appears no redeeming feature whatsoever.
FALLACIES OF THE YOUNG.
“ACQUAINTANCES.”
One of the most important concerns of young people is, the management
of themselves in respect of what are called “acquaintances.” To have
many friends is desirable, in a world where men are generally thrown
so much upon their own resources. But there is a distinction between
the friendship of a certain number of respectable persons, who are only
ready to exert themselves for us when called upon, and the acquaintance
of a circle of contemporaries, who are perpetually forcing themselves
upon our company for the mere purpose of mutual amusement. Taking the
words in their usual signification, a young man ought to wish for many
friends, but few acquaintances. There is something in the countenance
of a companion that cheers and supports the frailty of human nature.
One can speak and act more boldly with a friend by his side, than
when alone. But it is the good fortune of men of strong character,
and it ought to be the object of every one, to act well and boldly
by himself. One thing young people may be assured of, almost all the
great services which enlightened men have done for their race, were
performed alone. There was but one man, not two, at the discovery of
the Compass, of the Copernican System, of the Logarithms, and of the
principle of Vaccination. To descend to lesser things, ask any man who
has risen in worldly fortune, from small beginnings to great wealth and
honour, how he contrived to do so, and you will find that he carved
it all out for himself with his own hand. He will in all probability
inform you that he has reached the honourable station in society which
he now maintains, chiefly by narrowing the circle of his “private
acquaintances,” and extending that of his “public relations,” most
likely adding, that had he on all occasions “consulted” the persons
with whom he happened to be acquainted, as to his designs, he would,
by every calculation, have been still in the same obscure insignificant
situation he once was. The truth is, it is only when alone that we have
the ability to concentrate our minds upon any object; and it is only
when things are done with the full force of _one mind_ qualified for
the purpose, that they are done well.
It is the misfortune of young people, before they become fully engaged
in the relations of life and business, that they look too much to
“acquaintances” for encouragement, and make the amusement which
“acquaintances” can furnish too indispensable. The tender mind of
youth is reluctant, or unable, to stand alone; it needs to be one of
a class. Hence, the hours which ought to be spent in the acquisition
of that general knowledge which is so useful in after life, and which
can only be acquired in the vacant days of youth, are thrown away
in the most inglorious pursuits; for “acquaintances” are seldom the
companions of study, or the auxiliaries of business, but most generally
the associates of a debauch, the fellow-flutterers upon the Mall, the
companion-hounds in the chase of empty pleasure. It is amazing how much
a youth can endure of the company of his principal “acquaintance.”
Virgil’s expression, “_tecum consumerer ævo_,” is realised in his
case; for he veritably appears as if he could _spend his whole life_
in the society of the treasured individual. At the approach of that
person, every other matter is cast aside; the most important business
seems nothing in contrast with the interchange of a smile or a jest
with this duplicate of himself. The injunctions of the most valued
relations—even of father and mother—are scattered to the winds, if they
are at variance with the counsels or conduct of this precious person,
whom, after all, he perhaps met only last week at a club. The power of
an “acquaintance” of this kind, for good or evil, over the mind of his
friend, is so very great, that it may well give some concern to those
who are really interested in the prospects of youth. But every effort
to redeem a victim from the fascination, will be in vain, unless his
natural or habitual goodness be shocked by the further exposure of the
“acquaintance’s” character. The only safeguard, therefore, against this
mighty evil, is, _previously_ to accustom youth to depend much upon
themselves, and to endeavour to infuse into them a sufficient degree of
moral excellence, to be a protection to them against the worst vices
which “acquaintances” may attempt to impart to them.
There is a possibility, however, that the “acquaintance” may be no
worse than his fellow, and yet the two will do that together which they
could not do singly. Virtue is, upon the whole, a thing of solitude:
vice is a thing of the crowd. The individual will not dare to be
wicked, for the responsibility which he knows must be concentrated
upon himself; while the company, feeling that a divided responsibility
is hardly any responsibility at all, is under no such constraint.
There is much edification to the heart of the thoughtless and wicked
in the participation of companions; and even in large associations
of honourable men for honourable purposes, there is often wanting
that fine tone of feeling which governs the conduct of perhaps each
individual in the fraternity. Thus, an excessive indulgence in
the company of “acquaintances” is to be avoided, even where these
“acquaintances” are not inferior in moral worth to ourselves. There is
an easy kind of morality much in vogue among a great body of people,
that “what others do we may do,” as if higher standards had not been
handed down by God himself from heaven, or constructed in the course of
time by the wise and pure among men. This morality comes strongly into
play among youth in their intercourse with contemporaries; and as it
is always on rather a declining than an advancing scale, it soon leads
them a great way down the paths of vice.
It will be found, in general, that a considerable degree of abstinence
from this indulgence is required, even to secure the most ordinary
degree of success in life. But if great things be aimed at, if we
wish to surpass our fellows by many degrees, and to render ourselves
honourably conspicuous among men, we must abjure “acquaintances”
almost entirely. We must, for that purpose, withdraw ourselves from
all temptation to idle and futile amusement—we must, in the words of a
great poet, “shun delights, and live laborious days.”
SUBJECTS OF CONVERSATION.
Subjects of conversation are sometimes exceedingly difficult to be
had. I have known many a company of well-dressed men and women feel
themselves most awkwardly situated for want of something to talk
about. The weather, which is said to be a never-failing subject,
cannot hold out above a few minutes at a time. It will stand a round
or two rounds, but not more. It is then knocked up for the evening,
and cannot with decency be again brought forward. Being thus disposed
of, the subject of “news” is introduced; but, as a matter of course,
there being no “news stirring,” “not a word,” “nothing in the papers,”
that subject is soon also dispatched. If there happen to be any very
remarkable occurrence worth talking of, what a blessing it is on such
occasions! It is food for the company a whole night, and may be again
and again brought above board for their amusement. But it much more
frequently happens that there is no exciting event to talk about, and
then the condition of the company is truly miserable. There being
ladies present, or there being two factions in the room, politics are
proscribed. Every attempt at getting up a topic failing, the company
look into the fire, or in each other’s faces, or begin to examine
with much interest the pattern of the carpet; and the silence which
ensues is truly terrific. A slight whisper is the only sound in the
apartment, and is caught at or watched by the company, for it may
chance to be the commencement of a conversation in which they may join,
without exciting particular attention. But it, too, dies away. It was
only a passing under-current of remark between the two married ladies
in the blue and white turbans, on the dearth of coals, the difficulty
of getting good servants, or the utility of keeping children muffled in
flannel nightgowns from October till March. At length some good soul
makes an effort to brush away his diffidence. He projects a remark
across the room towards the little man with the smirking countenance,
about Mr This or Miss That, or Signor Such-a-thing, who are at present
enlivening the town with their exhibitions. The remark is in itself a
very ordinary remark, but it has its use: it quickens the intellects
of those who hear it, and the tongues of a number of individuals are
set a-going upon the subject of theatrical amusements, singing in the
Assembly Rooms, Pasta, Paganini, and private parties, so that the
original remark is lost sight of, and the company go on pretty well
with what it has produced for perhaps half an hour. All these topics
being exhausted, another horrible silence ensues. The company again
look into the fire, or in one another’s faces, and once more examine
the carpet. What _is_ to be said next? All think upon saying something,
yet nobody speaks. The national _mauvaise honte_ is now displayed
to the height of its perfection. The agony of the company, however,
approaches its crisis. The awful stillness is broken, and in a most
natural and unexpected manner. The young man in the starched cravat
sitting in a corner of the room, near the end of the piano, who has
been thinking what he should say or do for the last half hour, takes
heart of grace; he rises and snuffs the candles, going through the
self-imposed duty in as neat and elegant a style as he can possibly
affect. The snuffing of the candles is an operation which every member
of the company has seen performed ten thousand times; but it affords
interest for even the ten thousandth and first time. It may not
intrinsically be worth heeding, yet, in a case of this nature, it is
of very great importance. It suggests a new theme, and that is exactly
what was wanted, for one subject invariably leads to the discussion of
half a dozen others. The operation of snuffing the candles, therefore,
induces some one to remark, how beautiful gas-light is. Then this
brings on a disquisition on the danger of introducing it into private
houses; its cost in comparison with oil is next touched upon; then
follows an observation about the last illumination; which leads to
reminiscences of similar displays on the occasions of the great naval
victories—the victories lead to Nelson—Nelson to his biographer,
Southey—Southey to poetry—poetry to Byron—and Byron to Greece. This
whirl of conversation, however, also runs out; an accident jars it, and
it is all over. Suddenly the speakers pause, as if they had received
a galvanic shock; one small voice is alone left prominent above the
silence; but finding itself unsupported, it is immediately lowered to a
whisper, and the whisper subsides to a dead silence.
I have often pitied the host or hostess on occasions of this nature,
but I could not help blaming them for not providing against such
dismal pauses in the conversation of their parties. To guard against
these occurrences, I would recommend them to bring forward what I have
remarked to be never-failing sources of conversational entertainment,
namely, a tolerably good-looking cat, a lapdog, or a child. The last
is the best. It ought to be about two years of age, and be able to
walk. If adroitly played off, or permitted to play, it will amuse the
party for an hour at least. It must be placed on the hearth-rug, so as
to attract all eyes; and while in the room, no other subject will be
thought of. Any endeavour to draw off attention, by the relation of
some entertaining anecdote, will be deemed sedition against the majesty
of the household. If a cat, a dog, or an interesting child, cannot be
conveniently had, I would advise the invitation of some one who has a
loud voice, and the happy effrontery of speaking incessantly, however
ridiculously, on all subjects,—a person who can speak nonsense to any
extent, and has the reputation of being a most agreeable companion.
This man is of vast use in introducing subjects; for he has no
diffidence or modesty, and has a knack of turning every observation
to account. His voice also serves as a cover to much by conversation;
there being hundreds who would speak fluently enough, provided a
bagpipe were kept playing beside them, or who could have their voices
drowned by some other species of noise. The loud and voluble talker is
therefore an excellent shelter for those of weaker nerves, and will be
found a useful ingredient in all mixed companies.
The difficulty of starting subjects of conversation, as well as
the difficulty of sustaining them, is often as observable when two
acquaintances meet on the street, as when a roomful of company is
collected. The unhappy pair exhaust all that they can remember they
ought to say to each other in the space of a minute and a half, and
another minute may be consumed in going through the process of taking
a pinch of snuff; the next half minute is spent in mutual agony.
Neither knows how to separate. As the only chance of release, one of
the parties at last brings in a joke, or what is meant to be such, to
his aid. The other, of course, feels bound to laugh, and both seizing
the opportunity, escape in different directions under cover of the
witticism.
SECURE ONES.
“I MAK SICKER.”—_Motto of the Family of Kirkpatrick._