SOCIAL GATHERINGS.
"_How can one be warm alone?_" Eccl. iv, 11.
Time would fail me to examine the numerous and diversified amusements
practiced in various parts of our land. Some are local; others are known
every-where. Some are right and wise; some are otherwise. Some are
intellectual and refined; others are mere noisy romps. Of many of the
older sort the chief end was _kissing_. This latter feature may not have
been particularly objectionable in little neighborhood gatherings in the
country, where every body had known every body else all their lives, and
half the young people in the room were cousins. The reader, however,
will doubtless agree in the opinion that in more general assemblies it
is not over refined, and may well give place to something else of less
doubtful propriety.
To go through the whole list of these diversions, and pronounce upon
the merits of each, would be tedious and useless. My aim has been to
discuss principles, and then, in the light of those principles, to
examine some of the more objectionable diversions now pleading for
popular favor. If those principles are as plain as I take them to be, it
will not be difficult to apply them to any new candidate for our
suffrages. The reader, nevertheless, may object to an abrupt close of
the discussion. He may say that this series of trials and condemnations
is not enough, and that he is now waiting to be informed in regard to
the recreations which are allowable and right; that having been warned
against the forbidden fruit, he would now like to see the other trees,
of which he may freely eat.
The suggestion is not without force; and yet it will require but a
moment's reflection to make it clear that I can not comply with it. To
attempt to make a mere list of the names of rational recreations would,
for many reasons, be unwise. In some cases games and amusements are
local, and to readers belonging elsewhere the mere name would convey no
information. The same name is also applied to different diversions in
different localities, and, therefore, approval or censure would be
misunderstood and misapplied. It is evident that a simple list of
amusements to be condemned, and another list of those approved, would be
of little service.
On the other hand, if I should attempt to escape misconstruction by
describing fully the amusements condemned or approved, the whole plan of
this little volume would be changed, and it would become properly a Book
of Diversions instead of a discussion of principles. That such a work
might be written--possibly not in vain--is not denied; but it is no part
of my plan to write it. Nevertheless, I do not hesitate to offer a few
practical suggestions.
Permit me to say, first of all, that if any of my readers have nothing
useful to do--no solid purpose in life, no proper employment, nor desire
for any--they are counted out of this discussion. The idle, the
frivolous, the useless have no right to recreation. They must reform
their aimless, empty lives, and by industry earn the privilege of rest
and relaxation before they are entitled even to hold an opinion on the
subject. Let me add that no diversion, no amusement can impart more than
a momentary pleasure to the indolent and the listless. A degree of
hunger alone can prepare a man fully to enjoy his food. It is the sleep
of the laboring man that is sweet. True recreation involves the idea of
rest; relief, pleasant change of occupation. So the active, the busy,
the industrious alone truly enjoy recreation. They who make amusement
their only pursuit will soon find it utter weariness. For such I have
only pity, and for them I am not writing.
But the active and the industrious, who "redeem the time," are entitled
to their hours and modes of recreation. So far from denying it to be
their privilege, I proclaim it to be their duty. The time and the manner
must, of course, be adapted to their varying circumstances. The
school-boy and school-girl need active exercise out-of-doors, in the
light of the sun, else they are liable to grow up colorless and
spindling, like vegetables which have sprouted in the cellar. Every one,
older or younger, whose mind toils while the muscles are inactive, needs
the sunbeams and the breeze. They whose employment, on the contrary,
taxes the muscles, while the mind is comparatively inactive, require
modes of recreation which spur the intellect, quicken the imagination,
and store the memory with rich treasures of thought. Those whose daily
avocation confines their thoughts to a narrow circle must find a wider
range elsewhere, and exercise their wings in longer flights. They who
work alone and in silence, need society; and those spending much of
their time in a crowd will profit by an occasional hour of quiet,
solitary meditation. It was a curious habit of the late Dr. Archibald
Alexander, of Princeton, to spend the hour of evening twilight alone in
his study, sitting in silent thought amid the deepening shadows. Who
will say that it was not wise? What lofty argument, what profound
knowledge of spiritual things, what emotions of divine love and
adoration may not have been drawn thus from the well of silence and
quiet waiting?
The chief recreation of the world at large is _conversation_. Talking
is the joy of the whole earth. It is one of the great employments of
life. Our utterances are often more important--do more good and evil
than our deeds. All human wisdom, knowledge, sentiment, wit, fancy, flow
in the channel of speech. By words truth conquers, reforms progress,
mind acts upon mind, heart reaches heart, soul converses with soul. The
lips may utter golden speech, or drip with the poison of asps. Human
breath can come like the breezes of Paradise, or blast like the deadly
sirocco of the hot desert. Aside from the deep joy of worship, and the
hope of eternal life, there is no happiness, purer, richer, better than
that which springs from words. And there is little true recreation which
does not make conversation one of its chief features, and rely upon it
as its great charm.
Conversation implies social life. And here, in regard to social
gatherings, I will make a suggestion which I am persuaded that my
readers will applaud with united voices, and, I fear, as unanimously
disregard in practice. Our social gatherings are apt to be too formal,
too expensive, too large to secure the end which we have in view. To
give a "great party" once or twice a year, and astonish the whole
community by the splendor of the show, is rather a poor way to cultivate
genuine friendship. It is often a fearful undertaking to those who give
it, and not very satisfactory to those who attend. Long and anxious
debate settles on the list of the invited; and when it is too late to
remedy errors, it is discovered that somebody has been forgotten. The
worry about the invitations, the arrangements, and the weather, is a
fearful tax upon the time and temper for weeks beforehand; and when the
eventful evening comes the fear that all will not "pass off smoothly"
keeps the host, and especially the hostess, in a tremor of excitement,
which culminates with the assembling of the company, and finds relief in
their departure. Of the multitude who move uneasily from room to room,
it often happens that the majority are little more than mere
acquaintances of the entertainers, and of each other. Some are invited
because we know them well, and love their society; others, because they
gave an entertainment some time ago, and an invitation in return for
theirs is a sort of debt of honor, even when we suspect that their
courtesy was only a little device whereby they were aiming to get into a
new circle. Sometimes the invitations are extended so as to include some
who are almost strangers, simply because a certain number must be
reached, or the affair will be pronounced inferior to somebody else's
party. There is no chance for genuine conversation; and little is heard
save commonplace remarks about the crowd and the heat, or inquiries in
regard to the old gentleman with the spectacles, or the young lady with
the curls. Some fail to come, whose absence annoys and vexes; and others
arrive first and stay last, whose absence could have been borne without
a pang. Here is one whose sharp eyes and sharper tongue are the terror
of the town, and who goes preying about, making mental notes of every
small mishap, and every little awkward thing, and laying up ammunition
for a gossiping campaign. There is another, who sees that his or her
turn to give the entertainment is not far off, and who is carefully
estimating the extent of the preparations to be made, and calculating
the expenses to be incurred, in order to be equal to the rest, or, if
ambitious, to outdo them.
I do not wish to visit these things with ridicule. They have some good
features, as well as defects. They are worth something, perhaps, though
not all that they cost. And yet there is "a more excellent way." If we
invite at one time no larger a number than our parlors will seat, and we
bring our friends together for a good, social, comfortable, leisurely
talk, there might be less of display; but would there not be more of
genuine enjoyment? Suppose, also, that the company be invited by
families, including the young and the old, the parents and the children,
the married and the unmarried. Let the grandsires draw their arm chairs
toward each other and pour into each other's ear-trumpets the
reminiscences of other days, and laugh again over the old oft-repeated
stories. Let the little children, down on the floor by their side,
discourse of tops or dolls, while middle age reasons on public events,
or discusses family matters, and the young people are gathered around
the piano or the book table; and as each drifts about on the social
current, the spectacles and the curls impend over the same book or
picture, and the ear-trumpet be found gathering up the voices that
chatter over the toys. Thus there might be true social pleasure without
anxiety or envy, without present uneasiness, or heart-burnings
afterward. Thus the aged would be cheered by the vivacity of youth; and
the gayety of youth be tempered by the wisdom of age.
Or, if any one fancies doing things on a larger scale, let as many be
invited as the house will hold comfortably; and instead of coming at
midnight to stay till morning, let the company assemble early in the
evening. And let there be music, and mirth, and laughter, and leisurely
comfortable interchange of ideas, discourse that carries no sting and
leaves no wound, but fosters gentle manners and lasting friendships. If
the host chooses thus to manifest his hospitality, let there be a repast
as good as need be; but excluding all that can intoxicate. Moreover,
before the guests separate, let a few moments be spent in praise and
prayer, according to the pious example of our fathers. And let midnight
see all the guests safe at home. Thus the morrow will not find them
jaded in body and mind, and irritable in temper, but clear in brain and
warm in heart, with a tendency to smile all day long over the pleasant
recollections of an evening thus innocently spent.
I own that I am not sanguine in regard to the popularity of my
proposed reform, especially in fashionable quarters. Young men who in
the language of the day are called "fast," will pronounce this way of
giving a party decidedly "slow." Mrs. Fitzshoddy sees that this mode of
procedure will materially lessen her chances to display her newly
acquired splendors, and thus totally extinguish her aristocratic
neighbor over the way, who failed to return her call five years ago.
Fitzshoddy himself has serious misgivings. He looks up at the social
heights he would fain ascend, and shakes his head despondingly. "That is
not the way them fellows does things, and you won't get among them
unless you do as they do. They have a crowd, and a big fiddle, and a
dance, and a long table with a wheelbarrow load of silver and things on
it, and lots of wine, and all that. You can't invite them to a hum-drum
tea-drinking that winds up with psalm-singing and prayer. They would
think it was somebody's funeral."
Miss Arabella, too, who has of late given her whole mind to the
devising of gear for the outside of her head--a cunning piece of
strategy to divert attention from the state of things within--dreads so
much conversation. "People get to talking of things that you never heard
of, you know, and books that you never read, and it is so embarrassing,
you know." And then she absolutely trembles when she thinks of "Pa's"
bad grammar, and his habit of shaking the windows with gigantic laughter
at his own jokes. Many, too, will admit the evils of present social
customs, but be afraid to lead in innovations. Some will feel that to
refuse to give a grand party, after having attended a number among their
acquaintances, will look very much like repudiation. Still, I doubt not
that the intelligent and the conscientious will agree that what I have
proposed is, as it has been already styled, "the more excellent way." I
know that it will be hard to make the giddy believe that there is much
enjoyment to be found in these quiet ways. They want a crowd, and noise,
and commotion. And in this they judge amiss. This crazy rush after
excitement defeats itself. As simple food and regular habits best
promote health, so simple pleasures best promote genuine happiness. The
joys of wine are not to be compared with the calm peace and self-mastery
which belong to the temperate. The whirl of the dizzy dance, the wild
excitement of the race-course, the sensational tricks of the theater,
the whole circle of vices and fashionable follies are poor in their
results, compared with the better pleasures which arise from our nobler
nature. They who would enjoy life wisely and well, must not heed every
voice which cries "Lo, here," or "Lo, there," but remember that "the
kingdom is within."
[Illustration: decorative]
[Illustration: decorative]