not published in 1883 but in 1873. It was written some time before,
and the materials had been gradually accumulating in the author's mind
several years before it was written. Consequently your criticism is of
a much later date than the work you criticise, and as you are forty in
1883 you were a young maid in the times I was thinking of when
writing. It is certainly true that many women of the now past
generation, particularly those who lived in celibacy, had a remarkable
power of remaining intellectually in the same place. This power is
retained by some of the present generation, but it is becoming rarer
every day because the intellectual movement is so strong that it is
drawing a constantly increasing number of women along with it; indeed
this movement is so accelerated as to give rise to a new anxiety, and
make us look back with a wistful regret. We are now beginning to
perceive that a certain excellent old type of Englishwomen whom we
remember with the greatest affection and respect will soon belong as
entirely to the past as if they had lived in the days of Queen
Elizabeth. From the intellectual point of view their lives were hardly
worth living, but we are beginning to ask ourselves whether their
ignorance (I use the plain term) and their prejudices (the plain term
again) were not essential parts of a whole that commanded our respect.
Their simplicity of mind may have been a reason why they had so much
simplicity of purpose in well-doing. Their strength of prejudice may
have aided them to keep with perfect steadfastness on the side of
moral and social order. Their intellectual restfulness in a few clear
settled ideas left a degree of freedom to their energy in common
duties that may not always be possible amidst the bewildering theories
of an unsettled and speculative age.
Faithfully yours,
THE AUTHOR OF "THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE."
ESSAY XXVI.
AMUSEMENTS.
One of the most unexpected discoveries that we make on entering the
reflective stage of existence is that amusements are social obligations.
The next discovery of this kind is that the higher the rank of the person
the more obligatory and the more numerous do his so-called "amusements"
become, till finally we reach the princely life which seems to consist
almost exclusively of these observances.
Why should it ever be considered obligatory upon a man to amuse himself in
some way settled by others? There appear to be two principal reasons for
this. The first is, that when amusements are practised by many persons in
common it appears unsociable and ungracious to abstain. Even if the
amusement is not interesting in itself it is thought that the society it
leads us into ought to be a sufficient reason for following it.
The second reason is that, like all things which are repeated by many
people together, amusements soon become fixed customs, and have all the
weight and authority of customs, so that people dare not abstain from
observing them for fear of social penalties.
If the amusements are expensive they become not only a sign of wealth but
an actual demonstration and display of it, and as nothing in the world is
so much respected as wealth, or so efficient a help to social position,
and as the expenditure which is visible produces far more effect upon the
mind than that which is not seen, it follows that all costly amusements
are useful for self-assertion in the world, and become even a means of
maintaining the political importance of great families.
On the other hand, not to be accustomed to expensive amusements implies
that one has lived amongst people of narrow means, so that most of those
who have social ambition are eager to seize upon every opportunity for
enlarging their experience of expensive amusements in order that they may
talk about them afterwards, and so affirm their position as members of the
upper class.
The dread of appearing unsociable, of seeming rebellious against custom,
or inexperienced in the habits of the rich, are reasons quite strong
enough for the maintenance of customary amusements even when there is very
little real enjoyment of them for their own sake.
But, in fact, there are always _some_ people who practise these amusements
for the sake of the pleasure they give, and as these people are likely to
excel the others in vivacity, activity, and skill, as they have more
_entrain_ and gayety, and talk more willingly and heartily about the
sports they love, so they naturally come to lead opinion upon the subject
and to give it an appearance of earnestness and warmth that is beyond its
real condition. Hence the tone of conversation about amusements, though it
may accurately represent the sentiments of those who enjoy them, does not
represent all opinion fairly. The opposite side of the question found a
witty exponent in Sir George Cornewall Lewis, when he uttered that
immortal saying by which his name will endure when the recollection of his
political services has passed away,--"How tolerable life would be were it
not for its pleasures!" There you have the feeling of the thousands who
submit and conform, but who would have much to say if it were in good
taste to say anything against pleasures that are offered to us in
hospitality.
Amusements themselves become work when undertaken for an ulterior purpose
such as the maintenance of political influence. A great man goes through a
certain regular series of dinners, balls, games, shooting and hunting
parties, races, wedding-breakfasts, visits to great houses, excursions on
land and water, and all these things have the outward appearance of
amusement, but may, in reality, be labors that the great man undertakes
for some purpose entirely outside of the frivolous things themselves. A
Prime Minister scarcely goes beyond political dinners, but what an endless
series of engagements are undertaken by a Prince of Wales! Such things are
an obligation for him, and when the obligation is accepted with unfailing
patience and good temper, the Prince is not only working, but working with
a certain elegance and grace of art, often involving that prettiest kind
of self-sacrifice which hides itself under an appearance of enjoyment.
Nobody supposes that the social amusements so regularly gone through by
the eldest son of Queen Victoria can be, in all cases, very entertaining
to him; we suppose them to be accepted as forms of human intercourse that
bring him into personal relations with his future subjects. The difference
between this Prince and King Louis II. of Bavaria is perhaps the most
striking contrast in modern royal existences. Prince Albert Edward is
accessible to everybody, and shares the common pleasures of his
countrymen; the Bavarian sovereign is never so happy as when in one of his
romantic and magnificent residences, surrounded by the sublimity of nature
and the embellishments of art, he sits alone and dreams as he listens to
the strains of exquisite music. Has he not erected his splendid castle on
a rock, like the builder of "The Palace of Art"?
"A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass
I chose. The ranged ramparts bright
From level meadow-bases of deep grass
Suddenly scaled the light.
"Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf
The rock rose clear, or winding stair.
My soul would live alone unto herself
In her high palace there."
The life of the King of Bavaria, sublimely serene in its independence, is
a long series of tranquil omissions. There may be a wedding-feast in one
of his palaces, but such an occurrence only seems to him the best of all
reasons why he should be in another. He escapes from the pleasures and
interests of daily life, making himself an earthly paradise of
architecture, music, and gardens, and lost in his long dream, assuredly
one of the most poetical figures in the biographies of kings, and one of
the most interesting, but how remote from men! This remoteness is due, in
great part, to a sincerity of disposition which declines amusements that
do not amuse, and desires only those real pleasures which are in perfect
harmony with one's own nature and constitution. We like the sociability,
the ready human sympathy, of the Prince of Wales; we think that in his
position it is well for him to be able to keep all that endless series of
engagements, but has not King Louis some claim upon our indulgence even in
his eccentricity? He has refused the weary round of false amusements and
made his choice of ideal pleasure. If he condescended to excuse himself,
his _Apologia pro vitâ sua_ might take a form somewhat resembling this. He
might say, "I was born to a great fortune and only ask leave to enjoy it
in my own way. The world's amusements are an infliction that I consider
myself at liberty to avoid. I love musical or silent solitude, and the
enchantments of a fair garden and a lofty dwelling amidst the glorious
Bavarian mountains. Let the noisy world go its way with its bitter
wranglings, its dishonest politics, its sanguinary wars! I set up no
tyranny. I leave my subjects to enjoy their brief human existence in their
own fashion, and they let me dream my dream."
These are not the world's ways nor the world's view. The world considers
it essential to the character of a prince that he should be at least
apparently happy in those pleasures which are enjoyed in society, that he
should seem to enjoy them along with others to show his fellow-feeling
with common men, and not sit by himself, like King Louis in his theatre,
when "Tannhauser" is performed for the royal ears alone.
Of the many precious immunities that belong to humble station there are
none more valuable than the freedom from false amusements. A poor man is
under one obligation, he must work, but his work itself is a blessed
deliverance from a thousand other obligations. He is not obliged to shoot,
and hunt, and dance against his will, he is not obliged to affect interest
and pleasure in games that only weary him, he has not to receive tiresome
strangers in long ceremonious repasts when he would rather have a simple
short dinner with his wife. Béranger sang the happiness of beggars with
his sympathetic humorous philosophy, but in all seriousness it might be
maintained that the poor are happier than they know. They get their easy
unrestrained human intercourse by chance meetings, and greetings, and
gossipings, and they are spared all the acting, all the feigning, that is
connected with the routine of imposed enjoyments.
Avowed work, even when uncongenial, is far less trying to patience than
feigned pleasure. You dislike accounts and you dislike balls, but though
your dislike may be nearly equal in both cases you will assuredly find
that the time hangs less heavily when you are resolutely grappling with
the details of your account-books than when you are only wishing that the
dancers would go to bed. The reason is that any hard work, whatever it is,
has the qualities of a mental tonic, whereas unenjoyed pleasures have an
opposite effect, and even though work may be uncongenial you see a sort
of result, whilst a false pleasure leaves no result but the extreme
fatigue that attends it,--a kind of fatigue quite exceptional in its
nature, and the most disagreeable that is known to man.
The dislike for false amusements is often misunderstood to be a
puritanical intolerance of all amusement. It is in this as in all things
that are passionately enjoyed,--the false thing is most disliked by those
who best appreciate the true.
What may be called the truth or falsehood of amusements is not in the
amusements themselves, but in the relation between one human idiosyncrasy
and them. Every idiosyncrasy has its own strong mysterious affinities,
generally distinguishable in childhood, always clearly distinguishable in
youth. We are like a lute or a violin, the tuned strings vibrate in answer
to certain notes but not in answer to others.
To convert amusements into social customs or obligations, to make it a
man's duty to shoot birds or ride after foxes because it is agreeable to
others to discharge guns and gallop across fields, is an infringement of
individual liberty which is less excusable in the case of amusements than
it is in more serious things. For in serious things, in politics and
religion, there is always the plausible argument that the repression of
the individual conscience is good for the unity of the State; whereas
amusements are supposed to exist for the recreation of those who practise
them, and when they are not enjoyed they are not amusements but something
else. There is no single English word that exactly expresses what they
are, but there is a French one, the word _corvée_, which means forced
labor, labor under dictation, all the more unpleasant in these cases that
it must assume the appearance of enjoyment.[34]
Surely there is nothing in which the independence of the individual ought
to be so absolute, so unquestioned, as in amusements. What right have I,
because a thing is a pleasant pastime to me, to compel my friend or my son
to do that thing when it is a _corvée_ to him? No man can possibly amuse
himself in obedience to a word of command, the most he can do is to
submit, to try to appear amused, wishing all the time that the weary task
was over.
To mark the contrast clearly I will describe some amusements from the
opposite points of view of those who enjoy them naturally, and those to
whom they would be indifferent if they were not imposed, and hateful if
they were.
Shooting is delightful to genuine sportsmen in many ways. It renews in
them the sensations of the vigorous youth of humanity, of the tribes that
lived by the chase. It brings them into contact with nature, gives a zest
and interest to hard pedestrian exercise, makes the sportsmen minutely
acquainted with the country, and leads to innumerable observations of the
habits of wild animals that have the interest without the formal
pretensions of a science. Shooting is a delightful exercise of skill,
requiring admirable promptitude and perfect nerve, so that any success in
it is gratifying to self-esteem. Sir Samuel Baker is always proud of
being such a good marksman, and frankly shows his satisfaction. "I had
fired three _beautifully correct_ shots with No. 10 bullets, and seven
drachms of powder in each charge; these were so nearly together that they
occupied a space in her forehead of about three inches." He does not aim
at an animal in a general way, but always at a particular and penetrable
spot, recording each hit, and the special bullet used. Of course he loves
his guns. These modern instruments are delightful toys on account of the
highly developed art employed in their construction, so that they would be
charming things to possess, and handle, and admire, even if they were
never used, whilst the use of them gives a terrible power to man. See a
good marksman when he takes a favorite weapon in his hand! More
redoubtable than Roland with the sword Durindal, he is comparable rather
to Apollo with the silver bow, or even to Olympian Zeus himself grasping
his thunders. Listen to him when he speaks of his weapon! If he thinks you
have the free-masonry of the chase, and can understand him, he talks like
a poet and lover. Baker never fails to tell us what weapon he used on each
occasion, and how beautifully it performed, and due honor and
advertisement are kindly given to the maker, out of gratitude.
"I accordingly took my trusty little Fletcher double rifle No. 24, and
running knee-deep into the water to obtain a close shot I fired
exactly between the eyes near the crown of the head. At the reports of
the little Fletcher the hippo disappeared."
Then he adds an affectionate foot-note about the gun, praising it for
going with him for five years, as if it had had a choice about the matter,
and could have offered its services to another master. He believes it to
be alive, like a dog.
"This excellent and handy rifle was made by Thomas Fletcher, of
Gloucester, and accompanied me like a faithful dog throughout my
journey of nearly five years to the Albert Nyanza, and returned with
me to England as good as new."
In the list of Baker's rifles appears his bow of Ulysses, his Child of a
Cannon, familiarly called the Baby, throwing a half-pound explosive shell,
a lovely little pet of a weapon with a recoil that broke an Arab's
collar-bone, and was not without some slight effect even upon that mighty
hunter, its master.
"Bang went the Baby; round I spun like a weather-cock with the blood
flowing from my nose, as the recoil had driven the top of the hammer
deep into the bridge. My Baby not only screamed but kicked viciously.
However I knew the elephant would be bagged, as the half-pound shell
had been aimed directly behind the shoulder."
We have the most minute descriptions of the effects of these projectiles
in the head of a hippopotamus and the body of an elephant. "I was quite
satisfied with my explosive shells," says the enthusiastic sportsman, and
the great beasts appear to have been satisfied too.
Now let me attempt to describe the feelings of a man not born with the
natural instinct of a sportsman. We need not suppose him to be either a
weakling or a coward. There are strong and brave men who can exercise
their strength and prove their courage without willingly inflicting wounds
or death upon any creature. To some such men a gun is simply an
encumbrance, to wait for game is a wearisome trial of patience, to follow
it is aimless wandering, to slaughter it is to do the work of a butcher or
a poulterer, to wound it is to incur a degree of remorse that is entirely
destructive of enjoyment. The fact that somewhere on mountain or in forest
poor creatures are lying with festering flesh or shattered bones to die
slowly in pain and hunger, and the terrible thirst of the wounded, and all
for the pleasure of a gentleman,--such a fact as that, when clearly
realized, is not to be got over by anything less powerful than the genuine
instinct of the sportsman who is himself one of Nature's own born
destroyers, as panthers and falcons are. The feeling of one who has not
the sporting instinct has been well expressed as follows by Mr. Lewis
Morris, in "A Cynic's Day-dream:"--
"Scant pleasure should I think to gain
From endless scenes of death and pain;
'Twould little profit me to slay
A thousand innocents a day;
I should not much delight to tear
With wolfish dogs the shrieking hare;
With horse and hound to track to death
A helpless wretch that gasps for breath;
To make the fair bird check its wing,
And drop, a dying, shapeless thing;
To leave the joy of all the wood
A mangled heap of fur and blood,
Or else escaping, but in vain,
To pine, a shattered wretch, in pain;
Teeming, perhaps, or doomed to see
Its young brood starve in misery."
Hunting may be classed with shooting and passed over, as the instinct is
the same for both, with this difference only that the huntsman has a
natural passion for horsemanship that may be wanting to the pedestrian
marksman. An amusement entirely apart from every other, and requiring a
special instinct, is that of sailing.
If you have the nautical passion it was born with you, and no reasoning
can get it out of you. Every sheet of navigable water draws you with a
marvellous attraction, fills you with an indescribable longing. Miles away
from anything that can be sailed upon, you cannot feel a breeze upon your
cheek without wishing to be in a sailing-boat to catch it in a spread of
canvas. A ripple on a duck-pond torments you with a teazing reminder of
larger surfaces, and if you had no other field for navigation you would
want to be on that duck-pond in a tub. "I would rather have a plank and a
handkerchief for a sail," said Charles Lever, "than resign myself to give
up boating." You have pleasure merely in being afloat, even without
motion, and all the degrees of motion under sail have their own peculiar
charm for you, from an insensible gliding through glassy waters to a fight
against opposite winds and raging seas. You have a thorough, intimate, and
affectionate knowledge of all the details of your ship. The constant
succession of little tasks and duties is an unfailing interest, a
delightful occupation. You enjoy the manual labor, and acquire some skill
not only as a sailor but as ship's carpenter and painter. You take all
accidents and disappointments cheerfully, and bear even hardship with a
merry heart. Nautical exercise, though on the humble scale of the modest
amateur, has preserved or improved your health and activity, and brought
you nearer to Nature by teaching you the habits of the winds and waters
and by displaying to you an endless variety of scenes, always with some
fresh interest, and often of enchanting beauty.
Now let us suppose that you are simple enough to think that what pleases
you, who have the instinct, will gratify another who is destitute of it.
If you have power enough to make him accompany you, he will pass through
the following experiences.
Try to realize the fact that to him the sailing-boat is only a means of
locomotion, and that he will refer to his watch and compare it with other
means of locomotion already known to him, not having the slightest
affectionate prejudice in its favor or gentle tolerance of its defects. If
you could always have a steady fair wind he would enjoy the boat as much
as a coach or a very slow railway train, but he will chafe at every delay.
None of the details that delight you can have the slightest interest for
him. The sails, and particularly the cordage, seem to him an irritating
complication which, he thinks, might be simplified, and he will not give
any mental effort to master them. He cares nothing about those qualities
of sails and hull which have been the subject of such profound scientific
investigation, such long and passionate controversy. You cannot speak of
anything on board without employing technical terms which, however
necessary, however unavoidable, will seem to him a foolish and useless
affectation by which an amateur tries to give himself nautical airs. If
you say "the mainsheet" he thinks you might have said more rationally and
concisely "the cord by which you pull towards you that long pole which is
under the biggest of the sails," and if you say "the starboard quarter,"
he thinks you ought to have said, in simple English, "that part of the
vessel's side that is towards the back end of it and to your right hand
when you are standing with your face looking forwards." If you happen to
be becalmed he suffers from an infinite _ennui_. If you have to beat to
windward he is indifferent to the wonderful art and vexed with you
because, as his host, you have not had the politeness and the forethought
to provide a favorable breeze. If you are a yachtsman of limited means and
your guest has to take a small share in working the vessel, he will not
perform it with any cheerful alacrity, but consider it unfit for a
gentleman. If this goes on for long it is likely that there will be
irritation on both sides, snappish expressions, and a quarrel. Who is in
fault? Both are excusable in the false situation that has been created,
but it ought not to have been created at all. You ought not to have
invited a man without nautical instincts, or he ought not to have accepted
the invitation. He was a charming companion on land, and that misled you
both. Meet him on land again, receive him hospitably at your house. I
would say "forgive him!" if there were anything to forgive, but it is not
any fault of his or any merit of yours if, by the irrevocable fate of
congenital idiosyncrasy, the amusement that you were destined to seek and
enjoy is the _corvée_ that he was destined to avoid.
I find no language strong enough to condemn the selfishness of those who,
in order that they may enjoy what is a pleasure to themselves,
deliberately and knowingly inflict a _corvée_ upon others. This objection
does not apply to paid service, for that is the result of a contract.
Servants constantly endure the tedium of waiting and attendance, but it is
their form of work, and they have freely undertaken it. Work of that kind
is not a _corvée_, it is not forced labor. Real _corvées_ are inflicted by
heads of families on dependent relations, or by patrons on humble friends
who are under some obligation to them, and so bound to them as to be
defenceless. The father or patron wants, let us say, his nightly game at
whist; he must and will have it, if he cannot get it he feels that the
machine of the universe is out of gear. He singles out three people who do
not want to play, perhaps takes for his partner one who thoroughly
dislikes the game, but who has learned something of it in obedience to his
orders. They sit down to their board of green cloth. The time passes
wearily for the principal victim, who is thinking of something else and
makes mistakes. The patron loses his temper, speaks with increasing
acerbity, and finally either flies into a passion and storms (the
old-fashioned way), or else adopts, with grim self-control, a tone of
insulting contempt towards his victim that is even more difficult to
endure. And this is the reward for having been unselfish and obliging,
these are the thanks for having sacrificed a happy evening!
If this is often done by individuals armed with some kind of power and
authority, it is done still more frequently by majorities. The tyranny of
majorities begins in our school-days, and the principal happiness of
manhood is in some measure to escape from it. Many a man in after-life
remembers with bitterness the weary hours he had to spend for the
gratification of others in games that he disliked. The present writer has
a vivid recollection of what, to him, was the infinite dulness of cricket.
He was not by any means an inactive boy, but it so happened that cricket
never had the slightest interest for him, and to this day he cannot pass a
cricket-ground without a feeling of strong antipathy to its level surface
of green, and of thankfulness that he is no longer compelled to go through
the irksome old _corvée_ of his youth. One of the many charms, to his
taste, of a rocky mountain-side in the Highlands is that cricket is
impossible there. At the same time he quite believes and admits everything
that is so enthusiastically claimed for cricket by those who have a
natural affinity for the game.
There are not only sports and pastimes, but there is the long
reverberating echo of every sport in endless conversations. Here it may be
remarked that the lovers of a particular amusement, when they happen to be
a majority, possess a terrible power of inflicting _ennui_ upon others,
and they often exercise it without mercy. Five men are dining together,
and three are fox-hunters. Evidently they ought to keep fox-hunting to
themselves in consideration for the other two, but this requires an almost
superhuman self-discipline and politeness, so there is a risk that the
minority may have to submit in silence to an inexhaustible series of
details about horses and foxes and dogs. Indeed you are never safe from
this kind of conversation, even when you have numbers on your side.
Sporting talk may be inflicted by a minority when that minority is
incapable of any other conversation and strong in its own incapacity. Here
is a case in point that was narrated to me by one of the three _convives_.
The host was a country gentleman of great intellectual attainments, one
guest was a famous Londoner, and the other was a sporting squire who had
been invited as a neighbor. Fox-hunting was the only subject of talk,
because the squire was garrulous and unable to converse about any other
topic.
Ladies are often pitiable sufferers from this kind of conversation.
Sometimes they have the instinct of masculine sport themselves, and then
the subject has an interest for them; but an intelligent woman may find
herself in a wearisome position when she would rather avoid the subject of
slaughter, and all the men around her talk of nothing but killing and
wounding.
It is natural that men should talk much about their amusements, because
the mere recollection of a true amusement (that for which we have an
affinity) is in itself a renewal of it in imagination, and an immense
refreshment to the mind. In the midst of a gloomy English winter the
yachtsman talks of summer seas, and whilst he is talking he watches,
mentally, his well-set sails, and hears the wash of the Mediterranean
wave.
There are three pleasures in a true amusement, first anticipation, full of
hope, which is
"A feast for promised triumph yet to come,"
often the best banquet of all. Then comes the actual fruition, usually
dashed with disappointments that a true lover of the sport accepts in the
most cheerful spirit. Lastly, we go through it all over again, either with
the friends who have shared our adventures or at least with those who
could have enjoyed them had they been there, and who (for vanity often
claims her own delights) know enough about the matter to appreciate our
own admirable skill and courage.
In concluding this Essay I desire to warn young readers against a very
common mistake. It is very generally believed that literature and the fine
arts can be happily practised as amusements. I believe this to be an error
due to the vulgar notion that artists and literal people do not work but
only display talent, as if anybody could display talent without toil.
Literary and artistic pursuits are in fact _studies_ and not amusements.
Too arduous to have the refreshing quality of recreation, they put too
severe a strain upon the faculties, they are too troublesome in their
processes, and too unsatisfactory in their results, unless a natural gift
has been developed by earnest and long-continued labor. It does indeed
occasionally happen that an artist who has acquired skill by persistent
study will amuse himself by exercising it in sport. A painter may make
idle sketches as Byron sometimes broke out into careless rhymes, or as a
scholar will playfully compose doggerel in Greek, but these gambols of
accomplished men are not to be confounded with the painful efforts of
amateurs who fancy that they are going to dance in the Palace of Art and
shortly discover that the muse who presides there is not a smiling
hostess but a severe and exigent schoolmistress. An able French painter,
Louis Leloir, wrote thus to a friend about another art that he felt
tempted to practise:--
"Etching tempts me much. I am making experiments and hope to show you
something soon. Unhappily life is too short; we do a little of
everything and then perceive that each branch of art would of itself
consume the life of a man, to practise it very imperfectly after
all.... We get angry with ourselves and struggle, but too late. It was
at the beginning that we ought to have put on blinkers to hide from
ourselves everything that is not art."
If we mean to amuse ourselves let us avoid the painful wrestling against
insuperable difficulties, and the humiliation of imperfect results. Let us
shun all ostentation, either of wealth or talent, and take our pleasures
happily like poor children, or like the idle angler who stands in his old
clothes by the purling stream and watches the bobbing of his float, or the
glancing of the fly that his guileful industry has made.
INDEX.
Absinthe, French use, 273.
Absurdity, in languages, 157.
Academies, in a university, 275.
Accidents, Divine connection with (Essay XV.), 218-222.
Acquaintances: new and humble, 21, 22;
chance, 23-26;
met in travelling (Essay XVII.), 239-252 _passim_.
Adaptability: a mystery, 9;
in life's journey, 44;
to unrefined people, 72.
Adultery, overlooked in princes, 168.
Affection: not blinding to faults, 10;
how to obtain filial, 98;
in the beginning of letters, 316.
Affinities, mysterious, 288.
Age: affecting human intercourse, ix;
outrun by youth, 86-93 _passim_;
affecting friendship, 112;
senility hard to convince, 293, 294;
middle and old, 302;
kind letter to an old lady, 345.
Agnosticism, affecting filial relations, 93.
Agriculture: under law, 228;
and Radicals, 282.
Albany, Duke of, his associations, 5.
Albert Nyanza, Baker's exploits, 392.
Alexis, Prince, sad relations to his father, 95, 96.
Alps: first sight, 235;
grandeur, 271.
Americans: artistic attraction, 8;
inequalities of wealth, 248;
behaviour towards strangers, 249;
treated as ignorant by the English, 277;
under George III., 279;
use of ruled paper, 328.
Amusements: pursuit of, 27;
sympathy with youthful, 88;
out-door, 302, 303;
praise for indulgence not deserved, 342;
in general (Essay XXVI.), 383-401;
obligatory, 383;
expensive and pleasurable, 384;
laborious, 385;
princely enjoyments, 386, 387;
poverty not compelled to practise, 388;
feigned, 388, 389;
converted into customs, 389;
should be independent in, 390;
shooting, 391-393;
boating, 394-396;
selfish compulsion, 397;
tyranny of majorities, 398;
conversational echoes, 398, 399;
ladies not interested, 399;
three stages of pleasure, 399, 400;
artistic gambols, 400;
to be taken naturally and happily, 401.
Analysis: important to prevent confusion (Essay XX.), 280-294 _passim_;
analytical faculty wanting, 280, 292-294.
Ancestry: aristocratic, 123;
boast, 130;
home, 138;
less religion, 214.
Angels, and the arts, 191.
Anglicanism, and Russian Church, 257, 258.
Angling, pleasure of, 401.
Animals, feminine care, 177.
Annuities, affecting family ties, 68, 69.
Answers to letters, 334, 335.
Anticipation, pleasure of, 399, 400.
Antiquarianism, author's, 323.
Apollo, a sportsman compared to, 391.
Arabs: use of telegraph, 323;
collar-bone broken, 392.
Archæology: a friend's interest, x;
affected by railway travel, 14.
Architecture: illustration, vii, xii;
studies in France, 17, 23, 24;
connection with religion, 189, 190, 192;
ignorance about English, 265;
common mistakes, 291;
letters about, 365.
Aristocracy: French rural, 18, 19;
English laws of primogeniture, 66;
English instance, 123, 124;
discipline, 128;
often poor, 135, 136;
effect of deference, 146, 147;
a mark of? 246, 247;
Norman influence, 251, 252;
antipathy, to Dissent, 256, 257;
sent to Eton, 277;
and Bohemianism, 309;
dislike of scholarship, 331, 332.
(See _Rank_.)
Aristophilus, fictitious character, 146.
Armies: national ignorance, 277-279;
monopoly of places in French, 283.
(See _War_.)
Art: detached from religion, xii;
affecting friendship, 6, 8;
Claude and Turner, 13;
chance acquaintances, 23, 24;
purposes lowered, 28, 29;
penetrated by love, 42, 43;
affecting fraternity, 64;
friendship, 113, 114;
lifts above mercenary motives, 132;
literary, 154;
adaptability of Greek language, 158;
preferences of artists rewarded, 165;
affecting relations of Priests and Women (Essay XIII. part II.),
187-195, _passim_;
exaggeration and diminution, both admissible, 232, 233;
result of selection, 253;
French ignorance of English, 265, 266, 267;
antagonized by Philistinism, 285, 286, 301;
not mere amusement, 400.
(See _Painting_, _Sculpture_, _Turner_, etc.)
Asceticism, tinges both the Philistine and Bohemian, 299, 300.
(See _Priesthood_, _Roman Catholicism_, etc.)
Association: pleasurable or not, 3;
affected by opinions, 5, 6;
by tastes, 7, 8;
London, 20;
of a certain French painter, 28;
between Priests and Women (Essay XIII. part III.), 195-204 _passim_;
among travellers (Essay XVII.), 239-252;
leads to misapprehension of opinions, 287, 288.
(See _Companionship_, _Friendship_, _Society_, etc.)
Atavism, puzzling to parents, 88.
Atheism: reading prayers, 163;
apparent, 173;
confounded with Deism, 257.
(See _God_, _Religion_, etc.)
Attention: how directed in the study of language, 154;
want of, 197.
Austerlitz, battle, 350.
(See _Napoleon I._)
Austria, Empress, 180.
Authority, of fathers (Essay VI.), 78-98 _passim_.
(See _Priests_.)
Authors: illustration, 9;
indebtedness to humbler classes, 22, 23;
relations of several to women, 46 _et seq._;
sensitiveness to family indifference, 74;
in society and with the pen, 237, 238;
a procrastinating correspondent, 317;
anonymous letters, 378.
(See _Hamerton_, etc.)
Authorship, illustrating interdependence, 12.
(See _Literature_, etc.)
Autobiographies, revelations of faithful family life, 65.
Autumn tints, 233.
Avignon, France, burial-place of Mill, 53.
Bachelors: independence, 26;
dread of a wife's relations, 73;
lonely hearth, 76;
friendship destroyed by marriage, 115, 116;
reception into society, 120;
eating-habits, 244.
(See _Marriage_, _Wives_, etc.)
Baker, Sir Samuel, shooting, 390-392.
Balzac, his hatred of old maids, 381.
Baptism, religious influence, 184, 185.
(See _Priesthood_.)
Baptists: in England, 170;
ignorance about, 257.
(See _Religion_.)
Barbarism, emerging from, 161.
(See _Civilization_.)
Baronius, excerpts by Prince Alexis, 95.
Barristers, mercenary motives, 132, 133.
Bavaria, king of, 385-387.
Bazaar, charity, 188.
Beard, not worn by priests, 202.
Beauty: womanly attraction, 38, 39;
sought by wealth, 299.
Bedford, Duke of, knowledge of French, 151.
Belgium, letters written at the date of Waterloo, 153.
Beljame, his knowledge of English, 152.
Bell, Umfrey, in old letter, 323.
Benevolence, priestly and feminine association therein, 195, 196.
(See _Priests_, etc.)
Ben Nevis, and other Scotch heights, 271.
Bentinck, William, letters to, 344, 345.
Betham-Edwards, Amelia, her description of English bad manners, 240, 245.
Bible: faith in, 6;
allusion to Proverbs and Canticles, 41;
reading, 123;
Babel, 159;
commentaries studied, authority, 206;
examples, 208;
narrow limits, 211, 212;
commentaries and sermons, 302.
(See _Religion_, etc.)
Bicycle, illustration, 15.
Birds, in France, 272.
Birth, priestly connection with, 184, 185.
(See _Priests_, _Women_.)
Black cap, illustration, 204.
Blake, William, quotation about Folly and Wisdom, 31.
Blasphemy, royal, 167.
(See _Immorality_, etc.)
Boating: affected by railways, 14;
French river, 128;
rich and poor, 138, 139;
comparison, 154;
Lever's experience, 260;
mistaken judgments, 292, 293;
not enjoyed, 302;
sleeping, 307;
on the Thames, 335;
painting a boat, 359;
amusement, 394-396.
(See _Yachts_, etc.)
Boccaccio, quotation about pestilence, 222.
Bohemianism: Noble (Essay XXI.), 295-314;
unjust opinions, 295;
lower forms, 296;
social vices, 297;
sees the weakness of Philistinism, 298;
how justifiable, 299;
imagination and asceticism, 300;
intimacy with nature, 302;
estimate of the desirable, 303;
living illustration, 304;
furniture, mental and material, 305;
an English Bohemian's enjoyment, 306;
contempt for comfort, uselessness, 307;
self-sacrifice, 308;
higher sort, 309;
of Goldsmith, 309, 310;
Corot, Wordsworth, 311;
Palmer, 312, 313;
part of education, 313, 314;
a painter's, 314.
(See _Philistinism_.)
Bonaparte Family, criminality of, 168.
(See _Napoleon I._)
Books: how far an author's own, 13;
in hospitality, 142;
refusal to read, 195;
indifference to, 286, 287;
cheap and dear, 304, 305;
Wordsworth's carelessness, 311;
binding, 359.
(See _Literature_, etc.)
Bores, English dread of, 245.
(See _Intrusion_.)
Borrow, George, on English houses, 145.
Botany, allusion, 166.
Bourbon Family, criminality of, 168.
Bourrienne, Fauvelet de, Napoleon's secretary, 367.
Boyton, Captain, swimming-apparatus, 290.
Boys: French, 23, 24;
English fraternal jealousies, 66;
education, and differences with older people, 78-98 _passim_;
roughened by play, 100;
friendships, 111.
(See _Brothers_, _Fathers_, _Sons_, etc.)
Brassey, Sir Thomas, his yacht, 138, 139.
Brevity, in correspondence, 324-331, 361.
Bright, John, his fraternity, 68.
British Museum: ignorance about, 266;
library, 287;
confused with other buildings, 291.
(See _London_.)
Brontë, Charlotte, her St. John, in Jane Eyre, 196.
Brothers: divided by incompatibility, 10;
English divisions, 63;
idiosyncrasy, 64;
petty jealousy, 65, 66;
love and hatred illustrated, 67;
the Brights, 68;
money affairs, 69;
generosity and meanness, 70;
refinement an obstacle, 71;
lack of fraternal interest, 74;
riches and poverty, 77.
(See _Boys_, _Friendship_, _Sons_, etc.)
Buffon, Georges Louis Leclerc de, his noble life, 209, 210.
Buildings, literary illustration, vii.
Bulgaria, lost to Turkey, 278.
Bull-fights, women's presence, 180.
(See _Cruelty_.)
Bunyan, John: choice in religion, 173;
imprisoned, 181.
Business: affecting family ties, 64, 67;
affecting letter-writing, 342, 343;
Letters of (Essay XXIV.), 354-369;
orally conducted or written, 354-357;
stupid agents, 358, 359;
talent for accuracy, 360;
acknowledging orders, 361;
apparent carelessness, one subject best, 362;
knowledge of drawing important to explanations on paper, 363, 364;
acquaintance with languages a help, 364;
commercial slang, 365;
indolence in letter-reading has disastrous results, 366-369.
(See _Correspondence_.)
Byron, Lord: on Friendship, 30;
Haidée, 39;
marriage relations, 46, 48-50, 55-57;
as a letter-writer, 345-349;
careless rhymes, 400.
Calumny: caused by indistinct ideas, 292;
in letters, 370-377.
Cambridge University, 275, 276.
Camden Society, publication, 318.
Cannes, anecdote, 235.
Cannon-balls, national intercourse, 160.
(See _Wars_.)
Canoe, illustration, 15.
Card-playing: incident, 128, 129;
French habit, 273;
kings, 289;
laborious, 397.
Carelessness, causing wrong judgments, 293.
Caste: as affecting friendship, 4;
not the uniting force, 9;
French rites, 16;
English prejudice, 19;
sins against, 22;
among authors, 46-56;
kinship of ideas, 67;
ease with lower classes, 64;
really existent, 124, 125;
loss through poverty, 136;
among English travellers, 240-242, 245, 246.
(See _Classes_, _Rank_, _Titles_, etc.)
Cat, drawing by a child, 364.
Cathedrals: drawing a French, 23, 24;
imposing, 189, 190, 192.
Celibacy: Shelley's experience, 34;
in Catholic Church, 120;
clerical, 198-201;
of old maids, 379-382.
(See _Clergy_, _Priests_, _Wives_, etc.)
Censure, dangerous in letters, 352, 353.
Ceremony: dependent on prosperity, 125, 126;
fondness of women for, 197, 198;
also 187-195 _passim_.
(See _Manners_, _Rank_, etc.)
Chamberlain, the title, 137.
Chambord, Count de, restoration possible, 254, 255.
Channel, British, illustration, 14.
Charles II., women's influence during his reign, 181.
Charles XII., his hardiness, 308.
Chaucer, Geoffrey, on birds, 272.
Cheltenham, Eng., treatment of Dissenters, 19.
Chemistry, illustration, 3.
Cheshire, Eng., a case of generosity, 68.
Children: recrimination with parents, 75;
as affecting parental wealth, 119;
social reception, 120;
keenly alive to social distinctions, 121;
imprudent marriages, 123;
a poor woman's, 139;
interruptions, 140, 141;
ignorance of foreign language makes us seem like, 151;
feminine care, 177;
of clergy, 200, 201;
cat picture, 364;
pleasures of poor, 401.
(See _Boys_, _Brothers_, _Marriage_, _Sons_, etc.)
Chinese mandarins, 130.
Chirography, in letters, 331-333.
Christ: his divinity a past issue, 6;
Church instituted, 178, 179;
Dr. Macleod on, 186;
limits of knowledge in Jesus' day, 213.
(See _Church_, _Religion_, etc.)
Christianity: as affecting intercourse, 5, 6;
its early disciples, 142;
preferment for adherence, 162, 163;
morality a part of, 168, 169;
state churches, 170;
in poetry, 198;
early ideal, 206.
(See _Roman Catholicism_, etc.)
Christmas: decorations, 188;
in Tennyson, 198.
(See _Clergy_, _Priesthood_, _Women_.)
Church: attendance of hypocrites, 163;
compulsory, 172;
instituted by God in Christ, 178, 179;
influence at all stages of life, 183-186;
æsthetic industry, 188;
dress, 189;
buildings, 190;
menaces, 193;
partisanship, 194;
power of custom, 198;
authority, 203.
(See _Religion_, _Roman Catholicism_, etc.)
Church of England: as affecting friendship, 6;
freedom of members in their own country, instance of Dissenting
tyranny, 164;
dangers of forsaking, 165;
bondage of royalty, 166, 168;
adherence of nobility, 169, 170, 173;
of working-people, 170, 171;
compulsory attendance, liberality, 172, 173;
ribaldry sanctioned by its head, 181;
priestly consolation, 183;
the _legal_ church, 185;
ritualistic art, 188-190;
a bishop's invitation to a discussion, 192;
story of a bishop's indolence, 366, 367;
French ignorance of, 275.
(See _England_, _Christ_, etc.)
Cipher, in letters, 326.
Civility. (See _Hospitality_.)
Civilization: liking for, xiii;
antagonism to nature in love-matters, 41;
lower state, 72;
affected by hospitality, 100;
material adjuncts, 253;
physical, 298;
duty to further, 299;
forsaken, 310.
(See _Barbarism_, _Bohemianism_, _Philistinism_, etc.)
Classes: Differences of Rank (Essay X.), 130-147 _passim_;
affected by religion (Essay XII.), 161-174;
limits, 250;
in connection with Gentility (Essay XVIII.), 253-263 _passim_.
(See _Caste_, _Ceremonies_, _Rank_, etc.)
Classics, study of, in the Renaissance, 212.
Claude, helps Turner. (See _Painters_, etc.)
Clergy: mercenary motives, 132, 133;
more tolerant of immorality than of heresy, 168;
belief in natural law, 221;
dangers of association with, 287.
(See _Priesthood_, _Religion_, etc.)
Clergywomen, 200, 201.
Clerks, their knowledge an aid to national intercourse, 149, 150.
(See _Business_, _Languages_, etc.)
Coats-of-arms: usurped, 135;
in letters, 326, 327.
(See _Rank_.)
Cockburn, Sir Alexander, knowledge of French, 151.
Cock Robin, boat, 138.
(See _Boating_.)
Coffee, satire on trade, 133, 134.
Cologne Cathedral, 190.
Colors, in painting, 232, 233.
Columbus, Voltaire's allusion, 274.
Comet, in Egyptian war, 229.
(See _Superstition_.)
Comfort, pursuit of, 27, 298, 299.
(See _Philistinism_.)
Commerce, affected by language, 148-150, 159, 160.
(See _Business_, _Languages_, etc.)
Communism, threats, 377.
Como, Italy, solitude, 31.
Companionship: how decided, 4;
affected by opinions, 5, 6;
by tastes, 7, 8;
in London, 20;
with the lower classes, 21-23;
chance, 24-26;
intellectual exclusiveness, 27, 28;
books, 29;
nature, 30;
in Marriage (Essay IV.), 44-62;
travelling, absence, 44;
intellectual, 45;
instances of unlawful, 46, 47;
failures not surprising, 48;
of Byron, 49, 50;
Goethe, 51, 52;
Mill, 53, 54;
discouraging examples, 55, 56;
difficulties of extraordinary minds, 57;
artificial, 58;
hopelessness of finding ideal associations, 59;
indications and realizations, 60;
trust, 61, 62;
hindered by refinement, 71, 72;
affected by cousinship, 73;
parents and children (Essay VI.), 78-98 _passim_;
Death of Friendship (Essay VIII.), 110-118;
affected by wealth and poverty (Essays IX. and X.), 119-147 _passim_;
between Priests and Women (Essay XIII.), 175-204.
(See _Association_, _Friendship_, etc.)
Comradeship, difficult between parents and children, 89.
(See _Association_, etc.)
Concession: weakening the mind, 147;
national, 148;
feminine liking, 175.
Confessional, the: influencing women, 201-203;
a supposititious compulsion, 281.
(See _Religion_, etc.)
Confirmation, priestly connection with, 185.
(See _Women_.)
Confusion: (Essay XX.), 280-294;
masculine and feminine, 280;
political, 280-284;
rebels and reformers, 280;
private and public liberty, 281;
Radicals, 282;
_égalité_, 283;
religious, 284, 285;
Philistines and Bohemians, 285-287;
confounding people with their associates, 287, 288;
vocations, 288, 289;
persons, 290;
foreign buildings, 291;
inducing calumny, 292;
caused by insufficient analysis, 292, 293;
about inventions, 293;
result of carelessness, indolence, or senility, 293, 294.
Consolation, of clergy, 179-183.
(See _Religion_.)
Construing, different from reading, 154.
(See _Languages_.)
Continent, the: family ties, 63;
friendship broken by marriage, 116;
religious liberality, 173;
marriage, 184;
flowers, 188, 189;
confessional, 202, 203;
exaggeration, 234, 235;
table-manners of travellers, 240-252 _passim_;
drinking-places, 262.
(See _France_, etc.)
Controversy, disliked, xiii.
Conventionality: affecting personality, 15-17;
genteel ignorance engendered by, 260-262.
(See _Courtesy_, _Manners_, etc.)
Conversation: chance, 26;
compared with literature, 29;
study of languages, 156;
at _table d'hôte_, 239-249;
among strangers, 247-252 _passim_;
useless to quote, 291;
Goldsmith's enjoyment, 309.
Convictions, our own to be trusted, iii, iv.
Copenhagen, battle, 327.
Cornhill Magazine, Lever's article, 259, 260.
Corot (Jean Baptiste Camille), his Bohemianism, 310, 311.
Correspondence: akin to periodicals, 30;
Belgian letters, 153;
Courtesy of Epistolary Communication (Essay XXII.), 315-335;
introductions and number of letters, 316;
promptness, 317, 318;
Plumpton Letters, 318-323;
brevity, 324;
telegraphy and abbreviations, 325;
sealing, 326, 327;
peculiar stationery, 328;
post-cards, 329;
_un mot à la poste_, 330;
brevity and hurry, 331;
handwriting, 332;
crossed lines, ink, type-writers, 333;
dictation, outside courtesy, 334;
to reply or not reply? 335;
Letters of Friendship (Essay XXIII.), 336-353;
a supposed gain to friendship, 336;
neglected, 337;
impediments, 338;
French cards, 339;
abandonment to be regretted, 340;
letter-writing a gift, 341;
real self wanted in letters, 342;
letters of business and friendship, 343;
familiarity best, 344;
lengthy letters, 345;
Byron's, 346-348;
Jacquemont's, 349;
the Rémusat letters, 350;
Bernardo Tasso's, Montaigne's, 350;
perils of plain speaking, 352, 353;
Letters of Business (Essay XXIV.), 354-369;
differences of talent, 354;
repeated perusals, 355;
refuge of timidity, 356;
letters exposed, literary faults, omissions, 357;
directions misunderstood, 358, 359;
acknowledging orders, 361;
slovenly writing, one subject in each letter, 362;
misunderstanding through ignorance, 363;
in foreign languages, 364;
conventional slang, 365;
careful reading necessary, 366;
unopened letters, 367;
epistles half-read, 368;
a stupid error, 369;
Anonymous Letters (Essay XXV.), 370-382;
common, 370;
slanderous, 371;
vehicle of calumny, 372;
written to betrothed lovers, 373;
story, 374;
written in collaboration and with pains, 375;
an expected grandchild, 376;
torture and threats, 377;
kindly and critical, 378-382.
Corvée: allusion, 342;
definition, 389, 390, 396, 397.
(See _Amusements_.)
Cottage, love in a, 35, 36.
Court-circulars, 166, 167.
Courtesy: its forms, 127-129;
idioms, 157;
in Epistolary Communication (Essay XXII.), 315-335;
in what courtesy consists, 315;
the act of writing, phrases, 316;
promptitude, 317;
instance of procrastination, 317, 318;
illustrations, in the Plumpton Correspondence, of ancient courtesy,
318-323, 331;
consists in modern brevity, 324;
foreign forms, 325;
by telegraph, 326;
in little things, 327;
in stationery, 328;
affected by postal cards, 329, 330;
in chirography, 331, 332;
affected by type-writers, 333;
for show merely, 334;
requiring answers, 335.
(See _Manners_, _Classes_, etc.)
Cousins: French proverb, general relationship, 72;
lack of friendly interest, 74.
(See _Brothers_, etc.)
Creuzot, French foundry, 272.
Cricket: not played in France, 272;
author's dislike, 398.
(See _Amusements_.)
Crimean War, caused by ignorance, 278.
(See _War_.)
Criticism: intolerant of certain features in books, 89;
in Byron's letters, 347;
in anonymous letters, 379;
explained by a date, 381.
Cromwell, Oliver, contrasted with his son, 96.
Culture and Philistinism, 285-287.
Customs: upheld by clergy, 197, 198;
amusements changed into, 383, 384, 389.
(See _Ceremonies_, _Courtesy_, _Rank_, etc.)
Daily News, London, illustration of natural law _vs._ religion, xii.
Dancing: French quotation about, 31;
religious aversion, 123;
not compulsory to the poor, 388.
(See _Amusements_, etc.)
Dante, his subjects, 192.
Daughters, their respectful and impertinent letters, 319-321.
(See _Fathers_, _Sons_, _Women_, etc.)
Death: termination of intercourse, x, xi;
from love, 39;
Byron's lines, 50;
ingratitude expressed in a will, 69;
of wife's relations, 73;
of Friendship (Essay VIII.), 110-118;
not personal, 110;
of a French gentleman, 182;
priestly connection with, 184-186, 203;
of absent friends, 338;
French customs, 339;
silence, 340.
(See _Priests_, _Religion_.)
Debauchery, destructive of love, 34.
Deference, why liked, 122.
(See _Rank_, etc.)
Deism, confounded with Atheism, 257.
(See _God_, _Religion_, etc.)
Delos, oracle of, 229.
Democracies, illustration of broken friendships, 114, 115.
Democracy: accusation of, 131;
confounded with Dissent, 257.
(See _Nationality_, etc.)
Denmark, the crown-prince of, 327.
Dependence, of one upon all, 12.
De Saussure, Horace Benedict, his life study, 230, 231.
Despotism, provincial and social, 17.
(See _Tyranny_.)
De Tocqueville, Alexis Charles Henri Clerel: allusion, 147;
translation, 152;
on English unsociability (Essay XVII.), 239-252 _passim_.
Devil: priestly opposition, 195;
belief in agency, 224;
God's relation to, 228.
(See _Clergy_, _Superstition_, _Religion_, etc.)
Devonshire, Eng., its beauty, 270.
Dickens, Charles: his middle-class portraitures, 20;
his indebtedness to the poor, 22;
humor, 72.
Dictionary, references, 155.
(See _Languages_.)
Diderot, Denis, Goldsmith's interview, 309.
Dignity, to be maintained in middle-life, 117.
Diminution, habit in art and life (Essay XVI.), 232-238.
(See _Exaggeration_.)
Diogenes, his philosophy, 127.
Discipline: of children, 78-98 _passim_;
delegated, 83;
mental, 208;
of self, 308.
Discord, the result of high taste, 6.
Dishonesty, part of Bohemianism, 296.
Disraeli, Benjamin, female estimate, 380.
Dissenters: French estimate, 18, 19;
English exclusion, 19, 256;
liberty in religion, 164, 165;
position not compulsory, 170;
small towns, 171-173.
(See _Church of England_, etc.)
Dissipation: among working-men, 124;
in France, 272, 273.
(See _Wine_, etc.)
Distinctions forgotten (Essay XX.), 280-294 _passim_.
(See _Confusion_.)
Divorce, causes of, 38.
(See _Marriage_, _Women_, etc.)
Dobell, Sidney, social exclusion, 19.
Dog, rifle compared to, 392.
(See _Amusements_.)
Dominicans, dress, 189.
(See _Religion_, etc.)
Dominoes in France, 273.
(See _Amusements_.)
Don Quixote, illustration of paternal satire, 97.
Doré, Gustave, his kind and long letter, 345.
Double, Léopold, home, 142.
Dover Straits, 337.
Drama: power of adaptation, 72;
amateur actors, 143.
Drawing: a French church, 23, 24;
aid to business letters, 363, 364.
(See _Painters_, etc.)
Dreams, outgrown, 60.
Dress: connection with manners, 126, 127;
ornaments to indicate wealth, 131;
feminine interest, 187;
clerical vestments, 187, 188, 198;
sexless, 202, 203;
of the Philistines, 297, 298;
Bohemian, 304-307, 313, 314.
(See _Women_.)
Driving, sole exercise, 302.
Drunkenness: part of Bohemianism, 296;
in best society, 297.
(See _Table_, _Wine_, etc.)
Duelling, French, 273.
Du Maurier, George, his satire on coffee-dealers, 133, 134.
Dupont, Pierre, song about wine, 268, 269, 272.
Ear, learning languages by, 156.
(See _Languages_.)
Easter: allusion, 198;
confession, 281.
Eccentricity: high intellect, 56;
in an artist, 307;
claims indulgence, 387.
Eclipse, superstitious view, 215-217, 229.
Economy, necessitated by marriage, 26.
(See _Wealth_.)
Edinburgh Review, editor, 152.
Editor, a procrastinating correspondent, 317.
Education: similarity, 10;
affecting idiosyncrasy, 13;
conventional, 15;
effect upon humor, 20;
literary, derived from the poor, 22;
affected by change in filial obedience, 80-88;
home, 81 _et seq._;
authority of teachers, 81, 83;
divergence of parental and filial, 84;
special efforts, 85;
divergent, 90-92;
profound lack of, 91;
never to be thrown off, 92;
of hospitality, 99, 100;
the effect on all religion (Essay XV.), 215-231 _passim_;
knowledge of languages, 245;
of Tasso family, 350, 351.
(See _Languages_, etc.)
Egypt: Suez Canal, xii;
illustration of school tasks, 85;
war of 1882, 222-224, 229.
Eliot, George: hints from the poor, 22;
her peculiar relation to Mr. Lewes, 45, 46, 55, 56;
often confounded with other writers, 290.
Elizabeth, Queen: order about the marriage of clergy, 200;
her times, 381.
(See _Celibacy_.)
Emerson, Ralph Waldo: the dedication, iii, iv;
anecdote of Napoleon, 367.
England: newspaper reports, 41;
a French woman's knowledge of, 107;
respect for rank, 136;
title-worship, 137;
estimate of wealth, 144-146;
slavery to houses, 145;
French ideas slowly received, 150;
religious freedom, 164-168, 172;
two religions for the nobility, 169, 170, 173;
a most relentless monarch, 180;
women during reign of Charles II., 181;
marriage rites, 184, 185;
aristocracy, 246;
A Remarkable Peculiarity (Essay XVII.), 239-252;
meeting abroad, 239;
reticence in each other's company, 240;
anecdotes, 241, 242;
dread of intrusion, 243, 244;
freedom with foreigners and with compatriots, 245;
not a mark of aristocracy, 246;
fear of meddlers, 247;
interest in rank, 248;
reticence outgrown, 249;
Lever's illustration, 250;
exceptions, 251;
Saxon and Norman influence, 251, 252;
Dissenters ignored, 256, 257;
general information, 263;
French ignorance of art and literature in, 265-267, 269;
game, 268;
mountains, 270, 271;
landscapes, 270;
Church, 275;
supposed law about attending the Mass, 281;
homes longed for, 286;
the architectural blunders of tourists, 291;
Philistine lady, 304;
painter and Philistine, 306;
letters in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, 318-321;
use of telegraph, 323;
letters shortened, 325;
letter-paper 328;
post-cards, 329, 330;
communication with France, 337;
trade habits, 361, 365;
reading of certain books not compulsory, 378;
old maids, 381;
winter, 399.
(See _Church of England_, _France_, etc.)
English Language: ignorance of, a misfortune, 149, 150;
familiar knowledge unusual in France, 151-153;
forms of courtesy, 157;
conversation abroad, 240;
_Bohemian_, 295;
literature, 305;
bad spelling, 360, 361;
no synonym for _corvée_, 389;
nautical terms, 396.
(See _England_, etc.)
English People: Continental repulsion, 7;
artistic attraction, 8;
undervaluation of chance conversations, 26;
looseness of family ties, 63;
ashamed of sentiment, 82;
feeling about heredity, 93;
one lady's empty rooms, 104;
another's incivility, 106;
a merchant's loss of wealth, 121, 122;
deteriorated aristocrat, 123;
letters by ladies, 153;
no consoling power, 182;
gentlewomen of former generation, 205, 206;
where to find inspiriting models, 208;
companions of Prince Imperial, 225;
understatement a habit, 234-238;
a lady's ignorant remark about servants, 258, 259;
ignorance of French mountains, etc., 270-271;
fuel and iron, 272;
universities, 275, 276;
patronage of Americans, 277;
anonymous letter to a gentleman, 376.
Ennui: banished by labor, 32;
on shipboard, 396.
Enterprise, affecting individualism, 14.
Envy, expressed in anonymous letters, 371.
Epiphany, annual Egyptian ceremony, xii.
(See _Science_, _Superstition_, etc.)
Epithets, English, 235.
Equality: affecting intercourse, 246;
_égalité_, 282, 283.
(See _Rank_, _Ignorance_.)
Equestrianism, affected by railways, 14.
Etching, Leloir's fondness for, 401.
Etheredge, Sir George, his ribaldry, 181.
Eton College, allusion, 277.
Eugénie, Empress: her influence over her husband, 176;
his regard, 225.
Europe: vintages, 133;
influence of Littré, 210;
Southern, 240;
allusion, 254;
Turkey nearly expelled, 278;
latest thought, 306;
cities, 309;
William of Orange, on complications, 344;
communistic disturbances, 377.
(See _England_, _France_, etc.)
Evangelicism, English peculiarities, 123.
(See _Dissenters_, etc.)
Evans, Marian. (See _George Eliot_.)
Evolution, theory of, 176.
Exaggeration, the habit in art and life (Essay XVI.), 232-238.
(See _Diminution_.)
Exercise: love of, 14;
in the young and the old, 86, 87.
(See _Amusements_.)
Experience: value, 30;
needed to avoid dangers in letter-writing, 352.
Extravagance: part of Bohemianism, 295;
Goldsmith's, 310.
Family: Ties (Essay V.), 63-77;
looseness in England, 63;
brotherly coolness, 64;
domestic jealousies, 65;
laws of primogeniture, 66;
instances of strong attachment, 67;
illustrations of kindness, 68;
pecuniary relations, 69;
parsimony, 70;
discomfort of refinement, 71;
cousins, 72;
wife's relations, 73;
indifference to the achievements of kindred, 74;
aid from relatives, domestic rudeness, 75;
brutality, misery, 76;
home privations, 77;
Fathers and Sons (Essay VI.), 78-98;
intercourse, to be distinguished from individual, 119, 120;
rich friends, 121;
false, 122;
children's marriages, 123;
old, 135, 136;
clerical, 199, 200;
subjects of letters, 205;
regard of Napoleon III., 225.
(See _Brothers_, _Sons_, etc.)
Fashion, transient, 307.
Fathers: separated from children by incompatibility, 10;
by irascibility, 75;
by brutality of tongue, 76;
and Sons (Essay VI.), 78-98;
unsatisfactory relation, interregnum, 78;
old and new feelings and customs, 79;
commanding, 80;
exercise of authority, 81;
Mill's experience, 82;
abdication of authority, 83;
personal education of sons, 84, 85;
mistakes of middle-age, 86;
outstripped by sons, 87;
intimate friendship impossible, 88;
differences of age, 89;
divergences of education and experience, 90, 91;
opinions not hereditary, 92, 93;
the attempted control of marriage, 94;
Peter the Great and Alexis, 95;
other illustrations of discord, 96;
satire and disregard of personality, 97;
true foundation of paternal association, 98;
death of a French parent, 182;
a letter, 319-322.
Favor, fear of loss, 147.
Ferdinand and Isabella, religious freedom in their reign, 164.
Fiction: love in French, 41;
absorbing theme, 42;
in a library, 305.
Fletcher, Thomas, firearms made by, 391, 392.
Florence, Italy, pestilence, 222.
Flowers: illustration, 179;
church use, 188;
Flower Sunday, 189.
(See _Women_, etc.)
Fly, artificial, 377.
Fog, English, 270.
Foreigners: associations with, 7;
view of English family life, 63;
in travelling-conditions (Essay XVII.), 239-252 _passim_;
association leads to misapprehension, 287;
in England, 291.
Fox-hunting, 180, 398, 399.
(See _Amusements_, _Sports_, etc.)
France: a peasant's outlook, xii;
social despotism in small cities, 17-19;
pleasant associations in a cathedral city, 23, 24;
political criticism, 115;
noisy card-players, 128, 129;
disregard of titles, 136, 137;
adage about riches, 145;
English ideas slowly received, 150;
travel in Southern, 150;
religious freedom, 165;
marriage, 184;
railway accident, 218-220;
the Imperialists, 225;
feudal fashions, 246;
obstinacy of the old régime, 254-256;
mountains, 271;
vigor of young men, 272, 273;
universities, 275, 276;
equality attained by Revolution, 283;
bourgeois complaint of newspapers, 286;
mineral oil, 288;
confusion of tourists, 291;
Goldsmith's travels, 309, 310;
landscape painter, 310;
end of Plumpton family, 323;
use of telegraph, 323;
letters shortened, 325;
letter-paper, 328;
post-cards, 330;
chirography, 332;
New Year's cards, 339;
_carton non bitumé_, 358, 359;
habits of tradesmen, 360, 361, 365;
the _Salon_, 367;
old maids, 381;
a _corvée_, 389, 390;
Leloir the painter, 401.
(See _Continent_, etc.)
Fraternity, _fraternité_, 282, 283.
(See _Brothers_.)
Freedom: national, 279;
public and private liberty confounded, 281, 282.
French Language: teaching, 85;
ignorance a misfortune, 149, 150;
rare knowledge of, by Englishmen, 151, 152;
letters by English ladies, 153;
forms of courtesy, 157;
prayers, 158;
as the universal tongue, 158, 159;
English knowledge of, 245;
_univers_, 273, 274.
(See _Languages_.)
French People: excellence in painting, and relations to Americans and
English, 7;
an ideal of _good form_, 15;
old conventionality, 16-18;
love in fiction, 41;
family ties, 63;
proverb about cousins, 72;
unbelieving sons, 93;
bourgeois table manners formerly, 101, 102;
state apartments, 105;
incivility towards, at an English table, 106;
girls, 106;
a woman's clever retort, 107;
literature condemned by wholesale, 147;
royal daily life, 167;
power of consolation, 182;
examples of virtue, 208;
old nobility, 209;
Buffon and Littré, 209-211;
_hazard providentiel_, 227;
painters, 232, 233;
overstatement, 234, 235;
sociability with strangers contrasted with the English want of it
(Essay XVII.), 239-252 _passim_;
a widow and suite, 242, 243;
discreet social habits, 247, 248;
a disregard of titles, 248;
a weak question about fortune, 259;
ignorance of English matters, 265-270;
wine-song, 268, 269;
fuel and iron, 271, 272;
seeming vanity of language, 273, 274;
conceit cured by war, 278;
communist dreamers, 284;
proverb, 287;
confusion of persons, 290.
Friendship: supposed impossible in a given case, viii, ix;
real, x;
how formed, 4;
not confined to the same class, 5;
affected by art and religion, 6;
by taste and nationality, 7, 8;
by likeness, 8;
with those with whom we have not much in common, 9, 10;
affected by incompatibility, 10;
Byron's comparison, 30;
affecting illicit love, 41;
akin to marriage, 48;
elective affinity, 75;
Death of (Essay VIII.), 110-118;
sad subject, no resurrection, definition, 110;
boyish alliances, growth, 111;
personal changes, 112;
differences of opinion, 113;
of prosperity, financial, professional, political, 114;
habits, marriage, 115;
neglect, poor and rich, 116;
equality not essential, acceptance of kindness, new ties, 117;
intimacy easily destroyed, 118;
affected by wealth (Essays IX., X.), 119-147 _passim_;
by language, 149;
between Priests and Women (Essay XIII.), 175-204 _passim_;
formed with strangers, 251;
leads to misunderstood opinions, 287, 288;
disturbed by procrastination, 317;
Letters of, (Essay XXIII.), 336-353;
infrequency, 336;
obstacles, 337;
the sea a barrier, 338;
aid of a few words at New Year's, 339;
death-like silence, 340;
charm of manner not always carried into letters, 341;
excluded by business, 342;
cooled by reproaches, 343;
all topics interesting to a friend, 344;
affection overflows in long letters, 345-351;
fault-finding dangerous, 352, 353;
journeys saved, 360.
(See _Association_, _Companionship_, _Family_, etc.)
Fruit, ignorance about English, 269, 270.
Fruition, pleasure of, 400.
Fuel, French, 272.
Furniture: feminine interest in, 187;
regard and disregard (Essay XXI.), 295-314 _passim_;
Goldsmith's extravagance, 310.
(See _Women_.)
Gambetta, his death, 225.
Game: in England, 267, 268, 270;
elephant and hippopotamus, 392.
(See _Sports_.)
Games, connection with amusement, 385, 397.
(See _Cards_, etc.)
Garden, illustration, 9.
Gascoyne, William, letters, 318, 319.
Generosity: affecting family ties, 69, 70;
of a Philistine, 301.
Geneva Lake, as seen by different eyes, 230, 231.
Genius, enjoyment of, 303.
Gentility: Genteel Ignorance (Essay XVIII.), 253-263;
an ideal condition, 253;
misfortune, 254;
French noblesse, 255;
ignores differing forms of religion, 256, 257;
poverty, 258;
inferior financial conditions, 259, 260;
real differences, 261;
genteel society avoided, 262;
because stupid, 263.
Geography: London Atlas, 274;
work of Reclus, 291.
(See _Ignorance_.)
Geology, allusion, 166.
(See _Science_.)
George III., colonial tenure, 279.
Germany: models of virtue, 208;
hotel fashions, 244;
a Bohemian and scholar, 304-306.
German Language, English knowledge, 245.
Gladstone, William E.: the probable effect of a French training, 17, 18;
indebtedness to trade, 135;
_Lord_, 137;
foreign troubles ending in inkshed, 150;
allusion, 241;
use of post-cards, 335;
female estimate, 380.
Glasgow, steamer experience, 25.
Gloucester, Eng., manufactory of rifles, 391, 392.
God: of the future, 177;
personal care, 178, 179;
against wickedness, 180;
Divine love, 178-181, 186, 187;
interference with law (Essay XV.), 215-231 _passim_;
human motives, 228.
(See _Religion_, etc.)
Gods: our valors the best, 177;
siege of Syracuse, 215-217.
(See _Superstition_.)
Godwin, Mary, relations to Shelley, 46-48.
Goethe: Faust's Margaret, 39;
relation to women, 46, 50, 56, 57;
Life, 244.
Gold: in embroidery to indicate wealth, 131;
color, 232, 233.
Goldsmith, Oliver, his Bohemianism, 309, 310.
Gormandizing, 103.
(See _Table_.)
Government: feminine, 176;
scientific, 229.
Grammar: French knowledge of, 152;
rival of literature, 154;
in correspondence, 356, 357.
(See _Languages_, etc.)
Gratitude: a sister's want of, 69;
hospitality not reciprocated, 122.
Greece: Byron's enthusiasm, 50, 57;
story of Nikias, 215-217;
advance of knowledge, 230;
Byron's notice of a book, 348.
Greek Church: Czar's headship, 168;
the only true, 258.
(See _Church of England_, etc.)
Greek Language: teaching, 84;
fitness as the universal language, 158, 159;
in the Renaissance, 212;
professorship and library, 287;
doggerel, 400.
(See _Languages_.)
Groom, true happiness in a stable, 343.
Guests: Rights of (Essay VII.), 99-109;
respect, exclusiveness, 99;
two views, 100;
conformity insisted upon, 101;
left to choose for himself, 102;
duties towards a host, generous entertainment, 103;
parsimonious treatment, 104;
illustrations, ideas to be respected, 105;
nationality also, 107;
a host the ally of his guests, 107;
discourtesy towards a host, 108;
illustration, 109;
among rich and poor, 140-144.
Guiccioli, Countess, her relations to Byron, 49, 50.
Guillotine, Byron's description, 347.
Gulliver's Travels, allusion, 261.
Gymnastics: by young Frenchmen, 272;
aristocratic monopoly, 283.
(See _Amusements_, etc.)
Habits: in language, 157;
French discretion, 247, 248.
Hamerton, Philip Gilbert: indebtedness to Emerson, iii, iv;
plan of the book, vii-ix;
omissions, ix;
the pleasures of friendship, x;
on death, x, xi;
a liking for civilization and all its amenities, xii;
thoughts in French travel, 17 _et seq._;
pleasant experience in studying French architecture, 23, 24;
conversation in Scotland, 24, 25;
in a steamer, 25, 26;
acquaintance with a painter, 28;
belief in Nature's promises, 60 _et seq._;
what a sister said, 65;
the love of two brothers, 67;
delightful experience with wife's relations, 73;
experience of hospitable tyranny, 100 _et seq._;
Parisian dinner, 107;
experience with friendship, 113;
noisy French farmers, 128, 129;
Scotch dinner, 131;
country incident, 139, 140;
questioning a Parisian lady, 152;
Waterloo letters, 156;
how Italian seems to him, 155;
incident of Scotch travel, 173;
visit to a bereaved French lady, 182;
travel in France, 219;
lesson from a painter, 232;
snubbed at a hotel, 240-242;
a French widow on her travels, 242, 243;
a lady's ignorance about religious distinctions, 257;
personal anecdotes about ignorance between the English and French,
265-279 _passim_;
translations into French, 267;
Puseyite anecdote, 284, 285;
conversations heard, 291;
boat incident, 292, 293;
life-portraits, 300-308;
experience with procrastinators, 317, 318;
residence in Lancashire, 318;
interest in Plumpton family, 323, 324;
telegraphing a letter, 326;
experience with _un mot à la poste_, 330;
his boat wrongly painted, 359;
his Parisian correspondent, 360, 361;
efforts to ensure accuracy, 368, 369;
a strange lady's anxiety for his religious condition, 378;
his Wenderholme, 378;
anonymous letter answered, 379-382;
dislike of cricket, 398.
Harewood, Earl of, 323.
Haste, connection with refinement and wealth, 125, 126.
(See _Leisure_.)
Hastings, Marquis of, his elopement, 321.
Haweis, H. R., sermon on Egyptian war, 224.
Hedges: English, 270, 271;
sleeping under, 307.
Hell, element in oratory, 192, 193.
(See _Priests_.)
Heredity, opinions not always hereditary, 92-97.
Heresy: banishment for, 161;
disabilities, 162 _et seq._;
punishment by fire, 180;
pulpit attack, 192;
shades in, 257, 258;
resistance to God, 284.
(See _Roman Catholicism_, etc.)
Highlanders, their rowing, 154.
Hirst, Eng., letters from, 320, 321.
History, French knowledge of, 152.
Holland, Goldsmith's travels, 309.
Home: Family Ties (Essay V.), 62-77;
a hell, 76;
crowded, 77;
absence affecting friendship, 111;
French, 142;
English (Essay X.), 130-147 _passim_;
the confessional, 202;
nostalgia, 286.
Homer: indebtedness to the poor, 22;
on the appetite, 103.
Honesty, at a discount, 162, 163, 170.
Honor, in religious conformity, 162.
Horace: familiarity with, 155;
quoted, 289, 361.
Horneck, Mrs., Goldsmith's friend, 310.
Horseback: illustration, 168, 260;
luxury, 298.
Hospitality: (Essay VII.), 99-109;
help to liberty, 99;
an educator for right or wrong, 100;
opposite views, 100;
tyranny over guests, 101;
reaction against old customs, 102;
a host's rights, some extra effort to be expected, 103;
disregard of a guest's comfort, 104;
instances, opinions to be respected, 105;
host should protect a guest's rights, 106;
anecdote, 107;
invasion of rights, 108;
glaring instance, 109;
affected by wealth, 140-144;
excuse by a procrastinator, 318.
(See _Guests_.)
Hosts, rights and duties (Essay VII.), 99-109 _passim_.
(See _Hospitality_.)
Houghton, Lord, his knowledge of French, 151, 152.
Housekeeping: ignorance of cost, 258, 259;
cares, 381.
Houses: effect of living in the same, ix;
big, 145;
evolution of dress, 189;
movable, 261, 262;
damage, 358.
Hugo, Victor, use of a word, 273, 274.
Humanity: obligations to, 12;
future happiness dependent upon a knowledge of languages, 148 _et seq._
Humor: in different classes, 20;
lack of it, 72;
in using a foreign language, 157, 158;
not carried into letters and pictures, 340-342.
Hungarians, their sociability, 249.
Hurry, to be distinguished from brevity in letter-writing, 331.
Husbands: narration of experience, 25, 26;
unsuitable, 40;
relations of noted men to wives, 44-62 _passim_;
compulsory unions, 94-98;
old-fashioned letter, 322;
use of post-cards, 329, 330;
privacy of letters, 350;
Montaigne's letter, 351, 352.
(See _Wives_, etc.)
Hut: suggestions of a, 261, 262;
for an artist, 314.
Huxley, Thomas Henry, on natural law, 217, 219.
Hypocrisy: to be avoided, xi-xiii;
in religion (Essay XII.), 161-174 _passim_;
not a Bohemian vice, 296.
Ibraheem, lost at sea, 226.
Ideas, their interchange dependent upon language, 148.
Idiosyncrasy: its charm, 9;
in art and authorship, 12, 13;
nullified by travel, 14, 15;
affecting marital happiness, 48-62 _passim_;
affecting family ties, 64;
wanted in letters, 347;
in amusements, 389;
congenital, 396.