lustre, and merited well of their country and mankind. Christina, for
example, in Sweden, Isabella in Castile, and Elizabeth in England,
have merited the esteem of their age and posterity. The two Catharines
in Russia, and Maria Theresa, during the long wars about the pragmatic
sanction, have each manifested the abilities of statesmen. To this
however, I would remark in the first place, that we are concerned here
with general rules and not with particular exceptions. Now the general
rule is what I have stated; women make bad politicians, unsafe
depositaries of power, and most partial and unequal administrators of
justice. In the second place, you will find that the weakness and
errors of the good female sovereigns have almost always arisen from
their feminine foibles or womanly judgments. Take, for example, Queen
Elizabeth, whom Mr. Hume has pronounced to have been perhaps the
greatest female sovereign who ever sat upon a throne. It was said of
her that her inclinations and the coquetries of her sex, stole beneath
the cares of her throne and the grandeur of her character. And it has
been said, with perhaps too much truth, that if Mary Queen of Scotland
had been less beautiful, Elizabeth had been less cruel; she always
believed too readily, that the mere power of pleasing implied genius.
The exaggerated but well-timed gallantries of Raleigh,[4] and the
personal beauty and accomplishments of the earl of Leicester, made the
fortunes of those individuals.
[Footnote 4: Raleigh threw a new plush cloak into the mud over which
the queen was passing; she stepped cautiously on it, and shot forth a
smile upon the young captain. This cunning gallantry introduced him to
the queen for the first time; his advancement was rapid, and the title
of captain was soon changed for that of Sir Walter.]
This celebrated queen has been described as passionately admiring
handsome persons, and he was already far advanced in her favor who
approached her with beauty and grace. It is said she had so
unconquerable an aversion to ugly and ill-made men, that she could not
endure their presence. Her aversion to boots was very marked, and
highly characteristic of the woman. I think it is Sir Walter Scott
who, in one of his romances, represents her as having had so much
aversion to the boots of the Duke of Suffolk, who was brought forward
by his party for the honor of knighthood, as to fly into a passion
about it, and for some time to refuse to knight him in such a
dress.[5] She is well known to have been a great coquette, giving all
her suitors some hopes of finally obtaining her hand. She had likewise
a most ardent desire to be thought beautiful. Raleigh was well aware
of this excessive vanity, and made it a means of securing her favor
and continuing in her good graces. Mr. Hume tells us that Sir Walter,
in a love-letter written to the queen when she was sixty years old,
after exhausting his poetic talent in exalting her charms and his
devotion, concludes by _comparing_ her to _Venus and Diana_. D'Israeli
says that Du Maurier, in his Memoirs, writes: "I heard from my father,
that having been sent to her, at every audience he had with her
Majesty, she pulled off her gloves more than a hundred times, to
_display her hands_, which were indeed beautiful and very white." And
he says, "She never forgave Buzenval for ridiculing her bad
pronunciation of the French language; and when Henry IV sent him over
on an embassy, she would not receive him. So nice was the irritable
vanity of this great queen, that she made her private injuries matters
of state." Well then has it been said, that "the toilet of Elizabeth
was indeed an altar of devotion, of which she was the idol, and all
her ministers were her votaries: it was the reign of coquetry, and the
golden age of millinery."
[Footnote 5: In the Memoirs of the Duchess d'Abrantes, it is stated
that Madame Permon, mother of the Duchess, had a very great aversion
to the boots of the Republican generals, particularly when wet and
passing through the process of drying.]
It is true, in spite of all these foibles and defects of character,
she made a great sovereign; but it is easy to mark throughout the
whole course of her administration, even in the graver matters of
legislation, the constantly modifying influence of feminine weakness.
It was Elizabeth who granted, more extensively than any other
sovereign, privileges and monopolies to her favorites, which is one of
the worst forms which the restrictive system can assume. In doing
this, she seems to have been anxious to solve the problem of doing
every thing for her friends and pretended admirers, without disturbing
her conscience by the infliction of too much injury on the body
politic. But experience has shown that she most wofully failed by her
plan in the solution of the problem, and took by these monopolies and
privileges even a great deal more out of the pockets of the people,
than could ever come into those of her favorites and flatterers. Even
the celebrated laws of this reign in regard to the paupers of England,
in my opinion, mark the overweening humanity of the woman, combined
with a deficiency of that power of generalization, which can alone
enable us to arrive at just conclusions on so delicate and complicated
a subject. When she ordered the overseers of the poor to see that
every individual in the kingdom should be well fed, clothed and
employed, the order, although a humane one, was certainly
impracticable. Mr. Malthus asserts, that when king Canute seated
himself on the sea shore, and ordered the rising tide not to approach
his royal feet, he was not guilty of more vanity than this celebrated
order of Elizabeth displayed; but there was certainly humanity in the
intention.
In addition to the preceding remarks upon the incapacity of woman in
general for the able discharge of political duties, we may observe
that she is more disposed to despotism while in power than man. This
may be ascribed to greater physical weakness, and consequent
dependence in general. When, therefore, she wields the sceptre, she is
constantly disposed to manifest her power--to let the world see she is
really a ruler. She makes a show of her authority, precisely for the
same reason that a newly created nobleman is more tenacious of his
title than an old one, or a legitimate monarch less suspicious on the
throne than a usurper. Thomas says that great men are more carried to
that species of despotism which arises from lofty ideas; and women
above the ordinary class, to the despotism which proceeds from
passion. The last is rather a sally of the heart than the effect of
system. The despotism of woman however, very rarely, except when
stimulated by violent love and jealousy, leads on to cruelty; they
have too much feeling, sympathy and kindness to be cruel. Their
despotism arises rather from caprice, and a desire to promote the
interest of friends and flatterers, than from any regular system of
ambition and vice. Give them unlimited sway, and you rarely find them
exercising that merciless tyranny which delights in blood. Their
sensibility rarely forsakes them, even on the throne. Deny them power,
and they make monarchs as jealous and suspicious as rival beauties in
a ball room. There never was on the throne of England a more
determined stickler for prerogative than Queen Elizabeth. She was
exceedingly jealous of the powers of her parliament; and up to the
very last hour of her long life, a shuddering came over her whenever
she thought of a successor to the throne. Yet Elizabeth was far from
beings as cruel as many of the male sovereigns who have sat on the
English throne.
The passion of love, however, is the most dangerous one in the breast
of the female sovereign. As I have already observed, it is the
strongest of our nature whilst it lasts, even in the breast of man;
but with woman, it is not only the strongest, but like Aaron's rod, it
swallows up all the rest. Elizabeth's lovers were her dependents, and
she was withal a woman of strong masculine mind, cultivated by an
education of the most classical and severe character, yet we have seen
the mighty influence which even her lovers exerted over her, in spite
of all her caution.
Mary, the sister of Elizabeth, the bigoted Catholic, is a melancholy
instance of the influence of even unrequited love, upon the politics
of a female sovereign. While married to Philip of Spain, England was
very little more than a Spanish province. Perhaps it was the example
of Mary which in a great measure deterred Elizabeth from ever
marrying, although repeatedly pressed to it by the Parliament. The
caricature gotten up during the reign of Queen Mary is an admirable
burlesque of the errors and weaknesses of female rule. It represented
her Majesty "naked, meager, withered and wrinkled, with every
aggravated circumstance of deformity which could disgrace a female
figure, seated in a regal chair; a crown on her head, surrounded with
the letters M. R. A. accompanied with Maria Regina Angliæ in smaller
letters! A number of Spaniards were sucking her to the skin and bone,
and a specification was added of the money, rings, jewels, and other
presents with which she had secretly gratified her husband Philip."
To see what woman may be capable of doing under the influence of the
passion of love accompanied by jealousy, let us at once recur to a
state of semi-barbarism, where but little restraint is imposed on the
feelings and passions, and where nature consequently manifests itself
in all its most horrid deformities without wearing the mask which
civilized manners and an enlightened and moral public opinion, aided
by the printing press have imposed even upon the most hardy and most
wicked in the polished countries of Europe. Among the Memoirs of
Celebrated Women by Madame Junot, we find that of Zingha, a great
African princess who ruled in her dominions with absolute sway. In the
contemplation of her character we are fully disposed to acquiesce in
the truth of Shakspeare's assertion, that "proper deformity shows not
in the fiend so horrid as in woman." This princess was a perfect
tigress when for a moment her argus-eyed jealousy conceived the least
interruption to her amours, from the beauty, or the affections, or the
accomplishments of another. We are told that "a young girl who waited
on her had the misfortune to be attached to a man upon whom the queen
had herself cast an eye of affection. Having discovered that the
feeling was mutual between the youthful lovers, Zingha had them
brought before her; and giving her poniard to the young man, ordered
him to plunge it into the bosom of his mistress, to open her bosom and
eat her heart! The moment he had obeyed this cruel order she turned to
the wretched man, who perhaps expected his pardon, and looked at him
as if to confirm this expectation. But she ordered his head to be
severed from his body, and it fell upon the mutilated corpse of his
mistress." On another occasion she had spared a particular female from
among those doomed to destruction, when perceiving a paramour looking
with tenderness upon her, she immediately recalled her executioner,
and coldly said, "take this woman also and throw her into the grave
with her companion." Such is the influence of the passion of love and
jealousy upon the female mind even in _Negro land_, and well may we
join Madame Junot in the remark, that "this memoir (of Zingha) which
is strictly true may lead to much reflection in those who so bitterly
attack the whites for their treatment of negro slaves. The latter in
our colonies have _never yet undergone such degradation_."[6]
[Footnote 6: "Add to this the horrible superstitions of the Giagas,"
says the same writer, "and our colonial slaves must have little to
regret in their native country."]
A woman in love, whilst she is willing to sacrifice all for the object
beloved, may occasionally demand all. She is very apt to be too
capricious for wise and prosperous government. A little experiment in
love matters might occasionally be of more moment to her, than the
regulation of trade, the modification of the corn laws, or the raising
or lowering of the taxes. We all know that woman is sometimes
extremely capricious and even despotic in the wars of Cupid. She does
sometimes make most fearful exactions merely to manifest her power, or
to confirm her faith in the fidelity and devotedness of her lover. Now
all this will do well enough in private life, because it chequers the
path of love with the powerfully exciting alternations of hope and
disappointment, and throws around the object of our affections all
those attractions, and all that more ethereal and imaginative
loveliness, which the extreme difficulty of attainment ever generates
in the mind. Although the lover may sometimes groan under such a
despotism, and even attempt to renounce it,[7] yet the public sustains
no injury. But when this capricious lover is a queen upon the throne,
or an ambitious aspirant for political power, then the consequences
may be truly disastrous. Rousseau tells us upon the authority of
Brantome, that during the reign of Francis I, a young girl had a lover
who was a great _babbler_. So capricious was she, and so fond of the
exercise of power, that she ordered him to keep an absolute and
profound silence, as the condition of her love, until she might
release his tongue. He actually remained silent two years, when every
body believed him dumb. Then one day in the presence of a large
assembly, she boasted that by _one word_ she could restore speech to
the _dumb_. She looked him in the face and said, "_parlez!_"
"_speak!_" when the man began to speak again! Now in this case no one
suffered but the poor man, and he had no doubt hours of ecstatic
felicity in her occasional kindness, and sympathy, and love, for so
much devotion. He gloried in the chains which he wore: he might be a
little restive at times, under the caprice and whim of his mistress,
but was no doubt in all his difficulties ever ready to apply to her
the language of one of Martial's Epigrams on the whimsical waywardness
of a friend,
"Difficilis, facilis, jucundus, acerbus es idem
Nec tecum possum vivere, nec sine te."
but when such love or caprice as this reaches the throne, the people
pay for the folly. _Delirant reges plectuntur Achivi._
[Footnote 7: We are informed that during the age of chivalry, a lady
and her lover knight, at the Court of Vienna, were looking over a
palisade at a very ferocious lion, when the lady designedly let fall
her glove within the enclosure, and asked the knight to pick it up for
her. Without hesitation he leaped the enclosure, threw a cloak at the
lion, which diverted his attention for a moment, and escaped unhurt
with the glove, and then in presence of the whole court renounced the
lady and her love forever, because she had imposed so cruel and
dangerous a test of his affections.]
The poor Dutch saw but little sport or justice in those harassing
campaigns of Lewis XIV in Holland, undertaken principally to please
and amuse his mistresses, and exalt himself in their estimation as a
military chieftain. The English too saw nothing but degradation and
misfortune while Mademoiselle Queraille, the celebrated Duchess of
Portsmouth, was the favorite mistress of Charles, and by her
predilections for France, and influence on Charles, made him the
subservient tool of Lewis XIV, and England but a province to France.
And the ill-fated Protestants of the same country had before but too
mournfully lamented at the stake that England's Queen was the wife of
the most sullen, dark, and ferocious bigot of his age.
But I have said enough, I hope, to show that the field of politics
does not furnish the proper theatre for woman's glory and fame. It is
strewed with too many brambles and thorns for her delicate and timid
nature. It presents too many temptations to wander from the path of
justice and equity, to be resisted by the modest gentleness and the
unresisting pliancy of her sympathetic and humane temperament. Let her
not then be over-ambitious in politics, lest she be brought to realize
at last the maxim which is but too true--"Corruptio optimi pessima
est." Let her ever remember that she who has the ornament of a meek
and quiet spirit, as Gisborne has well observed, enjoys a decoration
superior to all the glories of the peerage. Not only, however, has the
custom of the world generally excluded woman from political stations,
but she has been excluded likewise from the right of suffrage or of
voting. Her condition in society, her physical organization, the
bearing and nursing of children, her delicacy, modesty, weakness and
dependency on man, all concur to make such exclusion proper.[8] The
_utilitarians_ say, that no evil can result to the fair sex from this
exclusion, because their interests are involved in the interests of
the males, and consequently the former cannot be oppressed by the
latter. Thus they say almost every woman has a husband, a brother, or
a father, all of whom are interested in her welfare. She need not
consequently fear an invasion of her rights, for those in power are
interested in defending them. To a certain extent this assertion is
true. But the condition of woman in past ages, and in the eastern
nations, shows most conclusively that she may be oppressed by the
stronger sex, and that her interests therefore have not been so
completely involved in those of man as to make oppression
impracticable. Well then, under these circumstances, does it behoove
man, in the possession of _all_ the political power, to guard against
its abuse--to remember that the frailer and weaker member of our race
is placed necessarily under his protection, and lies at his
mercy--that humanity, magnanimity, and even self-interest, alike
require that her rights should be guarded, and her condition
ameliorated--that she who is the delight and ornament of society, the
Corinthian capital of our race, should not be permitted to pine under
neglect and oppression, but should be conducted tenderly to that
exalted eminence whence she may diffuse her benign influence over all
the ramifications of social intercourse. And the more I have been
enabled to read the page of history have I become convinced, that the
continued amelioration of woman's condition is one of the most
unerring symptoms of the continuing prosperity and civilization of the
world.
[Footnote 8: I do not then agree entirely with Talleyrand in the
assertion that, "to see one half of the human race excluded by the
other from all participation of government, is a political phenomenon
that, according to abstract principles, it is impossible to explain."]
But although I would say that woman is not fitted to take the lead in
politics, or to vote at elections, yet would I recommend to all men in
political life, or in any other situation, generally to consult female
friends before they act in any very important matters. Their opinions
and counsels are rarely to be despised, even in politics. The
politician ought always to be possessed of their views, though he
should not be implicitly governed by them. There is a chain of
connection running through and binding together all the events of this
world, moral, social, religious, and political. The mind of man, to
act with perfect wisdom in any department, must survey all the causes
and events, both great and small, which may have a bearing either
direct or remote on the issue at which he aims. Now, although man may
be able to generalize more extensively, and take a wider and more
comprehensive view of the events which are passing around him, yet
that very generalization and comprehension of mind, do often make him
overlook those little causes, those secret motives, those nice and
evanescent springs of action, which are frequently the real causes of
the greatest events transpiring in the political drama. "It was not
from a massive bar of iron, but from a small and tiny needle," as my
lord Bacon observes, "that we discovered the great mysteries of
nature." And thus it frequently happens, that by looking attentively
at apparently unimportant passions or small events, we are enabled to
arrive at the true causes of individual and even national
distinctions. It is in this latter department of knowledge that the
sagacity of woman is infinitely beyond that of man. She divines more
certainly than he all those secret motives of the heart, and detects
more readily those delicate, invisible springs of action which so
frequently control the course of events. She is more thoroughly
acquainted with the nature and character of that mighty influence
which woman exerts over man in every condition of life in which he may
be placed, and therefore her advice is never to be neglected. In
reading the history of any epoch, I always consider my reading as
incomplete until I can peruse the histories and the memoirs written by
females. They are almost sure to fill the chasms left by the writers
of our sex. They frequently enter some of the _penetralia_ of the mind
and heart which are inaccessible to man; they perceive the vibration
of certain chords invisible to our duller optics. Their views may
often be partial, prejudiced, and incomplete, yet when taken in
connexion with the more enlarged and philosophical accounts of other
writers, they enable the future historian to form a more perfect, more
consistent, and more philosophical picture of the whole.
Historians have sometimes puzzled their brains to assign a
philosophical cause for this or that course of conduct of a great
statesman, when a woman would have told you at once that it originated
from some little family feud, or perhaps from an ardent attachment to
some sweet, coy, unobtrusive, timid creature, the bare mention of
whose name on the page of history would crimson her cheeks with the
deep blush of modesty. The historian may be puzzled to account for the
sudden and injudicious march of Mareschal Villars, at the head of the
grand army of France, towards Brussels. Reader, the true cause was
that he was anxious to see his wife, who was staying in a small town
on the road to Brussels.[9] It has been said that the course which
Cicero pursued towards the conspirators in Rome, resulted principally
from the instigation of Terentia, who had her private reasons for
hating them. And the hatred of the great orator for Clodius the
Demagogue was likewise inspired principally by his wife Terentia, on
account of her jealousy of Clodia, the sister of Clodius, who had been
anxious to marry Cicero. Now in regard to all those more impalpable
and delicate causes which take their origin in the heart, the
affections, the social relations, woman is much more sagacious than
man; she sees them when they escape his vision; and consequently her
penetration may enable her to make discoveries or applications which
man would never have thought of. Hence, I repeat again, the counsel of
woman ought ever to be taken before we enter upon important events.
Dufresnay has shown that many conspiracies even have failed because
not confided to woman. And many a man who has kept his transactions
secret from his wife, has rued the consequences. Rousseau tells us
that while travelling through Switzerland he frequently found the
views and advice of _Therese_ of the utmost importance; sometimes
rescuing him from the great difficulties that surrounded him, and
which could not have been so well overcome without her. And yet he
tells us that she was not a well educated woman. The fact is, woman
excels man, as has been well observed, in attaining her _present_
purposes; her invention is prompt, her boldness happy, and her
execution facile.
[Footnote 9: This celebrated general of Louis XIV, according to St.
Simon, often turned his army aside from the great object which he had
in view, from some such causes as these.]
Even the warnings and cautions of women, for which no good reason can
be assigned, ought not always to be disregarded. They are frequently
inferences drawn from that nice discernment and tact so characteristic
of the sex amid the little incidents of life, or from their capability
of reading the varying features of the human countenance, or marking
more distinctly the altered shades of manner, even when individuals
are attempting to wear the mask of deception and hypocrisy. Cæsar's
wife, we are told, implored him not to go to the Senate Chamber of
Rome on the fatal day of the Ides of March; and although she could
give no better reasons for her solicitude than dreams, visions, and
strange feelings, yet it is more than probable that these were
produced by the acute, the penetrating, microscopic observation of a
woman's mind upon the events and characters which surrounded her in
Rome. Brutus, Cassius, Dolabella, &c. might conceal their purposes
during their daily intercourse, from him who had led the armies of
Rome to victory in Gaul, and Britain, and Illirium, and had, by the
majesty and force of his own mind, overturned the liberties of his
country, and grasped in his single hand the sceptre of the world, but,
in all probability, they were unable to wear that countenance and
assume those manners which would impose upon the more minute
discernment of Cæsar's wife, amid the troubles, solicitudes, and
suspicions, incident to a season of revolution. Pontius Pilate would
have released the Saviour of the world, and quieted a troubled
conscience, if he had given heed to the solemn warning of his wife, to
have nothing to do with that just man, (Jesus.) Yet she could give no
better reason for her warning, than that she had suffered many things
that day in a dream, because of him.
_Conversation--Epistolary Writing._
I come now to the consideration of the relative merits of the sexes,
in that most pleasing attitude in which we generally find them
indulging familiar converse in the social circle. And here, I think,
we shall be forced to assign the palm to the fair sex. The social
talents of woman all over the world, where her education is not too
much neglected, are superior to those of man. Her conversation we
generally find more varied, more natural, more allied with the
interesting incidents and events of life than that of man. She is a
nicer, and more acute observer of what is passing around her. She
treasures up more interesting details and occurrences; she is much
better acquainted with that most interesting of all subjects, the play
of the social and amorous affections; and she studies the most
pleasing and fascinating manner of communicating her thoughts to
others; hence she becomes the ornament and the boast of the social
circle.
Some persons may imagine the conversational power to bear some
proportion to the general strength of the intellect, and that, as man
cultivates the higher powers of the mind more thoroughly than woman,
he must therefore excel her in the social circle. This, however, is
very far from being true. The beauty of conversation depends on two
things: 1st. On the character of the facts, anecdotes, knowledge, &c.
which form the staple of what is said. 2d. On the manner and style of
communicating them. Now I conceive that the subjects most generally
pleasing in promiscuous society, are not those of a deeply
philosophical or abstract character, not those which require the
greatest stretch of intellect to comprehend, but those subjects
generally which have reference to the ordinary occurrences and
transactions of life; those in which all are interested, and which all
can comprehend: those, in fine, which concern ourselves _immediately_
and particularly. Grave disquisitions and lectures on abstract
subjects, are out of place in the drawing room; those who indulge much
in them may be called learned, but they are generally considered
intolerable _prosers_. The divine who is always talking to us about
_grace_ and its operation on the heart, the lawyer who is lavish of
his profound learning on contingent remainders and executory devises,
or the physician who tries to instruct us in the mysteries of animal
life, by recounting theory after theory upon the subject, are ever
looked upon as great bores in the social circle. Not only, however, is
the character of the subject of importance in conversation, but there
must be variety. No matter how important and interesting the topic,
the patience of a company will soon be worn out by even an intelligent
and fluent man who will discourse of nothing else. The most
insufferable of all bores, says the author of Vivian Grey, is the man
whose mind is engrossed with one single subject, who thinks of no
other, and of course talks of no other.
So far as the subject matter, or _materiel_ of conversation is
concerned, let us enter a little into the _metaphysics_ of the
subject, and see, upon philosophical principles, how woman becomes
superior to man in this respect.
The principle of association, or of suggestion as it is termed by the
more recent writers on the philosophy of the human mind, is the great
and controlling law of the mental frame; it is that principle which
enables us to supply all our wants, to adapt means to ends, to call up
the knowledge of the past, to look into the undeveloped events of the
future. It is this associating faculty which may be looked upon as
truly the master workman of the mind. Its agency is requisite in the
action of all our mental powers, and consequently in pointing out the
intellectual differences between the sexes, it is proper never to lose
sight of so important a modifier of mental character. Metaphysicians
tell us that there are three principles or laws, according to which
the association of ideas operates. 1st. Resemblance. 2d. Contiguity in
time or place. And 3d. Contrast. Now if we examine into these three
divisions, we shall find each one susceptible of a subdivision into
two classes, marked and distinct. Thus 1st. There may be resemblance
in the objects themselves. Or 2d. In the effects or emotions which
they excite. For example, I see a man--he is like, in face and
feature, to one I knew well in France--I think immediately of the
Frenchman: here is resemblance in objects themselves. I see a violent
hurricane--it reminds me of the desolating ravages of a Zenghis Khan,
or Tamerlane: here is resemblance in the effects, and not in the
objects themselves. I hear the cooing of the dove, and I think of the
gentleness and innocence of the child. I hear a man reviling and
blaspheming his God, and I think of midnight darkness: here is
similarity in the emotions excited by the objects. A corresponding
division may be made of contrast. Thus I see a dwarf, and he calls
instantly to my mind the largest man I ever saw: this is contrast in
the objects. I see a raging, destructive lion, and think immediately
of the meek and humble Saviour of the world: here is contrast in the
effects. I see the white and tender lily on the drooping stalk, and I
think of the fiendish passions of a Macbeth or a Richard: here is
contrast in the emotions excited by the objects. Lastly, contiguity in
time and place may be divided into casual and fixed; thus I see a man
today whom I saw yesterday in company with another: I instantly think
of that other. I hear the last _eclipse_ mentioned, I think of the
place I was in at that time, the company I was with, the anecdotes
told, &c. In the first instance we have casual contiguity in place,
and in the second in place and time both. I see the moon on the
meridian, and think of the tides in our rivers. I see a magnet, and I
think of its attraction for iron; here is necessary contiguity in
time, and in the last instance in place too. Upon this last species of
contiguity is dependent that most important of all relations, the
relation of cause and effect, and of premises and conclusions.
In unison with the division here made of the associating principles,
it is easy to explain the character of three distinct orders of mind,
which will of course appear widely different in the conversational
displays of the social circle. There is, first, the _common mind_,
associating its ideas together by palpable resemblance or contrast
among them, and by the mere casual and loose contiguity in time and
place. Secondly, _the poetical or sentimental mind_, associating
principally by resemblance or contrast in the effects produced by
objects or the emotions which they excite. And thirdly, the
_philosophical mind_, associating principally by necessary contiguity
in time and place, by cause and effect, premises and conclusions.
Such a mind as the first, is most impressed with the details and
occurrences around. It never ascends to the original contemplation of
ideas and thoughts which belong to the region of philosophy and
poetry. It may, it is true, recollect sometimes, distant and beautiful
analogies, or even philosophical associations, but it is purely
because it has heard these things spoken of by others, and not from
original conception. Such a mind has no creative power of its own; as
it receives so does it pour forth, without alteration. It has been
well compared to the cistern into which water is poured; you have
nothing to do but turn the cock and out it comes (as one of our
newspaper editors recently observed, in relation to a different
subject,) "water, dirt, sticks, bugs, pine tags and all!" Such a mind
has no _productive power_ whatever. In this flood of details, you see
no connecting principle like cause and effect, premises and
conclusions, &c.--but this thing is remembered because it is like
that. This fact is now related because it was spoken at the same time
with that, or in the same place. Such an individual as this has, as
Diderot expresses it, "une tête meublée d'un grand nombre de choses
disparates," which he says resembles a library with mismatched books,
or a German compilation garnished, without reason and without taste,
with Hebrew, Arabic, Greek, and Latin.
Such individuals as these are more pleasing and amusing to us in
conversation, when the mind is not otherwise engaged, than most of us
are willing to allow. They spread before us a promiscuous feast of
neighborhood news, and like Mathews the comedian, although there be
but one speaker, they give you the _sayings_, the _conjectures_, the
_shrugs_, and the _winks_ of all the parties concerned, and thus give
to their communications quite a dramatic effect. Barbers, midwives,
seamstresses, hostesses, &c. cultivate this kind of association to the
greatest pitch of perfection. Their professions may be said to demand
it.
Such individuals, when called into court to give testimony, are
sometimes exceedingly amusing, from the pertinacity with which they
detail all, even the most minute circumstances, and when interrupted
because of the irrelevancy or illegality of their testimony, they are
very apt to begin again at the very beginning of their narrative. In
the minuteness of their remembrances they are like Mrs. Quickly in the
play, when she wishes to make Falstaff remember the time when he
promised to marry her.[10] The _Cicerone_ of Italy have generally
memories of the same description.
[Footnote 10: This has generally been adduced by the metaphysicians
since the time of Lord Kames, as an exemplification of this minute
memory, and it illustrates so well the remarks which I have been
making above, that I cannot forbear to add it in a foot note.
_Falstaff_. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
_Hostess_. Marry, if thou wast an honest man, thyself and thy money
too. Thou didst swear to me on a parcel gilt goblet, sitting in my
Dolphin Chamber, at the round table, by a sea coal fire, on Wednesday
in Whitsun week, when the prince broke thy head for likening him to a
singing man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing
thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady, thy wife. Canst thou deny
it? Did not good wife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then, and
call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling
us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat
some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound. And didst
not thou when she was gone down stairs desire me to be no more
familiarity with such poor people, saying that ere long they should
call me Madame! and didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee
thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book oath, deny it if thou
canst.--_Sec. Part, Hen. 4, Act 2d. Scene 2_.]
Individuals of this character are the little chroniclers of the day.
They are the little historians of the little events transpiring around
them. They form a sort of cement for society--they furnish a species
of connecting link between the past and the present. They embalm for a
few years the memory of those who would otherwise have passed away and
been forgotten. The smallest and greatest of the human race love fame.
The temple at Ephesus was burnt down for fame, and it is the character
which I have just been describing that gives a little fame to classes
that would never have been heard of, and in old age such a being can
tell the young around him of the deeds and achievements of their sires
and grandsires and great grandsires. Such individuals as these are
remarkable for very exact memories, and as they are never persons of
much comprehension of mind, it has been generally imagined that good
memories are rarely accompanied with good understandings. Hence the
couplet of Pope,
"When in the mind the Memory prevails,
The more solid power of the understanding fails."
This however is but one form which the memory assumes, and
consequently we must draw no enlarged inferences from it. Women have
generally much more of this memory than men. The sphere in which they
move, the occupations in which they are engaged, the lesser necessity
on their part for original thought and action of mind, all tend to
produce this character.
The second class of mind, according to the division made above, is the
poetic or sentimental--that species of mind which associates by the
more distant analogies and resemblances, or contrast in objects, in
their effects, or in the emotions which they excite. Imagination is
the essence of such a mind as this. It enables us to see resemblances
and contrasts where others see none. "How many are there," says Doct.
Brown, "who have seen an old oak, half leafless amid the younger trees
of the forest, and who are capable of remembering it when they think
of the forest itself, or of events that happened there! But it is to
the mind of Lucan that it rises _by analogy_, to the conception of a
veteran chief:
'Stat magni nominis umbra
Qualis frugifero quercus sublimis in agro.'"
What a scene for the enjoyment of love and friendship--what a group of
delightful and beautiful images has Virgil brought together in two
lines of his Eclogues!
"Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata Lycori,
Hic nemus: hic ipso tecum consumerer oevo."
Many have seen a starling in a cage, but it is a Sterne who in
imagination sees a captive in his dungeon, half wasted away with long
expectation and confinement. Pale and feverish, the western breeze for
thirty years had not fanned his blood. He sees him sitting upon the
ground in the farthest corner, on a little straw, alternately his
chair and bed, with a little calendar of small sticks, and etching
with a rusty nail another day of misery to add to the heap.
When this species of association is dwelt on too much the individual
is characterized by a sort of sickly, morbid sentimentality, which is
both highly unnatural, and very disagreeable. He is ever trying to
display the effects of what Mary Woolstonecraft calls a "pumped up
passion." Those writers whom Dr. Smith in his Theory of Moral
Sentiments calls whining philosophers, possess minds of this order.
They can never see happiness in one part of the world but to reflect
on the misery which is experienced in another. Is our country at
peace, happy and prosperous, than rejoice not at it, for there are
millions of human beings suffering in China, Japan, Hindostan, and
Bengal. Thompson's writings are deeply imbued with this whining
philosophy, and so perhaps are Cowper's, as was to be expected from
the state of his mind.
It is, however, the association by distant resemblances in objects, by
analogies in effects and in emotions which furnishes the mind with
perhaps the most interesting materials for social converse. Such a
mind is what the world calls _brilliant_. We soon tire of it, however,
if it does not occasionally relax, and give us a few of those details
and minutiæ, which belong to the mind of the first order in our
division. As was said of the poetry of Thomas Moore, we do not like
always to feed upon the _whip syllabubs_ we soon become hungry for
_bread and meat_.
Such a mind as the one I have just been describing, has rarely a very
accurate or exact memory. The imagination is too active for the
fidelity of the memory. Pope has well asserted, that
"Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away."
Men possessing such minds as these rarely make good historians or
profound philosophers. They neither narrate with fidelity, nor can
they philosophize with ability. Their imagination gilds and varnishes
the knowledge they have accumulated. Events, as Boswell expresses it,
_grow mellow_ in their memories.[11] But for this very reason do they
become exceedingly brilliant in conversation, when they have the power
of communicating their ideas well. Mr. Stewart tells as that Boswell
himself was a striking exemplification of his own remark, "for his
stories," says Mr. S. "which I have often listened to with delight,
seldom failed to _improve_ wonderfully in such a keeping as _his_
memory afforded. They were much more amusing than even his printed
anecdotes; the latter were deprived of every chance of this sort of
_improvement_, by the scrupulous fidelity with which (probably from a
secret distrust of the accuracy of his recollection) he was accustomed
to record every conversation which he thought interesting, a few hours
after it took place."
[Footnote 11: "I have often experienced," says Boswell in his tour
through the Hebrides with Dr. Johnson, "that scenes through which a
man has past _improves by lying in the memory: they grow mellow_."]
With regard to the order of mind which we have just been considering,
it may be said that although a few men may cultivate it to a much
higher pitch of perfection than it is generally found to exist among
women, yet taking the sexes together, it is rather a characteristic of
the weaker sex, at least in as much as the associations are dependent
on similarity or contrast in emotions. Women, taking the whole sex
together, have undoubtedly more imagination than men, especially
inrelation to what I would term the sentimental and romantic portions
of our nature. They have nicer discernment and tact, more feeling,
sympathy, emotion and curiosity of all descriptions, and so far as
these furnish materials for association, they are superior to our sex.
Now these are precisely the materials which are most interesting when
properly clothed in the fascinating unaffected phraseology of a well
educated lady. Moreover, although men may perhaps display more
originality generally in the species of association falling under our
second division, yet I apprehend for that very reason they have less
variety, and, as we shall soon see, less quickness and ease in calling
up their associations.
The third class of minds, according to our arrangements is the
_philosophical_ mind--that which associates principally by the
relation of _necessary_ contiguity in time and place, by cause and
effect, premises and conclusions. This is undoubtedly the mind of the
first quality, and much the rarest in the human family. Knowledge,
however, which is acquired by associations of this character, is too
abstruse and unintelligible to the great mass of mankind to be
interesting in the social circle, and persons who have this order of
mind rarely have the other two in any perfection, and consequently
their conversation is not of that attractive character which pleases
by its ease, grace, and variety. Individuals of this character very
rarely display a good memory for mere words and details. Their
knowledge is arranged under certain general principles, and when they
wish to arrive at the detail, they are obliged to reason down from the
principle to the fact which is arranged under it. Such a mind has
rather a knowledge of general principles, than of particular facts and
incidents. General abstract subjects rarely produce much impression on
the mind of the mass. This is one reason why divines, who have the
most grand and sublime theme to descant on, nevertheless often fail to
produce much effect on their audiences. Their subject, although grand,
is yet a general one. The vices against which they preach are the
vices of the human race. The awful judgment of which they speak, is a
judgment to come at some indefinite time hereafter. Mankind to be
moved and interested must be addressed specially and personally. You
must not come before them clothed in abstractions and generalizations.
Look to that celebrated sermon of Massillon, pronounced by Voltaire in
his article on Eloquence, in the _Encydopedie Francaise_, to be one of
the most eloquent effusions of modern times, and examine particularly
that portion which had so startling an effect on the audience as to
make them spring simultaneously from their seats, and you will see
that it was just at that moment that the eloquent divine dropped all
his abstractions and generalities and applied his subject to those
very persons who were listening to him. "Je m'arrête _à vous_, mes
freres, qui êtes _ici_ assemblées. Je ne parle plus du reste des
hommes," &c. And again, "Je suppose que c'est _ici_ votre derniere
heure, et la fin de l'univers; que les cieux vont s'ouvrir sur vos
têtes--Jesus Christe paraitre dans sa gloire au milieu de _ce
temple_," &c.
It is useless to say that men much oftener have minds of the third
class in our arrangement than women; not because there is any natural
difference between the sexes in this particular, but because ours is
placed in a situation requiring the cultivation of this species of
mind more than the other. Our professions and occupations exert, if I
may say so, a more effectual demand for the development of this order
of intellect, than those of woman. Men in their passage through life,
are obliged to examine into the _necessary_ connection between events;
they must adapt means to ends; they must attain their purposes by well
arranged plans, according to the relation of cause and effect. Woman,
on the contrary, from the nature of the sphere in which she moves, and
the character of the occupations in which she is engaged, is more
conversant with objects than with their _necessary_ connections and
relations. She is not obliged to arrange so many concatenated plans;
her mind is more alive to the perception of the objects around her,
and less to the _causæ rerum_. Her feelings and sympathies are most
exquisite, but she attends less to their relations and dependences.
She is in fine a creature of emotion rather than of philosophy.
It is for this reason that women rarely make good metaphysicians,
although their feelings and sympathies are of the most exquisite
character. Yet they are not in the habit of reflecting upon
them--arranging them into classes, according to their necessary
connections, and thence deducing the general principles and laws of
the mind. Mr. Stewart says that the taste for the philosophy of the
human mind is rarer among the sex, than even for pure mathematics. He
seems to think that there are but two names in the whole catalogue of
female authors, at all celebrated for deep metaphysical research--Miss
Edgeworth and Madame de Stael; and he deems it not unfortunate for the
world that the former was early diverted from such unattractive
speculations, to that more brilliant career of literature which she
has pursued with so unrivalled a reputation.[12]
[Footnote 12: In regard to Madame de Stael, it is proper to remark,
that although certainly an able metaphysician--perhaps the very ablest
that has ever appeared of her sex--yet you see throughout her writings
the character of the woman. Her isolated aphorisms and maxims are most
splendid; but when you come to examine any one of her productions as a
whole, you see the want of system and complete connection between the
parts. Her descriptions of our emotions and feelings are almost
unrivalled for pathos and beauty; but when she would put together the
different parts of the mind, and sketch out a heroine or a hero--a
_Corinne_ or her _lover_--she presents incongruous beings such as
nature never produces. Her mind, after all, was but the mind of a
woman--a mind that could furnish the very best materials in the world
for a philosopher to weave into his systems--a mind too susceptible of
emotion to philosophize on abstract principles--a mind that relied on
feeling, rather than reason, to guide it to truth. In her work on the
French Revolution, though certainly very able, you see how her mind is
warped by her affection for her father, (M. Necker.) You see how her
conceptions of the Revolution as a whole, are biassed and prejudiced
by too intense a consideration of the scenes and events transpiring
immediately around her, and concerning her family. Goethe seems to
think that Madame de Stael had no idea what duty meant, so completely
was she a creature of feeling.]
Having described three distinct and separate orders of mind,
remarkable for different kinds of associations, and all widely
differing in the possession of that information suited to social
converse, I come now to compare the sexes together, in relation to the
second point essential to conversation, the power of communicating our
knowledge pleasantly and attractively to others. He undoubtedly is the
most pleasing companion in the social circle whose mind is of that
capacious, well stored kind that is capable of ranging at will through
the various classes of associations just pointed out, giving you at
one time connections and relations of abstract principles, or
philosophical deductions--at another, of analogies between objects,
effects, and emotions--and at another, interesting and circumstantial
details of the common events of every day life. "Conversation," says a
modern writer, "may be compared to a lyre with seven
chords--philosophy, art, poetry, politics, love, scandal, and the
weather. There are some professors who, like Paganini, 'can discourse
most eloquent music' upon one string only, and some who can grasp the
whole instrument, and with a master's hand, sound it from the top to
the bottom of its compass." Such individuals as these are very rare.
Perhaps Dr. Johnson,[13] McIntosh and Coleridge might be cited as
specimens in England, and Schlegel in Germany. Individuals of this
character are very rare, because in the first place, there are very
few whose minds are capable of ranging through the whole extent of
knowledge; and secondly, it does by no means follow, that those
possessing the information, might be able to communicate it to others
with that brilliancy of diction, and judgment in the selection of
matter and its quantity, which will insure complete success in the
social circle.
[Footnote 13: Johnson's style in conversation must have been too
grandiloquent and studied, to have admitted of that variety and ease
so necessary to the social circle.]
I will make a few promiscuous remarks on these two points. Men of
deeply philosophic minds, are almost sure, from the character of their
speculations, to glide imperceptibly into habits of abstraction, and
to withdraw their attention from the scenes and occurrences
transpiring around them, to the contemplation of that world of thought
in which they dwell. Their thoughts are not the thoughts of other men;
the world in which they live is not the world of others. A Newton,
while wrapt in these philosophic visions, can sit for hours in the
cold, half dressed, eyes fixed, unconscious of all around him; he can
forget to dine; he can, in fine, forget himself, his friends, and the
world in which he lives. An Adam Smith, while studying the great laws
which regulate the accumulation, distribution, and consumption of
wealth, can so far forget himself and the world, as to mimic with his
cane, a soldier, who presents arms to him through respect, and march
after him when he moves off; he can be present when toasts are drunk,
and know nothing of what is passing.[14] Minds of this order are
almost sure to neglect associations of a lighter character. They fail
to acquire that species of information which is most pleasing in
conversation. And, moreover, they are apt to have what are called
_slow_ memories; they cannot call up their knowledge quick, and utter
it with volubility. The process by which they hive their wisdom is
slow and tedious, depending on patient thought, and persevering
reflection. Such a mind has been compared, in the social circle, to a
ship of the line run a ground in a creek. It is too massive and
ponderous for the element and space in which it floats. It is said
that Newton was rather slow and dull in conversation even upon
philosophical subjects. Many an individual in Europe, of far inferior
genius, was more brilliant in conversation than himself, even upon his
own discoveries. Descartes, whose mind was of the first order, was
silent in mixed company. It was said that he received his intellectual
wealth from nature in _solid bars_, not in _current coin_.[15] Men
like these are better pleased with the contemplation of the solid
wealth in their possession, than with the means of making it glitter
and attract the gaze of the world. They value ideas more than
words--knowledge more than the _media_ of communication. They think it
better, as Spurzheim on Education says, to have two ideas with one
mode of expressing them, than one idea with two modes of expression.
Such men as these then are apt, unless stimulated by very peculiar
circumstances, to be deficient, first, in that variety requisite for
agreeable conversation, and secondly, in the style and power of
communicating their ideas to others.
[Footnote 14: It is said that Dr. Smith was one day present, when the
toast to "absent friends" was drank by the company. A friend who sat
by the Doctor, told him that he had just been toasted, whereupon he
thanked the company for the honor, and apologised for his absence of
mind, very much of course to the amusement of his friends so well
aware of his habits of abstraction.]
[Footnote 15: The character of Oliver Cromwell in this respect is well
known. He did not, during his whole parliamentary career, make one
single lucid, perspicuous speech. In fact, his speaking was almost
unintelligible; and yet his course of conduct, although that of an
usurper and tyrant, marks most generally, clearness of judgment, and
great decision of character. Of course I am not here considering his
moral character, which was detestable.]
Again, men of poetic or miscellaneous minds, possessing that varied
store of knowledge and thought so well calculated to form the staple
of conversation, may nevertheless, from various causes, be unable to
make any display in the social circle. They may write beautifully
whilst they converse badly. Addison's dulness in company is well
known. Peter Corneille, who has been called the Shakspeare of France,
it is said, did not _speak_ correctly that language of which he was so
perfect a master in his composition. His answer to his friends, when
laughing at his spoken language was, "_I am not the less Peter
Corneille!_" Virgil is said to have been dull in the social circle. La
Fontaine, whose writing was the very model of poetry, was coarse,
heavy, and stupid in conversation. Chaucer's silence was said to be
much more agreeable than his talking. And Dryden says of himself, "My
conversation is slow and dull, my humor saturnine and reserved." Thus
do we find that it is not only necessary that the mind should be
stored with pleasing and varied knowledge, in order that we may
converse well; but we must have besides the power of communicating
that knowledge agreeably to others--a power which is by no means
universally coupled with the knowledge.
Let us then for a moment examine into the character of woman in this
respect. We have already seen that she has more of the _proper
materiel_ for conversation than man. If then her power and manner of
communicating be better, she may certainly be pronounced his superior
in the social circle. In the first place I would remark, that she has
in general much less professional bias than man. When men arrive at
the age of maturity, they generally engage in some one profession or
occupation, which employs most of their time and exertion. Their
intellectual characters are, to a very great degree, modelled by their
employments. Hence an inaptitude to acquire what does not belong to
one's business--an indocility upon all subjects not strictly
professional. I recollect once to have been a member of a country
debating society, in which we had divines, lawyers, doctors, farmers,
schoolmasters, &c., and upon all topics discussed, it was easy to
determine at once the profession of the speaker. You saw immediately
the professional bias and the professional language and knowledge.
Woman is in general, except so far as affected by her husband, free
from this influence, which is so unfavorable to that varied and
brilliant conversation suited to promiscuous society.
Again, the social circle is the field in which woman wins her
trophies, displays her accomplishments, and achieves her conquests.
The art of pleasing by conversation is all and all to her. The power
of colloquial display is her greatest accomplishment--her most
irresistible weapon. Hence, while man in general aims to make himself
plain and perspicuous, woman endeavors not only to be understood, but
to delight and fascinate the hearer at the same time by her style and
manner. "Man in conversation," says Rousseau, "has need of
knowledge--woman of taste." We are instructed profoundly in a _few
things_ by the conversation of an intelligent man. The conversation of
woman embraces _many things_, and though we may not be profoundly
instructed in any, yet we have a living and moving panoramic view
presented to the mind, which sooths and charms it by the beauty,
variety, and brilliancy of the parts. Rousseau was so struck with the
differences between the sexes in conversation, that he seems (I think
erroneously) to imagine a natural difference in this respect between
them. "Women," says he, "have a more flexible tongue: they speak
sooner, more easily, and more agreeably than men. They are accused of
speaking more. That is just as it should be; this should be considered
an ornament of the sex, and not a reproach. Their mouth and eyes have
the same activity, and for the same reason."
The occupations of women are generally of such a character as to allow
full scope for their conversational talents, while their work is
advancing. Knitting, sewing, &c. invite to a free use of the tongue,
while the occupations of men will generally allow of no such
indulgence. Moreover, the business of woman is oftener social; it can
be carried on in society; whereas that of man cannot, being generally
much more solitary. This difference in the occupations of the two,
produces a much greater effect on the social differences between the
sexes than most persons are aware of. Lastly, the greater _docility_
of woman, her greater susceptibility to impression, have a tendency to
generate more conversational talent than is developed in man. Woman,
as we have frequently remarked, is made physically weaker than man;
she is, therefore, dependent on him, and looks up to him as a
protector. Man is the governing member of the human family all over
the world. Woman submits to his guidance and direction. She adapts
herself to him, and endeavors to conform to his nature. Hence a quiet
submissiveness on the part of the weaker sex to control and dictation,
even when very intelligent, and able to act for themselves. I have
known intelligent women look up to their husbands for direction in
most matters, and with pleasure submit to their will, when it was
evident to the whole world that they were vastly superior in
intellectual endowments to those whose dictation and direction they
thus seemed to court. All a woman's ambition is for the promotion of
her husband. Her own elevation is generally a secondary matter,
because always derived from his. Shakspeare makes even the fiendish
acts of Lady Macbeth, to proceed from a desire to elevate her own
husband rather than herself. This condition of woman makes her more
docile and susceptible of impression. Her nature becomes more pliant
and flexible. At one period of her life she may be the wife of a
divine, at another of a lawyer, and at a third of a physician: and she
can quickly conform to these different natures with which she has to
deal. Her docility is far superior to that of man. Mr. Stewart thinks
that women learn languages even with greater quickness, and pronounce
them much better than men. He says Fox spoke French better than any
Englishman of his acquaintance, but he knew many females who spoke it
better than he.
Now this greater docility and susceptibility of impression, while it
admirably adapts the weaker to the stronger sex, at the same time
improves greatly the conversational powers of woman. She is alive to
all that is passing around; she sees what our duller eyes fail to
behold. She thus gathers more, and details it more vividly and
impressively. While we are gathering general and stale news, she
collects that which is more special and impressive. Every one who has
ever been in the habit of paying what are called morning visits, with
intelligent ladies, must have remarked the great difference between
the sexes in this respect.
Before leaving the subject of conversation, I shall take leave to make
a few remarks on the practice so prevalent among the married and
elderly gentlemen, of separating themselves from the rest of the
company at dinner parties and evening gatherings, to talk among
themselves on those topics more congenial to their feelings and
business. Such an abstraction as this leaves the young to themselves,
and frees them from a restraint which may sometimes be irksome, but is
almost always salutary. The elderly portion are in the habit of
excusing themselves, by saying the conversation of the young is too
frivolous for their attention; that their tastes have changed, and
they take now no pleasure in the gaieties, pastimes, and frivolities
of youth. But they should recollect that this division is calculated
to produce that very frivolity of which they complain. Separate the
old and intelligent from the young and thoughtless, and you
immediately give a loose to all the wild, buoyant feelings of youth.
Lycurgus could never have succeeded in Sparta in enforcing so
completely his celebrated system of laws, but for the public tables,
which brought the old and young, intelligent and simple together. The
young learned modesty in the presence of the old, and the ignorant
imbibed wisdom from the instruction of the intelligent. If our most
intelligent men would always mingle in the social circle, they would
elevate the character of the topics discussed, while they would
stimulate the young to more thought and intellectual exertion. The
young would be improved by the instruction they would receive, and the
laudable ambition that would be exerted by the example of the old and
intelligent; and the latter would be compensated by the great
improvement which social intercourse produces on all our finer
feelings, tastes, and emotions, by the cultivation of talents which
would otherwise become dormant and useless, and the consequent opening
of new sources of enjoyment. But duty to the rising
generation--particularly to that portion for whom we feel the warmest
solicitude, because the weaker and more dependent--absolutely demands
this intercourse. It would elevate the intellectual character of the
sex, and thereby improve the general condition of society. Our wives
and daughters would become fit companions for intelligent husbands,
and the social circle would lose its unmeaning conversation and
reckless frivolity in the presence of age and intelligence.
The social circles of France are greatly improved by the free and
unrestrained intercourse of all ages together. There is no man in
Paris, it matters not what is his standing or intelligence, but has
social ambition; he aims at distinction in conversation, at reputation
in the social circle, no less than he does at winning trophies in the
field, or fame in the senate chamber. The consequence is, that,
frivolous as we consider that people as a nation, they far excel us in
the social circle, both in the dignity of the topics discussed, and
the ability displayed by both sexes, especially by the females, in
conversation. Women who enjoy the society and conversation of the
wittiest and greatest men of their country will themselves become
witty and clever. "I was talking," says Bulwer in his France, "one
evening with the master of the house where I had been dining, on some
subject of trade and politics, which I engaged in unwillingly in the
idea that it was not very likely to interest the lady. I was soon
rather astonished, I confess, to find her enter into conversation with
a knowledge of detail and a right perception of general principles
which I did not expect. 'How do you think,' said she, when I afterward
expressed my surprise, 'that I could meet my husband every evening at
dinner, if I were not able to talk on the topics on which he has been
employed in the morning.'" Let us then at least imitate the French in
this particular, certain that it will in the process of time be
productive of the most marked and happy result.
For the same reason that woman surpasses man in conversation, she is
superior to him in epistolary composition. Her letters are generally
more varied, more lively and impressive, more replete with interesting
facts and details, than those of our sex. A gentleman, in writing a
mere letter of friendship, is engaged in a business which rather
breaks in on his habits, and interrupts for a time the accustomed
routine of his thoughts and tastes. He is very apt to run off upon the
general news of the day, and commence prosing upon some subject which
we would find perhaps infinitely better handled in the public prints
than in his letter. He has no variety; he forgets to tell us of our
friends, and of what they are doing and saying. He forgets that we
have hearts, and thinks only of our heads. He omits to mention
trifles, because he considers them "light as air," when some of these
trifles might touch a chord that would vibrate to the heart, and fill
the soul with joy and gratitude. When Mr. Dacre writes to the Duke of
Fitzjames, in the Young Duke, and says in conclusion, "_Mary_ desires
me to present her regards to you"--this was worth all the letter
besides to the young duke; 'twas this he read over and over again, and
forgot his estates and his debts, while his heart was reeling with
gratitude for just this little kindness from _her_ whom he loved so
devotedly. With woman, letter writing is in complete unison with her
condition in society. The details of most interest to her
correspondents are precisely those with which she is most conversant.
She presents no mutilated picture; she gives that which delights. She
is apt to know, too, the little Goshen of our hearts, and to pay all
due attention to it. And she is sure to tell, as if by accident,
precisely the _sweetest_ things in the world to _us_. She writes with
ease, variety, and interest--because she pursues the course of the
celebrated Madame de Sévigné, (who has never perhaps had an equal in
our sex for epistolary composition.) "Il faut un peu entre bons amis,"
says Madame de S. "laisser trotter les plumes comme elles veulent, la
mienne a toujours la bride sur le cou."
I had intended, before concluding my remarks on the intellectual
differences of the sexes, to offer some considerations in favor of
improving the system of female education; but my number has already
expanded to a size greatly beyond my anticipations when I commenced
it. This subject I must therefore postpone for the present, and resume
it in my next, if my time and occupations will permit me.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.