DISCOURSE.
"He that questioneth much shall learn much, and content much;
but especially if he apply his questions to the skill of the
persons whom he asketh; for he shall give them occasion to
please themselves in speaking, and himself shall continually
gather knowledge."
_Bacon._
The Discourse of individuals is an indispensable commentary upon the
classes of national facts which the traveller has observed. To begin the
work of observation with registering this private discourse, is, as has
been said, useless, from the diversity that there is in men's minds, and
from the narrowness of the mental vision of each as he stands in a
crowd. The testimony of no two would be found to agree; and, if the
traveller depended upon them for his general facts, he could never
furnish a record which could be trusted. But, the facts being once
obtained by stronger evidence than individual testimony,--certain fixed
points being provided round which testimony may gather,--the discourse
of individuals assumes its proper value, and becomes illustrative where
before it would have been only bewildering. The traveller must obtain
all that he can of it. He must seek intercourse with all classes of the
society he visits,--not only the rich and the poor, but those who may be
classed by profession, pursuit, habits of mind, and turn of manners. He
must converse with young men and maidens, old men and children, beggars
and savans, postillions and potentates. He must study little ones at
their mothers' knees, and flirtations in ball-rooms, and dealings in the
market-place. He must overhear the mirth of revellers, and the grief of
mourners. Wherever there is speech, he must devote himself to hear.
One way in which discourse serves as a commentary upon the things he has
observed is in the exhibition of certain general characters of its own,
which are accordant with the general facts he has registered. The
conversation of almost every nation has its characteristics, like that
of smaller societies. The style of discourse in an English village is
unlike that of a populous town; and the people of a town which is no
thoroughfare talk differently from the inhabitants of one which is. In
the same way is the general discourse of a whole people modified. In one
country less regard is paid to truth in particulars, to circumstantial
accuracy, than in another. One nation has more sincerity; another more
kindliness in speech. One proses; another is light and sportive. One is
frank; another reserved. One flatters the stranger; another is careless
of him: and the discourse of the one is designed to produce a certain
effect upon him; while that of the other flows out spontaneously, or is
restrained, according to the traveller's own apparent humour. Such
characteristics of the general discourse may be noted as a
corroboration of suppositions drawn from other facts. They may be taken
as evidence of the respective societies being catholic or puritanic in
spirit; crude or accomplished; free and simple, or restrained and
cautious; self-satisfied, or deficient in self-respect. The observer
must be very careful not to generalize too hastily upon the discourse
addressed to him; but there are everywhere large conclusions which he
cannot help making. However wide the variety of individuals with whom he
may converse, it is scarcely likely that he will meet in Spain with any
number who will prose like the Americans; or in Germany with many who
will treat him with the light jests of the French. Such general
tendencies of any society as he may have been informed of by the study
of things, he will find evidenced also by the general character of its
discourse.
Another way in which discourse serves as a commentary, is by showing
what interests the people most. If the observer goes with a free mind
and an open heart, not full of notions and feelings of his own, but
ready to resign himself to those of the people he visits,--if he commits
himself to his sympathies, and makes himself one with those about him,
he cannot but presently discover and appreciate what interests them
most.
A high Tory in America will be more misled than enlightened by what is
said to him, and so will a bigoted Republican in England. A prim Quaker
will not understand the French from half a year of Parisian
conversation, any more than a mere dandy would feel at home at Jena or
Heidelberg. But a traveller free from gross prejudice and selfishness
can hardly be many days in a new society without learning what are its
chief interests. Even savages would speak to him of the figure-head of
their canoe; and others would go through, in time, each its own range of
topics, till the German had poured out to him his philosophical views,
and the Frenchman his solicitudes for the amelioration of society, and
the American his patriotic aspirations, and the Swiss his domestic
sentiment. Whatever may be the restrictions imposed by rulers upon
discourse, whatever may be the penalties imposed upon particular kinds
of communication, all are unavailing in the presence of sympathy. At its
touch the abundance of the heart will gush out at the lips. Men are so
made that they cannot but speak of what interests them most to those who
most share the interest. This is a decree of nature by which the decrees
of despots are annulled. The power of a ruler may avail to keep an
observer on his own side the frontier; but, if he has once passed it, it
is his own fault if he does not become as well acquainted with the
prevailing sentiment of the inhabitants, amidst the deadest public
silence, as if it were shouted out to the four winds. If he carries a
simple mind and an open heart, there is no mine in Siberia so deep but
the voice of complaint will come up to him from it, and no home so
watched by priests but that he will know what is concealed from the
confessor. All this would do little more than mislead him by means of
his sympathies, if such confidence were his only means of knowledge;
but, coming in corroboration of what he has learned in the large
elsewhere, it becomes unquestionable evidence of what it is that
interests the people most.
He must bear in mind that there are a few universal interests which
everywhere stand first, and that it is the modification of these by
local influences which he has to observe; and also what comes next in
order to these. For instance, the domestic are the primary interests
among all human beings. It is so where the New England father dismisses
his sons to the West,--and where the Hindoo mother deserts her infants
to seek the shade of her husband through the fire,--and where the
Spanish parent consigns her youngest to the convent,--as truly as where
the Norwegian peasant enlarges his roof to admit another and another
family of his descendants. It is for the traveller to trust the words
and tones of parental love which meet his ear in every home of every
land; and to mark by what it is that this prime and universal interest
is modified, so as to produce such sacrifice of itself. Taking the
affection for granted, which the private discourse of parents and
children compels him to do, what light does he find cast upon the
influence of the priests here, and pride of territory there;--upon the
superstition which is the weakness of one people, and the social
ambition in the midst of poverty which is the curse of another!
He must also find out from the conversation of the people he visits what
is their particular interest, from observing what ranks next to those
which are universal. In one country, parents love their families first,
and wealth next; in another, their families first, and glory next; in a
third, their families first, and liberty next; and so on, through the
whole range of objects of human desire. Once having discerned the mode,
he will find it easy to take the suffrage without much danger of
mistake.
The chief reason why the discourse of individuals, apart from the
observation of classes of facts, is almost purely deceptive as to
morals, is that the traveller can see no more than one in fifty thousand
of the people, and has no security that those he meets are a sample of
the whole. This difficulty does not interfere with one very important
advantage which he may obtain from conversation,--knowledge of and light
upon particular questions. A stranger might wish to learn the state of
Christianity in England. If he came to London, and began with
conversation, he might meet a Church-of-England-man one day, a Catholic
the next, a Presbyterian the third, a Quaker the fourth, a Methodist the
fifth, and so on, till the result was pure bewilderment. But if he
conversed with intelligent persons, he would find that questions were
pending respecting the church and dissent,--involving the very
principles of the administration of religion. The opinions he hears upon
these questions may be as various as the persons he converses with. He
may be unable to learn the true characters of the statesmen and
religious leaders concerned in their management: but he gains something
of more value. Light is thrown upon the state of things from which alone
these questions could have arisen. From free newspapers he might have
learned the nature of the controversy; but in social intercourse much
more is presented to him. He sees the array of opinions marshalled on
each side, or on all the sides of the question; and receives an
infinite number of suggestions and illustrations which could never have
reached him but from the conflict of intellects, and the diversity of
views and statements with which he is entertained in discourse. The
traveller in every country should thus welcome the discussion of
questions in which the inhabitants are interested, taking strenuous care
to hear the statements of every party. From the intimate connexion of
certain modes of opinion with all great questions, he will gain light
upon the whole condition of opinion from its exhibition in one case. New
subjects of research will be brought within his reach; new paths of
inquiry will be opened; new trains of ideas will be awakened, and fresh
minds brought into communication with his own. If he can secure the good
fortune of conversing with the leaders on both sides of great
questions,--with the men who have made it a pursuit to collect all the
facts of the case, and to follow out its principles,--there is no
estimating his advantage. There is, perhaps, scarcely one great subject
of national controversy which, thus opened to him, would not afford him
glimpses into all the other general affairs of the day; and each time
that his mind grasps a definite opposition of popular opinion, he has
accomplished a stage in his pilgrimage of inquiry into the tendencies of
a national mind. He will therefore be anxious to engage all he meets in
full and free conversation on prevailing topics, leaving it to them to
open their minds in their own way, and only taking care of his
own,--that he preserves his impartiality, and does no injustice to
question or persons by bias of his own.
In arranging his plans for conversing with all kinds of people, the
observer will not omit to cultivate especially the acquaintance of
persons who themselves see the most of society. The value of their
testimony on particular points must depend much on that of their minds
and characters; but, from the very fact of their having transactions
with a large portion of society, they cannot avoid affording many lights
to a stranger which he could obtain by no other means. The conversation
of lawyers in a free country, of physicians, of merchants and
manufacturers in central trading situations, of innkeepers and of
barbers everywhere, must yield him much which he could not have
collected for himself. The minds of a great variety of people are daily
acting upon the thoughts of such, and the facts of a great variety of
lives upon their experience; and whether they be more or less wise in
the use of their opportunities, they must be unlike what they would have
been in a state of seclusion. If the stranger listens to what they are
most willing to tell, he may learn much of popular modes of thinking and
feeling, of modes of living, acting, and transacting, which will confirm
and illustrate impressions and ideas which he had previously gained from
other sources.
The result of the whole of what he hears will probably be to the
traveller of the same kind with that which the journey of life yields to
the wisest of its pilgrims. As he proceeds, he will learn to condemn
less, and to admire, not less, but differently. He will find no
intellect infallible, no judgment free from prejudice, and therefore no
affections without their bias; but, on the other hand, he will find no
error which does not branch out of some truth; no wrath which has not
some reason in it; nothing wrong which is not the perversion of
something right; no wickedness that is not weakness. If he is compelled
to give up the adoration of individuals, the man-worship which is the
religion of young days, he surrenders with it the spirit of contempt
which ought also to be proper to youth. To a healthy mind it is
impossible to mix largely with men, under a variety of circumstances,
and wholly to despise either societies or individuals; so magnificent is
the intellect of men in combination, so universal are their most
privately nourished affections. He must deny himself the repose of
implicit faith in the intellect of any one; but he cannot refuse the
luxury of trust in the moral power of the whole. Instead of the complete
set of dogmas with which he was perhaps once furnished, on the authority
of a few individuals, he brings home a store of learning on the great
subject of human prejudices: but he cannot have watched the vast effects
of a community of sentiment,--he cannot have observed multitudes
tranquillized into social order, stimulated to social duty, and even
impelled to philanthropic self-sacrifice, without being convinced that
men were made to live in a bond of brotherhood. He cannot have sat in
conversation under the village elm, or in sunny vineyards, or by the
embers of the midnight fire, without knowing how spirit is formed to
unfold itself to spirit; and how, when the solitary is set in families,
his sympathies bind him to them by such a chain as selfish interest
never yet wove. He cannot have travelled wisely and well without being
convinced that moral power is the force which lifts man to be not only
lord of the earth, but scarcely below the angels; and that the higher
species of moral power, which are likely to come more and more into
use, clothe him in a kind of divinity to which angels themselves might
bow.--No one will doubt this who has been admitted into that range of
sanctuaries, the homes of nations; and who has witnessed the godlike
achievements of the servants, sages, and martyrs, who have existed
wherever man has been.
PART III.
MECHANICAL METHODS.
"In sea-voyages, where there is nothing to be seen but sky and
sea, men make diaries; but in land-travel, wherein so much is to
be observed, they omit it."--BACON.
"Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom
Is breach of all."--_Cymbeline._
Travellers cannot be always on the alert, any more than other men. Their
hours of weariness and of capricious idleness come, as at home; and
there is no security against their occurring at inconvenient
times,--just when some characteristic spectacle is to be witnessed, or
some long-desired information is in waiting. By a little forethought,
the observer may guard against some of the effects of seizures of
apathy. If he would rather sleep in the carriage than get out to see a
waterfall, he can only feel ashamed, and rouse himself to do his duty:
but, by precaution, he may guard himself from passing by some things
less beautiful than waterfalls, and to have seen which is less necessary
to his reputation as a traveller; but which yet he will be more sorry
eventually to have lost.
To keep himself up to his business, and stimulate his flagging
attention, he should provide himself, before setting out, with a set of
queries, so prepared as to include every great class of facts connected
with the condition of a people, and so divided and arranged as that he
can turn to the right set at the fitting moment.--These queries are not
designed to be thrust into the hand of any one who may have information
to give. They should not even be allowed to catch his eye. The traveller
who has the air of taking notes in the midst of conversation, is in
danger of bringing away information imperfect as far as it goes, and
much restricted in quantity in comparison with what it would be if he
allowed it to be forgotten that he was a foreigner seeking information.
If he permits the conversation to flow on naturally, without checking it
by the production of the pencil and tablets, he will, even if his memory
be not of the best, have more to set down at night than if he noted on
the spot, as evidence, what a companion might be saying to him. But a
glance in the morning at his list of queries may suggest inquiries which
he might not otherwise remember to make; and they will help him
afterwards to arrange the knowledge he has gained. He can be constantly
adding to them as he goes along, and as new subjects arise, till he is
in possession of a catechism on the facts which indicate morals and
manners; which must prevent his researches being so capricious, and his
information so vague as his moods and his idleness would otherwise
occasionally make them.
The character of these queries must, of course, depend much on where the
traveller means to go. A set which would suit one nation would not
completely apply to any other. The observer will do wisely to employ
his utmost skill in framing them. His cares will be better bestowed on
this than even on his travelling appointments, important as these are to
his comfort. When he has done his best in the preparation of his lists,
he must still keep on the watch to enlarge them, as occasion arises.
Some travellers unite in one the functions of the query list and the
journal: having the diary headed and arranged for the reception of
classified information. But this seems to be debasing the function of a
journal, whose object ought to be to reflect the mind of a traveller,
and give back to him hereafter the image of what he thought and felt day
by day. This is its primary function;--a most useful one, as every
traveller knows who has kept one during a year's wandering in a foreign
country. On his return, he laughs at the crudity of the information, and
the childishness of the impressions, set down in the opening pages; and
traces, with as much wonder as interest, the gradual expansion of his
knowledge, education of his perceptions, and maturing of his judgments
as to what is before him, as week succeeds to week, and each month
mellows the experience of the last.
The subordinate purpose of the journal is to record facts; and the way
in which this is done ought not to depend on the stationer's rule, but
on the nature of the traveller's mind. No man can write down daily all
that he learns in a day's travel. It ought to be a matter of serious
consideration with him what he will insert, and what trust to his
memory. The simplest method seems to be to set down what is most likely
to be let slip, and to trust to the memory what the affections and
tastes of the traveller will not allow him to forget. One who especially
enjoys intimate domestic intercourse will write, not fireside
conversations, but the opinions of statesmen, and the doctrine of
parties on great social questions. One whose tastes are religious will
note less on the subject of public worship and private religious
discourse, than dates, numbers, and facts on subjects of subordinate
interest. All should record anecdotes and sayings which illustrate
character. These are disjointed, and will escape almost any memory, if
not secured in writing. Those who do not draw should also note scenery.
A very few descriptive touches will bring back a landscape, with all its
human interest, after a lapse of years: while perhaps there is no memory
in the world which will present unaided the distinctive character of a
succession of scenes. The returned traveller is ashamed to see the
extent of his record of his personal feelings. His changes of mood, his
sufferings from heat or cold, from hunger or weariness, are the most
interesting things to him at the moment; and down they go, in the place
of things much better worth recording, and he pays the penalty in many a
blush hereafter. His best method will be to record as little as possible
about himself; and, of other things, most of what he is pretty sure to
forget, and least of what he can hardly help remembering.
Generally speaking, he will find it desirable to defer the work of
generalization till he gets home. In the earlier stages of his journey,
at least, he will restrict his pen to the record of facts and
impressions; or, if his mind should have an unconquerable theorizing
tendency, he will be so far cautious as to put down his inferences
conjecturally. It is easy to do this; and it may make an eternal
difference to the observer's love of truth, and attainment of it,
whether he preserves his philosophic thoughts in the form of dogmas or
of queries.
Though it is commonly spoken of as a settled thing that the journal
should be written at night, there are many who do not agree to this.
There are some whose memory fails when the body is tired, and who find
themselves clear-headed about many things in the morning which were but
imperfectly remembered before they had the refreshment of sleep. The
early morning is probably the best time for the greater number; but it
is a safe general rule that the journal should be written in the
interval when the task is pleasantest. Whether the regularity be
pleasant or not, (and to the most conscientious travellers it is the
most agreeable,) the entries ought to be made daily, if possible. The
loss incurred by delay is manifest to any one who has tried. The
shortest entries are always those which have been deferred. The delay of
a single day is found to reduce the matter unaccountably. In the midst
of his weariness and unwillingness to take out his pen, the traveller
may comfort himself by remembering that he will reap the reward of
diligence in satisfaction when he gets home. He may assure himself that
no lines that he can write can ever be more valuable than those in which
he hives his treasures of travel. If he turns away from the task, he
will have uneasy feelings connected with his journey as often as he
looks back upon it;--feelings of remorse for his idleness, and of regret
for irretrievable loss. If, on the other hand, he perseveres in the
daily duty, he will go forward each morning with a disburthened mind,
and will find, in future years, that he loves the very blots and
weather-stains on the pages which are so many remembrancers of his
satisfactory labours and profitable pleasures.
Besides the journal, the traveller should have a note-book,--always at
hand,--not to be pulled out before people's eyes, for the entry of facts
related, but to be used for securing the transient appearances which,
though revealing so much to an observing mind, cannot be recalled with
entire precision. In all the countries of the world, groups by the
wayside are the most eloquent of pictures. The traveller who lets
himself be whirled past them, unobservant or unrecording, loses more
than any devices of inquiry at his inn can repair. If he can sketch, he
should rarely allow a characteristic group of persons, or nook of
scenery, to escape his pencil. If he cannot use the pencil, a few
written words will do. Two lines may preserve for him an exemplification
which may be of great future value.--The farmers' wives of New England,
talking over the snake-fence at sunset, are in themselves an
illustration of many things: so is the stern Indian in his
blanket-cloak, standing on a mound on the prairie; so is the chamois
hunter on his pinnacle, and the pedestrian student in the valleys of the
Hartz, and the pine-cutters on the steeps of Norway, and the travelling
merchant on the dyke in Holland, and the vine-dressers in Alsace, and
the beggars in the streets of Spanish cities, and all the children of
all countries at their play. The traveller does not dream of passing
unnoticed the cross in the wilderness, beneath which some brother
pilgrim lies murdered; or the group of brigands seen in the shadow of
the wood; or a company of Sisters of Charity, going forth to their deeds
of mercy; or a pair of inquisitors, busy on the errands of the Holy
Office; or anything else which strongly appeals to his imagination or
his personal feelings. These pictures, thus engraved in his memory, he
may safely leave to be entered in his journal, night or morning: but
groups and scenes which ought to be quite as interesting, because they
reveal the thoughts and ways of men, (the more familiarly the more
faithfully,) should be as earnestly observed; and, to give them a chance
of equal preservation, they should be noted on the instant. If a
foreigner opens his eyes after a nap in travelling an Irish road, would
it not be wise to note at once what he sees that he could not see
elsewhere? He perceives that the green lanes which branch off from the
road are more crowded with foliage, and less definite in their windings,
than any other green lanes he has seen near high roads. The road itself
is _sui generis_, with its border of rank grass, with tufts of
straggling briers, and its rough stone walls, fringed with weeds, and
gay with wild flowers. A beggarly wretch is astride on the top, singing
the Doxology to the tune of Paudeen O'Rafferty, and keeping time with
his heels: and, some way off, an old man crouches in the grass, playing
cards,--the right hand against the left,--reviling the winner, and
tenderly consoling the loser. Presently the stranger passes a roofless
hut, where he sees, either a party of boys and girls throwing turf for a
handful of meal, or a beggar-woman and her children resting in the shade
of the walls to eat their cold potatoes. Such scenes could be beheld
nowhere but in Ireland: but there is no country in the world where
groups and pictures as characteristic do not present themselves to the
observing eye, and in such quick succession that they are liable to be
confused and lost, if not secured at the moment by brief touches of
pencil or pen. The note-book should be the repository of such.
Mechanical methods are nothing but in proportion to the power which uses
them; as the intellectual accomplishments of the traveller avail him
little, and may even bring him back less wise than he went out,--a
wanderer from truth, as well as from home,--unless he sees by a light
from his heart shining through the eyes of his mind. He may see, and
hear, and record, and infer, and conclude for ever; and he will still
not understand if his heart be idle,--if he have not sympathy. Sympathy
by itself may do much: with fit intellectual and mechanical aids, it
cannot but make the traveller a wise man. His journey may be but for a
brief year, or even month; but if, by his own sympathy, he grasps and
brings home to himself the life of a fresh portion of his race, he gains
a wisdom for which he will be the better for ever.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Penny Magazine, vol. ii. p. 309.
[B] Volney's Survey of the Revolutions of Empires, pp. 25, 26.
[C] Mme. D'Aunoy.
[D] Adam Smith, "Wealth of Nations."
[E] Jacob, "Travels in the South of Spain."
[F] HOME, by Miss Sedgwick, pp. 37, 39.
[G] An exception to this may meet the eye of a traveller once in a
lifetime. There is a village church-yard in England where the following
inscription is to be seen. After the name and date occurs the following:
He was a Bad Son,
A Bad Husband,
A Bad Father.
"The wicked shall be turned into Hell."
[H] Edinburgh Review, vol. xxxix. p. 67.
[I] Edinburgh Review, vol. xlvi. p. 309.
[J] Edinburgh Review, vol. xxvi. pp. 7, 8.
[K] Corn Law Rhymer. Elliott of Sheffield.
[L] Travels of Minna and Godfrey in Many Lands, p. 53.
[M] Rogers's Italy, p. 172.
[N] Memoirs of an American Lady.
THE END.
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I--THE GUIDE TO SERVICE.
1. _Farm Service._
Labourer
Cowherd
Shepherd
Carter
Ploughman
Bailiff
Dairywoman.
2. _House Service_
Gardener
Groom
Coachman
Footman
Butler
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3. _Commercial Service._
Errand Boy
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Porter and Carman
Warehouseman
Shopman
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4. _Public Service._
Soldier
Sailor
Excise Officer
Custom-house Officer
Post-office Servants and Turnpikemen
Officers of Local Administration.
II--THE GUIDE TO TRADE.
1. _Producers of Food and Raw Materials._
Farmer and Grazier
Market-Gardener
Fisherman
Miner.
2. _Manufacturers._
Iron Founder
Lead Founder, or Worker
Brass Founder
Coppersmith
Cutler
Machine Maker
Brick Maker
Potter
Glass Worker
Spinners and Weavers
Cotton
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Woollen
Silk
Bleacher, Dyer, and Calico Printer
Tanner and Currier
Rope Maker
Miller and Baker
Soap Boiler and Tallow Chandler
Sugar Refiner
Brewer and Distiller
Hatter
Paper Maker.
3. _Handicraftsmen._
Shipwright
Bricklayer
Mason
Carpenter
Plumber, Painter, and Glazier
Cabinet Maker and Upholsterer
Smith
Cooper, Brush Maker, Basket Maker
Brazier and Tinman
Carver and Gilder
Wheelwright and Coachmaker
Watchmaker
Goldsmith and Jeweller
Printer
Bookbinder
Engraver
Tailor
Milliner
Shoemaker
Saddler
Hairdresser.
4. _Retailers._
Butcher
Grocer, Cheesemonger, Oilman, Tobacconist
Fishmonger and Poulterer
Pastrycook and Confectioner
Greengrocer and Seedsman
Victualler
Coal and Corn Dealer
Ironmonger and Hardwareman
Stationer and Bookseller
Chemist and Druggist
Hawker and Pedlar
Broker.
*.* The Series will not be published at stated periods, but it will be
endeavoured to bring out one Tract in each Class monthly.
In July will be published
"THE MAID OF ALL WORK," Price Eightpence.
"THE PRINTER," Price One Shilling.
Transcriber's Notes:
Archaic and unexpected spelling and hyphenation have been retained as
they appear in the original publication, including recompence,
negociated, hinderance, befals, proprietory, tabu and savans. The
following changes to the original publication have been made:
Page 43
will not pour out their stores _changed to_
will not pour out their stories
Page 239
the occupations which the mass o
the occupations which the mass of