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diff --git a/41736-8.txt b/41736-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0156612..0000000 --- a/41736-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8395 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl of the Period and Other Social -Essays, Vol. II (of 2), by Eliza Lynn Linton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Girl of the Period and Other Social Essays, Vol. II (of 2) - -Author: Eliza Lynn Linton - -Release Date: December 30, 2012 [EBook #41736] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GIRL OF THE PERIOD, VOL II *** - - - - -Produced by Clarity, Mary Akers and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THE - - GIRL OF THE PERIOD - - ETC. - - - VOL. II. - - [REPRINTED, _by permission, from the_ SATURDAY REVIEW] - - - - - THE - - GIRL OF THE PERIOD - - - AND OTHER - - Social Essays - - - BY - - E. LYNN LINTON - - AUTHOR OF 'THE ATONEMENT OF LEAM DUNDAS' 'UNDER WHICH LORD?' - 'THE REBEL OF THE FAMILY' 'IONE' ETC. - - - IN TWO VOLUMES - - VOL. II. - -[Illustration:] - - LONDON - RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET - Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen - 1883 - - [_All rights reserved_] - - - - - LONDON: PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - AND PARLIAMENT STREET - - - - -CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. - - - PAGE - GUSHING MEN 1 - - SWEET SEVENTEEN 9 - - THE HABIT OF FEAR 19 - - OLD LADIES 28 - - VOICES 37 - - BURNT FINGERS 46 - - DÉSOEUVREMENT 55 - - THE SHRIEKING SISTERHOOD 64 - - OTHERWISE-MINDED 72 - - LIMP PEOPLE 82 - - THE ART OF RETICENCE 91 - - MEN'S FAVOURITES 100 - - WOMANLINESS 109 - - SOMETHING TO WORRY 119 - - SWEETS OF MARRIED LIFE 127 - - SOCIAL NOMADS 136 - - GREAT GIRLS 145 - - SHUNTED DOWAGERS 155 - - PRIVILEGED PERSONS 164 - - MODERN MAN-HATERS 173 - - VAGUE PEOPLE 181 - - ARCADIA 190 - - STRANGERS AT CHURCH 199 - - IN SICKNESS 208 - - ON A VISIT 217 - - DRAWING-ROOM EPIPHYTES 227 - - THE EPICENE SEX 235 - - WOMEN'S MEN 243 - - HOTEL LIFE IN ENGLAND 252 - - OUR MASKS 261 - - HEROES AT HOME 268 - - SEINE-FISHING 276 - - THE DISCONTENTED WOMAN 285 - - ENGLISH CLERGYMEN IN - FOREIGN WATERING-PLACES 293 - - OLD FRIENDS 302 - - POPULAR WOMEN 310 - - CHOOSING OR FINDING 319 - - LOCAL FÊTES 327 - - - - -ESSAYS - -UPON - -SOCIAL SUBJECTS. - - - - -_GUSHING MEN._ - - -The picture of a gushing creature all heart and no brains, all impulse -and no ballast, is familiar to most of us; and we know her, either by -repute or by personal acquaintance, as well as we know our alphabet. -But we are not so familiar with the idea of the gushing man. Yet -gushing men exist, if not in such numbers as their sisters, still in -quite sufficient force to constitute a distinct type. The gushing man -is the furthest possible removed from the ordinary manly ideal, as -women create it out of their own imaginations. Women like to picture -men as inexorably just, yet tender; calm, grave, restrained, yet full -of passion well mastered; Greathearts with an eye cast Mercywards if -you will, else unapproachable by all the world; Goethes with one weak -corner left for Bettina, where love may queen it over wisdom, but in -all save love strong as Titans, powerful as gods, unchangeable as -fate. They forgive anything in a man who is manly according to their -own pattern and ideas. Even harshness amounting to brutality is -condoned if the hero have a jaw of sufficient squareness, and mighty -passions just within the limits of control--as witness _Jane Eyre's_ -Rochester and his long line of unpleasant followers. But this -harshness must be accompanied by love. Like the Russian wife who wept -for want of her customary thrashing, taking immunity from the stick to -mean indifference, these women would rather have brutality with love -than no love at all. - -But a gushing man, as judged by men among men, is a being so foreign -to the womanly ideal that very few understand him when they do see -him. And they do not call him gushing. He is frank, enthusiastic, -unworldly, aspiring; perhaps he is labelled with that word of power, -'high-souled;' but he is not gushing, save when spoken of by men who -despise him. For men have an intense contempt for him. A woman who has -no ballast, and whose self-restraint goes to the winds on every -occasion, is accepted for what she is worth, and but little -disappointment and less annoyance is felt for what is wanting. Indeed, -men in general expect so little from women that their follies count as -of course and only what might be looked for. They are like marriage, -or the English climate, or a lottery ticket, or a dark horse heavily -backed, and have to be taken for better or worse as they may turn out, -with the violent probability that the chances are all on the side of -the worse. - -But the gushing man is inexcusable. He is a nuisance or a -laughing-stock; and as either he is resented. In his club, at the -mess-table, in the city, at home, wherever he may be and whatever he -may be about, he is always plunging headlong into difficulties and -dragging his friends with him; always quarrelling for a straw; putting -himself grossly in the wrong and vehemently apologizing afterwards; -hitting wild at one moment and down on his knees the next, and as -absurd in the one attitude as he is abject in the other. He falls in -love at first sight and makes a fool of himself on unknown ground -while with men he is ready to swear eternal friendship or undying -enmity before he has had time to know anything whatever about the -object of his regard or his dislike. In consequence he is being -perpetually associated with shaky names and brought into questionable -positions. He is full of confidence in himself on every occasion, and -is given to making the most positive assertions on things he knows -nothing about; when afterwards he is obliged to retract and to own -himself mistaken. But he is just as full of self-abasement when, like -vaulting ambition, he has overleaped himself and fallen into mistakes -and failures unawares. He makes rash bets about things of which he has -the best information; so he says; and will not be staved off by those -who know what folly he is committing, but insists on writing himself -down after Dogberry at the cost of just so much. He backs the worst -player at billiards on the strength of a chance hazard, and bets on -the losing hand at whist. He goes into wild speculations in the city, -where he is certain to land a pot of money according to his own -account and whence he comes with empty pockets, as you foretold and -warned. He takes up with all manner of doubtful schemes and yet more -doubtful promoters; but he will not be advised. Is he not gushing? and -does not the quality of gushingness include an Arcadian belief in the -virtue of all the world? - -The gushing man is the very pabulum of sharks and sharpers; and it is -he whose impressibility and gullible good-nature supply wind for the -sails of half the rotten schemes afloat. Full of faith in his fellows, -and of belief in a brilliant future to be had by good luck and not by -hard work, he cannot bring himself to doubt either men or measures; -unless indeed his gushingness takes the form of suspicion, and then he -goes about delivering himself of accusations not one of which he can -substantiate by the weakest bulwark of fact, and doubting the -soundness of investments as safe as the Three per Cents. - -In manner the gushing man is familiar and caressing. He may be -patronizing or playful according to the bent of his own nature. If the -first, he will call his superior, My dear boy, and pat him on the back -encouragingly; if the second, he will put his arm schoolboy fashion -round the neck of any man of note who has the misfortune of his -intimacy, and call him Old fellow, or Governor, or _rex meus_, as he -is inclined. With women his familiarity is excessively offensive. He -gives them pet names, or calls to them by their Christian names from one -end of the room to the other, and pats and paws them in all fraternal -affectionateness, after about the same length of acquaintanceship -as would bring other men from the bowing stage to that of shaking -hands. His manners throughout are enough to compromise the toughest -reputation; and one of the worst misfortunes that can befall a -woman whose circumstances lay her specially open to slander and -misrepresentation is to include among her friends a gushing man of -energetic tendencies, on the look-out to do her a good turn if he can, -and anxious to let people see on what familiar terms he stands with -her. He means nothing in the least degree improper when he puts his -arm round her waist, calls her My dear and even Darling in a loud -voice for all the world to hear; or when he seats himself at her table -before folk to write her private messages, which he makes believe to -be of so much importance that they must not be spoken aloud, and which -are of no importance at all. He is only familiar and gushing; and he -would be the first to cry out against the evil imagination of the -world which saw harm in what he does with such innocent intent. - -The gushing man has one grave defect--he is not safe nor secret. From -no bad motive, but just from the blind propulsion of gushingness, he -cannot keep a secret, and he is sure to let out sooner or later all -he knows. He holds back nothing of his friends nor of his own--not -even when his honour is engaged in the trust; being essentially -loose-lipped, and with his emotional life always bubbling up through -the thin crust of conventional reserve. Not that he means to be -dishonourable; he is only gushing and unrestrained. Hence every friend -he has knows all about him. His latest lover learns the roll-call of -all his previous loves; and there is not a man in his club, with whom -he is on speaking terms, who does not know as much. Women who trust -themselves to gushing men simply trust themselves to broken reeds; and -they might as well look for a sieve that will hold water as expect a -man of the sieve nature to keep their secret, whatever it may cost -them and him to divulge it. - -As a theorist the gushing man is for ever advocating untenable -opinions and taking up with extreme doctrines, which he announces -confidently and out of which he can be argued by the first opponent he -encounters. The facility with which he can be bowled over on any -ground--he calls it being converted--is in fact one of his most -striking characteristics; and a gushing man rushes from the school of -one professor to that of another, his zeal unabated, no matter how -many his reconversions. He is always finding the truth, which he never -retains; and the loudest and most active in damning a cast-off -doctrine is the gushing man who has once followed it. As a leader, he -is irresistible to both boys and women. His enthusiastic, -unreflecting, unballasted character finds a ready response in the -youthful and feminine nature; and he is the idol of a small knot of -ardent worshippers, who believe in him as the logical and -well-balanced man is never believed in. He takes them captive by a -community of imagination, of impulsiveness, of exaggeration; and is -followed just in proportion to his unfitness to lead. - -This is the kind of man who writes sentimental novels, with a good -deal of love laced with a vague form of pantheism or of weak -evangelical religion, to suit all tastes; or he is great in a certain -kind of indefinite poetry which no one has yet been found to -understand, save perhaps, a special Soul Sister, which is the subdued -version among us of the more suggestive Spiritual Wife. He adores the -feminine virtues, which he places far beyond all the masculine ones; -and expatiates on the beauty of the female character which he thinks -is to be the rule of the future. Perhaps though, he goes off into -panegyrics on the Vikings and the Berserkers; or else plunges boldly -into the mists of the Arthurian era, and gushes in obsolete English -about chivalry and the Round Table, Sir Launcelot and the Holy Graal, -to the bewilderment of his entranced audience to whom he does not -supply a glossary. In religion he is generally a mystic and always in -extremes. He can never be pinned down to logic, to facts, to reason; -and to his mind the golden mean is the sin for which the Laodicean -Church was cursed. Feeling and emotion and imagination do all the -work of the world according to him; and when he is asked to reason and -to demonstrate, he answers, with the lofty air of one secure of the -better way, that he Loves, and that Love sees further and more clearly -than reason. - -As the strong-minded woman is a mistake among women, so is the gushing -man among men. Fluid, unstable, without curb to govern or rein to -guide, he brings into the masculine world all the mental frailties of -the feminine, and adds to them the force of his own organization as a -man. Whatever he may be he is a disaster; and at all times is -associated with failure. He is the revolutionary leader who gets up -abortive risings--the schemer whose plans run into sand--the poet -whose books are read only by schoolgirls, or lie on the publisher's -shelves uncut, as his gushingness bubbles over into twaddle or exhales -itself in the smoke of obscurity--the fanatic whose faith is more -madness than philosophy--the man of society who is the butt of his -male companions and the terror of his lady acquaintances--the father -of a family which he does his best, unintentionally, to ruin by -neglect, which he calls nature, or by eccentricity of training, which -he calls faith--and the husband of a woman who either worships him in -blind belief, or who laughs at him in secret, as heart or head -preponderates in her character. In any case he is a man who never -finds the fitting time or place; and who dies as he has lived, with -everything about him incomplete. - - - - -_SWEET SEVENTEEN._ - - -A vast amount of poetry has always been thrown round that special time -of a woman's life when, - - Standing with reluctant feet - Where the brook and river meet, - -she is no longer a child and yet not quite a woman--that transition -time between the closed bud and the full-blown flower which we in -England express by the term, among others, of Sweet Seventeen. Without -meaning to be sentimental, or to envelope things in a golden haze -wrought by the imagination only and nowhere to be found in fact, we -cannot deny the peculiar charm which belongs to a girl of this age, if -she is nice, and neither pert nor silly. Besides, it is not only what -she is that interests us, but what she will be; for this is the time -when the character is settling into its permanent form, so that the -great thought of every one connected with her is, How will she turn -out? Into what kind of woman will the girl develop? and, What kind of -life will she make for herself? - -Certainly Sweet Seventeen may be a most unlovely creature, and in -fact she often is; a creature hard and forward, having lost the -innocence and obedience of childhood and having gained nothing yet of -the tact and grace of womanhood; a creature whose hopes and thoughts -are all centred on the time when she shall be brought out and have her -fling of flirting and fine dresses with the rest. Or she may be only a -gauche and giggling schoolgirl, with a mind as narrow as her life, -given up to the small intrigues and scandals of the dormitory and the -playground--a girl who scamps her lessons and cheats her masters; -whose highest efforts of intellect are shown in the cleverness with -which she can break the rules of the establishment without being found -out; who thinks talking at forbidden times, peeping through forbidden -windows, giving silly nicknames to her companions and teachers, and -telling silly secrets with less truth than ingenuity in them, the -greatest fun imaginable, and all the greater because of the spice of -rebellion and perversity with which her folly is dashed. Or she may be -a mere tomboy, regretting her sex and despising its restraints; -cultivating schoolboy slang and aping schoolboy habits; ridiculing her -sisters and disliked by her companions, while thinking girlhood a bore -and womanhood a mistake in exact proportion to its feminality. Or she -may be a budding miss, shy and awkward, with no harm in her and as -little good--a mere sketch of a girl, without a leading line as yet -made out or the dominant colour so much as indicated. - -Sometimes she is awkward in another way, being studious and -preoccupied--when she passes for odd and original, and is partly -feared, partly disliked, and wholly misunderstood by her own young -world; and sometimes she has a cynical contempt for men and beauty and -pleasure and dress, when she will make herself ridiculous by her -revolt against all the canons of good taste and conventionality. But -after her _début_ in tattered garments of severe colours and ungainly -cut, she will probably end her days as a frantic Fashionable, the -salvation of whose soul depends on the faultless propriety of her -wardrobe. The eccentricities of Sweet Seventeen not unfrequently -revenge themselves by an exactly opposite extravagance of maturity. -But though there are enough and to spare of girls according to all -these patterns, the Sweet Seventeen of one's affections is none of -them. And yet she is not always the same, but has her different -presentations, her varying facets, which give her variety of charm and -beauty. - -The best and loveliest thing about Sweet Seventeen is her sense of -duty--for the most part a new sense. She no longer needs to be told -what to do; she has not to be kept to her tasks by the fear of -authority nor the submissive grace of obedience; but of her own free -will, because understanding that it is her duty and that duty is a -holier thing than self-will, she conscientiously does what she does -not like to do, and cheerfully gives up what she desires without being -driven or exhorted. She has generally before her mind some favourite -heroine in a girl's novel, who goes through much painful discipline -and comes out all the brighter for it in the end; and she makes noble -resolves of living as worthily as her model. She comforts her soul -too, with passages from Longfellow and Tennyson and the 'Christian -Year,' and learns long extracts from 'Evangeline' and the 'Idyls;' -poetry having an almost magical influence over her, nearly as powerful -as the Sunday sermons to which she listens so devoutly and tries so -patiently to understand. For the first time she wakes to a dim sense -of her own individuality, and confesses to herself that she has a life -of her own, apart from and extraneous to her mere family membership. -She is not only the sister or the daughter living with and for her -parents or her brothers and sisters, but she is also herself, with a -future of her own not to be shared with them, not to be touched by -them. And she begins to have vague dreams of this future and its -hero--dreams that are as much of fairyland as if they were of the -young prince coming over the sea in a golden boat to find the princess -in a tower of brass waiting for him. - -Quite impersonal, and with a hero only in the clouds, nevertheless -these dreams are suggested by the special circumstances of her life, -by her favourite books or the style of society in which she has been -placed. The young prince is either a beautiful and high-souled -clergyman--not unlike the young vicar or the new curate, but -infinitely more beautiful--an apostle in the standing collar and -single-breasted coat of the nineteenth century; or he is an artist in -a velvet blouse and with flowing hair, living in a world of beauty -such as no Philistine can imagine; or he is a gallant sailor, with -blue eyes and a loose necktie, looking up to heaven in a gale, and -thinking of his mother and sisters at home and of the one still more -beloved, when he certainly ought to be thinking of tarry ropes and -coarse sailcloth; or he is a magnificent young officer heading his men -at a charge, and looking supremely well got up and handsome. This is -the kind of _futur_ she dreams of when she dreams at all, which is not -often. The reality of her mature life is perhaps a stolid square-set -squire, or a prosaic city merchant without the thinnest thread of -romance in his composition; while her own life, which was to be such a -lovely poem of graceful usefulness and heroic beauty, sinks into the -prosaic routine of housekeeping and society, the sigh after the -vanished ideal growing fainter and fainter as the weight of fact grows -heavier. - -Married men are all sacred to Sweet Seventeen when she is a good girl; -so are engaged men. For the matter of that, she believes that nothing -could induce her to marry either a widower or one who had been already -engaged, as nothing could induce her to marry any man under five foot -eleven, or with a snub nose or sandy whiskers. Sweet Seventeen has in -general the most profound aversion for boys. To be sure she may have -her favourites--very few and very seldom; but she mostly thinks them -stupid or conceited, and impartially resents either their awkward -attentions to herself or their assumptions of superiority. An -abnormally clever boy--the Poet-Laureate or George Stephenson of his -generation--is her detestation, because he is odd and unlike every one -else; while the one that she dislikes least among them is the school -hero, who is first in the sports and takes all the prizes, and who -goes through life loved by every one and never famous. - -For her several brothers she has a range of entirely different -feelings. Her younger schoolboy brothers she regards as the torments -of her existence, whose unkempt hair, dirty boots and rude manners are -her special crosses, to be borne with patience, tempered by an active -endeavour after reform. But the more advanced, and those who are older -than herself, are her loves for whom she has an enthusiastic -admiration, and whose future she believes in as something specially -brilliant and successful. If only slightly older or younger than -herself, she impresses them powerfully with the sentiment of her -superiority, and patronizes them--kindly enough; but she makes them -feel the ineffable supremacy of her sex, and how that she by virtue of -her womanhood is a glorified creature beside them--an Ariel to their -Caliban. - -Now too, she begins to speak to her mother on more equal terms; to -criticize her dress, and to make her understand that she considers her -old-fashioned and inclined to be dowdy. She ties her bonnet-strings -for her; arranges her cap; smartens up her old dress and compels her -to buy a new one; and, while considering her immeasurably ancient, -likes her to look nice, and thinks her in her own way beautiful. -Sometimes she opposes and quarrels with her, if the mother has less -tact than arbitrariness. But this is not her natural state; for one of -the characteristics of Sweet Seventeen is her love for her mother and -her need of better counsel and guidance; so that if she comes into -opposition with her it is only through extreme pain, and the bitter -teaching of tyranny and injustice. This is just the age indeed, when -the mother's influence is everything to a girl; and when a silly, an -unjust, or an unprincipled woman is the very ruin of her life. But -with a low or evil-natured mother we seldom see a Sweet Seventeen -worth the trouble of writing about: which shows at least one -thing--the importance of the womanly influence at such a time, and how -so much that we blame in our modern girls lies to the account of their -mothers. - -Great tact is required with Sweet Seventeen in such society as is -allowed her; care to bring her out a little without obtruding her on -the world, without making her forward and consequential, and without -attracting too much attention to her. She is no longer a child to be -shut away in the nursery, but she is not yet entitled to the place and -consideration of a member of society. And yet it would be cruel to -debar her wholly from all that is going on in the house. To be sure -there is the governess, as well as mamma, to look after her manners -and to give her rope enough and not too much; but by the time a girl -is seventeen a governess has ceased to be the autocrat _ex officio_, -and she obeys her or not according to their respective strengths. -Still, the governess or mamma is for the most part at her elbow; and -Sweet Seventeen, if well brought up, is left very little to her own -guidance, and sees the world only through half-opened doors. - -Girls of this age are often wonderfully sad, and full of a kind of -wondering despair at the sin and misery they are beginning to learn. -They take up extreme views in religion and talk largely on the -nothingness of pleasure and the emptiness of the world; and many fair -young creatures whom their elders, laden with sorrowful experience, -think full of hope and joy, are ready to give up all the pleasure of -life, and to lay down life itself, for very disgust of that of which -they know nothing. They delight in sorrowful lamentations and -sentimental regrets put into rhyme; and one of the funniest things in -the world is to see a girl dancing with the merriest in the evening, -and to hear her talking broken-hearted pessimism in the morning. It is -merely an example of the old proverb about the meeting of extremes; -vacuity leading to the same results as experience. - -But however she takes this unknown life, it is always in an unreal and -romantic aspect. Some of more robust mind delight in the bolder -stories of Greece and Rome, and wish they had played a part in the -sensational heroism of those grand old times; while others go to -Venice, and make pictures for themselves out of the gliding gondolas -and the mysterious Council of Ten, the lovely ladies with grim old -fathers and high-handed brothers acting as gaolers, and the handsome -cavaliers serenading them in the moonlight. That is their idea of -love. They have no perception of anything warmer. It is all romance -and poetry, and tender glances from afar, and long and patient wooing -under difficulties and a little danger, with scarce a word spoken, and -nothing more expressive than a flower furtively given, or a fleeting -pressure of the finger tips. They know nothing else and expect nothing -else. Their cherry is without stone, their bird without bone, their -orange without rind, as in the old song; and they imagine a love as -unreal as all the rest. - -When thrown into actualities, though--say when left motherless, and -the eldest girl of perhaps a large family with a father to comfort and -a young brood to see after--Sweet Seventeen is often very beautiful in -her degree, and rises grandly to her position. Sometimes the burden of -her responsibilities is too much for her tender shoulders, and she is -overweighted, and fails. Sometimes too she is tyrannical and selfish -in such a position, and uses her power ill; and sometimes she is -careless and good-humoured, when they all scramble up together, -through confusion, dirt and disorder, till the close time is over, and -they scatter themselves abroad. Sometimes she is a martyr, and makes -herself and every one else uncomfortable by the perpetual -demonstration of her martyrdom, and how she considers herself -sacrificed and put upon. Indeed she is not unfrequently a martyr from -other causes than heavy duties, being fond of adopting unworkable -views which cannot run in the family groove anyhow. If she falls upon -this rock she is in her glory; youth being marvellously proud of -voluntary crucifixion, and thinking itself especially ill-used because -it must be made conformable and is prevented from making itself -ridiculous. - -But Sweet Seventeen is intolerant of all moral differences. What she -holds to be right is the absolute, the one sole and only just law; and -she thinks it tampering with sin to allow that any one else has an -equal right with herself to a contrary opinion. But on the whole she -is a pleasant, loveable interesting creature; and one's greatest -regret about her is that she is so often in the hands of unsuitable -guides, and that her powers and noble impulses get so stunted and -shadowed by the commonplace training which is her general lot, and the -low aims of life which are the only ones held out to her. - - - - -_THE HABIT OF FEAR._ - - -The mind, like the body, contracts tricks and habits which in time -become automatic and involuntary--habits of association, tricks of -repetition, of which the excess is monomania, but which, without -attaining to quite that extreme, become more or less masters of the -brain and directors of the thoughts. And, of all these tricks of the -mind, the habit of fear is the most insidious and persistent. It is -seldom that any one who has once given in to it is able to clear -himself of it again. However unreasonable it may be, the trick clings, -and it would take an exceptionally strong intellect to be convinced of -its folly and learn the courage of common-sense. But this is just the -intellect which does not allow itself to contract the habit in the -beginning; a coward being for the most part a washy, weak kind of -being, with very little backbone anyhow. We do not mean by this fear -that which is physical and personal only, though this is generally the -sole idea which people have of the word; but moral and mental -cowardice as well. Personal fear indeed, is common enough, and as -pitiable as it is common; and we are ashamed to say that it is not -confined to women, though naturally it is more predominant with them -than with men. - -As for women, the tyranny of fear lies very heavy on them, taking the -flavour out of many a life which else would be perfectly happy; being -often the only bitter drop in a cup full of sweetness. But how bitter -that drop is!--bitter enough to destroy all the sweetness of the rest. -Some women live in the perpetual presence of dread, both mental and -personal. It surrounds them like an atmosphere; it clothes them like a -garment; day by day, and from night to morning, it dogs their steps -and sits like a nightmare on their hearts; it is their very root work -of sensation, and they could as soon live without food as live without -fear. - -Ludicrous as many of their terrors are, we still cannot help pitying -these poor self-made martyrs of imaginary danger. Take that most -familiar of all forms of fear among women, the fear of burglars, and -let us imagine for a moment the horror of the life which is haunted by -a nightly dread--by a terror that comes with as unfailing regularity -as the darkness--and measure, if we can, the amount of anguish that -must be endured before death comes to take off the torture. There are -many women to whom night is simply this time of torture, never -varying, never relieved. They dare not lock their doors, because then -they would be at the mercy of the man who sooner or later is to come -in at the window; and if they hear the boards creak or the furniture -crack they are in agonies because of the man who they are sure is in -the house, and who will come in at the door. They cannot sleep if they -have not looked all about the room--under the bed, behind the -curtains, into the closet, where perhaps a dress hanging a little -fantastically gives them a nervous start that lasts for the night. - -But though they search so diligently they would probably faint on the -spot if they so much as saw the heels of the housebreaker they are -looking for. Yet you cannot reason with these poor creatures. You -cannot deny the fact that burglars have been found before now secreted -in bedrooms; and you cannot pooh-pooh the murders and housebreakings -which are reported in the newspapers; so you have nothing to say to -their argument that things which have happened once may happen again, -and that there is no reason why they specially should be exempt from a -misfortune to which others have been subjected. But you feel that -their terrors are just so much pith and substance taken out of their -strength; and that if they could banish the fear of burglars from -their minds they would be so much the more valuable members of -society, while the exorcism of their dismal demon would be so much the -better for themselves. - -It is the same in everything. If they are living in the country, and -go up to London lodgings, they take the ground floor for fear of fire -and being burnt alive in their beds. If they go from London to the -country they see an escaped convict or a murderer in every ragged -reaper asking for work, or every tramp that begs for broken victuals -at the door. The country to them is full of dangers. In the shooting -season they are sure they will be shot if they go near a wood or a -turnip-field. They think they will be gored to death if they meet a -meek-eyed cow going placidly through the lane to her milking; and you -might as well try to march them up to the cannon's mouth as induce -them to cross a field where cattle are grazing. If they are driving, -and the horses are going at full trot, they say they are running away -and clutch the driver's arm nervously. As travellers they are in a -state of not wholly unreasonable apprehension the whole time the -railway journey lasts. They wait at Folkestone for days for a smooth -crossing; and when they are on board they call a breeze a gale, and -make sure they are bound for the bottom if the sea chops enough to -rock the boat so much as a cradle. If they go over a Swiss pass they -say their prayers and shut their eyes till it is over; and they are -horribly afraid of banditti on every foot of Italian ground, besides -firmly believing in the complicity with brigands of all the innkeepers -and _vetturini_. - -Their fear extends to all who belong to them, for whom they conjure up -scenes of deadly disaster so soon as they are out of sight. Their -fancy is faceted, like the eyes of a fly, and they worry themselves -and every one else by exaggerating every chance of danger into a -certainty of destruction. When an epidemic is abroad, they are sure -all the children will take it; and if they have taken it, they are -sure they will never get over it. In illness indeed, those people who -have allowed themselves to fall into the habit of fear are especially -full of foreboding; not because they are more loving, more sympathetic -than others, but because they are more timid and less hopeful. If you -believe them, no one will recover who is in any way seriously -attacked; and the smallest ailment in themselves or their friends is -the sure forerunner of a mortal sickness. They make no allowance for -the elastic power of human nature; and they dislike hope and courage -in others, thinking you unfeeling in exact proportion to your -cheerfulness. - -Morally this same habit of fear deteriorates, because it weakens and -narrows, the whole nature. So far from following Luther's famous -advice--Sin boldly and leave the rest to God--their sin is their very -fear, their unconquerable distrust. These are the people who regard -our affections as snares and all forms of pleasure as so many waymarks -on the road to perdition--who would narrow the circle of human life to -the smallest point both of feeling and action, because of the sin in -which, according to them, the whole world is steeped. They see guilt -everywhere, but innocence not at all. Their minds are set to the trick -of terror; and fear of the power of the devil and the anger of God -weighs on them like an iron chain from which there is no release. -This is not so much from delicacy of conscience as from simple moral -cowardice; for you seldom find these very timid people lofty-minded or -capable of any great act of heroism. On the contrary, they are -generally peevish and always selfish; self-consideration being the -tap-root of their fears, though the cause is assigned to all sorts of -pretty things, such as acute sensibilities, keen imagination, bad -health, tender conscience, delicate nerves--to anything in fact but -the real cause, a cowardly habit of fear produced by continual moral -selfishness, by incessant thought of and regard for themselves. - -Nothing is so depressing as the society of a timid person, and nothing -is so infectious as fear. Live with any one given up to an eternal -dread of possible dangers and disasters, and you can scarcely escape -the contagion, nor, however brave you may be, maintain your -cheerfulness and faculty of faith. Indeed, as timid folks crave for -sympathy in their terrors--that very craving being part of their -malady of fear--you cannot show them a cheerful countenance under pain -of offence, and seeming to be brutal in your disregard of what so -tortures them. Their fears may be simply absurd and irrational, yet -you must sympathize with them if you wish even to soothe; argument or -common-sense demonstration of their futility being so much mental -ingenuity thrown away. - -Fear breeds suspicion too, and timid people are always suspecting ill -of some one. The deepest old diplomatist who has probed the folly and -evil of the world from end to end, and who has sharpened his wits at -the expense of his trust, is not more full of suspicion of his kind -than a timid, superstitious, world-withdrawn man or woman given up to -the tyranny of fear. Every one is suspected more or less, but chiefly -lawyers, servants and all strangers. Any demonstration of kindness or -interest at all different from the ordinary jogtrot of society fills -them with undefined suspicion and dread; and, fear being in some -degree the product of a diseased imagination, the 'probable' causes -for anything they do not quite understand would make the fortune of a -novel-writer if given him for plots. If any one wants to hear -thrilling romances in course of actual enactment, let him go down -among remote and quiet-living country people, and listen to what they -have to say of the chance strangers who may have established -themselves in the neighbourhood, and who, having brought no letters of -introduction, are not known by the aborigines. The Newgate Calendar or -Dumas' novels would scarcely match the stories which fear and -ignorance have set afoot. - -Fearful folk are always on the brink of ruin. They cannot wait to see -how things will turn before they despair; and they cannot hope for the -best in a bad pass. They are engulfed in abysses which never open, and -they die a thousand deaths before the supreme moment actually arrives. -The smallest difficulties are to them like the straws placed -crosswise over which no witch could pass; the beneficent action of -time, either as a healer of sorrow or a revealer of hidden mercies, is -a word of comfort they cannot accept for themselves, how true soever -it may be for others; the doctrine that chances are equal for good as -well as for bad is what they will not understand; and they know of no -power that can avert the disaster, which perhaps is simply a -possibility not even probable, and which their own fears only have -arranged. If they are professional men, having to make their way, they -are for ever anticipating failure for to-day and absolute destruction -for to-morrow; and they bemoan the fate of the wife and children sure -to be left to poverty by their untimely decease, when the chances are -ten to one in favour of the apportioned threescore and ten years. Life -is a place of suffering here and a place of torment hereafter; yet -they often wish to die, reversing Hamlet's decision by thinking the -mystery of unknown ills preferable to the reality of those they have -on hand. - -Over such minds as these the vaticinations of such a prophet as Dr. -Cumming have peculiar power; and they accept his gloomy -interpretations of the Apocalypse with a faith as unquestioning as -that with which they accept the Gospels. They have a predilection -indeed for all terrifying prophecies, and cast the horoscope of the -earth and foretell the destruction of the universe with marvellous -exactitude. Their minds are set to the trick of foreboding, and they -live in the habit of fear, as others live in the habit of hope, of -resignation, or of careless good-humour and indifference. There is -nothing to be done with them. Like drinking, or palsy, or a nervous -headache, or a congenital deformity, the habit is hopeless when once -established; and those who have begun by fear and suspicion and -foreboding will live to the end in the atmosphere they have created -for themselves. The man or woman whose mind is once haunted by the -nightly fear of a secreted burglar will go on looking for his heels so -long as eyesight and the power of locomotion continue; and no failure -in past Apocalyptic interpretations will shake the believer's faith in -those of which the time for fulfilment has not yet arrived. It is a -trick which has rooted, a habit that has crystallized by use into a -formation; and there it must be left, as something beyond the power of -reason to remedy or of experience to destroy. - - - - -_OLD LADIES._ - - -The world is notoriously unjust to its veterans, and above all it is -unjust to its ancient females. Everywhere, and from all time, an old -woman has been taken to express the last stage of uselessness and -exhaustion; and while a meeting of bearded dotards goes by the name of -a council of sages, and its deliberations are respected accordingly, a -congregation of grey-haired matrons is nothing but a congregation of -old women, whose thoughts and opinions on any subject whatsoever have -no more value than the chattering of so many magpies. In fact the poor -old ladies have a hard time of it; and if we look at it in its right -light, perhaps nothing proves more thoroughly the coarse flavour of -the world's esteem respecting women than this disdain which they -excite when they are old. And yet what charming old ladies one has -known at times!--women quite as charming in their own way at seventy -as their grand-daughters are at seventeen, and all the more so because -they have no design now to be charming, because they have given up the -attempt to please for the reaction of praise, and long since have -consented to become old though they have never drifted into -unpersonableness nor neglect. While retaining the intellectual -vivacity and active sympathies of maturity, they have added the -softness, the mellowness, the tempering got only from experience and -advancing age. They are women who have seen and known and read a great -deal; and who have suffered much; but whose sorrows have neither -hardened nor soured them--but rather have made them even more -sympathetic with the sorrows of others, and pitiful for all the young. -They have lived through and lived down all their own trials, and have -come out into peace on the other side; but they remember the trials of -the fiery passage, and they feel for those who have still to bear the -pressure of the pain they have overcome. These are not women much met -with in society; they are of the kind which mostly stays at home and -lets the world come to them. They have done with the hurry and glitter -of life, and they no longer care to carry their grey hairs abroad. -They retain their hold on the affections of their kind; they take an -interest in the history, the science, the progress of the day; but -they rest tranquil and content by their own fireside, and they sit to -receive, and do not go out to gather. - -The fashionable old lady who haunts the theatres and drawing-rooms, -bewigged, befrizzled, painted, ghastly in her vain attempts to appear -young, hideous in her frenzied clutch at the pleasures melting from -her grasp, desperate in her wild hold on a life that is passing away -from her so rapidly, knows nothing of the quiet dignity and happiness -of her ancient sister who has been wise enough to renounce before she -lost. In her own house, where gather a small knot of men of mind and -women of character, where the young bring their perplexities and the -mature their deeper thoughts, the dear old lady of ripe experience, -loving sympathies and cultivated intellect holds a better court than -is known to any of those miserable old creatures who prowl about the -gay places of the world, and wrestle with the young for their crowns -and garlands--those wretched simulacra of womanhood who will not grow -old and who cannot become wise. She is the best kind of old lady -extant, answering to the matron of classic times--to the Mother in -Israel before whom the tribes made obeisance in token of respect; the -woman whose book of life has been well studied and closely read, and -kept clean in all its pages. She has been no prude however, and no -mere idealist. She must have been wife, mother and widow; that is, she -must have known many things of joy and grief and have had the -fountains of life unsealed. However wise and good she may be, as a -spinster she has had only half a life; and it is the best half which -has been denied her. How can she tell others, when they come to her in -their troubles, how time and a healthy will have wrought with her, if -she has never passed through the same circumstances? Theoretic comfort -is all very well, but one word of experience goes beyond volumes of -counsel based on general principles and a lively imagination. - -One type of old lady, growing yearly scarcer, is the old lady whose -religious and political theories are based on the doctrines of -Voltaire and Paine's _Rights of Man_--the old lady who remembers Hunt -and Thistlewood and the Birmingham riots; who talks of the French -Revolution as if it were yesterday; and who has heard so often of the -Porteus mob from poor papa that one would think she had assisted at -the hanging herself. She is an infinitely old woman, for the most part -birdlike, chirrupy, and wonderfully alive. She has never gone beyond -her early teaching, but is a fossil radical of the old school; and she -thinks the Gods departed when Hunt and his set died out. She is an -irreligious old creature, and scoffs with more cleverness than grace -at everything new or earnest. She would as lief see Romanism rampant -at once as this newfangled mummery they call Ritualism; and Romanism -is her version of the unchaining of Satan. As for science--well, it is -all very wonderful, but more wonderful she thinks than true; and she -cannot quite make up her mind about the spectroscope or protoplasm. Of -the two, protoplasm commends itself most to her imagination, for -private reasons of her own connected with the Pentateuch; but these -things are not so much in her way as Voltaire and Diderot, Volney and -Tom Paine, and she is content to abide by her ancient cairns and to -leave the leaping-poles of science to younger and stronger hands. -This type of old lady is for the most part an ancient spinster, whose -life has worn itself away in the arid deserts of mental doubt and -emotional negation. If she ever loved it was in secret, some -thin-lipped embodied Idea long years ago. Most likely she did not get -even to this unsatisfactory length, but contented herself with books -and discussions only. If she had ever honestly loved and been loved, -perhaps she would have gone beyond Voltaire, and have learned -something truer than a scoff. - -The old lady of strong instinctive affections, who never reflects and -never attempts to restrain her kindly weaknesses, stands at the other -end of the scale. She is the grandmother _par excellence_, and spends -her life in spoiling the little ones, cramming them with sugar-plums -and rich cake whenever she has the chance, and nullifying mamma's -punishments by surreptitious gifts and goodies. She is the dearly -beloved of our childish recollections; and to the last days of our -life we cherish the remembrance of the kind old lady with her beaming -smile, taking out of her large black reticule, or the more mysterious -recesses of her unfathomable pocket, wonderful little screws of paper -which her withered hands thrust into our chubby fists; but we can -understand now what an awful nuisance she must have been to the -authorities, and how impossible she made it to preserve anything like -discipline and the terrors of domestic law in the family. - -The old lady who remains a mere child to the end; who looks very much -like a faded old wax doll with her scanty hair blown out into -transparent ringlets, and her jaunty cap bedecked with flowers and -gay-coloured bows; who cannot rise into the dignity of true -womanliness; who knows nothing useful; can give no wise advice: has no -sentiment of protection, but on the contrary demands all sorts of care -and protection for herself--she, simpering and giggling as if she were -fifteen, is by no means an old lady of the finest type. But she is -better than the leering old lady who says coarse things, and who, like -Béranger's immortal creation, passes her time in regretting her plump -arms and her well-turned ankle and the lost time that can never be -recalled, and who is altogether a most unedifying old person and by no -means nice company for the young. - -Then there is the irascible old lady, who rates her servants and is -free with full-flavoured epithets against sluts in general; who is -like a tigress over her last unmarried daughter, and, when crippled -and disabled, still insists on keeping the keys, which she delivers up -when wanted only with a snarl and a suspicious caution. She has been -one of the race of active housekeepers, and has prided herself on her -exceptional ability that way for so long that she cannot bear to -yield, even when she can no longer do any good; so she sits in her -easy chair, like old Pope and Pagan in _Pilgrim's Progress_, and gnaws -her fingers at the younger world which passes her by. She is an -infliction to her daughter for all the years of her life, and to the -last keeps her in leading-strings, tied up as tight as the sinewy old -hands can knot them; treating her always as an irresponsible young -thing who needs both guidance and control, though the girl has passed -into the middle-aged woman by now, shuffling through life a poor -spiritless creature who has faded before she has fully blossomed, and -who dies like a fruit that has dropped from the tree before it has -ripened. - -Twin sister to this kind is the grim female become ancient; the gaunt -old lady with a stiff backbone, who sits upright and walks with a firm -tread like a man; a leathery old lady, who despises all your weak -slips of girls that have nerves and headaches and cannot walk their -paltry mile without fatigue; a desiccated old lady, large-boned and -lean, without an ounce of superfluous fat about her, with keen eyes -yet, with which she boasts that she can thread a needle and read small -print by candlelight; an indestructible old lady, who looks as if -nothing short of an earthquake would put an end to her. The friend of -her youth is now a stout, soft, helpless old lady, much bedraped in -woollen shawls, given to frequent sippings of brandy and water, and -ensconced in the chimney corner like a huge clay figure set to dry. -For her the indestructible old lady has the supremest contempt, -heightened in intensity by a vivid remembrance of the time when they -were friends and rivals. Ah, poor Laura, she says, straightening -herself; she was always a poor creature, and see what she is now! To -those who wait long enough the wheel always comes round, she thinks; -and the days when Laura bore away the bell from her for grace and -sweetness and loveableness generally are avenged now, when the one is -a mere mollusc and the other has a serviceable backbone that will last -for many a year yet. - -Then there is the musical old lady, who is fond of playing small -anonymous pieces of a jiggy character full of queer turns and shakes, -music that seems all written in demi-semi-quavers, and that she gives -in a tripping, catching way, as if the keys of the piano were hot. -Sometimes she will sing, as a great favour, old-world songs which are -almost pathetic for the thin and broken voice that chirrups out the -sentiment with which they abound; and sometimes, as a still greater -favour, she will stand up in the dance, and do the poor uncertain -ghosts of what were once steps, in the days when dancing was dancing -and not the graceless lounge it is now. But her dancing-days are over, -she says, after half-a-dozen turns; though, indeed, sometimes she -takes a frisky fit and goes in for the whole quadrille:--and pays for -it the next day. - -The very dress of old ladies is in itself a study and a revelation of -character. There are the beautiful old women who make themselves like -old pictures by a profusion of soft lace and tender greys; and the -stately old ladies who affect rich rustling silks and sombre velvet; -and there are the original and individual old ladies, who dress -themselves after their own kind, like Mrs. Basil Montagu, Miss Jane -Porter, and dear Mrs. Duncan Stewart, and have a _cachet_ of their own -with which fashion has nothing to do. And there are the old women who -wear rusty black stuffs and ugly helmet-like caps; and those who -affect uniformity and going with the stream, when the fashion has -become national--and these have been much exercised of late with the -strait skirts and the new bonnets. But Providence is liberal and -milliners are fertile in resources. In fact, in this as in all other -sections of humanity, there are those who are beautiful and wise, and -those who are foolish and unlovely; those who make the best of things -as they are, and those who make the worst, by treating them as what -they are not; those who extract honey, and those who find only poison. -For in old age, as in youth, are to be found beauty, use, grace and -value, but in different aspects and on another platform. And the folly -is when this difference is not allowed for, or when the possibility of -these graces is denied and their utility ignored. - - - - -_VOICES._ - - -Far before the eyes or the mouth or the habitual gesture, as a -revelation of character, is the quality of the voice and the manner of -using it. It is the first thing that strikes us in a new acquaintance, -and it is one of the most unerring tests of breeding and education. -There are voices which have a certain truthful ring about them--a -certain something, unforced and spontaneous, that no training can -give. Training can do much in the way of making a voice, but it can -never compass more than a bad imitation of this quality; for the very -fact of its being an imitation, however accurate, betrays itself like -rouge on a woman's cheeks, or a wig, or dyed hair. On the other hand, -there are voices which have the jar of falsehood in every tone, and -which are as full of warning as the croak of the raven or the hiss of -the serpent. These are in general the naturally hard voices which make -themselves caressing, thinking by that to appear sympathetic; but the -fundamental quality strikes up through the overlay, and a person must -be very dull indeed who cannot detect the pretence in that slow, -drawling, would-be affectionate voice, with its harsh undertone and -sharp accent whenever it forgets itself. - -But without being false or hypocritical, there are voices which puzzle -as well as disappoint us, because so entirely inharmonious with the -appearance of the speaker. For instance, there is that thin treble -squeak which we sometimes hear from the mouth of a well-grown portly -man, when we expected the fine rolling utterance which would have been -in unison with his outward seeming. And, on the other side of the -scale, where we looked for a shrill head-voice or a tender musical -cadence, we get that hoarse chest-voice with which young and pretty -girls sometimes startle us. This voice is in fact one of the -characteristics of the modern girl of a certain type; just as the -habitual use of slang is characteristic of her, or that peculiar -rounding of the elbows and turning out of the wrists--which gestures, -like the chest-voice, instinctively belong to men only and have to be -learned before they can be practised by women. - -Nothing betrays feeling so much as the voice, save perhaps the eyes; -and these can be lowered, and so far their expression hidden. In -moments of emotion no skill can hide the fact of disturbed feeling by -the voice; though a strong will and the habit of self-control can -steady it when else it would be failing and tremulous. But not the -strongest will, nor the largest amount of self-control, can keep it -natural as well as steady. It is deadened, veiled, compressed, like a -wild creature tightly bound and unnaturally still. One feels that it -is done by an effort, and that if the strain were relaxed for a moment -the wild creature would burst loose in rage or despair--and that the -voice would break into the scream of passion or quiver down into the -falter of pathos. And this very effort is as eloquent as if there had -been no holding down at all, and the voice had been left to its own -impulse unchecked. - -Again, in fun and humour, is it not the voice even more than the face -that is expressive? The twinkle of the eye, the hollow in the under -lip, the dimples about the mouth, the play of the eyebrow, are all -aids certainly; but the voice! The mellow tone that comes into the -utterance of one man; the surprised accents of another; the fatuous -simplicity of a third; the philosophical acquiescence of a fourth when -relating the most outrageous impossibilities--a voice and manner -peculiarly Transatlantic, and indeed one of the American forms of -fun--do we not know all these varieties by heart? have we not veteran -actors whose main point lies in one or other of these varieties? and -what would be the drollest anecdote if told in a voice which had -neither play nor significance? Pathos too--who feels it, however -beautifully expressed so far as words may go, if uttered in a dead and -wooden voice without sympathy? But the poorest attempts at pathos will -strike home to the heart if given tenderly and harmoniously. And just -as certain popular airs of mean association can be made into church -music by slow time and stately modulation, so can dead-level -literature be lifted into passion or softened into sentiment by the -voice alone. - -We all know the effect, irritating or soothing, which certain voices -have over us; and we have all experienced that strange impulse of -attraction or repulsion which comes from the sound of the voice alone. -And generally, if not absolutely always, the impulse is a true one, -and any modification which increased knowledge may produce is never -quite satisfactory. Certain voices grate on our nerves and set our -teeth on edge; and others are just as calming as these are irritating, -quieting us like a composing draught, and setting vague images of -beauty and pleasantness afloat in our brains. - -A good voice, calm in tone and musical in quality, is one of the -essentials for a physician--the 'bedside voice' which is nothing if -not sympathetic by constitution. Not false, not made up, not sickly, -but tender in itself, of a rather low pitch, well modulated and -distinctly harmonious in its notes, it is the very opposite of the -orator's voice, which is artificial in its management and a made -voice. Whatever its original quality may be, the orator's voice bears -the unmistakeable stamp of art and is artificial. It may be admirable; -telling in a crowd; impressive in an address; but it is overwhelming -and chilling at home, partly because it is always conscious and never -self-forgetting. - -An orator's voice, with its careful intonation and accurate accent, -would be as much out of place by a sick-bed as Court trains and -brocaded silk for the nurse. There are certain men who do a good deal -by a hearty, jovial, fox-hunting kind of voice--a voice a little -thrown up for all that it is a chest-voice--a voice with a certain -undefined rollick and devil-may-care sound in it, and eloquent of a -large volume of vitality and physical health. That, too, is a good -property for a medical man. It gives the sick a certain fillip, and -reminds them pleasantly of health and vigour. It may have a mesmeric -kind of effect upon them--who knows?--so that it induces in them -something of its own state, provided it be not overpowering. But a -voice of this kind has a tendency to become insolent in its assertion -of vigour, swaggering and boisterous; and then it is too much for -invalided nerves, just as mountain-winds or sea-breezes would be too -much, and the scent of flowers or of a hayfield oppressive. - -The clerical voice again, is a class-voice--that neat, careful, -precise voice, neither wholly made nor yet natural--that voice which -never strikes one as hearty nor as having a really genuine utterance, -but which is not entirely unpleasant if one does not require too much -spontaneity. The clerical voice, with its mixture of familiarity and -oratory as that of one used to talk to old women in private and to -hold forth to a congregation in public, is as distinct in its own way -as the mathematician's handwriting; and any one can pick out blindfold -his man from a knot of talkers, without waiting to see the square-cut -collar and close white tie. The legal voice is different again; but -this is rather a variety of the orator's than a distinct species--a -variety standing midway between that and the clerical, and affording -more scope than either. - -The voice is much more indicative of the state of the mind than many -people know of or allow. One of the first symptoms of failing brain -power is in the indistinct or confused utterance; no idiot has a clear -nor melodious voice; the harsh scream of mania is proverbial; and no -person of prompt and decisive thought was ever known to hesitate nor -to stutter. A thick, loose, fluffy voice too, does not belong to the -crisp character of mind which does the best active work; and when we -meet with a keen-witted man who drawls, and lets his words drip -instead of bringing them out in the sharp incisive way that should be -natural to him, we may be sure there is a flaw somewhere, and that he -is not 'clear grit' all through. - -We all have our company voices, as we all have our company manners; -and, after a time, we get to know the company voices of our friends, -and to understand them as we understand their best dresses and state -service. The person whose voice absolutely refuses to put itself into -company tone startles us as much as if he came to a state dinner in a -shooting-jacket. This is a different thing from the insincere and -flattering voice, which is never laid aside while it has its object to -gain, and which affects to be one thing when it means another. The -company voice is only a little bit of finery, quite in its place if -not carried into the home, where however, silly men and women think -they can impose on their house-mates by assumptions which cannot stand -the test of domestic ease. The lover's voice is of course _sui -generis_; but there is another kind of voice which one sometimes hears -that is quite as enchanting--the rich, full, melodious voice which -irresistibly suggests sunshine and flowers, and heavy bunches of -purple grapes, and a wealth of physical beauty at all four corners. -Such a voice is Alboni's; such a voice we can conceive Anacreon's to -have been; with less lusciousness and more stateliness, such a voice -was Walter Savage Landor's. His was not an English voice; it was too -rich and accurate; yet it was clear and apparently thoroughly -unstudied, and was the very perfection of art. There was no greater -treat of its kind than to hear Landor read Milton or Homer. - -Though one of the essentials of a good voice is its clearness, there -are certain lisps and catches which are pretty, though never -dignified; but most of them are painful to the ear. It is the same -with accents. A dash of brogue; the faintest suspicion of the Scotch -twang; even a little American accent--but very little, like red-pepper -to be sparingly used, as indeed we may say with the others--gives a -certain piquancy to the voice. So does a Continental accent generally; -few of us being able to distinguish the French accent from the German, -the Polish from the Italian, or the Russian from the Spanish, but -lumping them all together as 'a foreign accent' broadly. Of all the -European voices the French is perhaps the most unpleasant in its -quality, and the Italian the most delightful. The Italian voice is a -song in itself; not the sing-song voice of an English parish -schoolboy, but an unnoted bit of harmony. The French voice is thin, -apt to become wiry and metallic; a head-voice for the most part, and -eminently unsympathetic; a nervous, irritable voice, that seems more -fit for complaint than for love-making; and yet how laughing, how -bewitching it can make itself!--never with the Italian roundness, but -_câlinante_ in its own half-pettish way, provoking, enticing, -arousing. There are some voices which send you to sleep and others -which stir you up; and the French voice is of the latter kind when -setting itself to do mischief and work its own will. - -Of all the differences lying between Calais and Dover, perhaps nothing -strikes the traveller more than the difference in the national voice -and manner of speech. The sharp, high-pitched, stridulous voice of the -French, with its clear accent and neat intonation, is exchanged for -the loose, fluffy utterance of England, where clear enunciation is -considered pedantic; where brave men cultivate a drawl and pretty -women a deep chest-voice; where well-educated people think it no shame -to run all their words into each other, and to let consonants and -vowels drip out like so many drops of water, with not much more -distinction between them; and where no one knows how to educate his -organ artistically, without going into artificiality and affectation. -And yet the cultivation of the voice is an art, and ought to be made -as much a matter of education as a good carriage or a legible -handwriting. We teach our children to sing, but we never teach them to -speak, beyond correcting a glaring piece of mispronunciation or so. In -consequence of which we have all sorts of odd voices among us--short -yelping voices like dogs; purring voices like cats; croakings and -lispings and quackings and chatterings; a very menagerie in fact, to -be heard in a room ten feet square, where a little rational -cultivation would have reduced the whole of that vocal chaos to order -and harmony, and would have made what is now painful and distasteful -beautiful and seductive. - - - - -_BURNT FINGERS._ - - -An old proverb says that a burnt child dreads the fire. If so, the -child must be uncommonly astute, and with a power of reasoning by -analogy in excess of impulsive desire rarely found either in children -or adults. As a matter of fact, experience goes a very little way -towards directing folks wisely. People often say how much they would -like to live their lives over again with their present experience. -That means, they would avoid certain specific mistakes of the past, of -which they have seen and suffered from the issue. But if they retained -the same nature as now, though they might avoid a few special -blunders, they would fall into the same class of errors quite as -readily as before, the gravitation of character towards circumstance -being always absolute in its direction. - -Our blunders in life are not due to ignorance so much as to -temperament; and only the exceptionally wise among us learn to correct -the excesses of temperament by the lessons of experience. To the mass -of mankind these lessons are for the time only, and prophesy nothing -of the future. They hold them to have been mistakes of method, not of -principle, and they think that the same lines more carefully laid -would lead to a better superstructure in the future, not seeing that -the fault was organic and in those very initial lines themselves. No -impulsive nor wildly hopeful person, for instance, ever learns by -experience, so long as his physical condition remains the same. No one -with a large faculty of faith--that is, credulous and easily imposed -on--becomes suspicious or critical by mere experience. How much soever -people of this kind have been taken in, in times past, they are just -as ready to become the prey of the spoiler in times to come; and it -would be sad, if it were not so silly, to watch how inevitably one -half of the world gives itself up as food whereon the roguery of the -other half may wax fat. - -The person of facile confidence, whose secrets have been blazed abroad -more than once by trusted friends, makes yet another and another safe -confidant--quite safe this time; one of whose fidelity there is no -doubt--and learns when too late that one _panier percé_ is very like -another _panier percé_. The speculating man, without business faculty -or knowledge, who has burnt his fingers bare to the bone with handling -scrip and stock, thrusts them into the fire again so soon as he has -the chance. The gambler blows his fingers just cool enough to shuffle -the cards for this once only, sure that this time hope will tell no -flattering tale, that ravelled ends will knit themselves up into a -close and seemly garment, and heaven itself work a miracle in his -favour against the law of mathematical certainty. In fact we are all -gamblers in this way, and play our hazards for the stakes of faith and -hope. We all burn our fingers again and again at some fire or another; -but experience teaches us nothing; save perhaps a more hopeless, -helpless resignation towards that confounded ill-luck of ours, and a -weary feeling of having known it all before when things fall out amiss -and we are blistered in the old flames. - -In great matters this persistency of endeavour is sublime, and gets a -wealth of laurel crowns and blue ribands; but in little things it is -obstinacy, want of ability to profit by experience, denseness of -perception as to what can and what cannot be done; and the apologue of -Bruce's spider gets tiresome if too often repeated. The most -hopelessly inapt people at learning why they burnt their fingers last -time, and how they will burn them again, are those who, whatever their -profession, are blessed or cursed with what is called the artistic -temperament. A man will ruin himself for love of a particular place; -for dislike of a certain kind of necessary work; for the prosecution -of a certain hobby. Is he not artistic? and must he not have all the -conditions of his life exactly square with his desires? else how can -he do good work? So he goes on burning his fingers through -self-indulgence, and persists in his unwisdom to the end of his life. -He will paint his unsaleable pictures or write his unreadable books; -his path is one in which the money-paying public will not follow; but -though his very existence depends on the following of that paying -public, he will not stir an inch to meet it, but keeps where he is -because he likes the particular run of his hedgerows; and spends his -days in thrusting his hand into the fire of what he chooses to call -the ideal, and his nights in abusing the Philistinism of the world -which lets him be burnt. - -And what does any amount of experience do for us in the matter of -friendship or love? As the world goes round, and our credulous morning -darkens into a more sceptical twilight, we believe as a general -principle--a mere abstraction--that all new friends are just so much -gilt gingerbread; and that a very little close holding and hard -rubbing brings off the gilt, and leaves nothing but a slimy, sticky -mess of little worth as food and of none as ornament. And yet, if of -the kind to whom friendship is necessary for happiness, we rush as -eagerly into the new affection as if we had never philosophized on the -emptiness of the old, and believe as firmly in the solid gold of our -latest cake as if we had never smeared our hands with one of the same -pattern before. So with love. A man sees his comrades fluttering like -enchanted moths about some stately man-slayer, some fair and shining -light set like a false beacon on a dangerous cliff to lure men to -their destruction. He sees how they singe and burn in the flame of her -beauty, but he is not warned. If one's own experience teaches one -little or nothing, the experience of others goes for even less, and no -man yet was ever warned off the destructive fire of love because his -companions had burnt their fingers there before him and his own are -sure to follow. - -It is the same with women; and in a greater degree. They know all -about Don Juan well enough. They are perfectly well aware how he -treated A. and B. and C. and D. But when it comes to their own turn, -they think that this time surely, and to them, things will be -different and he will be in earnest. So they slide down into the -alluring flame, and burn their fingers for life by playing with -forbidden fire. But have we not all the secret belief that we shall -escape the snares and pitfalls into which others have dropped and -among which we choose to walk? that fire will not burn our fingers, at -least so very badly, when we thrust them into it? and that, by some -legerdemain of Providence, we shall be delivered from the consequences -of our own folly, and that two and two may be made to count five in -our behalf? Who is taught by the experience of an unhappy marriage, -say? No sooner has a man got himself free from the pressure of one -chain and bullet, than he hastens to fasten on another, quite sure -that this chain will be no heavier than the daintiest little thread of -gold, and this bullet as light and sweet as a cowslip-ball. Everything -that had gone wrong before will come right this time; and the hot bars -of close association with an uncomfortable temper and unaccommodating -habits will be only like a juggling trick, and will burn no one's -heart or hands. - -People too, who burn their fingers in giving good advice unasked, -seldom learn to hold them back. With an honest intention, and a strong -desire to see right done, it is difficult to avoid putting our hands -into fires with which we have no business. While we are young and -ardent, it seems to us as if we have distinct business with all fraud, -injustice, folly, wilfulness, which we believe a few honest words of -ours will control and annul; but nine times out of ten we only burn -our own hands, while we do not in the least strengthen those of the -right nor weaken those of the wrong. We may say the same of -good-natured people. There was never a row of chestnuts roasting at -the fire for which your good-natured oaf will not stretch out his hand -at the bidding and for the advantage of a friend. Experience teaches -the poor oaf nothing; not even that fire burns. To put his name at the -back of a bill, just as a mere form; to lend his money, just for a few -days; or to do any other sort of self-immolating folly, on the -faithful promise that the fire will not burn nor the knife cut--it all -comes as easy to men of the good-natured sort as their alphabet. -Indeed it is their alphabet, out of which they spell their own ruin; -but so long as the impressionable temperament lasts--so long as the -liking to do a good-natured action is greater than caution, suspicion, -or the power of analogical reasoning--so long will the oaf make -himself the catspaw of the knave, till at last he has left himself no -fingers wherewith to pluck out the chestnuts for himself or another. - -The first doubt of young people is always a source of intense -suffering. Hitherto they have believed what they saw and all they -heard; and they have not troubled themselves with motives nor facts -beyond those given to them and lying on the surface. But when they -find out for themselves that seeming is not necessarily being, and -that all people are not as good throughout as they thought them, then -they suffer a moral shock which often leads them into a state of -practical atheism and despair. Many young people give up altogether -when they first open the book of humanity and begin to read beyond the -title-page; and, because they have found specks in the cleanest parts, -they believe that nothing is left pure. They are as much bewildered as -horror-struck, and cannot understand how any one they have loved and -respected should have done this or that misdeed. Having done it, there -is nothing left to love nor respect further. It is only by degrees -that they learn to adjust and apportion, and to understand that the -whole creature is not necessarily corrupt because there are a few -unhealthy places here and there. But in the beginning this first -scorching by the fire of experience is very painful and bad to bear. -Then they begin to think the knowledge of the world, as got from -books, so wonderful, so profound; and they look on it as a science to -be learned by much studying of aphorisms. They little know that not -the most affluent amount of phrase knowledge can ever regulate that -class of action which springs from a man's inherent disposition; and -that it is not facts which teach but self-control which prevents. - -After very early youth we all have enough theoretical knowledge to -keep us straight; but theoretical knowledge does nothing without -self-knowledge, or its corollary, self-control. The world has never -yet got beyond the wisdom of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes; and Solomon's -advice to the Israelitish youth lounging round the gates of the Temple -is quite as applicable to young Hopeful coming up to London chambers -as it was to them. Teaching of any kind, by books or events, is the -mere brute weapon; but self-control is the intelligent hand to wield -it. To burn one's fingers once in a lifetime tells nothing against a -man's common-sense nor dignity; but to go on burning them is the act -of a fool, and we cannot pity the wounds, however sore they may be. -The Arcadian virtues of unlimited trust and hope and love are very -sweet and lovely; but they are the graces of childhood, not the -qualities of manhood. They are charming little finalities, which do -not admit of modification nor of expansion; and in a naughty world, to -go about with one's heart on one's sleeve, believing every one and -accepting everything to be just as it presents itself, is offering -bowls of milk to tigers, and meeting armed men with a tin sword. Such -universal trust can only result in a perpetual burning of one's -fingers; and a life spent in pulling out hot chestnuts from the fire -for another's eating is by no means the most useful nor the most -dignified to which a man can devote himself. - - - - -_DÉSOEUVREMENT._ - - -Perhaps we ought to apologize for using a foreign label, but there is -no one English word which gives the full meaning of _désoeuvrement_. -Only paraphrases and accumulations would convey the many subtle shades -contained in it; and paraphrases and accumulations are inconvenient as -headings. But if we have not the word, we have a great deal of the -thing; for _désoeuvrement_ is an evil unfortunately not confined to -one country nor to one class; and even we, with all our boasted -Anglo-Saxon energy, have people among us as unoccupied and purposeless -as are to be found elsewhere. Certainly we have nothing like the -Neapolitan lazzaroni who pass their lives in dozing in the sun; but -that is more because of our climate than our condition, and if our -_désoeuvrés_ do not doze out of doors, it by no means follows that -they are wide awake within. - -No state is more unfortunate than this listless want of purpose which -has nothing to do, which is interested in nothing, and which has no -serious object in life; and the drifting, aimless temperament, which -merely waits and does not even watch, is the most disastrous that a -man or woman can possess. Feverish energy, wearing itself out on -comparative nothings, is better than the indolence which folds its -hands and makes neither work nor pleasure; and the most microscopic -and restless perception is more healthful than the dull blindness -which goes from Dan to Beersheba, and finds all barren. - -If even death itself is only a transmutation of forces--an active and -energizing change--what can we say of this worse than mental death? -How can we characterize a state which is simply stagnation? Not all of -us have our work cut out and laid ready for us to do; very many of us -have to seek for objects of interest and to create our own employment; -and were it not for the energy which makes work by its own force, the -world would still be lying in barbarism, content with the skins of -beasts for clothing and with wild fruits and roots for food. But the -_désoeuvrés_ know nothing of the pleasures of energy; consequently -none of the luxuries of idleness--only its tedium and monotony. Life -is a dull round to them of alternate vacancy and mechanical routine; a -blank so dead that active pain and positive sorrow would be better for -them than the passionless negation of their existence. They love -nothing; they hope for nothing; they work for nothing; to-morrow will -be as to-day, and to-day is as yesterday was; it is the mere passing -of time which they call living--a moral and mental hybernation broken -up by no springtime waking. - -Though by no means confined to women only, this disastrous state is -nevertheless more frequently found with them than with men. It is -comparatively rare that a man--at least an Englishman--is born with so -little of the activity which characterizes manhood as to rest content -without some kind of object for his life, either in work or in -pleasure, in study or in vice. But many women are satisfied to remain -in an unending _désoeuvrement_, a listless supineness that has not -even sufficient active energy to fret at its own dullness. - -We see this kind of thing especially in the families of the poorer -class of gentry in the country. If we except the Sunday school and -district visiting, neither of which commends itself as a pleasant -occupation to all minds--both in fact needing a little more active -energy than we find in the purely _désoeuvré_ class--what is there for -the unmarried daughters of a family to do? There is no question of a -profession for any of them. Ideas travel slowly in country places, and -root themselves still more slowly, even yet; and the idea of woman's -work for ladies is utterly inadmissible by the English gentleman who -can leave a modest sufficiency to his daughters--just enough to live -on in the old house and in the old way, without a margin for luxuries, -but above anything like positive want. There is no possibility then of -an active career in art or literature; of going out as a governess, as -a hospital nurse, or as a Sister. There is only home, with the -possible and not very probable chance of marriage as the vision of -hope in the distant future. And that chance is very small and very -remote; for the simple reason--there is no one to marry. - -There are the young collegians who come down in reading parties; the -group of Bohemian artists, if the place be picturesque and not too far -from London; the curate; and the new doctor, fresh from the hospitals, -who has to make his practice out of the poorer and more outlying -_clientèle_ of the old and established practitioners of the place. But -collegians do not marry, and long engagements are proverbially -hazardous; Bohemian artists are even less likely than they to trouble -the surrogate; and the curate and the doctor can at the best marry -only one apiece of the many who are waiting. The family keeps neither -carriages nor horses, so that the longest tether to which life can be -carried, with the house for the stake, is simply the three or four -miles which the girls can walk out and back. And the visiting list is -necessarily comprised within this circle. There is then, absolutely -nothing to occupy nor to interest. The whole day is spent in playing -over old music, in needlework, in a little desultory reading, such as -is supplied by the local book society; all without other object than -that of passing the time. The girls have had nothing like a thorough -education in anything; they are not specially gifted, and what brains -they have are dormant and uncultivated. There is not even enough -housework to occupy their time, unless they were to send away the -servants. Besides, domestic work of an active kind is vulgar, and -gentlemen and gentlewomen do not allow their daughters to do it. They -may help in the housekeeping; which means merely giving out the week's -supplies on Monday and ordering the dinner on other days, and which is -not an hour's occupation in the week; and they can do a little amateur -spudding and raking among the flower-beds when the weather is fine, if -they care for the garden; and they can do a great deal of walking if -they are strong; and this is all that they can do. There they are, -four or five well-looking girls perhaps, of marriageable age, fairly -healthy and amiable, and with just so much active power as would carry -them creditably through any work that was given them to do, but with -not enough originative energy to make them create work for themselves -out of nothing. - -In their quiet uneventful sphere, with the circumscribed radius and -the short tether, it would be very difficult for any women but those -few who are gifted with unusual energy to create a sufficient human -interest; to ordinary young ladies it is impossible. They can but -make-believe, even if they try--and they don't try. They can but raise -up shadows which they would fain accept as living creatures if they -give themselves the trouble to evoke anything at all, and they don't -give themselves the trouble. They simply live on from day to day in a -state of mental somnolency--hopeless, _désoeuvrées_, inactive; just -drifting down the smooth slow current of time, with not a ripple nor -an eddy by the way. - -Quiet families in towns, people who keep no society and live in a -self-made desert apart though in the midst of the very vortex of life, -are alike in the matter of _désoeuvrement_; and we find exactly the -same history with them as we find with their country cousins, though -apparently their circumstances are so different. They cannot work and -they may not play; the utmost dissipation allowed them is to look at -the outside of things--to make one of the fringe of spectators lining -the streets and windows on a show day, and this but seldom; or to go -once or twice a year to the theatre or a concert. So they too just -lounge through their life, and pass from girlhood to old age in utter -_désoeuvrement_ and want of object. Year by year the lines about their -eyes deepen, their smile gets sadder, their cheeks grow paler; while -the cherished secret romance which even the dullest life contains gets -a colour of its own by age, and a firmness of outline by continual -dwelling on, which it had not in the beginning. Perhaps it was a dream -built on a tone, a look, a word--may be it was only a half-evolved -fancy without any basis whatever--but the imagination of the poor -_désoeuvrée_ has clung to the dream, and the uninteresting dullness of -her life has given it a mock vitality which real activity would have -destroyed. - -This want of healthy occupation is the cause of half the hysterical -reveries which it is a pretty flattery to call constancy and an -enduring regret; and we find it as absolutely as that heat follows -from flame, that the mischievous habit of bewailing an irrevocable -past is part of the _désoeuvrée_ condition in the present. People who -have real work to do cannot find time for unhealthy regrets, and -_désoeuvrement_ is the most fertile source of sentimentality to be -found. - -The _désoeuvrée_ woman of means and middle age, grown grey in her want -of purpose and suddenly taken out of her accustomed groove, is perhaps -more at sea than any others. She has been so long accustomed to the -daily flow of certain lines that she cannot break new ground and take -up with anything fresh, even if it be only a fresh way of being idle. -Her daughter is married; her husband is dead; her friend who was her -right hand and manager-in-chief has gone away; she is thrown on her -own resources, and her own resources will not carry her through. She -generally falls a prey to her maid, who tyrannizes over her, and a -phlegmatic kind of despair, which darkens the remainder of her life -without destroying it. She loses even her power of enjoyment, and gets -tired before the end of the rubber which is the sole amusement in -which she indulges. For _désoeuvrement_ has that fatal reflex action -which everything bad possesses, and its strength is in exact ratio -with its duration. - -Women of this class want taking in hand by the stronger and more -energetic. Many even of those who seem to do pretty well as -independent workers, men and women alike, would be all the better for -being farmed out; and _désoeuvrées_ women especially want extraneous -guidance, and to be set to such work as they can do, but cannot make. -An establishment which would utilize their faculties, such as they -are, and give them occupation in harmony with their powers, would be a -real salvation to many who would do better if they only knew how, and -would save them from stagnation and apathy. But society does not -recognize the existence of moral rickets, though the physical are -cared for; consequently it has not begun to provide for them as moral -rickets, and no Proudhon has yet managed to utilize the _désoeuvrés_ -members of the State. When they do find a place of retreat and -adventitious support, it is under another name. - -The retired man of business, utterly without object in his new -conditions, is another portrait that meets us in country places. He is -not fit for magisterial business; he cannot hunt nor shoot nor fish; -he has no literary tastes; he cannot create objects of interest for -himself foreign to the whole experience of his life. The idleness -which was so delicious when it was a brief season of rest in the midst -of his high-pressure work, and the country which was like Paradise -when seen in the summer only and at holiday time, make together just -so much blank dullness now that he has bound himself to the one and -fixed himself in the other. When he has spelt over every article in -the _Times_, pottered about his garden and his stables, and irritated -both gardener and groom by interfering in what he does not understand, -the day's work is at an end. He has nothing more to do but eat his -dinner and sip his wine, doze over the fire for a couple of hours, and -go to bed as the clock strikes ten. - -This is the reality of that long dream of retirement which has been -the golden vision of hope to many a man during the heat and burden of -the day. The dream is only a dream. Retirement means _désoeuvrement_; -leisure is tedium; rest is want of occupation truly, but want of -interest, want of object, want of purpose as well; and the prosperous -man of business, who has retired with a fortune and broken energies, -is bored to death with his prosperity, and wishes himself back to his -desk or his counter--back to business and something to do. He wonders, -on retrospection, what there was in his activity that was distasteful -to him; and thinks with regret that perhaps, on the whole, it is -better to wear out than to rust out; that _désoeuvrement_ is a worse -state than work at high pressure; and that life with a purpose is a -nobler thing than one which has nothing in it but idleness:--whereof -the main object is how best to get rid of time. - - - - -_THE SHRIEKING SISTERHOOD._ - - -We by no means put it forward as an original remark when we say that -Nature does her grandest works of construction in silence, and that -all great historical reforms have been brought about either by long -and quiet preparation, or by sudden and authoritative action. The -inference from which is, that no great good has ever been done by -shrieking; that much talking necessarily includes a good deal of -dilution; and that fuss is never an attribute of strength nor -coincident with concentration. Whenever there has been a very deep and -sincere desire on the part of a class or an individual to do a thing, -it has been done not talked about; where the desire is only -halfhearted, where the judgment or the conscience is not quite clear -as to the desirableness of the course proposed, where the chief -incentive is love of notoriety and not the intrinsic worth of the -action itself--personal _kudos_, and not the good of a cause nor the -advancement of humanity--then there has been talk; much talk; -hysterical excitement; a long and prolonged cackle; and heaven and -earth called to witness that an egg has been laid wherein lies the -germ of a future chick--after proper incubation. - -Necessarily there must be much verbal agitation if any measure is to -be carried the fulcrum of which is public opinion. If you have to stir -the dry bones you must prophesy to them in a loud voice, and not leave -off till they have begun to shake. Things which can only be known by -teaching must be spoken of, but things which have to be done are -always better done the less the fuss made about them; and the more -steadfast the action, the less noisy the agent. Purpose is apt to -exhale itself in protestations, and strength is sure to exhaust itself -by a flux of words. But at the present day what Mr. Carlyle called the -Silences are the least honoured of all the minor gods, and the babble -of small beginnings threatens to become intolerable. We all 'think -outside our brains,' and the result is not conducive to mental vigour. -It is as if we were to set a plant to grow with its heels in the air, -and then look for roots, flowers and fruit, by the process of -excitation and disclosure. - -One of our quarrels with the Advanced Women of our generation is the -hysterical parade they make about their wants and their intentions. It -never seems to occur to them that the best means of getting what they -want is to take it, when not forbidden by the law--to act, not to -talk; that all this running hither and thither over the face of the -earth, this feverish unrest and loud acclaim are but the dilution of -purpose through much speaking, and not the right way at all; and that -to hold their tongues and do would advance them by as many leagues as -babble puts them back. A small knot of women, 'terribly in earnest,' -could move multitudes by the silent force of example. One woman alone, -quietly taking her life in her own hands and working out the great -problem of self-help and independence practically, not merely stating -it theoretically, is worth a score of shrieking sisters frantically -calling on men and gods to see them make an effort to stand upright -without support, with interludes of reproach to men for the want of -help in their attempt. The silent woman who quietly calculates her -chances and measures her powers with her difficulties so as to avoid -the probability of a fiasco, and who therefore achieves a success -according to her endeavour, does more for the real emancipation of her -sex than any amount of pamphleteering, lecturing, or petitioning by -the shrieking sisterhood can do. Hers is deed not declamation; proof -not theory; and it carries with it the respect always accorded to -success. - -And really if we think of it dispassionately, and carefully dissect -the great mosaic of hindrances which women say makes up the pavement -of their lives, there is very little which they may not do if they -like--and can. They have already succeeded in reopening for themselves -the practice of medicine, for one thing; and this is an immense -opportunity if they know how to use it. A few pioneers, unhelped for -the most part, steadily and without shrieking, stormed the barricades -of the hospitals and dissecting-rooms; heroically bearing the shower -of hard-mouthed missiles with which they were pelted, and -successfully forcing their way notwithstanding. But the most -successful of them are those who held on with least excitement and who -strove more than they declaimed; while others, by constitution -belonging to the shrieking sisterhood, have comparatively failed, and -have mainly succeeded in making themselves ridiculous. After some -pressure but very little cackle--for here too the work was wanted, the -desire real, and the workers in earnest--female colleges on a liberal -and extended system of education have been established, and young -women have now an opportunity of showing what they can do in brain -work. - -It is no longer by the niggardliness of men and the fault of an -imperfect system if they prove intellectually inferior to the stronger -sex; they have their dynamometer set up for them, and all they have to -do is to register their relative strength--and abide the issue. All -commerce, outside the Stock Exchange, is open to them equally with -men; and there is nothing to prevent their becoming merchants, as they -are now petty traders, or setting up as bill-brokers, commission -agents, or even bankers--which last profession, according to a -contemporary, they have actually adopted in New York, some ladies -there having established a bank, which, so far as they have yet gone, -they are said to conduct with deftness and ready arithmetic. - -In literature they have competitors in men, but no monopolists. -Indeed, they themselves have become almost the monopolists of the -whole section of light literature and fiction; while nothing but -absolute physical and mental incapacity prevents their taking the -charge of a journal, and working it with female editor, sub-editor, -manager, reporters, compositors, and even news-girls to sell the -second edition at omnibus doors and railway stations. If a set of -women chose to establish a newspaper and work it amongst themselves, -no law could be brought to bear against them; and if they made it as -philosophical as some, or as gushing as others, they might enter into -a formidable rivalry with the old-established. They would have a fair -hearing, or rather reading; they would not be 'nursed' nor hustled, -and they would get just as much success as they deserved. To be sure, -they do not yet sit on the Bench nor plead at the Bar. They are not in -Parliament, and they are not even voters; while, as married women with -unfriendly husbands and no protection-order, they have something to -complain of, and wrongs which are in a fair way of being righted if -the shrieking sisterhood does not frighten the world prematurely. But, -despite these restrictions, they have a very wide circle wherein they -can display their power, and witch the world with noble deeds, if they -choose--and as some have chosen. - -Of the representative 'working-women' in England, we find none who -have shrieked on platforms nor made an hysterical parade of their -work. Quietly, and with the dignity which comes by self-respect and -the consciousness of strength, they have done what it was in their -hearts to do; leaving the world to find out the value of their -labours, and to applaud or deride their independence. Mrs. Somerville -asked no man's leave to study science and make herself a distinguished -name as the result; nor did she find the need of any more special -organization than what the best books, a free press and first-rate -available teaching offered. Miss Martineau dived with more or less -success into the forbidding depths of the 'dismal science,' at a time -when political economy was shirked by men and considered as -essentially unfeminine as top-boots and tobacco; and she was -confessedly an advanced Liberal when to be a high Tory was part of the -whole duty of woman. Miss Nightingale undertook the care of wounded -soldiers without any more publicity than was absolutely necessary for -the organization of her staff, and with not so much as one shriek. -Rosa Bonheur laughed at those who told her that animal painting was -unwomanly, and that she had better restrict herself to flowers and -heads, as became the _jeune demoiselle_ of conventional life; but she -did not publish her programme of independence, nor take the world into -her confidence and tell them of her difficulties and defiance. The -Lady Superintendents of our own various sisterhoods have organized -their communities and performed their works of charity with very faint -blare of trumpets indeed; and we might enumerate many more who have -quietly lived the life of action and independence of which others -have only raved, and who have done while their sisters shrieked. These -are the women to be respected, whether we sympathize with their line -of action or not; having shown themselves to be true workers, capable -of sustained effort, and therefore worthy of the honour which belongs -to strength and endurance. - -Of one thing women may be very sure, though they invariably deny it; -the world is glad to take good work from any one who will supply it. -The most certain patent of success is to deserve it; and if women will -prove that they can do the world's work as well as men, they will -share with them in the labour and the reward; and if they do it better -they will distance them. The appropriation of fields of labour is not -so much a question of selfishness as of (hitherto) proved fitness; but -if, in times to come, women can show better harvesting than men, can -turn out more finished, more perfected, results of any kind, the -world's custom will flow to them by the force of natural law, and they -will have the most to do of that which they can do the best. If they -wish to educate public opinion to accept them as equals with men, they -can only do so by demonstration, not by shrieks. Even men, who are -supposed to inherit the earth and to possess all the good things of -life, have to do the same thing. - -Every young man yet untried is only in the position of every woman; -and, granting that he has not the deadweight of precedent and -prejudice against him, he yet has to win his spurs before he can wear -them. But women want theirs given to them without winning; and -moreover, ask to be taught how to wear them when they have got them. -They want to be received as masters before they have served their -apprenticeship, and to be put into office without passing an -examination or submitting to competition. They scream out for a clear -stage and favour superadded; and they ask men to shackle their own -feet, like Lightfoot in the fairy tale, that they may then be -handicapped to a more equal running. They do not remember that their -very demand for help vitiates their claim to equality; and that if -they were what they assume to be, they would simply take without leave -asked or given, and work out their own social salvation by the -irrepressible force of a concentrated will and in the silence of -conscious strength. - -While the shrieking sisterhood remains to the front, the world will -stop its ears; and for every hysterical advocate 'the cause' loses a -rational adherent and gains a disgusted opponent. It is our very -desire to see women happy, noble, fitly employed and well remunerated -for such work as they can do, which makes us so indignant with the -foolish among them who obscure the question they pretend to elucidate, -and put back the cause which they say they advance. The earnest and -practical workers among women are a very different class from the -shriekers; but we wish the world could dissociate them more clearly -than it does at present, and discriminate between them, both in its -censure and its praise. - - - - -_OTHERWISE-MINDED._ - - -Every now and then we receive from America a word or a phrase which -enriches the language without vulgarizing it--something, both -more subtle and more comprehensive than our own equivalent, -which we recognize at once as the better thing of the two. Thus -'otherwise-minded,' which some American writers use with such quaint -force, is quite beyond our old 'contradictious' expressing the full -meaning of contradictious and adding a great deal more. But if we have -not hitherto had the word we have the thing, which is more to the -purpose; and foremost among the powers which rule the world may be -placed 'otherwise-mindedness' in its various phases of active -opposition and passive immobility--the contradictiousness which must -fight on all points and which will not assent to any. At home, -otherwise-mindedness is an engine of tremendous power, ranking next to -sulks and tears in the defensive armoury of women; while men for the -most part use it in a more aggressive sense, and seldom content -themselves with the passive quietude of mere inertness. - -An otherwise-minded person, if a man, is almost always a tyrant and a -bully, with decided opinions as to his right of making all about him -dance to his piping--his piping never giving one of their own -measures. If a woman, she is probably a superior being subjected to -domestic martyrdom while intended by nature for a higher intellectual -life,--doomed to the drudgery of housekeeping while yearning for the -æsthetic and panting after the ideal. She is generally dignified in -her bearing and of a cold, unappeasable discontent. She neither scolds -nor wrangles, though sometimes, no rule being without its exception, -she is peevish and captious and degenerates into the commonplace of -the _Naggleton_ type. But in the main she bounds herself to the -expression of her otherwise-mindedness in a stately if dogged manner, -and shows a serene disdain for her opponents, which is a trifle more -offensive than her undisguised satisfaction with herself. Nothing can -move her, nothing beat her off her holding; but then she offers no -points of attack. She is what she is on principle; and what can you -say to an opposition dictated by motives all out of reach of your own -miserable little groundling ideas? Where you advocate expediency, she -maintains abstract principles; if you are lenient to weaknesses, she -is stern to sin; if you would legislate for human nature as it is, she -will have nothing less than the standard of perfection; and when you -speak of the absolutism of facts, she argues on the necessity of -keeping the ideal intact, no matter whether any one was ever known to -attain to it or not. But if she finds herself in different company -from your own looser kind--say with Puritans of a strongly ascetic -caste--then she veers round to the other side, on the ground of -fairness; and for the benefit of fanatics propounds a slip-shod -easygoing morality which shuffles beyond your own lines. This she -calls keeping out of extremes and discouraging exaggeration. This -latter manifestation however, is not very frequently the case with -women: the otherwise-minded among them being almost always of the -rigid and ascetic class who despise the pleasant little vanities, the -graceful frivolities, the loveable frailties which make life easy and -humanity delightful, and who take their stand on the loftiest, the -most unelastic, not to say the grimmest, ethics. They have had it -borne in on them that they are to defy Baal and withstand; -consequently they do defy him, and they do withstand, at all four -corners stoutly. - -To be otherwise-minded naturally implies having a mind; and of what -use is intellect if it cannot see all through and round a subject, and -pick the weak places into holes? Hence the otherwise-minded are -uncompromising critics and terrible fellows at scenting their prey. As -is the function of certain creatures--vultures, crows, flies, and -others--so is that of these children of Zoilus when dealing with -subjects not understood, or only guessed at with more or less -blundering in the process. - -Take one of the class at a lecture on the higher branches of a science -of which he has not so much as thoroughly mastered the roots, and -wherein this higher analysis offers certain new and perhaps startling -results. It would seem that the sole thing possible to him who is -ignorant of the matter in hand is to listen and believe; but your -otherwise-minded critic is not content with the tame modesty of -humbleness. What if the subject be over his head, cannot he crane his -neck and look? has he not common-sense to guide him? and may he not -criticize in the block what he cannot dissect in detail? At the least -he can look grave, and say something about the danger of a little -knowledge; and fallen man's dangerous pride of intellect; and his -absolute and eternal ignorance; and the lecturer not making his -meaning clear--as how should he when he probably does not understand -his own subject nor what he wanted to say?--and what becomes of -accepted truths if such things are to be received? Be sure of this, -that otherwise-mindedness must sling its stone, whether it knows -exactly what it is aiming at or not. It not unfrequently happens that -the stone is after the pattern of a boomerang, and comes back on the -slinger's own pate with sounding effect, convicting him of ignorance -if of nothing worse, and a love of opposition so great that it -destroys both his power of perceiving truth and the sense of his own -incapacity. - -But the otherwise-minded is nothing if not superior to his company; -and truth is after all relative as well as multiform, and needs -continual nice adjustment to make it balance fairly. The great -representative assembly of humanity must have its independent members -below the gangway who vote with no party; and if we were all on the -right side the devil's advocate would have no work to do; so that even -otherwise-mindedness on the wrong side has its uses, and must not be -wholly condemned. For the world would fare badly without its natural -borers and hole-pickers, its finders-out of weak places, its stone -walls to resist assertion and advance; and ants and worms make good -mould for garden flowers. - -The constitutionally otherwise-minded are the worst partizans in the -world and never take up a cause heartily--never with more than one -hand, that they may leave the other free for a bit of intellectual -prestidigitation if need be, when their audience changes its character -and complexion. The only time when they are devoted adherents is if -their own family is decidedly in the opposite ranks, when they come -out from among them with scrip and spear, and go over to the enemy -without failing a single button of the uniform. This is specially true -of young people and of women; both of whom call their natural love of -opposition by the name of religious principle or moral duty. Youths -just fresh from the schools, bent on the regeneration of mankind and -thinking that they can do in a few years what society has been -painfully labouring to accomplish ever since the first savage clubbed -his neighbour for stealing his hoard of roots or carrying off his own -private squaw, are sure to be intensely otherwise-minded and to -understand nothing of harmonious working with the old plant. Red -Republicans under the family flag of purple and orange; free-thinkers -in the church where the paternal High and Dry holds forth on Sundays -on the principle of the divine inspiration of the English translation -bound in calf and lettered _cum privilegio_; Romanists worshipping -saints and relics in the very heart of the Peculiar People who put no -trust in man nor works--we know them all; ardent, enthusiastic, -uncompromising and horribly aggressive; with the down just shading -their smooth young chins, and the great book of human life barely -turned at the page of adolescence. Yet this is a form of -otherwise-mindedness which, though we laugh at and are often annoyed -by it, we must treat gently on the whole. We cannot be cruel to a -fervour, even when insolently expressed, which we know the world will -tame so soon, and which at the worst is often better than the dead -level of conformity; even though its zeal is not unmixed with conceit, -and a burning desire for the world's good is not free from a few -slumbering embers of self-laudation and the 'last infirmity.' - -In a house inhabited by the otherwise-minded--and one member of a -family is enough to set the whole ruck awry--nothing is allowed to go -smoothly or by default; nothing can be done without endless -discussion; and all the well-oiled casters of compromise, good-nature, -'it does not signify,' &c., by which life runs easily in most places -are rusted or broken. At table there is an incessant cross-fire of -objections and of arguments, more or less intemperately conducted and -never coming to a satisfactory conclusion. There are so many places -too, which have been rubbed sore by this perpetual chafing, that a -stranger to the secrets of the domestic pathology is kept not only in -a fever of annoyance, but in an ague of dread, at the temper shown -about trifles, and the deadly offence that seems to lurk behind quite -ordinary topics of conversation. Not knowing all that has gone before, -he is not prepared for the present uncomfortable aspect of things, and -in fact is like a boy reading algebra, understanding nothing of what -he sees, though the symbolizing letters are familiar enough to him. -The family quarrel about everything; and when they do not quarrel they -argue. If one wants to do something that must be done in concert, the -others would die rather than unite; and days, seasons and wishes can -never be got to work themselves into harmonious coalition. When they -are out 'enjoying themselves'--language is arbitrary and the sense of -words not always clear--they cannot agree on anything; and you may -hear them fire off scornful squibs of otherwise-mindedness across the -rows of prize flowers or in the intervals of one of Beethoven's -sonatas. And if they cannot find cause for disagreement on the merits -of the subject before them, they find it in each other. For -otherwise-mindedness is like the ragged little princess in the German -fairy tale, who proved her royal blood by being unable to sleep on the -top of seven feather-beds--German feather-beds--beneath all of which -one single bean had been placed as the test of her sensibility. Give -it but the chance of a scuffle, the ghost of a coat-tail to tread on, -an imaginary chicken-bone among the down, and you may be sure that the -opportunity will not be lost. When we are on the look-out for beans we -shall find them beneath even seven feather-beds; and when shillelahs -abound there will never be wanting the trail of a coat-tail across the -path. So we find when we have to do with the otherwise-minded who will -not take things pleasantly, and can never be got to see either beauty -or value in their surroundings. Let one of these have a saint for a -wife, and he will tell you saints are bores and sinners the only -house-mates to be desired. Let him change his state, and this time -pick up the sinner in longing for whom he has so often vexed the poor -saint's soul, and he will find domestic happiness to consist in the -companionship of a seraph of the most exalted kind. If he has Zenobia, -he wants Griselda; if Semiramis, King Cophetua's beggar-maid. The dear -departed, who was such a millstone in times past, becomes the emblem -of all that is lovely in humanity when a shaft has to be thrown at the -partner of times present; and the marriage that was notoriously -ill-assorted is painted in gold and rose-colour throughout, and its -discords are mended up into a full score of harmony when the new wife -or the new husband has to be snubbed, for no other reason than the -otherwise-mindedness which cannot agree with what it has. - -Children and servants come in for their share of this uncomfortable -temper which reverses the old adage about the absent, and which, so -far from making these in the wrong, transfers the burden of blame to -those present and conveniently forgets its former litany of complaint. -No one would be more surprised than those very absent if they heard -themselves upheld as possessors of all possible virtues when, -according to their memory, they had been little better than -concretions of wickedness and folly in the days of their subjection to -criticism. They need not flatter themselves. Could they return, or if -they do return, to the old place, they will be sure to return to the -old conditions; and the praise lavished on them when they are absent, -by way of rebuke to those unlucky ones on the spot, will be changed -for their benefit into the blame and the rebuke familiar to them. In -fact no circumstances whatever touch the central quality of the -otherwise-minded. They must have something to bite, to grumble at, to -rearrange, at least in wish, if not in deed. If only they had been -consulted, nothing would have gone wrong that has gone wrong; and 'I -told you so' is the shibboleth of their order. It is gall and wormwood -to them when they are obliged to agree, and when, for very decency's -sake, they must praise what indeed offers no points to condemn. But -even when they get caught in the trap of unanimity they contrive to -say something quite unnecessary about evils which no one was thinking -of, and which have nothing to do with the case in point. 'But' is -their mystic word, their truncated form of the Tetragrammaton which -rules the universe; and whatever their special private denomination, -they all belong in bulk to the - - Sect whose chief devotion lies - In odd perverse antipathies; - In falling out with that or this, - And finding somewhat still amiss. - - - - -_LIMP PEOPLE._ - - -Vice is bad and malignant wickedness is worse, but beyond either in -evil results to mankind is weakness; which indeed is the pabulum by -which vice is fed and the agent by which malignity works. If every one -in this world had a backbone, there would not be so much misery nor -guilt as there is now; for we must give each individual of the 'cruel -strong' a large following of weaker victims; and it would be easy to -demonstrate that the progress of nations has always been in proportion -to the number of stiff backbones among them. Yet unfortunately limp -people abound, to the detriment of society and to their own certain -sorrow; molluscs, predestined to be the food of the stronger, with no -power of self-defence nor of self-support, but having to be protected -against outside dangers if they are to be preserved at all;--and -perhaps when you have done all that you can do, not safe even then, -and most likely not worth the trouble taken about them. Open the gates -for but a moment, and they are swept up by the first passer-by. Let -them loose from your own sustaining hand, and they fall abroad in a -mass of flabby helplessness, unable to work, to resist, to -retain--mere heaps of moral protoplasm, pitiable as well as -contemptible; perhaps pitiable because so contemptible. See one of -these poor creatures left a widow, if a woman--turned out of his -office, if a man--and then judge of the value of a backbone by the -miserable consequences of its absence. The widow is simply lost in the -wilderness of her domestic solitude, as much so as would be a child if -set in the midst of a pathless moor with no one to guide him to the -safe highway. She may have money and she may have relations, but she -is as poor as if she had nothing better than parish relief; and unless -some one will take her up and manage everything for her -conscientiously, she is as lonely as if she were an exile in a strange -land. She has been so long used to lean on the stronger arm of her -husband, that she cannot stand upright now that her support has been -taken from her. Her servants make her their prey; her children -tyrannize over her and ignore her authority; her boys go to the bad; -her girls get fast and loud; all her own meek little ideas of modesty -and virtue are rudely thrust to the wall; and she is obliged to submit -to a family disorder which she neither likes nor encourages, but which -she has not the strength to oppose nor the wisdom to direct. She may -be the incarnation of all saintly qualities in her own person, but by -mere want of strength she is the occasion by which a very pandemonium -is possible; and the worst house of a community is sure to be that of -a quiet, gentle, molluscous little widow, without one single vicious -proclivity but without the power to repress or even to rebuke vice in -others. - -A molluscous man too, suddenly ejected from his long-accustomed -groove, where, like a toad embedded in the rock, he had made his niche -exactly fitting to his own shape, presents just as wretched a picture -of helplessness and unshiftiness. In vain his friends suggest this or -that independent endeavour; he shakes his head, and says he can't--it -won't do. What he wants is a place where he is not obliged to depend -on himself; where he has to do a fixed amount of work for a fixed -amount of salary; and where his fibreless plasticity may find a mould -ready formed, into which it may run without the necessity of forging -shapes for itself. Many a man of respectable intellectual powers has -gone down into ruin, and died miserably, because of this limpness -which made it impossible for him to break new ground or to work at -anything whatsoever with the stimulus of hope only. He must be -bolstered up by certainty, supported by the walls of his groove, else -he can do nothing; and if he cannot get into this friendly groove, he -lets himself drift into destruction. - -In no manner are limp people to be depended on; their very central -quality being fluidity, which is a bad thing to rest on. Take them in -their family quarrels--and they are always quarrelling among -themselves--you think they must have broken with each other for ever; -that surely they can never forget or forgive all the insolent -expressions, the hard words, the full-flavoured epithets which they -have flung at one another; but the next time you meet them they are -quite good friends again, and going on in the old fluid way as if no -fiery storms had lately troubled the domestic horizon. Perhaps they -have induced you to take sides; if so, you may look out, for you are -certain to be thrown over and to have the enmity of both parties -instead of only one. They are much given to this kind of thing, and -fond of making pellets for you to shoot; when, after the shot, they -disclaim and disown you. They speak against each other furiously, tell -you all the family secrets and make them worse and greater than they -really are. If you are credulous for your own part you take them -literally; and if highly moral, you probably act on their accusations -in a spirit of rhadamanthine justice, and the absolute need of -rewarding sin according to its sinfulness. Beware; their accusations -are baseless as the wind, and acting on them will lead to your certain -discomfiture. The only safe way with limp people is never to believe -what they say; or, if you are forced to believe, never to translate -your faith into deeds nor even words; never to commit yourself to -partizanship in any form whatever. They do not intend it, in all -probability, but by very force of their weakness limp people are -almost invariably untruthful and treacherous. By the force too, of -this same weakness, they are incapable of anything like true -friendship, and in fact make the most dangerous friends to be found. -They are so plastic that they take the shape of every hand which holds -them; and if you do not know them well, you may be deceived by their -softness of touch, and think them sympathetic because they are fluid. -They leave you full of promises to hold all you have told them sacred, -and before an hour is out they have repeated to your greatest enemy -every word you have said. They had not the faintest intention of doing -so when they left you, but they 'slop about,' as the Americans say; -and sloppy folk cannot hold secrets. The traitors of life are the -limp, much more than the wicked--people who let things be wormed out -of them rather than intentionally betray them. They repent likely -enough; Judas hanged himself; but of what good is their repentance -when the mischief is done? Not all the tears in the world can put out -the fire when once lighted, and to hang oneself because one has -betrayed another will make no difference save in the number of victims -which one's own weakness has created. - -Limp men are invariably under petticoat government, and it all depends -on chance and the run of circumstance whose petticoat is dominant. The -mother's, for a long period; then the sisters'. If the wife's, there -is sure to be war in the camp belonging to the invertebrate commander; -for such a man creates infinitely more jealousy among his womankind -than the most discursive and the most unjust. He is a power, not to -act, but to be used; and the woman who can hold him with the firmest -grasp has necessarily the largest share of good things belonging. She -can close or draw his purse-strings at pleasure. She can use his name -and mask herself behind his authority at pleasure. He is the undying -Jorkins who is never without a Spenlow to set him well up in front; -and we can scarcely wonder that the various female Spenlows who shoot -with his bow and manipulate his circumstances are jealous of each -other to a frantic pitch--regarding his limpness, as they do, as so -much raw material from which they can spin out their own strength. - -As the mollusc has to become the prey of some one, the question simply -resolves itself into whose? the new wife's or the old sisters'? Who -shall govern, sitting on his shoulders? and to whom shall he be -assigned captive? He generally inclines to his wife, if she is younger -than he and has a backbone of her own; and you may see a limp man of -this kind, with a fringe of old-rooted female epiphytes, gradually -drop one after another of the ancient stock, till at last his wife and -her relations take up all the space and are the only ones he supports. -His own kith and kin go bare while he clothes her and hers in purple -and fine linen; and the fatted calves in his stalls are liberally -slain for the prodigals on her side of the house, while the dutiful -sons on his own get nothing better than the husks. - -Another characteristic of limp people is their curious ingratitude. -Give them nine-tenths of your substance, and they will turn against -you if you refuse them the remaining tenth. Lend them all the money -you can spare, and lend in utter hopelessness of any future day of -reckoning, but refrain once for your own imperative needs, and they -will leave your house open-mouthed at your stinginess. To be grateful -implies some kind of retentive faculty; and this is just what the limp -have not. Another characteristic of a different kind is the rashness -with which they throw themselves into circumstances which they -afterwards find they cannot bear. They never know how to calculate -their forces, and spend the latter half of their life in regretting -what they had spent the former half in endeavouring to attain, or to -get rid of, as it might chance. If they marry A. they wish they had -taken B. instead; as house-mistresses they turn away their servants at -short notice after long complaint, and then beg them to remain if by -any means they can bribe them to stay. They know nothing of that clear -incisive action which sets men and women at ease with themselves, and -enables them to bear consequences, be they good or ill, with dignity -and resignation. - -A limp backboneless creature always falls foul of conditions, whatever -they may be; thinking the right side better than the left, and the -left so much nicer than the right, according to its own place of -standing for the moment; and what heads plan and hands execute, lips -are never weary of bemoaning. In fact the limp, like fretful babies, -do not know what they want, being unconscious that the whole mischief -lies in their having a vertebral column of gristle instead of one of -bone. They spread themselves abroad and take the world into their -confidence--weep in public and rave in private--and cry aloud to the -priest and the Levite passing by on the other side (maybe heavily -laden for their own share) to come over and help them, poor sprawling -molluscs, when no man but themselves can set them upright. - -The confidences of the limp are told through a trumpet to all four -corners of the sky, and are as easy to get at, with the very gentlest -pressure, as the juice of an over-ripe grape. And no lessons of -experience will ever teach them reticence, or caution in their choice -of confidants. - -Not difficult to press into the service of any cause whatever, they -are the very curse of all causes which they assume to serve. They -collapse at the first touch of persecution, of misunderstanding, of -harsh judgment, and fall abroad in hopeless panic at the mere tread of -the coming foe. Always convinced by the last speaker, facile to catch -and impossible to hold, they are the prizes, the decoy ducks, for -which contending parties fight, perpetually oscillating between the -maintenance of old abuses and the advocacy of dangerous reforms; but -the side to which they have pledged themselves on Monday they forsake -on Tuesday under the plea of reconversion. Neither can they carry out -any design of their own, if their friends take it in hand to -over-persuade them. - -If a man of this stamp has painted a picture he can be induced to -change the whole key, the central circumstance and the principal -figure, at the suggestion of a confident critic who is only a pupil in -the art of which he is, at least technically, a master. If he is -preaching or lecturing, he thinks more of the people he is addressing -than of what he has to say; and, though impelled at times to use the -scalping-knife, hopes he doesn't wound. Vehement advocates at times, -these men's enthusiasm is merely temporary, and burns itself out by -its own energy of expression; and how fierce soever their aspect when -they ruffle their feathers and make believe to fight, one vigorous -peck from their opponent proves their anatomy as that of a creature -without vertebræ, pulpy, gristly, gelatinous, and limp. All things -have their uses and good issues; but what portion of the general good -the limp are designed to subserve is one of those mysteries not to be -revealed in time nor space. - - - - -_THE ART OF RETICENCE._ - - -Among other classifications we may divide the world into those who -live by impulse and the undirected flow of circumstance, and those who -map out their lives according to art and a definite design. These last -however, are rare; few people having capacity enough to construct any -persistent plan of life or to carry it through if even begun--it being -so much easier to follow nature than to work by rule and square, and -to drift with the stream than to build up even a beaver's dam. Now, in -the matter of reticence;--How few people understand this as an art, -and how almost entirely it is by the mere chance of temperament -whether a person is confidential or reticent--with his heart on his -sleeve or not to be got at by a pickaxe--irritatingly silent or -contemptibly loquacious. Sometimes indeed we do find one who, like -Talleyrand, has mastered the art of an eloquent reticence from alpha -to omega, and knows how to conceal everything without showing that he -conceals anything; but we find such a person very seldom, and we do -not always understand his value when we have him. - -Any one not a born fool can resolve to keep silence on certain points, -but it takes a master-mind to be able to talk, and yet not tell. -Silence indeed, self-evident and without disguise, though a safe -method, is but a clumsy one, and to be tolerated only in very timid or -very young people. "Le silence est le parti plus sûr pour celui qui se -défie de soi-même," says Rochefoucauld. So is total abstinence for him -who cannot control himself. Yet we do not preach total abstinence as -the best order of life for a wise and disciplined person, any more -than we would put strong ankles into leg-irons, or forbid a rational -man to handle a sword. Besides, silence may be as expressive, as -tell-tale even, as speech; and at the best there is no science in -shutting one's lips and sitting mute; though indeed too few people -have got even so far as this in the art of reticence, but tell -everything they know so surely as water flows through a sieve, and are -safe just in proportion to their ignorance. - -But there is art, the most consummate art, in appearing absolutely -frank, yet never telling anything which it is not wished should be -known; in being pleasantly chatty and conversational, yet never -committing oneself to a statement nor an opinion which might be used -against one afterwards--_ars celare artem_ being a true maxim in -keeping one's own counsel as well as in other things. It is only after -a long acquaintance with this kind of person that you find out he has -been substantially reticent throughout, though apparently so frank. -Caught by his easy manner, his genial talk, his ready sympathy, you -have confided to him not only all that you have of your own, but all -that you have of other people's; and it is only long after, when you -reflect quietly, undisturbed by the magnetism of his presence, that -you come to the knowledge of how reticent he has been in the midst of -his seeming frankness, and how little reciprocity there has been in -your confidences together. You know such people for years, and you -never really know more of them at the end than you did in the -beginning. You cannot lay your finger on a fact that would in any way -place them in your power; and though you did not notice it at the -time, and do not know how it has been done now, you feel that they -have never trusted you, and have all along carefully avoided anything -like confidence. But you are at their mercy by your own rashness, and -if they do not destroy you it is because they are reticent for you as -well as towards you; perhaps because they are good-natured; perhaps -because they despise you for your very frankness too much to hurt you; -but above all things not because they are unable. How you hate them -when you think of the skill with which they took all that was offered -to them, yet never let you see they gave back nothing for their own -part--rather by the jugglery of manner made you believe that they were -giving back as much as they were receiving! Perhaps it was a little -ungenerous; but they had the right to argue that if you could not -keep your own counsel you would not be likely to keep theirs, and it -was only kind at the time to let you hoodwink yourself so that you -might not be offended. - -In manner genial, frank, conversational, sympathetic--in substance -absolutely secret, cautious, never taken off their guard, never -seduced into dangerous confidences, as careful for their friends as -they are for themselves, and careful even for strangers unknown to -them--these people are the salvation as they are the charm of society; -never making mischief, and, by their habitual reticence, raising up -barriers at which gossip halts and rumour dies. No slander is ever -traced to them, and what they know is as though it were not. Yet they -do not make the clumsy mistake of letting you see that they are better -informed than yourself on certain subjects, and know more about the -current scandals of the day than they choose to reveal. On the -contrary, they listen to your crude mistakes with a highly edified -air, and leave you elated with the idea that you have let them behind -the scenes and told them more than they knew before. If only they had -spoken, your elation would not have been very long-lived. - -Of all personal qualities this art of reticence is the most important -and most valuable for a professional man to possess. Lawyer or -physician, he must be able to hold all and hear all without betraying -by word or look--by injudicious defence no more than by overt -treachery--by anger at a malicious accusation no more than by a smile -at an egregious mistake. His business is to be reticent, not -exculpatory; to maintain silence, not set up a defence nor yet -proclaim the truth. To do this well requires a rare combination of -good qualities--among which are tact and self-respect in about equal -amount--self-command and the power of hitting that fine line which -marks off reticence from deception. No man was ever thoroughly -successful as either a lawyer or physician who did not possess this -combination; and with it even a modest amount of technical skill can -be made to go a long way. - -Valuable in society, at home the reticent are so many forms of living -death. Eyes have they and see not; ears and hear not; and the faculty -of speech seems to have been given them in vain. They go out and they -come home, and they tell you nothing of all they have seen. They have -heard all sorts of news and seen no end of pleasant things, but they -come down to breakfast the next morning as mute as fishes, and if you -want it you must dig out your own information bit by bit by -sequential, categorical questioning. Not that they are surly nor -ill-natured; they are only reticent. They are really disastrous to -those who are associated with them, and make the worst partners in the -world in business or marriage; for you never know what is going on, -nor where you are, and you must be content to walk blindfold if you -walk with them. They tell you nothing beyond what they are obliged to -tell; take you into no confidence; never consult you; never arrest -their own action for your concurrence; and the consequence is that you -live with them in the dark, for ever afraid of looming catastrophes, -and more like a captive bound to the car of their fortunes than like -the coadjutor with a voice in the manner of the driving and the right -to assist in the direction of the journey. This is the reticence of -temperament, and we see it in children from quite an early age--those -children who are trusted by the servants, and are their favourites in -consequence, because they tell no tales; but it is a disposition that -may become dangerous unless watched, and that is always liable to -degenerate into falsehood. For reticence is just on the boundary of -deception, and it needs but a very little step to take one over the -border. - -That obtrusive kind of reticence which parades itself--which makes -mysteries and lets you see there are mysteries--which keeps silence -and flaunts it in your face as an intentional silence brooding over -things you are not worthy to know--that silence which is as loud as -words, is one of the most irritating things in the world and can be -made one of the most insulting. If words are sharp arrows, this kind -of dumbness is paralysis, and all the worse to bear because it puts it -out of your power to complain. You cannot bring into court a list of -looks and shrugs, nor make it a grievance that a man held his tongue -while you raved, and to all appearance kept his temper when you lost -yours. Yet all of us who have had any experience that way know that -his holding his tongue was the very reason why you raved, and that if -he had spoken for his own share the worst of the tempest would have -been allayed. This is a common manner of tormenting with reticent -people who have a moral twist; and to fling stones at you from behind -the shield of silence by which they have sheltered themselves is a -pastime that hurts only one of the combatants. Reticence, though at -times one of the greatest social virtues we possess, is also at times -one of the most disastrous personal conditions. - -Half our modern novels turn on the misery brought about by mistaken -reticence; and though novelists generally exaggerate the circumstances -they deal with, they are not wrong in their facts. If the waters of -strife have been let loose because of many words, there have been -broken hearts before now because of none. Old proverbs, to be sure, -inculcate the value of reticence, and the wisdom of keeping one's own -counsel. If speech is silvern, silence is golden, in popular -philosophy; and the youth is ever enjoined to be like the wise man, -and keep himself free from the peril of words. Yet for all that, next -to truth, on which society rests, mutual knowledge is the best working -virtue, and a state of reticent distrust is more prudent than noble. - -Many people think it a fine thing to live with their most intimate -friends as if they would one day become their enemies, and never let -even their deepest affections strike root so far down as confidence. -They rearrange La Bruyère's famous maxim, 'L'on peut avoir la -confiance de quelqu'un sans en avoir le coeur,' and take it quite the -contrary way; but perhaps the heart which gives itself, divorced from -confidence, is not worth accepting; and reticence where there is love -sounds almost a contradiction in terms. Indeed, the certainty of -unlimited confidences where there is love is one of the strongest of -all the arguments in favour of general reticence. For in nine cases -out of ten you tell your secrets and open your heart, not only to your -friend, but to your friend's wife, or husband, or lover; and -secondhand confidence is rarely held sacred if it can be betrayed with -impunity. - -By an apparent contradiction, reticent people who tell nothing are -often the most charming letter-writers. Full of chit-chat, of -descriptions dashed off with a warm and flowing pen, giving all the -latest news well authenticated and not scandalous, and breathing just -the right amount of affection according to the circumstances of the -correspondents--a naturally eloquent person who has cultivated the art -of reticence writes letters unequalled for charm of manner. The first -impression of them is superb, enchanting, enthralling, like the -bouquet of old wine; but, on reconsideration, what have they said? -Absolutely nothing. This charming letter, apparently so full of -matter, is an answer to a great, good, honest outpour wherein you laid -bare that foolish heart of yours and delivered up your soul for -anatomical examination; and you looked for a reply based on the same -lines. At first delighted, you are soon chilled and depressed by such -a return, and you feel that you have made a fool of yourself, and that -your correspondent is laughing in his sleeve at your insane propensity -to gush. So must it be till that good time comes when man shall have -no need to defend himself against his fellows; when confidence shall -not bring sorrow nor trust betrayal; and when the art of reticence -shall be as obsolete as the art of fence, or the Socratic method. - - - - -_MEN'S FAVOURITES._ - - -We often hear women speak with a certain curious disdain of one of -themselves as a 'gentlemen's favourite;' generally adding that -gentlemen's favourites are never liked by their own sex, and giving -you to understand that they are minxes rather than otherwise, and -objectionable in proportion to their attractiveness. They never can -understand why they should be so attractive, they say; and hold it as -one of the unfathomable mysteries of men's bad taste--the girls to -whom no man addresses half a dozen words in the course of the evening -being far prettier and nicer than the favourite with whom everybody is -talking, and for whom all men are contending. Yet see how utterly they -are neglected, while she is surrounded with admirers. But then she is -an artful little flirt, they say, who lays herself out to attract, -while the others are content to stay quietly in the shade until they -are sought. And they speak as if to attract men's admiration was a -sin, and not one of the final causes of woman as well as one of her -chief social duties. - -There is always war between the women who are gentlemen's favourites -and those who are not; and if the last dislike the first, the first -despise the last, and go out of their way to provoke them; a thing not -difficult to do when a woman gives her mind to it. A gentlemen's -favourite is generally attacked on the score of her morality, not to -speak of her manners, which are pronounced as bad as they can be; -while, how pretty soever men may think her, her own sex decry her, and -pick her to pieces with such effect that they do not leave her a -single charm. She is assumed to be incapable of anything like real -earnestness of feeling; of anything like true womanliness of -sentiment; to be ignorant of the higher rules of modesty; to be fast -or sly, according to her speciality of style; and if you listen to her -dissector you will find in time that she has every fault incidental to -a frail humanity, while her noblest virtue is in all probability a -'kind of good nature' which does not count for much. In return, the -favourite sneers at the wallflower, whom she calls stupid and -spiteful, and whom she rejoices to annoy by the excess of her -popularity; nothing pleasing her so much as to make herself look worse -than she is in the way of men's liking--except it be to carry off the -one tup lamb belonging to a wallflower, and brand him as of her own -multitudinous herd. The quarrel is a deadly one as regards the -combatants, but it has very little effect on the 'ring;' for, -notwithstanding the faults and frailties of which they hear so much, -the men flock round the one and make her the public favourite of the -set. But, as the valid result, probably the prize match of the circle -chooses a stupid wallflower for life; and the favourite who has -ridiculed the successful prizeholder scores of times, and who would -give ten years of her life to be in her place, has to swallow her -confusion as she best can, and accept her discomfiture as if she liked -it. - -If a men's favourite begins her career unmarried, she most frequently -remains unmarried to the end; fulfilling her mission of charming all -and fixing none till she comes to the age when her sex has no mission -at all. If she is married she has developed after the event; in her -nonage having been a shy if observant wallflower, quietly watching the -methods which later she has so ably applied, and taking lessons from -the very girls who queened it over her with that insolent supremacy -which, more than all else, she noted, envied and profited by. If she -marries while a favourite and in the full swing of her triumphs, she -probably gets pulled up by her husband (unless she is in India, or -wherever else women are at a premium and mistresses of the situation), -and subsides into the best and most domestic kind of 'brooding hen.' -However that may be, marriage, which is the great transforming agent -of a woman's character, seldom leaves her on the same lines as before; -though sometimes of course the foolish virgin developes into the -frisky matron, and the girl who begins life as a men's favourite ends -it as a mature siren. - -There are two kinds of men's favourites--the bright women who amuse -them and the sympathetic ones who love them. But these last are of a -doubtful, what country people call 'chancy,' kind; women who show -their feelings too openly, who fall in love too seriously, or perhaps -unasked altogether, being more likely to irritate and repel than to -charm. But the bright, animated women who know how to talk and do not -preach; who say innocent things in an audacious way and audacious -things in an innocent way; who are clever without pedantry; frank -without impudence; quick to follow a lead when shown them; and who -know the difference between badinage and earnestness, flirting and -serious intentions--these are the women who are liked by men and whose -social success in no wise depends on their beauty. - -Of one thing the clever woman who wants to be a men's favourite must -always be careful--to keep that half step in the rear which alone -reconciles men to her superiority of wit. She must not shine so much -by her own light as by contact with theirs; and her most brilliant -sallies ought to convey the impression of being struck out by them -rather than of being elaborated by herself alone--suggested by what -had gone before, if improved on for their advantage. Else she offends -masculine self-love, never slow to take fire, and gains an element of -hardness and self-assertion incompatible with her character of -favourite. Not that men dislike all kinds of self-assertion. The -irrepressible little woman with her trim waist and jaunty air, pert, -pretty, defiant, who laughs in the face of the burly policeman able to -crush her between his finger and thumb, and to whom ropes and barriers -are things to be skipped over or dived under, as the case may be--she -who is all cackle and self-assertion like a little bantam, is also -most frequently a men's favourite, and encouraged in her saucy -forwardness. - -Then there is the graceful, fragile, swan-necked woman, who, a -generation ago, would have been one of the Della Cruscan school, all -poetry and music and fine feelings, and of a delicacy so refined that -broad-browed Nature herself had to be veiled and toned down to the -subdued key proper for the graceful creature to accept--but nowadays -this graceful creature plunges boldly into the midst of the most -tremendous realism, is an ardent advocate for woman's rights, and -perhaps goes out 'on the rampage,' on platforms and the like to -advocate doctrines as little in harmony with the kind of being she is -as would be a diet of horseflesh and brandy. She gets her following; -and men who do not agree with her delight to set her off on her -favourite topics, just as women like to see their little girls play -with their dolls and repeat to the harmless dummy the experiences -which have been real to themselves. - -These two classes of self-assertion are mere plays which amuse men; -but when it comes to a reality, and is no longer a play--when a man is -made to feel small, useless, insignificant by the side of a woman--he -meets them with something he neither likes nor easily forgives; and if -such a woman had the beauty of Venus, she would not be a men's -favourite of the right sort; though some of course would admire her -and do their best to spoil and make a fool of her. - -A men's favourite of the right sort must, among other things, be well -up in the accidence of flirting, and know how to take it at exactly -its proper value. She must be able to accept broad compliments, or -more subtle love-making, without either too serious an acceptance or -too grave a deprecation. This is a great art, and one that, more than -any other, puts men at their ease and sets the machinery of pleasant -intercourse in harmonious action. Never to show whether she is really -hit or not; never to give a fop occasion for a boast nor an enemy room -for a pitying sneer; to take everything in good part and to be as -quick in giving as in receiving; never to be off her guard; never to -throw away her arms; to conceal any number of foxes that may be -gnawing at her beneath her cloak--this kind of flirting, in which most -men's favourites are adepts, is an art that reaches almost the -dimensions of a science. And it is just that in which your very -intense, your very earnest and sincere, women are utter failures. They -know nothing of badinage, but take everything _au grand sérieux_; and -when you mean to be simply playful and complimentary, imagine you in -tragic earnest, and think themselves obliged to frown down a -compliment as a liberty; or else they accept it with a passionate -pleasure that shows how deeply it has struck. - -These intense and very sincere women are not as a rule men's -favourites, unless they have other qualities of such a pleasant and -seductive kind as to excuse the enormous blunder they make of wearing -their hearts on their sleeves for drawing-room daws to peck at, and -the still greater blunder of confounding love-making with love. They -may be, and if they have nice manners and are good-tempered they -probably are, of the race of popular women; that is, liked by both men -and women; but they are not men's favourites _par excellence_, who -moreover are never liked by women at all. - -Women are quite right in one thing, hard as it seems to say it:--men's -favourites, whom women dislike and distrust, are not usually good for -much morally. They are often false, insincere, superficial, and -possibly with a very low aim in life. And the men know all this, but -forgive it for the sake of the pleasantness and charm which is the -grace that shadows, or rather brightens, all the rest; having -oftentimes indeed a half-contemptuous tolerance for the sins of their -favourites as not expecting anything better from them. Grant that they -are false, that they sail perilously near the wind, are shifty and -untrustworthy--what of that? They are not favourites because of their -good qualities, only because of their pleasant ones; because of that -subtle _je ne sais quoi_ of old writers which stands one in such good -stead when one is at a loss for an analysis, and which is the only -term that expresses the strong yet indefinite charm which certain -women possess for men. It is not beauty; it is not necessarily -cleverness taken in the sense of education, though it must be a -keenness if not depth of intellect, and smartness if not the power of -reasoning; it certainly is not goodness; it is not always youth, nor -yet warmth of feeling--though all these things come in as -characteristics in their turn; but it is companionship and the power -of amusing. Still, what is it that creates this power, this -companionship? A smart, pert, flippant little minx, as women call her, -with a shrill voice and a saucy air, may be the men's favourite of one -set; a refined, graceful woman, speaking softly, and with pleading -eyes, may be the favourite of another; a third may be a blunt, -off-handed young person, given to speaking her mind so that there -shall be no mistake; a fourth may be a silent and seemingly a shy -woman, fond of sitting out in retired places, and with a reputation -for flirting of a quiet kind that sets the woman's fingers tingling. - -There is no settled rule anyhow, and all kinds have their special -sphere of shining, according to circumstances. But whatever they may -be, they are useful in their generation and valuable for such work as -they have to do. Society is a miserably dull affair to men when there -are no favourites of any sort; where the womanhood in the room is of -the kind that herds together as if for protection, and looks askance -over its shoulder at the wolves in coats and beards who prowl about -the sheepfold of petticoats; where conversation is monosyllabic in -form and restricted in substance; where pleasant men who talk are -considered dangerous, and fascinating women who answer immoral; where -the matrons are grim and the maidens still in the bread-and-butter -stage of existence; and where young wives take matrimonial fidelity to -mean making themselves disagreeable to every man but their husband, on -the plea that one never knows what may happen, and that you cannot go -on with what you never begin. - - - - -_WOMANLINESS._ - - -There are certain words, suggestive rather than descriptive, the value -of which lies in their very vagueness and elasticity of -interpretation, by which each mind can write its own commentary, each -imagination sketch out its own illustration. And one of these is -Womanliness; a word infinitely more subtle in meaning, with more -possibilities of definition, more light and shade, more facets, more -phases, than the corresponding word manliness. This indeed must -necessarily be so, since the character of women is so much more varied -in colour and more delicate in its many shades than that of men. - -We call it womanliness when a lady of refinement and culture overcomes -the natural shrinking of sense, and voluntarily enters into the -circumstances of sickness and poverty, that she may help the suffering -in their hour of need; when she can bravely go through some of the -most shocking experiences of humanity for the sake of the higher law -of charity; and we call it womanliness when she removes from herself -every suspicion of grossness, coarseness, or ugliness, and makes her -life as dainty as a picture, as lovely as a poem. She is womanly when -she asserts her own dignity; womanly when her highest pride is the -sweetest humility, the tenderest self-suppression; womanly when she -protects the weaker; womanly when she submits to the stronger. To bear -in silence and to act with vigour; to come to the front on some -occasions, to efface herself on others, are alike the characteristics -of true womanliness; as is also the power to be at once practical and -æsthetic, the careful worker-out of minute details and the upholder of -a sublime idealism--the house-mistress dispensing bread and the -priestess serving in the temple. In fact, it is a very Proteus of a -word, and means many things by turns; but it never means anything but -what is sweet, tender, gracious and beautiful. Yet, protean as it is -in form, its substance has hitherto been considered simple enough, and -its limits have been very exactly defined; and we used to think we -knew to a shade what was womanly and what was unwomanly--where, for -instance, the nobleness of dignity ended and the hardness of -self-assertion began; while no one could mistake the heroic sacrifice -of self for the indifference to pain and the grossness belonging to a -coarse nature:--which last is as essentially unwomanly as the first is -one of the finest manifestations of true womanliness. But if this -exactness of interpretation belonged to past times, the utmost -confusion prevails at present; and one of the points on which society -is now at issue in all directions is just this very question--What is -essentially unwomanly? and, what are the only rightful functions of -true womanliness? Men and tradition say one thing, certain women say -another thing; and if what these women say is to become the rule, -society will have to be reconstructed _ab initio_, and a new order of -human life must begin. We have no objection to this, provided the new -order is better than the old, and the modern phase of womanhood more -beautiful, more useful to the community at large, more elevating to -general morality than was the ancient. But the whole matter hangs on -this proviso; and until it can be shown for certain that the latter -phase is to be undeniably the better we will hold by the former. - -There are certain old--superstitions must we call them?--in our ideas -of women, with which we should be loth to part. For instance, the -infinite importance of a mother's influence over her children, and the -joy that she herself took in their companionship--the pleasure that it -was to her to hold a baby in her arms--her delight and maternal pride -in the beauty, the innocence, the quaint ways, the odd remarks, the -half-embarrassing questions, the first faint dawnings of reason and -individuality, of the little creatures to whom she had given life and -who were part of her very being--that pleasure and maternal pride were -among the characteristics we used to ascribe to womanliness; as was -also the mother's power of forgetting herself for her children, of -merging herself in them as they grew older, and finding her own best -happiness in theirs. But among the advanced women who despise the -tame teachings of what was once meant by womanliness, maternity is -considered a bore rather than a blessing; the children are shunted to -the side when they come; and ignorant undisciplined nurses are -supposed to do well for wages what mothers will not do for love. - -Also we held it as womanliness when women resolutely refused to admit -into their presence, to discuss or hear discussed before them, impure -subjects, or even doubtful ones; when they kept the standard of -delicacy, of purity, of modesty, at a high level, and made men -respect, even if they could not imitate. Now the running between them -and men whose delicacy has been rubbed off long ago by the intimate -contact of coarse life is very close; and some of them go even beyond -those men whose lives have been of a quiet and unexperimental kind. -Nothing indeed, is so startling to a man who has not lived in personal -and social familiarity with certain subjects, and who has retained the -old chivalrous superstitions about the modesty and innocent ignorance -of women, as the easy, unembarrassed coolness with which his fair -neighbour at a dinner-table will dash off into thorny paths, managing -between the soup and the grapes to run through the whole gamut of -improper subjects. - -It was also an old notion that rest and quiet and peace were natural -characteristics of womanliness; and that life had been not unfairly -apportioned between the sexes, each having its own distinctive duties -as well as virtues, its own burdens as well as its own pleasures. Man -was to go out and do battle with many enemies; he was to fight with -many powers; to struggle for place, for existence, for natural rights; -to give and take hard blows; to lose perhaps this good impulse or that -noble quality in the fray--the battle-field of life not being that -wherein the highest virtues take root and grow. But he had always a -home where was one whose sweeter nature brought him back to his better -self; a place whence the din of battle was shut out; where he had time -for rest and spiritual reparation; where a woman's love and gentleness -and tender thought and unselfish care helped and refreshed him, and -made him feel that the prize was worth the struggle, that the home was -worth the fight to keep it. And surely it was not asking too much of -women that they should be beautiful and tender to the men whose whole -life out of doors was one of work for them--of vigorous toil that they -might be kept in safety and luxury. But to the advanced woman it seems -so; consequently the home as a place of rest for the man is becoming -daily more rare. Soon, it seems to us, there will be no such thing as -the old-fashioned home left in England. Women are swarming out at all -doors; running hither and thither among the men; clamouring for arms -that they may enter into the fray with them; anxious to lay aside -their tenderness, their modesty, their womanliness, that they may -become hard and fierce and self-asserting like them; thinking it a -far higher thing to leave the home and the family to take care of -themselves, or under the care of some incompetent hireling, while they -enter on the manly professions and make themselves the rivals of their -husbands and brothers. - -Once it was considered an essential of womanliness that a woman should -be a good house-mistress, a judicious dispenser of the income, a -careful guide to her servants, a clever manager generally. Now -practical housekeeping is a degradation; and the free soul which -disdains the details of housekeeping yearns for the intellectual -employment of an actuary, of a law clerk, of a banker's clerk. Making -pills is held to be a nobler employment than making puddings; while, -to distinguish between the merits of Egyptians and Mexicans, the -Turkish loan and the Spanish, is considered a greater exercise of mind -than to know fresh salmon from stale and how to lay in household -stores with judgment. But the last is just as important as the first, -and even more so; for the occasional pill, however valuable, is not so -valuable as the daily pudding, and not all the accumulations made by -lucky speculation are of any use if the house-bag which holds them has -a hole in it. - -Once women thought it no ill compliment that they should be considered -the depositaries of the highest moral sentiments. If they were not -held the wiser nor the more logical of the two sections of the human -race, they were held the more religious, the more angelic, the better -taught of God, and the nearer to the way of grace. Now they repudiate -the assumption as an insult, and call that the sign of their -humiliation which was once their distinguishing glory. They do not -want to be patient, self-sacrifice is only a euphemism for slavish -submission to manly tyranny; the quiet peace of home is miserable -monotony; and though they have not come to the length of renouncing -the Christian virtues theoretically, their theory makes but weak -practice, and the womanliness integral to Christianity is by no means -the rule of life of modern womanhood. But the oddest part of the -present odd state of things is the curious blindness of women to what -is most beautiful in themselves. Granting even that the world has -turned so far upside down that the one sex does not care to please the -other, still, there is a good of itself in beauty, which some of our -modern women seem to overlook. And of all kinds of beauty that which -is included in what we mean by womanliness is the greatest and the -most beautiful. - -A womanly woman has neither vanity nor hardness. She may be -pretty--most likely she is--and she may know it; for, not being a -fool, she cannot help seeing it when she looks at herself in the -glass; but knowing the fact is not being conscious of the possession, -and a pretty woman, if of the right ring, is not vain, though she -prizes her beauty as she ought. And she is as little hard as vain. Her -soul is not given up to ribbons, but neither is she indifferent to -externals, dress among them. She knows that part of her natural -mission is to please and be charming, and she knows that dress sets -her off, and that men feel more enthusiastically towards her when she -is looking fresh and pretty than when she is a dowdy and a fright. -And, being womanly, she likes the admiration of men, and thinks their -love a better thing than their indifference. If she likes men she -loves children, and never shunts them as nuisances, nor frets when -forced to have them about her. She knows that she was designed by the -needs of the race and the law of nature to be a mother; sent into the -world for that purpose mainly; and she knows that rational maternity -means more than simply giving life and then leaving it to others to -preserve it. She has no newfangled notions about the animal character -of motherhood, nor about the degrading character of housekeeping. On -the contrary, she thinks a populous and happy nursery one of the -greatest blessings of her state; and she puts her pride in the perfect -ordering, the exquisite arrangements, the comfort, thoughtfulness and -beauty of her house. She is not above her _métier_ as a woman; and she -does not want to ape the manliness she can never possess. - -She has always been taught that, as there are certain manly virtues, -so are there certain feminine ones; and that she is the most womanly -among women who has those virtues in greatest abundance and in the -highest perfection. She has taken it to heart that patience, -self-sacrifice, tenderness, quietness, with some others, of which -modesty is one, are the virtues more especially feminine; just as -courage, justice, fortitude, and the like, belong to men. - -Passionate ambition, virile energy, the love of strong excitement, -self-assertion, fierceness, an undisciplined temper, are all qualities -which detract from her ideal of womanliness, and which make her less -beautiful than she was meant to be. Consequently she has cultivated -all the meek and tender affections, all the unselfishness and thought -for others which have hitherto been the distinctive property of her -sex, by the exercise of which they have done their best work and -earned their highest place. She thinks it no degradation that she -should take pains to please, to soothe, to comfort the man who, all -day long, has been doing irksome work that her home may be beautiful -and her life at ease. She does not think it incumbent on her, as a -woman of spirit, to fly out at an impatient word; to answer back a -momentary irritation with defiance; to give back a Roland to his -Oliver. Her womanliness inclines her to loving forbearance, to -patience under difficulties, to unwearied cheerfulness under such -portion of the inevitable burden as may have been laid on her. She -does not hold herself predestined by nature to receive only the best -of everything, and deem herself affronted where her own especial cross -is bound on her shoulders. Rather, she understands that she too must -take the rough with the smooth; but that, as her husband's way in -life is rougher than hers, his trials are greater, his burden is -heavier, it is her duty--and her privilege--to help him all she can -with her tenderness and her love; and to give back to him at home, if -in a different form, some of the care he has expended while abroad to -make her path smooth. - -In a word, the womanly woman whom we all once loved and in whom we -have still a kind of traditional belief, is she who regards the wishes -of men as of some weight in female action; who holds to love rather -than opposition; to reverence, not defiance; who takes more pride in -the husband's fame than in her own; who glories in the protection of -his name, and in her state as wife; who feels the honour given to her -as wife and matron far dearer than any she may earn herself by -personal prowess; and who believes in her consecration as a helpmeet -for man, not in a rivalry which a few generations will ripen into a -coarse and bitter enmity. - - - - -_SOMETHING TO WORRY._ - - -A humane condescension to instinct has lately supplied ladies' lapdogs -with an ingenious instrument of mock torture, in the shape of an -india-rubber head which hops about the room on the smallest -persuasion, and squeaks shrilly when caught and worried. The animal -has thus the pleasure of mauling something which seems to suffer from -the process; while in reality it hurts nothing, but expends its -tormenting energy on a quite unfeeling creature, whose _raison d'être_ -it is to be worried and made to squeak. It would be well for some of -us if those people who must have something to worry would be content -with a creature analogous to the lapdog's india-rubber head. It would -do just as well for them, and it would save us who feel a great deal -of real pain. Tippoo Sahib was a wise man when he caused his automaton -to be made, in which a tiger seemed to be tearing at the prostrate -figure of a wooden European, and the group gave out mingled growls and -groans at the turning of a handle in its side. It might have been a -dismal fancy perhaps; but the fancy was better than the reality, and -did quite as well for the purpose, which was that the monarch should -keep himself in good humour by the charm of something to worry. - -There are few pains in life greater than the companionship of one of -those ill-conditioned people who must have something to worry, and who -are only happy with a grievance. No fortune, no fair possessions of -love nor beauty, nor what one would think must be the sources of -intense happiness, are spells to exorcise the worrying spirit--opiates -to allay the worrying fever. If in the midst of all they have to make -them blessed among the sons of men, there hops the squeaking ball, in -an instant every good thing belonging to them is forgotten, and there -is nothing in heaven and earth but that one obtruding grievance, that -one intolerable annoyance. Nothing is too small for them to make into -a gigantic evil and be offended at accordingly. They will not endure -with patience the minutest, nor the most inevitable, of the crosses of -life--things which every one has to bear alike; which no one can help; -and concerning which the only wisdom is to meet them with -cheerfulness, tiding over the bad time as quietly as possible till -things take a turn. Not they. They know the luxury of having something -to complain of; and they like to feel wronged. The wind is in the east -and they are personally injured; the rain has come on a pleasure day, -or has not come in a seed-sowing week, and they fret grimly and make -every one about them uncomfortable, as if the weather were a thing to -be arranged at will, and a disappointing day were the result of wilful -mismanagement. Life is a burden to them and all about them because the -climate is uncertain and the elements are out of human control. They -make themselves the most wretched of martyrs too, if they are in a -country they do not like; and they never do like the country they are -in. If down in a valley, they are suffocated; if in the plains or on a -table-land, they hate monotony and long for undulations; if they are -in a wooded district, they dread the damp and worry about the autumn -exhalations; if on a moor, who can live without green hills and -hedgerow birds? They are sorely exercised concerning clay and gravel; -and they find as many differences in the London climate within a -half-hour's walk as those who do not worry would find between St. -Andrews and Mentone. But they are no nearer the right thing wherever -they go; and the people belonging to them may as well bear the worry -at Brompton as at Hampstead, in Cumberland as in Cornwall, and so save -both trouble and expense. - -These worrying folk never let a thing alone. If they have once found a -victim they keep him; crueller in this than cats and tigers which play -with their prey only for a time, but finally give the _coup de grâce_ -and devour it, bones and all. But worrying folk never have done with -their prey, be it person or thing, and have an art of persistence--a -way of establishing a raw--that drives their poor victims into -temporary insanity. This persistency indeed, and the total -indifference to the maddening effect they produce, are the oddest -parts of the performance. They begin again for the twentieth time, -just where they left off; as fresh as if they had not done it all -before, and as eager as if you did not know exactly what was coming. -And it makes no kind of difference to them that their worrying has no -effect, and that things go on exactly as before--exactly as they would -have done had there been no fuss about them at all. - -Granting however, that the old proverb about constant dropping and -inevitable wearing is fulfilled, and that worrying accomplishes its -end, it had better have been let alone; for no one was ever yet -worried into compliance with an uncongenial or abandonment of a -favourite habit, who did not make the worrier wish more than once that -he had let matters remain where he had found them. Imbued with the -unfortunate belief that all things and persons are to be ordered to -their liking, the worriers think themselves justified in flying at the -throat of everything they dislike, and in making their dislikes -peculiar grievances. The natural inclination of boys to tear their -clothes and begrime their hands, to climb up ladders at the peril of -their necks, and to make themselves personally unpleasant to every -sense, is a burden laid specially on them, if they chance to be the -parents of vigorous and robust youth. The cares of their family are -greater than the cares of any other family; and no one understands -what they go through, though every one is told pretty liberally. Hint -at the sufferings of others, and they think you unfeeling and -unsympathetic; try to cheer them, and you affront them; unless you -would offend them for life, you must listen patiently to the -repetition of their miseries continually twanged on one string, and -feign the commiseration you cannot feel. - -It is impossible for these people to go through life in amity with all -men. They may be very good Christians theoretically; most likely they -are; according to the law of compensation by which theory and practice -so seldom go together; but the elementary doctrines of peace and -goodwill are beyond their power of translation into deeds. They have -always some one who is Mordecai to them; some one connected with them, -whose habits, nature, whose very being is a decided offence, and whom -therefore they worry without mercy. You never know these people to be -without a grievance. It may be husband or brother, friend or servant, -as it happens; but there is sure to be some one whose existence puts -them out of tune, and on whom therefore they revenge the discord by -continual worrying. Yet they would be miserable if their grievance -were withdrawn, leaving them for the time without a victim. It would -be only for a time indeed; for the exit of one would be the signal for -the entrance of another. The millennium to these people would be -intolerable dullness; and if they were translated into heaven itself, -they would of a certainty travesty the child's desire, and ask for a -little devil to worry, if not to play with. Women are sad sinners in -this way. Men who stay at home and potter about get like them, but -women, who are naturally nervous, and whose lives are spent in small -things, are generally more worrying than men; at least in daily life -and at home. Indeed, the woman who is more cheerful and hopeful than -easily depressed, and who does not worry any one, is the exception -rather than the rule, and to be prized as one would prize any other -rarity. - -Children come in for a good deal of domestic worrying; and under -pretence of good management and careful education are used as mamma's -squeaking heads, which lie ever handy for a chase. Any one who has -been in a family where the mother is of a naturally worrying temper, -and where a child has a peculiarity, can appreciate to the full what -the propensity is. With substantial love at heart, the mother leads -the wretched little creature a life worse than that of the typical -dog; and makes of its peculiarity, whatever that may be, a personal -offence which she is justified in resenting and never leaving alone. -And if it be so with her children, much more is it with her husband, -for whom her tenderness is naturally less. Though concerning him she -evidently does not know her own mind; for when she has worried into -his grave the man who all his life was such a trial to her, such a -cross, perhaps such a brute, she puts on widow's weeds of the deepest -hue, and worries her sons and daughters with her uncomfortable -reaction in favour of 'poor papa,' whose virtues come to the front -with a bound. Or may be she continues the old song in a different key, -substituting compassion and a sublime forgiveness in place of her -former annoyance, but harping all the same on the old strain and -rasping the old sores. - -Infelicitous at home, these worrying people are almost more than flesh -and blood can bear as travelling companions abroad. Always sure that -the train is going to start and leave them behind; that their landlord -is a robber and in league with brigands; that they will be dashed down -the precipice which tens of thousands have passed in safety before; -worrying about the luggage; and where is that trunk? and are you -_sure_ you saw the portmanteau safe? and have you the keys? and the -custom-house officers will find that bottle of eau-de-cologne and -charge both fine and duty for it; and have you changed the money? and -are you sure you have enough? and what are the fares? and you have -been cheated; and what a bill for only one breakfast and one -night!--and so on. - -The person who undertakes a journey with constitutional worriers ought -to have nerves of iron and a head of ice. They will leave nothing to -the care of ordinary rule, let nothing go by faith. The luggage is -always being lost, according to them; accidents are certain to happen -half a dozen times a day; and the beds are invariably damp. Their -mosquito bites are worse than any other person's; and no one is -plagued with small beasts as they are. They worry all through the -journey, till you wish yourself dead twenty times at least before the -month is out; and when they come home, they tell their friends they -would have enjoyed themselves immensely had they been allowed, but -they were so much annoyed and worried they lost half the pleasure of -the trip. So it will be to the end of time. As children, fretful; as -boys and girls, impatient and ill-tempered; as men and women, -worrying, interfering, restless; as old people, peevish and -exacting--they will die as they have lived; and the world about them -will draw a deep breath of relief when the day of their departure -comes, and will feel their atmosphere so much the lighter for their -loss. Poor creatures! They are conscious of not being loved as they -love, and as perhaps theoretically, they deserve to be loved; but it -would be impossible, even by a surgical operation, to make them -understand the reason why; and that it is their own habit of -incessantly worrying which has chilled the hearts of their friends, -and made them such a burden to others that their removal is a release -and their absence the promise of a life of peace. - - - - -_SWEETS OF MARRIED LIFE._ - - -Marriage, which most girls consider the sole aim of their existence -and the end of all their anxieties, is often the beginning of a set of -troubles which none among them expect, and which, when they come, very -few accept with the dignity of patience or the reasonableness of -common sense. Hitherto the man has been the suitor, the wooer. It has -been his _métier_ to make love; to utter extravagant professions; to -talk poetry and romance of an eminently unwearable kind; and to swear -that feelings, which by the very nature of things it is impossible to -maintain at their present state of fever heat, will be as lasting as -life itself and never know subsidence nor diminution. And girls -believe all that their lovers tell them. They believe in the -absorption of the man's whole life in the love which at the most -cannot be more than a part of his life; they believe that things will -go on for ever as they have begun, and that the fire and fervour of -passion will never cool down to the more manageable warmth of -friendship. And in this belief of theirs lies the rock on which not a -few make such pitiful shipwreck of their married happiness. They -expect their husbands to remain always lovers. Not lovers only in the -best sense, which of course all happy husbands are to the end of time, -but lovers as in the old fond, foolish, courting days. They expect a -continuance of the romance, the poetry, the exaggeration, the _petits -soins_, the microscopic attentions, the absorption of thought and -interest, the centralization of his happiness in her society, just as -in the days when she was still to be won, or, a little later, when, -being won, she was new in the wearing. And as we said before, a wife's -first trial, and her greatest, is when her husband begins to leave off -this kind of fervid love-making and settles down into the tranquil -friend. - -As with children so is it in the nature of most women to require -continual assurances. Very few believe in a love which is not -frequently expressed; while the ability to trust in the vital warmth -of an affection that has lost its early feverishness is the mark of a -higher wisdom than most of them possess. To make them thoroughly happy -a man must be always at their feet; and they are jealous of -everything--even of his work--that takes him away from them, or gives -him occasion for thought and interest outside themselves. They are -rarely able to rise to the height of married friendship; and if they -belong to a reticent and quiet-going man--a man who says 'I love you' -once for all, and then contents himself with living a life of loyalty -and kindness and not talking about it--they fret at what they call -his coldness, and feel themselves shorn of half their glory and more -than half their dues. They refuse to believe in that which is not -daily repeated. They want the incense of flattery, the excitement of -love-making; and if these desires are not ministered to by their -husbands, the danger is that they will get some one else to -'understand' them and feed the sentimentality which dies of inanition -in the quiet serenity of home. Moonlights; a bouquet of the earliest -flowers carefully arranged and tenderly presented; the changing lights -on the mountain tops; the exquisite song of the nightingale at two -o'clock in the morning; all the rest of those vague and suggestive -delights which once made the meeting-places of souls, and furnished -occasion for delicious ravings, become by time and use and the wearing -realities of business and the crowding pressure of anxieties, puerile -and annoying to the ordinary Englishman, who is not a poet by nature. -When all the world was young by reason of his own youth, and the fever -of the love-making time was on him, he was quite as romantic as his -wife. But now he is sobering down; life is fast becoming a very -prosaic thing to him; work is taking the place of pleasure, ambition -of romance; he pooh-poohs her fond remembrances of bygone follies, and -prefers his pipe in the warm library to a station by the open window, -watching the sunset because it looks as it did on _that_ evening, and -shivering with incipient catarrh. All this is very dreadful to her; -women, unfortunately for themselves, remaining young and keeping hold -much longer than do men. - -The first defection of this kind is a pang the young wife never -forgets. But she has many more and yet more bitter ones, when the -defection takes a personal shape, and some pretty little attention is -carelessly received without its due reward of loving thanks. Perhaps -some usual form of caress is omitted in the hurry of the morning's -work; or some gloomy anticipation of professional trouble makes him -oblivious of her presence; or, fretted by her importunate attentions, -he buries himself in a book, more to escape being spoken to than for -the book's own merits. - -Many a woman has gone into her own room and had a 'good cry' because -her husband called her by her baptismal name, and not by some absurd -nickname invented in the days of their folly; or because, pressed for -time, he hurried out of the house without going through the -established formula of leave-taking. The lover has merged in the -husband; security has taken the place of wooing; and the woman does -not take kindly to the transformation. Sometimes she plays a dangerous -game, and tries what flirting with other men will do. If her scheme -does not answer, and her husband is not made jealous, she is revolted, -and holds herself that hardly-used being, a neglected wife. She cannot -accept as a compliment the quiet trust which certain cool-headed men -of a loyal kind place in their wives; and her husband's tolerance of -her flirting manner--which he takes to be manner only, with no evil in -it, and with which, though he may not especially like it, he does not -interfere--seems to her indifference rather than tolerance. Yet the -confidence implied in this forbearance is in point of fact a -compliment worth all the pretty nothings ever invented; though this -hearty faith is just the thing which annoys her, and which she -stigmatizes as neglect. If she were to go far enough she would find -out her mistake. But by that time she would have gone too far to -profit by her experience. - -Nothing is more annoying than that display of affection which some -husbands and wives show to each other in society. That familiarity of -touch, those half-concealed caresses, those absurd names, that -prodigality of endearing epithets, that devoted attention which they -flaunt in the face of the public as a kind of challenge to the world -at large to come and admire their happiness, is always noticed and -laughed at; and sometimes more than laughed at. Yet to some women this -parade of love is the very essence of married happiness and part of -their dearest privileges. They believe themselves admired and envied -when they are ridiculed and scoffed at; and they think their husbands -are models for other men to copy when they are taken as examples for -all to avoid. - -Men who have any real manliness however, do not give in to this kind -of thing; though there are some, as effeminate and gushing as women -themselves, who like this sloppy effusiveness of love and carry it on -into quite old age, fondling the ancient grandmother with grey hair as -lavishly as they had fondled the youthful bride, and seeing no want of -harmony in calling a withered old dame of sixty and upwards by the pet -names by which they had called her when she was a slip of a girl of -eighteen. The continuance of love from youth to old age is very -lovely, very cheering; but even 'John Anderson my Jo' would lose its -pathos if Mrs. Anderson had ignored the difference between the raven -locks and the snowy brow. - -All that excess of flattering and petting of which women are so fond -becomes a bore to a man if required as part of the daily habit of -life. Out in the world as he is, harassed by anxieties of which she -knows nothing, home is emphatically his place of rest--where his wife -is his friend who knows his mind; where he may be himself without the -fear of offending, and relax the strain that must be kept up out of -doors; where he may feel himself safe, understood, at ease. And some -women, and these by no means the coldest nor the least loving, are -wise enough to understand this need of rest in the man's harder life, -and, accepting the quiet of security as part of the conditions of -marriage, content themselves with the undemonstrative love into which -the fever of passion has subsided. Others fret over it, and make -themselves and their husbands wretched because they cannot believe in -that which is not for ever paraded before their eyes. - -Yet what kind of home is it for the man when he has to walk as if on -egg-shells, every moment afraid of wounding the susceptibilities of a -woman who will take nothing on trust, and who has to be continually -assured that he still loves her, before she will believe that to-day -is as yesterday? Of one thing she may be certain; no wife who -understands what is the best kind of marriage demands these continual -attentions, which, voluntary offerings of the lover, become enforced -tribute from the husband. She knows that as a wife, whom it is not -necessary to court nor flatter, she has a nobler place than that which -is expressed by the attentions paid to a mistress. - -Wifehood, like all assured conditions, does not need to be buttressed -up; but a less certain position must be supported from the outside, -and an insecure self-respect, an uncertain holding, must be -perpetually strengthened and reassured. Women who cannot live happily -without being made love to are more like mistresses than wives, and -come but badly off in the great struggles of life and the cruel -handling of time. Placing all their happiness in things which cannot -continue, they let slip that which lies in their hands; and in their -desire to retain the romantic position of lovers lose the sweet -security of wives. Perhaps, if they had higher aims in life than those -with which they make shift to satisfy themselves, they would not let -themselves sink to the level of this folly, and would understand -better than they do now the worth of realities as contrasted with -appearances. And yet we cannot but pity the poor, weak, craving souls -who long so pitifully for the freshness of the morning to continue far -into the day and evening--who cling so tenaciously to the fleeting -romance of youth. They are taken by the glitter of things--love-making -among the rest; and the man who is showiest in his affection, who can -express it with most colour, and paint it, so to speak, with the -minutest touches, is the man whose love seems to them the most -trustworthy and the most intense. They make the mistake of confounding -this show with the substance, of trusting to pictorial expression -rather than to solid facts. And they make that other mistake of -cloying their husbands with half-childish caresses which were all very -well in the early days, but which become tiresome as time goes on and -the gravity of life deepens. And then, when the man either quietly -keeps them off or more brusquely repels them, they are hurt and -miserable, and think the whole happiness of their lives is dead, and -all that makes marriage beautiful at an end. - -What is to be done to balance things evenly in this unequal world of -sex? What indeed, is to be done at any time to reconcile strength with -weakness, and to give each its due? One thing at least is sure. The -more thoroughly women learn the true nature of men, the fewer mistakes -they will make and the less unhappiness they will create for -themselves; and the more patient men are with the hysterical -excitability, the restless craving, which nature, for some purpose at -present unknown, has made the special temperament of women, the fewer -_femmes incomprises_ there will be in married homes and the larger the -chance of married happiness. All one's theories of domestic life come -down at last to the give-and-take system, to bearing and forbearing, -and meeting half way idiosyncrasies which one does not personally -share. - - - - -_SOCIAL NOMADS._ - - -As there are wandering tribes which neither build houses nor pitch -their tents in one place, so there are certain social nomads who never -seem to have a home of their own, and who do not make one for -themselves by remaining long in any other person's. They are always -moving about and are to be met everywhere; at all sea-side places; at -all show places; in Switzerland, France, Italy and Germany; where they -live chiefly in _pensions_ at moderate charges, or in meagre lodgings -affiliated to a populous _table d'hôte_ much frequented by the -English. For one characteristic of social nomads is the strange way in -which they congregate together, expatiating on the delights of life -abroad, while seeing nothing but the outside of things from the centre -of a dense Britannic circle. - -Another characteristic is their chronic state of impecuniosity, and -the desire of looking like the best on a fixed income of slender -dimensions. Hence they are obliged to organize their expenditure on a -very narrow basis, and therefore live in boarding-houses, _pensions_, -or wherever good-sized rooms, a sufficient table, and a constant -current of society are to be had at small individual cost. As they -are people who travel much, they can speak two or three languages, but -only as those who have learnt by ear and not by book. They know -nothing of foreign literature, and but little of their own, save -novels and the class which goes by the name of 'light.' Indeed all the -reading they accomplish is confined to newspapers, magazines and -novels. But at home, and among those who have not been to Berlin, who -have never seen Venice, and to whom Paris is a dream still to be -realized, they assume an intimate acquaintance with both the -literature and the politics of the Continent--especially the -politics--and laugh at the English press for its blindness and -onesidedness. They happen to know beyond all doubt how this -Correspondent was bought over with so much money down; how that one is -in the toils of such or such a Minister's wife; why a third got his -appointment; how a fourth keeps his; and they could, if they chose, -give you chapter and verse for all they say. - -If they chance to have been in India some twenty or thirty years ago, -they will tell you why the Mutiny took place, and how the change of -Government works; and they can put their fingers on all the sore -places of the Empire, beginning with the distribution of patronage and -ending with the deficiency of revenue, as aptly as if they were on the -spot and had the confidence of the ruling officials. But in spite of -these little foibles they are amusing companions as a rule, if -shallow and radically ill-informed; and as it is for their own -interest to be good company, they have cultivated the art of -conversation to the highest pitch of which they are capable, and can -entertain if not instruct. When they aim at instruction indeed, they -are pretty sure to miss the mark; and the social nomad who lays down -the law on foreign statesmen and politics, and who speaks from -personal knowledge, is just the one authority not to be accepted. - -Always living in public, yet having to fight, each for his own hand, -the manners of social nomads in _pensions_ are generally a strange -mixture of suavity and selfishness; and the small intrigues and crafty -stratagems going on among them for the possession of the favourite -seat in the drawing-room, the special attention of the head-waiter at -table, the earliest attendance of the housemaid in the morning, is in -strange contrast with the ready smiles, the personal flatteries, the -affectation of sympathetic interest kept for show. But every social -nomad knows how to appraise this show at its just value, and can weigh -it in the balance to a grain. He does not much prize it; for he knows -one characteristic of these communities to be that everybody speaks -against everybody else, and that all concur in speaking against the -management. - -Still, life seems to go easily enough among them. They are all -well-dressed and for the most part have their tempers under control. -Some of the women play well, and some sing prettily. There are always -to be found a sufficient number of the middle-aged of either sex to -make up a whist-table, where the game is sound and sometimes -brilliant; and there are sure to be men who play billiards creditably -and with a crisp, clean stroke worth looking at. And there are very -often lively women who make amusement for the rest. But these are -smartly handled behind backs, though they are petted in public and -undeniably useful to the society at large. - -The nomadic widow is by some odd fatality generally the widow of an -officer, naval or military, to whose rank she attaches an almost -superstitious value, thinking that when she can announce herself as -the relict of a major or an admiral she has given an unanswerable -guarantee and smoothed away all difficulties. She may have many -daughters, but more probably she has only one;--for where -olive-branches abound nomadism is more expensive than housekeeping, -and to live in one's own house is less costly than to live in a -boarding-house. But of this one daughter the nomadic widow makes much -to the community; and especially calls attention to her simplicity and -absolute ignorance of the evils so familiar to the girls of the -present day. And she looks as if she expects to be believed. Perhaps -credence is difficult; the young lady in question having been for some -years considerably in public, where she has learnt to take care of -herself with a skill which, how much soever it may be deserving of -praise, can scarcely claim to be called ingenuous. She has need of -this skill; for, apparently, she and her mother have no male relations -belonging to them, and if flirtations are common with the nomadic -tribe, marriages are rare. Poor souls; one cannot but pity them for -all their labour in vain, all their abortive hopes. For though there -is more society in the mode of life they have chosen than they would -have had if they had lived quietly down in the village where they were -known and respected, and where, who knows? the fairy prince might one -day have alighted--there are very few chances; and marriages among -'the inmates' are as rare as winter swallows. - -The men who live in these places, whether as nomadic or permanent -guests, never have money enough to marry on; and the flirtations -always budding and blossoming by the piano or about the billiard-table -never by any chance fructify in marriage. But in spite of their -infertile experience you see the same mother and the same daughter -year after year, season after season, returning to the charge with -renewed vigour, and a hope which is the one indestructible thing about -them. Let us deal tenderly with them, poor impecunious nomads; -drifting like so much sea-wrack along the restless current of life; -and wish them some safe resting-place before it is too late. - -A lady nomad of this kind, especially one with a daughter, is strictly -orthodox and cultivates with praiseworthy perseverance the society of -any clergyman who may have wandered into the community of which she is -a member. She is punctual in church-going; and the minister is -flattered by her evident appreciation of his sermons, and the -readiness with which she can remember certain points of last Sunday's -discourse. As a rule she is Evangelically inclined, and is as -intolerant of Romanism on the one hand as of Rationalism on the other. -She has seen the evils of both, she says, and quotes the state of Rome -and of Heidelberg in confirmation. She is as strict in morals as in -orthodoxy, and no woman who has got herself talked about, however -innocently, need hope for much mercy at her hands. Her Rhadamanthine -faculty has apparently ample occasion for exercise, for her list of -scandalous chronicles is extensive; and if she is to be believed, she -and her daughter are almost the sole examples of a pure and untainted -womanhood afloat. She is as rigid too, in all matters connected with -her social status; and brings up her daughter in the same way of -thinking. By virtue of the admiral or the major, at peace in his -grave, they are emphatically ladies; and, though nomadic, impecunious, -homeless, and _tant soit peu_ adventuresses, they class themselves as -of the cream of the cream, and despise those whose rank is of the -uncovenanted kind, and who are gentry, may be, by the grace of God -only without any Act of Parliament to help. - -Sometimes the lady nomad is a spinster, not necessarily _passée_, -though obviously she cannot be in her first youth; still she may be -young enough to be attractive, and adventurous enough to care to -attract. Women of this kind, unmarried, nomadic and still young, work -themselves into every movement afoot. They even face the perils and -discomforts of war-time, and tell their friends at home that they are -going out as nurses to the wounded. That dash of the adventuress, of -which we have spoken before, runs through all this section of the -social nomads; and one wonders why some uncle or cousin, some aunt or -family friend, does not catch them up in time. - -If not attractive nor passably young, these nomadic spinsters are sure -to be exceedingly odd. Constant friction with society in its most -selfish form, the absence of home-duties, the want of the sweetness -and sincerity of home love, and the habit of change, bring out all -that is worst in them and kill all that is best. They have nothing to -hope for from society and less to lose; it is wearisome to look -amiable and sweet-tempered when you feel bitter and disappointed; and -politeness is a farce where the fact of the day is a fight. So the -nomadic spinster who has lived so long in this rootless way that she -has ceased even to make such fleeting friendships as the mode of life -affords--has ceased even to wear the transparent mark of such thin -politeness as is required--becomes a 'character' notorious in -proportion to her candour. She never stays long in one establishment, -and generally leaves abruptly because of a misunderstanding with some -other lady, or maybe because some gentleman has unwittingly affronted -her. She and the officer's widow are always on peculiarly unfriendly -terms, for she resents the pretensions of the officer's daughter, and -calls her a bold minx or a sly puss almost within hearing; while she -throws grave doubts on the widow herself, and drops hints which the -rest of the community gather up like manna, and keep by them, to much -the same result as that of the wilderness. But the nomadic spinster -soon wanders away to another temporary resting-place; and before half -her life is done she becomes as well known to the heads of the various -establishments in her line as the taxgatherer himself, and dreaded -almost as much. - -Nomads are generally remarkable for not leaving tracks behind them. -You see them here and there, and they are sure to turn up at -Baden-Baden or at Vichy, at Scarborough or at Dieppe, when you least -expect them; but you know nothing about them in the interim. They are -like those birds which hybernate at some place of retreat no one yet -ever found; or like those which migrate, who can tell where? They come -and they go. You meet and part and meet again in all manner of -unlikely places; and it seems to you that they have been over half the -world since you last met, you meanwhile having settled quietly to your -work, save for your summer holiday which you are now taking, and which -you are enjoying as the nomad cannot enjoy any change that falls to -his lot. He is sated with change; wearied of novelty; yet unable to -fix himself, however much he may wish it. He has got into the habit of -change; and the habit clings even when the desire has gone. Always -hoping to be at rest, always intending to settle as years flow on, he -never finds the exact place to suit him; only when he feels the end -approaching, and by reason of old age and infirmity is a nuisance in -the community where formerly he was an acquisition, and where too all -that once gave him pleasure has now become an insupportable burden and -weariness--only then does he creep away into some obscure and lonely -lodging, where he drags out his remaining days alone, and dies without -the touch of one loved hand to smooth his pillow, without the sound of -one dear voice to whisper to him courage, farewell, and hope. The home -he did not plant when he might is impossible to him now, and there is -no love that endures if there is no home in which to keep it. And so -all the class of social nomads find when dark days are on them, and -society, which cares only to be amused, deserts them in their hour of -greatest need. - - - - -_GREAT GIRLS._ - - -Nothing is more distinctive among women than the difference of -relative age to be found between them. Two women of the same number of -years will be substantially of different epochs of life--the one faded -in person, wearied in mind, fossilized in sympathy; the other fresh -both in face and feeling, with sympathies as broad and keen as they -were when she was in her first youth; with a brain still as receptive, -as quick to learn, a temper still as easy to be amused, as ready to -love, as when she emerged from the school-room to the drawing-room. -The one you suspect of understating her age by half-a-dozen years or -more when she tells you she is not over forty; the other makes you -wonder if she has not overstated hers by just so much when she -laughingly confesses to the same age. The one is an old woman who -seems as if she had never been young, the other 'just a great girl -yet,' who seems as if she would never grow old; and nothing is equal -between them but the number of days each has lived. - -This kind of woman, so fresh and active, so intellectually as well as -emotionally alive, is never anything but a girl; never loses some of -the sweetest characteristics of girlhood. You see her first as a young -wife and mother, and you imagine she has left the school-room for -about as many months as she has been married years. Her face has none -of that untranslatable expression, that look of robbed bloom, which -experience gives; in her manner is none of the preoccupation so -observable in most young mothers, whose attention never seems wholly -given to the thing on hand, and whose hearts seem always full of a -secret care or an unimparted joy. Brisk and airy, braving all -weathers, ready for any amusement, interested in the current questions -of history and society, by some wonderful faculty of organizing -seeming to have all her time to herself as if she had no house cares -and no nursery duties, yet these somehow not neglected, she is the -very ideal of a happy girl roving through life as through a daisy -field, on whom sorrow has not yet laid its hand and to whose lot has -fallen no Dead Sea apple. And when one hears her name and style for -the first time as a matron, and sees her with two or three sturdy -little fellows hanging about her slender neck and calling her mamma, -one feels as if nature had somehow made a mistake, and that our slim -and simple-mannered damsel had only made-believe to have taken up the -serious burdens of life, and was nothing but a great girl after all. - -Grown older she is still the great girl she was ten years ago, if her -type of girlishness is a little changed and her gaiety of manner a -little less persistent. But even now, with a big boy at Eton and a -daughter whose presentation is not so far off, she is younger than her -staid and melancholy sister, her junior by many years, who has gone in -for the Immensities and the Worship of Sorrow, who thinks laughter the -sign of a vacant mind, and that to be interesting and picturesque a -woman must have unserviceable nerves and a defective digestion. Her -sister looks as if all that makes life worth living for lies behind -her, and only the grave is beyond; she, the great girl, with her -bright face and even temper, believes that her future will be as -joyous as her present, as innocent as her past, as full of love and as -purely happy. She has known some sorrows truly, and she has gained -such experience as comes only through the rending of the -heart-strings; but nothing that she has passed through has seared nor -soured her, and if it has taken off just the lighter edge of her -girlishness it has left the core as bright and cheery as ever. - -In person she is generally of the style called 'elegant' and -wonderfully young in mere physical appearance. Perhaps sharp eyes -might spy out here and there a little silver thread among the soft -brown hair; and when fatigued or set in a cross light, lines not quite -belonging to the teens may be traced about her eyes and mouth; but in -favourable conditions, with her graceful figure advantageously draped -and her fair face flushed and animated, she looks just a great girl, -no more; and she feels as she looks. It is well for her if her husband -is a wise man, and more proud of her than he is jealous; for he must -submit to see her admired by all the men who know her, according to -their individual manner of expressing admiration. But as purity of -nature and singleness of heart belong to her qualification for great -girlishness, he has no cause for alarm, and she is as safe with Don -Juan as with St. Anthony. - -These great girls, as middle-aged matrons, are often seen in the -country; and one of the things which most strikes a Londoner is the -abiding youthfulness of this kind of matron. She has a large family, -the elders of which are grown up, but she has lost none of the beauty -for which her youth was noted, though it is now a different kind of -beauty from what it was then; and she has still the air and manners of -a girl. She blushes easily, is shy, and sometimes apt to be a little -awkward, though always sweet and gentle; she knows very little of real -life and less of its vices; she is pitiful to sorrow, affectionate to -her friends who are few in number, and strongly attached to her own -family; she has no theological doubts, no scientific proclivities, and -the conditions of society and the family do not perplex her. She -thinks Darwinism and protoplasm dangerous innovations; and the -doctrine of Free Love with Mrs. Cady Staunton's development is -something too shocking for her to talk about. She lifts her calm clear -eyes in wonder at the wild proceedings of the shrieking sisterhood, -and cannot for the life of her make out what all this tumult means, -and what the women want. For herself, she has no doubts whatever, no -moral uncertainties. The path of duty is as plain to her as are the -words of the Bible, and she loves her husband too well to wish to be -his rival or to desire an individualized existence outside his. She is -his wife, she says; and that seems more satisfactory to her than to be -herself a Somebody in the full light of notoriety, with him in the -shade as her appendage. - -If inclined to be intolerant to any one, it is to those who seek to -disturb the existing state of things, or whose speculations unsettle -men's minds; those who, as she thinks, entangle the sense of that -which is clear and straightforward enough if they would but leave it -alone, and who, by their love of iconoclasm, run the risk of -destroying more than idols. But she is intolerant only because she -believes that when men put forth false doctrines they put them forth -for a bad purpose, and to do intentional mischief. Had she not this -simple faith, which no philosophic questionings have either enlarged -or disturbed, she would not be the great girl she is; and what she -would have gained in catholicity she would have lost in freshness. For -herself, she has no self-asserting power, and would shrink from any -kind of public action; but she likes to visit the poor, and is -sedulous in the matter of tracts and flannel-petticoats, vexing the -souls of the sterner, if wiser, guardians and magistrates by her -generosity which they affirm only encourages idleness and creates -pauperism. She cannot see it in that light. Charity is one of the -cardinal virtues of Christianity; accordingly, charitable she will -be, in spite of all that political economists may say. - -She belongs to her family, they do not belong to her; and you seldom -hear her say 'I went' or 'I did.' It is always 'we;' which, though a -small point, is a significant one, showing how little she holds to -anything like an isolated individuality, and how entirely she feels a -woman's life to belong to and be bound up in her home relations. She -is romantic too, and has her dreams and memories of early days; when -her eyes grow moist as she looks at her husband--the first and only -man she ever loved--and the past seems to be only part of the present. -The experience which she must needs have had has served only to make -her more gentle, more pitiful, than the ordinary girl, who is -naturally inclined to be a little hard; and of all her household she -is the kindest and the most intrinsically sympathetic. She keeps up -her youth for the children's sake she says; and they love her more -like an elder sister than the traditional mother. They never think of -her as old, for she is their constant companion and can do all that -they do. She is fond of exercise; is a good walker; an active climber; -a bold horsewoman; a great promoter of picnics and open-air -amusements. She looks almost as young as her eldest daughter -differentiated by a cap and covered shoulders; and her sons have a -certain playfulness in their love for her which makes them more her -brothers than her sons. Some of them are elderly men before she has -ceased to be a great girl; for she keeps her youth to the last by -virtue of a clear conscience, a pure mind and a loving nature. She is -wise in her generation and takes care of her health by means of active -habits, fresh air, cold water and a sparing use of medicines and -stimulants; and if the dear soul is proud of anything it is of her -figure, which she keeps trim and elastic to the last, and of the -clearness of her complexion, which no heated rooms have soddened, no -accustomed strong waters have clouded nor bloated. - -Then there are great girls of another kind--women who, losing the -sweetness of youth, do not get in its stead the dignity of maturity; -who are fretful, impatient, undisciplined, knowing no more of -themselves nor human nature than they did when they were nineteen, yet -retaining nothing of that innocent simplicity, that single-hearted -freshness and joyousness of nature which one does not wish to see -disturbed even for the sake of a deeper knowledge. These are the women -who will not get old and who consequently do not keep young; who, when -they are fifty, dress themselves in gauze and rosebuds, and think to -conceal their years by a judicious use of many paint-pots and the -liberality of the hairdresser; who are jealous of their daughters, -whom they keep back as much and as long as they can, and terribly -aggrieved at their irrepressible six feet of sonship; women who have a -trick of putting up their fans before their faces as if they were -blushing; who give you the impression of flounces and ringlets, and -who flirt by means of much laughter and a long-sustained giggle; who -talk incessantly, yet have said nothing to the purpose when they have -done; and who simper and confess they are not strong-minded but only -'awfully silly little things,' when you try to lead the conversation -into anything graver than fashion and flirting. They are women who -never learn repose of mind nor dignity of manner; who never lose their -taste for mindless amusements, and never acquire one for nature nor -for quiet happiness; and who like to have lovers always hanging about -them--men for the most part younger than themselves, whom they call -naughty boys and tap playfully by way of rebuke. They are women unable -to give young girls good advice on prudence or conduct; mothers who -know nothing of children; mistresses ignorant of the alphabet of -housekeeping; wives whose husbands are merely the bankers, and most -probably the bugbears, of the establishment; women who think it -horrible to get old and to whom, when you talk of spiritual peace or -intellectual pleasures, you are as unintelligible as if you were -discoursing in the Hebrew tongue. As a class they are wonderfully -inept; and their hands are practically useless, save as ring-stands -and glove-stretchers. For they can do nothing with them, not even -frivolous fancy-work. They read only novels; and one of the marvels of -their existence is what they do with themselves in those hours when -they are not dressing, flirting, nor paying visits. - -If they are of a querulous and nervous type, their children fly from -them to the furthest corners of the house; if they are molluscous and -good-natured, they let themselves be manipulated up to a certain -point, but always on the understanding that they are only a few years -older than their daughters; almost all these women, by some fatality -peculiar to themselves, having married when they were about ten years -old, and having given birth to progeny with the uncomfortable property -of looking at the least half a dozen years older than they are. This -accounts for the phenomenon of a girlish matron of this kind, dressed -to represent first youth, with a sturdy black-browed débutante by her -side, looking, you would swear to it, of full majority if a day. Her -only chance is to get that black-browed tell-tale married out of hand; -and this is the reason why so many daughters of great girls of this -type make such notoriously early--and bad--matches; and why, when once -married, they are never seen in society again. - -Grandmaternity and girlishness scarcely fit in well together, and -rosebuds are a little out of place when a nursery of the second degree -is established. There are scores of women fluttering through society -at this moment whose elder daughters have been socially burked by the -friendly agency of a marriage almost as soon as, or even before, they -were introduced, and who are therefore, no longer witnesses against -the hairdresser and the paint-pots; and there are scores of these -same marriageable daughters eating out their hearts and spoiling their -pretty faces in the school-room a couple of years beyond their time, -that mamma may still believe the world takes her to be under thirty -yet--and young at that. - - - - -_SHUNTED DOWAGERS._ - - -The typical mother-in-law is, as we all know, fair game for every -one's satire; and according to the odd notions which prevail on -certain points, a man is assumed to show his love for his wife by -systematic disrespect to her mother, and to think that her new -affections will be knit all the closer the more loosely he can induce -her to hold her old ones. The mother-in-law, according to this view of -things, has every fault. She interferes, and always at the wrong time -and on the wrong side; she makes a tiff into a quarrel and widens a -coolness into a breach; she is self-opinionated and does not go with -the times; she treats her daughter like a child and her son-in-law -like an appendage; she spoils the elder children and feeds the baby -with injudicious generosity; she spends too much on her dress, -wears too many rings, trumps her partner's best card and does not -attend to the 'call;'--and she is fat. But even the well abused -mother-in-law--the portly old dowager who has had her day and is no -longer pleasing in the eyes of men--even she has her wrongs like most -of us; and if she sometimes asserts her rights more aggressively than -patiently, she has to put up with many disagreeable rubs for her own -part; and female tempers over fifty are not notorious for humility. - -Take the case of a widow with means, whose family is settled. Not a -daughter to chaperone, not a son to marry; all are so far happily off -her hands, and she is left alone. But what does her loneliness mean? -In the first place, while her grief for her husband is yet new--and we -will assume that she does grieve for him--she has to turn out of the -house where she has been queen and mistress for the best years of her -life; to abdicate state and style in favour of her son and her son's -wife whom she is sure not to like; and, however good her jointure may -be, she must necessarily find her new home one of second-rate -importance. Perhaps however, the family objects to her having a home -of her own. Dear mamma must give up housekeeping and divide her time -among them all; but specially among her daughters, being more likely -to get on well with their husbands than with her sons' wives. - -Dear mamma has means, be it remembered. Perhaps she is a good natured -soul, a trifle weak and vain in proportion; who knows what -evil-disposed person may not get influence over her and exercise it to -the detriment of all concerned? She has the power of making her will, -and, granting that she is proof against the fascinations of some -fortune-hunting scamp twenty years at the least her junior--may be -forty, who knows? do not men continually marry their grandmothers if -they are well paid for it?--and though every daughter's mamma is of -course normally superior to weakness of this kind, yet accidents will -happen where least expected. And even if there is no possible fear of -the fascinating scamp on the look-out for a widow with a jointure, -there are artful companions and intriguing maids who worm themselves -into confidence and ultimate power; sly professors of faiths dependent -on filthy lucre for their proof of divinity; and on the whole, all -things considered, dear mamma's purse and person are safest in the -custody of her children. So the poor lady, who was once the head of a -place, gives up all title to a home of her own, and spends her time -among her married daughters, in whose houses she is neither guest nor -mistress. She is only mamma; one of the family without a voice in the -family arrangements; a member of a community without a recognized -status; shunted; set aside; and yet with dangers of the most delicate -kind besetting her path in all directions. Nothing can be much more -unsatisfactory than such a position; and none much more difficult to -steer through, without renouncing the natural right of self-assertion -on the one hand, or certainly rasping the exaggerated susceptibilities -of touchy people on the other. - -In general the shunted dowager has as little indirect influence as -direct power; and her opinion is never asked nor desired as a matter -of graceful acknowledgment of her maturer judgment. If she is appealed -to, it is in some family dispute between her son and daughter, where -her partizanship is sought only as a makeweight for one or other of -the belligerents. But, so far as she individually is concerned, she is -given to understand that she is rococo, out of date, absurd; that, -since she was young and active, things have entered on a new phase -where she is nowhere, and that her past experience is not of the -slightest use as things are nowadays. If she has still energy enough -left, so that she likes to have her say and do her will, she has to -pass under a continual fire of opposition. If she is timid, -phlegmatic, indolent, or peaceable, and with no fight in her, she is -quietly sat upon and extinguished. - -Dear mamma is the best creature in the world so long as she is the -mere pawn on the young folks' domestic chess-board, to be placed -without an opposing will or sentiment of her own. She is the 'greatest -comfort' to her daughter; and even her son-in-law assents to her -presence, so long as she takes the children when required to do so, -does her share of the tending and more than her share of the giving, -but never presuming to administer nor to correct; so long as she is -placidly ready to take off all the bores; listen to the interminable -story-tellers; play propriety for the young people; make conversation -for the helplessly stupid or nervous; so long in fact as she will make -herself generally useful to others, demand nothing on her own account, -and be content to stand on the siding while the younger world whisks -up and down at express speed at its pleasure. Let her do more than -this--let her sometimes attempt to manage and sometimes object to be -managed--let her have a will of her own and seek to impose it--and -then 'dear mamma is so trying, so fond of interfering, so unable to -understand things;' and nothing but mysterious 'considerations' induce -either daughter or son-in-law to keep her. - -No one seems to understand the heartache it must have cost her, and -that it must be continually costing her, to see herself so suddenly -and completely shunted. Only a year ago and she had pretensions of all -kinds. Time had dealt with her leniently, and no moment had come when -she had suddenly leaped a gulf and passed from one age to another -without gradations. She had drifted almost imperceptibly through the -various stages into a long term of mature sirenhood, remaining always -young and pretty to her husband. But now her widow's cap marks an era -in her life, and the loss of her old home a new and descending step in -her career. She is plainly held to have done with the world and all -individual happiness--all personal importance; plainly told that she -is now only an interposing cushion to soften the shock or ease the -strain for others. But she does not quite see it for her own part, and -after having been so long first--first in her society, in her home, -with her husband, with her children--it is a little hard on her that -she should have to sink down all at once into a mere rootless waif, a -kind of family possession belonging to every one in turn and the -common property of all, but possessing nothing of herself. - -Of course dear mamma can make herself bitterly disagreeable if she -likes. She can taunt instead of letting herself be snubbed. She can -interfere where she is not wanted; give unpalatable advice; make -unpleasant remarks; tell stinging truths; and in all ways act up to -the reputation of the typical mother-in-law. But in general that is -only when she has kept her life in her own hands; has still her place -and her own home; remains the centre of the family and its recognized -head; with the dreadful power of making innumerable codicils and -leaving munificent bequests. If she has gone into the Learism of -living about among her daughters, it is scarce likely that she has -character enough to be actively disagreeable or aggressive. - -On a first visit to a country-house it is sometimes difficult to -rightly localize the old lady on the sofa who goes in and out of the -room apparently without purpose, and who seems to have privileges but -no rights. Whose property is she? What is she doing here? She is dear -mamma certainly; but is she a personage or a dependent? Is she on a -visit like the rest of us? Is she the maternal lodger whose income -helps not unhandsomely? or, has she no private fortune, and so lives -with her son-in-law because she cannot afford to keep house on her own -account? She is evidently shunted, whatever her circumstances, and has -no _locus standi_ save that given by sufferance, convenience, or -affection. Naturally she is the last of the dowagers visiting at the -house. She may come before the younger women, from the respect due to -age; but her place is at the rear of all her own contemporaries; not -for the graceful fiction of hospitality, but because she is one of the -family and therefore must give precedence to strangers. - -She is the movable circumstance of the home life. The young wife, of -course, has her fixed place and settled duties; the master is the -master; the guests have their graduated rights; but the shunted -dowager is peripatetic and elastic as well as shunted, and to be used -according to general convenience. If a place is vacant, which there is -no one else to fill, dear mamma must please to take it; if the party -is larger than there are places, dear mamma must please stay away. She -is assumed to have got over the age when pleasure means pleasure, and -to know no more of disappointment than of skipping. In fact, she is -assumed to have got over all individuality of every kind, and to be -able to sacrifice or to restrain as she may be required by the rest. - -Perhaps one of her greatest trials lies in the silence she is obliged -to keep, if she would keep peace. She must sit still and see things -done which are gall and wormwood to her. Say that she has been -specially punctilious in habits, suave in bearing, perhaps a trifling -humbugging and flattering--she has to make the best of her daughter's -brusqueries and uncontrolled tempers, of her son-in-law's dirty boots, -and the new religion of outspokenness which both profess. Say that she -has been accustomed to speak her mind with the uncompromising boldness -of a woman owning a place and stake in the county--she has to curb the -natural indignation of her soul when her young people, wiser in their -generation or not so securely planted, make friends with all sorts and -conditions, are universally sweet to everybody, hunt after popularity -with untiring zest, and live according to the doctrine of angels -unawares. The ways of the house are not her ways, and things are not -ordered as she used to order them. People are invited with whom she -would not have shaken hands, and others are left out whose -acquaintance she would have specially affected. All sorts of -subversive doctrines are afloat, and the old family traditions are -sure to be set aside. She abhors the Ritualistic tendencies of her -son-in-law, or she despises his Evangelical proclivities; his politics -are not sound and his vote fatally on the wrong side; and she laments -that her daughter, so differently brought up, should have been won -over as she has been to her husband's views. But what of that? She is -only a dowager shunted and laid on the shelf; and what she likes or -dislikes does not weigh a feather in the balance, so long as her purse -and person are safe in the family, and her will securely locked up in -the solicitor's iron safe, with no likelihood of secret codicils -upstairs. On the whole then, there is a word to be said even for the -dreadful mother-in-law of general scorn; and, as the shunted dowager, -the poor soul has her griefs of no slight weight and her daily -humiliations bitter enough to bear. - - - - -_PRIVILEGED PERSONS._ - - -We all number among our acquaintances certain privileged persons; -people who make their own laws without regard to the received canons -of society, and who claim exemption from some of the moral and most of -the conventional obligations which are considered binding on others. -The privileged person may be male or female; but is more often the -latter; sundry restraining influences keeping men in check which are -inoperative with women. Women indeed, when they choose to fall out of -the ranks and follow an independent path of their own, care very -little for any influences at all, the restraining power which will -keep them in line being yet an unknown quantity. As a woman then, we -will first deal with the privileged person. - -One embodiment of the privileged person is she whose forte lies in -saying unpleasant things with praiseworthy coolness. She aims at a -reputation for smartness or for honesty, according to the character of -her intellect, and she uses what she gets without stint or sparing. If -clever, she is noted for her sarcastic speeches and epigrammatic -brilliancy; and her good things are bandied about from one to the -other of her friends; with an uneasy sense however, in the laughter -they excite. For every one feels that he who laughs to-day may have -cause to wince to-morrow, and that dancing on one's own grave is by no -means an exhilarating exercise. - -No one is safe with her--not even her nearest and dearest; and she -does not care how deeply she wounds when she is about it. But her -victims rarely retaliate; which is the oddest part of the business. -They resign themselves meekly enough to the scalpel, and comfort -themselves with the reflection that it is only pretty Fanny's way, and -that she is known to all the world as a privileged person who may say -what she likes. It falls hard though, on the uninitiated and -sensitive, when they are first introduced to a privileged person with -a talent for saying smart things and no pity to speak of. Perhaps they -have learned their manners too well to retort in kind, if even they -are able; and so feel themselves constrained to bear the unexpected -smart, as the Spartan boy bore his fox. One sees them at times endure -their humiliation before folk with a courageous kind of stoicism which -would do honour to a better cause. Perhaps they are too much taken -aback to be able to marshal their wits for a serviceable -counter-thrust; all they can do is to look confused and feel angry; -but sometimes, if seldom, the privileged person with a talent for -sarcastic sayings meets with her match and gets paid off in her own -coin--which greatly offends her, while it rejoices those of her -friends who have suffered many things at her hands before. If she is -rude in a more sledge-hammer kind of way--rude through what it pleases -her to call honesty and the privilege of speaking her mind--her -attacks are easier to meet, being more openly made and less dependent -on quickness or subtlety of intellect to parry. - -Sometimes indeed, by their very coarseness they defeat themselves. -When a woman of this kind says in a loud voice, as her final argument -in a discussion, 'Then you must be a fool,' as we have known a woman -tell her hostess, she has blunted her own weapon and armed her -opponent. All her privileges cannot change the essential constitution -of things; and, rudeness being the boomerang of the drawing-room which -returns on the head of the thrower, the privileged person who prides -herself on her honesty, and who is not too squeamish as to its use, -finds herself discomfited by the very silence and forbearance of her -victim. In either case however, whether using the rapier or the -sledge-hammer, the person privileged in speech is partly a nuisance -and partly a stirrer-up of society. People gather round to hear her, -when she has grappled with a victim worthy of her steel, and is using -it with effect. Yet unless her social status is such that she can -command a following by reason of the flunkeyism inherent in human -nature, she is sure to find herself dropped before her appointed end -has come. People get afraid of her ill-nature for themselves, and -tired of hearing the same things repeated of others. For even a clever -woman has her intellectual limits, and is forced after a time to -double back on herself and re-open the old workings. It is all very -well, people think, to read sharp satires on society in the abstract, -and to fit the cap as one likes. Even if it fits oneself, one can bear -the fool's crown with some small degree of equanimity in the hope that -others will not discover the fact; but when it comes to a hand-to-hand -attack, with bystanders to witness, and oneself reduced to an -ignominious silence, it is another matter altogether; and, however -sparkling the gifts of one's privileged friend, one would rather not -put oneself in the way of their exercise. So she is gradually shunned -till she is finally abandoned; what was once the clever impertinence -of a pretty person, or the frank insolence of a cherubic hoyden, -having turned by time into the acrid humour of a grim female who keeps -no terms with any one, and with whom therefore, no terms are kept. The -pretty person given to smart sayings with a sting in them and the -cherubic hoyden who allows herself the use of the weapon of honesty, -would do well to ponder on the inevitable end, when the only real -patent of their privileges has run out, and they have no longer youth -and beauty to plead in condonation for their bad breeding. - -Another exercise of peculiar privilege is to be found in the matter of -flirting. Some women are able to flirt with impunity to an extent -which would simply destroy any one else. They flirt with the most -delicious frankness, yet for all practical purposes keep their place -in society undisturbed and their repute intact. They have the art of -making the best of two worlds, the secret of which is all their own, -yet which causes the weak to stumble and the rash to fall. They ride -on two horses at once, with a skill as consummate as their daring; but -the feeble sisters who follow after them slip down between, and come -to grief and public disaster as their reward. It is in vain to try to -analyze the terms on which this kind of privilege is founded. Say that -one pretty person takes the tone of universal relationship--that she -has an illimitable fund of sisterliness always at command for a host -of 'dear boys' of her own age; or, when a little older and drawing -near to the borders of mature sirenhood, that she is a kind of -oecumenical aunt to a large congregation of well-looking nephews--she -may steer safely through the shallows of this dangerous coast and land -at last on the _terra firma_ of a respected old age; but let another -try it, and she goes to the bottom like a stone. And yet the first has -pushed her privileges as far as they will go, while the second has -only played with hers; but the one comes triumphantly into port with -all colours flying, and the other makes shipwreck and is lost. - -And why the one escapes and the other goes down is a mystery given to -no one to fathom. But so it is; and every student of society is aware -of this strange elasticity of privilege with certain pretty friends, -and must have more than once wondered at Mrs. Grundy's leniency to the -flagrant sinner on the right side of the square, coupled with her -severity to the lesser naughtiness on the left. The flirting form of -privilege is the most partial in its limitations of all; and things -which one fair patentee may do with impunity, retaining her garlands, -will cause another to be stripped bare and chastised with scorpions; -and no one knows why nor how the difference is made. - -Another self-granted privilege is the licence some give themselves in -the way of taking liberties, and the boldness with which they force -your barriers. Indeed there is no barrier that can stand against these -resolute invaders. You are not at home, say, to all the world, but the -privileged person is sure you will see him or her, and forthwith -mounts your stairs with a cheerful conscience, carrying his welcome -with him--so he says. Admitted into your penetralia, the privileges of -this bold sect increase, being of the same order as the traditional -ell on the grant of the inch. They drop in at all times, and are never -troubled with modest doubts. They elect themselves your 'casuals,' for -whom you are supposed to have always a place at your table; and you -are obliged to invite them into the dining-room when the servant -sounds the gong and the roast mutton makes itself evident. They hear -you are giving an evening, and they tell you they will come, -uninvited; taking for granted that you intended to ask them, and -would have been sorry if you had forgotten. They tack themselves on to -your party at a fête and air their privileges in public--when the man -whom of all others you would like best for a son-in-law is hovering -about, kept at bay by the privileged person's familiar manner towards -yourself and your daughter. - -Your friend would laugh at you if you hinted to him that he might by -chance be misinterpreted. He argues that every one knows him and his -ways; and acts as if he held a talisman by which the truth could be -read through the thickest crust of appearances. It would be well -sometimes if he had this talisman, for his familiarity is a -bewildering kind of thing to strangers on their first introduction to -a house where he has privileges; and it takes time, and some -misapprehension, before it is rightly understood. We do not know how -to catalogue this man who is so wonderfully at ease with our new -friends. We know that he is not a relation, and yet he acts as one -bound by the closest ties. The girls are no longer children, but his -manner towards them would be a little too familiar if they were half a -dozen years younger than they are; and we come at last to the -conclusion that the father owes him money, or that the wife had -been--well, what?--in the days gone by; and that he is therefore -master of the situation and beyond the reach of rebuke. All things -considered, this kind of privilege is dangerous, and to be carefully -avoided by parents and guardians. Indeed, every form of this patent -is dangerous; the chances being that sooner or later familiarity will -degenerate into contempt and a bitter rupture take the place of the -former excessive intimacy. - -The neglect of all ordinary social observances is another reading of -the patent of privilege which certain people grant themselves. These -are the people who never return your calls; who do not think -themselves obliged to answer your invitations; who do not keep their -appointments; and who forget their promises. It is useless to reproach -them, to expect from them the grace of punctuality, the politeness of -a reply, or the faintest stirrings of a social conscience in anything. -They are privileged to the observance of a general neglect, and you -must make your account with them as they are. If they are -good-natured, they will spend much time and energy in framing -apologies which may or may not tell. If women, graceful, and liking to -be liked without taking much trouble about it, they will profess a -thousand sorrows and shames the next time they see you, and play the -pretty hypocrite with more or less success. You must not mind what -they do, they say pleadingly; no one does; they are such notoriously -bad callers no one ever expects them to pay visits like other people; -or they are so lazy about writing, please don't mind if they don't -answer your letters nor even your invitations: they don't mean to be -rude, only they don't like writing; or they are so dreadfully busy -they cannot do half they ought and are sometimes obliged to break -their engagements; and so on. And you, probably for the twentieth -time, accept excuses which mean nothing but 'I am a privileged -person,' and go on again as before, hoping for better things against -all the lessons of past experience. How can you do otherwise with that -charming face looking so sweetly into yours, and the coquettish little -hypocrisies played off for your benefit? If that charming face were -old or ugly, things would be different; but so long as women possess -_la beauté du diable_ men can do nothing but treat them as angels. - -And so we come round to the root of the matter once more. The -privileged person, whose patent society has endorsed, must be a young, -pretty, charming woman. Failing these conditions, she is a mere -adventuress whose discomfiture is not far off; with these, her patent -will last just so long as they do. And when they have gone, she will -degenerate into a 'horror,' at whom the bold will laugh, the timid -tremble, and whose company the wise will avoid. - - - - -_MODERN MAN-HATERS._ - - -Among the many odd social phenomena of the present day may be reckoned -the class of women who are professed despisers and contemners of men; -pretty misanthropes, doubtful alike of the wisdom of the past and the -distinctions of nature, but vigorously believing in a good time coming -when women are to take the lead and men to be as docile dogs in their -wake. To be sure, as if by way of keeping the balance even and -maintaining the sum of forces in the world in due equilibrium, a -purely useless and absurd kind of womanhood is more in fashion than it -used to be; but this does not affect either the accuracy or the -strangeness of our first statement; and the number of women now in -revolt against the natural, the supremacy of men is something -unparalleled in our history. Both before and during the first French -Revolution the _esprits forts_ in petticoats were agents of no small -account in the work of social reorganization going on; but hitherto -women, here in England, have been content to believe as they have been -taught, and to trust the men to whom they belong with a simple kind -of faith in their friendliness and good intentions, which reads now -like a tradition of the past. - -With the advanced class of women, the modern man-haters, one of the -articles of their creed is to regard men as their natural enemies from -whom they must both protect themselves and be protected; and one of -their favourite exercises is to rail at them as both weak and wicked, -both moral cowards and personal bullies, with whom the best wisdom is -to have least intercourse, and on whom no woman who has either -common-sense or self-respect would rely. To those who get the -confidence of women many startling revelations are made; but one of -the most startling is the fierce kind of contempt for men, and the -unnatural revolt against anything like control or guidance, which -animates the class of modern man-haters. That husbands, fathers, -brothers should be thought by women to be tyrannical, severe, selfish, -or anything else expressive of the misuse of strength, is perhaps -natural and no doubt too often deserved; but we confess it seems an -odd inversion of relations when a pretty, frail, delicate woman, with -a narrow forehead, accuses her broad-shouldered, square-browed male -companions of the meaner and more cowardly class of faults hitherto -considered distinctively feminine. And when she says with a disdainful -toss of her small head, 'Men are so weak and unjust, I have no respect -for them!' we wonder where the strength and justice of the world can -have taken shelter, for, if we are to trust our senses, we can -scarcely credit her with having them in her keeping. - -On the other hand, the man-hater ascribes to her own sex every good -quality under heaven; and, not content with taking the more patient -and negative virtues which have always been allowed to women, boldly -bestows on them the energetic and active as well, and robs men of -their inborn characteristics that she may deck her own sex with their -spoils. She grants, of course, that men are superior in physical -strength and courage; but she qualifies the admission by adding that -all they are good for is to push a way for her in a crowd, to protect -her at night against burglars, to take care of her on a journey, to -fight for her when occasion demands, to bear the heavy end of the -stick always, to work hard that she may enjoy and encounter dangers -that she may be safe. This is the only use of their lives, so far as -she is concerned. And to women of this way of thinking the earth is -neither the Lord's, nor yet man's, but woman's. - -Apart from this mere brute strength which has been given to men mainly -for her advantage, she says they are nuisances and for the most part -shams; and she wonders with less surprise than disdain at those of her -sisters who have kept trust in them; who still honestly profess to -both love and respect them; and who are not ashamed to own that they -rely on men's better judgment in all important matters of life, and -look to them for counsel and protection generally. The modern -man-hater does none of these things. If she has a husband she holds -him as her enemy _ex officio_, and undertakes home-life as a state of -declared warfare where she must be in antagonism if she would not be -in slavery. Has she money? It must be tied up safe from his control; -not as a joint precaution against future misfortune, but as a personal -protection against his malice; for the modern theory is that a husband -will, if he can get it, squander his wife's money simply for cruelty -and to spite her, though in so doing he may ruin himself as well. It -is a new reading of the old saying about being revenged on one's face. -Has she friends whom he, in his quality of man of the world, knows to -be unsuitable companions for her, and such as he conscientiously -objects to receive into his house? His advice to her to drop them is -an unwarrantable interference with her most sacred affections, and she -stands by her undesirable acquaintances, for whom she has never -particularly cared until now, with the constancy of a martyr defending -her faith. If it would please her to rush into public life as the -noisy advocate of any nasty subject that may be on hand--his refusal -to have his name dragged through the mire at the instance of her folly -is coercion in its worst form--the coercion of her conscience, of her -mental liberty; and she complains bitterly to her friends among the -shrieking sisterhood of the harsh restrictions he places on her -freedom of action. Her heart is with them, she says; and perhaps she -gives them pecuniary and other aid in private; but she cannot follow -them on to the platform, nor sign her name to passionate manifestoes -as ignorant as they are unseemly; nor tout for signatures to petitions -on things of which she knows nothing, and the true bearing of which -she cannot understand; nor dabble in dirt till she has lost the sense -of its being dirt at all. And, not being able to disgrace her husband -that she may swell the ranks of the unsexed, she is quoted by the -shriekers as one among many examples of the subjection of women and -the odious tyranny under which they live. - -As for the man, no hard words are too hard for him. It is only enmity -which animates him, only tyranny and oppression which govern him. -There is no intention of friendly guidance in his determination to -prevent his wife from making a gigantic blunder--feeling of kindly -protection in the authority which he uses to keep her from offering -herself as a mark for public ridicule and damaging discussion, wherein -the bloom of her name and nature would be swept away for ever. It is -all the base exercise of an unrighteous power; and the first crusade -to be undertaken in these latter days is the woman's crusade against -masculine supremacy. - -Warm partizan however, as she is of her own sex, the modern man-hater -cannot forgive the woman we spoke of who still believes in -old-fashioned distinctions; who thinks that nature framed men for -power and women for tenderness, and that the fitting, because the -natural, division of things is protection on the one side and a -reasonable measure of--we will not mince the word--obedience on the -other. For indeed the one involves the other. Women of this kind, -whose sentiment of sex is natural and healthy, the modern man-hater -regards as traitors in the camp; or as slaves content with their -slavery, and therefore in more pitiable case than those who, like -herself, jangle their chains noisily and seek to break them by loud -uproar. - -But even worse than the women who honestly love and respect the men to -whom they belong, and who find their highest happiness in pleasing -them and their truest wisdom in self-surrender, are those who frankly -confess the shortcomings of their own sex, and think the best chance -of mending a fault is first to understand that it is a fault. With -these worse than traitors no terms are to be kept; and the man-haters -rise in a body and ostracize the offenders. To be known to have said -that women are weak; that their best place is at home; that filthy -matters are not for their handling; that the instinct of feminine -modesty is not a thing to be disregarded in the education of girls nor -the action of matrons; are sins for which these self-accusers are -accounted 'creatures' not fit for the recognition of the nobler-souled -man-hater. The gynecian war between these two sections of womanhood is -one of the oddest things belonging to this odd condition of affairs. - -This sect of modern man-haters is recruited from three classes -mainly--those who have been cruelly treated by men, and whose faith -in one half of the human race cannot survive their own one sad -experience; those restless and ambitious persons who are less than -women, greedy of notoriety, indifferent to home life, holding home -duties in disdain, with strong passions rather than warm affections, -with perverted instincts in one direction and none worthy of the name -in another; and those who are the born vestals of nature, whose -organization fails in the sweeter sympathies of womanhood, and who are -unsexed by the atrophy of their instincts as the other class are by -the perversion and coarsening of theirs. By all these men are held to -be enemies and oppressors; and even love is ranked as a mere matter of -the senses, whereby women are first subjugated and then betrayed. - -The crimes of which these modern man-haters accuse their hereditary -enemies are worthy of Munchausen. A great part of the sorry success -gained by the opposers of the famous Acts has been due to the -monstrous fictions which have been told of men's dealings with the -women under consideration. No brutality has been too gross to be -related as an absolute truth, of which the name, address, and all -possible verification could be given, if desired. And the women who -have taken the lead in this matter have not been afraid to ascribe to -some of the most honourable names in the opposite ranks words and -deeds which would have befouled a savage. Details of every apocryphal -crime have been passed from one credulous or malicious matron to the -other, over the five o'clock tea; and tender-natured women, -horror-stricken at what they heard, have accepted as proofs of the -ineradicable enmity of man to woman these unfounded fables which the -unsexed so positively asserted among themselves as facts. - -The ease of conscience with which the man-hating propagandists have -accepted and propagated slanderous inventions in this matter has been -remarkable, to say the least of it; and were it not for the gravity of -the principles at stake, and the nastiness of the subject, the stories -of men's vileness in connexion with this matter, would make one of the -absurdest jest-books possible, illustrative of the credulity, the -falsehood, and the ingenious imagination of women. We do not say that -women have no just causes of complaint against men. They have; and -many. And so long as human nature is what it is, strength will at -times be brutal rather than protective, and weakness will avenge -itself with more craft than patience. But that is a very different -thing from the sectional enmity which the modern man-haters assert, -and the revolt which they make it their religion to preach. No good -will come of such a movement, which is in point of fact creating the -ill-feeling it has assumed. On the contrary, if women will but believe -that on the whole men wish to be their friends and to treat them with -fairness and generosity, they will find the work of self-protection -much easier and the reconcilement of opposing interests greatly -simplified. - - - - -_VAGUE PEOPLE._ - - -The core of society is compact enough, made up as it is of those real -doers of the world's work who are clear as to what they want and who -pursue a definite object with both meaning and method. But outside -this solid nucleus lies a floating population of vague people; -nebulous people; people without mental coherence or the power of -intellectual growth; people without purpose, without aim, who drift -with any current anywhere, making no attempt at conscious steering and -having no port to which they desire to steer; people who are -emphatically loose in their mental hinges, and who cannot be trusted -with any office requiring distinct perception or exact execution; -people to whom existence is something to be got through with as little -trouble and as much pleasure as may be, but who have not the faintest -idea that life contains a principle which each man ought to make clear -to himself and work out at any cost, and to which he ought to -subordinate and harmonize all his faculties and his efforts. These -vague people of nebulous minds compose the larger half of the world, -and count for just so much dead weight which impedes, or gives its -inert strength to the active agents, as it chances to be handled. -They are the majority who vote in committees and all assemblies as -they are influenced by the one or two clear-minded leaders who know -what they are about, and who drive them like sheep by the mere force -of a definite idea and a resolute will. - -Yet if there is nothing on which vague people are clear, and if they -are not difficult to influence as the majority, there is much on which -they are positive as a matter of private conviction. In opposition to -the exhortation to be able to give a reason for the faith that is in -us, they can give no reason for anything they believe, or fancy they -believe. They are sure of the result; but the logical method by which -that result has been reached is beyond their power to remember or -understand. To argue with them is to spend labour and strength in -vain, like trying to make ropes out of sea-sand. Beaten off at every -point, they settle down again into the old vapoury, I believe; and it -is like fighting with ghosts to attempt to convince them of a better -way. They look at you helplessly; assent loosely to your propositions; -but when you come to the necessary deduction, they double back in a -vague assertion that they do not agree with you--they cannot prove you -wrong but they are sure that they are right; and you know then that -the collapse is hopeless. If this meant tenacity, it would be so far -respectable, even though the conviction were erroneous; but it is the -mere unimpressible fluidity of vagueness, the impossibility of giving -shape and coherence to a floating fog or a formless haze. - -Vague as to the basis of their beliefs, they are vaguer still as to -their facts. These indeed are like a ladder of which half the rungs -are missing. They never remember a story and they cannot describe what -they have seen. Of the first they are sure to lose the point and to -entangle the thread; of the last they forget all the details and -confound both sequence and position. As to dates, they are as if lost -in a wood when you require definite centuries, years, months; but they -are great in the chronological generosity of 'about,' which is to them -what the Middle Ages and Classic Times are to uncertain historians. It -is as much as they can do to remember their own birthday; but they are -never sure of their children's; and generally mix up names and ages in -a manner that exasperates the young people like a personal insult. - -With the best intentions in the world they do infinite mischief. They -detail what they think they have heard of their neighbours' sayings -and doings; but as they never detail anything exactly, nor twice -alike, by the time they have told the story to half a dozen friends -they have given currency to half a dozen different chimeras which -never existed save in their own woolly imaginations. No repute is safe -with them, even though they may be personally good-natured and anxious -not to do any one harm; for they are so vague that they are always -setting afloat exaggerations which are substantially falsehoods; and -if you tell them the most innocent fact of any one you would not -injure for worlds--say your daughter or your dearest friend--they are -sure to repeat it with additions and distortions, till they have made -it into a Frankenstein which no one now can subdue. - -Beside this mental haziness, which neither sees nor shapes a fact -correctly, vague people are loose and unstable in their habits. They -know nothing of punctuality at home nor abroad; and you are never sure -that you will not stumble on them at meal-times at what time soever -you may call. But worse than this, your own meal-times, or any other -times, are never safe from them. They float into your house -uncertainly, vaguely, without purpose, with nothing to say and nothing -to do, and for no reason that you can discover. And when they come -they stay; and you cannot for the life of you find out what they want, -nor why they have come at all. They invade you at all times; in your -busy hours; on your sacred days; and sit there in a chaotic kind of -silence, or with vague talk which tires your brains to bring to a -focus. But they are too foggy to understand anything like a delicate -hint, and if you want to get rid of them, you must risk a quarrel and -effectively shoulder them out. They will be no loss. They are so much -driftweed in your life, and you can make no good of them for yourself -nor others. - -Even when they undertake to help you, they do you more harm than good -by the hazy way in which they understand, and the inexactness with -which they carry out, your wishes. They volunteer to get you by -favour the thing you want and cannot find in the general way of -business--say, something of a peculiar shade of olive-green--and they -bring you in triumph a brilliant cobalt. They know the very animal you -are looking for, they say, with a confidence that impresses you, and -they send to your stable a grey horse to match your bay pony; and if -you trust to their uncontrolled action in your affairs, you find -yourself committed to responsibilities you cannot meet and whereby you -are brought to the verge of destruction. - -They do all this mischief, not for want of goodwill but for want of -definiteness of perception; and are as sorry as you are when they make -'pie' and not a legible sheet. Their desire is good, but a vague -desire to help is equal to no help at all; or even worse--it is a -positive evil, and throws you wrong by just so much as it attempts to -set you straight. They are as unsatisfactory if you try to help them. -They are in evil case, and you are philanthropically anxious to assist -them. You think that one vigorous push would lift the car of their -fortunes out of the rut in which it has stuck; and you go to them with -the benevolent design of lending your shoulder as the lever. You -question them as to the central fact which they wish changed; for you -know that in most cases misfortunes crystallize round one such evil -centre, which, being removed, the rest would go well. But your vague -friends can tell you nothing. They point out this little superficial -inconvenience, that small remediable annoyance, as the utmost they can -do in the way of definiteness; but when you want to get to the core, -you find nothing but a cloudy complaint of general ill-will, or a -universal run of untoward circumstances with which you cannot grapple. -To cut off the hydra's heads was difficult enough; but could even -Hercules have decapitated the Djinn who rose in a volume of smoke from -the fisherman's jar? - -It is the same in matters of health. Only medical men know to the full -the difficulty of dealing with vague people when it is necessary that -these should be precise. They can localize no pain, define no -sensations. If the doctor thinks he has caught hold of one leading -symptom, it fades away as he tries to examine it; and, probe as he -may, he comes to nothing more definite than a pervading sense of -discomfort, which he must resolve into its causes as he best can. So -with their suspicions; and vague people are often strangely suspicious -and distrustful. They tell you in a loose kind of way that such or -such a man is a rogue, such or such a woman no better than she should -be. You ask them for their data--they have none; you suggest that they -are mistaken, or at least that they should hold themselves as mistaken -until they can prove the contrary, and you offer your version of the -reputations aspersed--your vague friends listen to you amiably, then -go back on their charge and say, 'I am sure of it'--which ends the -conversation. They rely on their impression as other people rely on -known facts; and a foggy belief is to them what a mathematical -demonstration is to the exact. - -In business matters they are simply maddening. They never have the -necessary papers; they do not answer letters; they confuse your -questions and reply at random or not at all; and they forget all dates -and details. When they go to their lawyer on business they leave -certificates and drafts behind them locked up where no one can get at -them; or if they send directions and the keys, they tell the servant -to look for an oblong blue envelope in the right-hand drawer, when -they ought to have said a square white parcel in the left. They give -you vague commissions to execute; and you have to find your way in the -fog to the best of your ability. They say they want something like -something else you have never seen, and they cannot give an address -more exact than 'somewhere in Oxford Street.' They think the man's -name is Baker, or something like that. Perhaps it is Flower; but the -suggestion of ideas ought to be intelligible to you, and is quite near -enough for them. They ask you to meet them when they come up to -London, but they do not give you either the station or the train. You -have to make a guess as near as you can; and when you reproach them, -they pay you the compliment of saying you are so clever, it was not -necessary for them to explain. - -If they have any friends out in Australia or India, they inquire of -you, just returned, if you happened to meet them? When you ask, Where -were they stationed?--they say they do not know; and when you suggest -that Madras and Calcutta are not in the same Presidencies, that India -is a large place and Australia not quite like an English county, they -look helpless and bewildered, and drift away into the vague geography -familiar to them, 'somewhere in India,' 'somewhere in Australia,' and -'I thought you might have met them.' For geography, like history, is -one of the branches of the tree of knowledge they have never climbed, -and the fruits thereof are as though they were not. - -But apart from the personal discomforts to which vague people subject -themselves, and the absurdities of which they are guilty, one cannot -help speculating on the spiritual state of folks to whom nothing is -precise, nothing definite, and no question of faith clearly thought -out. To be sure they may be great in the realm of conviction; but so -is the African savage when he hears the ghosts of his ancestors pass -howling in the woods; so is the Assassin of the Mountain, when he sees -heaven open as he throws himself on the spears of his enemies in an -ecstacy of faith, to be realized by slaughter and suicide. Convictions -based on imagination, unsupported by facts or proofs, are as worthless -in a moral as in a logical point of view; but the vague have nothing -better; and whether as politicians or as pietists, though they are -warm partizans they are but feeble advocates, fond of flourishing -about large generalities, but impossible to be pinned to any point and -unable to defend any position. To those who must have something -absolute and precise, however limited--one inch of firmly-laid -foundation on which to build up the superstructure--it is a matter of -more wonder than envy how the vague are content to live for ever in a -haze which has no clearness of outline, no definiteness of detail, and -how they can make themselves happy in a name--calling their fog faith, -and therewith counting themselves blessed. - - - - -_ARCADIA._ - - -Perhaps the largest amount of simple pleasure possible to adult life -is to be found in the first weeks of the summer's holiday, when the -hard-worked man of business leaves his office and all its anxieties -behind him, and goes off to the sea-side or the hills for a couple of -months' relaxation. Everything is so fresh to him, it is like the -renewal of his boyhood; and if he happens to have chosen a picturesque -place, where the houses stand well and make that ornate kind of -landscape to be found in show-places, he wonders how it is that people -who can stay here ever leave, or tire of the beauties that are so -delightful to him. Yet he hears of this comfortable mansion, with its -park and well-appointed grounds, waiting for an occupant; he is told -of that fairyland cottage, embowered in roses and jessamine, with a -garden gay and redolent with flowers, to be had for a mere song; and -he finds to his surprise that the owners of these choice corners of -Arcadia are only anxious to escape from what he would, if he could, be -only anxious to retain. - -In his first days this restlessness, this discontent, is simply -inconceivable. What more do they want than what they have? Why, that -field lying there in the sunshine, dotted about with dun-coloured cows -which glow like glorified Cuyps in the evening red, and backed by rock -and tree and tumbling cascade, would be enough to make him happy. He -could never weary of such a lovely bit of home scenery; and if to this -he adds a view of the sea, or the crags and purple shadows of a -mountain, he has wherewith to make him blessed for the remainder of -his life. So he thinks while the smoke of London and the sulphur of -the Metropolitan still cling about his throat, and the roar of the -streets has not quite died out of his ears. - -The woods are full of flowers and the rarer kind of insects, and he is -never sated with the sea. There is the trout stream as clear as -crystal, where he is sure of a rise if he waits long enough; the -moors, where he may shoot if he can put up a bird to shoot at, are -handy; and there is no end to the picturesque bits just made for his -sketch-book. Whatever his tastes may make him--naturalist, sailor, -sportsman, artist--he has ample scope for their exercise; and ten or -eleven months' disuse gives him a greater zest now that his playtime -has come round again. At every turn he falls upon little scenes which -give him an odd pleasure, as if they belonged to another life--things -he has seen in old paintings, or read of in quaint books, long ago. -Here go by two countrywomen, whose red and purple dresses are touched -by the sun with startling effect, as they wind up the grey hillside -road; there clatters past on horseback a group of market-girls with -flapping straw hats, and carrying their baskets on their arms as if -they were a set of Gainsborough's models come back to life, who turn -their dark eyes and fresh comely faces to the London man with frank -curiosity as they canter on and smother him with dust. Now he passes -through the midst of a village fair, where youths are dancing in a -barn to the sound of a cracked fiddle, and where, standing under an -ivied porch, a pretty young woman unconsciously makes a picture as she -bends down to fill a little child's held-up pinafore with sweets and -cakes. The idyl here is so complete that the contemplation of pence -given for the accommodation of the barn, or the calculation of -shillings to be spent in beer afterwards, or the likelihood that the -little one had brought a halfpenny in its chubby fist for the good -things its small soul coveted, does not enter his mind. - -The idea of base pelf in a scene so pure and innocent would be a kind -of high treason to the poetic instinct; so the London man -instinctively feels, glad to recognize the ideal he is mainly -responsible for making. How can it be otherwise? A heron is fishing in -the river; a kingfisher flashes past; swallows skim the ground or dart -slanting above his head; white-sailed boats glide close inshore; a -dragon-fly suns itself on a tall plumed thistle; young birds rustle in -and out of the foliage; distant cattle low; cottage children laugh; -everywhere he finds quiet, peace, absolute social repose, the absence -of disturbing passions; and it seems to him that all who live here -must feel the same delightful influences as those which he is feeling -now, and be as innocent and virtuous as the place is beautiful and -quiet. - -But the charm does not last. Very few of us retain to the end of our -holidays the same enthusiastic delight in our Arcadia that we had in -the beginning. Constant change of Arcadias keeps up the illusion -better; and with it the excitement; but a long spell in one place, -however beautiful--unless indeed, it lasts so long that one becomes -personally fond of the place and interested in the people--is almost -sure to end in weariness. At first the modern pilgrim is savagely -disinclined to society and his kind. All the signs and circumstances -of the life he has left behind him are distasteful. He likes to watch -the fishing-boats, but he abhors the steamers which put into his -little harbour, and the excursionists who come by them he accounts as -heathens and accursed. Trains, like steamers, are signs of a reprobate -generation and made only for evildoers. He has no reverence for the -post, and his soul is not rejoiced at the sight of letters. Even his -daily paper is left unopened, and no change of Ministry counts as -equal in importance with the picturesque bits he wishes to sketch, or -the rare ferns and beetles to be found by long rambles and much -diligence. By degrees the novelty wears off. His soul yearns after -the life he has left, and he begins to look for the signs thereof with -interest, not to say pleasure. He watches the arrival of the boat, or -he strolls up to the railway station and speculates on the new comers -with benevolence. If he sees a casual acquaintance, he hails him with -enthusiastic cordiality; and in his extremity is reduced to fraternize -with men 'not in his way.' He becomes peevish at the lateness of the -mail, and he reads his _Times_ from beginning to end, taking in even -the agony column and the advertisements. He finds his idyllic pictures -to be pictures, and nothing more. His Arcadians are no better than -their neighbours; and, as for the absence of human passions--they are -merely dwarfed to the dimensions of the life, and are as relatively -strong here as elsewhere. The inhabitants of those flowery cottages -quarrel among each other for trifles which he would have thought only -children could have noticed; and they gossip to an extent of which he -in his larger metropolitan life has no experience. - -If he stays a few weeks longer than is the custom of visitors, he is -as much an object of curiosity and surmise as if he were a man of -another hemisphere; and he may think himself fortunate if vague -reports do not get afloat touching his honesty, his morality, or his -sanity. Nine times out of ten, if a personage at home, he is nobody -here. He may be sure that, however great his name in art and -literature, it will not be accounted to him for honour--it will only -place him next to a well-conditioned mountebank; political fame, -patent to all the world, rank which no one can mistake, and money -which all may handle, alone going down in remote country places and -carrying esteem along with them. If a wise man, he will forgive the -uncharitable surmises and the contempt of which he is the object, -knowing the ignorance of life as well as the purposeless vacuity from -which they spring; but they are not the less unpleasant, and to -understand a cause is not therefore to rejoice in the effect. - -As time goes on, he finds Arcadian poverty of circumstance gradually -becoming unbearable. He misses the familiar conveniences and orderly -arrangements of his London life. He has a raging tooth, and there is -no dentist for miles round; he falls sick, or sprains his ankle, and -the only doctor at hand is a half tipsy vet., or perhaps an old woman -skilled in herbs, or a bone-setter with a local reputation. His -letters go astray among the various hands to which they are entrusted; -his paper is irregular; _Punch_ and his illustrated weeklies come a -day late, with torn covers and greasy thumbmarks testifying to the -love of pictorial art which encountered them by the way. He finds that -he wants the excitement of professional life and the changeful action -of current history. He feels shunted here, out of the world, in a -corner, set aside, lost. The rest is still delicious; but he misses -the centralized interest of metropolitan life, and catches himself -hankering after the old intellectual fleshpots with the fervour of an -exile, counting the days of his further stay. - -And then at last this rest, which has been so sweet, becomes monotony, -and palls on him. One trout is very like another trout, barring a few -ounces of weight. When he has expatiated on his first find of -moon-fern, and dug it up carefully by the roots for his own fernery at -Bayswater, he is slightly disgusted to come upon many tufts of -moon-fern, and to know that it is not so very rare hereabouts after -all, and that he cannot take away half he sees. Then too, he begins to -understand the true meaning of the pictures, Gainsborough and others, -which were so quaintly beautiful to him in the early days. The idyllic -youths dancing in the beerhouse barn are clumsy louts who are kept -from the commission of great offences mainly because they have no -opportunity for dramatic sins; but they indemnify themselves by petty -agricultural pilferings, and they get boozy on small beer. The pretty -market-girls cantering by, are much like other daughters of Eve -elsewhere, save that they have more familiarity with certain facts of -natural life than good girls in town possess, and are a trifle more -easy to dupe. On the whole, he finds human nature much the same in -essentials here as in London--Arcadia being the poorer of the two, -inasmuch as it wants the sharpness, the deftness, the refinement of -bearing given by much intercourse and the more intimate contact of -classes. - -By the time his holidays are over, our London man goes back to his -work invigorated in body, but quite sufficiently sated in mind to -return with pleasure to his old pursuits. He walks into the office -decidedly stouter than when he left, much sunburnt, and unfeignedly -glad to see them all again. It pleases him to feel like MacGregor on -his native heath once more; though his native heath is only a dingy -office in the E.C. district, with a view of his rival's chimney-pots. -Still it is pleasant; and to know that he is recognized as Mr. -So-and-So of the City, a safe man and with a character to lose, is -more gratifying to his pride than to have his quality and standing -discussed in village back-parlours and tap-rooms, and the question -whether he is a man whom Arcadia may trust, gravely debated by boors -whose pence are not as his pounds. He speaks with rapture of his -delightful holiday, and extols the virtues of Arcadia and the -Arcadians as warmly as if he believed in them. Perhaps he grumbles -ostentatiously at his return to harness; but in his heart he knows it -to be the better life; for, delicious as it is to sit in the sun -eating lotuses, it is nobler to weed out tares and to plant corn. - -The peace to which we are all looking is not to be had in a Highland -glen nor a Devonshire lane; and beautiful as are the retreats -and show-places to which men of business rush for rest and -refreshment--peaceful as they are to look at, and happy as it seems to -us their inhabitants must be--it is all only a matter of the eye. They -are Arcadias, if one likes to call them so; but while a man's powers -remain to him they are halting-places only, not homes; and he who -would make them his home before his legitimate time, would come to a -weariness which should cause him to regret bitterly and often the -collar which had once so galled him, and the work at the hardness of -which he had so often growled. - - - - -_STRANGERS AT CHURCH._ - - -If nothing is sacred to a sapper, neither is anything sacred to -temper, ostentation, vanity; and church as little as any place else. -In those thronged show-places which have what is called a summer -season, church is the great Sunday entertainment; and when the service -is of an ornate kind, and the strangers' seats are chairs placed at -the west end, where in old times the village choir or the village -schoolboys used to be, a great deal of human life goes on among the -occupants; and there are certain displays of temper and feeling which -make you ask yourself whether these strangers think it a religious -service, or an operatic, at which they have come to assist, and -whether what you see about you is quite in consonance with the spirit -of the place or not. If the church is one that presents scenic -attractions in the manner in which the service is conducted, there is -a run on the front middle seats, as if the ceremonies to be performed -were so much legerdemain or theatrical spectacle, of which you must -have a good view if you are to have your money's worth; and the more -knowing of the strangers take care to be early in the field, and to -establish themselves comfortably before the laggards come up. And when -the best places are all filled, and the laggards do come up, then the -human comedy begins. - -Here trip in a couple of giggling girls, greatly conscious of their -youth and good looks, but still more conscious of their bonnets. They -look with tittering dismay at the crowded seats all along the middle, -and when the verger makes them understand that they must go to the -back of the side aisle, where they can be seen by no one but will only -be able to hear the service and say their prayers, they hesitate and -whisper to each other before they finally go up, feeling that the -great object for which they came to church has failed them, and they -had better have stayed away and taken their chance on the parade. When -they speak of it afterwards, they say it was 'awfully slow sitting -there;' and they determine to be earlier another time. - -There sweep in a triad of superbly dressed women with fans and -scent-bottles, who disdainfully decline the back places which the same -verger, with a fine sense of justice and beginning to fail a little in -temper, inexorably assigns them. They too confer together, but by no -means in whispers; and finally elect to stand in the middle aisle, -trusting to their magnificence and quiet determination to get 'nice -places' in the pewed sittings. They are fine ladies who look as if -they were performing an act of condescension by coming at all without -special privileges and separation from the vulgar; as if they had an -inherent right to worship God in a superior and aristocratic manner, -and were not to be confounded with the rest of the miserable sinners -who ask for mercy and forgiveness. They are accustomed to the front -seats everywhere; so why not in the place where they say sweetly they -are 'nothing of themselves,' and pray to be delivered 'from pride, -vainglory, and hypocrisy'? That old lady, rouged and dyed and dressed -to represent the heyday of youth, who also is supposed to come to -church to say her prayers and confess her sins, looks as if she would -be more at home at the green tables at Homburg than in an unpretending -chair of the strangers' quarter in the parish church. But she finds -her places in her Prayer-book, if after a time and with much seeking; -and when she nods during the sermon, she has the good-breeding not to -snore. She too, has the odd trick of looking like condescension when -she comes in, trailing her costly silks and laces behind her; and by -her manner she leaves on you the impression that she was a beauty in -her youth; has been always used to the deference and admiration of -men; to servants and a carriage and purple and fine linen; that all of -you, whom she has the pleasure of surveying through her double -eyeglass, are nobodies in comparison with her august self; and that -she is out of place among you. She makes her demonstration, like the -rest, when she finds that the best seats are already filled and that -no one offers to stir that she may be well placed; and if she is -ruthlessly relegated to the back, and stays there, as she does -sometimes, your devotions are rendered uncomfortable by the -unmistakable protest conveyed in her own. Only a few humble Christians -in fashionable attire take those back places contentedly, and find -they can say their prayers and sing their hymns with spiritual comfort -to themselves, whether they are shut out from a sight of the -decorations on the altar and the copes and stoles of the officiating -ministers, or are in full view of the same. But then humble Christians -in fashionable attire are rare; and the old difficulty about the camel -and the needle's eye, remains. - -Again, in the manner of following the services you see the oddest -diversity among the strangers at church. The regular congregation has -by this time got pretty well in step together, and stands up or sits -down, speaks or keeps silence, with some kind of uniformity; even the -older men having come to tolerate innovations which at first split the -parish into factions. But the strangers, who have come from the north -and from the south, from the east and from the west, have brought -their own views and habits, and take a pride in making them manifest. -Say that the service is only moderately High--that is, conducted with -decency and solemnity but not going into extremes; your left-hand -neighbour evidently belongs to one of the ultra-Ritualistic -congregations, and disdains to conceal her affiliation. If she be a -tall woman, and therefore conspicuous, her genuflexions are more -profound than any other person's; and her sudden and automatic way of -dropping on her knees, and then getting up again as if she were worked -by wires, attracts the attention of all about her. She crosses herself -at various times; and ostentatiously forbears to use her book save at -certain congregational passages. She regards the service as an act of -priestly sacrifice and mediation, and her own attitude therefore is -one of acceptance, not participation. - -Your neighbour on your right is a sturdy Low Churchman, who sticks to -the ways of his father and flings hard names at the new system. He -makes his protest against what he calls 'all this mummery' visibly, if -not audibly. He sits like a rock during the occasional intervals when -modern congregations rise; and he reads his Prayer-book with unshaken -fidelity from first to last, making the responses, which are intoned -by the choir and the bulk of the congregation, in a loud and level -voice, and even muttering _sotto voce_ the clergyman's part after him. -In the creed, when the Ritualistic lady bends both her knees and -almost touches the ground, he simply bobs his head, as if saluting -Robinson or Jones; and during the doxology, where she repeats the -obeisance, and looks as if she were speaking confidentially to the -matting, he holds up his chin and stares about him. She, the -pronounced Ritualist, knows all the hymns by heart and joins in them -like one well accustomed; but he, the Evangelist, stumbles over the -lines, with his _pince-nez_ slipping off his nose, satisfied if he -catches a word here and there so as to know something of his -whereabouts. She sings correctly all through; but he can do no more -than put in a fancy note on occasions, and perhaps come in with a -flourish at the end. There are many such songsters at church who think -they have done all that can be demanded of them in the way of -congregational harmony if they hit the last two notes fairly, and join -the pack at the Amen. - -Sometimes the old-fashioned worshippers get put into the front row, -and there, without prayer-stool or chair-back against which to steady -themselves, find kneeling an impossibility; so they either sit with -their elbows on their knees, or betray associations with square pews -and comfortable corners at home, by turning their backs to the altar, -and burying their faces in their rush-bottomed seats. The Ritualist -would have knelt as straight as an arrow and without quivering once -all through. - -People are generally supposed to go to church for devotion, but, if -they do, devotion and vanity are twin sisters. Look at the number of -pretty hands which find it absolutely necessary to take off their -gloves, and which are always wandering up to the face in becoming -gestures and with the right curve. Or, if the hands are only mediocre, -the rings are handsome; and diamonds sparkle as well in a church as -anywhere else. And though one vows to renounce the lusts of the world -as well as of the flesh, there is no use in having diamonds if one's -neighbours don't see them. Look too, at the pretty faces which know so -well the effect produced by a little paint and powder beneath a -softening mask of thin white lace. Is this their best confession of -sin? And again, those elaborate toilets in which women come to pray -for forgiveness and humility; are they for the honour of God? It -strikes us that the honour of God has very little to do with that -formidable, and may be unpaid, milliner's bill, but the admiration of -men and the envy of other women a great deal. The Pope is wise to make -all ladies go to his religious festivals without bonnets and in rigid -black. It narrows the margin of coquetry somewhat, if it does not -altogether remove it. But dress ever was, and ever will be, as webs -spread in the way of woman's righteousness; and we have no doubt that -Eve frilled her apron of fig-leaves before she had worn it a day. - -All sorts of characters throng these strangers' seats; and some are -typical. There are the men of low stature and awkward bearing, with -stubbly chins, who stand in constrained positions and wear no gloves. -They look like grooms; they may be clerks; but they are the men on -whom _Punch_ has had his eye for many years now, when he portrays the -British snob and diversifies him with the more modern cad. Then there -are the well-dressed, well set-up gentlemen of military appearance, -who carry their umbrellas under their arms as if they were swords, and -are evidently accustomed to have their own will and command other -people's; and the men who look like portraits of Montague Tigg, in -cheap kid gloves and suspicious jewelry, who pray into their hats, or -make believe to pray, while their bold eyes rove all about, fixing -themselves most pertinaciously on the old lady with the diamonds and -the giggling young ones with the paint. There is the bride in a white -bonnet and light silk dress, who carries an ivory-backed Church -Service with the most transparent attempts at unconsciousness, and the -bridegroom who lounges after her and looks sheepish; sometimes it is -the bride who straggles bashfully, and the groom who boldly leads the -way. There is the young widow with new weeds; the sedate mother of -many daughters; paterfamilias, with his numerous olive-branches, -leading on his arm the exuberant wife of his bosom flushed with coming -up the hill; the walking tourist, whose respect for Sunday goes to the -length of a clean collar and a clothes-brush; and the female -traveller, economical of luggage, who wears her waterproof and -sea-side hat, and is independent and not ashamed. There are the people -who come for simple distraction, because Sunday is such a dull day in -a strange place, and there is nothing else to do; and those who come -because it is respectable and the right thing, and they are accustomed -to it; those who come to see and be seen; and those--the select few, -the simple yearning souls--who come because they do honestly feel the -church to be the very House of God, and that prayer with its -confession of sin helps them to live better lives. But, good or bad, -vain or simple, arrogant or humble, they all sweep out when the last -word is said, and the cottagers and small townsfolk stand at their -doors to see them pass--'the quality coming out of church' counting as -_their_ Sunday sight. The women get ideas in millinery from the show, -and discuss with each other what is worn this year, and how ever can -they turn their old gowns into garments that shall imitate the last -effort of a Court milliner's genius--the result of many sleepless -nights? Fine ladies ridicule these clumsy apings of their humble -sisters, and long for the old sumptuary laws to be in force on all -below them; but if Sunday is the field-day and church the -parade-ground of the strangers, we cannot wonder if the natives try to -participate in the amusement. If Lady Jane likes to confess her shame -and humiliation on a velvet cushion and in silk attire, can we -reasonably blame Joan that her soul hankers after a hassock of felt, -and a penance-sheet of homespun cut according to my lady's pattern? - - - - -_IN SICKNESS._ - - -Life not being holiday-making throughout, we have to allow for the bad -half-hours that must come to us; and, if we are wise, we make -provision to pass them with as little annoyance as possible. And of -all the bad half-hours to which we are destined, those to be spent in -sickness need the greatest amount of care to render them endurable. -Without going to the length of Michelet's favourite theory, which sees -in every woman nothing but an invalid more or less severely afflicted -according to individual temperament, but always under the influence of -diseased nerves and controlled by sickly fancies, there is no doubt -that women suffer very much more than men; while their patience under -physical ailments is one of the traditional graces with which they are -credited. Where men fume and fret at the interruption to their lives -brought about by a fit of illness, calculating anxiously the loss they -are sustaining during the forced inaction of their convalescence, -women submit resignedly, and make the best of the inevitable. With -that clear sense of Fate characteristic of them, they do not fight -against the evil which they know has to be borne, but wisely try to -lighten it by such wiles and arts as are open to them, and set -themselves to adorn the cross they must endure. One thing indeed, -makes invalidism less terrible to them than to men; and that is their -ability to perform their home duties, if not quite as efficiently as -when they are up and about, yet well enough for all practical purposes -in the conduct of the family. The woman who gives her mind to it can -keep her house in smooth working gear by dictation from her sick -couch; and what she cannot actively overlook she can arrange. So far -this removes the main cause of irritation with which the man must -battle in the best way he can, when his business comes to a -stand-still; or is given up into the hands of but a makeshift kind of -substitute taken at the best; while he is laid on his back undergoing -many things from doctors for the good of science and the final -settling of doubtful pathological points. - -Another reason why women are more patient than men during sickness is -that they can amuse themselves better. One gets tired of reading all -day long with the aching eyes and weary brain of weakness; yet how few -things a man can do to amuse himself without too great an effort, and -without being dependent on others! But women have a thousand pretty -little devices for whiling away the heavy hours. They can vary their -finger-work almost infinitely, and they find real pleasure in a new -stitch or a stripe of a different colour and design from the last. In -the contempt in which needlework in all its forms is held by the -advanced class of women, its use during the period of convalescence, -when it helps the lagging time as nothing else can, is forgotten. Yet -it is no bad wisdom to remember that the day of sickness will probably -come some time to us all; and to lay in stores of potential interest -and cheerfulness against that day is a not unworthy use of power. -Certain it is that this greater diversity of small, unexciting, -unfatiguing occupations enables women to bear a tedious illness with -comparative patience, and helps to keep them more cheerful than men. - -But when the time shall have come for the perfect development of the -androgynous creature, who is as yet only in the pupal state of her -existence, women will have lost these two great helps. Workers outside -the home like their husbands and brothers, like them they will fume -and fret when they are prevented from following their bread-winning -avocations; calculations of the actual money loss they are sustaining -coming in to aggravate their bodily pains. And, as the needle is -looked on as one of the many symbols of feminine degradation, in the -good time coming there will be none of that pretty trifling with silks -and ribbons which may be very absurd by the side of important work, -but which is invaluable as an invalid's pastime. Consequently, what -with the anguish of knowing that her profession is neglected, and what -with the unenlivened tedium of her days, sickness will be a formidable -thing to women of the androgynous type--and to the men belonging to -them. - -Again, care and tact are required to rob sickness of its more painful -features, and to render it not too distressing to the home companions. -A real woman, with her instincts properly developed--among them the -instinct of admiration--knows how to render even invalidism beautiful; -and indeed, with her power of improving occasions, she is never more -charming than as an invalid or a convalescent. There is a certain -refined beauty about her more seductive than the robuster bloom of -health. Her whole being seems purified. The coarser elements of -humanity are obscured, passions are at rest, and all those fretful, -anxious strivings, which probably afflict her when in the full swing -of society, are put away as if they had never been. She is forced to -let life glide, and her own mind follows the course of the quieter -flow. She knows too how to make herself bewitching by the art which is -not artifice so much as the highest point to which her natural -excellences can be brought. If the radiance of health has gone, she -has the sweeter, subtler loveliness of fragility; if her diamonds are -laid aside, and all that glory of dress which does so much for women -is perforce abandoned, the long, loose folds of falling drapery, with -their antique grace, perhaps suit her better, and the fresh flowers on -her table may be more suggestive and delightful than artificial ones -in her hair. - -Many a drifting husband has been brought back to his first enthusiasm -by the illness of a wife who knew how to turn evil things into good, -and to extract a charm even out of suffering. It is a turn of the -kaleidoscope; a recombination of the same elements but in a new -pattern and with fresh loveliness; whereas the androgynous woman, with -her business worries and her honest, if impolitic, self-surrender to -hideous flannel wraps and all the uglinesses of a sick room crudely -pronounced, would have added a terror to disease which probably would -have quenched his waning love for ever. For the androgynous woman -despises every approach to coquetry, as she despises all the other -insignia of feminine servitude. It is not part of her life's duties to -make herself pleasing to men; and they must take her as they find her. -Where the true woman contrives a beauty and creates a grace out of her -very misfortune, the androgynous holds to the doctrine of spades and -the value of the unvarnished truth. Where the one gives a little -thought to the most becoming colour of her ribbon or the best -arrangement of her draperies, the other pushes the tangled locks off -her face anyhow, and makes herself an amorphous bundle of brown and -lemon colour. Her sole wish is to get the bad time over. How it would -be best got over does not trouble her; and to beautify the inherently -unlovely is beyond her skill to compass. Hence her hours of sickness -go by in ugliness and idle fretting; while the true woman finds -graceful work to do that enlivens their monotony, and in the -continuance of her home duties loses the galling sense of loss from -which the other suffers. - -In sickness too, who but women can nurse? Men make good nurses enough -out in the bush, where nothing better can be had; and a Californian -'pardner' is tender enough in his uncouth way to his mate stricken -down with fever in the shanty, when he comes in at meal-times and -administers quinine and brick tea with horny hands bleeding from cuts -and begrimed with mud. But this is not nursing in the woman's sense. -To be sure the strength of men makes them often of value about an -invalid. They can lift and carry as women cannot; and the want of a -few nights' sleep does not make them hysterical. Still they are -nowhere as nurses, compared with women; and the best of them are not -up to the thoughtful cares and pleasant attentions which, as medical -men know, are half the battle in recovery. And this is work which -suits women. It appeals to their love of power and tenderness -combined; it gratifies the maternal instinct of protection and -self-sacrifice; and it pleasantly reverses the usual order of things, -and gives into their hands Hercules twirling a distaff the wrong way, -and fettered by the length of his skirts. - -The bread-winning wife knows nothing of all this. To her, sickness in -her household would be only a degree less destructive than her own -disablement, if she were called on to nurse. She would not be able to -leave her office for such unremunerative employment as soothing her -children's feverish hours or helping her husband over his. She would -calculate, naturally enough, the difference of cost between hired help -and her own earnings; and economy as well as inclination would decide -the question. But the poor fellow left all day long to the -questionable services of a hired nurse, or to the clumsy honesty of -some domestic Phyllis less deft than faithful, would be a gainer by -his wife's presence--granting that she was a real woman and not an -androgyne--even if he lost the addition to their income which her work -might bring in; as he would rather, when he came home from his work to -her sick bed, find her patient and cheerful, making the best of things -from the woman's point of view and with the woman's power of -adaptation, than be met with anxious queries as to the progress of -business; with doubts, fears, perplexities; the office dragged into -the sick room, and unnecessary annoyance added to unavoidable pain. - -There is a certain kind of woman, sweet always, who yet shows best -when she is invalided. Cleared for a while from the social tangles -which perplex and distress the sensitive, she is as if floated into a -quiet corner where she has time to think and leisure to be her true -self undisturbed; where she is able too, to give more to her friends, -if less to the world at large than at other times. And she is always -to be found. The invalid-couch is the rallying point of the household, -and even the little children learn to regard it as a place of -privilege dearer than the stately drawing-room of ordinary times. Her -friends drop in, sure to find her at home and pleased by their -coming; and her afternoon teas with her half-dozen chosen intimates -have a character of their own, æsthetic and delightful; partly owing -to the quiet and subdued tone that must perforce pervade them, partly -to the unselfishness that reigns on all sides. Every one exerts -himself to bring her things which may amuse her, and she is loaded -with presents of a graceful kind--new books, early fruit, and a wealth -of flowers to which even her poorest friend adds his bunch of violets, -if nothing else. She is the precious child of her circle, and but for -her innate sweetness would run a risk of being the spoilt one. Clever -men come and talk to her, give her cause of thought, and knowledge to -remember and be made glad by for all time; her lady friends keep her -abreast of the outside doings of the world and their own especial -coteries, contributing the dramatic element so dear to the feminine -mind; every one tells her all that is afloat on the sea of society, -but only all that is cheerful--no one brings her horrors, nor disturbs -the frail grace of her repose with petty jealousies and tempers. Her -atmosphere is pure and serene, and the dainty loveliness of her -surroundings lends its charm to the rest. - -To her husband she is even more beautiful than in the early days; and -all men feel for her that chivalrous kind of tenderness and homage -which the true woman alone excites. The womanly invalid, gentle, -cheerful, full of interest for others, active in mind if prostrate in -body, sympathetic and patient, is for the time the queen of her -circle, loved and ministered to by all; and when she goes to Cannes or -San Remo to escape the cruelty of the English winter, she carries with -her a freight of good wishes and regrets, and leaves a blank which -nothing can fill up until she returns with the summer roses to take -her place once more as the popular woman of her society. - - - - -_ON A VISIT._ - - -To most young people the social arrangement known as going on a visit -to friends at a distance is one of the most charming things possible. -Novelty being to them the very breath of life, and hope and -expectation their normal mental condition, the mere fact of change is -in itself delightful; unless it happens to be something so hopelessly -dull as a visit single-handed to an invalid grandmother, or the yearly -probation of a girl of the period, when obliged to put herself under -the charge of a wealthy maiden aunt with strict principles and no -games of any kind allowed on the lawn. If the young ladies out on a -visit are however, moderately cheerful, they can contrive to make -amusement for themselves out of anything short of such sober-tinted -extremes as these; and very often they effect more serious matters -than mere amusement, and their visit brings them a love-affair or a -marriage which changes the whole tenor of their lives. At the worst, -it has shown them a new part of the country; given them new patterns -of embroidery; new fashions of hairdressing; new songs and waltzes; -and afforded an occasion for a large supply of pretty dresses--which -last to most young women, or indeed to most women whether young or -old, is a very effectual source of pleasure. - -The great charm and excitement of going on a visit belongs naturally -to the young of the middle classes; among those of higher condition it -is a different matter altogether. When people take their own servants -with them and live in exactly the same style as at home, they merely -change the furniture of their rooms and the view from the windows. The -same kind of thing goes on at Lord A.'s as at Lord B.'s, in the -Scottish Highlands or the Leicestershire wolds. The quality of the -hunting or shooting may be different, but the whole manner of living -is essentially repetition; and the dead level of civilization is not -broken up by any very startling innovations anywhere. But among the -middle classes there is greater variety; and the country clergyman's -daughter who goes on a visit to the London barrister's family, plunges -into a manner of life totally different from that of her own home; the -personal habits of town and country still remaining quite distinct, -and the possibilities of action being on two different plans -altogether. - -A London-bred woman goes down to the country on a visit to a hale, -hearty Hessian, her former school-fellow, who tucks up her woollen -gown midway to her knees, wears stout boots of masculine appearance, -and goes quite comfortably through mud and mire, across ploughed -field and undrained farmyards--taking cramped stiles and five-barred -gates in her way as obstacles of no more moment than was the mud or -the mire. Long years of use to this unfastidious mode of existence -have blinded her to the perception that a woman, without being an -invalid, may yet be unable to do all that is so easy to her. So the -London lady is taken for a walk, say of five or six miles, which to -the vigorous Hessian is a mere unsatisfying stroll, to be counted no -more as serious exercise than she would count a spoonful of -_vol-au-vent_ as serious eating. To be sure the walk includes a few -muddy corners and the like, and Bond Street boots do not bear the -strain of stiff clay clods too well; neither is a new gown of the -fashionable colour improved by being dragged through furze bushes and -bracken, and brushed against the wet heads of field cabbages. -Moreover, crossing meadows tenanted by cattle that toss their heads -and look--and looking, in horned cattle, is a great offence to our -town-bred woman--is a service of peril which alone would take all the -strength out of her nerves, and all the pleasure out of her walk; but -the hostess cannot imagine feelings which she herself does not share, -and the London lady is of course credited with courage, because to -doubt it would be to cast a slur on her whole moral character. The -Hessian minds the beasts no more than so many tree-stumps, but her -friend sees a raging bull in every milky mother that stares at her as -she passes, and thinks something dreadful is going to happen because -the flies make the heifers swish their tails and stamp. Then the dogs -bark furiously as they rush out of farmsteads and cottages; and the -newly dressed fields are not pleasant to cross nor skirt. The visitor -cares little for wild flowers, less for birds, and all trees are -pretty much alike to her; and this long rude walk, accentuated with -the true country emphasis, has been too much for her. Her host wonders -at her evening lassitude and low spirits, and fears that she finds it -dull; and the robust hostess anathematizes the demoralizing effects of -Kensington, and scornfully contrasts her present friend with her past, -when they were both schoolgirls together and on a par in strength and -endurance. 'She was like other people then,' says the well-trained -Hessian who has kept herself in condition by daily exercise of a -severe character; 'and now see what a poor creature she is! She can do -nothing but work at embroidery and crouch shivering over the fire.' - -Sometimes however, it happens the other way, and the lady guest, even -though a Londoner, is the stronger of the two. The wife has been -broken down by family cares and the one inevitable child too many; the -guest comes fresh, unworn, unmarried, still young. The wife seldom -goes beyond the garden, never further than the village, and is knocked -up if she has done two miles; the guest can manage her six or eight -without fatigue. Hence she naturally becomes the husband's walking -companion during her visit, to his frank delight and as frank regrets -that his wife cannot do as much. And the wife, though good-breeding -and natural kindness prevent her objecting to these long walks, finds -them hard lines all things considered. Most probably she bitterly -regrets having invited her former friend, and mentally resolves never -to ask her again. She wanted her as a little amusement and relaxation -for herself. Her health is delicate and her life dull, and she thought -a female friend in the house would cheer her up and be a help. But -when she finds that she has invited one who, without in the least -intending it and only by the force of circumstances, sets her in -unfavourable contrast with her husband, we may be sure that it will -not take much argument to convince her that asking friends on a visit -is a ridiculous custom, and that people, especially young ladies fond -of long walks, are best at their own homes. - -In London there are two kinds of guests from the country; the -insatiable, and the indifferent--those who wear out their hosts by -their activity and those who oppress them by their supineness. The -Londoner who has outlived all the excitement of the busy city life -wonders at the energy and enthusiasm of his friend. Everything must be -done, even to the Tower and the Whispering Gallery, Madame Tussaud's -and the Agricultural Hall. There is not a second-rate trumpery trifle -which has been in the shop windows for a year or more, that is not -pored over, and if possible, bought; and among the inflictions of the -host may be counted the crude taste of the guest, and the childish -flinging away of money on things absolutely worthless. Or it may be -that the guest has come up stored with many maxims of worldly wisdom -and vague suspicion, and, determined not to be taken in, attempts to -bargain in shops where a second price would be impossible, and where -the host is personally known. - -With guests of superabundant energy a quiet evening is out of the -question. They go the round of all the theatres, and fill in the gaps -with the opera and concerts. They have come up not to stay with you, -but to see London; and they fulfil their intention liberally. Or they -are indifferent and supine, and not to be amused, do what you will. -They think everything a bore, or they are nervous and not up to the -mark. They beseech you not to ask any one to dinner, and not to take -them with you to any reception. They are listless at the theatre and -go to sleep at the opera. At the Royal Academy the only pictures they -notice are those landscapes taken from their own neighbourhood, or -perhaps one by a local artist known to them. All the finest works of -the year fall flat; and before you have seen half the exhibition, they -say they have had enough of it, and sit down, plaintively offering to -wait till you have done, in the tone of a Christian martyr. - -These are the people who are always complaining of the dirt and smoke -of London and the stuffiness of the houses, as if they were personally -injured and you personally responsible. They show a very decided -scorn for all London produce, natural or artificial, and wonder how -people can live in such a place. They are sure to deride the -prevailing fashions, whatever they may be; while their own, of last -season, are exaggerated and excessive; but they refuse to have the -town touch laid on them during their stay, and heroically follow the -millinery gospel of their local Worth, and measure you by themselves. -They show real animation only when they are going away, and begin to -wonder how they shall find things at home, and whether Charles will -meet them at the station or send William instead. But when they write -to thank you for your hospitality, they tell you they never enjoyed -anything so much in their lives; leaving you in a state of perplexity, -as you remember their boredom, and peevish complainings, and evident -relief in leaving, and compare your remembrance with the warm -expressions of pleasure now before your eyes. All you can say is, that -if they were pleased they took an odd way of showing it. - -There are people rash enough to have other people's children on a -visit; to take on themselves the responsibility of their health and -safety, when the young guests are almost sure to fall ill by the -change of diet and the unwonted amount of indulgence allowed, or to -come into some trouble by the relaxing of due supervision and control. -They get a touch of gastric fever, or they tumble into the pond; and -either bronchitis, or a fall from horseback, toppling over from a -ladder, or coming to grief on the swing, or some such accident, is -generally the result of an act which is either heroism or madness as -one may be inclined to regard it. For of all the inconveniences -attending visiting, those incidental to child-guests are the most -distressing. Yet there are philanthropic friends who run these risks -for the sake of giving pleasure to a few young people. Whether they -deserve canonization for their kindness or censure for their rashness -we leave an open question. - -As for a certain disturbance in health, that generally comes to other -than children from being on a visit. Hours and style of food are sure -to be somewhat different from those of home; and the slight constraint -of the life, and the feverishness which this induces, add to the -disturbance. Occupations are interrupted both to the guest and the -host; and some hosts think it necessary to make company for the guest, -and some guests are heavy on hand. Some regard your house as a gaol -and you as the gaoler, and are afraid to initiate an independent -action or to call their souls their own; others treat you as a -landlord, and behave as if you kept an inn, making a convenience of -your household in the most unblushing manner. Some are fastidious, and -covertly snub your wines, your table, and your whole arrangements; -others embarrass you by the fervour of their admiration, as if they -had come out of a hovel and did not know the usages of civilized -homes. Some intrude themselves into every small household matter that -goes on before them, and offer advice that is neither wanted nor -desired; and others will not commit themselves to the most innocent -opinion, fearful lest they should be thought to interfere or take -sides. Some of the women dress at the husband; some of the men flirt -with the wife or make love to the daughters surreptitiously; some loaf -about or play billiards all day long till you are tired of the sound -of their footsteps and the click of the balls; other bury their heads -in a book and are no better than mummies lounging back in easy chairs; -some insist on going to the meet in a hard frost; others will shoot in -a downpour; and others again waste your whole day over the -chess-table, and will not stir out at all. Some are so sensitive and -fidgety that they will not stay above a day or two, and are gone -before you have got into the habit of seeing them, leaving you with -the feeling of a whirlwind having passed through your house; and -others, when they come, stick, and you begin to despair of dislodging -them. - -On the other hand, there are houses where you feel that you would wear -out your welcome after the third day, how long soever the distance you -have come; and there are others where you would offend your hosts for -life if you did not throw overboard every other duty and engagement to -remain for as many weeks as they desire. In fact, paying visits and -inviting guests are both risky matters, and need far more careful -consideration than they generally receive. But when it happens that -the thing is congenial on both sides, that the guest slips into a -vacant place as it were, and neither bores nor is bored, then paying a -visit is as delightful as the young imagination pictures it to be; and -the peculiar closeness and sweetness of intimacy it engenders is one -of the most enduring and charming circumstances incidental to -friendship. This however, is rare and exceptional; as are most of the -very good things of life. - - - - -_DRAWING-ROOM EPIPHYTES._ - - -In every coterie we find certain stray damsels unattached; young -ladies of personable appearance and showy accomplishments who go about -the world alone, and whose parents, never seen, are living in some -obscure lodgings where they pinch and screw to furnish their -daughter's bravery. Some one or two great ladies of the set patronize -these girls, take them about a good deal, and ask them to all their -drums and at-homes. They are useful in their degree; very -good-natured; always ready to fetch and carry in a confidential kind -of way; to sing and play when they are asked--and they sing and play -with almost professional skill; full of the small talk of the day, and -not likely to bore their companions with untimely discussions on -dangerous subjects, nor to startle them with enthusiasm about -anything. They serve to fill a vacant place when wanted; and they look -nice and keep up the ball so far as their own sphere extends. They are -safe, too; and, though lively and amusing, are never known to retail -gossip nor talk scandal in public. - -Who are they? No one exactly knows. They are Miss A. and Miss B., and -they have collaterals of respectable name and standing; cousins in -Government offices; dead uncles of good military rank; perhaps a -father, dead or alive, with a quite unexceptionable position; but you -never see them with their natural belongings, and no one thinks of -visiting them at their own homes. They are sure to have a mother in -bad health, who never goes out and never sees any one; and if you -should by chance come across her, you find a shabby, painful, peevish -woman who seems at odds with life altogether, and who is as unlike her -showy daughter as a russet wren is unlike a humming-bird. The -drawing-room epiphyte introduces mamma, when necessary, with a -creditable effort at indifference, not to say content, with her -conditions; but if you can read signs, you know what she is feeling -about that suit of rusty black, and how little she enjoys the -rencounter. - -Sometimes she has a brother, of whom she never speaks unless obliged, -and of whose occupation and whereabouts, when asked, she gives only -the vaguest account. He has an office in the City; or he has gone -abroad; or he is in the navy and she forgets the name of his ship; -but, whatever he is, you can get no clue more distinct than this. If -you should chance to see him, you get a greater surprise than you had -when you met the mother; and you wonder, with a deeper wonder, how -such a sister should have sprung from the same stock as that which -produced such a brother. Sometimes however, the brother is as -presentable as the sister; in which case he probably follows much the -same course as herself, and hangs on to the skirts of those of the -Upper Ten who recognize him--preferring to idle away his life and -energy as a well-dressed epiphyte of greatness rather than live the -life of a man in a lower social sphere. But, as a rule, stray damsels -have neither brothers nor sisters visible to the world, and only a -widowed mother in the background, whose health is bad and who does not -go out. - -The ulterior object of the ladies who patronize these pretty epiphytes -is to get them married; partly from personal kindness, partly from the -pleasure all women have in bringing about a marriage that does not -interfere with themselves. But they seldom accomplish this object. Who -is to marry the epiphyte? The men of the society into which she has -been brought from the outside have their own ambitions to realize. -They want money, or land, or a good family connexion, to make the -sacrifice an equal bargain and to gild the yoke of matrimony with -becoming splendour. And the drawing room epiphyte has nothing to offer -as her contribution but a fine pair of eyes, a good-natured manner, -and a pretty taste for music. To marry well among the society in which -she finds herself is therefore almost impossible. And her tastes have -been so far formed as to render a marriage into lower circumstances -almost as impossible on the other side. - -Besides, what could she do as the wife of a clergyman, say on three -hundred a year, with a poor parish to look after and an increasing -tribe of babies to feed and clothe? Her clear high notes, her splendid -register, her brilliant touch, will not help her then; and the taste -with which she makes up half-worn silk gowns, and transforms what was -a rag into an ornament, will not do much towards finding the necessary -boots and loaves which keep her sisters awake at night wondering how -they are to be got. She has been taught nothing of the art of home -life, if she has learnt much of that of the drawing-room. She cannot -cook, nor make a little go a long way by the cunning of good -management and a well-masked economy; she cannot do serviceable -needlework, though she may be great in fancy work, and quite a genius -in millinery; and the habit of having plenty of servants about her has -destroyed the habit of turning her hand to anything like energetic -self-help. Epiphyte as she is, penniless stray damsel more than half -maintained by the kindness of her grand friends, she has to keep up -the sham of appearances before those friends' domestics. And as -ladyhood in England is chiefly measured by a woman's uselessness, and -to do anything in the way of rational work would be a spot on her -ermine, the poor epiphyte of the drawing-room, with mamma in rusty -black in those shabby lodgings of theirs, learns in self-defence to -practise all the foolish helplessness of her superiors; and, to retain -the respect of the servants, loses her own. - -What is she then but one of those misplaced beings who are neither of -one sphere nor of another? She is not of the _grandes dames_ on her -own account, yet she lives in their houses as one among them. She is -not a woman who can make the best of things; who, notable and -industrious, and by her clever contrivances of saving and substitution -is able to order a home comfortably on next to nothing; and yet she -has no solid claim to anything but the undercut of the middle classes, -and no right to expect more than the most ordinary marriage. She is -nothing. Ashamed and unable to work, she has to accept gratuities -which are not wages. Waiting on Providence and floated by her friends, -she wanders though society ever on the look-out for chances. Each new -acquaintance is a fresh hope, and every house that opens to her -contains the potentiality of final success. To be met everywhere is -the ultimate point of her ambition with respect to means; the end kept -steadily, if fruitlessly, in view, is that satisfying settlement which -shall take her out of the category of a hanger-on and give her a -_locus standi_ of her own. But it does not come. - -Year by year we meet the drawing-room epiphyte in the old haunts--at -Brighton; at Ryde; at half-a-dozen good houses in London; on a visit -to the friends who make much of her one day and snub her the next--but -she does not 'go off.' She is pretty, she is agreeable, she is well -dressed, she is accomplished; but she does not find the husband for -whom all this is offered as the equivalent. Year by year she grows -fatter or thinner as her constitution expands into obesity or shrivels -into leanness; the lines about her fine eyes deepen; the powder is a -little thicker on her cheeks; and there are more than shrewd -suspicions of a touch of rouge or of antimony, with a judicious -application of patent hair-restorer to lift up the faded tints. -Fighting desperately with that old enemy Time, she disputes line by -line the tribute he claims; and succeeds so far as to continue a good -make-up for a year or two after other women of her own age have given -in and consented to look their years. But the drawing-room epiphyte is -nothing if she is not young--which is synonymous with power to -interest and amuse. Her friends, the great ladies who hold -drawing-rooms and gather society in shoals, want points of colour in -their rooms as well as serviceable foils. The apple-pie that was all -made of quinces was a failure, wanting the homely _couche_ from which -the savour of the more fragrant fruit might be thrown up. On the other -hand there are social meetings which are like apple-pies without any -quince at all; and then the epiphyte is invaluable, and her music -worth as much in its degree as if she were a prima donna, each of -whose notes ranked as gold. So that when she ceases to be young, when -she loses her high notes and has gout in her fingers, she fails in her -only _raison d'être_, and her occupation is gone. Hence her hard -struggles with the old enemy, and her half-heroic, half-tragic -determination not to give in while a shred of force remains. - -On the day when she collapses into an old woman she is lost. She has -nothing for it then but to withdraw from the brilliant drawing-rooms -she has so long haunted into dingy lodgings in a back street, and live -as her mother lived before her. Forgotten by the world which she has -spent her life in waiting on, she has leisure to reflect on the -relative values of things, and to lament, as she probably will, that -she gave living grain for gilded husks; that she exchanged the -realities of love and home, which might have been hers had she been -contented to accept them on a lower social scale, for the barren -pleasures of the day and the delusive hope of marrying well in a -sphere where she had no solid foothold. She had her choice, like -others; but she chose to throw for high stakes at heavy odds, and in -so doing let slip what she originally held. The bird in the hand might -have been of a homely kind enough; still, it was always the bird; -while the two golden pheasants in the bush flew away unsalted, and -left her only their shadows to run after. - -On the whole then, we incline to the belief that the drawing-room -epiphyte is a mistake, and that those stray damsels who wander about -society unattended by any natural protector and always more or less in -the character of adventuresses, would do better to keep to the sphere -determined by parental circumstances than to let themselves be taken -into one which does not belong to them and which they cannot hold. -And furthermore it seems to us that, irrespective of its present -instability and future fruitlessness, the position of a drawing-room -epiphyte is one which no woman of sense would accept, and to which no -woman of spirit would submit. - - - - -_THE EPICENE SEX._ - - -There has always been in the world a kind of women whom one scarcely -knows how to classify as to sex; men by their instincts, women by -their form, but neither men nor women as we regard either in the -ideal. In early times they were divided into two classes; the Amazons -who, donning helmet and cuirass, went to the wars that they might be -with their lovers, or perhaps only for an innate liking for rough -work; and the tribe of ancient women, so withered and so wild, who -should be women yet whose beards forbade men so to account them, and -for whom public opinion usually closed the controversy by declaring -that they were witches--that is, creatures so unlike the rightful -woman of nature that only the devil himself was supposed to be -answerable for them. These particular manifestations have long since -passed away, and we have nowadays neither Amazons learning the -goose-step in our barrack-yards, nor witches brewing hell-broth on -Scottish moors; but we have the Epicene Sex all the same--women who -would defy the acutest social Cuvier among us to classify, but who -are growing daily into more importance and making continually fresh -strides in their unwholesome way. - -Possessed by a restless discontent with their appointed work, and -fired with a mad desire to dabble in all things unseemly, which they -call ambition; blasphemous to the sweetest virtues of their sex, which -until now have been accounted both their own pride and the safeguard -of society; holding it no honour to be reticent, unselfish, patient, -obedient, but swaggering to the front, ready to try conclusions in -aggression, in selfishness, in insolent disregard of duty, in cynical -abasement of modesty, with the hardest and least estimable of the men -they emulate;--these women of the doubtful gender have managed to drop -all their own special graces while unable to gather up any of the more -valuable virtues of men. They are no more philosophical than the most -inconsequent sister who judges all things according to her feelings, -and commends or condemns principles as she happens to like or dislike -the persons advocating them; and they are as hysterical and -intemperate in their political cries as if the whole world wagged by -impulse only. They are no more magnanimous under rebuke than the -stanchest advocate of the sacredness of sex, but resent all hostile -criticism as passionately, and from grounds as merely personal, as if -they were still shrouded from public blame by the safety of their -privacy; and they are as little useful in their blatant energy as when -they spent their days in working monstrous patterns in crude-coloured -wools, or found spiritual satisfaction in cutting holes in strips of -calico to sew up again with a new stitch. They have committed the -mistake of abandoning such work as they can do well, while trying to -manipulate things which they touch only to spoil; they have ceased to -be women and not learnt to be men; they have thrown aside beauty and -not put on strength. - -The latest development of the impulses which animate the epicene sex -has taken its expression in after-dinner oratory. If we were as -malicious to women as those whose follies we rebuke would have the -world believe, we should encourage them to fight it out with womanly -modesty and the world's esteem on this line. Their worst enemies could -not wish to see them inflict on themselves a greater annoyance than -the obligation of getting on their legs after the cheese has been -removed, to turn on a stream of verbal insipidity for a quarter of an -hour at a stretch. Only men who have something to say on the subject -that may be on hand, and so are glad of every opportunity for -elucidation or advocacy, or men who are eaten up with vanity, take -pleasure in speechifying after dinner. Its uselessness is apparent; -its mock hilarity is ghastly; even at political 'banquets,' when words -are supposed to have some deep meaning, we get very little substance -in it; while all the funny part of the business is the dreariest -comedy, the unreality of which brings it close to tragedy. - -If anything were wanting to show how much vanity prompts a certain -class of women in their ways and works, and how tremendous is their -passion for notoriety and personal display, it would be this -assumption of the functions of the post-prandial orator. Indeed they -have taken greatly of late to public speaking all round; and some -among them seem only easy when they are standing before a crowd, to be -admired if they are pretty, applauded if they are pert, and, in any -case, the centre of attraction for the moment. We do not look forward -with pleasure to the time when ladies will rise after their champagne -and port, with flushed cheeks and eyes more bright than beautiful, -steadying themselves adroitly against the back of their chairs, and -rolling out either those interminable periods with no nominatives and -no climax under which we have all so often suffered, or spasmodically -jerking forth a few unconnected sentences of which the sole merit is -their brevity. In the beginning of things, when the wedge has to be -introduced, only the best of its kind puts itself forward; and -doubtless the ladies who have already varied the usual dull routine of -after-dinner oratory by their livelier utterances have done the thing -comparatively well, and avoided a breakdown; but we own that we -tremble at the thought of the flood of feminine eloquence which will -be let loose if the fashion spreads. - -Fancy the heavy British matron rearing her ample shoulders above the -board, as she lays down the law on the duties of men towards -women--especially sons-in-law--and the advantage to all concerned if -wives are liberally dealt with in the matter of housekeeping money, -and let to go their own way without marital hindrance. Or think of the -woman's-rights woman, with her hybrid costume and her hard face, -showing society how it can be saved from destruction only by throwing -the balance of power into the hands of women--by the nobler and -brighter instincts of the oppressed sex swamping that rude, rough, -masculine element which has so long mismanaged matters. Or even think -of the coquettish and alluring little woman getting up before a crowd -of men and firing off the neatest and smartest park of verbal -artillery possible, every shot of which tells and is applauded to the -echo. How will men take it all? For ourselves, having too sincere a -respect for women as they ought to be, and as nature meant them to be, -we do not wish to see them turned into social buffoons, the mark for -jeering comments and angry hisses when what they say displeases their -hearers, told to 'sit down,' and 'shut up,' with entreaties to some -strong man to 'take them out of that and carry them home to the -nursery,' by a hundred voices roughened with drink and shouting. But -if women expect that hostile feelings and opinions will be tamed or -altogether suppressed in their honour because they choose to thrust -themselves where they have no business, they will find out their -mistake, perhaps when too late. If they abandon their safe cover and -come out into the open, they must look to be hit like the rest. We -cannot too often repeat that if they will mingle in the specialities -of men's lives, they must put up with men's treatment and not cry out -when they are struck home. In deference to them plain-speaking has -been banished from the drawing rooms of society; but it is too much to -expect men to sit in their own places under heavy boredom or fatuous -gabble without wincing; and it is childish to ask us to make a -free-gift of our truth and time to women who outrage one and waste the -other. On the other hand the cheers which would follow if they hit the -humour of the hour, or if, being specially pretty or specially smart, -they afforded so much more than the ordinary excitement to the guests, -would to our minds be just as offensive as the rougher truth, and -perhaps more so. The leering approbation of men never over-nice in -thought and now heated with wine, such as are always to be found at -public dinners, is an infliction from which we should have imagined -any woman with purity or self-respect would have shrunk with shame and -dismay. But women who take to after-dinner speeches cannot be either -nervous or fastidious. - -Perhaps it is expecting too much of women of this kind if we ask them -to consider themselves in relation to men's liking. They profess to -despise the masculine animal they are so fond of imitating, and to be -careless of his liking; holding it a matter of supreme indifference -whether they are to his taste or not. But it may be as well to say -plainly that the disgust which we may presume the normal healthy woman -feels for men who paint and pad and wear stays and work Berlin -work--men who give their minds to chignons and costumes; who spy after -their maids' love-letters, and watch their boys as cats watch -mice--men who occupy themselves with domestic details they should know -nothing about; who look after the baby's pap-boat and the cinders in -the dust-heap, and can call the various articles of household linen by -their proper names--the disgust which the womanly woman feels for them -is exactly that which the manly man feels for the epicene sex. - -Hard, unblushing, unloving women whose ideal of happiness lies in -swagger and notoriety; who hate home life and despise home virtues; -who have no tender regard for men and no instinctive love for -children; who despise the modesty of sex as they deny its natural -fitness--these women have worse than no charm for men, and their place -in the human family seems altogether a mistake. If there were any -special work which they could do better than manly men or feminine -women, we could understand their economic uses, and accept them as -eminently unlovely outgrowths of a natural law, but at least as -necessary and natural. But they are not wanted. They simply disgust -men and mislead women; and those women whom they do not mislead in -their own they often influence too strongly in the other direction by -way of reaction, rendering them sickly in their sweetness, and weak -rather than womanly. If the interlacing margins of certain things are -lovely, as colours which blend together are more harmonious than those -which are crudely distinct, it is not so with the interlacing margin -of sex. Let men be men, and women women, sharply, unmistakably -defined; but to have an ambiguous sex which is neither the one nor the -other, possessing the coarser passions and instincts of men without -their strength or better judgment, and the position and privileges of -women without their tenderness, their sense of duty, or their modesty, -is a state of things that we should like to see abolished by public -opinion, which alone can touch it. - - - - -_WOMEN'S MEN._ - - -If songs are the expressions of a nation's political temper, novels -show the current of its social morality, and what the learned would -call its psychological condition. When French novelists devote half -their stories to the analysis of those feelings which end in breaking -the seventh commandment, and the other half to the gradual evolution -of the evidence which leads to the detection of a secret murderer, we -may safely assume, on the one hand, that the marriage law presses -heavily, and, on the other, that the national intellect is of that -ingenious kind which takes pleasure in puzzles, and is best -represented by the familiar examples of dovetailing and mosaic work. -When too, we see that their common feminine type is a creature given -over as a prey to nervous fancies and an exalted imagination, of a -feverish temperament and a general obscuration of plain morality in -favour of a subtilizing and misleading kind of thing which she calls -her _besoin d'âme_, we may be sure that this is the type most approved -by both writer and readers, and that anything else would be -unwelcome. - -The French novelist who should describe, as his central figure, a -self-disciplined, straightforward, healthy young woman, honestly in -love with her husband, rationally fond of her children, not given to -dangerous musings about the need of her soul for an elective affinity -outside her marriage bond, nor spending her hours in speculating on -the philosophy of necessity as represented by Léon or Alphonse; who -should make her absolutely impervious to the sickly sentimentalism of -the inevitable _célibat_, and neither palter with peril nor lament -that sin should be sinful when it is so pleasant; who should paint -domestic morality as we know it exists in France no less than in -England, and trust for his interest to the quiet pathos of unfriendly -but cleanly circumstances, would be hard put to it to make his heroine -attractive and his story popular; and his readers would not be counted -by tens of thousands, as were those who gloated over the sins of -_Madame Bovary_ and the prurience of _Fanny_. The Scandinavian type of -woman again, strong-armed, independent, athletic, practical, would not -go down with the French reading public; wherefore we may assume that -the _Parisienne_, as we know her in romance--feverish, subtil, -casuistic, self-deluding, and always ready to sacrifice duty to -sentiment--is the woman best liked by the people to whom she is -offered, and that the novelist but repeats and represents the wish of -his readers. - -So, too, when our own novelists carry their stock puppets through the -nine hundred pages held to be necessary for the due display of their -follies and disasters, we may be sure that they are of the kind which -finds favour in the eyes of the ordinary English reader; that the -girls are the girls who please young men or do not alarm mothers, and -that the men are the men in whom women delight, and think the ideals -of their sex. If, as it is said, the delineation of her hero is the -touchstone of a woman's literary power, it must be confessed that the -touchstone discloses, for the most part, a very feeble amount of -literary power, and that the female mind has but a small perception of -all that relates to man's needs and nature. - -It is the rarest thing possible to find a flesh-and-blood man in the -pages of a woman's novel; far rarer than to meet with a -flesh-and-blood young lady in the pages of a man's. They are all -either prigs, ruffians, or curled darlings; each of whom a man longs -to kick. They are goody men of such exalted morality that Sir Galahad -himself might take a lesson from them. Or they are brutes with the -well-worn square jaw and beetling brow, who translate into the milder -action of modern life the savage's method of wooing a woman by first -knocking her senseless and then carrying her off. Or they are -impossible light-weights, with small hands and artistic -tendencies--men who moon about a good deal, and are sure to love the -wrong woman in a helpless, drifting sort of way, as if it were quite -the right and manly thing to do to let themselves fall under the -dominion of a passion which a little resolution could overcome. -Sometimes, for a difference, these light-weights are men of tremendous -pluck and quality of muscle, able to thrash a burly bargee twice their -weight and development with as much ease as a steel sword can cut -through one of pith. The female crowd of present novel-writers repeat -these four types with undeviating constancy, so that we have learnt -them all by heart; and after the first outline indicative of their -attributes, we can tell who they are as certainly as we can tell -Minerva by her owl, St. Catharine by her wheel, Jupiter by his -thunderbolts, or St. Sebastian by his arrows. But in what form soever -they elect to portray their hero, they are sure to make his love for -woman his best and his dominant quality. - -Few women know anything of the intricacies of a man's life and -emotion, save such as are connected with love. Yet, though love is -certainly the strongest passion in youth, it is by no means all -powerful in maturity and middle age. But the lady's hero of fifty and -upwards is as much under the influence of his erotic fancies as if he -were a boy of eighteen; and life holds nothing worth living for if he -does not get the woman with whom he has fallen in love. It seems -impossible for a woman to understand the loftier side of a man's -nature. She knows nothing, subjectively, of the political aims, the -love for abstract truth, the desire for human progress, which take him -out of the narrow domestic sphere, and make him comparatively -indifferent to the life of sense and emotion altogether. And when she -sees this she does not tolerate it. When Newton used his lady's little -finger for a tobacco-stopper, he dug his grave in the female garden of -the soul; and women rarely appreciate either Dr. Johnson or Dean -Swift, because of the absence in the one of anything like romantic -tenderness and its perversion in the other. All they care for is that -men shall be tender and true to them; idealizing as lovers; as -husbands constant and indulgent; and for this they will condone any -amount of crookedness or meanness which does not make its way into the -home. If he is complying and caressing there, he may be what fate and -the foul fiend like to make him elsewhere, so long as he is not openly -unfaithful and never gets drunk. - -All the false glitter of the Corsair school is due solely to the -capacity for loving ascribed to the heroes thereof. Though a man's -name be 'linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes,' the one -virtue, being love, outweighs the thousand crimes in the estimation of -women and of the more effeminate kind of poets; and so long as the -'heart is framed for softness,' it may be 'warped to wrong' without -doing any Conrad much injury with them. The absolute rightness and -justness of a man count for little in comparison with his tenderness; -and we know of no woman whose ideal man would be one neither a saint -nor a lover. - -The reason why the men of a softer civilization are in general so -successful with the women of the harder and more northerly countries -is because of the comparative softness of their manners and the larger -place which love and love-making hold among them. All who know France -know the Frenchman's jealous hatred of Italian men; which hatred we -share here in England, only we add the Frenchman to the list. We -affect to despise the arts by which the men succeed and the women are -gained over; but we cannot deny their potency, nor shut our eyes to -the esteem in which they are held by women. This is not saying that -the chivalrous habit of deference taught by civilization is not a good -thing in itself, but it is saying that it is not worth the stronger -and more essentially masculine qualities. But to women the art of -love-making is worth all the other virtues in a lump; indeed, it -comprises them all, and without it the best are valueless. It is the -crown and glory of life--the one thing to live for; and where it is -not, there is no life worthy of the name. Not that women are -insensible to the charms of public fame. If a man has made himself a -great reputation, he may throw the handkerchief where he likes, and he -will find plenty of women to pick it up. In this case they are not too -rigid in their requirements; and if his ways are a little hard and -cold, they hold themselves indemnified for the loss of personal -tenderness by the glory which surrounds a name which is now theirs. A -woman must be exceptionally silly if she cannot take comfort in her -husband's public repute for her disappointment in his private manners. -But this is only with recognized and fully successful heroes. As a -rule, no amount of manly virtues will excuse the want of the softer -graces; and the finest fellow that ever lived, the true _anax andrôn_ -among men, must be content to be measured by women merely according to -his own estimate of them, and the power which the passion of love has -over him. - -Nothing surprises men more than the odd ignorance of women concerning -them; and half the unhappiness in married life, at least in England, -springs from that ignorance. They cannot be made to understand the -differences between a man's nature and requirements and their own; and -they condemn all that they cannot understand. In those few rational -homes where men's sports and gatherings, undisturbed by the presence -of petticoats, are not made occasions for suspicion nor remonstrance, -the stock of love and happiness with which married life began is more -like the widow's cruse than elsewhere; but unfortunately for both -husbands and wives, these homes are rare; while those are common where -an extramural game of billiards in the evening is occasion for tears -or pouting, and deadly offence is taken at club dinners or a week's -shooting. The consequence of which is deceit or dissension; and -sometimes both. - -The woman's ideal man has none of these erratic tendencies. His -business done, he comes home with the docility of a well-bred pointer -sent to heel, and finds energy enough after his hard day's work for a -variety of caressing cares which make him more precious in her eyes -than all the tact, the temper, the judgment, the uprightness he has -manifested in his dealings with the outside world. And the domesticity -which she claims from her husband she demands from her son. Latchkeys -are her abomination, and the 'gas left burning' is as a beacon-light -on the way of destruction. She has the profoundest suspicion of all -the men whom her boy calls his friends. She never knows into what -mischief they may lead him; but she is sure it is mischief if they -keep him away from his home in the evening. She would prescribe the -same social restraints and moral regimen for her son as for her -daughter, and she thinks the energies of masculine nature require no -wider field and no looser rein. But though she likes those tame and -tender men whom she can tie up close to her apron-strings and lovingly -imprison in the narrow domain of home, she succumbs without a struggle -to the square-jawed brute of the Rochester type, the man who dominates -her by the mere force of superior strength; and she is not too severe -on Don Juan, if only she can flatter herself that she is the best -loved--and the last. That these are the men most liked by women is -shown both by their own novels and by daily observation; and it seems -to us that, among the many subjects for extended study of late -proposed for women, a better acquaintance with men's minds, a higher -regard for the nobler kind of man and the ability to accept love as -only one of many qualities, and not always the strongest nor the most -praiseworthy of his impulses, would not be out of place. - - - - -_HOTEL LIFE IN ENGLAND._ - - -If any one wants to see human nature stripped of certain conventional -disguises and reduced to some of its primitive elements, let him try a -boarding-house or family hotel for a while. If not always a -profitable, it is generally an amusing, exhibition of character; and -materials are never wanting to the student of human life. The -predominating quality of most people will be found to be selfishness. -There is a kind of fighting for self that goes on which is very funny, -because concentrated on such mean objects. Who shall have the most -comfortable chair, the best place at the window, the cosiest by the -fire--such are the favourite prizes to be gained by superior craft or -boldness; and the ladies chiefly interested have recourse to a series -of manoeuvres to circumvent their rivals, or steal a march on them -unprepared, more ingenious at times than well-bred. Then there is the -lady who appropriates the only footstool, and the lady who disputes -the appropriation and sometimes 'comes to words' on the same; the -couple who monopolize the bagatelle board, and the couple waiting -savagely for their turn, which comes only when the gong sounds for -dinner or the sky clears up for a walk. The quartet who settle -themselves to whist every evening as to a regular part of the business -of life, without caring to inquire whether others would like to cut in -or not, are more justified in their exclusiveness; else it may happen -that a Club man who can make his bad cards beat his opponent's good -ones is mated with a partner who inquires anxiously 'Is that the queen -to beat?' then, with the king in his hand, quietly drops the deuce, -and gives the adversaries the game. All these however, are regarded -with equally hostile feelings by the rest of the community; and sharp -sermons are administered on the sin of selfishness by the bolder sort, -with the application too evident to be misunderstood. - -At meal times the same kind of odd fighting for self goes on. The -table is set as for a dinner party; but it is the hands of Esau and -the voice of Jacob. Instead of the silent waiting for one's turn, with -the quiet acceptance of fate in the shape of the butler and his -underlings, that belongs to a private dinner-table, here, at the -_table d'hôte_, there is an incessant call for this or that out of -time; an angry demand to be served sooner or better than one's -neighbours; a greedy 'taking care of number one' at the head of the -table that excites as greedy apprehensions in number two at the foot; -a running fire of criticism on the dishes--that does not help the -illusion of the private dinner-party; and, with people who live much -about in hotels, there is a continual comparison with this and that, -here and there, always to the disadvantage of the place and the thing -under present consideration. - -Among the inmates are sure to be some who are fastidious and peevish -about their food; women who come down late and complain that things -are not as fresh as when first served up; men who always want fried -fish when the management has provided boiled, and boiled when the -_menu_ says fried; dyspeptic bodies who cannot eat bread unless it is -two days old, and bodies defiant of dyspepsia who will not eat it at -all unless it is hot from the oven; plain feeders who turn up their -noses at the made dishes, and dainty livers who call simple roast and -boiled coarse. And for all these societies the management has to cater -impartially; and probably miss the reward of thanks at the end. - -The feelings of people are expressed with the same kind of defiant -individualism as are their tastes. There are the married people who -make love to each other in public, and the married people who make -anything but love; the women who sit and adore their husbands like -worshippers before a shrine, and who like the world to be conscious of -their devotion; the men who call their wives pet names for the benefit -of the whole table, and even indulge in playful little familiarities -which make the girls toss their heads and the young men laugh; and the -happy pair who quarrel without restraint, and say snappish and -disagreeable things to each other in audible voices, to the -embarrassment of all who hear them. There is the rakish Lothario who -neglects his own better half and devotes himself to some other man's, -with a lofty disregard of appearances; and there is the coquettish -little wife who treats her husband very much like a dog and very -little like her lord, and who carries on her flirtations in the most -audacious manner under his eyes, and apparently with his sanction. -And, having his sanction, she defies the world about her to take -umbrage at her proceedings. - -As for flirtations indeed, these are always going on in hotel life. -Sometimes it is flirtation between a single man and a single woman, -against which no one has a word to say on the score of propriety, -though some think it will never come to anything and some think it -will, and all scan curiously the signs of progressive heating, or the -process of cooling off. Sometimes it is a more questionable matter; -the indiscreet behaviour of a young wife, unprotected by her husband, -who takes up furiously with some stranger met at the _table d'hôte_ by -chance, and of whose character or antecedents she is utterly ignorant. -This is the kind of things that sets the whole hotel by the ears. Prim -women ask severely, 'How long has Mrs. So-and-So known Major -Fourstars?' and their faces, when told, are a sufficient commentary on -the text. Others, in seeming innocence, call them by the same name, -and express intense surprise when informed they are not man and wife, -but acquaintances of only a week's standing. Others again say it is -shameful to see them, and wonder why some one does not write home to -the poor husband, and speak of doing that kind office themselves; and -others watch them with a cynical half-amused attention, interpreting -their actions by the broadest glossary, and carefully guarding their -wives or daughters from any association with either of the offenders. -Whatever else fails, this kind of vulgar hotel intrigue is always on -hand at sea-side places and the like; sometimes ending disastrously, -sometimes dying out in favour of a new flame, but always causing -discomfort while it lasts, and annoying every one connected therewith -save the sinners themselves. - -The women who dress to excess are balanced by the women who do not -dress at all. The first are the walking advertisements of fashion, the -last might be mistaken for the canvassers of old clothes' shops. The -one class oppress by their magnificence, the other disgust by their -dowdiness; and each ridicules the other to the indifferent third -party, who, holding the scales of justice evenly, condemns both alike. -Then there are the ugly women who manifestly think themselves -attractive, and the pretty women who are too conscious of their -charms. To be sure there are also ugly women who are content to know -themselves unpersonable, as there are pretty women who are content to -know that they are pretty, just as they know that they are alive, but -who think no more about it, and never trouble themselves nor their -neighbours by their affectations. There are the dear motherly women -beyond middle age, scant of breath and incapable of exertion, who sit -in the drawing-room, placid and asthmatic, and to whom every one pays -an affectionate reverence; and there are the elderly women who chirrup -about like young things, and skip up and down steep places with -commendable agility, and who are by no means disposed to let old age -have the victory for many a year to come. There are the mothers who -make their lumpish children sick with a multiplicity of good things, -and the mothers who never give a moment's thought to the comfort nor -the well-being of theirs; the mothers who fidget their little ones and -every one else by their over-anxiety, their over caution, their -incessant preoccupation and fear, and the mothers who let theirs -wander, and who take it quite comfortably if they do not come in even -at night-fall; the mothers who prank their children out like Mayday -Jacks and Jills, and the mothers who let theirs go free in rags and -dirt, till you are puzzled to believe them better born than the -gutter. And with all this there is the plague of the children -themselves--the babies who cry all night; the two-year-olds who scream -all day; the rampaging boys who haunt the stairs and passages and who -will slide down the banisters on a wet afternoon; the clattering -little troop playing at horses before your bedroom door, while you are -lying down with a sick headache; and the irruption into the -drawing-room of the young barbarians who have no nursery of their -own. - -Quite recent widows with fluffy heads and no sign of their bereaved -state, come to the hotel flanked by those of a couple of years' -standing, still dressed in the deepest weeds, with the significant cap -cherished as a sacred symbol. Brisk young widows appeal to men's -admiration by their brightness, and languid young widows excite -sympathy by their despair. Pretty young widows of small endowment, -whose chances you would back at long odds, are handicapped against -plain-featured widows, whose desolation you know no one would ever ask -to relieve were it not for those Three per cents. with which they are -credited. And the widows of hotel life are always a feature worth -studying. There are many who do so study them;--chiefly the old -bachelor of well-preserved appearance and active habits, who has -constituted himself the squire of dames to the establishment, and who -takes up first with one and then another of the unprotected females as -they appear, and escorts them about the neighbourhood. He never makes -friends with men, but he is hand-in-glove with all the pretty women; -and his critical judgment on them on their first appearance is -considered final. As a rule he does not care to attach himself so -exclusively to one, be she maid, wife, or widow, as to get himself -talked about; but sometimes he falls into the clutches of a woman of -more tenacity than he has bargained for, and, man of irreproachable -respectability as he is, drifts into a flirtation which the hotel -takes to mean an offer or an intrigue, according to the state of the -lady concerned. As the hotel-life bachelor is generally a man of -profound selfishness, the discomfort that ensues does no great harm; -and it sometimes happens that it is diamond cut diamond, which is a -not unrighteous retribution. - -For the most part the people haunting hotels and living at -_tables d'hôte_ are not specially charming, but among them may -sometimes be met men and women of broad views and liberal minds, -cultivated and thoughtful, whose association time ripens into -friendship. They stand out in bold relief among the vulgar people who -talk loud, stare hard, ask impertinent questions, and discuss the -dinners and the company in a broad provincial accent; among the silent -people who sit gloomily at table as if oppressed with debt or -assisting at a funeral; among the betting-men who flood the house at -race-time, making it echo with the jargon of the Turf and the stable; -among the quarrelsome people who snap and snarl at every subject -started, like dogs growling over a bone; among the religious people -who will testify in season and out of season, and the political people -who will argue; the stupid people who have not two ideas, and the -ignorant people who do not understand anything beyond the educational -range of a child or a peasant; the conventional people who oppress one -with their strained proprieties, and the doubtful people of whom no -one knows anything and every one suspects all. Among the _oi polloi_ -of hotel life the really nice people shine conspicuous: and more than -one pleasant friendship which has lasted for life has been begun over -the soup and fish of a _table d'hôte_. - - - - -_OUR MASKS._ - - -We should do badly, as things are ordered, if we went about the world -with our natural moral faces. Even stopping short of the extravagance -of betraying our most important secrets, as in a Palace of Truth, and -frankly telling men and women that we think them fools or bores, it is -difficult for the most honest person in society to do without -something of a mask in regard to minor matters. The old quarrel -between nature and art, and where the limits of each should extend, -has not yet got itself arranged; and it is doubtful whether it will -during the present dispensation. It may be put to rights in some -future state of human development, when the spiritualists will have it -all their own way and tell us exactly what we ought to do; but pending -this forecast of the millennium, we are obliged to have recourse to -art for the better concealment of our natural selves, and especially, -for the maintenance of that queer bundle of compromises and -conventions which we call society. - -The oddest consequence of the artificial state in which we find -ourselves obliged to live is that nature looks like affectation, and -that the highest art is the most like nature of anything we know. It -is in drawing-rooms as on the stage. A thoroughly inartificial actor -would be a mere dummy, just as in the Greek theatre a man with his -natural face would have seemed mean and insignificant to the -spectators accustomed to fixed types of heroic size and set intention. -But he whose acting brings the house down because of its truth to -nature is he whose art has been the most profoundly studied, and with -whom the concealment of art has therefore been the most perfectly -attained. So in society. A man of thoroughly natural manners passes as -either morose or pert according to his mood--either stupid because -disinclined to exert himself, or obtrusive because in the humour to -talk. He means no offence, honest body! but he makes himself -disagreeable all the same. Such a man is the pest of his club, and the -nuisance of every drawing-room he enters. It matters little whether he -is constitutionally boorish or good-natured; he is natural; and his -naturalness comes like an ugly patch of frieze on the cloth of gold -with which the goddess of conventionality is draped. - -Natural women too, may be found at times--women who demonstrate on -small occasions, sincerely no doubt, but excessively; women who skip -like young lambs when they are pleased and pout like naughty children -when they are displeased; who disdain all those little arts of dress -which conceal defects and heighten beauties, and who are always at war -with the fashions of the day; who despise those conventional graces -of manner which have come to be part of the religion of society, -contradicting point-blank, softening no refusal with the expression of -a regret they do not feel, yawning in the face of the bore, admiring -with the _naïveté_ of a savage whatever is new to them or pleasing. -Such women are not agreeable companions, however devoid of affectation -they may be, however stanch adherents to truth and things as they are, -according to their boast. The woman who has not a particle of -untrained spontaneity left in her and who has herself in hand on all -occasions, who gives herself to her company and is always collected, -graceful, and at ease, playing her part without a trip, but always -playing her part and never letting herself drop into uncontrolled -naturalness--this is the woman whom men agree to call, not only -charming, but thoroughly natural as well. - -On the other hand, the untrained woman who speaks just as she thinks, -and who cares more to express her own sensations than to study those -of her companions, is sneered at as silly or underbred, as the current -sets; or perhaps as affected; her transparency, to which the world is -not accustomed and to which it does not wish to get accustomed, -puzzling the critics of their kind. Social naturalness, like perfect -theatrical representation, is everywhere the result of the best art; -that is, of the most careful training. It simulates self-forgetfulness -by the very perfection of its self-control, while untrained nature is -self-assertion at all corners, and is founded on the imperious -consciousness of personality. - -All of us carry our masks into society. We offer an eidolon to our -fellow-creatures, showing our features but not expressing our mind; -and the one whose eidolon, while betraying least of the being within, -reflects most of the beings without, is the most popular and -considered the most self-revealed. We may take it as a certainty that -we never really know any one. We may know the broad outlines of -character; and we generally believe far more than we have warranty -for; but we rarely, if ever, penetrate the inner circle wherein the -man's real self hides. If our friend is a person of small curiosity -and large self-respect, we may trust him not to commit a base action; -if he has a calm temperament, with physical strength and without -imagination, he will not do a cowardly one; if he has the habit of -truth, he will not tell a lie on any paltry occasion; if he is -tenacious and secret, he will not betray his cause nor his friend. But -we know very little more than this. Even with one's most familiar -friend there is always one secret door in the casket which is never -opened; and those which are thrown wide apart are not those which lead -to the most cherished treasures. With the frankest or the shallowest -there are depths never sounded; what shall we say, then, of those who -have real profundity of character? - -Who is not conscious of an ego that no man has seen? In praise or -blame we feel that we are not thoroughly known. There is something -infinitely pathetic in this dumb consciousness of an inner self, an -unrevealed truth, which bears us up through injustice and makes us -shrink from excessive praise. Our very lovers love us for the least -worthy part of us, or for fancied virtues which we do not possess; and -if our worst enemies knew us as we are, they would come round to the -other side and shake hands over the grave of their mistaken estimate. -The mask hides the reality in either case, for good or for ill; and we -know that if it could be removed, we should be judged differently. For -the matter of that it never can be removed. The most transparent are -judged according to the temper of the spectator; and the mind sees -what it brings in our judgment of our fellows as well as in other -things. - -But, apart from that inner nature, that hidden part which so few -people even imagine exists in each other, the masks we wear in society -cover histories, sufferings, feelings, which would set the world -aflame if betrayed. No one who gets below the smooth crust of -conventional life can be ignorant of the fierce lava flood that -sometimes flows and rages underneath. In those quiet drawing-rooms -where everything looks the embodiment of harmony, of tranquil -understanding, and where the absence of mystery is the first thing -felt, there are dramas at the very time enacting of which only the -exceptionally observant catch the right cue. Ruin faces some whose -ship of good fortune seems sailing steadily on a halcyon sea; a -hideous secret stands like a spectre in the doorway of another. The -domestic happiness which these covenant between themselves to show in -the full sunshine to the world is no better than a Dead Sea apple -displayed for pride, for policy, and of which those who eat alone know -the extreme bitterness. The grand repute which makes men honour the -name to the very echo, is a sham, and tottering to its fall. Here the -confessing religionist hides by the fervour of his amens the -scepticism which he dares not show by the honesty of his negation; -there the respectable moralist denounces in his mask the iniquities -which he practises daily when he lays it aside. To the right the masks -of two loving friends greet each other with smiles and large -expressions of affection, then part, to push the friendly falsehood -aside, and to whisper confidentially to the crowd what scoundrelism -they have mutually embraced; to the left another couple of unreasoning -foes want only to see each other in unmasked simplicity to become fast -allies for life. The world and all it disguises play sad mischief with -human affections as well as with truth. - -Everything serves for a mask. A man's public character makes one which -is as impenetrable in its disguise as any. The world takes one or two -salient points and subordinates every other characteristic to these. -It ignores all those subtle intricacies which modify thought and -action at every turn, producing apparent inconsistency--but only -apparent; and it boldly blocks out a mask of one or two dominant -lines as the representative of a nature protean because complex. Any -quality that makes itself seen from behind this mask which popular -opinion has created out of a man's public character is voted as -inconsistent, or, it may be, insincere; and the richer the nature the -less it is understood. So it is with us all in our degree:--a thought -which might lead us to gentler judgments on each other than it is the -fashion to cultivate, knowing as we do that we each wear a mask which -hides our real self from the world; and that if this real self is less -beautiful than our admirers say, it is infinitely less hideous than -our enemies would make it to appear. - - - - -_HEROES AT HOME._ - - -We may say what we like about the worthlessness of the world and the -solid charms of home, but the plain fact, stripped of oratorical -disguise, is that we mostly give society the best we have and keep the -worst of ourselves for our own. The hero at home is not half so fine a -fellow as the hero in public, and cares far less for his audience. -Indeed, when looked at under the domestic microscope, he is frequently -found to be eminently un-heroic--something of the nature of a botch -rather than nobility in undress and an ideal brought down to the line -of sight; which would be the case if he and all things else were what -they seem, and if heroism, like fine gold, was good all through. This -is not saying that the hero in public is a cheat. He has only turned -the best of his cloak outside, and hidden the seams and frays next his -skin. We know that every man's cloak must have its seams and frays; -and the vital question for each man's life is, Who ought to see most -of them, strangers or friends? We fear it must be owned that, whoever -ought, it is our friends who do get the worst of our wardrobe--the -people we love, and for whom we would willingly die if necessary; -whilst strangers, for whom we have no kind of affection, are treated -to the freshest of the velvet and the brightest of the embroidery. The -man, say, who is pre-eminently good company abroad, who keeps a -dinner-table alive with his quick wit and keen repartee, and who has -always on hand a store of unhackneyed anecdotes, the latest _on dits_, -and the newest information not known to Reuter, but who hangs up his -fiddle at his own fireside and in the bosom of his family is as silent -as the vocal Memnon at midnight, is not necessarily a cheat. He is an -actor without a part to play or a stage whereon to play it; a hero -without a flag; a bit of brute matter without an energizing force. - -The excitement of applause, the good wine and the pleasant dishes, the -bright eyes of pretty women, the half-concealed jealousy of clever -men, the sensation of shining--all these things, which are spurs to -him abroad, are wanting at home; and he has not the originating -faculty which enables him to dispense with these incentives. He is a -first-class hero on his own ground; but it would be a tremendous -downfall to his reputation were his admirers to see him as he is off -parade, without the pomps and vanities to show him to advantage. He -has just been the social hero of a dinner; 'so bright, so lively, so -delightful,' says the hostess enthusiastically, with a side blow to -her own proprietor, who perhaps is pleasant enough by the domestic -hearth but only a dumb dog in public. The party has been 'made' by -him, rescued from universal dullness by his efforts alone; and every -woman admires him as he leaves in a polite blaze of glory, and only -wishes he could be secured for her own little affair next week. So he -takes his departure, a hero to the last, with a happy thought for -every one and a bright word all round. The hall-door closes on him, -and the hero sinks into the husband. He is as much transformed as soon -as he steps inside his brougham as was ever Cinderella after twelve, -with her state coach and footmen gone to pumpkin and green lizards. He -likes his wife well enough, as wives and liking go; but she does not -stir him up intellectually, and her applause is no whetstone for his -wit. Put the veriest chit of a girl as bodkin between them and he will -waken into life again, and become once more the conversational hero, -because he is no longer wholly at home. His wife probably does not -like it, and she laughs, as wives do, when she hears his praises from -those who know him only at his best, letting off his fireworks for the -applause of the crowd. - -But then wives are proverbially unflattering in their estimates of -their husbands' heroics; and the Truth that used to live at the bottom -of a well has changed her name and abode in these later times, and has -come to mean the partner of your joys, who gives you her candid -opinion at home. Still, your good company abroad who sits like a mute -Memnon at home is not pleasant, though not necessarily a sham. -Certainly he is no hero all through, but he may be nothing worse than -one of those unfortunates whose intellect lives on drams and does not -take kindly to domestic pudding. - -His wife does not approve of this hanging up of the fiddle by his own -fireside; yet she does the same thing on her side, and is as little a -heroine by the domestic hearth as he is a hero. What his talk is to -him her beauty is to her; and for whom, let us ask, does she make -herself loveliest? For her husband, or for a handful of fops and snobs -each one of whom individually is more indifferent to her than the -other? See her in society, a very Venus dressed by Worth and Bond -Street, if not by the Graces. Follow her home, and see her as her maid -sees her. The abundant _chevelure_, which is the admiration of the men -and the envy of the women who believe in it, is taken off and hung up -like her great-grandfather's wig, leaving her small round head covered -by a wisp of ragged ends broken and burnt by dyes and restorers; her -bloom of glycerine and powder is washed from her face, showing the -faded skin and betraying lines beneath; the antimony is rubbed off her -eyelids; the effects of belladonna leave her now contracting pupils; -her perfectly moulded form is laid aside with her dress; and the fair -queen of the _salon_--the heroine of gaslight loveliness--stands as a -lay-figure with bare tracts of possibilities whereon the artist may -work, but which tracts nature has forgotten or which she herself has -worked on so unmercifully as to have worn out. How many a heartache -would be healed if only the heroine, like the hero, could be followed -to the sanctuary of the dressing-room, and if the adored could appear -to the adorer as does the one to the maid the other to the valet! - -The tender, sympathetic, moist-eyed woman who condoles so sweetly with -your little troubles, and whose affectionate compassion soothes you -like the trickling of sweet waters or the cooling breath of a pleasant -air, but who leaves her sick husband at home to get through the weary -hours as he best may, who bullies her servants and scolds her -children--she too, is a heroine of a class that does not look well -when closely studied. The pretty young mother, making play with her -pretty young children in the Park--a smiling picture of love and -loveliness--when followed home, turning into a fretful, self-indulgent -fine lady, flung wearily into an easy chair, sending the children up -to the nursery and probably seeing them no more until Park hour -to-morrow, when their beautiful little _têtes d'ange_ will enhance her -own loveliness in the eyes of men, and make her more beautiful because -making the picture more complete; Mrs. Jellaby given up to universal -philanthropy, refusing a crust to the beggar at her own gate, but full -of tearful pity for the misery she has undertaken to mitigate at -Borioboolagha; Croesus scattering showers of gold abroad, and -applauded to the echo when his name, with the donation following, is -read out at a public dinner, but looking after the cheese-parings at -home; the eloquent upholder of human equality in public, snubbing in -private all who are one degree below him in the social scale, and -treating his servants like dogs; the no less eloquent descanter on the -motto _Noblesse oblige_, when the house-door is shut between him and -the world, running honesty so fine that it is almost undistinguishable -from roguery--all these heroes abroad show but shabbily at home, and -make their heroism within the four walls literally a vanishing -quantity. - -People who live on the outside of the charmed circle of letters, but -who believe that the men and women that compose it are of a different -mould from the rest of mankind, and who long to be permitted to -penetrate the rose-hedge and learn the facts of Armida's garden for -themselves, sometimes learn them too clearly for their dreams to be -ever possible again. They have a favourite author--a poet, say, or a -novelist. If a poet, he is probably one whose songs are full of that -delicious melancholy which makes them so divinely sad; an æsthetic -poet; a blighted being; a creature walking in the moonlight among the -graves and watering their flowers with his tears:--if a novelist, he -is one whose sprightly fancy makes the dull world gay. A friend takes -the worshipper to the shrine where the idol is to be found; in other -words, they go to call on him at his own house. The melancholy poet -'hidden in the light of thought,' is a rubicund, rosy-gilled -gentleman, brisk, middle-aged, comfortable, respectable, particular as -to his wines, a connoisseur as to the merits of the _chef_, a _bon -vivant_ of the Horatian order, and in his talk prone to personal -gossip and feeble humour. The lively novelist, on the other hand, is a -taciturn, morose kind of person, afflicted with perennial catarrh, -ever ready with an unpleasant suggestion, given to start disagreeable -topics of a grave, not to say depressing, nature, perhaps a rabid -politician incapable of a give-and-take argument, or a pessimistic -economist, taking gloomy views of the currency and despondent about -our carrying trade. - -As for the women, they never look the thing they are reputed to be, -save in fashion, and sometimes in beauty. A woman who goes to public -meetings and makes speeches on all kinds of subjects, tough as well as -doubtful, presents herself in society with the look of an old maid and -the address of a shy schoolgirl. A sour kind of essayist, who finds -everything wrong and nothing in its place, has a face like the full -moon and looks as if she fed on cream and butter. A novelist who sails -very near the wind, and on whom the critics are severe by principle, -is as quiet as a Quakeress in her conversation and as demure as a nun -in her bearing; while a writer of religious tracts has her gowns from -Paris and gives small suppers out of the proceeds. The public -character and the private being of almost every person in the world -differ widely from each other; and the hero of history who is also the -hero to his valet has yet to be found. - -Some people call this difference inconsistency, and some -manysidedness; to some it argues unreality, to others it is but the -necessary consequence of a complex human nature, and a sign that the -mind needs the rest of alternation just as much as the body. We cannot -be always in the same groove, never changing our attitude nor object. -Is it inconsistency or supplement, contradiction or compensation? The -sterner moralists, and those whose minds dwell on tares, say the -former; those who look for wheat even on the stony ground and among -thorns assert the latter. Anyhow, it is certain that those who desire -ideals and who like to worship heroes would do well to content -themselves with adoration at a long range. Distance lends enchantment, -and ignorance is bliss in more cases than one. Heroism at home is -something like the delicacy of Brobdingnag, or the grandiosity of -Lilliput; and the undress of the domestic hearth is more favourable to -personal comfort than to public glory. To keep our ideals intact we -ought to keep them unknown. Our goddesses should not be seen eating -beefsteaks and drinking stout; our poets are their best in print, and -social small-talk does not come like truths divine mended from their -tongue; our sages and philanthropists gain nothing, and may lose much, -by being rashly followed to their firesides. Yet a man's good work and -brave word are, in any case, part of his real self, though they may -not be the whole; and even if he is not true metal all through, his -gold, so far as it goes, counts for more than its alloy, and his -public heroism overtops his private puerility. - - - - -_SEINE-FISHING._ - - -Few braver or hardier men are to be found in England than the Cornish -fishermen. Their business, at all times hazardous, is doubly so on a -coast so dangerous as theirs, where the charm of scenery is bought at -the expense of security. Isolated rocks which are set up like teeth -close round the jagged cliffs and far out from shore, cropping up at -intervals anywhere between Penzance and Scilly; sunken rocks which are -more perilous because more treacherous; strong currents which on the -calmest day keep the sea where they flow in perpetual turmoil; a -singularly tumultuous and changeable sea, where the ground-swell of -the Atlantic sweeps on in long waves which break into a surf that -would swamp any boat put out, even when there is not a breath of -surface-wind stirring; for the most part a very narrow channel to the -coves, a mere water-path as one may call it, beset by rocks which -would break the boats to splinters if they were thrown against -them--all these circumstances make the trade of the Cornish fishermen -exceptionally dangerous; but they also make the men themselves -exceptionally resolute and daring. They are true fighters with nature -for food; and, like the miners, they feel when they set out to their -work that they may never come back from it alive. - -No man can predict what the sea will be an hour or two hence. Its -character changes with each fluctuation of the tide; and a calm and -halcyon lake may have become fierce and angry and tempest-tossed when -the ebb turns and the flow sets in. There are times too, when a boat -caught by the wind and drifted into a current would be as helpless as -a cork in a mill-race; and when a whole fleet of fishing-boats might -be blown out to sea, with perhaps half their number capsized. But, as -a rule, having learnt caution with their hardihood from the very -magnitude of the dangers which surround them, these Cornish men suffer -as little by shipwreck as do the fishermen of safer bays; and though -each cove has its own sad story, and every rock its victim, the worst -cases of wreck have been those of larger vessels which have mistaken -lights, or steered too close in shore, or been lost in the fogs that -are so frequent about the Land's End. Or they may have been caught by -the wind and the tide and driven dead on to a lee shore; as so often -happens in the bay between Hartland and Padstow Points. - -But the more cautious the men are the less money they make; and though -life is certainly more than meat, life without meat at all, or with -only an insufficient quantity, is rather a miserable affair. The -material well-being of the poor fellows who live in those picturesque -little coves which are the delight and the despair of artists is not -in a very satisfactory condition. By the law of aggregation, -unification, whatever we like to call it--the law of the present day -by which individuals are absorbed into bodies that work for wages for -one master, instead of each man working for himself for his own -hand--the independent fishermen are daily becoming fewer. Save at -Whitesand Bay, where there is a 'poor man's seine' and 'a rich man's -seine,' almost all the seine nets belong now to companies or -partnerships of rich men; and in very few have the men themselves any -share. - -Fishermen's seines are not well regarded by the wealthy leaseholders -of the cove and foreshore; and the leaseholder has very large legal -rights and powers which it would be idle to blame him for exercising. -The cots are his, and the capstan is his, and the right of landing is -his; thus he can put on the screw when he wants to have things his own -way, and can threaten evictions, and the withdrawal of the right to -the capstan and to the landing-place, if the men will not go on his -seine, but choose either a united one of their own or independent -drift or trawl nets. Some, it is said, even object to the men fishing -at all, at any rate during the seine season; some have raised the -annual rent per boat for cove rights to three or four times its old -rate; and some go through a round of surly suspicion and irritating -supervision during the 'bulking' days, and higgle jealously over the -small share allowed to the hands in the catch. So that, on the whole, -the Cornish fisherman of the smaller coves has not much to boast of -beside his courage and good heart, and a sturdy independence and -honesty specially noticeable. - -We know of no more animated scene than seine-fishing. From the first -act to the last there is a quaint old-world flavour about it -inexpressibly charming to people used to the prosaic life of modern -cities. The 'huers' who stand on the hills watching for the first -appearance of the 'school,' and who make known what they see either by -signals or calling through a huge metal trumpet, the sound of which no -one who has once heard it can ever forget; the smartness of the men -dressing the seine-boats which carry the huge net with all its -appurtenances; their quiet but eager watching for the school to come -within practicable distance--that is, into sufficiently shoal water, -and where the bottom is fairly level (else the fish all escape from -under the net); the casting or shooting of the seine enclosing the -school, and then the 'tucking' or lifting the fish from the sea to the -boats--every stage is full of interest; but this last is the prettiest -of all. - -Imagine a moonlight night--low water at midnight--when the tucking -begins. The boat cannot come up to the ordinary landing, which is only -a roughly-paved causeway dipping by a gradual descent into the sea; so -those who would share in the sport are fain to take the fisherman's -path along the cliff and drop into the boat off the rocks. These rocks -are never very safe. Even the men themselves, trained to them as they -are from boyhood, sometimes slip on their slanting, broken, -seaweed-covered surfaces, when, if they cannot swim and are not -helped, all is over for them in this life; and for strangers they are -difficult at the best of times. But on an obscurely lighted night, and -after heavy rain, they are doubly risky. The incoming wave lifts the -boat a few inches higher and nearer; and you must catch the exact -moment and make a spring before she drifts off again with the ebb. The -row across the little bay is beautiful. The grey cliffs look solemn -and majestic in the pale light of the moon; the shadows are deep and -unfathomable; everywhere you see black rocks standing out from the -steely sea, and little lines of breakers mark the place of the sunken -rocks. In the distance shine the magnificent Lizard Lights, and the -red and white revolving light of the terrible Wolf Rock flashes on the -horizon; the moon touches the sea with silver, and the waves as they -rise and fall seem like molten metal in the heavy sluggish rhythm of -their flow. Only round the foot of the cliffs and about the rocks they -break into spray that serves as high lights against the sombre grey -and black of the landscape. You pull across to the opposite point, and -then round into another smaller bay where the cliffs rise sheer, and -the seine net is cast. You come into a little fleet of fishing-boats -set round on the outside of a circle of corks, within which is the -master-boat, where all hands are assembled pulling at the net, to draw -it closer. It is a stirring sight. Some dozen or more stalwart fellows -are hauling on the lines with the sailors' cheery cry and the sailors' -exuberant goodwill. Every now and then the master's voice cries out -'Break! break my sons!' when they shorten hold and go over to the -other side of the boat, pulling themselves gradually aslant again, -till the same order of 'Break! break!' shows that their purchase is -too slack. At last the net is hauled up close enough, and then the fun -begins. - -All the boats engaged form a close circle round the inner line of -corks, which is now a little sea of silver where the imprisoned -pilchards beat and flutter, producing a sound for which we have no -satisfactory onomatopoetic word. In moonlight this little sea is -silver; in torchlight it is of fire with varied colours flashing -through the redder gleams; and in the dark it is a sea of -phosphorescent light, each mesh of the net, each fish, each seaweed -illuminated as if traced in flame. Every one is now busy. The men dip -in baskets, or maunds, expressly made for this purpose, and ladle out -the quivering fish by hundreds into the boats. In a few moments they -are standing leg-deep in pilchards. Every one on the spot is pressed -into the service, and even a boat manned by nothing more stalwart than -one or two half-sick and half-frightened women receives its orders; -and 'Hold on ladies! all hands hold on to the boat,' serves to keep -one of the busiest of the tucking-boats in equilibrium. - -The men, for all their hearty work, are like a party of schoolboys at -play. Their humour may be rough, but it is never meant to be rude; -their goodwill is sincere, for they have a share, however small, in -the success of the catch; and the more they tuck, the more they will -have for their wives and families to live on through the winter. It is -their harvest-time; and they are as jocund as harvesters proverbially -are. There is no stint of volunteer labour either. Men who have been -working hard all day on their own account go out at midnight to lend a -hand to their mates at the seine. Even though the take is for a -hard-fisted master who would count fins if he could, and who would -refuse his men a head apiece if he thought his orders would be carried -out, they are all honestly glad. They remember the time when a rich -school was the wealth of the whole cove, and when a string of fresh -pilchards would be given freely to any one coming to the cove at the -time of bulking, or, as we should call it, storing. - -Still, whatever of economic value there may be in this exploitation of -labour, it has its mournful side in the loss of individual value which -it includes. And no one can help feeling this who listens to the talk -of the elder fishermen, sorrowfully comparing the old days of personal -independence and generous lordship with the present ones of wages and -a wide-awake lesseeship, conscious of its legal rights and determined -to act on them. - -When all the fish have been tucked there is nothing for it but to row -home again in the freshening morning air. The tide is rising now, and -the moon is waning. The rocks look blacker, the grey moss-grown cliffs -more solemn, more mysterious, the white surf breaking about them is -higher and sharper than when you set out; and the boom of the sea -thundering through cave and channel has a sound in it that makes you -feel as if land and your own bed would be preferable to an open boat -at the mercy of the Atlantic surges. The tide has so far risen that -you can land nearer to the paved causeway than before; but even now -you have to wait for the flow of the wave, then make a spring on to -the black and slimy rocks, which would be creditable to trained -gymnastic powers. So you go home, under the first streaks of dawn, wet -through and scaly, and smelling abominably of fish dashed with a -streak of tar for a richer kind of compound. - -The whole place however, will smell of fish to-morrow and for many -to-morrows. When the tucking-boats are brought in, then the women take -their turn, and pack the pilchards in the fish-cellars or -salting-houses. Here they are said to be in 'bulk,' all laid on their -sides with their noses pointing outwards; layers of salt alternating -with layers of fish. Their great market is Italy, where they serve as -favourite Lenten fare. The Italians believe them to be smoked, and -hence call them _fumados_. This word the dear thick-headed British -sailor has caught up, according to his wont, and translated into 'fair -maids;' and 'fair maids'--pronounced firmads--is the popular name of -salted pilchards all through Cornwall. - -The pilchard fishery begins as early as June or July; but then it is -further out to sea, sometimes twenty miles out. According to the old -saying, - - When the corn is in the shock - The fish are at the rock; - -harvest-time, which means from August to the end of October, being the -main season for pilchard-fishing in shoal-water close at home. There -are some choice bits of picturesque life still left to us in faraway -places where the ordinary tourist has not penetrated; but nothing is -more picturesque than seine-fishing in one of the wilder Cornish -coves, when the tucking goes on at midnight, either by moonlight or -torchlight, or only by the phosphorescent illumination of the sea -itself. No artist that we can remember at this moment has yet painted -it; but it is a subject which would well repay careful study and -loving handling. - - - - -_THE DISCONTENTED WOMAN._ - - -The discontented woman would seem to be becoming an unpleasantly -familiar type of character. A really contented woman, thoroughly well -pleased with her duties and her destiny, may almost be said to be the -exception rather than the rule in these days of tumultuous revolt -against all fixed conditions, and vagrant energies searching for -interest in new spheres of thought and action. It seems impossible to -satisfy the discontented woman by any means short of changing the -whole order of nature and society for her benefit. And even then the -chances are that she would get wearied of her new work, and, like -Alexander, would weep for more worlds to rearrange according to her -liking--with the power to take or to leave the duties she had -voluntarily assumed, as she claims now the power of discarding those -which have been hers from the beginning. As things are, nothing -contents her; and the keynote which shall put her in harmony with -existing conditions, or make her ready to bear the disagreeable -burdens which she has been obliged to carry from Eve's time downward, -has yet to be found. If she is unmarried, she is discontented at the -want of romance in her life; her main desire is to exchange her -father's house for a home of her own; her pride is pained at the -prospect of being left an old maid unsought by men; and her instincts -rebel at the thought that she may never know maternity, the strongest -desire of the average woman. - -But if she is married, the causes of her discontent are multiplied -indefinitely, and where she was out of harmony with one circumstance -she is now in discord with twenty. She is discontented on all sides; -because her husband is not her lover, and marriage is not perpetual -courtship; because he is so irritable that life with him is like -walking among thorns if she makes the mistake of a hair's-breadth; or -because he is so imperturbably good-natured that he maddens her with -his stolidity, and cannot be made jealous even when she flirts before -his eyes. Or she is discontented because she has so many household -duties to perform--the dinner to order, the books to keep, the -servants to manage; because she has not enough liberty, or because she -has too much responsibility; because she has so few servants that she -has to work with her own hands, or because she has so many that she is -at her wit's end to find occupation for them all, not to speak of -discipline and good management. - -As a mother, she is discontented at the loss of personal freedom -compelled by her condition; at the physical annoyances and mental -anxieties included in the list of her nursery grievances. She would -probably fret grievously if she had no children at all, but she frets -quite as much when they come. In the former case she is humiliated, in -the latter inconvenienced, and in both discontented. Indeed, the way -in which so many women deliver up their children to the supreme -control of hired nurses proves practically enough the depth of their -discontent with maternity when they have it. - -If the discontented woman is rich, she speaks despondingly of the -difficulties included in the fit ordering of large means; if she is -poor, life has no joys worth having when frequent change of scene is -unattainable, and the milliner's bill is a domestic calamity that has -to be conscientiously staved off by rigorous curtailment. If she lives -in London, she laments the want of freedom and fresh air for the -children, and makes the unhappy father, toiling at his City office -from ten till seven, feel himself responsible for the pale cheeks and -attenuated legs which are probably to be referred to injudicious diet -and the frequency of juvenile dissipations. But if she is in the -country, then all the charm of existence is centred in London and its -thoroughfares, and not the finest scenery in the world is to be -compared with the attractions of the shops in Regent Street or the -crowds thronging Cheapside. - -This question of country living is one that presses heavily on many a -female mind; but we must believe that, in spite of the plausible -reasons so often assigned, the chief causes of discontent are want of -employment and deadness of interest in the life that lies around. The -husband makes himself happy with his rod and gun, with his garden or -his books, with huntsmen or bricklayers, as his tastes lead him; but -the wife--we are speaking of the wife given over to disappointment and -discontent, for there are still, thank Heaven, bright, busy, happy -women both in country and in town--sits over the fire in winter and by -the empty hearth in summer, and finds all barren because she is -without an occupation or an interest within doors or without. Ask her -why she does not garden--if her circumstances are of the kind where -hands are scarce and even a lady's energies would do potent service -among the flower beds; and she will tell you it makes her back ache, -and she does not know a weed from a flower, and would be sure to pick -up the young seedlings for chickweed and groundsel. And if she is rich -and has hands about her who know their business and guard it -jealously, she takes shelter behind her inability to do actual manual -labour side by side with them. - -Within doors active housekeeping is repulsive to her; and though her -servants may be quasi-savages, she prefers the dirt and discomfort of -idleness to the domestic pleasantness to be had by her own industry -and practical assistance. Unless she has a special call towards some -particular party in the Church, she does nothing in the parish, and -seems to think philanthropy and help to one's poorer neighbours part -of the ecclesiastical machinery of the country, devolving on the -Rectory alone. She gets bilious through inaction and heated rooms, and -then says the place disagrees with her and will be the death of her -before long. She cannot breathe among the mountains; the moor and -plain are too exposed; the sea gives her a fit of melancholy whenever -she looks at it, and she calls it cruel, crawling, hungry, with a -passion that sounds odd to those who love it; she hates the leafy -tameness of the woods and longs for the freer uplands, the vigorous -wolds, of her early days. - -Wherever, in short, the discontented woman is, it is just where she -would rather not be; and she holds fate and her husband cruel beyond -words because she cannot be transplanted into the exact opposite of -her present position. But mainly and above all she desires to be -transplanted to London. If you were to get her confidence, she would -perhaps tell you she thinks the advice of that sister who counselled -the Lady of Groby to burn down the house, whereby her husband would be -compelled to take her to town, the wisest and most to the purpose that -one woman could give to another. So she mopes and moons through the -days, finding no pleasure anywhere, taking no interest in anything, -viewing herself as a wifely martyr and the oppressed victim of -circumstances; and then she wonders that her husband is always ready -to leave her company and that he evidently finds her more tiresome -than delightful. If she would cultivate a little content she might -probably change the aspect of things even to finding the mountains -beautiful and the sea sublime; but dissatisfaction with her condition -is the Nessus garment which clings to the unhappy creature like a -second self, destroying all her happiness and the chief part of her -usefulness. - -Women of this class say that they want more to do, and a wider field -for their energies than any of those assigned to them by the natural -arrangement of personal and social duties. As administrators of the -fortune which man earns, and as mothers--that is, as the directors, -caretakers, and moulders of the future generation--they have as -important functions as those performed by vestrymen and surgeons. But -let that pass for the moment; the question is not where they ought to -find their fitting occupation and their dearest interests, but where -they profess a desire to do so. As it is, this desire for an enlarged -sphere is one form among many which their discontent takes; yet when -they are obliged to work, they bemoan their hardship in having to find -their own food, and think that men should either take care of them -gratuitously or make way for them chivalrously. In spite of Scripture, -they find that the battle is to the strong and the race to the swift; -and they do not like to be overcome by the one nor distanced by the -other. Their idea of a clear stage is one that includes favour to -their own side; yet they put on airs of indignation and profess -themselves humiliated when men pay the homage of strength to their -weakness and treat them as ladies rather than as equals. - -Elsewhere they complain when they are thrust to the side by the -superior force of the ungodly sex; and think themselves ill-used if -fewer hours of labour--and that labour of what Mr. Carlyle called a -'slim' and superficial kind--cannot command the market and hold the -field against the better work and more continuous efforts of men. -There is nothing of which women speak with more bitterness than of the -lower rates of payment usually accorded to their work; nothing wherein -they seem to be so utterly incapable of judging of cause and effect; -or of taking to heart the unchangeable truth that the best must -necessarily win in the long run, and that the first condition of -equality of payment is equality in the worth of the work done. If -women would perfect themselves in those things which they do already -before carrying their efforts into new fields, we cannot but think it -would be better both for themselves and the world. - -Life is a bewildering tangle at the best, but the discontented woman -is not the one to make it smoother. The craze for excitement and for -unfeminine publicity of life has possessed her, to the temporary -exclusion of many of the sweeter and more modest qualities which were -once distinctively her own. She must have movement, action, fame, -notoriety; and she must come to the front on public questions, no -matter what the subject, to ventilate her theories and show the -quality of her brain. She must be professional all the same as man, -with M.D. after her name; and perhaps, before long, she will want to -don a horsehair wig over her back hair, and address 'My Lud' on behalf -of some interesting criminal taken red-handed, or to follow the -tortuous windings of Chancery practice. When that time comes, and as -soon as the novelty has worn off, she will be sure to complain of the -hardness of the grind and the woes of competition; and the obscure -female apothecary struggling for patients in a poor neighbourhood--the -unemployed lady lawyer waiting in dingy chambers for the clients who -never come--will look back with envy and regret to the time when women -were cared for by men, protected and worked for, and had nothing more -arduous to do than attend to the house, spend the money they did not -earn and forbear to add to the anxieties they did not share. Could -they get all the plums and none of the suet it would be fine enough; -but we question whether they will find the battle of life as carried -on in the lower ranks of the hitherto masculine professions one whit -more ennobling or inspiriting than it is now in their own special -departments. Like the poor man who, being well, wished to be better, -and came to the grave as the result, they do not know when they are -well off; and in their search for excitement, and their discontent -with the monotony, undutifulness and inaction which they have created -for themselves, they run great danger of losing more than they can -gain, and of only changing the name, while leaving untouched the real -nature, of the disease under which they are suffering. - - - - -_ENGLISH CLERGYMEN IN FOREIGN WATERING-PLACES._ - - -Those persons who object to the influence of the clergy in their -parishes at home, and who dislike the idea of being laid hold of by -the ecclesiastical crook and dragged perforce up steep ways and narrow -paths, ought to visit some of our little outlying settlements in -foreign parts. They might take a revengeful pleasure in seeing how the -tables there are turned against the tyrants here, and how weak in the -presence of his transmarine flock is the expatriated shepherd whose -rod at home is oftentimes a rod of iron, and his crook more compelling -than persuasive. Of all men the most to be pitied is surely the -clergyman of one of those small English settlements which are -scattered about France and Italy, Germany and Switzerland; and of all -men of education, and what is meant by the position of a gentleman, he -is the most in thraldom. - -His very means of living depending on his congregation, he must first -of all please that congregation and keep it in good humour. So, it may -be said, must a clergyman in London whose income is from pew-rents and -whose congregation are not his parishioners. But London is large; the -tempers and thoughts of men are as numerous as the houses; there is -room for all, and lines of affinity for all. The Broad Churchman will -attract his hearers, and the Ritualist his, from out of the mass, as -magnets attract steel filings; and each church will be filled with -hearers who come there by preference. But in a small and stationary -society, in a congregation already made and not specially attracted, -yet by which he has to live, the clergyman finds himself more the -servant than the leader, less the pastor than the thrall. He must -'suit,' else he is nowhere, and his bread and butter are vanishing -points in his horizon; that is, he must preach and think, not -according to the truth that is in him, but according to the views of -the most influential of his hearers, and in attacking their souls he -must touch tenderly their tempers. - -These tempers are for the most part lions in the way difficult to -propitiate. The elementary doctrines of Christianity must be preached -of course, and sin must be held up as the thing to avoid, while virtue -must be complimented as the thing to be followed, and a spiritual -state of mind must be discreetly advocated. These are safe -generalities; but the dangers of application are many. How to preach -of duties to a body of men and women who have thrown off every -national and local obligation?--who have left their estates to be -managed by agents, their houses to be filled by strangers, who have -given up their share of interest in the school and the village -reading-room, the poor and the parish generally--men and women who -have handed themselves over to indolence and pleasure-seeking, the -luxurious enjoyment of a fine climate, the pleasant increase of income -to be got by comparative cheapness of breadstuffs, and the abandonment -of all those outgoings roughly comprised under the head of local -duties and local obligations?--how, indeed? They have no duties to be -reminded of in those moral generalizations which touch all and offend -none; and the clergyman who should go into details affecting his -congregation personally, who should preach against sloth and slander, -pleasure-seeking and selfishness, would soon preach to empty pews and -be cut by his friends as an impertinent going beyond his office. - -His congregation too, composed of educated ladies and gentlemen, is -sure to be critical, and therefore all but impossible to teach. If he -inclines a hair's breadth to the right or the left beyond the point at -which they themselves stand, he is held to be unsound. His sermons are -gravely canvassed in the afternoon conclaves which meet at each -other's houses to discuss the excitement of the Sunday morning in the -new arrivals or the new toilets. Has he dwelt on the humanity -underlying the Christian faith? He is drifting into Socinianism; and -those whose inclinations go for abstract dogmas well backed by -brimstone say that he does not preach the Gospel. Has he exalted the -functions of the minister, and tried to invest his office with a -spiritual dignity and power that would furnish a good leverage over -his flock? He is accused of sacerdotalism, and the free-citizen blood -of his listening Erastians is up and flaming. Does he, to avoid these -stumbling-blocks, wander into the deeper mysteries and discourse on -things which no man can either explain or understand? He is accused of -presumption and profanity, and is advised to stick to the Lord's -Prayer and the Sermon on the Mount. If he is earnest he is -impertinent; if he is level he is cold. Each member of his -congregation, subscribing a couple of guineas towards his support, -feels as if he or she had claims to that amount over the body and soul -and mind and powers of the poor parson in his or her pay; and the -claim is generally worked out in snippets, not individually dangerous -to life nor fortune, but inexpressibly aggravating, and as depressing -as annoying. For the most part, the unhappy man is safest when he -sticks to broad dogma, and leaves personal morality alone. And he is -almost sure to be warmly applauded when he has a shy at science, and -says that physicists are fools who assert more than they can prove, -because they cannot show why an acorn should produce an oak, nor how -the phenomena of thought are elaborated. This throwing of date-stones -is sure to strike no listening djinn. The mass of the congregations -sitting in the English Protestant churches built on foreign soil, know -little and care less about the physical sciences; but it gives them a -certain comfortable glow to think that they are so much better than -those sinful and presumptuous men who work at bacteria and the -spectroscope; and they hug themselves as they say, each man in his -own soul, how much nicer it is to be dogmatically safe than -intellectually learned. - -Preaching personal morality indeed, with possible private application, -would be rather difficult in dealing with a congregation not -unfrequently made up of doubtful elements. Take that pretty young -woman and her handsome _roué_-looking husband, who have come no one -knows whence and are no one knows what, but who attend the services -with praiseworthy punctuality, spend any amount of money, and are -being gradually incorporated into the society of the place. The parson -may have had private hints conveyed to him from his friends at home -that, of the matrimonial conditions between the two, everything is -real save the assumed 'lines.' But how is he to say so? They have made -themselves valuable members of his congregation, and give larger -donations than any one else. They have got the good will of the -leading persons in the sacred community, and, having something to -hide, are naturally careful to please, and are consequently popular. -He can scarcely give form and substance to the hints he has had -conveyed to him; yet his conscience cries out on the one side, if his -weakness binds him to silence on the other. In any case, how can he -make himself the Nathan to this questionable David, and, holding forth -on the need of virtuous living, thunder out, 'Thou art the man!'? Let -him try the experiment, and he will find a hornet's nest nothing to -it. - -How too, can he preach honesty to men, perhaps his own churchwardens, -who have outrun the constable and outwitted their creditors at one and -the same time? How lecture women who flirt over the borders on the -week days, but pay handsomely for their sittings on Sundays, on the -crown with which Solomon endowed the lucky husband of the virtuous -woman? He may wish to do all this; but his wife and children, and the -supreme need of food and firing, step in between him and the higher -functions of his calling; and he owns himself forced to accept the -world as he finds it, sins and shortcomings with the rest, and to take -heed lest he be eaten up by over-zeal or carried into personal -darkness by his desire for his people's light. - -Sometimes the poor man is in thrall to some one in particular rather -than to his flock as a body; and there are times when this dominant -power is a woman; in which case the many contrarieties besetting his -position may be multiplied _ad infinitum_. Nothing can exceed the -miserable subjection of a clergyman given over to the tender mercies -of a feminine despot. She knows everything, and she governs as much as -she knows. She makes herself the arbiter of his whole life, from his -conscience to his children's boots, and he can call neither his soul -nor his home his own. She prescribes his doctrine, and takes care to -let him know when he has transgressed the rules she has laid down for -his guidance. She treats the hymns as part of her personal -prerogative, and is violently offended if those having a ritualistic -tendency are sung, or if those are taken whereof the tunes are too -jaunty or the measure is too slow. The unfortunate man feels under her -eye during the whole of the service, like a schoolboy under the eye of -his preceptress; and he dare not even begin the opening sentences -until she has rustled up the aisle and has said her private prayer -quite comfortably. She holds over his head the terror of vague threats -and shadowy misfortunes should he cross her will; but at the same time -he does not find that running in her harness brings extra grist to his -mill, nor that his way is the smoother because he treads in the -footsteps she has marked out for him. - -Sometimes she takes a craze against a voluntary; sometimes she objects -to any approach to chanting; and if certain recalcitrants of the -congregation, in possession of the harmonium, insist on their own -methods against hers, she writes home to the Society and complains of -the thin edge of the wedge and the Romanizing tendencies of her -spiritual adviser. In any case she is a fearful infliction; and a -church ruled by a female despot is about the most pitiable instance we -know of insolent tyranny and broken-backed dependence. - -But the clergymen serving these transmarine stations are not often -themselves men of mark nor equal to their contemporaries at home. They -are often sickly, which means a low amount of vital energy; oftener -impecunious, which presupposes want of grip and precludes real -independence. They are men whose career has been somehow arrested; and -their natures have suffered in the blight that has befallen their -hopes. Their whole life is more or less a compromise, now with -conscience, now with character; and they have to wink at evils which -they ought to denounce, and bear with annoyances which they ought to -resent. In most cases they are obliged to eke out their scanty incomes -by taking pupils; and here again the millstone round their necks is -heavy, and they have to pay a large moral percentage on their -pecuniary gains. If their pupils are of the age when boys begin to -call themselves men, they have to keep a sharp look-out on them; and -they suffer many things on the score of responsibility when that -look-out is evaded, as it necessarily must be at times. As the -characteristic quality of small societies is gossip, and as gossip -always includes exaggeration, the peccadilloes of the young fellows -are magnified into serious sins, and then bound as a burden on the -back of the poor cleric in thrall to the idle imaginings of men and -the foolish fears of women. One black sheep in the pupilary flock will -do more damage to the reputation of the unhappy pastor who has them in -hand than a dozen shining lights will do him good. Morality is assumed -to be the free gift of the tutor to the pupil; and if the boy is bad -the man is to blame for not having made that free-gift betimes. - -Look at it how we will, the clergyman in charge of these foreign -congregations has no very pleasant time of it. In a sense -expatriated; his home ties growing daily weaker; his hope of home -preferment reduced to _nil_; his liberty of conscience a dream of the -past; and all the mystical power of his office going down in the -conflict caused by the need of pew-rents, submission to tyrants, and -dependence on the Home Society, he lives from year to year bemoaning -the evil chances which have flung him on this barren, shifting, -desolate strand, and becoming less and less fitted for England and -English parochial work--that castle in the air, quiet and secure, -which he is destined never to inhabit. He is touched too in part by -the atmosphere of his surroundings; and to a congregation without -duties a clergyman with views more accommodating than severe comes -only too naturally as the appropriate pastor. The whole thing proves -that thraldom to the means of living, or rather to the persons -representing those means, damages all men alike--those in cassock and -gown as well as those in slop and blouse--and that lay influence can, -in certain circumstances, be just as tyrannical over the clerical -conscience as clerical influence is apt to be tyrannical over lay -living. - - - - -_OLD FRIENDS._ - - -We know all that can be said in laudation of old friends--the people -whose worth has been tried and their constancy proved--who have come -when you have called and danced when you have piped--been faithful in -sunshine and shadow alike--not envious of your prosperity nor -deserting you in your adversity--old friends who, like old wine, have -lost the crudity of newness, have mellowed by keeping, and have -blended the ripeness of age with the vigour of youth. It is all true -in certain circumstances and under certain conditions; but the old -friend of this ideal type is as hard to find as any other ideal; while -bad imitations abound, and life is rendered miserable by them. - -There are old friends who make the fact of old friendship a basis for -every kind of unpleasantness. Their opinion is not asked, but they -volunteer it on all occasions, and are sure to give it in the manner -which galls you most and which you can least resent. They snub you -before your latest acquaintances--charming people of good status with -whom you especially desire to stand well; and break up your -pretensions of present superiority by that sledge-hammer of old -friendship which knows you down to the ground and will stand no -nonsense. The more formal and fastidious your company, the more they -will rasp your nerves by the coarse familiarity of their address; and -they know no greater pleasure than to put you in a false position by -pretending to keep you in your true place. They run in on you at all -times; and you have neither an hour undisturbed nor a pursuit -uninterrupted, still less a circumstance of your life kept sacred from -them. The strictest orders to your servant are ignored; and they push -past any amount of verbal barriers with the irresistible force of old -friendship to which nothing can be denied. Whatever you are doing you -can just see them, they say, smiling; and they have neither conscience -nor compassion when they come and eat up your time, which is your -money, for the gratification of hearing themselves talk and of -learning how you are getting on. They do not scruple to ask about your -affairs direct questions to which you must perforce give an answer; -silence or evasion betraying the truth as much as assent; and they -will make you a present of their mind on the matter, which, though to -the last degree condemnatory, you are expected to accept with becoming -gratitude and humility. - -If you have known them in your early boyhood, when you were all -uncivilized hail-fellows together, they refuse to respect your maturer -dignity, and will Tom and Dick and Harry you to the end, though you -sit in a horsehair wig on the bench, while your old friend, once your -class-mate of the country grammar school where you both got your -rudiments, is only a city clerk, badly paid and married to his -landlady's daughter. - -To women this kind of return from the grave of the past is a dreadful -infliction and oftentimes a danger. The playfellows of the romping -hoydenish days dash home, bearded and bronzed, from Australia or -California; stride into the calm circle of refined matronhood with the -old familiar manner and using the old familiar terms; ask Fan or Nell -if she remembers this or that adventure on the mountain-side? by the -lake? in the wood?--topping their query by a meaning laugh as if more -remained behind than was expedient to declare. They slap the dignified -husband on the back, and call him a d----d lucky dog; telling him -that they envy him his catch, and would gladly stand in his shoes if -they could. It was all that cross-cornered cursed fate of theirs which -sent them off to Australia or California; else he, the dignified -husband, would never have had the chance--hey, Fan? And they wink when -they say it, as if they had good grounds to go on. The wife is on -thorns all the time these hateful visits last. She wonders how she -could ever have been on romping terms with such a horror, even in her -youngest days; and feels that she shall hate her own name for ever, -after hearing it mouthed and bawled by her old friend with such -aggressive familiarity. The husband, if jealous by nature, begins to -look sullen and suspicious. Even if he is not jealous, but only -reserved and conventional, he does not like what he sees, still less -what he hears; and is more than half inclined to think he has made a -mistake, and that the Fan or Nell of his bosom would have been better -mated with the old friend from the backwoods than with him. - -The old friends who turn up in this way at all corners of your life -are sure to be needy, and hold their old friendship as a claim on your -balance at the bank. They stick closer to you than a brother, and you -are expected to stick as close to them; and, as a sign thereof, to -provide for their necessities as so much interest on the old account -of affection still running. If you shrink from them and try to shunt -them quietly, they go about the world proclaiming your ingratitude, -and trumpeting forth their deserts and your demerits. They deride your -present success, which they call stuck-up and mushroom; telling all -the minor miseries of your past, when your father found it hard to -provide suitably for his large family, and their mother had more than -once to give yours a child's frock and pinafore in pity for your rags. -They generally contrive to make a division in your circle; and you -find some of your new friends look coldly on you because it is said -you have been ungrateful to your old. The whole story may be a myth, -the mere coinage of vanity and disappointment; but when did the world -stop to prove the truth before it condemned? - -There is no circumstance so accidental, no kindness so trivial, that -it cannot be made to constitute a claim to friendship for life and -all that friendship includes--intimacy before the world; pecuniary -help when needed; no denial of time; no family secrets; unvarying -inclusion in all your entertainments; personal participation in all -your successes; liberty to say unpleasant things without offence and -to interfere in your arrangements; and the right to take at least one -corner of your soul, and that not a small one, which is not to be your -own but your old friends'. Have they, by the merest chance, introduced -you to your wife the beautiful heiress, to your husband the good -match?--the world echoes with the news, and the echoes are never -suffered to die out. It is told everywhere, and always as if your -happy marriage were the object they had had in view from the earliest -times--as if they had lived and worked for a consummation which in -reality came about by the purest accident. Have they been helpful and -friendly when your first child was born, or nursery sickness was in -your house?--you are bought for life, you and your offspring; unless -you have had the happy thought of making them sponsors, when they -learn the knack of disappearing from your immediate circle, and of -only turning up on those formal occasions which do not admit of making -presents. Did they introduce you to your first employer?--your -subsequent success is the work of their hands, and they bear your fame -on their shoulders like complacent Atlases balancing the world. - -They go about cackling to every one who will listen to them how they -got your first essay into print; how they mentioned your name to the -Commissioners, and how, in consequence, the Commissioners gave you -that place whence dates your marvellous rise in life; how they advised -your father to send you to sea and so to make a man of you, and thus -were the indirect cause of your K.C.B.-ship. But for them you would -have been a mere nobody, grubbing in a dingy City office to this day. -They gave you your start, and you owe all you are to them. And if you -fail to honour their draft on your gratitude to the fullest amount, -they proclaim you a defaulter to the most sacred claims and the most -pious feelings of humanity. You point the moral of the base -ingratitude of man, and are a text on which they preach the sermon of -non-intervention in the affairs of others. Let drowning men sink; let -the weak go to the wall; and on no account let any one trouble himself -about the welfare of old friends, if this is to be the reward. -Henceforth, you are morally branded, and your old friend takes care -that the iron shall be hot. There is no service, however trifling, but -can be made a yoke to hang round your neck for life; and the more you -struggle against it the more it galls you. Your best plan of bearing -it is with the patience which laughs and lets things slide. If -however, you are resolute in repudiation, you must take the sure -result without wincing. - -To these friends of your own add the friends of the family--those -uncomfortable adhesives who cling to you like so many octopods, -and are not to be shaken off by any means known to you. They claim -you as their own--something in which they have the rights of -part-proprietorship--because they knew you when you were in your -cradle, and had bored your parents as they want to bore you. It is of -no use to say that circumstances are of less weight than character. -You and they may stand at opposite poles in thought, in aspiration, in -social condition, in habits. Nevertheless they insist on it that the -bare fact of longtime acquaintance is to be of more value than all -these vital discrepancies; and you find yourself saddled with friends -who are utterly uncongenial to you in every respect, because your -father once lived next door to them in the country town where you were -born, and spent one evening a week in their society playing long whist -for threepenny points. You inherit your weak chest and your snub nose, -gout in your blood and a handful of ugly skeletons in your cupboard; -these are things you cannot get rid of; things which come as part of -the tangled yarn of your life and are the inalienable misfortunes of -inheritance; but it is too bad to add family friends whom of your own -accord you would never have known; and to have them seated as Old Men -of the Sea on your neck, never to be shaken off while they live. - -In fact, this whole question of friendship wants revision. The general -tendency is to make it too stringent in its terms, and too -indissoluble in its fastenings. If the present should not make one -forget the past, neither should the past tyrannize over the present. -Old friends may have been pleasant enough in their day, but a day is -not for ever, and they are hurtful and unpleasant now, under new -conditions and in changed circumstances. They disturb the harmony of -our surroundings, and no one can feel happy in discord. - -They themselves too, change; we all do, as life goes on and experience -increases; and it is simply absurd to bring the old fashions of early -days into the new relations of later times. We are not the Tom, Dick, -and Harry of our boyhood in any essential save identity of person; -neither are they the Bill and Jim they were. We have gone to the -right, they to the left; and the gap between us is wider and deeper -than that of mere time. Of what use then, to try to galvanize the dead -past into the semblance of vitality? Each knows in his heart that it -is dead; and the only one who wishes to galvanize it into simulated -life is the one who will somehow benefit by the discomfort and -abasement of the other. For our own part, we think one of the most -needful things to learn on our way through the world is, that the dead -are dead, and that silent burial is better than spasmodic galvanism. - - - - -_POPULAR WOMEN._ - - -The three chief causes of personal popularity among women are, the -admiration which is excited, the sympathy which is given, or the -pleasure that can be bestowed. We put out of court for our present -purpose the popularity which accompanies political power or -intellectual strength, this being due to condition, not quality, and -therefore not of the sort we mean. Besides, it belongs to men rather -than to women, who seldom have any direct power that can advance -others, and still seldomer intellectual strength enough to obtain a -public following because of their confessed supremacy. The popular -women we mean are simply those met with in society--women whose -natural place is the drawing-room and whose sphere is the well-dressed -world--women who are emphatically ladies, and who understand _les -convenances_ and obey them, even if they take up a cause, practise -philanthropy or preach philosophy. But the popular woman rarely does -take up a cause or make her philanthropy conspicuous and her -philosophy audible. Partizanship implies angles; and she has no -angles. If of the class of the admired, she is most popular who is -least obtrusive in her claims and most ingenuous in ignoring her -superiority. A pretty woman, however pretty, if affected, vain, or apt -to give herself airs, may be admired but is never popular. The men -whom she snubs sneer at her in private; the women whom she eclipses as -well as snubs do more than sneer; those only to whom she is gracious -find her beauty a thing of joy; but as she is distractingly eclectic -in her favouritism she counts as many foes as she has friends; and -though those who dislike her cannot call her ugly, they can call her -disagreeable, and do. But the pretty woman who wears her beauty to all -appearance unconsciously, never suffering it to be aggressive to other -women nor wilfully employing it for the destruction of men, who is -gracious in manner and of a pleasant temper, who is frank and -approachable, and does not seem to consider herself as something -sacred and set apart from the world because nature made her lovelier -than the rest--she is the woman whom all unite in admiring, the -popular person _par excellence_ of her set. - -The popular pretty woman is one who, take her as a young wife (and she -must be married), honestly loves her husband, but does not thrust her -affection into the face of the world, and never flirts with him in -public. Indeed, she flirts with other men just enough to make time -pass pleasantly, and enjoys a rapid waltz or a lively conversation as -much as when she was seventeen and before she was appropriated. She -does not think it necessary to go about morally ticketed; nor does she -find it vital to her dignity nor to her virtue to fence herself round -with coldness or indifference to the multitude by way of proving her -loyalty to one. Still, as it is notorious that she does love her -husband, and as every one knows that he and she are perfectly content -with each other and therefore not on the look-out for supplements, the -men with whom she has those innocent little jokes, those transparent -secrets, those animated conversations, that confessed friendship and -good understanding, do not make mistakes; and the very women belonging -to them forget to be censorious, even though this other, this popular -woman, is so much admired. - -This popular woman is a mother too, and a fond one. Hence she can -sympathize with other mothers, and expatiate on their common -experiences in the confidential chat over five o'clock tea, as all -fond mothers do and should. She keeps a well-managed house, and is -notorious for the amount of needlework she gets through; and of which -she is prettily proud; not being ashamed to tell you that the dress -you admire so much was made by her own hands, and she will give your -wife the pattern if she likes; while she boasts of even rougher -upholstery work which she and her maid and her sewing-machine have got -through with despatch and credit. She gives dinners with a _cachet_ of -their own--dinners which have evidently been planned with careful -thought and study; and she is not above her work as mistress and -organizer of her household. Yet she finds time to keep abreast with -the current literature of the day, and never has to confess to -ignorance of the ordinary topics of conversation. She is not a woman -of extreme views about anything. She has not signed improper papers -and she does not discuss improper questions; she does not go in for -woman's rights; she has a horror of facility of divorce; and she sets -up for nothing--being neither an Advanced Woman desirous of usurping -the possessions and privileges of men, nor a Griselda who thinks her -proper place is at the feet of men, to take their kicks with patience -and their caresses with gratitude, as is becoming in an inferior -creature. She does not dabble in politics; and though she likes to -make her dinners successful and her evenings brilliant, she by no -means assumes to be a leader of fashion nor to impose laws on her -circle. She likes to be admired, and she is always ready to let -herself be loved. She is always ready too, to do any good work that -comes in her way; and she finds time for the careful overlooking of a -few pet charities about which she makes no parade, just as she finds -time for her nursery and her needlework. And, truth to tell, she -enjoys these quiet hours, with only her children to love her and her -poor pensioners to admire her, quite as much as she enjoys the -brilliant receptions where she is among the most popular and the most -beautiful. - -Her nature is gentle, her affections are large, her passions small. -She may have prejudices, but they are prejudices of a mild kind, -mainly on the side of modesty and tenderness and the quietude of true -womanhood. She is woman throughout, without the faintest dash of the -masculine element in mind or manners; and she aspires to be nothing -else. She carries with her an atmosphere of happiness, of content, of -spiritual completeness, of purity which is not prudery. Her life is -filled with a variety of interests; consequently she is never peevish -through monotony, nor yet, on the other hand, is she excited, hurried, -storm-driven, as those who give themselves up to 'objects,' and -perfect nothing because they attempt too much. She is popular, because -she is beautiful without being vain; loving without being sentimental; -happy in herself, yet not indifferent to others; because she -understands her drawing-room duties as well as her domestic ones, and -knows how to combine the home life with social splendour. This is the -best type of the popular pretty woman to whom is given admiration, and -against whom no one has a stone to fling nor a slander to whisper; and -this is the ideal woman of the English upper-class home, of whom we -still raise a few specimens, just to show what women may be if they -like, and what sweet and lovely creatures they are when they are -content to be as nature designed them. - -Another kind of popular woman is the sympathetic woman, the woman who -gives instead of receiving. This kind is of variable conditions. She -may be old, she may be ugly; in fact, she is more often both than -neither; but she is a universal favourite notwithstanding, and no -woman is more sought after nor less wearied of, although few can say -why they like her. She may be married; but generally she is either a -widow or an old maid; for, if she be a wife, her sympathies for things -abroad are necessarily somewhat cramped by the pressure of those at -home;--and her sympathies are her claim to popularity. She is sincere -too, as well as sympathetic, and she is safe. She holds the secrets of -all her friends; but no one suspects that any before himself has -confided in her. She has the art, or rather the charm, of perpetual -spiritual freshness, and all her friends think in turn that the -fountain has been unsealed now for the first time. This is not -artifice; it is simply the property of deep and inexhaustible -sympathy. It is not necessary that she should be a wise adviser to be -popular. Her province is to listen and to sympathize; to gather the -sorrows and the joys of others into her own breast, so as to soften by -sharing or heighten by reduplication. Most frequently she is not over -rigid in her notions of moral prudence, and will let a lovesick girl -talk of her lover, even if the affair be hopeless and has been -forbidden; while she will do her best to soothe the man who has had -the misfortune to get crazed about his friend's wife. She has been -even known, under pressure, to convey a message or a hint; and of the -two she is decidedly more pitiful to sorrow than severe to -wrong-doing. She is in all the misfortunes and maladies of her -friends. No death takes place without her bearing part of the -mourning on her own soul; but then no marriage is considered complete -in which she has not a share. She is called on to help whenever there -is work to be done, if she be of the practical type; if of the mental, -she has merely to give up her own pleasures and her time that she may -look on and sympathize. Every one likes her; every one takes to her at -first sight; no one is jealous of her; and the law of her life is to -spend and be spent for others. It not rarely happens though, that she -who does so much for those others has to bear her own burden -unassisted; and that she sits at home surrounded by those spectres of -despair, those ghosts of sorrow, which she helps to dispel from the -homes of others. But she is not selfish; and while she trudges along -cheerfully enough under the heavy end of her friend's crosses, she -asks no one to lay so much as a finger on her own. In consequence of -which no one imagines that she ever suffers at all on her own account; -and most of her friends would take it as a personal affront were she -to turn the tables and ask for the smallest portion of that of which -she had given so much to others. She is the moral anodyne of her -circle; and when she ceases to soothe, she abdicates the function -assigned to her by nature and dies out of her allotted uses. - -Another kind of popular person is the woman whose sympathies are more -superficial, but whose faculties are more brilliant; the woman who -makes herself agreeable, as it is called--that is, who can talk when -she is wanted to talk; listen when she is wanted to listen; take a -prominent part and some responsibility or keep her personality in the -background, according to circumstances and the need of the moment; who -is eminently a useful member of society, and popular just in -proportion to the pleasure she can shed around her. But she offends no -one, even though she is notoriously sought after and made much of; for -she is good-natured to all, and people are not jealous of those who do -not flaunt their successes and whom popularity does not make insolent. -The popular woman of this kind is always ready to help in the pleasure -of others. She is a fair-weather friend, and shrinks with the most -charming frankness from those on whom dark days have fallen. She is -really very sorry when any of her friends fall out from the ranks, and -are left behind to the tender mercies of those cruel camp-followers in -the march of life--sorrow or sickness; but she feels that her place is -not with them--rather with the singers and players who are stepping -along in front making things pleasant for the main body. But if she -cannot stop to smooth the pillows of a dying-bed, nor soothe the -troubles of an aching heart, she can organize delightful parties; set -young people to congenial games; take off bores on to her own -shoulders, and even utilize them for the neutralization of other -bores. She is good for the back seat or the front, as is most -convenient to others. She can shine at the state-dinner where you want -a serviceable show, or make a diversion in the quiet, not to say -stupid, conglomerate of fogies, where you want a lively element to -prevent universal stupor. She talks easily and well, and even -brilliantly when on her mettle, but not so as to excite men's envy; -and she has no decided opinions. She is a chameleon, an opal, changing -ever in changing lights, and no one was yet able to determine her -central quality. All that can be said of her is that she is -good-natured and amusing, clever, facile, and ever ready to assist at -all kinds of gatherings, which she has the knack of making go, and -which would have been slow without her; that she knows every game ever -invented, and is good for every sort of festivity; that she is always -well-dressed, even-tempered, and in (apparently) unwearied spirits and -superb health; but what she is at home, when the world is shut out, -never troubles the thoughts of any. She is to society what the -sympathetic woman is to the individual, and the reward is much the -same in both cases. But unless the socially useful woman has been able -to secure the interest of the sympathetic one, the chances are that, -popular as she is now, she will be relegated to the side when her time -of brilliancy has passed; and that, when her last hour comes, it will -find her without the comfort of a friend, forsaken and forgotten. She -is of the kind to whom _sic transit_ more especially applies; and if -her life's food has not been quite the husks, at all events it has not -been good meat nor fine meal. - - - - -_CHOOSING OR FINDING._ - - -The controversy as to which is the better of the two methods of -marrying one's daughter, in use in France and England respectively, -has not yet been decided by any preponderating evidence. Whether the -parents--especially the mother--ought to find a husband for the -daughter, or whether the girl, young and inexperienced as she is, -should seek one for herself, with the chance of not knowing her own -mind in the first place, and of not understanding the real nature of -the man she chooses in the second--these are the two principles -contended for by the rival methods; and the fight is still going on. -The truth is, the worst of either is so infinitely bad that there is -nothing to choose between them; and the same is true, inversely, of -the best. When things go well, the advocates of the particular system -involved sing their pæans, and show how wise they were; when they go -ill, the opponents howl their condemnation, and say: We told you so. - -The French method is based on the theory that a woman's knowledge of -the world, and a mother's intimate acquaintance with her daughter's -special temper and requirements, are likely to be truer guides in the -choice of a husband than the callow fancy of a girl. It is assumed -that the former will be better able than the latter to separate the -reality from the appearance, to winnow the grain from the chaff. She -will appraise at its true value a fascinating manner with a shaky -moral character at its back; and a handsome face will go for little -when the family lawyer confesses the poverty of the family purse. To -the girl, a fluent tongue, flattering ways, a taking presence, would -have included everything in heaven and earth that a man should be; and -no dread of future poverty, no evidence of the bushels of wild oats -sown broadcast, would have convinced her that Don Juan was a _mauvais -parti_ and a scamp into the bargain. Again, the mother usually knows -her daughters' dispositions better than the daughters themselves, and -can distinguish between idiosyncrasies and needs as no young people -are able to do. Laura is romantic, sentimental, imaginative; but Laura -cannot mend a stocking nor make a shirt, nor do any kind of work -requiring strength of grasp or deftness of touch. She has no power of -endurance, no persistency of will, no executive ability; but she falls -in love with a younger son just setting out to seek his fortunes in -Australia; and, if allowed, she marries him, full of enthusiasm and -delight, and goes out with him. In a year's time she is -dead--literally killed by hardship; or, if she has vitality enough to -survive the hard experience of roughing it in the bush, she collapses -into a wretched, haggard, faded woman, prematurely old, hopeless and -dejected; the miserable victim of circumstances sinking under a burden -too heavy for her to bear. - -Now a French mother would have foreseen all these dangers, and would -have provided against them. She would have known the unsubstantial -quality of Laura's romance, and the reality of her physical weakness -and incapacity. She would have kept her out of sight and hearing of -that fascinating younger son just off to Australia to dig out his -rough fortunes in the bush, and would have quietly assigned her to -some conventional well-endowed man of mature age--who might not have -been a soul's ideal, and whose rheumatism would have made him chary of -the moonlight--but who would have taken care of the poor little frail -body, dressed it in dainty gowns and luxurious furs, given it a soft -couch to lie on and a luxurious carriage to drive in, and provided it -with food convenient and ease unbroken. And in the end, Laura would -have found that mamma had known what was best for her; and that her -ordinary-looking, middle-aged caretaker was a better husband for her -than would have been that adventurous young Adonis, who could have -given her nothing better than a shakedown of dried leaves, a deal box -for an arm-chair, and a cup of brick tea for the sparkling wines of -her youth. - -It may be a humiliating confession to make, but the old saying about -poverty coming in at the door and love flying out of the window holds -true in all cases where there is not strength enough to rough it; for -the body holds the spirit captive, and, however willing the one may -be, the weakness of the other conquers in the end. - -On the other hand, Maria, square-set, defying, adventurous, brave, as -the wife of a rich man here in England, would be as one smothered in -rose leaves. The dull monotony of conventional life would half madden -her; and her uncompromising temper would break out in a thousand -eccentricities, and make her countless enemies. Let _her_ go to the -bush if you like. She is of the stamp which bears heroes; and her sons -will be a stalwart race fit for the work before them. The wise mother -who had it in hand to organize the future of her daughters would take -care to find her a man and a fortune that would utilize her energy and -courage; but Maria, if left to herself, might perhaps fall in love -with some cavalry officer of good family and expectations, whose -present dash would soon have to be exchanged for the stereotyped -conventionalities of the owner of a place, where, as his wife, her -utmost limit of physical action would be riding to hounds and taking -off the prize for archery. - -Such well-fitting arrangements as these are the ideal of the French -system; just as the union of two hearts, the one soul finding its -companion soul and both living happily ever after, is the ideal of the -English system. Against the French lies the charge of the cruel sale, -for so much money, of a young creature who has not been allowed a -choice, scarcely even the right of rejection; against the English the -cruelty of suffering a girl's foolish fancy to destroy her whole life, -and the absurdity of treating such a fancy as a fact. For the French -there is the plea of the enormous power of instinct and habit, and -that really it signifies very little to a girl what man she marries; -provided only that he is kind to her and that she has not fallen in -love with any one else; seeing that she is sure to love the first -presented. For the English there is the counter plea of individual -needs and independent choice, and the theory that women do not love by -instinct but by sympathy. The French make great account of the -absolute virginity in heart of the young girl they marry; and few -Frenchmen would think they had got the kind of woman warranted if they -married one who had been engaged two or three times already--to whose -affianced lovers had been accorded the familiarities which we in -England hold innocent and as matters of course. The English, in -return, demand a more absolute fidelity after marriage, and are -generous enough to a few false starts before. To them the contract is -more a matter of free choice than it is in France; consequently -failure in carrying out the stipulations carries with it more -dishonour. The French, taking into consideration that the wife had -nothing to say to the bargain which gave her away, are inclined -to be more lenient when the theory of instinctive love fails to -work, and the individuality of the woman expresses itself in an -after-preference; always provided, of course, that the _bienséances_ -are respected, and that no scandal is created. - -Among the conflicting rights and wrongs of the two systems it is very -difficult to say which is the better, which the wiser. If it seems a -horrible thing to marry a young girl without her consent, or without -any more knowledge of the man with whom she is to pass her life than -can be got by seeing him once or twice in formal family conclave, it -seems quite as bad to let our women roam about the world at the age -when their instincts are strongest and their reason weakest--open to -the flatteries of fools and fops--the prey of professed -lady-killers--the objects of lover-like attentions by men who mean -absolutely nothing but the amusement of making love--the subjects for -erotic anatomists to study at their pleasure. Who among our girls -after twenty carries an absolutely untouched heart to the man she -marries? Her former predilection may have been a dream, a fancy--still -it was there; and there are few wives who, in their little tiffs and -moments of irritation, do not feel, 'If I had married my first love, -_he_ would not have treated me so.' Perhaps a wise man does not care -for a mere baseless thought; but all men are not wise, and to some a -spiritual condition is as real as a physical fact. Others however, do -not trouble themselves for what has gone before if they can but secure -what follows after; but we imagine that most men would rather not -know their wives' dreams; and _cet autre_, however shadowy, is a rival -not specially desired by the average husband. - -If the independence of life and free intercourse between young men and -maidens is in its degree dangerous in England, what must it be in -America, where anything like chaperonage is unknown, and where girls -and boys flock together without a mamma or a guardian among them? -where engaged couples live under the same roof for months at a time, -also without a mamma or a guardian? and where the young men take the -young women about on night excursions alone, and no harm thought by -any one? Is human nature really different in America from what it is -in the Old World? Are Columbia's sons in truth like Erin's of old -time, so good or so cold? It is a saying hard of acceptance to us who -are accustomed to regard our daughters as precious things to be taken -care of--if not quite so frail as the French regard theirs, yet not -too secure, and certainly not to be left too much to themselves with -only young men for their guardians. They are our lambs, and we look -out for wolves. To be sure the comparative paucity of women in the -United States, and the conviction which every girl has that she may -pretty well make her own choice, help to keep matters straight. That -is easy to be understood. There is no temptation to eat green berries -in an orchard full of ripe fruit. But if this be true of America, then -the converse must be true of England, where the redundancy of women -is one of the most patent facts of the time, and where consequently -they cannot so well afford to indulge that pride of person which -hesitates among many before selecting one. In America this pride of -person of itself erects a barrier between the wolves and the lambs; -but where the very groundwork of it is wanting, as in England, it -behoves the natural guardians to be on the watch, and to take care of -those who cannot take care of themselves. Whether or not that care -should be carried to the extent to which French parents carry -theirs--and especially in the matter of making the marriage for the -daughter and not letting her make it for herself--we leave an open -question. Perhaps a little modification in the practice of both -nations would be the best for all concerned. Without trusting quite so -much to instinct as the French, we might profitably curtail a little -more than we do the independent choice of those who are too young and -too ignorant to know what they want, or what they have got when they -have chosen; and without letting their young girls run all abroad -without direction, the French might, in turn, allow them some kind of -human preference, and not treat them as mere animals bound to be -grateful to the hand that feeds them, and docile to the master who -governs them. - - - - -_LOCAL FÊTES._ - - -The efforts of country places in the matter of local fêtes and shows -are often beset with difficulties. The great people, who have seen the -best of everything in Paris and London, give their money sparsely and -their energies with languor; or it may be that certain of the more -good-natured kill the whole affair by their superabundant patronage, -as nurses stifle infants by over-care. The very poor can only -participate to the extent of pence when the thing is organized; they -can neither subscribe for the general expenses nor give time to the -arrangements; consequently the burden rests on the shoulders of the -middle class, which in a small country neighbourhood is represented by -the well-to-do tradesmen, the innkeepers, and the rival professionals. -Once a year or so the desire fastens on these people to get up a local -fête--say a flower-show, or games, or both combined--as an evidence of -local vitality; a claim on the county newspaper for two or three -columns of description with all the names in full flanked by a -generous application of adjectives; an occasion for mutual -self-laudation; and a pleasing impression of the eyes of England -being turned upon them. They find their work cut out for them when -they begin; and before the end most of them wish they had never been -bitten by the mania of parochial ambition, but had let the old place -lie in its wonted stagnation without attempting to stir it at the cost -of so much vexation and thankless trouble. - -Jealousy and huffiness are the dominant characteristics of small -communities, as all people know who have had dealings therewith. The -question of precedence affects more than the choice of the First Lady -in an assembly where there are no ladies to be first, though there may -be plenty of honest women; and the men squabble for distinctive -offices and the recognition of services to the full as much as the -lawyer's wife squabbles with the doctor's, and both with the wholesale -grocer's, as to which of the three is to be first taken down to supper -and set at the head of the table with the master of the house. One -wants to be the secretary, that he may display his power of fine -writing when he asks the resident nobility and gentry for their -subscriptions, and draws up the final report for the press. Another -thinks he should be made chairman of the acting committee, because he -imagines he has the gift of eloquence, and he would like to use the -time of the association in airing his syntax. A third puts in his -claim to be elected one of the judges of things he does not -understand, because his son-in-law is to be an exhibitor, and he would -be glad to be able to say a good word for him; and all decline those -offices which have no outside show, where only work is to be done and -no credit gained. It requires a considerable amount of tact and -firmness to withstand these clamorous vanities, to put the right men -in the right places, and yet not make enmities which will last a -lifetime. But if the thing is to succeed at all, this is what must be -done; and the little committee must stick to its text of _pro bono -publico_ as steadfastly as if the flower-show were a conqueror's -triumph, and the rules and regulations for its fit management consular -decrees. - -When the eventful day arrives, every one feels that the eyes of -England are indeed turned hither-ward. If the great people are -languid, the meaner folks are jocund, and the stewards are as proud as -the proudest ædiles of old Rome. Their knots of coloured ribbon make -new men of them for the time, and justify the instinct which puts its -trust in regalia. They are sure to be on the ground from the earliest -hours in the morning; and though scoffers might perhaps question the -practical value of their zeal, no one can doubt its heartiness. If it -is fussy, it is genuine; and as every one is fussy alike, they cannot -complain of one another. A band has been lent by a neighbouring -regiment, and the men come radiant into the little town. It is -delightful to see the cordial condescension with which the trombone -and the cornet, the serpent and the drum shake hands with their -civilian friends; and how the fine fellows in scarlet accept drinks -quite fraternally from fustian and corderoy. For a full half-hour the -town is kept alive by the dazzle and resonance of these musical heroes -as they stand before the door of the 'public' which they have elected -to patronize, and lighten the pockets of the lieges by the successive -'go's' drained out of them. Then the church clock chimes the appointed -hour; the last flag is run up; the finishing touch is given to the -calico and the moss; the last award has been affixed; and the -policeman stationed at the gate to keep order among the little boys -has tightened his belt and drawn on his gloves ready for action. The -band marches through the town, drums beating and fifes playing, and -when the gates are opened as the clock is on the stroke of twelve, -they are all settled in their places with their music handy, ready to -salute the gentry with the overture from _Zampa_, taken in false time. -The imposing effect however, is rather marred by the friendly feelings -of the public; for when jolly farmers and small boys insist on sharing -the benches assigned to the red coats, the orchestra has necessarily a -patchwork kind of look that does not add to its dignity. - -The great people do their duty as they ought, and come in their -carriages; which make a show and give an air of regality to the -affair. Many of them have had early high-priced tickets given to them -in consideration of their subscribed guineas; it being held the right -thing to do to give to those who can afford to pay, trusting to the -pence of the multitude for the rest. Nevertheless these great -creatures regard their presence there as a _corvée_ which they must -fulfil, but at the least cost possible to themselves; so they make up -parties to meet at a certain time, and endure the stewards, who talk -fine and are important, with the best philosophy granted them by -nature. When the second prices come, then the real fun of the fair -begins. The great people are uninterested. The indifferently grown -flowers which are offered for prizes do not call forth their -enthusiasm; but the smaller folk think them superb, and express their -admiration with unstinted delight. When the gardener of a neighbouring -lord exhibits a good specimen from his choicest plants, not for -competition but as a model for imitation, their enthusiasm knows no -bounds; and a fine alamanda or a richly-coloured dracæna receives -almost divine honours. As a rule, the flowers in these local shows are -poor enough; but the fruit is often good and the vegetables are -magnificent. The highest efforts of competition are usually devoted to -onions and beans; but potatoes come in for their due share, and the -summer celery is for the most part an instance of misdirected power. -The great houses carry off the first prizes--the poor little cottage -plots, cultivated at odd hours under difficulties, not touching them -in value. The gentlemen say they give their prizes to their gardeners; -but that does not help the cottagers who have spent time and money and -hope in this unequal struggle of pigmies with giants. In some places -they divide the classes, and give prizes to the gentlefolks apart, and -to the cottagers by themselves. In which case they fulfil the -Scriptures literally, and give most to those who already have most. - -All the local oddities are sure to be at these fêtes. There is the -harmless imbecile, who wanders about the roads with a peacock's -feather in his battered old cap, and who talks to himself when he -cannot find another listener; and there is the stalwart lady -proprietor who farms her own land and knows as much about roots and -beasts as the best of them. She is reported to have thrashed her man -in her time, and is said to be a crack shot and the best roughrider -for miles round. There is the ruined yeoman who came into a good -property when he was a handsome young fellow with the ball at his -foot, but who has drunk himself from affluence to penury, and from -sturdy health to palsy and delirium tremens, yet who has always a -kindly word from his betters, having been no man's enemy but his own, -and even at his worst being a good fellow in a sort of way. There is -the farmer who is supposed capable of buying up all the leaner gentry -in a batch, but who, being a misogynist, lives by himself in his -rambling old ruined Hall, with a hind to do the scullery maid's work, -and never a petticoat about the place. There is the self-taught man of -science whose quantities are shaky when he tells you the names of his -treasures, but whose knowledge of local fossils, of rare plants, of -concealed antiquities, is true so far as it goes, if of too great -importance in his estimate of things; and side by side with him is the -self-made poet, whose verses are not always easy to scan and whose -thoughts are apt to express themselves mistily. These and more are -sure to be at the fête bringing; their peculiarities as their quota, -and giving that indescribable but pleasant local flavour which is half -the interest of the thing. - -There is a great deal of practical democracy in these gatherings if -the grand people stay into the time of the second prices; which -however, they generally do not. If they do, then ragged coats jostle -the squire's glossy broadcloth, and rude boys crumple the fresh silks -and muslins of the ladies with the most communistic unconcern. The -shopgirl and farmer's daughters come out in gorgeous array, with -bonnets and skirts, streamers and furbelows, of wonderful -construction; and their sisters of more cultivated taste regard their -exaggerated toilets as moral crimes. But the poor things are happy in -their ugly finery; and, as millinery is by no means an exact science, -they may be pardoned if they adopt monstrosities on their own account -which a year or so ago had been sanctioned by fashion. Sometimes Punch -and Judy, 'as performed before the Queen and Prince Albert,' helps on -the enjoyment of the day, with the '----' softened out of respect for -the clergyman. Sometimes an acrobat lies down on the grass and twirls -a huge ball between his feet, which sets all the little boys to do the -like in imitation, and perhaps brings down many a maternal hand on -fleshy places as the result. In some localities a troop of little -girls in scarlet and white plait ribbons dance round a maypole and are -called inappropriately morris-dancers. Perhaps there are fireworks at -the end of all things; when the set pieces will not light -simultaneously in all their parts, the catherine-wheels have the -disastrous trick of sticking, and only the Roman candles and the -rockets succeed as they should. But the gaping crowd is vociferous and -good-natured, and holds the whole affair to have been splendid. There -is a great deal of coarse jollity among the men and women over the -failures and successes alike, and if the fête is in the North there is -sure to be more drink afloat than is desirable. Headaches are the rule -of the next morning, with perhaps some things lost which can never be -regained. Yet, in spite of the inevitable abuses, these local fêtes -are things worthy of encouragement; and perhaps if the great people -would enter into them more heartily, and remain on the ground longer, -the lower orders would behave themselves better all through, and there -would not be so much rowdyism at the end. It does not seem to us that -this would be an unendurable sacrifice of time and personal dignity -for the pleasure and morality of the neighbourhood where one lives. - - -THE END. - - S. & H. - - _Spottiswoode & Co., Printers, New-street Square, London._ - - - - -RICHARD BENTLEY & SON'S - -LIST OF ANNOUNCEMENTS - -_FOR THE NEW SEASON_. - - -I. - -BY THE CROWN PRINCE OF AUSTRIA. - - TRAVELS in the EAST: including a Visit to the Holy Land, Egypt, - the Ionian Islands, &c. By HIS IMPERIAL AND ROYAL HIGHNESS THE - CROWN PRINCE RUDOLPH. In royal 8vo. With Portrait and numerous - Illustrations. - - -II. - -BY R. P. A. KENNARD. - - A MEMOIR of RICHARD BETHELL, First Baron Westbury. By RICHARD P. - A. KENNARD. In 1 vol. demy 8vo. - - -III. - -BY MR. E. YATES. - - FIFTY YEARS of LONDON LIFE. By EDMUND YATES. In demy 8vo. With - Portraits. - - -IV. - -BY MRS. LYNN LINTON. - - ESSAYS UPON SOCIAL SUBJECTS: The Girl of the Period, and other - Papers. 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