The pleasures of social intercourse are amongst the best and truest enjoyments in which we can participate—the desire for the friendship of others is more or less inherent in human nature. There are nevertheless thousands upon thousands who are surrounded by every opportunity for realising these pleasures, and who yet fail to benefit by their influence, either for temporary and healthy pastime, or for permanent good. Most people have doubtless many amongst their circle of acquaintance who are easily distinguished from others by the term ‘unsociable.’ It would, however, be both unfair and incorrect to estimate that a large proportion of a given number of people have a decided objection to and shun all society. The habitually unsociable people are frequently those who would readily confess to a liking for society, but who do not enter into it on account of the various and numerous obstacles which, they will tell you, are in the way. It is not so much on account of an innate and acknowledged indisposition for social intercourse that the saying, ‘Some folk are as unsociable as milestones,’ is proverbially correct, as that many barriers have been erected by the suspicious imaginations of those concerned. People are often heard to complain of the unsociability of others; but it is not unseldom that the very people who adopt this standpoint are those who, at the least approach from others, retire almost entirely within their insignificant individuality, and assume a reserve of manner and constrained mode of conversation, that of itself forbids any attempt to cultivate their acquaintance. Something like a hedgehog which, should you happen to catch sight of it, instead of making friends, rolls itself up into a ball, and shews off its bristles to the best advantage.

Perhaps nothing constitutes so great a hindrance to what may be termed natural and unadulterated social intercourse as the unnatural appearance which many folk strive to put upon themselves and their belongings for the benefit of the objects of their acquaintance. For the entertainment of their visitors, some good folk will change, as far as they possibly can, the entire face and features of their houses and themselves—in short, for the time being they seem to be somebody else—they go to great pains to make things unreal. On such show-occasions a profusion of apologies is sometimes showered upon the unhappy and disappointed guests; they are begged to excuse the unceremonious and very ordinary preparation made for their reception and entertainment; whilst it is apparent that every available resource has been utilised to make an imposing appearance. It was, we think, John Wesley, who having been invited out to dine, was asked, soon after his arrival at the house of the host, to excuse the fact that no preparation had been made. ‘Then,’ replied he rather sharply, ‘there ought to have been;’ and without waiting to see whether there was reason for such an apology, left the house forthwith.

Feelings of rivalry and jealousy, and the existence of an ultra spirit of caste, are responsible for much of the unsociability which prevails. Mr and Mrs Jones do not fraternise with Mr and Mrs Smith, who may live next door, because they, Mr and Mrs Jones, have concluded that they have ascended two or three more rounds of the ladder of social status. It is quite probable, moreover, that Mr and Mrs Smith may be duly impressed with precisely the same sense of superiority. Mr Jenkins does not wish to be patronised, and therefore cares not to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr Jones. Mr Jones having a paramount consciousness of his pre-eminence, would deem it undignified to be friendly with Mr Jenkins. Thus people sit in judgment upon themselves and other people, and form what they deem a sound opinion as to the disposition of others without ever having had the smallest opportunity of arriving at an accurate estimate. Imagination, hearsay, and the impressions derived from mere appearance at first sight, are often the sole materials employed in producing what is intended to pass as a detailed character-photograph. The estimates thus formed are frequently circulated as genuine and reliable in every particular; and yet there may be as much difference between such estimates and the truth, as between a genuine and a base coin of the realm. The estimate which may be given you by one man of another is only reliable in so far as he is capable and has had the opportunities of forming an accurate judgment.

As the tenor of a man’s life will to some extent be the reflection of his associations, it is essential that some discrimination be employed. But a man may be sociable and yet avoid careless promiscuous friendships. By the same rule that you cannot touch pitch without being defiled, neither can you have the friendship of sensible men and true, without profit. Nor need a sociable man eschew the duties and comforts of home-life. The association with friends, at home, may be made to take the place of association with mere acquaintances, sometimes of a questionable sort, abroad; and hence home may be made more homely.

The plea is sometimes advanced, ‘Oh, we cannot afford to have company.’ Here is where a great mistake is made. Surely we should not measure the value of our friendships on the basis of a knife-and-fork calculation! The friendship which is measured by the amount of money expended on it is surely worth little. It is not so much the good dinner society which we would advocate, as the propagation of simple and genuine friendships. Formal parties and dinings-out are by reason of modern usages acknowledged to be for the most part dreary affairs, both for the givers and the guests. Dinners got up for display, arranged with an object, invitations given for sundry reasons—to the man, for instance, whose only qualification a guest may be his ability to be a source of entertainment; or to the titled gentleman and lady whose style and title shall grace the list in the newspaper columns. This amongst the upper ten thousand may be perhaps regarded as a necessary evil. Such state ceremonies have become fashionable amongst what has come to be popularly designated the Élite of society.

We especially refer, however, to the sociable traits of the great middle class, amongst whom a large dinner-party scheme is neither practicable nor desirable, but to whom the more frequent exchange of civilities with their neighbours would be a boon. But the way is frequently barred by the comparisons which are made. The ladies are generally desirous that the furniture of their houses should not compare unfavourably with that in the houses of those with whom they may be intimate. A source of the greatest concern is it if they have not Brussels carpet as good and as new as that of their neighbours. Then their furniture it may be is in green rep, that of their friends in crimson plush. Further anxieties are created as to plate, the size, style, and number of servants, and a dozen other considerations of a kindred sort. This everlasting contest to keep up appearances is at once the bane of our tempers and our pockets. It is the main thing on which the unreality of our time is fed, and upon which it thrives so well. Whatever may be the real impediment to sociability, we ourselves, while fostering the evil, uncharitably and inconsistently plead that the unsociable tendency exists more in others than ourselves!

Were there an utter absence of opportunity for benefiting by the society of others, the fact would be deemed a hardship and a misfortune; and yet there are plenty of individuals who live in crowded cities but are the most lonely of beings. Not only are they never seen to speak to others, but apparently never even see them; the social faculties are thus rarely called into play, and are left to rust out. What do such men lose as the result of this isolation? Their knowledge of the best side of human nature is at a low ebb; while on the other hand the association with and knowledge of those around us teach us not only to misjudge others less, but to know ourselves better; and hence there comes a development and expansion of our sympathies. More freedom of intercourse must tend not only to increase our pleasures but to alleviate our troubles, for as we see that others have their ‘ups’ and ‘downs,’ we learn to look upon our own as less burdensome. The man who neither sees, hears, nor participates in anything beyond his own immediate surroundings, can know little or nothing beyond the narrow boundary of his own individuality—a very circumscribed sphere to live and work in, certainly. People often need friends who, under given circumstances, will afford the benefit of their own experience. The person whose only acquaintance is himself, complains of the hardness of his lot, and whilst estimating what difference he imagines the cultivation of friendships would make to his pockets, fails to estimate what he would gain by the sympathy and good-will of others, and how his dreary path would be brightened by less isolation.

There is, however, an inborn craving in most people for society of some kind, though occasionally it is sought for in directions which are not beneficial in their tendency; and this, we fear, is the result of the swarm of conventionalities which, for the most part, surround the social life of our day, some healthy counteraction of which—especially in the interests of the young—would be welcome.

Happily the habits of isolation and unsociability are more prevalent in some places than in others. Those who have travelled most will readily admit that they have frequently found themselves amongst a circle of individuals whose freedom from conventionalities, and whose unconstrained and hearty mode of intercourse, made them forget for the time being that they were in the company of strangers. It is possible that some readers of these words may almost shudder at the idea of such freedom, such a want of decorum on the part of people who had never met before, and had not gone through the formality of a proper introduction. And yet there may be decorum without painful fastidiousness. Who has not met with unsociable railway travellers, some in whose company he has been for many weary hours, and with whom he may have succeeded, after supreme effort, in breaking the ice, only to receive a solitary monosyllable in response! Such an experience is certainly not the rule, for sometimes we meet with those, the incessant wag of whose tongue may be such as to compel us to leave unread both our newspaper and any favourite book that we may have promised ourself to get through. And yet it is well on such occasions to go on the principle of give and take. Anything rather than the company of an individual who looks suspiciously at you should you be venturesome enough to express to him an opinion on so commonplace a topic as the state of the weather.

As a valuable element in connection with our social life, music does not occupy the position which it might and ought to do. The rapid growth during recent years of a knowledge of this charming solace is out of all proportion to the extent of its social enjoyment. It is unfortunately too often treated as a mere accomplishment. The friendly and informal musical parties such as were enjoyed years ago, do not receive much encouragement. It is of course indisputable that as a concert-giving power, rapid strides have been made in music; but what we contend for is the propagation of home harmony; the social glee, the favourite ballad, the instrumental quartette, with no objection to an occasional sonata for the pianoforte.

It is no less amusing than disagreeable to see so many otherwise worthy people possessed of such a paramount sense of gentility and importance as to make themselves and their surroundings uncomfortable, and often miserable. The great desideratum is that people should appear more like themselves than somebody else. We hear and read a good many sermons on ‘Morality;’ but, excellent in their way as these are, a series of lectures on ‘Reality’ are quite as necessary.