ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

My dear Nephews:

Though accomplishments are a very poor substitute for the more substantial portions of a thorough education, no one should be so indifferent to the embellishments of life as wholly to neglect their cultivation.

With Europeans some attention to this subject always makes part of a thorough education, but among a new people, differing so essentially from the nations of the Old World in social habits, the leisure and inclination that induce such a system of early discipline are both still wanting—speaking generally. It is not the lack of wealth—of that we have enough—but of a cultivated, discriminating taste, the growth of time and favoring circumstances, which is not yet diffused among us. But, though our young men, even of the more favored class, do not enjoy the carefully-elaborated system of early training, common abroad, personal effort will produce a result similar in effect, if well-directed and steadfastly pursued, and the best of all knowledge—that most beneficial in its influence upon character—is acquired by unaided individual exertion. Young Americans, above the men of all other countries, should lack no incentive to add, as occasion may permit, tasteful polish to the more essential solidity of mental acquirements.

I know of nothing better calculated to foster refinement and purity of life than the cultivation of a Taste for the Fine Arts. I do not refer to a dillettante affectation of familiarity with the technicalities of artistic language, or to fashionable pretension and an assumption of connoisseurship, but to honest, manly, Æsthetical perceptions, quickened and elevated by familiarity with the true principles of Art, and by the study of the highest productions of genius.

Some knowledge of the practice, as well as of the principles of drawing, is a very agreeable and useful accomplishment, and one that may be acquired with little or no instruction, save that to be obtained from books.

Among the advantages collaterally arising from familiarity with this art, is the increased quickness and enjoyment it lends to a discernment of the beautiful in nature, both in its minute manifestations and its grand developments. A fondness for sketching leads, also, to a partiality for rural excursions, and for the physical sciences; and all those tastes where the main purposes of life permit their indulgence, serve to elevate, refine, and expand the higher faculties, to give them habitual dominion over the propensities and to restrain sensuous enjoyments within their legitimate limits.

A Taste for Music must, of course, be ranked among the elegances of social life, but it should not be forgotten that a practical knowledge of any one branch of this Art has no direct effect to enlarge the mind, like that of Painting, for instance. It is only a sensuous pleasure, though a refined one, and is, as I have had frequent occasion to remark, too frequently permitted to engross both time and faculties that should properly be, in part, at least, more diffusively employed. Musical skill, though a pleasant acquirement, is not a sufficient substitute for an acquaintance with general Literature and Art; nor will its most exquisite exhibitions always furnish an equivalent for intellectual pleasures, whether of a personal or social nature.

Dancing should be early learned, not only because, like musical knowledge, it is a source of social and domestic enjoyment, but as materially assisting in the acquirement of an easy and graceful carriage and manner. It is a good antidote, too, to mauvaise honte, and almost essential among the minor accomplishments of a man of the world.

Riding and Driving should never be neglected by those who possess the means of becoming familiar with them. Convenience, health and pleasure combine to recommend both. No indulgence of the pride of skill, however, should be permitted to exalt these accessories of a polite education into the main business of life, as I believe I have before reminded you.

The broadsword exercise, pistol-shooting, athletic sports and games, sporting, gymnastic exercises, etc., etc., may be ranked among the minor manly accomplishments with which it is desirable to be familiar.

Of no small importance, and of no insignificant rank as an accomplishment, is a ready and graceful elocution. Possessed by professional men, its value can scarcely be overrated, and no young man, whatever his aims in life, should esteem it unworthy of attention, since private as well as public life afford constant occasion for its exercise. To read intelligibly, audibly, and agreeably, to speak with taste and elegance, to address an audience—whether a mass assemblage of the sovereign people, or the servants of the people, in Congress assembled, or an intelligent audience gathered for intellectual instruction and enjoyment, each require careful and persevering practice, critical discrimination and disciplined taste. And what young American—with that control of circumstances which especially distinguishes us from all other peoples, with the high aspirations and purposes to which all are equally entitled—shall say that he will not have the most urgent occasion for, and derive high advantage from the acquisition of the Art of Elocution? But, apart from considerations of utility, correct speaking and writing are indispensable requisites to the privileges of good society, and elegant polish in this respect is the desirable result and certain indication of natural refinement.

I will only add that elocutionary skill always affords the possessor the means of promoting social and domestic enjoyment, and that the finest sentiments and the most eloquent language lose half their proper effect when uttered in a mumbling or muttering tone, as well as in too loud or too low a voice.

Closely allied to the accomplishment of which we have been speaking, is that of Conversational ease and elegance, an art in which all other nations are excelled by the French, and in which we, perhaps, most successfully emulate them.

Unfortunately for our social advancement in this respect,

"The well of English undefiled"

is not the only source from which the vehicle of thought is derived. The use of slang phrases, of crack words, even among the better educated classes of society—and that in writing as well as in conversation—is becoming noticeably prevalent. Nothing can be more detrimental to the advancement of those who desire to acquire colloquial polish than the habit of using this inelegant language, and there is nothing into which one may glide more insensibly, when it becomes familiar from association.

You will, perhaps, say that the amusement afforded to others by the occasional adoption of these mirth-provoking vulgarisms affords an apology for their use; and that would be a legitimate excuse, did the matter end there. But who can hope successfully to establish the line of demarcation that shall separate the legitimate sphere of their applicability from that in which they cannot properly claim a place? We know how much we are all under the dominion of habit in regard to the artificial observances of life, and that once established, any practice in which we indulge ourselves may manifest itself unconsciously to us. Hence, then, it is no more safe to acquire the habit of interlarding our discourse with inelegances of expression, ungrammatical language, Yankeeisms, localisms (to coin a word if it be not one, more expressive here than provincialisms) or vulgarisms of any kind, than to permit ourselves the perpetration of other solecisms in good-breeding, with the protection only of a mental limitation to their undue encroachment upon our claims to refined associations.

There is, therefore, no safe rule, except that dictating the unvarying adoption of the purest and most expressive idiomatic English we can command. I remember to have heard it said of a celebrated conversationist, whom I knew in my younger days, that he not only always used a good word to express his meaning, but the very best word afforded by our language.

The habit of thinking clearly might naturally be supposed to produce the power of conveying ideas to others with distinctness, were not the impression controverted by much evidence to the contrary. I must believe, however, that the difference between persons, in this respect, arises more frequently from want of attention to the subject, than from all other causes combined. I know of no other way of sufficiently explaining the awkward, slipshod, unsatisfactory mode of talking so common even among educated people. Were we accustomed to regarding conversational pleasures as among the highest enjoyments of existence, and of making them a part of our daily life—as the French of all ranks do—a vast difference would exist between what is, and what might be. With what intensity of interest, with what vivacity of manner do the polite and cultivated French talk! The salons of the leaders of ton in Paris are nightly filled with the literati, the artists, the soldiers and statesmen concentered in that brilliant capitol. And they assemble not to eat, not even to dance, to the exclusion of all other gratifications, but to talk—to exchange ideas upon topics and incidents of passing interest—to receive and to communicate instruction, as well as enjoyment. And even the common people—whether eating their frugal evening repast at a little table placed in the street, or seated in groups in the garden of the Tuileries—how they talk! with what abandon—to use their own word—with what geniality, with what sprightliness! The very children, sporting like so many birds of gorgeous plumage, and musical tones, in the public gardens and promenades, prattle of matters interesting to them, with a graceful vivacity nowhere else to be seen. All classes give themselves up to it—take time for it, as one of the necessities of daily life! But I should apologize for this digression.

The advantage of habitual practice, then, cannot be too highly commended to those who would acquire colloquial skill. There is, also, no better mode of fastening knowledge in the mind than by accustoming one's self to clothing ideas in spoken language, and the mere attempt to do so, gives distinctness to thought.

But while fluency and ease are the results of practice, the embellishments of conversation require careful culture. Wit, Humor, Repartee, though to some extent natural gifts, may undoubtedly be improved, if not attained, by artificial training.

It is said that Sheridan, one of the most celebrated wits and conversationists of his day, prepared himself for convivial occasions, like an intellectual gladiator, ready to enter the lists in a valiant struggle for supremacy. He may be said to have made Conversation a Profession, to which he gave his whole attention, as did the celebrated youth who exceeded all his fellows in the tie of his neck-cloth, to that mysterious art!

Sheridan's practice was, to make brief notes, before going into society, of appropriate topics and witticisms for each occasion, upon which he relied for sustaining his reputation as a boon companion and accomplished talker. There is a good story told of his being exceedingly nonplussed, on some important occasion, by having his memoranda purloined by a friend, who, while waiting to accompany the wit to an entertainment to which both were invited, stole his thunder from his dressing-table, where it had been placed in readiness. The unlucky literary Boanerges was as powerless as Jupiter robbed of his bolts!

But if one would not desire preparation as elaborately artificial as that ascribed to this spoiled fondling of English aristocracy, there seems to be a propriety in making some mental, as well as external arrangements before entering society. Thus, passingly to reflect, while making one's toilet for such an occasion, upon the general character of the company one is to meet, and upon the subjects most appropriate for conversation with those with whom one will probably be individually associated, may not be amiss. Nor will it be unwise to recall such reminiscences of personal adventures, popular intelligence, etc., as the day may have furnished.

Happily, however, for those who distrust their power to surprise by erudition, or delight by wit, good-sense, accompanied by good-humor and courtesy, render their possessors the most enduringly agreeable of social and domestic companions. The favorites of society are usually those who wound no one's self-love, either by imposing upon others a painful sense of inferiority, or by rudeness, impertinence, or assumption. Few have sufficient magnanimity to forgive superiority, but good-nature and politeness need no excuse with any.

Wit, however racy, should never find a place in conversation when pointed at the expense of another, and, indeed, personalities, even when free from condemnation on this score, are usually in bad taste. People of sensibility and refinement are much more likely to be annoyed than gratified by being made the auditors of conversation, even when politely intended, which brings them into especial notice.

Hence, nothing requires more delicacy and tact than the language of compliment, which should always be carefully distinguished from that of mere flattery. The one is the expression of well-bred courtesy, the other is oppressive and embarrassing to all rightly constituted persons, and discreditable to the taste by which it is dictated.

As a general rule, it is better to talk of things than of persons, and William Penn's rule to "say nothing of others, unless you can say something good of them," should have no exception. Let nothing tempt you into the habit of indulging in gossip, scandal, and unmanly puerility—not even a good-natured desire to assimilate yourself to the companionship of temporary associates. In this respect, as in many others,

No conscientiously-enlightened man can reflect for a moment upon the heinousness of slander, or indeed of evil speaking when not allied with falsehood, without abhorrence; and yet, how few can assume that, in Heaven's High Chancery, there is no such dark record against them.

Permit me to remind you that a mere difference of intonation or of emphasis, in repeating conversational remarks, will sometimes suffice to convey a wholly erroneous impression to others, and that a mysterious glance, a nod, a shrug, a smile, may be made equivalent to the "offense of spoken words."

I have recommended the adoption of good, pure English as the most unexceptionable colloquial coin. Recurring to this point, let me express the opinion that the most pretentious, or erudite language, is not always that best adapted to the purposes of practical life. No one is bound to speak ungrammatically or incorrectly, even when communicating with the illiterate, but the simplest phraseology, as well as the most laconic, is often the most appropriate and expressive, under such circumstances.

Companionship with the educated justifies the use, without justly incurring the charge of pedantry, of every mode of conveying ideas that we are assured is intelligible to them. Thus classical scholars may use the learned languages, if they will, in mutual intercourse; and the popular and familiar words and phrases we have borrowed from the French, are often a convenient resource, under similar circumstances. All this is best regulated by good-breeding and taste. It is always desirable to err on the safe side, where there is a possibility of misapprehension, or of incurring the imputation of affectation, or of a love of display.

This last consideration, by the way, affords an additional incentive to the selection of such companionship as is best suited to elicit the exercise of conversational grace, and stimulate the mental cultivation upon which it must be based. In addition to this advantage, is that thus afforded of familiarizing one's self with the usages of those who may be regarded as models for the inexperienced. The modesty so becoming in the young, will inspire a wish to listen rather than talk; but—though to be an attentive and interested listener is one of the most agreeable and expressive of compliments—remember that practice, if judiciously directed, cannot be too soon attempted, to secure this desirable attainment.

These remarks, I am fully aware, have been desultory and digressive, but they were designed to be rather suggestive than satisfactory; and experimental knowledge will, I trust, more than compensate you for my conscious deficiencies. I will add only a general remark or two, and then no longer tax your patience.

The ladies—dear creatures!—are most prone, it must be admitted, to the use of exaggerated language, in conversation; with them the superlative form of the adjective will alone suffice for the full expression of feeling or opinion. But this peculiarity is by no means confined to those in whom enthusiasm and its natural expression are most becoming. The sterner sex are far from being exempt from this habit, which often involves looseness of thought, inaccuracy of statement, or positive untruthfulness. It is desirable, as a point of ethics, to practise care in this regard. Using the strongest forms of expression on ordinary occasions, leaves one no reserved corps of language for those requiring unusual impressiveness. Accuracy is the great essential, many times, in the choice of language. A clear idea, clearly and unequivocally expressed, is indicative of a good and well-disciplined intellect, each, as I have before intimated, the result of attention and practice.

Well-bred people are careful, when obliged to differ with others in conversation, to do so in polite language, and never to permit the certainty of being in the right to induce a dictatoral or assuming manner. When only a difference of opinion or of taste is involved, young persons, particularly, should scrupulously abstain from any appearance of obstinacy, or self-sufficiency, and defend their impressions, if at all, with a courteous deference to others. Usually, nothing is gained by argument in general society. No one is convinced, because no one wishes to be, and many persons, even when 'convinced, will argue still,' because unwilling, from wounded self-love, to admit it. Much acrimony of feeling is engendered in this way—pertinacity often causing an unpleasant conclusion to what was begun in entire good-feeling. No one is bound to renounce a claim to his individual rights in this respect, but modesty and courtesy will never sit ill upon the young, while steadfastly defending even a point of principle. "Never," said Mr.Madison, in an admirable letter of advice to a nephew, "never forget that, precisely in proportion as you differ from others in opinion, they differ with you." Let me add, that they who are honestly seeking knowledge and truth, will carefully review and re-weigh opinions, tastes, and principles in regard to which they find themselves differing essentially with those whom age, experience, and learning render their admitted superiors.

And if contradiction and opinionativeness are inadmissible in good society, at least equal taste and tact are required in conveying information to others. Some graceful phrase, some self-renouncing admission or explanation, which may secure you from the envy or dislike that wounded vanity might otherwise engender, should not be forgotten when circumstance or education give you an advantage over others in the intercourse of domestic or social life.

It is usually in bad taste to talk of one's self in general society. Humility of language, in this respect, may easily be interpreted into insincerity, and it is at least equally difficult, on the other hand, to avoid the imputation of egotism. Frankness with those to whom you are bound by the ties of friendship, will, many times, be the best proof you can give of the sincerity of your confidence and regard, but this will in no degree interfere with a certain self-abnegation in ordinary social intercourse. Politeness may dictate our being listened to with a semblance of interest, when our own health, affairs, adventures, or misfortunes are the subject of detailed discourse on our part, but the sympathy of the world is not easily enkindled, and pity is often mingled with contempt. People go into society to be amused, not to have their courtesy taxed by appeals to sensibilities upon which others have no claim. Carlyle has well said, "Silently swallow the chagrins of your position; every position has them." And it is so; but one's "private griefs" are not lessened by exposure, nor made more endurable by being constantly the theme, either of one's thoughts or conversation. Let me add that their legitimate use is to teach us a ready sympathy with the sorrows and trials of others, rather than a hardened self-engrossment.

While you endeavor, therefore, to

seek to excel in personal agreeability, not for the sake of superiority so much as to secure the means of giving pleasure to others, and of entitling yourself to the favorable regard of those whose society it is desirable to enjoy. Even the readiest admirers of wit may weary of the very brilliancy of its flashes, if the coruscations too constantly recur, as the eye tires of sheet-lightning, often repeated; but who will weary of geniality, amiability, and

"Good breeding, the blossom of good sense,"

any sooner than will the eye of the lambent light of fair Diana?

No single characteristic of conversation, perhaps, so universally commends the possessor to the favor of society, as cheerfulness. "A laugh," said an eminent observer of society, "is the best vocal music; it is a glee in which everybody can take part!" I remember, once, being for some weeks in a hotel with a number of invalids, one of whom, though a constant sufferer, always met me with a pleasant smile, and uttered his passing salutations in a voice cheery as a hunter's horn. Really, his simple "Good morning, Colonel Lunettes," was so replete with good-humor, courtesy, and cheerfulness, as to do one good like a cordial. It so impressed me that, at length, I responded, "Good morning, cheerful sir,—I believe you never fail to greet your friends in a manner that gives them pleasure." His pleasant smile grew pleasanter, and his bright eye brighter, as he replied—"I always make a principle of speaking cheerfully to the sick, especially—they, of all others, are most susceptible to outward impressions." "There is a world of philosophy, as well as of humanity, in what you say," returned I, "and I can personally testify to the good effects of your kindly habit."

But it is not alone the sick, the sad, or the sensitive who hail a cheerful companion with delight—these Human Sunbeams bring warmth and gladness to all—even the least susceptible feel the effects of their genial presence, almost unconsciously, and frequently seek and enjoy their conversation when even elegance and erudition would fail of attraction.

The same tact and self-respect that will preserve you from exhibitions of vanity and egotism, will dictate discrimination in the selection of topics of conversation, bearing upon matters of taste and sentiment, as well as of opinion and principle.—All affectation or assumption of superiority in this respect is offensive and worse than useless. Those with whom you have mental affinities will understand and appreciate you; but beware, especially if sensitively constituted, how you expose your sensibilities to the ridicule, or your principles to the professed distrust of those with whom, for any reason, you cannot measure colloquial weapons upon entirely equal terms.

On the contrary, again, no well-bred man ever rudely assails either the predilections or the principles of others in general society. This is no more the proper arena for intellectual conflicts than for political sparring, or theological disputes. Whatever tends to disturb the general harmony of a circle, or to give pain to any one present, is inexcusable, however truthful and important in the abstract, however wise or witty in itself considered, may be observations tending to either or both results.

This brings me to dwelling a moment upon a kindred point—the discourtesy sometimes exhibited by young men towards ladies and clergymen, in the use of equivocal language, and the introduction of exceptionable subjects in their hearing. Anything that will crimson the cheek of true womanhood, or invade the unconsciousness of innocence, is unworthy and unmanly, to a degree of which it is not easy to find language to express sufficient abhorrence. The defencelessness of the dependent sex, in this, as in all other respects, is their best protection with all who—

"Give the world assurance of a man!"

And the same shield is presented by those whose profession precludes their adopting the means of self-defence permitted to the world at large. Nothing can be more vulgar—setting aside the immorality of the thing—than to speak disrespectfully of religion, or of its advocates and professors, in society—what then shall be said of those who assail the ears of the acknowledged champions of Christianity with infidel sentiments, contemptuous insinuations, or profane expletives? Depend upon it, a man of the world, whatever his honest doubts, or unorthodox convictions, will be as little likely to present himself as a mark in regard to these matters for the suspicious distrust, or the palpable misapprehension of society, as to subject himself to the charges of extreme juvenility and low breeding by assailing a clergyman with ridicule, or a woman with libertinism, however exquisite may be his wit in the one case, or apparently refined his insinuations, in the other.

While recommending to your attention the selection of suitable and tasteful subjects of general conversation, I should not omit to remind you that nothing but acknowledged intimacy sanctions the manifestation of curiosity respecting the affairs of others. As a rule, direct questions are inadmissible in good society. Listen with politeness to what may be voluntarily communicated to you by your associates, regarding themselves, but on no account, indulge an impertinent curiosity in such matters; and when courtesy sanctions the manifestation of interest, express your desire for information in polite language, and with a half-apologetic manner, that will permit reserve, without embarrassment to either party. Let me add, that an uncalled-for exhibition of your familiarity with the private affairs of a friend, when his own presence and manner should furnish your proper clue to his wishes, is to prove yourself unworthy of his confidence. As well might one boast of his acquaintance with the great, or assume an unceremonious manner towards them, on unsuitable occasions. In either case, one is liable to the repulse sustained by an unfortunate candidate for fashionable distinction, who, approaching a member of English haut ton in the streets of London, said, "I believe I had the honor of knowing you in the country, sir."—"When we again meet in the country," was the reply, "I shall be pleased to renew the acquaintance!"

Quickness of repartee may be reckoned among the graces of the colloquial art, and those who are gifted with activity of intellect, and have acquired facility in the use of expressive language, should possess the power thus to embellish their social intercourse. Every one is now and then inspired in this way, I believe; but few persons, comparatively, even among the most practised conversationists, excel in this respect. How few, for instance, would have responded as readily, in an emergency, as did the half-drunk servant of Swift:

"Is my fellow here?" inquired the Dean, pushing open the door of a low tavern much frequented by his often-missing valet.

A nondescript figure came staggering forward, and stuttered out—"Your L-Lordship's f-a-l-l-o-w can't b-be f-found in all I-Ire-Ireland!"

I have lately met, somewhere in my reading, with the following anecdote of the elder Adams, as he is frequently called. I remember, at this moment no better illustration of ready repartee:

"How are you this morning, sir?" asked a friend who called to pay his respects to this patriotic son of New England, during the latter days of his life.

"Not well," replied the invalid; "I am not well. I inhabit a weak, frail, decayed tenement, open to the winds, and broken in upon by the storms, and what is worse, from all I can learn, the landlord does not intend to make repairs!"

A ready and graceful reply to a compliment, may, also, be regarded as a conversational embellishment. It is not polite to retort to the language of courtesy with a charge of insincerity, or of flattery. Playfulness frequently affords the best resource, or the retort courteous, as in Lord Nelson's celebrated reply to Lady Hamilton's questions of "Why do you differ so much from other men? Why are you so superior to the rest of your sex?" "If there were more Emmas, there would be more Nelsons." One may say, "I fear I owe your commendation to the partiality of friendship;" or, "I trust you may never be undeceived in regard to my poor accomplishments;" or, "Really, madam, your penetration enables you to make discoveries for me." Then again, to one of the lenient sex, one may reply—"Mrs.Blank sees all her friends through the most becoming of glasses—her own eyes." And to an older gentleman, who honors you with the fiat of a compliment, thus proving that it may sometimes be false that

"The vanquished have no friends,"

"Really, sir, I do not know whether I am most overwhelmed by admiration for your wit and politeness, or by gratitude for your kindness." Or some phrase like this will occasionally be appropriate—"I am afraid, sir, I shall plume myself too highly upon your good opinion. You do me much honor;" or, "It will be my devoir, as well as my happiness, for the future, to deserve your commendation, sir;" or, "You inspire as much as you encourage me, dear sir—if I possess any claim to your flattering compliment, you have yourself elicited it." To a compliment to one's wit, or the like, one may reply—"Dullness is always banished by the presence of Miss——;" or, "Who could fail to be, in some degree, at least, inspired in such a presence?" Then, again, a reply like this will suffice—"I am only too happy in being permitted to amuse you, madam."

Permit me in this connection, a few words respecting conversation with ladies. Though all mere silliness and twaddle should be regarded as equally unworthy of them and yourselves, yet, in general association with the fairest ornaments of creation, agreeability, rather than profundity, should be your aim, in the choice of topics. Sensitive, tasteful, refined,

their vividness of imagination and sportiveness of fancy demand similarity of intellectual gifts, or the graceful tribute of, at least, temporary assimilation. Playfulness, cheerfulness, versatility, and courtesy should characterize colloquial intercourse with ladies; but the deference due them should never degenerate into mere servile acquiescence, or mawkish sentimentality.

The utmost refinement of language and of matter should always be regarded as essential, under such circumstances, to the discourse of a well-bred man; and should, of course, distinguish his manner as well. Thus, all slang phrases, everything approaching to double entendre, all familiarity of address, unsanctioned by relationship or acknowledged intimacy, all mis-timed or unsanctioned use of nick-names and Christian names, are as inadmissible in good society as are personal familiarities, nudging, winking, whispering, etc.

Too much care cannot be taken in avoiding all subjects that may have the effect to wound or distress others. I think I have before remarked that people go into society for enjoyment—relaxation from the grave duties and cares of life—not to be depressed by the misanthropy of others, or disturbed by details of scenes of horror. I have known persons who had such a morbid taste for such things as always to insist upon reading aloud, even in the hearing of children and ladies, the frightful newspaper details of rail-road accidents and steamboat explosions. I remember, in particular, once having the misfortune to be acquainted with such a social incubus, to whom a death in the neighborhood was a regular God-send, and to whom the wholesale slaughter made by the collision of rail-cars served as colloquial capital for weeks—indeed until some provident body corporate supplied new material for his cormorant powers of mental digestion! His letters to distant friends were a regular bill of mortality, filled with minute accounts of the peculiar form of disease by which every old woman of his acquaintance was enabled to shuffle off this mortal coil, and of every accident that occurred in the country for miles around—from the sudden demise of a poor widow's cow, to the broken leg of a robber of bird's-nests! I shall never forget the revulsion of feeling he produced for me, one serene summer evening, as I was placidly strolling over the sands by the sea-shore, drinking in the glory of old Neptune's wide-spread realm, by inflicting upon me, not only himself—which was enough for mortal patience—but a long rigmarole about the great numbers of fishes washed upon the shore by a recent storm, who had had their eyes picked out by birds of prey, while still struggling for life in an uncongenial element! On another occasion, I had the misfortune to be present when a young lady was thrown into violent hysterics by his mentioning, with as much gusto as an inveterate "collector" would have exhibited in boasting the possession of a steak from the celebrated "antediluvian beef," immortalized by Cuvier,[13] that he had picked up a small foot with a lady's boot on it, while visiting the scene of a late rail-road accident!

But avoiding these aggravated forms of grossness is not enough. True politeness requires attention to the peculiarities of each of the company you are with—teaching, for instance, your abstaining from allusions to their personal defects or misfortunes, to the embarrassment of conversing with deaf persons, in the presence of those thus afflicted, to lameness, when some one present has lost a limb, to the peculiarities of age, in the hearing of elderly persons, to the vulgar impression that all lawyers are knaves, when one of the sons of that noble profession is among your auditors—to the murderous reputation of the disciples of Esculapius, etc. This rule will teach, too, the use of a less offensive term than that of "old maid," when speaking of women of no particular age, in the hearing of such as are by courtesy only, without the pale alluded to; and the propriety of not appealing to such authority in relation to matters of remote personal remembrance!

In no country with the social institutions of which I am familiar, do the peculiar opinions obtain, which prevail in this country respecting age. "Young America" regards every one as old, apparently, who has attained majority, and women, in particular, are subjected to a most unjust ordeal in this respect. The French have a popular saying that no woman is agreeable until she is forty; and in both France and England, marriage—which first entitles a young lady to a decided position in society—usually occurs at a much later period in her life than with us. In neither of those countries are girls brought out at an age when here they are frequently already mothers! But to return: nothing is more ill-bred, than this too frequent assumption of the claims of women to be exempt from social obligations and deprived of their proper places in society, in this country, while still retaining all their pristine claims to agreeability. Polished manners, cultivated tastes and personal attractions, are not to have their claims abrogated by Time. You remember the poet says:

I well remember being intensely chagrined by an exhibition of under-breeding in this way while making a morning visit, with a young countryman of ours, upon a beautiful English girl, a distant relative of his.

After discussing London fogs, and other kindred topics, Jonathan suddenly burst forth, as if suddenly inspired with a bright thought.

"How's the old lady?"

The largest pair of blue eyes, opening to their full extent, turned wonderingly upon the querist.

"Your mother,—is she well this morning?"

"Mamma is pretty well, thank you; but it is not possible that you regard her as old! Mamma is in the very prime of life, only just turned of five and forty! Dear mother! she is looking very pale and sad in her widow's cap, but we have never thought of her as old," and a shadow, like the sudden darkening of a fair landscape, dimmed those deep blue eyes and that fine forehead.

But enough upon this collateral point.

I trust you will need no argument to convince you of the vulgarity and immorality of permitting yourselves the practice of repeating private conversation. Nothing will more surely tend to deprive you of the respect and friendship of well-bred people, since nothing is more thoroughly understood in good society, than a tacit recognition of that essential security to social confidence and good-feeling which utterly interdicts the repetition of private conversation.

Let me only add to these rambling observations the assurance that a ready compliance with the wishes of others, in exercising any personal accomplishment, is a mark of genuine good-breeding.

---

During one of my visits to London, some years since, the Duke of —— invited me to run down with him, for a few days, to his magnificent estate in ——shire.

Riding one morning with my host and a numerous party of his guests, we paused to breathe our horses, and enjoy the fine prospect, upon the summit of a hill overlooking the wide-spread acres of his lordship.

"Here the estate of my neighbor, Mr.——, joins my land," said the Duke, pointing, with his riding-whip, towards a narrow, thickly-wooded valley, at our feet. "You catch a glimpse of his turrets through the oaks yonder. This spot always reminds me," pursued our host, laughing, "of an amusing incident of which it was the scene, years ago, when the family of my neighbor had not become as distinguished as it now is, among the philanthropists of the age. A young friend of ours, who was spending the shooting-season here with my sons, while eagerly pursuing his game, one morning, unconsciously trespassed upon the preserves of Mr.——. The report of his fowling-piece brought Mr.—— suddenly to his side, just as he was triumphantly bagging his bird. My excellent neighbor, with all his admirable qualities, is sometimes a little choleric, and you know, Col. Lunettes, [bowing and smiling] that nothing sooner rouses the ire of a true Englishman, than an invasion of the Game Laws."

"'Sir!' cried Mr.——, in a voice trembling with ill-suppressed fury, 'do you know that you are trespassing,—that these are my grounds?'

"My young guest was not permitted fully to explain, before the angry man again burst forth with a tirade, which he concluded, by asking—'What would you do yourself, sir, under such circumstances? How would you feel disposed to treat a gentleman who had encroached upon your rights in this way?'

"'Well, really, sir, since you ask me, I think I should invite him to go with me to the house and take a mouthful of lunch!'"This was irresistible! Even ——'s indignation was cooled by such inimitable sang froid, and he at once adopted the suggestion of the young sportsman. My witty guest not only secured the refreshment he needed, but, eventually, helped himself to a bonne bouche of more substantial character, by his marriage with one of the blooming daughters of my neighbor, to whom he was introduced on that memorable occasion!"

---

A young American of my acquaintance, met, not long since, in the salons of a distinguished Parisienne, one of the most learnedly scientific of the French authors of our times.

"I am as much surprised as I am delighted, to meet you here to-night, Mr.——," said my friend, "I supposed you too much occupied in profound research and study, to find time for such enjoyments."

"I am, indeed, much occupied at present," returned the savant; "but I can neither more agreeably nor more profitably spend a portion of my time than in the society of my refined and cultivated friend, Madame ——, and that of the intellectual and accomplished visitors I always meet at her house."

---

Speaking, in the body of this letter, of the uselessness of arguing with the hope of convincing others, reminded me, by association, of a little incident illustrative of my opinion, of which I was once a witness, during a summer sojourn at Avon Springs—a little quiet watering-place in the Empire State, as you may know.

There was a pleasant company of us, and our intercourse was agreeable and friendly—all, apparently, disposed to contribute to the general stock of amusement, and to make the most of our somewhat limited resources in the way of general entertainment. There were pretty daughters and managing mammas, heiresses, and ladies without fortune, who were quite as attractive as those whose fetters were of gold, the usual complement of brainless youths, antiquated bachelors and millionaire widowers (so reputed), with a sprinkling of nondescripts and old soldiers, like myself.

It was our custom to muster, in great force, every morning, and go in a mammoth omnibus from our hotel to the "Spring" to bathe and drink the delectable sulphur-water, there abounding. On these occasions, every one was good-humored, obliging, and cheerfully inclined to make sacrifices for the comfort and convenience of others. The ladies, especially, were the objects of particular care and courtesy, being always politely assisted up and down the high, awkward steps of our lumbering conveyance, with their bathing parcels, etc.

——"All went merry as a marriage bell,"

until one unlucky day when some theological point became matter of discussion between two men of opposite opinions, just as we were commencing our return-ride from the Spring. Others were soon drawn, first into listening, and then into a participation in the conversation, until almost every man in the company had betrayed a predilection for the distinctive tenets of some particular religious sect. Thus, Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, Congregationalists, Episcopalians, Unitarians, and Romanists stood revealed, each the ardent champion of his own peculiar views. The ladies had the good sense to remain silent, with the exception of an "Equal Rights" woman, whose wordy interposition clearly proved that

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread!"

Well! of course, no one was convinced by this sudden outbreak of varied eloquence of the fallacy of opinions he had previously entertained, and of the superior wisdom of those of any one of his companions. Indeed, so eager was each in the maintenance of his own ground, as scarcely to heed the arguments of his opponents, except as furnishing a fresh impulse for advancing his own with increasing pertinacity.

Presently, flushed cheeks, angry glances, and louder tones gave token that the meek spirit of the long-suffering Prince of Peace was not dominant in the breasts of these, the professed advocates of his doctrines. Rude language, too, gradually took the place of the professed courtesy with which the discussion had begun, and the ladies looked uneasily from the windows, as if to satisfy themselves that escape from such disagreeable association was near at hand. Happily for them, our Jehu, though unmindful of any particular occasion for haste, at length drew up before Comstock's portico. But, in place of the usual patient waiting of each for his turn to alight, and the usual number of extended hands that were wont to aid the ladies in their descent, every one of the angry combatants crowded hastily out of the vehicle, almost before it had fairly stopped, wholly disregardful alike of the toes of his neighbors and the claims before universally accorded to the gentler portion of our company, and hurried up the steps, apparently forgetful of everything except the uncomfortable chafings of wounded self-love! Each man, evidently, regarded himself as the most abused of mortals, and the rest as a parcel of obstinate fools, for whom it were a great waste of ammunition to assume the martyr's fate! And I am by no means sure, that the cheerful amicability that had before prevailed among us was ever fully restored after this unhappy outbreak of religious feeling!

---

The gayest of capitals experienced a sensation! The wittiest of circles, where all was wit, were, for once, content to listen only! The brave, the great, the learned, and the fair, contended for the smiles and the society of the Marquis de Plusesprit, the handsomest, the most accomplished, and the wittiest man in Paris!

One day, while this social furore was at its height, a celebrated physician received a professional visit from an unknown, whose pale cheeks and sunken eyes bore testimony to the suffering to which he described himself as being a prey. The man of science prepared a prescription, but assured his patient that what would most speedily effect his restoration was change of scene and agreeable society.

"Seek in congenial companionship relief from the mental anxiety by which you are evidently oppressed," said the modern Esculapius—"fly from study and self-contemplation;—above all, court the society of the Marquis de Plusesprit!"

"Alas! doctor," returned the stranger, "I am Plusesprit!"

---

Speaking of Repartee, reminds me of a pretty scene of which I was a witness, not long since, while ruralizing for a week with an old friend and his charming daughters, at their beautiful and hospitable home, on the banks of the Hudson. By the way, I have before introduced you to their acquaintance—the pleasant family of letter-writing memory!—

An elderly foreign gentleman, of large information and agreeable manners, but not one of fortune's favorites, had been dining with us, by special invitation, and the lovely daughters of my host had vied with each other in doing honor to one in whom sensitiveness may have been rendered a little morbid by the effect of the tyrant Circumstance. Every hour succeeding his arrival had served more effectually to melt away a certain constraint of manner, by which he seemed at first oppressed, and his expressive face grew bland and genial under the sunny influences of courteous respect and appreciation, until when he rose to go away at sunset, he seemed almost metamorphosed out of the man of the morning.

The sisters three, accompanied their agreeable visitor to the vine-draped veranda, where I was already seated, attracted by the beauty of the evening, and of my local surroundings. I had been particularly admiring a fine large orange-tree, at the entrance of the porch, which was laden with flowers and fruit, and, with glittering pearls from a shower just bestowed upon it by the gardener.

"Will you not come again, before Colonel Lunettes leaves us, Mr.——?" asked my sweet young friend Fanny, in her most cordial tones, linking her arm in that of one sister, and clasping the waist of the other, as she spoke, "we will invoke the Loves and Graces to attend you"——

"The Graces!" exclaimed the guest, quickly,—extending his hands towards the group, and bowing profoundly—"then you will come yourselves!—the Graces are before me!" And then he added, with a courtly air—"Really, MissFanny, you too highly honor a rusty old man"——

"An old man," interrupted Fanny, with the utmost vivacity, dissolving the "linked sweetness" that had intwined her with her sisters, and extending her beautiful arm towards the superb orange-tree before her, "an old man!—here is a fitting emblem of our friend Mr.——;—all the attractiveness of youth still mingled with the matured fruit of experience!"

Charming Fanny! God bless her!—she is one of those earth-angels whose manifold gifts seem used only to give happiness to others!

---

I called one evening, not long since, to pay my respects to the daughter of a recently-deceased and much-valued friend. She had been persuaded into a journey to a distant city, in search of the health and spirits that had been exceedingly impaired by watching beside the death-bed of her departed mother. Her appearance could scarcely fail, as it seemed to me, to interest the most insensible stranger to her history;—for myself, I was inexpressibly touched by the language of the colorless face and languid eyes to which a simple black robe lent additional meaning.

Just as I began to indulge a hope that the faint smile my endeavors at cheerful conversation had caused to flicker about her lips—as a rose-tint illumines for a moment the white summit of an Alpine height—there entered the drawing-room of our hostess a bevy of noisy women, young and old, who gathered about the sofa, where my friend and I were seated near our hostess, and rattled away like so many pieces of small (very small!) artillery.

I saw plainly that the mere noise was almost too much for the nerves of the silent occupant of the sofa corner; but what was my surprise at hearing them go into the most minute particulars respecting the recent death of a gentleman of our acquaintance! His dying words, his very death-struggles were carefully reported, and the grief of the survivors graphically described!

Unfortunately, having relinquished my seat beside the mourner to one of these women, I was powerless in my intense wish to attract her attention from the subject of their discourse; but my eyes were riveted upon her, with the keenest sympathy for the torture she must be undergoing. Her pale face had gradually grown white as a moonbeam, until, at length, as though strengthened by desperation, she sprang from her seat, and essayed to leave the room. One step forward, a half-stifled sob, and the slender form lay extended on the floor in hapless insensibility.

---

"While Mr.Smith is tuning his guitar, let us beg Mrs.Williams to redeem her promise of reciting Campbell's 'Last Man' for us," said a graceful hostess, mindful of the truth that some of her guests preferred eloquence and poetry to sweet sounds, and desirous, too, of drawing out the accomplishments of all her guests.

Mrs.Williams, gifted with

"The vision and the faculty divine,"

glanced a little uneasily at the ever-twanging guitar as she politely assented to the requests that eagerly seconded that of her hostess. Mr.Smith still continued to hum broken snatches of an air, twisting the screws of his instrument with complete self-engrossment, the while.

"I will not interrupt Mr.Smith," said the lady, in more expressive tones than were ever elicited from catgut by the efforts of that gentleman, moving with a step graceful as that of a gazelle to the other end of the room.

Our little circle gathered about her, and enjoyed, in an exquisite degree,

"The feast of reason, and the flow of soul,"

that so far surpasses the merely sensuous pleasure afforded by music, when not associated with exalted sentiment.

As the company broke into little groups, after thanking Mrs.Williams for the high gratification for which we were her debtors, I overheard Mr.Smith say, with a discontented air, to a youth with a "lovely moustache," who had "accompanied" him in his previous musical endeavors, "I'll never bring my instrument here again!"

At this critical moment, our hostess approached with a water-ice, as a propitiatory offering, and expressed the hope that the guitar was now renewed for action. The musician, with offended dignity, only condescended to reply, as he deposited his idol in a corner—

"Thank you, ma'am; I supposed your friends were fond of music!"

---

Discussing the mooted subject of beards one morning lately, with some sprightly young ladies of my acquaintance, the following specimen of quickness of repartee was elicited. I record it for your amusement.

"Among the ancients, I believe," said a fair girl, "a long, snowy beard was considered an emblem of the wisdom of the possessor."

"And how is it in modern times?" inquired another lady, "does wisdom keep pace, in exact proportion with length of beard?"

"No, indeed," exclaimed the first speaker, laughingly, "for,

---

What would an educated foreigner—Kossuth, for instance, who learned English by the study of Shakspeare—make of the following specimens of colloquial American language?

"Do tell, Jul," exclaimed a young lady, "where have you been marvelling to? You look like Time in the primer!"

"No you don't," returned the young lady addressed, "you can't come it over dis chil'!"

"No, no," chimed in a youth of the party, "you can't come it quite, MissLib! Don't try to poke fun at us!"

"You've all been sparking in the woods, I guess!"

"Oh, ho," laughed one of the speakers, "I thought you'd get it through your hair, at last—that's rich!"

"Why!" retorted the interlocutor, tartly, "do you think I don't know tother from which?"

"I think you 'know beans' as well as most Hoosiers," replied her particular admirer, in a tone of unmistakable blandishment.

"Everybody knows Jul's some pumpkins," admitted one of her fair companions.

"Come, Jul, rig yourself in a jiffy," said a bonny lassie, who had not yet spoken, "you are in for a spree!"

"What's in the wind—who's to stand the shot?" cautiously inquired the damsel addressed.

"We're bound on a spree, I tell you! You must be green to think we'll own the corn now! Come, fix up, immediately, if not sooner!" so saying, the energetic speaker seized her friend round the waist and gallopaded her out of the room.

Presently some one said, "Well, Jul and Lotty have made themselves scarce!—I——by George, it makes a fellow open his potato-trap to hang around waitin' so," and an expansive yawn attested the sincerity of this declaration.

"I could scare up my traps a heap sight quicker, I reckon, and tote 'em too, from here to the river, nigger fashion," rejoined a Southerner, of the group.

"Some chicken fixins and pie doins wouldn't be so bad—would they, though?" whispered a tall, Western man to his next neighbor.

"And a little suthin to wet your whistle, too," added another, overhearing the remark—"you're a trump, anyhow!"

"Then you do kill a snake, sometimes, Mr. Smith," inquired one of his auditors, smiling significantly.

"Does your anxious mother know you're out?" retorted Mr.Smith, twirling his fingers on his nose.

"Don't be wrathy, Smith—what's your tipple, old fellow?" put in one of the young men, soothingly stroking the broad shoulders of that interesting youth.

"You're E Pluribus—you're a brick," returned Mr.Smith, softening, "but where in thunder are those female women? They'ave sloped and given us the mitten, I spose"——

"You ain't posted up, my boy, if you think they'd given us the slip," answered his friend.

"By jingo! it takes the patience of all the world and the rest of mankind to dance attendance upon them—they ain't as peart as our gals o' wind!" cried Mr.Smith, in an ecstasy of impatience.

"How's your ma, Mr.John Smith?" inquired the merry voice of "Jul," who had entered unperceived, "you'd better dry up!"

"Here we are, let's be off," shouted a young gentleman.

"All aboard," echoed another.

"Now we'll go it with a rush!" burst from a third, and, suiting the action to the word, my dramatis personÆ vanished like the wind.

---

Having the happiness to pass a morning at the Louvre with my early and lamented friend, Washington Allston, he said to me, as arm in arm we sauntered slowly through one of the Galleries—"Come and study one of my particular favorites with me—one might as well attempt to taste all the nondescript dishes at a Chinese state-dinner as to enjoy every picture in a collection, at a single visit. I do not even glance at more than one or two, unless I know that I shall have months before me for renewing my inspection—better take away one distinct recollection, to add to one's private collection, than half a dozen confused, imperfect copies!"

I think it was a Murillo before which the artist paused while speaking; the celebrated work representing a monk, who had been interrupted by death while writing his own biography, as being permitted to return to earth to complete his self-imposed task. I am not sure but this picture, however, was added some years later to the treasures of the Louvre, by Napoleon—for we were both young men then—however, it matters not. I was quite as much occupied in observing the living picture before me, as that of the great master. And, though memory has proved somewhat treacherous, I still vividly recollect the spiritualized face of this true child of genius, as he contemplated the magnificent impersonation. His brow grew radiant, and his eye! ah, who shall portray that soul-lit eye, or justly record the poetic language that fell, almost unconsciously, from his half-inspired lips! Sacredly are they cherished among the hoarded memories of youthful friendship? It was only my purpose to recall for your benefit the opinion and practice of one so fully competent to advise in relation to our subject.

What Disraeli has somewhere said of eating, may, with equal nicety of epicureanism, be applied to the enjoyment of Ideal Art, and of that of which it is the type—natural beauty:—"To eat, really to eat," asserts the discriminatingly sensuous Jew, "one should eat alone, in an easy dress, by a soft light, and of a single dish at a time!" For myself—but there's no accounting for tastes!—I should desire on all such occasions,

"One fair spirit for my minister,"

or rather, for my sympathizing companion!

---

As an illustration of the advantage to a man in public life, of ready elocution and ready wit, let me sketch for you a little scene of which I was the amused and interested witness, one morning some months ago, while on a visit at Washington.

A Chaplain was to be elected for the House of Representatives. General Granger, of New York, proposed a Soldier of the Revolution as well as of the Cross—the Rev. Mr.Waldo—adding a few impressive facts in relation to his venerable and interesting friend—as that he was then in his ninety-fourth year, had borne arms for his country in his youth, etc.

Upon this, some member, upon the opposition benches, as the English say, called out:

"What are his claims? where did he serve?"

"The gentleman will permit me to refer him to the Pension Office," returned General Granger, with the most smiling urbanity; "he will there find the more satisfactory answer to his queries."

"What are Mr.Waldo's politics?"

"Though a most amiable gentleman and devout Christian, he belongs, sir, to—the Church Militant!"

"Is he a Filibuster?"

"Even so, sir! Mr.Waldo filibustered for the Old Thirteen, against George the Third, in the American Revolution!"

[13] Speaking in one of his public lectures, of the recent discovery (amid the eternal snows of Siberia, I think), of the carcass of a mastodon, upon which the hunting-dogs of the explorers had fed—"Thus," said the great naturalist, "did modern dogs gorge themselves upon antediluvian beef!"