That conversation may answer the ends for which it was designed, the parties who are to join in it must come together with a determined resolution to please, and to be pleased. If a man feels that an east wind has rendered him dull and sulky, he should by all means stay at home till the wind changes, and not be troublesome to his friends; for dulness is infectious, and one sour face will make many, as one cheerful countenance is soon productive of others. If two gentlemen desire to quarrel, it should not be done in a company met to enjoy the pleasures of conversation. It is obvious, for these reasons, that he who is about to form a conversation party should be careful to invite men of congenial minds, and of similar ideas respecting the entertainment of which they are to partake, and to which they must contribute.
With gloomy persons, gloomy topics likewise should be (as indeed they will be) excluded, such as ill health, bad weather, bad news, or forebodings of such, &c. To preserve the temper calm and pleasant, it is of unspeakable importance that we always accustom ourselves thro" life to make the best of things, to view them on their bright side, and to represent them to others, for our mutual comfort and encouragement. Few things (especially if, as christians, we take the other world into account) but have a bright side; diligence and practice will easily find it. Perhaps there is no circ.u.mstance better calculated than this to render conversation equally pleasing and profitable.
In the conduct of it, be not eager to interrupt others, or uneasy at being yourself interrupted; since you speak either to amuse or instruct the company, or to receive those benefits from it. Give all, therefore, leave to speak. Hear with patience, and answer with precision.
Inattention is ill manners; it shews contempt; contempt is never forgiven.
Trouble not the company with your own private concerns, as you do not love to be troubled with those of others. Yours are as little to them, as theirs are to you. You will need no other rule whereby to judge of this matter.
Contrive, but with dexterity and propriety, that each person may have an opportunity of discoursing on the subject with which he is best acquainted. He will be pleased, and you will be informed. By observing this rule, every one has it in his power to a.s.sist in rendering conversation agreeable; since, though he may not choose or be qualified, to say much himself, he can propose questions to those who are able to answer them.
Avoid stories, unless short, pointed, and quite _a-propos_. He who deals in them, says Swift, must either have a very large stock, or a good memory, or must often change his company. Some have a set of them strung together like onions; they take possession of the conversation by an early introduction of one; and then you must have the whole rope; and there is an end of every thing else, perhaps, for that meeting, though you may have heard all twenty times before.
Talk _often_ but not _long_. The talent of haranguing in private company is insupportable. Senators and barristers are apt to be guilty of this fault; and members, who never harangue in the house, will often do it out of the house. If the majority of the company be naturally silent, or cautious, the conversation will flag, unless it be often renewed by one among them who can start new subjects. Forbear, however, if possible, to broach a second before the first is out, lest your stock should not last, and you should be obliged to come back to the old barrel. There are those who will repeatedly cross upon, and break into the conversation with a fresh topic, till they have touched upon all, and exhausted none. conomy here is necessary for most people.
Laugh not at your own wit and humour; leave that to the company.
When the conversation is flowing in a serious and useful channel, never interrupt it by an ill-timed jest. The stream is scattered, and cannot be again collected.
Discourse not in a whisper, or half voice, to your next neighbour. It is ill breeding, and, in some degree, a fraud; conversation-stock being, as one has well observed, a joint and common property.
In reflexions on absent people, go no farther than you would go if they were present. "I resolve," says bishop Beveridge, "never to speak of a man"s virtues to his face, nor of his faults behind his back;" a golden rule! the observation of which would, at one stroke, banish flattery and defamation from the earth.
THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION; _OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A._ Unfolding Many Curious Unknown Historical Facts.
_Translated from the German of Tsc.h.i.n.k._
(Continued from page 147.)
I thanked him, and when he was going to leave me, asked him, "how does our royal hermit do?"
"He----is well, and you shall hear from him as soon as the Duke of B----a shall have dispossessed the King of Sp---n of the throne of P---t------."
"But my old friend------"
"Will soon press you again to his bosom."
"And Amelia?"
"Considering the terms on which you already are with her, you will not be in want of the a.s.sistance of my power." So saying, he took, a friendly leave of me.
It was indeed high time that the Irishman released me from my engagement, for my stay at Mad---d began so grow extremely irksome to me. An irresistible power urged me to return to her who had inthralled me with magic bonds. My separation from her, and the letters I received from the dear woman, had heated my pa.s.sion to the highest degree. Her letters, breathing nothing but tenderness and affection, were indeed entirely dest.i.tute of that fiery impetuosity of love which characterised mine; however, this was just adding fuel to the flame, which consumed me. I felt that I could not live without her. She did not indeed encourage my hope of getting possession of her hand, yet she did not repel it entirely, and several hints which Lady Delier had given me, served to support it. I was already computing with rapture the effect which my unexpected arrival would produce on Amelia, and made the necessary preparation, for my return to her without apprising her of it; however, my soul preceded these preparations, and only the lesser part of it was remaining at Mad---d; no wonder therefore, that the letters of my father, and the Marquis of Ferei*a, which recalled me to Port----l, had no effect upon me.
"I cannot divine," the Marquis wrote to me, "what may have induced your father to return this year to the capital much earlier than usual.
However, I can tell you that you will scarcely know him again when you shall see him. Ever since he pretends to have seen the ghost of Count Santeval, he is changed most wonderfully. He is in a state of utter apathy, gloomy and reserved, and I may truly say, superst.i.tious. He avoids, since his late illness, as much as decency will permit, all conversation, even mine. There is but one person who has free access to him, and seems to have possessed himself entirely of his confidence. Let me give you a description of that man.
"Imagine to yourself an elderly man above the middle size, with a long, thin face, a yellow complexion, a strongly-furrowed brow, hollow, small, and red eyes, and staring, almost deadened features, which, when he smiles, changes into a kind of grinning. This physiognomy, of which no faithful verbal description can be given, and which has been stamped in a most unfavourable manner by nature"s forming hand, is softened by an affected air of piety; however, if examined minutely and narrowly, peeps with increased horrors through the borrowed veil. This countenance appears to me like a dreadful mystery, and I cannot behold it without secret terror. The _tout ensemble_ of that man exactly fits this head---a sneaking gait--a stooping neck--a grey coat---but you must and will see him yourself. I hate him from the bottom of my soul, and think that he is not capable of a good action, and that his mere presence must be sufficient to dispel even from the hearts of others every n.o.ble sentiment. It would be a mystery to me, how your father can converse with him, if I did not know that he has been blinded by his hypocrisy and devout discourses. That man (he calls himself _Alumbrado_) pretends to be regenerated, and talks a great deal of the gifts of supernatural light. Your father, who takes for sterling truth whatever comes from his lips, seems to be more charmed with him every day. O hasten, my friend, to deliver your father from this ign.o.ble, and, as I fear, dangerous enchantment. I think that an emotion like that which the sight of you after so long a separation, must cause in the mind of your father will be necessary to rouse from his apathy, &c. &c. &c."
My situation rendered this letter, as I have already mentioned, ineffectual. The apprehensions of the Marquis appeared to me exaggerated; his unfavourable judgment of Alumbrado, originating from physiognomical reasons, unjust, and uncharitable, and my father old and sensible enough to see and avoid the danger, if any should be existing.
I deemed the return to the Countess much more pressing than the journey to P--------l, took leave of Oliva*z and Suma*ez, a.s.suring them that the affair concerning the Duke of B----a had been pushed to a point where it soon would come to a crisis without our a.s.sistance. They were of the same opinion, and dismissed me in a very obliging manner.
I had already made every preparation for setting out the next morning, when a letter from Amelia and Lady Delier defeated my design. The former informed me that a pressing letter from her uncle, who was on the brink of eternity, and desired to see her once more before his death, rendered it necessary for her to hasten to Cadiz. In the letter of the Baroness, which, amongst others, contained the direction of the Countess at Cadiz, the portrait of Amelia was enclosed.
Amelia"s portrait! the image of those heavenly charms, the contemplation of which would afford delight even to angels, and the lifeless imitation of which filled my soul with rapture. O! with what an unspeakable delight did my entranced eyes imbibe them! how did the sight of him recall to my enraptured bosom all those sweet emotions which the presence of the original had formerly excited in my breast.
This softened the blow which repelled me so suddenly from the port of happiness which I fancied I had almost reached. Alas! this blow inflicted a deep wound on my heart, which at once found all the sweet presentments of meeting again changed into the nameless throes of a new separation. However, the sight of the picture representing to me the absent darling of my heart, and the secret meaning of that gift gave me some comfort, and inspired me with new hopes. Who else but my Amelia could have sent me that present? Her letter did, indeed contain only a few distant hints, and the picture was enclosed in that of Lady Delier; yet this did not misguide me, for I was too well acquainted with Amelia"s delicacy. I resolved now to return to my father, and to prepare him for my union with the Countess.
I acted wisely in surprising him by my sudden arrival, for otherwise he would, probably, not have received me with that kindness to which my unexpected appearance impelled him. No sooner were the first moments of mutual fondness past, when he said, with apparent coldness, "the world must have had very irresistible charms for you?"
"The charms of novelty, my dear father."
"It must have been very painful to you to return to your paternal house; for it seems you had almost forgot your way homeward."
"I had much to see, and have experienced a great deal!"
"I do not doubt it; you have had very little leisure for thinking of your father."
I endeavoured to refute his reproach which I had expected, and succeeded pretty well. The Marquis grew warmer and more affectionate; he enquired after my tutor and Count Clairval. It seemed to wound him deeply that I could give no satisfactory account of the former. With regard to the latter, I told him that important family affairs had called him from me unexpectedly.
My father appeared then not to be in a favourable disposition for listening to an account of my connection with the Countess, and how strongly soever the impulse of my heart pressed me to speak on that subject, yet prudence advised me to wait for a more favourable opportunity. The following morning appeared to me propitious for that purpose. My father was very cheerful, and I contrived being surprised by him with Amelia"s picture in my hand.
"What have you there?" he asked me.
"The picture of the Dowager Countess of Clairval."
"How far is she related to your travelling companion?"
"She was married to his brother."
"So young, and already a widow?" said he, looking at the picture; "I should have mistaken it for the picture of a girl of seventeen years.
However, the painters are used to flatter."
"I a.s.sure you, the original possesses numberless charms which have escaped the artist."
"Then the Countess must be extremely handsome."
"She is an angel."
"The face is more interesting than handsome."
"Handsome and interesting to a high degree."
"You are in love with her."
"My father--"