THOUGHTS ON CONVERSATION.

It has been adviſed, and by very reſpectable authorities too, that in converſation women ſhould carefully conceal any knowledge or learning they may happen to poſſeſs. I own, with ſubmiſſion, that I do not ſee either the neceſſity or propriety of this advice. For if a young lady has that diſcretion and modeſty, without which all knowledge is little worth, ſhe will never make an oſtentatious parade of it, becauſe ſhe will rather be intent on acquiring more, than on diſplaying what ſhe has.

I am at a loſs to know why a young female is inſtructed to exhibit, in the moſt advantageous point of view, her ſkill in muſic, her ſinging, dancing, taſte in dreſs, and her acquaintance with the moſt faſhionable games and amuſements, while her piety is to be anxiouſly concealed, and her knowledge affectedly diſavowed, leſt the former ſhould draw on her the appellation of an enthuſiaſt, or the latter that of a pedant.

In regard to knowledge, why ſhould ſhe for ever affect to be on her guard, leſt ſhe ſhould be found guilty of a ſmall portion of it? She need be the leſs ſolicitous about it, as it ſeldom proves to be ſo very conſiderable as to excite aſtoniſhment or admiration: for, after all the acquiſitions which her talents and her ſtudies have enabled her to make, ſhe will, generally ſpeaking, be found to have leſs of what is called learning, than a common ſchool-boy.

It would be to the laſt degree preſumptuous and abſurd, for a young woman to pretend to give the ton to the company; to interrupt the pleaſure of others, and her own opportunity of improvement, by talking when ſhe ought to liſten; or to introduce ſubjects out of the common road, in order to ſhew her own wit, or expoſe the want of it in others: but were the ſex to be totally ſilent when any topic of literature happens to be diſcuſſed in their preſence, converſation would loſe much of its vivacity, and ſociety would be robbed of one of its moſt intereſting charms.

How eaſily and effectually may a well-bred woman promote the moſt uſeful and elegant converſation, almoſt without ſpeaking a word! for the modes of ſpeech are ſcarcely more variable than the modes of ſilence. The ſilence of liſtleſs ignorance, and the ſilence of ſparkling intelligence, are perhaps as ſeparately marked, and as diſtinctly expreſſed, as the ſame feelings could have been by the moſt unequivocal language. A woman, in a company where ſhe has the leaſt influence, may promote any ſubject by a profound and invariable attention, which ſhews that ſhe is pleaſed with it, and by an illuminated countenance, which proves ſhe underſtands it. Thiſ obliging attention iſ the most flattering encouragement in the world to men of ſenſe and letters, to continue any topic of inſtruction or entertainment they happen to be engaged in: it owed its introduction perhaps to accident, the beſt introduction in the world for a ſubject of ingenuity, which, though it could not have been formally propoſed without pedantry, may be continued with eaſe and good humour; but which will be frequently and effectually ſtopped by the liſtleſſneſs, inattention, or whiſpering of ſilly girls, whoſe wearineſs betrays their ignorance, and whoſe impatience expoſes their ill-breeding. A polite man, however deeply intereſted in the ſubject on which he is converſing, catches at the ſlighteſt hint to have done: a look is a ſufficient intimation, and if a pretty ſimpleton, who ſits near him, ſeems diſtraite, he puts an end to his remarks, to the great regret of the reaſonable part of the company, who perhaps might have gained more improvement by the continuance of ſuch a converſation, than a week's reading would have yielded them; for it is ſuch company as this, that give an edge to each other's wit, "as iron ſharpeneth iron."

That ſilence is one of the great arts of converſation is allowed by Cicero himſelf, who ſays, there is not only an art but even an eloquence in it. And this opinion is confirmed by a great modern[5], in the following little anecdote from one of the ancients.

When many Grecian philoſophers had a ſolemn meeting before the ambaſſador of a foreign prince, each endeavoured to ſhew his parts by the brilliancy of his converſation, that the ambaſſador might have ſomething to relate of the Grecian wiſdom. One of them, offended, no doubt, at the loquacity of his companions, obſerved a profound ſilence; when the ambaſſador, turning to him, aſked, "But what have you to ſay, that I may report it?" He made this laconic, but very pointed reply: "Tell your king, that you have found one among the Greeks who knew how to be ſilent."

There is a quality infinitely more intoxicating to the female mind than knowledge—this is Wit, the moſt captivating, but the moſt dreaded of all talents: the moſt dangerous to thoſe who have it, and the moſt feared by thoſe who have it not. Though it is againſt all the rules, yet I cannot find in my heart to abuſe this charming quality. He who is grown rich without it, in ſafe and ſober dulneſs, ſhuns it as a diſeaſe, and looks upon poverty as its invariable concomitant. The moraliſt declaims againſt it as the ſource of irregularity, and the frugal citizen dreads it more than bankruptcy itſelf, for he conſiders it as the parent of extravagance and beggary. The Cynic will aſk of what uſe it is? Of very little perhaps: no more is a flower garden, and yet it is allowed as an object of innocent amuſement and delightful recreation. A woman, who poſſeſſes this quality, has received a moſt dangerous preſent, perhaps not leſs ſo than beauty itſelf: eſpecially if it be not ſheathed in a temper peculiarly inoffenſive, chaſtiſed by a moſt correct judgment, and reſtrained by more prudence than falls to the common lot.

This talent is more likely to make a woman vain than knowledge; for as Wit is the immediate property of its poſſeſſor, and learning is only an acquaintance with the knowledge of other people, there is much more danger, that we ſhould be vain of what is our own, than of what we borrow.

But Wit, like learning, is not near ſo common a thing as is imagined. Let not therefore a young lady be alarmed at the acuteneſs of her own wit, any more than at the abundance of her own knowledge. The great danger is, leſt ſhe ſhould miſtake pertneſs, flippancy, or imprudence, for this brilliant quality, or imagine ſhe is witty, only becauſe ſhe is indiſcreet. This is very frequently the caſe, and this makes the name of wit ſo cheap, while its real exiſtence is ſo rare.

Lest the flattery of her acquaintance, or an over-weening opinion of her own qualifications, ſhould lead ſome vain and petulant girl into a falſe notion that ſhe has a great deal of wit, when ſhe has only a redundancy of animal ſpirits, ſhe may not find it uſeleſs to attend to the definition of this quality, by one who had as large a portion of it, as moſt individuals could ever boaſt:

But thoſe who actually poſſeſs this rare talent, cannot be too abſtinent in the uſe of it. It often makes admirers, but it never makes friends; I mean, where it is the predominant feature; and the unprotected and defenceleſs ſtate of womanhood calls for friendſhip more than for admiration. She who does not deſire friends has a ſordid and inſenſible ſoul; but ſhe who is ambitious of making every man her admirer, has an invincible vanity and a cold heart.

But to dwell only on the ſide of policy, a prudent woman, who has eſtabliſhed the reputation of ſome genius will ſufficiently maintain it, without keeping her faculties always on the ſtretch to ſay good things. Nay, if reputation alone be her object, ſhe will gain a more ſolid one by her forbearance, as the wiſer part of her acquaintance will aſcribe it to the right motive, which is, not that ſhe has leſs wit, but that ſhe has more judgment.

The fatal fondneſs for indulging a ſpirit of ridicule, and the injurious and irreparable conſequences which ſometimes attend the too prompt reply, can never be too ſeriouſly or too ſeverely condemned. Not to offend, is the firſt ſtep towards pleaſing. To give pain is as much an offence againſt humanity, as againſt good breeding; and ſurely it is as well to abſtain from an action becauſe it is ſinful, as becauſe it is impolite. In company, young ladies would do well before they ſpeak, to reflect, if what they are going to ſay may not diſtreſs ſome worthy perſon preſent, by wounding them in their perſons, families, connexions, or religious opinions. If they find it will touch them in either of theſe, I ſhould adviſe them to ſuſpect, that what they were going to ſay is not ſo very good a thing as they at firſt imagined. Nay, if even it was one of thoſe bright ideas, which Venus has imbued with a fifth part of her nectar, ſo much greater will be their merit in ſuppreſſing it, if there was a probability it might offend. Indeed, if they have the temper and prudence to make ſuch a previous reflection, they will be more richly rewarded by their own inward triumph, at having ſuppreſſed a lively but ſevere remark, than they could have been with the diſſembled applauſes of the whole company, who, with that complaiſant deceit, which good breeding too much authoriſes, affect openly to admire what they ſecretly reſolve never to forgive.

I have always been delighted with the ſtory of the little girl's eloquence, in one of the Children's Tales, who received from a friendly fairy the gift, that at every word ſhe uttered, pinks, roſes, diamonds, and pearls, ſhould drop from her mouth. The hidden moral appears to be this, that it was the ſweetneſs of her temper which produced this pretty fanciful effect: for when her malicious ſiſter deſired the ſame gift from the good-natured tiny Intelligence, the venom of her own heart converted it into poiſonous and loathſome reptiles.

A man of ſenſe and breeding will ſometimes join in the laugh, which has been raiſed at his expence by an ill-natured repartee; but if it was very cutting, and one of thoſe ſhocking ſort of truths, which as they can ſcarcely be pardoned even in private, ought never to be uttered in public, he does not laugh becauſe he is pleaſed, but becauſe he wiſhes to conceal how much he is hurt. As the ſarcaſm was uttered by a lady, ſo far from ſeeming to reſent it, he will be the firſt to commend it; but notwithſtanding that, he will remember it as a trait of malice, when the whole company ſhall have forgotten it as a ſtroke of wit. Women are ſo far from being privileged by their ſex to ſay unhandſome or cruel things, that it is this very circumſtance which renders them more intolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief to him who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which ſhot it was a fair one.

Many women, when they have a favourite point to gain, or an earneſt wiſh to bring any one over to their opinion, often uſe a very diſingenuous method: they will ſtate a caſe ambiguouſly, and then avail themſelves of it, in whatever manner ſhall beſt anſwer their purpoſe; leaving your mind in a ſtate of indeciſion as to their real meaning, while they triumph in the perplexity they have given you by the unfair concluſions they draw, from premiſes equivocally ſtated. They will alſo frequently argue from exceptions inſtead of rules, and are aſtoniſhed when you are not willing to be contented with a prejudice, inſtead of a reaſon.

In a ſenſible company of both ſexes, where women are not reſtrained by any other reſerve than what their natural modeſty impoſes; and where the intimacy of all parties authoriſes the utmoſt freedom of communication; ſhould any one inquire what were the general ſentiments on ſome particular ſubject, it will, I believe, commonly happen, that the ladies, whoſe imaginations have kept pace with the narration, have anticipated its end, and are ready to deliver their ſentiments on it as ſoon as it is finiſhed. While ſome of the male hearers, whoſe minds were buſied in ſettling the propriety, comparing the circumſtances, and examining the conſiſtencies of what was ſaid, are obliged to pauſe and diſcriminate, before they think of anſwering. Nothing is ſo embarraſſing as a variety of matter, and the converſation of women is often more perſpicuous, becauſe it is leſs laboured.

A man of deep reflection, if he does not keep up an intimate commerce with the world, will be ſometimes ſo entangled in the intricacies of intenſe thought, that he will have the appearance of a confuſed and perplexed expreſſion; while a ſprightly woman will extricate herſelf with that lively and "raſh dexterity," which will almoſt always pleaſe, though it is very far from being always right. It is eaſier to confound than to convince an opponent; the former may be effected by a turn that has more happineſs than truth in it. Many an excellent reaſoner, well ſkilled in the theory of the ſchools, has felt himſelf diſcomfited by a reply, which, though as wide of the mark, and as foreign to the queſtion as can be conceived, has diſconcerted him more than the moſt ſtartling propoſition, or the moſt accurate chain of reaſoning could have done; and he has borne the laugh of his fair antagoniſt, as well as of the whole company, though he could not but feel, that his own argument was attended with the fulleſt demonſtration: ſo true is it, that it is not always neceſſary to be right, in order to be applauded.

But let not a young lady's vanity be too much elated with this falſe applauſe, which is given, not to her merit, but to her ſex: ſhe has not perhaps gained a victory, though ſhe may be allowed a triumph; and it ſhould humble her to reflect, that the tribute is paid, not to her ſtrength but her weakneſs. It is worth while to diſcriminate between that applauſe, which is given from the complaiſance of others, and that which is paid to our own merit.

Where great ſprightlineſs is the natural bent of the temper, girls ſhould endeavour to habituate themſelves to a cuſtom of obſerving, thinking, and reaſoning. I do not mean, that they ſhould devote themſelves to abſtruſe ſpeculation, or the ſtudy of logic; but ſhe who is accuſtomed to give a due arrangement to her thoughts, to reaſon juſtly and pertinently on common affairs, and judiciouſly to deduce effects from their cauſes, will be a better logician than ſome of thoſe who claim the name, becauſe they have ſtudied the art: this is being "learned without the rules;" the beſt definition, perhaps, of that ſort of literature which is propereſt for the ſex. That ſpecies of knowledge, which appears to be the reſult of reflection rather than of ſcience, ſits peculiarly well on women. It is not uncommon to find a lady, who, though ſhe does not know a rule of Syntax, ſcarcely ever violates one; and who conſtructs every ſentence ſhe utters, with more propriety than many a learned dunce, who has every rule of Ariſtotle by heart, and who can lace his own thread-bare diſcourſe with the golden ſhreds of Cicero and Virgil.

It has been objected, and I fear with ſome reaſon, that female converſation is too frequently tinctured with a cenſorious ſpirit, and that ladies are ſeldom apt to diſcover much tenderneſs for the errors of a fallen ſiſter.

No arguments can juſtify, no pleas can extenuate it. To inſult over the miſeries of an unhappy creature is inhuman, not to compaſſionate them is unchriſtian. The worthy part of the ſex always expreſs themſelves humanely on the failings of others, in proportion to their own undeviating goodneſs.

And here I cannot help remarking, that young women do not always carefully diſtinguiſh between running into the error of detraction, and its oppoſite extreme of indiſcriminate applauſe. This proceedſ from the falſe idea they entertain, that the direct contrary to what is wrong muſt be right. Thus the dread of being only ſuſpected of one fault makes them actually guilty of another. The deſire of avoiding the imputation of envy, impels them to be inſincere; and to eſtabliſh a reputation for ſweetneſs of temper and generoſity, they affect ſometimes to ſpeak of very indifferent characters with the moſt extravagant applauſe. With ſuch, the hyperbole is a favourite figure; and every degree of compariſon but the ſuperlative is rejected, as cold and inexpreſſive. But this habit of exaggeration greatly weakens their credit, and deſtroys the weight of their opinion on other occaſions; for people very ſoon diſcover what degree of faith is to be given both to their judgment and veracity. And thoſe of real merit will no more be flattered by that approbation, which cannot diſtinguiſh the value of what it praiſes, than the celebrated painter muſt have been at the judgment paſſed on his works by an ignorant ſpectator, who, being aſked what he thought of ſuch and ſuch very capital but very different pieces, cried out in an affected rapture, "All alike! all alike!"

It has been propoſed to the young, as a maxim of ſupreme wiſdom, to manage ſo dexterouſly in converſation, as to appear to be well acquainted with ſubjects, of which they are totally ignorant; and this, by affecting ſilence in regard to thoſe, on which they are known to excel.—But why counſel this diſingenuous fraud? Why add to the numberleſs arts of deceit, this practice of deceiving, as it were, on a ſettled principle? If to diſavow the knowledge they really have be a culpable affectation, then certainly to inſinuate an idea of their ſkill, where they are actually ignorant, is a moſt unworthy artifice.

But of all the qualifications for converſation, humility, if not the moſt brilliant, is the ſafeſt, the moſt amiable, and the moſt feminine. The affectation of introducing ſubjects, with which others are unacquainted, and of diſplaying talents ſuperior to the reſt of the company, is as dangerous as it is fooliſh.

There are many, who never can forgive another for being more agreeable and more accompliſhed than themſelves, and who can pardon any offence rather than an eclipſing merit. Had the nightingale in the fable conquered his vanity, and reſiſted the temptation of ſhewing a fine voice, he might have eſcaped the talons of the hawk. The melody of his ſinging was the cauſe of his deſtruction; his merit brought him into danger, and his vanity coſt him his life.