Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 738, February 16, 1878

No. 738.
Price 1½ d.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1878.
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.