RULES FOR CONVERSATION.
I. Avoid affectation.—Instead of making you appear to better advantage, it will only expose you to ridicule.
II. Avoid low expressions.—There is a dialect peculiar to low people, which you cannot imitate without appearing as if you were yourself low-bred.
III. Avoid provincialisms.—There are certain expressions peculiar to particular sections of the country. For example, in New England, many people are in the habit of interlarding their conversation with the phrase, “You see.” In Pennsylvania and New York, the same use is made of “You know.” And in the West and South, phrases peculiar to those sections of the country are still more common and ludicrous. Avoid all these expressions, and strive after a pure, chaste, and simple style.
IV. Avoid all ungrammatical expressions.
V. Avoid unmeaning exclamations, as, “O my!” “O mercy!” &c.
VI. Never speak unless you have something to say.—“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.”
VII. Avoid prolixity.—Make your language concise and perspicuous, and strive not to prolong your speech beyond what is necessary, remembering that others wish to speak as well as yourself. Be sparing of anecdote; and only resort to it when you have a good illustration of some subject before the company, or when you have a piece of information of general interest. To tell a story well, is a great art. To be tedious and prolix in story-telling, is insufferable. To avoid this, do not attempt to relate every minute particular; but seize upon the grand points. Take the following specimen of the relation of the same incident by two different persons:—“You see, I got up this morning, and dressed myself, and came down stairs, and opened the front door; and O, if it didn’t look beautiful! For, you see, the sun shone on the dew,—the dew, you know, that hangs in great drops on the grass in the morning. Well, as the sun shone on the dewdrops, it was all sparkling, like so many diamonds; and it looked so inviting, you see, I thought I must have a walk. So, you see, I went out into the street, and got over the fence,—the fence, you know, the back side of the barn. Well, I got over it, and walked into the grove, and there I heard the blue jay, and cock-robin, and ever so many pretty birds, singing so sweetly. I went along the foot-path to a place where there is a stump,—the great stump, you know, James, by the side of the path. Well, there,—O, my!—what should I see, but a gray squirrel running up a tree!”
How much better the following:—“Early this morning, just as the sun was peeping over the hill, and the green grass was all over sparkling with diamonds, as the sun shone upon the dewdrops, I had a delightful walk in the grove, listening to the sweet music of the birds, and watching the motions of a beautiful gray squirrel, running up a tree, and hopping nimbly from branch to branch.” Here is the story, better told, in less than half the words.
Never specify any particulars which would readily be understood without. In the relation of this incident, all the circumstances detailed in the first specimen, previous to entering the grove, are superfluous; for if you were in the grove early in the morning, you could not get there without getting out of your bed, dressing yourself, opening the door, going into the street, and getting over the fence. The moment you speak of being in the grove early in the morning, the mind of the hearer supplies all these preliminaries; and your specifying them only excites his impatience to get at the point of your story. Be careful, also, that you never relate the same anecdote the second time to the same company; neither set up a laugh at your own story.
VIII. Never interrupt others while they are speaking. Quietly wait till they have finished what they have to say, before you reply. To interrupt others in conversation is very unmannerly.
IX. You will sometimes meet with very talkative persons, who are not disposed to give you a fair chance. Let them talk on. They will be better pleased, and you will save your words and your feelings.
X. Avoid, as much as possible, speaking of yourself.—When we meet a person who is always saying I, telling what he has done, and how he does things, the impression it gives us of him is unpleasant. We say, “He thinks he knows every thing, and can teach every body. He is great in his own eyes. He thinks more of himself than of every body else.” True politeness leads us to keep ourselves out of view, and show an interest in other people’s affairs.
XI. Endeavor to make your conversation useful.—Introduce some subject which will be profitable to the company you are in. You feel dissatisfied when you retire from company where nothing useful has been said. But there is no amusement more interesting, to a sensible person, than intelligent conversation upon elevated subjects. It leaves a happy impression upon the mind. You can retire from it, and lay your head upon your pillow with a quiet conscience.
[CHAPTER XXVI.]
INQUISITIVENESS.
The inhabitants of New England have the reputation of being inquisitive to a fault; and perhaps with some justice. This disposition grows out of a good trait of character, carried to an extreme. It comes from a desire after knowledge. But this desire becomes excessive, when exercised with reference to matters which it does not concern us to know. When it leads us to pry into the concerns of others, from a mere vain curiosity, it becomes a vice. There are some people who can never be satisfied, till they see the inside of every thing. They must know the why and the wherefore of every thing they meet with. I have heard an amusing anecdote of this sort. There was a man who had lost his nose. A Yankee, seeing him, desired to know how so strange a thing had happened. After enduring his importunity for some time, the man declared he would tell him, if he would promise to ask him no more questions; to which the other agreed. “Well,” said the man, “it was bit off.” “Ah,” replied the Yankee, “I wish I knew who bit it off!” This is a fair specimen of the morbid appetite created by excessive inquisitiveness.
When inquisitiveness goes no farther than a strong desire to obtain useful information, and to inquire into the reason of things, or when it desires information concerning the affairs of others from benevolent sympathy, then it is a valuable trait of character. But when the object is to gratify an idle curiosity, it is annoying to others, and often leads the person who indulges it into serious difficulty. And the more it is indulged, the more it craves. If you gratify this disposition till it grows into a habit, you will find it very difficult to control. You will never be able to let any thing alone. You will want to look into every drawer in the house; to open every bundle that you see; and never be satisfied till you have seen the inside of every thing. This will lead you into temptation. It can hardly be supposed that one who is so anxious to see every thing should have no desire to possess the things that are seen. Thus, what began in curiosity may end in coveting and thieving. But if it does not lead you so far astray as this, it will bring you into serious difficulty with your parents, or your friends whose guest you are; for they will not be satisfied to have their drawers tumbled, packages opened, and every nice article fingered. This disposition, too, will lead you to inquire into the secrets of your friends; and this will furnish a temptation to tattling. What you have been at such pains to obtain, you will find it difficult to keep to yourself. You will want to share the rare enjoyment with others. And when the story comes round to your friend or companion, whose confidence you have betrayed, you will, to your great chagrin and mortification, be discarded. A delicate sense of propriety will lead you to avoid prying too closely into the affairs of others. You will never do it from mere curiosity. But if any of your friends so far make you a confidant as to lead you to suppose that they need your sympathy or aid, you may, in a delicate manner, inquire farther, in order to ascertain what aid you can render. You may, also, make some general inquiries of strangers, in order to show an interest in their affairs. But beyond this, you cannot safely indulge this disposition.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
ON THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ABLE TO SAY NO.
It often requires great courage to say NO. But by being able promptly, on occasion, to utter this little monosyllable, you may save yourself a deal of trouble. If mother Eve had known how to say no, she might have saved herself and her posterity from ruin. And many of her children, who have lost their character and their all, might have been saved, if they had only had courage promptly to say NO. Your safety and happiness depend upon it.
You are importuned by some of your companions to engage in some amusement, or to go on some excursion, which you know to be wrong. You resolutely and promptly say NO, at the outset, and there is the end of it. But if you hesitate, you will be urged and importuned, until you will probably yield; and having thus given up your own judgment, and violated your conscience, you will lose your power of resistance, and yield to every enticement.
Joseph has cultivated decision of character. He never hesitates a moment when any thing wrong is proposed. He rejects it instantly. The consequence is, his companions never think of going to him, when they have any mischievous scheme on foot. His prompt and decisive NO they do not wish to encounter. His parents can trust him any where, because they have no fears of his being led astray. And this relieves them of a load of anxiety.
Reuben is the opposite of this. He wishes to please every body, and therefore has not courage to say no to any. He seems wholly unable to resist temptation. He is, therefore, always getting into difficulty,—always doing something that he ought not, or going to some improper place, or engaging in some improper diversions, through the enticement of his companions. His parents scarcely dare trust him out of their sight, they are so fearful that he will be led astray. He is thus a source of great anxiety to them, and all because he cannot say NO.
Now, let me beg of you to learn to say NO. If you find any difficulty in uttering it,—if your tongue won’t do its office, or if you find a “frog in your throat,” which obstructs your utterance,—go by yourself, and practise saying no, NO, NO! till you can articulate clearly, distinctly, and without hesitation; and have it always ready on your tongue’s end, to utter with emphasis to every girl or boy, man or woman, or evil spirit, that presumes to propose to you to do any thing that is wrong. Only be careful to say it respectfully and courteously, with the usual prefixes and suffixes, which properly belong to the persons to whom you are speaking.
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
ON BEING USEFUL.
Can you find any thing, in all the works of Nature, which is not made for some use? The cow gives milk, the ox labors in the field, the sheep furnishes wool for clothing, and all of them provide us with meat. The horse and the dog are the servants of man. Every animal,—every little insect,—has its place, and its work to perform, carrying out the great design of its Creator. And so it is with the inanimate creation. The earth yields its products for the use of man and beast; and the sun, and the air, and the clouds, (each in turn,) help forward the work. And to how many thousand uses do we put the noble, stately tree! It furnishes houses for us to live in, furniture for our convenience, fuel to make us warm, ships to sail in, and to bring us the productions of other lands. It yields us fruit for food, and to gratify our taste. And so you may go through all the variety of animal and vegetable life, and you will find every thing designed for some use. And, though there may be some things of the use of which you are ignorant, yet you will find every thing made with such evidence of design, that you cannot help thinking it must have been intended for some use.
Now, if every thing in creation is designed for some use, surely you ought not to think of being useless, or of living for nothing. God made you to be useful; and, to answer the end of your being, you must begin early to learn to be useful. “But how can I be useful?” you may ask. “I wish to be useful. I am anxious to be qualified to fill some useful station in life,—to be a missionary or a teacher, or in some other way to do good. But I do not see what good I can do now.” Though you may not say this in so many words, yet I have no doubt that such thoughts may often have passed through your mind. Many people long to be useful, as they suppose, but think they must be in some other situation, to afford them the opportunity. This is a great mistake. God, who made all creatures, has put every one in the right place. In the place where God has put you, there you may find some useful thing to do. Do you ask me what useful thing you can do? You may find a hundred opportunities for doing good, and being useful, every day, if you watch for them. You can be useful in assisting your mother; you can be useful in helping your brothers and sisters; you can be useful in school, by supporting the authority of your teacher, and by being kind and helpful to your playmates. If you make it the great aim of your life to be useful, you will never lack opportunities.
I have seen young persons, who would take great delight in mere play or amusement; but the moment they were directed to do any thing useful, they would be displeased. Now, I do not object to amusement, in its proper place; for a suitable degree of amusement is useful to the health. But pleasure alone is a small object to live for; and if you attempt to live only to be amused, you will soon run the whole round of pleasure, and become tired of it all. But if you make it your great object to be useful, and seek your chief pleasure therein, you will engage in occasional amusement with a double relish. No one can be happy who is not useful. Pleasure soon satiates. One amusement soon grows gray, and another is sought; till, at length, they all become tasteless and insipid.
Let it be your object, then, every day of your life, to be useful to yourself and others. In the morning, ask yourself, “What useful things can I do to-day? What can I do that will be a lasting benefit to myself? How can I make myself useful in the family? What can I do for my father or mother? What for my brothers or sisters? And what disinterested act can I perform for the benefit of those who have no claim upon me?” Thus you will cultivate useful habits and benevolent feelings. And you will find a rich return into your own bosom. By making yourself useful to every body, you will find every one making a return of your kindness. You will secure their friendship and good will, as well as their bounty. You will find it, then, both for your interest and happiness to BE USEFUL.
[CHAPTER XXIX.]
ON BEING CONTENTED.
The true secret of happiness is, to be contented. “Godliness,” says the apostle Paul, “with contentment, is great gain.” These two are great gain, because, without them, all the gain in the world will not make us happy. Young people are apt to think, if they had this thing or that, or if they were in such and such circumstances, different from their own, they would be happy. Sometimes they think, if their parents were only rich, they should enjoy themselves. But rich people are often more anxious to increase their riches than poor people are to be rich; and the more their artificial wants are gratified, the more they are increased. “The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.” Solomon was a great king, so rich that he was able to get whatever his heart desired. He built great palaces for himself; he filled them with servants; he treasured up gold and silver; he bought gardens, and vineyards, and fields; he bought herds of cattle, with horses and carriages; he kept men and women singers, and players on all sorts of instruments; whatever his eyes desired he kept not from them; he withheld not his heart from any joy; but with it all he was not satisfied. He called it all “vanity and vexation of spirit.” So you may set your heart at rest, that riches will not make you happy. Nor would you be any more happy, if you could exchange places with some other persons, who seem to you to have many more means of enjoyment than yourself. With these things that dazzle your eyes, they have also their trials; and if you take their place, you must take the bitter with the sweet.
But young people sometimes think, if they were only men and women, and could manage for themselves, and have none to control them, then they would certainly be happy, for they could do as they please. But in this they are greatly mistaken. There will then be a great increase of care and labor; and they will find it more difficult to do as they please than they do now. If they have none to control them, they will have none to provide for them. True, they may then manage for themselves; but they will also have to support themselves. Those who have lived the longest, generally consider youth the happiest period of life, because it is comparatively free from trouble and care, and there is more time for pleasure and amusement.
But there is one lesson, which, if you will learn it in youth, will make you happy all your days. It is the lesson which Paul had learned. You know that he suffered great hardships in travelling on foot, in various countries, to preach the gospel. He was often persecuted, reviled, defamed, beaten, and imprisoned. Yet he says, “I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” There are several things which should teach us this lesson. In the first place, God, in his holy providence, has placed us in the condition where we are. He knows what is best for us, and what will best serve the end for which he made us; and of all other situations, he has chosen for us the one that we now occupy. Who could choose so well as he? And then, what can we gain by fretting about it, and worrying ourselves for what we cannot help? We only make ourselves unhappy. Moreover, it is very ungrateful and wicked to complain of our lot, since God has given us more and better than we deserve. It is better to look about us, and see how many things we have to be thankful for; to look upon what we have, rather than what we have not. This does not, indeed, forbid our seeking to improve our condition, provided we do it with submission to the will of God. We ought to use all fair and lawful means to this end; but not in such a spirit of discontent and repining, as will make us miserable if we are disappointed. If you desire to be happy, then, BE CONTENTED.
[CHAPTER XXX.]
UNION OF SERIOUS PIETY WITH HABITUAL CHEERFULNESS.
It is a mistake often made by young people, to associate religion with a downcast look, a sad countenance, and an aching heart. Perhaps the mistakes of some good people, in putting on a grave and severe aspect, approaching even to moroseness, may have given some occasion for this sentiment. I do not know, indeed, how prevalent the sentiment is among the young. I can hardly think it is common with those who are religiously educated. As for myself, I well remember that, in my childhood, I thought true Christians must be the happiest people in the world. There is no doubt, however, that many pleasure-loving young people do look upon religion with that peculiar kind of dread which they feel of the presence of a grave, severe maiden aunt, which would spoil all their pleasure. And, I do not deny, that there are certain kinds of pleasure which religion spoils; but then it first removes the taste and desire for them, after which the spoliation is nothing to be lamented. It is true, also, that there are some things in religion which are painful. Repentance for sin is a painful exercise; self-denial is painful; the resistance of temptation is sometimes trying; and the subduing of evil dispositions is a difficult work. But, to endure whatever of suffering there is in these things, is a saving in the end. It is less painful than the tortures of a guilty conscience, the gnawings of remorse, and the fear of hell. It is easier to be endured than the consequences of neglecting religion. If you get a sliver in your finger, it is easier to bear the pain of having it removed, than it is to carry it about with you. If you have a decayed tooth, it is easier to have it extracted than to bear the toothache. So it is easier to repent of sin than to bear remorse and fear. And the labor of resisting temptation, and of restraining and subduing evil dispositions, is not so great an interference with one’s happiness as it is to carry about a guilty conscience.
There is, however, nothing in true piety inconsistent with habitual cheerfulness. There is a difference between cheerfulness and levity. Cheerfulness is serene and peaceful. Levity is light and trifling. The former promotes evenness of temper and equanimity of enjoyment; the latter drowns sorrow and pain for a short time, only to have it return again with redoubled power.
The Christian hope, and the promises and consolations of God’s word, furnish the only true ground of cheerfulness. Who should be cheerful and happy, if not one who is delivered from the terrors of hell and the fear of death,—who is raised to the dignity of a child of God,—who has the hope of eternal life—the prospect of dwelling forever in the presence of God, in the society of the blessed, and in the enjoyment of perfect felicity? But no one would associate these things with that peculiar kind of mirth, which is the delight of the pleasure-loving world. Your sense of propriety recoils from the idea of associating things of such high import with rudeness, frolicking, and mirth. Yet there is an innocent gayety of spirits, arising from natural vivacity, especially in the period of childhood and youth, the indulgence of which, within proper bounds, religion does not forbid.
There is a happy medium between a settled, severe gravity and gloom, and frivolity, levity, and mirth, which young Christians should strive to cultivate. If you give unbounded license to a mirthful spirit, and indulge freely in all manner of levity, frivolity, and foolish jesting, you cannot maintain that devout state of heart which is essential to true piety. On the other hand, if you studiously repress the natural vivacity of youthful feeling, and cultivate a romantic kind of melancholy, or a severe gravity, you will destroy the elasticity of your spirits, injure your health, and very likely become peevish and irritable, and of a sour, morose temper; and this will be quite as injurious to true religious feeling as the other. The true medium is, to unite serious piety with habitual cheerfulness. Always bring Christian motives to bear upon your feelings. The gospel of Jesus Christ has a remedy for every thing in life that is calculated to make us gloomy and sad. It offers the pardon of sin to the penitent and believing, the aid of grace to those that struggle against an evil disposition, and succor and help against temptation. It promises to relieve the believer from fear, and afford consolation in affliction. There is no reason why a true Christian should not be cheerful. There are, indeed, many things, which he sees, within and without, that must give him pain. But there is that in his Christian hope, and in the considerations brought to his mind from the Word of God, which is able to bear him high above them all.
Let me, then, earnestly recommend you to cultivate a serious but cheerful piety. Let your religion be neither of that spurious kind which expends itself in sighs, and tears, and gloomy feelings, nor that which makes you insensible to all feeling. But while you are alive to your own sins and imperfections, exercising godly sorrow for them, and while you feel a deep and earnest sympathy for those who have no interest in Christ, let your faith in the atoning blood of Jesus, and your confidence in God, avail to keep you from sinking into melancholy and gloom, and make you cheerful and happy, while you rest in God.
And now, gentle reader, after this long conversation, I must take leave of you, commending you to God, with the prayer that my book may be useful to you, in the formation of a well-balanced Christian character; and that, after you and I shall have done the errand for which the Lord sent us into the world, we may meet in heaven. GOD BLESS YOU!
Transcriber’s Note:
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
The Chapter XXII title in the Table of Contents was adjusted to reflect the title within the contents.