“Odd’s bodikin, man, much better!” is the answer of the judicious and kind-hearted prince. “Use every man after his desert, and who shall ’scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity: the less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.”
Most people, however, reverse this beautiful maxim, which breathes the very soul of practical charity, and study to behave to others in a manner suitable to the desert of those persons, while they leave out of the question entirely the propriety and dignity of their own conduct, as if that were a minor, and not the primary consideration! Does not this occur every time we lose our temper? At all events, the maxim applies with peculiar force on board ship, where the character and conduct of every officer are daily and hourly exposed to the searching scrutiny of a great number of persons who have often little else to do but watch the behaviour of one another.
It may safely be asserted, indeed, that in no instance whatsoever can we exercise any permanent or useful influence over the opinions, feelings, or conduct of others, unless in our intercourse with them we demean ourselves in a manner suitable to our own station; and this, in fact, which, in the long run, is the measure of all efficient authority, is also the principal circumstance which gives one man the ascendency over another, his equal in talents and information, and whose opportunities are alike. It is probably to the same class of things that one man owes his transcendent popularity and success in society, while another, equally gifted, and enjoying similar opportunities, is shunned or neglected. If we hear a person constantly finding fault—however much reason he may have on his side—we take no pleasure in his company. We soon discover, that if there be two things presented to his view, one which may be made the subject of praise, the other of censure, he will catch at the disagreeable point, and dwell upon it, to the exclusion of that which is agreeable, although the circumstances may not be such as to have required him to express any comparative opinion at all. And as the taste for finding fault unfortunately extends to every thing, small as well as great, constant food is sure to be furnished, at every turn, to supply this disparaging appetite. If the sky be bright and clear, the growler reminds you that the streets are dirty under foot;—if the company be well selected, the dinner good, the music choice, and all things gay and cheerful, he forces upon your attention the closeness of the rooms, the awkward dress of one of the party, or the want of tune in one of the strings of the harp. In speaking of the qualities of a friend, your true snarler is certain to pick out the faults, to dash the merits; and even when talking of himself, he dwells with a morbid pleasure on his want of success in society, his losses in fortune, and his scanty hopes of doing any better in future. The sunshine of day is pale moonlight to such a man. If he sees a Sir Joshua, it is sure to be faded;—the composition and execution he takes care not to look at. If he hears of a great warrior or statesman, whose exploits have won the applause of the whole world, he qualifies the admiration by reference to some early failure of the great man. In short, when we find ourselves in such a person’s company, we feel certain that the bad side of every thing will inevitably be exposed to us. And what is the result? Do we not shun him? And if we should have the means of introducing him to others, or of putting him into a situation to benefit himself and the public, are we not shy of trusting him with a degree of power which he appears determined shall not be productive of good?
The truth is, that by an involuntary process of the mind, we come to judge of others, not nearly so much by direct examination as by means of the reflected light which is sent back from the objects surrounding them. If we observe, therefore, that a man’s general taste is to find fault rather than to be pleased, we inevitably form the conclusion that he is really not worth pleasing; and as he is not likely to gratify others, we keep him, as much as we can, out of the way of those we esteem.
In very many cases, however, probably in most cases, this temper is merely a habit, and may, at bottom, often be quite unsuitable to the real character. So much so, that if the opposite practice, from whatever motive, be adopted by the same person, even where the disposition may fundamentally not be good, the result will often be a thousand times more amiable and useful, not only to the party himself, but to all those with whom he has any dealings; and his companionship will then be courted, instead of being shunned, as it had been before.
In the free and open world of busy life, men are generally made so fully sensible, sooner or later, of the truth of these maxims, that few of the growling tribe are ever known to advance far in life. But on board ship, where the distinctions of rank are strongly marked, and the measure of each man’s authority exactly determined by established laws and usages, officers are frequently much too slow to discover that the principles above adverted to are applicable to their own case; and thus they sometimes fling away advantages of the highest price, which lie easily within their reach, and adopt instead the cold, stern, and often inefficient operations of mere technical discipline.
This very technical discipline, indeed, like any other machinery, is admirable if well worked, but useless if its powers are misapplied. It is not the mere elastic force of the steam that gives impulse to the engine, but a due regulation of that elasticity. So it is with the use of that mysterious, I had almost said magical sort of power, by which the operations of moral discipline are carried on, especially at sea, where the different component parts of the machine are so closely fitted to one another, and made to act in such uniform order, that no one part can go far wrong without deranging the whole.
I would fain, however, avoid narrowing the principle to any walk of life, though its operation may be more obvious afloat than on shore. And any young person, just setting out in the world, whatever his profession be, will do well to recollect, that his own eventual success, as well as happiness in the mean time, will mainly depend upon his resolute determination to acquire the habit of being pleased with what he meets, rather than of being sharp-sighted in the discovery of what is disagreeable. I may add, that there is little or no danger of the habit recommended degenerating into duplicity; for, in order to its being either useful in the long run, or even agreeable at the moment, its practice, like every thing else that is good, must be guided throughout by sterling principle.
CHAPTER VII.
GEOLOGY—NAUTICAL SQUABBLES.
About this period I began to dabble a little in geology, for which science I had acquired a taste by inheritance, and, in some degree, from companionship with more than one of the Scottish school, who, at the beginning of this century, were considered more than half-cracked, merely for supporting the igneous theory of Dr. Hutton, which, with certain limitations and extensions, and after thirty years of controversy, experiment, and observation, appears to be now pretty generally adopted. Sailors, indeed, have excellent opportunities of making geological observations, for they have the advantage of seeing Nature, as it were, with her face washed, more frequently than most other observers; and can seldom visit any coast, new or old, without having it in their power to bring off something interesting to inquirers in this branch of knowledge. That is, supposing they have eyes to see, and capacity to describe, what meets their observation. Some people cannot go beyond a single fact or two actually lying under their very noses; and you might as well expect them to fly as to combine these particulars, or to apply them to the purposes of science at large. Others, again, from the same want of accurate comprehension, or from sheer mental indolence, jump at once from the most trifling local circumstances to the broadest and most unwarranted generalisations.