Much that is bad and foolish in women would have no existence if their minds were less barren. In a waste field, worthless and bitter weeds will spring up which it is hard to eradicate; while a soil that is judiciously cultivated produces abundant grain, luxuriant grass, and beautiful flowers.
There are ladies so exceedingly satisfied with themselves, and so desirous of being thought the special favourites of Providence, that they are always desiring to hold out an idea “that pain and sorrow can come not near them,” and that they enjoy a happy exemption from “all the ills that flesh is heir to.” They complain of nothing, for they profess to have nothing to complain of. They feel not the cold of winter, nor the heat of summer. The temperature is always exactly what they like. To them the street is never muddy with rain, nor slippery with ice. Unwholesome food agrees perfectly with them. They sleep soundly in bad beds, or rather no beds are bad. Travelling never fatigues them. Nobody imposes on them, nobody offends them. Other people may be ill—they are always in good health and spirits. To them all books are delightful—all pictures beautiful—all music charming. Other people may have trouble with their children—they have none. Other people may have bad servants—theirs are always excellent.
Now if all this were true, the lot of such persons would indeed be enviable, and we should endeavour to learn by what process such complete felicity has been attained—and why they see every thing through such a roseate medium. But it is not true. This is all overweening vanity, and a desire “to set themselves up above the rest of the world.” We have always noticed that these over-fortunate, over-happy women have, in reality, a discontented, care-worn look, resulting from the incessant painful effort to seem what they are not. And if any body will take the trouble, it is very easy to catch them in discrepancies and contradictions. But it is not polite to do so. Therefore let them pass.
As mothers are always on the qui vive, (and very naturally,) be careful what you say of their children. Unless he is a decidedly handsome man, you may give offence by remarking, “The boy is the very image of his father.” If the mother is a vain woman, she would much rather hear that all the children are the very image of herself. Refrain from praising too much the children of another family, particularly if the two sets of children are cousins. It is often dangerous to tell a mother that “little Willy is growing quite handsome.” She will probably answer, “I had hoped my child was handsome always.” With some mothers it is especially imprudent to remark that “little Mary looks like her aunt, or her grandmother.” Again, if you prudently say nothing about the looks of the little dears, you may be suspected and perhaps accused of taking no interest in children. Young ladies, when in presence of gentlemen, are too apt to go on the other extreme, and over-act their parts, in the excessive fondling and kissing and hugging of children not in the least engaging, or even good-looking. We cannot believe that any female, not the mother, can really fall into raptures with a cross, ugly child. But how pleasant it is to play with and amuse, an intelligent, affectionate, and good-tempered little thing, to hear its innocent sayings, and to see the first buddings of its infant mind.
When you are visiting another city, and receiving civilities from some of its inhabitants, it is an ill requital for their attentions to disparage their place, and glorify your own. In every town there is something to praise; and in large cities there is a great deal to amuse, to interest, and to give pleasure. Yet there are travellers who (like Smelfungus) are never satisfied with the place they are in—who exclaim all the time against the east winds of Boston, the sea-air of New York, the summer heats of Philadelphia, the hilly streets of Baltimore, and the dusty avenues of Washington. We have heard people from New Orleans call Philadelphia the hottest city in the Union, and people from Quebec call it the coldest. If there are two successive days of rain, then poor Philadelphia is the rainiest of all places. If it snows twice in two weeks, then it is the snowiest. If a fire breaks out, it is the city of fires. If there is an Irish fight in Moyamensing, it is the city of perpetual riots. By-the-bye, after that summer when we really had several successive riots up-town, and down-town, we saw an English caricature of the City of Brotherly Love, where the spirit of William Penn, in hat and wig, was looking down sadly from the clouds at the rioters, who were all represented as Quakers, in strait, plain clothes, and broad brims, knocking each other about with sticks and stones, firing pistols, and slashing with bowie-knives. Alas, poor Quakers! how guiltless ye were of all this! It is a common belief in England, that of this sect are all the people of Pennsylvania.
In talking to an elderly lady, it is justly considered very rude to make any allusion to her age; even if she is unmistakably an old woman, and acknowledges it herself. For instance, do not say— “This silk of yours is very suitable for an elderly person”—or—“Will you take this chair?—an old lady like you will find it very comfortable”—or—“Look, baby—is not that grandma?”—or—“I told the servant to attend first to you, on account of your age”—or—“Children, don’t make such a noise—have you no respect for old people?”
All this we have heard.
CHAPTER XVI.
INCORRECT WORDS.
Every one who sees much of the world must observe with pain and surprise various unaccountable instances of improper and incorrect words that sometimes disfigure the phraseology of females who have gone through a course of fashionable education, and mixed in what is really genteel society. These instances, it is true, are becoming every day more rare; but we regret that they should exist at all. Early impressions are hard to eradicate. Bad habits of speaking are formed in childhood: sometimes from the society of illiterate parents, but more frequently from that of nurses and servants; and if not corrected or shaken off in due time, will cling like burrs to the diction of women who are really ladies in every thing else. Such women will say “that there,” and “this here”—“them girls”—“them boys”—“I don’t want no more”—“I didn’t hear nothing about it”—“I didn’t see nobody there”—“I won’t do so no more.” And other similar violations of grammar; and grammar is never more palpably outraged than when two negatives are used for an affirmative. It is surely shorter and easier to say, “I want no more”—“I heard nothing about it”—“I saw nobody there”—“I will do so no more.”
Another grammatical error, less glaring, but equally incorrect, is the too common practice of converting a certainty into an uncertainty by saying, “I have no doubt but he was there.” As if his being there was your only doubt. You should say, “I have no doubt of his being there.” “I have no doubt but that he wrote it,” seems to signify that you do doubt his writing it, and that you are nearly sure he did not. The proper phrase is, “I have no doubt of his writing it.” “I do not doubt but that she knew it long ago,” implies that you do doubt her having known it. It should be, “I do not doubt her knowing it long ago.” Leave out but, when you talk of doubting.