Critics who, from a spurious good-nature, unduly praise a work of art or literature, really do a cruel injury to deserving authors and artists, by bringing their merits into an unworthy comparison with inferior powers. Evil of this sort, however, is apt to bring about its own penalty. Directly a professional writer is even suspected of unfairness, the spell of his influence is broken; and often enough, to be a warning to the ready writer, has it happened that one of the staff of a popular journal has lost his situation on account of his too ‘good-natured’ reviews.
It is rather remarkable that what are called good-natured people rarely undertake unpleasant duties, if they can possibly avoid them. They do not like telling disagreeable truths, however urgent the necessity for so doing, but transfer the mission to a sterner friend with some such phrase as, ‘I should not like to say it,’ or, ‘I should not like to do it,’ just as if the habit of their lives was only to do what they ‘liked.’ Indeed, the good-natured people we are describing are rarely generous in a grand way; they are seldom capable of self-sacrifice. If they are rich, they give money rather than take trouble. If they are people of leisure, they probably give time, which perhaps is not very precious to them; but doing something they greatly dislike, in order to benefit another, is a virtue too rare to be found among them.
There is a form of deception, too often considered very venial, with which so-called good-natured people, if they are good letter-writers, are not seldom associated. This is ‘drawing up’ letters for their less gifted acquaintances to copy and send out as their own. A really good letter often makes a very favourable impression; but it is something like a false coin if it be not the composition of the signer. No doubt, there are cases when it is necessary some statement should be made in language more clear and precise than the person concerned can command; but in these instances, the ready penman should write in his own person for his friend. We are afraid many situations of trust and responsibility have been obtained on the strength of admirable letters dictated by another. But incompetence is sure to be discovered sooner or later, as is a deception which is less forgivable than want of ability. Long, long ago, we knew of a case far more sad than the engaging of an incompetent clerk or governess. A girl of good family and large fortune was won over to accept for a husband a young gentleman of small means and not much principle, mainly by the eloquent, poetical, very charming letters he addressed to her; nearly if not quite all of which were composed by a clever brilliant friend who had never even seen her. When the marriage proved very far from a happy one—and the real scribe had a wife and children of his own—we have reason to believe that he deeply regretted the part he had played in deluding a confiding girl.
Very much on a par with the laxity of principle which permits false letter-writing is the wearing of borrowed finery, especially jewellery, things which we have known good-natured women very willing to lend. Valuable jewellery is a sign of a certain amount of wealth, which is generally on fit occasions displayed; but to exhibit the sign where the reality does not exist is a mean sort of deception, which must often be followed by humiliation.
A person out of what is called good-nature becoming security for another, and suffering, or causing others to suffer in consequence, is so sad and frequent an event in real life, that it has become quite a common incident in novels, and need not be treated of here. Kindness of heart is a deeper and finer quality than the surface readiness to oblige which we have endeavoured to depict. Kindness of heart has always the capacity for real sympathy, and this great alleviator of suffering is generally too clear-seeing to always approve of ‘Yes’ when ‘No’ should be said. Real sympathy feels with, and assists, the friend in trouble. When actions prompted by thoughtless good-nature are most mischievous, they proceed from one who probably neither feels deeply nor sees clearly the relations of cause and effect. That Justice—to a stranger no less than to our associates—is a rarer and more sublime virtue than generosity, is a truth that good-natured people are somewhat apt to forget.
SIX LITTLE WORDS.
Six little words arrest me every day:
I ought, must, can—I will, I dare, I may.
I OUGHT—’tis conscience’ law, divinely writ
Within my heart—the goal I strive to hit.