To decide never to allude to our neighbors and their affairs in our every-day talk would be silly as well as impossible. Neighbors and friends are part of the outside family which composes the community, and a community is made up of all the families who reside within its boundaries. We are interested, or we ought to be, in whatever happens to our friends and townspeople, both of good and of evil fortune. If Mrs. Brown's house burns down, we are most happy to invite Mrs. Brown and Sally Brown and the little Browns to come and stay with us until their arrangements can be made for living in another home. If Louis Larcome takes the Latin prize at college, or Alfred Cocks is selected as captain of the Freshmen crew, or Margaret Lane's essay receives honorable mention, or Nelly Parsons writes a book, we are, of course, sharers in the pleasure of the Larcoms, the Cockses, the Lanes, and the Parsons. And on the other hand, if there is illness at the Jenkinses, or Polly Marten falls from her wheel and hurts her knee, or the dear baby dies at the Whitfords, we are saddened with these who are sorrowful. It is quite right to take, and it would be most selfish and shocking not to take, a real interest in our friends and their concerns.
The wrong and the mean thing is to tell little trivialities which are personal affairs, as if they had to do with society. To observe that Martha Newcome is so stingy that she wears her old cloak when the whole town knows she could afford another, but won't do it; that Elias Judson makes his boys get up in the morning and work in the field without their breakfast; that the people over the way spend their whole time going about, and goodness knows they cannot find time to mend their children's stockings, etc. These are the stupid things some absurd people talk about. Pray, my dear girls, set your faces against this, and never take part in it. Never say that Eleanor is proud, or Edith is vain, or Marie has no taste, or Lulu has the temper of a wasp, or Charley's word is not to be depended on. When you cannot honestly utter a kind word, then be silent.
Should it ever happen that you learn directly or indirectly anything about the affairs of a friend, something concerning which the friend has said nothing, respect his silence. Much harm is done by indiscreet speech. Little trouble comes from discreet silence. Silence is golden.
Again, if you are a guest in a house, you must remember that to no one, not even to your very nearest and dearest, must you reveal anything disagreeable or unfortunate which may come into your knowledge. This rule has no exceptions. Only a dishonorable person goes away from a home in which she has been entertained, observing that the family quarrel among themselves, or that the daughters are disrespectful to their mother, or anything else of the kind. Here silence is golden.
Silence is not golden, though, when you hear the absent accused unjustly. Then you must defend him or her. Be brave in standing up for the absent, and never speak ill of them. The ancients made it their rule to speak no evil of the dead, because they were helpless and at the mercy of the living, and it is a good rule for us to follow. It is surprising how much that is true and loving and beautiful we can find to say of all our friends, if we determine that we will be like the princess in the fairy tale, out of whose mouth, whenever she opened it, pearls and rubies dropped.
There is a "comfortable feeling" that comes after a bath with Ivory Soap.
The Procter & Gamble Co., Cin'ti.