Mr. Editor—I send you the following account of a short inspection of a fellow creature, which, if it will convey any information to your readers, you are at liberty to publish.
I had the curiosity, as a neighbouring gossip was one day at my house, and while she happened to be napping on the sofa, to try if I could obtain a view of her ear, the structure of which I had often speculated about. With the aid of a good eye-glass I succeeded. It was a curious piece of mechanism: the outside folding was of the usual size, but by long habit of eager listening, had acquired a kind of gaping shape, which seemed to bid an indiscriminate welcome to every sound. Next to this was a kind of whispering gallery, so extremely susceptible of noise, that one of my most careful breathings was immediately reverberated to the tympanum, and though not loud enough to awake the sleeper, it was evident that it made her dream of scandal. I was curious to know the construction of the tympanum, which vibrated so easily to an empty breath. I could see it plainly: for the long habit of extreme anxiety to receive every breath that stirred, had pushed it forward to the very orifice of the ear, where it seemed waiting in an agony of impatience for something new, and complaining grievously that all the tit-bits of intelligence had to pass such a distance before they could come to its hearing. Its make was curious: it was an extremely fine sieve of the most elastic materials. It was evidently constructed so that every thing of the least weight should rebound as soon as it touched, and only those articles which were as light as air, should enter. It was too fine to admit any thing larger than a bit of scandal. The whole external ear was designed to catch and communicate every thing audible, for it is a maxim with gossips as well as others, that nothing is too poor for a nice hand to sift some good from it. This sifting was the office of the tympanum: it was in a perpetual quiver. Its nice threads were constantly shaking to pieces what was too light to rebound, and too large to enter whole, and then dropping them to the receiver below. There were a great many curious articles sticking in this sieve, which had got half through but could go no further. There were little pieces of serious and affecting family secrets, tales of distress, cullings from the little failings of good men, morsels of sermons, drippings of church business, ends, middles and halves of people's sayings, anecdotes of funerals, with numerous suspicions, half heard hear-says, and suspicions of near-says.—All these had evidently been operated upon. A kind of scandalic acid had been at work on those parts which had got within. They were partly decomposed; their seriousness had assumed a ridiculous aspect, their solidity had become gaseous: what had been affecting, seemed now to be laughable; what had appeared commendable, seemed now composed of so many disgusting materials as to be odious. Here I learned the reason which I never knew before, why it is that gossips hear so many lectures upon the degrading, injurious, disreputable character of their pursuits, and so entirely without effect. These lectures never passed their ears: their matter was too heavy not to rebound, or the truths too great to gain admission; or, if any detached parts chanced to enter, they were so broken by sifting, and so decomposed and changed by the very pungent acid within, as to retain nothing of their original seriousness, and become fit companions for the nice selections which passed before them.
The sight of the ear excited my curiosity to look for the mind within: whatever may be the difficulty of determining the seat of the mind in persons of ordinary construction, the matter is clear, that the gossip's mind must be as near to the vehicle of sound as possible. This is confirmed by observation; I found it just inside the ear, where there was but a small space, to be sure, for its operation; but its dimensions were of no enlarged description. It had evidently been made for some useful employment: its nerves were strong, its perceptions quick, its action skilful; but it was miserably contracted. Part of it, and plainly the best part, was ruined by long inaction. It contained a few good ideas, grown rusty by long disuse, which evidently might have been made to appear respectable, could they have been delivered from the stuff which covered them. This mind was a complete factory in miniature: there was its picking machine, its spinning machine, a contrivance for weaving, for shearing, for trimming; with dyes of every variety of shade. All these machines were so artfully combined, that you could see nothing of the raw material after it once went to be picked, till it came out in an article nicely dressed and dyed for distribution. There was a very smooth communication from the mind to the mouth, through which the different articles, as soon as finished, were conveyed, to be kindly, and complacently, and charitably, rattled out to every one that should come. A peculiar excellence of this mechanism was, that there seemed to be no refuse: every thing was worked, every thing was turned to some account: the motion here was perpetual, and acid was strangely used instead of oil to facilitate it. All around, there were receipts for the best method of making a good story out of almost nothing; of how to extract something laughable from the most serious subjects; of how to dye white into a good black, and how to find materials for manufacturing, where no one would think of looking. The day-book was a curiosity. "April 1st, eked out of John B's apprentice two skeins of scandal about his master." "Monday, learned a good deal from Mrs. C's cook about her mistress' private ways, and gained a variety of nice bits, which, with a chain of good home-spun, will make up a very good article." "Tuesday, heard a whisper about something disagreeable in Mr. D's family, can't rest till I know more about it; must send Sally into their kitchen to see what can be picked up there. A few family quarrels would help finely just now." "Wednesday, caught the thread to the tale which I have been trying these three months to unwind, it seems to lead to some noble pickings." "To-day, must go out and hear the news, and ask about this marriage rumour."
As I was finishing my observations, a little neglected thing struck my attention, which seemed to demand some notice. It was the gossip's conscience. It was a little, contracted, fantastical body, that seemed extremely averse to noise and all kinds of disturbance; to avoid which, it had squeezed itself into a narrow corner, where, with the help of several ingenious contrivances, it kept clear of all interference: it seemed to sleep almost all the time, in which it was assisted by the influence of numerous little nostrums which were kept for the purpose. When conscience did sometimes awake, (as I conjectured) it was mostly on a Sunday, while there was but little doing, comparatively, when it looked about a little, made some bustle, and went to sleep again perfectly satisfied. From appearance, I judged that conscience and the gossip had very little intercourse.
One thing was remarkable about this mental factory, which was, the flourishing state of its business; a circumstance which seems the more strange, because such establishments are so very numerous, and their productions so eminently worthless.
Now, sir, having finished my description, permit me to ask, if there is any thing to excuse the employment of gossips, great or small? Can the want of other occupation, or the amusement which this affords them, make amends for such degradation of themselves; such abominable trifling with their neighbour's character; such vexatious meddling with other's business; such remorseless transformation of good into evil; of secrets into public news; of the serious into the ridiculous; of peace into disputing; as they are constantly guilty of? Ought not such persons to be universally shunned as public evils, and if a public law will do no good, should it not be the secret resolution of every gossip-hater, to avoid as a pestilence, the scandalous atmosphere of a scandalous tale-bearer?
There is a celebrated description of law which affords a good outline for the description of what of all things is most lawless. Of scandal, there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is in the temple of fame; her voice the confusion of the world; all things in earth and hell own her influence; the very least as feeling her hate, and the greatest as not exempt from her power; both men and women, and creatures of what condition soever, though each in different sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent, detesting her as the pest of their peace and joy.
Anti-Tattler.