ision with
positive character, and to keep men and women at a respectful distance
from ladies and gentlemen. Life is carried on there at one or more
removes from the realities of life, on this principle, that, "I won't
speak the truth of you, if you won't speak the truth of me"; and the
name of this principle is politeness. It is impolite to tell foolish men
that they are foolish, mean men that they are mean, wicked men that they
are wicked, traitorous men that they are traitors; for smooth lies
cement what impolite veracities would shatter. The system, it is
contended, on the whole, civilizes the individuals whose natures it may
repress, and is better than a sincerity which would set them by the
ears, and put a veto on all social intercourse whatever. But strong as
may be the argument in favor of the system, it is certainly as important
that it should be assailed as that it should exist, and that it should
be assailed from within; for, carried out unchecked to its last
consequences, it results in sinking its victims into the realm of vapors
and vacuity, its representative being the all-accomplished London man of
fashion who committed suicide to save himself from the bore of dressing
and undressing. Besides, in "good society," so called, the best
sentiments and ideas can sometimes get expression only through the form
of bad manners. It is charming to be in a circle where human nature is
pranked out in purple and fine linen, and where you sometimes see
manners as beautiful as the masterpieces of the arts; yet some people
cannot get rid of the uneasy consciousness that a subtle tyranny
pervades the room and ties the tongue,--that philanthropy is impolite,
that heroism is ungenteel, that truth, honor, freedom, humanity,
strongly asserted, are marks of a vulgar mind; and many a person, daring
enough to defend his opinions anywhere else, by speech or by the sword,
quails in the parlor before some supercilious coxcomb,

"Weak in his watery smile
And educated whisker,"

who can still tattle to the girls that the reformer is "no gentleman."

Now how different all this is, when a man of social grit thrusts himself
into a drawing-room, and with an easy audacity tosses out disagreeable
facts and unfashionable truths, the porcelain crashing as his words
fall, and saying everything that no gentleman ought to say, indifferent
to the titter or terror of the women and the offended looks and
frightened stare of the men. H