lness
of his intercourse with other men. Anybody, it is supposed, can say what
he means; and in spite of their notorious experience to the contrary,
people so continue to suppose. Now, I simply open the last book I have
been reading--Mr. Leland's captivating "English Gipsies." "It is said,"
I find on p. 7, "that those who can converse with Irish peasants in
their native tongue form far higher opinions of their appreciation of
the beautiful, and of _the elements of humour and pathos in their
hearts_, than do those who know their thoughts only through the medium
of English. I know from my own observations that this is quite the case
with the Indians of North America and it is unquestionably so with the
gipsy." In short, where a man has not a full possession of the language,
the most important, because the most amiable, qualities of his nature
have to lie buried and fallow; for the pleasure of comradeship, and the
intellectual part of love, rest upon these very "elements of humour and
pathos." Here is a man opulent in both, and for lack of a medium he can
put none of it out to interest in the market of affection! But what is
thus made plain to our apprehensions in the case of a foreign language
is partially true even with the tongue we learned in childhood. Indeed,
we all speak different dialects; one shall be copious and exact, another
loose and meagre; but the speech of the ideal talker shall correspond
and fit upon the truth of fact--not clumsily, obscuring lineaments, like
a mantle, but cleanly adhering, like an athlete's skin. And what is the
result? That the one can open himself more clearly to his friends, and
can enjoy more of what makes life truly valuable--intimacy with those he
loves. An orator makes a false step; he employs some trivial, some
absurd, some vulgar phrase; in the turn of a sentence he insults, by a
side wind, those whom he is labouring to charm; in speaking to one
sentiment he unconsciously ruffles another in parenthesis; and you are
not surprised, for you know his task to be delicate and filled with
perils. "O frivolous mind of man, light ignorance!" As if yourself, when
you seek to explain some misunderstanding or excuse some apparent fault,
speaking swiftly and addressing a mind still recently incensed, were not
harnessing for a more perilous adventure; as if yourself required less
tact and eloquence; as if an angry friend or a suspicious lover were not
more easy to offend than a meeting of indif