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pation with the needle, the shuttle, or the fan-to mitigate the pains of embarrassment from which men's hands have no safer refuge than the pocket: most other expedients proving a worse, and often mischievous alternative. And if hands are a difficulty to the shy man, what can we say of legs, which, we presume, women need never think of, as an encumbrance, at all? Where is he to put them-how is he to keep them in order, so that they shall not betray the perplexity of his soul? What an infinite variety of bad tricks, with these particular members, does not the demon of sheepishness suggest to its victim in the hour of trial! What postures! what oscillations! Who does not remember that curate immortalised in Shirley, who, in the critical moment of courtship, contrived with his own hands to tie his legs so firmly together with his pocket-handkerchief, that he could not set himself at liberty when retreat from the scene of discomfiture became essential?

But this is too painful a subject to be more than touched upon; for what sensitive mind is not haunted by the fear of now and then committing himself in the same kind, though not in the same degree? while on our part it is only common courtesy to our readers to assume them quite free and exempt from such extreme cases of ill-manners. There are other tricks, however, which, we suspect, in a measure pervade all society. One that especially belongs to natural, transparent characters, we will mention, as proving the advantage of a more systematic watchfulness than such persons commonly bestow, or than is thought as essential as it used to be. We mean the habit of interruption. It will be acknowledged to be a breach of good manners to interrupt others while they are speaking, but it is often by an effort that we abstain from doing so—an effort which, if we are conscious of sometimes, it is probable we none of us always make. No doubt it is a funda

mental rule of politeness not to break in upon another's discourse. While conversation flags, and is kept up with difficulty, we take it so much as a matter of course, that comment and advice on the subject seem superfluous, and perhaps impertinent. But let us each consider how often we begin a sentence which we are not allowed to finish, and then reflect, not on our own ill-usage, but on what we possibly inflict on others. There are some people who never interrupt, who, in the full warmth of interesting discussion, will allow the sentence they are waiting to dispute or to confirm to come fairly to an end, without permitting lip or eye or motion to betray impatience; and we know that they are rare, from being sensible of a new and unusual labour in their presence that of finishing our sentence grammatically and with point; a task seldom imposed on a party of eager disputants, discussing a topic on which all are interested. And what a sense of courtesy and repose it brings! what a good influence does one of these patient listeners diffuse around— elaborately refining and giving point to conversation! Each talker by turn receives the unusual forbearance as a personal tribute: we do not think him courteous, we believe him interested, but are not the less put on our mettle, to deserve and to reciprocate the agreeable civility. We are not speaking of those barbarous invaders, those social burglars, who rudely break into a good story, or a quiet statement of opinion, with something wholly irrelevant and trivial of their own, bearing no relation to the question; though, perhaps, each of us knows some instance to the purpose: but of those who are too much occupied with the interest of the subject to forbear the appointed time, from expressing their own view-who cut short what others have to say, without knowing it at the time or reflecting upon it after. It has been asserted that this habit must be on the increase, or the great talkers of

past generations could never have existed. All the "conversationalists" of fifty or a hundred years ago must have been nipped in the bud under the blighting influence of perpetual interruption; and no doubt, when good manners were more formal things, implying more self-sacrifice, any speciality people had, had a better chance of a fair field; though whether modern habits will regard this as a loss, and not rather as a gain, to society -a deliverance from a tyranny and an incubus-is a question. Even now a genius of this order may have some chance if nature has befriended him with the gift of a voice of considerable volume. a powerful organ. Nobody, as society is now constituted, can command the attention of a mixed company for three minutes (possibly at no time, for, after all, human nature is always the same) without this ally. It need not be a loud voice, but it must be one which, having got hold of the ear, can keep hold of it by that sort of body and continuous sound which so remarkably distinguish some voices. from others. We know more than one ready thinker, with apt and felicitous words at his command, silenced for life by thinness and feebleness of organ; permanently oppressed and set down by the general habit of interruption. A

man must be very determined to persist in saying what he has to say under so enormous a disadvantage. Some take to writing their thoughts in despair, whose natural sociability would have made them talkers if their friends had been no better gifted with lungs than themselves, or of a temper and urbanity of manners to forbear using their superior strength ungenerously. The silenced intelligence resigns himself without knowing it, gives up the struggle, becomes reflective, thinks while others talk, and retires at length into his study, which so far resembles the grave, that there all personal differences are at an end.

Another fault of thoughtlessness, closely allied to the last, and which

being inelegant, must be concerned with our subject, is the habit of connecting the thoughts and facts of every sentence with redundant phrases, which simply serve to keep up the stream of sound, and so to enable the speaker to hold his ground till his mind finds fresh supplies. If people were sure of attention they perhaps would not repeat, "you know," "do you see,' "" and so," or again, the name of the person addressed, with such wearying persistence. We should like to put one of these eager, untidy talkers in constant communication with an entirely patient listener, just to try the experiment whether a sense of leisure would not subdue this hurry of talk, and the tongue learn to restrain itself into keeping pace with the thinking faculty; and thus all that is senseless and distracting in his sentences-or may we say hers, for the fault is a frequent feminine one-be gradually eliminated. was once the masculine habit to intersperse oaths merely as stopgaps to give continuity and force to commonplace; and we read of a conversation carried on in this method, which was taken down by a short-hand writer behind the screen, and which, being afterwards read in cold blood, was admitted by the speakers themselves to sound rather like a conference of fiends than the small-talk of human beings. Manners have changed for the better in some important points since then; there is nothing diabolical, we are happy to think, in the waste and superfluities of modern discourse, but the same result as to proportion might be found in some instances, as where ten sheets full of "abominable interpolations" were reduced to two of rational conversation.

It

It has been our object to regard manners, on their external side, as an accomplishment as a key to social respect and favour; but good manners, to be worth anythingindeed to exist as we would have them-must proceed from an inner fount of humanity and honour by no means the exclusive possession

of the educated classes; rather common in exact proportion to all classes, and necessarily showing themselves in happy and appropriate action. But each class has its tests and laws of conduct and right behaviour. We can only enter into that of which we have some real insight; and the social life of the mechanic and labouring classes is only familiar, in all its details, to themselves. We have already called new and exceptional positions the severest test of manners. The mixture of classes offers this ordeal-using mixture as implying real contact of mind and feeling. When men mix with their social superiors, so as to work and act with them in a temporary equality, the difficulty lies with the inferior. It is comparatively easy to be condescending with propriety and grace; it is hard to hit the right mean between subservience and forwardness-to blend in a right degree self-respect with deference. But how admirably, and with what tact, some men carry themselves under these circumstances! with what a nice appreciation of the claims of either side! It is one of the uses of athletic sports that they bring classes to gether on a common ground of strength and skill, and create a field for real intercourse, free from the restraints which render play of mind and feeling impossible at other times. In these scenes we know that it is not always the truest gentleman in feeling, and even in manner, who is the gentleman in common parlance; and learn, from what passes there, to respect an innate delicacy of taste and feeling, a fine perception of propriety, which makes itself felt and valued in face of all the odds of fortune.

But the subject grows with the treatment of it. There is more to be said at the end of these pages than we supposed there was at the beginning. No statement can be advanced but a hundred necessary reservations step in. Thus, while we seem to advocate some intention and design in manner, we

are quite alive to the fatal effect of these being apparent, or in any full meaning conscious. Polish, as it is called, is constantly a mere artificial glaze, obscuring rather than setting off the natural good qualities; and even caution not to offend may result in a measured tame propriety, which might well be exchanged for a few chance slips and occasional want of taste. Nature has her favourites in this point, and the careless blunders of the graceful and the lively may please beyond all the efforts, perhaps conscientious efforts, of the most thoughtful discretion. Nothing is more certain than that a good manner should represent the character, not hide it, as the manners of the great and the observed are so often designed to do. It should leave play to natural and easy action, and should seem, and, through habit, be, spontaneous. For the rest, every reader's definition will probably take up points we have neglected, and may even start altogether on another groundwork; while the infinite variety of faults in manner, the various shades of error-such as the preoccupied, the vain, the exacting, the languid, the negligent, the busy, the fussy, the dawdling, the condescending, all proceeding from habits of mind, but showing themselves in distinct and definite actions opposed to politeness and good-breeding, and all characteristic, not of individuals but of classes-might furnish each a separate disquisition. But into these we do not desire to enter; a few general principles are good for us all to keep in mind. Our young readers may be sure that their friends will not value their thinking qualities less for their making themselves more agreeable to general acquaintances. Nor have we feared, in our easy, independent, self-indulgent, and self-amusing days, seeming to advocate some expense of care and thought in acquiring an agreeable manner, when success cannot be gained but through imparting pleasure, ease, and comfort to those with whom we associate or in any way have to do.

VAUGHAN'S REVOLUTIONS IN ENGLISH HISTORY.

THIS is a second instalment of a work which we took an early opportunity of commending to the perusal of our readers. We may remind them that Dr Vaughan surveys the history of England in order especially to answer the question, "Why England is England?" Why this people have grown to be what they are? In other words, his object is to select from English history whatever has had a permanent influence upon the nation. In carrying out this philosophical design, he will differ from other historians in the limits which he imposes on himself. All historians worthy of the name seek to show through what process, by what great events or great thoughts, a nation has advanced to eminence; but if they are faithful to their character of annalist, they must necessarily admit into their pages much that has had no such permanent influence. It is not for the complete historian to decide for all others what may or may not have left an enduring trace in the character or destinies of a people. Whatever has greatly interested mankind, he is bound to perpetuate the record of.

He will form and state his own opinion of its importance; but he will know that others may arrive at a quite different conclusion to his own, and will not take upon himself the responsibility of expunging from the record what, to another reasoner, may appear an event of great moment or full of political significance. He has the twofold duty imposed upon him of faithful annalist and philosophical historian. But it does not follow that a writer who aspires to no such completeness may not limit himself to one of these duties: he may content himself with being a full and exact chronicler; or, foregoing the claim for his work of a complete history,

he may select and arrange his events according to his conception of their importance in the national development. It is this last, we presume, which our author proposes to himself. Whether he always keeps in mind this principle of selection, we are not prepared to say.

In his first volume, Dr Vaughan described that admixture of races to which we are generally supposed to be so much indebted. In the present volume, he deals with those phases of the Christian religion which, appearing either synchronously or successively, have wrought so potently on the moral character of the people. And most assuredly, if we are justified in saying that a variety of races has been conducive to a good breed of men in these islands, we may still more safely assert that the moral character of the people has received a fortunate influence from the various forms of Christianity which have struggled for pre-eminence amongst them. We, for our own part, feel ourselves on surer ground when we speculate on the influence of a creed or church on the national character, than when we theorise on the effect produced by the admixture of Celt and Saxon and Norman. The difference of race is marked enough when you have an aboriginal Australian on the one hand and the English emigrant on the other; and whether these are two different species of men, or their difference is to be accounted for by the prolonged influence of climate and culture, the distinction is equally marked; and an admixture of the two would probably result in a tertium quid of no very pleasing nature. But when we come down to races that so nearly resemble each other as Celt and Saxon, we seem to be remitted almost entirely to the great causes of climate, food, geo

Revolutions in English History. By ROBERT VAUGHAN, D.D. Vol. II.—“ Revolutions in Religion."

graphical position, government, and religion, for the diversities between nations. What part is there in European civilisation which a Celt and a Saxon have not equally well fulfilled? What religious faith is it that they have not held, individually at least, with equal tenacity? What art is it that they have not practised with equal success? The sea makes them sailors alike; a favourable position converts them both into merchants. One does not see why it was necessary that these islands should have been peopled by a variety of races. The admixture of Celtic and Saxon blood may, or may not, have been essential to the present Englishman: we do not pretend to decide on such a question; but, at all events, it is much more certain that the admixture of Catholic and Puritan modes of thinking was necessary to form the present national character of England.

"Revolutions in Religion !" The title itself suggests endless trains of thought. It is a topic which might tempt one to wander, with speculative gaze, over the whole history of mankind. But we must limit ourselves to the few revolutions in that period of English history which is here brought under our view. It is a period of history which, to English readers, seems to be of inexhaustible interest. Historian follows historian over the same ground-from the Reformation, commenced under Henry VIII., to the final settlement of our affairs, political and religious, at the Revolution of 1688-and all apparently find readers. All, or almost all, will doubtless be found to have contributed something to our clearer knowledge of this important period in our annals. Some are discoverers: on the faith of documents they have brought to light, they present the old familiar characters and events in a novel aspect; such, for instance, in our own times, is Mr Froude. Others, following these, and having the advantage of their researches, without the bias which invariably attends upon the first discovery, are

VOL. XC.-NO. DL.

enabled to give us a more just and candid outline of the whole history than had before been possible. To this class our present author belongs. Availing himself of the labours of his contemporaries, and correcting them by his own conscientious reading, we believe he has produced as fair a statement of our ecclesiastical transactions during this eventful period as could be expected from any one pen. For, of course, our author has his religious convictions, which must be allowed, in some degree, to colour his narrative.

But with strong religious conviction he unites a liberal and philosophic spirit. We quote with pleasure a few of the opening sentences on the progressive development of religion, which merit attention from two classes of writers: from those who are loud and uncompromising in their censures of the past, and those who refuse to us any hope of religious progress in the future. It is often, indeed, the very same writer who most vehemently denounces the persecuting spirit of the past, and also most resolutely resists every progressive movement in the present.

"We never fail to find religion in some form wherever we find humanity. The wants of our nature, in regard to social life and religious life, have the same spontaneous origin, and develop themselves according to the same laws. When a people once come under influences fathey should go on from bad to better, vourable to progress, it is natural that

and from better to better still. It is so with religion-even with revealed religion. There are social influences by which even that may be deteriorated, and others by which it may be purified and elevated. Motives coming from our alike to make intelligence progressive; physical and moral nature contribute and the growth of intelligence tends, in its turn, to insure a growth of cultivated feeling. So men come by degrees to have new convictions in regard to the just in social life, and to the true and pure in religious life, and are prepared to endure much, and to dare much, in de

fence of such convictions.

"It is a narrow philosophy-a philosophy falsely so called-which contents itself with holding up the ignorance, the

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