MAXIMS BY A MAN OF THE WORLD.*
THE genie of the Arabian Nights whose liberation nearly proved fatal to the fisherman was not the only victim of Solomon. He has found a companion in the Author of Lost Sir Massingberd. As the first exclamation of the genie on coming out of the bottle, and gathering together his clouds of smoke till they became a solid body, was addressed to that wise monarch, so this book opens with a complaint that the title which was just suited to it has been preoccupied by the writer of "Ecclesiastes, or the Preacher." Perhaps it would be unsafe to carry the simile further. We certainly do not find the seal Of Solomon on this bottle, and though we see the clouds of smoke, they can scarcely be said to take a solid shape. The pretentious way in which some average magazine papers are presented to us as the fruit of the long experience of one well versed in human affairs sets us against them from the beginning. Their want of any definite purpose or method, the flimsiness of some of the writing, the shallowness or triteness of most of the reflections, force themselves painfully on our minds when we close the volume. While we were skimming it over, we sometimes lost sight of these faults, but that was because we forgot the title. We took each paper by itself, and judged it as we should have judged it in a magazine. The result of this process was that we found a fair number of sensible remarks, two or three good stories, one or two clever observations, and certain opinions which might be worth an argument. When we put all these things together, they do not come to much ; it is a question whether they justify republication. But if such papers are to be collected, the first essential is modesty. To call special attention to a book of the kind is the surest way of proclaiming its defects. The preface says, "In intention, at least, we are equal to Solomon, since our object is to teach folks 'how to get on in the world '; and further, that without acknowledging the authority of the audacious J. P. Robinson, he' (of the Biglow Papers) to the effect that 'they didn't know everythin' down in Judee,' it must be allowed that during the many centuries which have intervened since the days of the wisest of Kings the ocean of life has a good deal altered, and that the mariner (notwithstanding thirty-six editions of Mr. Tupper's Proverbial Philosophy) needs a new chart to steer by." After this, we feel that the greatest amount of performance would not come up to the promise. A very peculiar genius is required to equal at once Solomon and Tupper. The mere chart of the ocean of life must have immense extent and varied soundings. It is not enough to heave the lead occasionally in some of the bays which are most often visited, and to chip off little bits from some of the reefs on which ships have been wrecked. Yet we do not think even the author of this book, in his most pretentious mood, would claim to do more. He cannot hold that all life is summed up in fifteen papers,. the subjects of which are money, love, friendship, marriage, conversation, pleasures, children, the professions, and so on. He will differ from us as regards his treatment of those subjects. We cannot expect him to see with us that his papers afford no practical guidance to mariners. It may appear to him that we are hopelessly obtuse not to appreciate his delicate way of conveying useful knowledge. When he describes his own lead-line and the exact mark which was in his hands at the time that the plummet touched the bottom, we ought to understand that he is giving us the soundings. But if so, we should prefer plain figures, and in most cases those figures are known to us already. Nothing can be staler, for instance, than the attack on classical education. We are assured that the author has been educated at an expense of from /100 to $250 for twelve years, and has learnt nothing—in all literalness and in capital letters NOTHLNG. How often we have heard that before, though perhaps we never before believed it so implicitly. Surely the successor of Solomon ought to know better than to give us such platitudes as would better become the pupils of Tupper? He might see that the fact of his having learnt nothing does not necessarily cast any reflection on the system. It may have been suited for the rest of the world, though unsuited for him. It may have been suited for him, while he was unsuited for it. It may have done him good which he does not know of. In fact, there are plenty of solutions without our coming to the only one which the author will never accept, but which will be the first to occur to his readers. Again, the argument that the clerical profession is a paying one because it insures the position of a gentleman is not only an old paradox, but a fallacious one. It is true that the status of a clergyman is something certain, and that his prefix is an introduction to society. But then these advantages are only felt by those who have no status of their own, and no other means of introduction. "Directly you get your country, curacy you are free of, at least, all the tea-tables in the county; and as if that was not enough in itself, you begin life at twentythree with an income of £100 a year. The author argues that this prospect ought to content every one who is not likely to be Lord Chancellor or Chief Commissioner of Police. But the attraction of tea-tables and 2100 a year does not endure for ever. A time comes when something more solid is needed. If the curate has no interest, he has little chance of bettering himself, while his own position is uncertain. The small livings which alone are likely to reward him cost more than they bring in. Had he been in any other position in life, he would not have begun with good society and £100 a year, but he would have been more certain of
.aiubt, if he is a tradesman's son and a dunce, there rry, othing better in prospect. But we hardly think the mass of clergymen answer to that definition, however well it may suit the "ordinary Tom" to whom our author is so profoundly superior. Of course, if this book is written for the "ordinary Tom," for one whose father was a tradesman, who is himself a dunce, and who has learnt nothing from an expensive education, the tone adopted by the author is natural and praiseworthy. The" ordinary Tom" must be overawed by the show of vast wisdom. He has probably heard of Solomon. When he left the public school at which he was flogged with the very birch that had just been hallowed by the closest contact with a lord, he had certainly a copy of Tupper among his leaving books. These two names and the promise to excel them will attract his attention. If he buys the book, its success will be enormous. If he reads it, great will he the comfort derived from it. Some of his old illusions will perhaps be shaken. He may be distressed to hear that very few men ever do fall in love, and save at a very early age, not very
many are capable of it. If he has a friend, he will look forward rather nervously to the time when he will be afraid to confess his engagement. But the prospect of marriage will be cheered by the assurance that a good wife will not reproach a man for a next morning's headache, if it does not come too often. He will learn much that is useful about conversation. The sneer at men who peas judgment on wines may perhaps be painful to him, for the "ordinary Tom" is just the one who is curious about the vintages, and has taken high orders in Oxford port. But the censure of those who use French phrases unnecessarily will seem the perfection of satire if the "ordinary Toni" has never travelled. The encouragement given him to repel an intentional rudeness by the use of "whatever Greek fire lies handy to his tongue," even if that leads to the use of a little coarseness, will no doubt be taken to heart. In future, we shall know the pupils of the Author of Lost Sir ilassingberd by steady drinking without any talk about wines, a regard for clerical life as insuring the position of a gentleman, an education which has taught theta nothing, and a hatred of French phrases. And if we know them, we shall take care to be civil to them, for fear of Greek fire and a little coarseness. What else they may learn from their teacher does not appear so plainly. If they take to authorship indeed, which we fear is a violent supposition, the example set them in the paper on " Books " may show how Thackeray's first Roundabout Paper should be taken to heart, while the paper on "Sickness" will give them a study in the manner of Happy Thoughts. To save them the trouble of finding out from Goldsmith's Essays that "an author called Lilly's grammar has the remark ' les in praasenti perfectum format,' which I may translate 'ready money makes a perfect man," their kind precepter has given them a new version, without the point or the fidelity of the original. But perhaps what will most mislead them is his advice to them to give way at once to every generous impulse, if at least there is no doubt of the fitness of the object. The qualification seriously alters the sentence, for how is sudden generosity to pause and ascertain that there is any such fitness? Yet passing over this, we doubt the wisdom of the suggestion. "The shock of such an impulse," we are told, "never occurs twice with the same force ; the best time for doing a good action is very often the only one— namely, the present." This may be so, and yet such generosity is often the opposite of a virtue. It is in many cases a form of self-indulgence under the guise of charity, and if it is merely Practised for the sake of pleasant recollections, it can hardly "happen to tally with religion and morality."
However, if we were to begin to discuss such questions with the author, we should be led away from our subject. The few lines Which remain to us shall be pleasant. It is natural that a man of
the world should have stories to tell, and the present one shines more in stories than in maxims. His account of the wealthy uncle who had long kept a nephew dancing attendance on him in the hope of being his heir, and literally choked with rage when the nephew at length gave him a piece of his mind, is worth a good deal of moralizing on the evils of mammon-worship. The paper about " Children " is pleasant in itself, and it contains at least two good stories. There is the one of a boy who promised faithfully not to go
y anything about the nose of an expected guest, and who
kept his promise by staring half dinner-time in the stranger's face, and then remarking, "Why, mamma, how can we talk about it ? Ile has got no nose." And then we have the history of the funeral of a favourite canary, performed by a chief mourner carrying some ostrich feathers on a board, and a small clergywornan with a Pair. of bands on, a white sheet for a surplice, and the County Dlrec. tory for a prayer-book ; while the coffin was covered with an old velvet skirt of what was once mamma's grandest dress, and the youngest child of the family brought up the sear tolling the dinner-bell slowly. Another good story is that of an Australian magnate, whose health was proposed at a banquet given in his honour. He declined to make a speech in return. " Gentlemen " said he, "what you have said is doubtless true and certainly agreeable, but I never made but one speech in my life before any large number of people, and short as it was, the result was so unfortunate that I made up my mind never to make another." On further inquiry, it was found that that the speech in question was made at the Old Bailey. It consisted of "Not Guilty, my Lord," yet the result was transportation for life. Such anecdotes may not carry out the intention of the book as expressed in its preface, but they shed over it a light, cheerful tone, and make it readable.
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