rests upon it. How shall this be dispersed? In what manner shall truth be instilled into his mind? Certainly with the dispassionateness of argument, and that conciliation of manners which shall best win on his patience. Who ever thought of enlightening his pupil in the truths of geometry, by transports of rage, or by the cool and biting sarcasms of contempt? If I perceive my neighbour mistaking in some important question, I may pity him: a madman only would be filled with the bitterness of personal resentment.

There is a remark sufficiently memorable which may be deduced from the preceding observations. How far is it compatible with benevolence, that I should speak of a man's character, when he is absent, and present, in the same terms? In answering this question it may be premised that sincerity is a matter of inferior consideration to benevolence. Sincerity is only a means, and is valuable so far as it answers the purposes of benevolence; benevolence is substantive *,

Perhaps, in the nature of things, there is no contrariety, as to the common intercourses of life, be

* What is here said of sincerity, is equally true of temperance, activity, perseverance, and every other quality or habit that tends to promote our own happiness, or the happiness of others. They are merely subordinate and ministerial to this great purpose. Sincerity is one of these habits; but, though to benevolence it is only ministerial, it is probably entitled to the very first place among its ministers.

tween the species of sincerity here spoken of, and benevolence. A wise man would speak of the qualities of his neighbour as he found them; "nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice *." He would not, even in his neighbour's absence, indulge in sarcastic remarks at his expence; he would not exaggerate his errors; he would not speak of them with anger and invective. On the other hand, his neighbour, if reasonable, would bear to be told of his errors, in plain terms, without softening or circumlocution. So that the language to be used, when I spoke to him if present, or of him if absent, might be reduced to one common standard.

Great inconveniencies arise from the prevailing practice of insincerity in this respect. Its appearances have not failed to be seized by the writers of comedy, as a rich fund of humour; and, with a little exaggeration upon the common modes, nothing can be more irresistibly ludicrous. The variation of tone that a man assumes, when the person of whom he was talking unexpectedly makes his entrance, certainly places the speaker in a pitiful point of view. Yet this insincerity is in a greater or less degree universal; and, if we occasionally meet with a man who, detected in the fact, repeats the same harsh language to the person

* Shakespear.

upon his entrance, it may be doubted whether this proceeding is not rather dictated to him by the sudden irritation of his pride, than by any shade or modification of benevolence.

From hence it has grown into a commonly received rule of civilised life that conversation is not to be repeated, particularly to the persons who may happen to be the subject of it. This rule appears at first sight to be a very strange one. Every man seems to have a just right to know what his neighbours think, or, to use a more appropriate phrase, how they feel, respecting him; and certainly no information can be more interesting. The judgment of his neighbours, is the glass in which he should view himself; by this mirror he should dress his mind, and remove his defects. Not that he should implicitly conform himself to their judgment; but that, by comparing their opinions with each other and with his own, he will best arrive at the truth. Ignorance in this respect corrupts the very vitals of human intercourse. A man frequently does not know what is the opinion entertained of him by his most familiar companion; he is the object of his daily ridicule, and does not suspect it. Yet the knowledge of this opinion is of high importance, both for correction and confidence. Many men go out of the world, profoundly unacquainted with the unanimous sentiment of all their acquaintance respecting them.

The rule however, that conversation is not indiscriminately to be repeated, has something which may be offered in its behalf. If from knowing what all men said of him in his absence, a person could learn what they thought of him, it were much to be wished he should know it, and that man would be a poltroon who would shrink from the having his remarks divulged. But there are so many things said from the mere wantonness of the moment, or from a desire to comply with the tone of the company; so many from the impulse of passion, or the ambition to be brilliant; so many idle exaggerations which the heart, in a moment of sobriety, would disavow; that frequently the person concerned would learn any thing sooner than the opinion entertained of him, and torment himself, as injuries of the deepest dye, with things, injudicious perhaps and censurable, but which were the mere sallies of thoughtless levity.

It has been already seen that, were we in a state of sufficient improvement, the most perfect sincerity in our language respecting the characters of men, would be practicable. It is not at present however to be expected, whether we consider it as it relates to the speaker, or to the person who, in his absence, happens to be the subject of dis

course.

It has sometimes been laid down as a rule, that we ought never to speak ill of a person in his ab- .

sence.

But this is ridiculous.

Characters, in order to be sufficiently understood, ought pertinaciously to be discussed. There is no duty more clear and unquestionable, than that I ought to endeavour to enlighten my neighbour respecting the character of another, and to guard him against the ill effect of his vices and infirmities. The error therefore does not lie in my speaking ill of a person in his absence.

There is scarcely any speaker so careful of his words, as never to indulge in wanton sallies in descanting on the infirmities of another. There is scarcely any speaker who, in such cases, does not occasionally indulge in invective, and describe the vices of another with that anger and unkindness, which an exalted humanity would teach him to regard as an insult. These sallies and this invective are censurable in whatever way they are considered; but they not seldom change their character and become atrocious, when related to the person who is the subject of them.

Again; as the speaker is frail and imperfect, so also is the person whose errors are the subject of discourse. There are few men at present who can endure to have their errors detailed to them in a plain and unvarnished manner. Yet it is my duty, so far as opportunity serves, to acquaint them with their errors. The medium I shall observe, will be to endeavour by every obvious method to ren

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