LESSON XLII.

Politeness.-MISS TALBOT.

POLITENESS is the just medium between form and rudeness. It is the consequence of a benevolent nature, which shows itself to general acquaintance in an obliging, unconstrained civility, as it does to more particular ones in distinguished acts of kindness. This good nature must be directed by a justness of sense, and a quickness of discernment, that knows how to use every opportunity of exercising it, and to proportion the instances of it to every character and situation. It is a restraint laid by reason and benevolence upon every irregularity of the temper, which, in obedience to them, is forced to accommodate itself even to the fantastic cares, which custom and fashion have established, if, by these means, it can procure, in any degree, the satisfaction or good opinion of any part of mankind; thus paying an obliging deference to their judgment, so far as it is not inconsistent with the higher obligations of virtue and religion.

This must be accompanied with an elegance of taste, and a delicacy observant of the least trifles, which tend to please or to oblige; and, though its foundation must be rooted in the heart, it can scarce be perfect without a complete knowledge of the world. In society, it is the medium that blends all different tempers into the most pleasing harmony; while it imposes silence on the loquacious, and inclines the most reserved to furnish their share of the conversation. It represses the desire of shining alone, and increases the desire of being mutually agreeable. It takes off the edge of raillery, and gives delicacy to wit.

To superiors, it appears in a respectful freedom. No greatness can awe it into servility, and no intimacy can sink it into a regardless familiarity. To inferiors, it shows itself in an unassuming good nature. Its aim is to raise them to you, not to let you down to them. It at once maintains the dignity of your station, and expresses the goodness of your heart. To equals, it is every thing that is charming; it studies their inclinations, prevents their desires, attends to

tle exactness of behavior, and all the time appears disengaged and careless.

and so amiable is true politeness; by people of wrong nd unworthy hearts disgraced in its two extremes; the generality of mankind, confined within the narnds of mere good breeding, which, in truth, is only ance of it.

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is a kind of character, which does not, in the least, to be reckoned polite, though it is exact in every o of behavior; such as would not, for the world, omit you the civility of a bow, or fail in the least circumof decorum. But then these people do this merely - own sake: whether you are pleased or embarrassed is little of their care. They have performed their ts, and are satisfied.

LESSON XLIII.

Confessions of a bashful Man.-ANONYMOUS.

must know, that, in my person, I am tall and thin, fair complexion, and light flaxen hair; but of such sensibility to shame, that, on the smallest subject of on, my blood all rushes into my cheeks. Having been the university, the consciousness of my unhappy failde me avoid society, and I became enamored of a life. But from that peaceful retreat I was called by ths of my father and of a rich uncle, who left me a of thirty thousand pounds.

w purchased an estate in the country; and my comwas much courted by the surrounding families, esby such as had marriageable daughters. Though I to accept their offered friendship, I was forced dly to excuse myself, under the pretence of not being settled. Often, when I have rode or walked with cention of returning their visits, my heart has failed I approached their gates, and I have returned home resolving to try again the next day. Determined,

however, at length, to conquer my timidity, I accepted of an nvitation to dine with one, whose open, easy manner, left me no room to doubt a cordial welcome.

Sir Thomas Friendly, who lives about two miles distant, is Baronet, with an estate joining to that I purchased. He has two sons and five daughters, all grown up, and living, with their mother and a maiden sister of Sir Thomas's, at Friendly Hall. Conscious of my unpolished gait, I have, or some time past, taken private lessons of a professor, who eaches "grown gentlemen to dance;" and though I at first Found wondrous difficulty in the art he taught, my knowledge of the mathematics was of prodigious use in teaching me the equilibrium of my body, and the due adjustment of the centre of gravity to the five positions. Having acquired the art of walking without tottering, and learned to make a bow, I boldly ventured to obey the Baronet's invitation to a family linner, not doubting but my new acquirements would enable ne to see the ladies with tolerable intrepidity; but, alas! how ain are all the hopes of theory, when unsupported by habital practice!

As I approached the house, a dinner bell alarmed my fears, est I had spoiled the dinner by want of punctuality. Impressed with this idea, I blushed the deepest crimson, as my ame was repeatedly announced by the several livery serants, who ushered me into the library, hardly knowing what r whom I saw. At my first entrance, I summoned all my ortitude, and made my new-learned bow to Lady Friendly; ut, unfortunately, in bringing back my left foot to the third osition, I trod upon the gouty toe of poor Sir Thomas, who ad followed close at my heels, to be the nomenclator of the amily. The confusion this occasioned in me is hardly to be onceived, since none but bashful men can judge of my disress. The Baronet's politeness, by degrees, dissipated my oncern; and I was astonished to see how far good breeding ould enable him to suppress his feelings, and to appear with erfect ease after so painful an accident.

The cheerfulness of her ladyship, and the familiar chat of he young ladies, insensibly led me to throw off my reserve nd sheepishness, till, at length, I venture I to join the converation, and even to start fresh subjects The library being

urnished with books in elegant bindings, I conceived mas to be a man of literature, and ventured to give nion concerning the several editions of the Greek ; in which the Baronet's opinion exactly coincided

y own.

ais subject I was led by observing an edition of Xenin sixteen volumes, which (as I had never before of such a thing) greatly excited my curiosity, and I to examine what it could be. Sir Thomas saw what bout, and, as I supposed, willing to save me trouble, take down the book, which made me more eager to him, and, hastily laying my hand on the first volume, I it forcibly; but, lo! instead of books, a board, which, her and gilding, had been made to look like sixteen s, came tumbling down, and unluckily pitched upon a wood inkstand on the table under it. In vain did Sir s assure me there was no harm; I saw the ink streamm an inlaid table on the Turkey carpet, and, scarce g what I did, attempted to stop its progress with my c handkerchief. In the height of this confusion, we formed that dinner was served up; and I, with joy, ed that the bell, which at first had so alarmed my vas only the half hour dinner bell.

alking through the hall, and suite of apartments, to ing room, I had time to collect my scattered senses, s desired to take my seat betwixt Lady Friendly and est daughter at the table. Since the fall of the wood

ophon, my face had been continually burning like a ad; and I was just beginning to recover myself, and to mfortably cool, when an unlooked-for accident rekin

my heat and blushes. Having set my plate of soup r the edge of the table, in bowing to Miss Dinah, olitely complimented the pattern of my waistcoat, I d the whole scalding contents into my lap. In spite mmediate supply of napkins to wipe the surface of my , my black silk dress was not stout enough to save me he painful effects of this sudden fomentation; and for ninutes I seemed to be in a boiling caldron; but, recolhow Sir Thomas had disguised his torture when I

rod upon his toe, I firmly bore my pain in silence, amidst he stifled giggling of the ladies and the servants.

I will not relate the several blunders which I made, during he first course, or the distress occasioned by my being desir d to carve a fowl, or help to various dishes that stood near e; spilling a sauce-boat, and knocking down a salt-cellar : ather let me hasten to the second course, where fresh disasers overwhelmed me quite.

I had a piece of rich, sweet pudding on my fork, when Miss Louisa Friendly begged to trouble me for a pigeon that tood near me. In my haste, scarce knowing what I did, I hipped the pudding into my mouth, hot as a burning coal. t was impossible to conceal my agony; my eyes were starting om their sockets. At last, in spite of shame and resolution, was obliged to drop the cause of torment on my plate. Sir 'homas and the ladies all compassionated my misfortune, and ach advised a different application. One recommended oil, ́ nother water, but all agreed that wine was best for drawing ut the fire; and a glass of sherry was brought me from the ideboard, which I snatched up with eagerness: but, oh! Low shall I tell the sequel?

Whether the butler by accident mistook, or purposely designd to drive me mad, he gave me the strongest brandy, with which I filled my mouth, already flayed and blistered. Toally unused to every kind of ardent spirits, with my tongue, hroat and palate as raw as beef, what could I do? I could ot swallow; and, clapping my hands upon my mouth, the quor squirted through my fingers like a fountain, over all he dishes; and I was crushed by bursts of laughter from all uarters. In vain did Sir Thomas reprimand the servants, nd Lady Friendly chide her daughters; for the measure of ny shame and their diversion was not yet complete.

To relieve me from the intolerable state of perspiration hich this accident had caused, without considering what I id, I wiped my face with that ill-fated handkerchief, which was still wet from the consequences of the fall of Xenophon, nd covered all my features with streaks of ink in every diection. The Baronet himself could not support the shock, ut joined his lady in the general laugh; while I sprung