Indeed, without attention, nothing is to be done : want of attention, which is really want of thought, is either folly or madness. You should not only have attention to every thing, but a quickness of attention, so as to observe, at once, all the people in the room, their motions, their looks, and their words; and yet without staring at them, and seeming to be an observer. This quick and unobserved observation is of infinite advantage in life, and is to be acquired with care; and, on the contrary, what is called absence, which is a thoughtlessness and want of attention about what is doing, makes a man so like either a fool or a madman that, for my part, I see no real difference. A fool never has thought; a madman has lost it; and an absent man is, for the time, without it.

In short, the most material knowledge of all, I mean the knowledge of the world, is never to be acquired without great attention; and I know many old people, who, though they have lived long in the world, are but children still as to the knowledge of it, from their levity and inattention. Certain forms, which all people comply with, and certain arts, which all people aim at, hide, in some degree, the truth, and give a general exterior resemblance to almost every body. Attention and sagacity must see through that veil, and discover the natural character.

Add to this, there are little attentions which are infinitely engaging, and which sensibly affect that degree of pride and self-love which is inseparable from human nature, as they are unquestionable proofs of the regard and consideration which we have for the persons to whom we pay them. As, for example: suppose you invited any body to dine or sup with you, you ought to recollect if you had observed that they had any favourite dish, and take care to provide it for them; and, when it came, you should say, 'You seemed to me, at such and such a place, to give this dish a preference, and therefore I ordered it. This is the wine that I observed you liked, and therefore I procured some.' Again: most people have their weak

nesses: they have their aversions or their liking to such or such things. If we were to laugh at a man for his aversion to a cat or cheese (which are common antipathies), or, by inattention or negligence, to let them come in his way, where we could prevent it; he would, in the first case, think himself insulted, and, in the second, slighted; and would remember both. But, on the other hand, our care to procure for him what he likes, and to remove from him what he dislikes, shews him that he is at least an object of your attention, flatters his vanity, and perhaps makes him more your friend than a more important service would have done. The more trifling these things are, the more they prove your attention for the person, and are consequently the more engaging. Consult your own breast, and recollect how these little attentions, when shewn you by others, flatter that degree of self-love and vanity from which no man living is free. Reflect how they incline and attract you to that person, and how you are propitiated afterward to all which that person says or does. The same causes will have the same effects in your favour.

AWKWARDNESS

OF DIFFERENT KINDS.

MANY very worthy and sensible people have certain odd tricks, ill habits, and awkwardness in their behaviour, which excite a disgust to and dislike of their persons, that cannot be removed or overcome by any other valuable endowment or merit which they may possess.

Now, awkwardness can proceed but from two causes, either from not having kept good company, or from not having attended to it.

When an awkward fellow first comes into a room, it is highly probable that his sword gets between his legs and throws him down, or makes him stumble, at least; when he has recovered this accident, he goes and places himself in the very place of the whole

room where he should not; there he soon lets his hat fall down, and, in taking it up again, throws down his cane; in recovering his cane, his hat falls the second time; so that he is a quarter of an hour before he is in order again. If he drinks tea or coffee, he certainly scalds his mouth, and lets either the cup or the saucer fall, and spills the tea or coffee in his breeches. At dinner his awkwardness distinguishes itself particularly, as he has more to do: there he holds his knife, fork, and spoon differently from other people; eats with his knife to the great danger of his mouth, picks his teeth with his fork, and puts his spoon, which has been in his throat twenty times, into the dishes again. If he is to carve, he can never hit the joint; but, in his vain cfforts to cut through the bone, scatters the sauce in every body's face. He generally daubs himself with soup and grease, though his napkin is commonly stuck through a button hole, and tickles his chin. When he drinks, he infallibly coughs in his glass, and besprinkles the company. Besides all this, he has strange tricks and gestures; such as snuffing up his nose, making faces, putting his fingers in his nose, or blowing it and looking afterward in his handkerchief, so as to make the company sick. His hands are troublesome to him, when he has not something in them, and he does not know where to put them; but they are in perpetual motion between his bosom and his breeches: he does not wear his clothes, and, in short, does nothing like other people. All this, I own, is not in any degree criminal; but it is highly disagreeable and ridiculous in company, and ought most carefully to be avoided by whoever desires to please.

From this account of what you should not do, you may easily judge what you should do; and a due attention to the manners of people of fashion, and who have seen the world, will make it habitual and familiar to you.

There is, likewise, an awkwardness of expression and words, most carefully to be avoided; such as false English, bad pronunciation, old sayings, and common

proverbs; which are so many proofs of having kept bad and low company. For example: if, instead of saying that tastes are different,' and that every man has his own peculiar one,' you should let off a proverb, and say that what is one man's meat is another man's poison; or else, every one as they like, as the good man said when he kissed his cow;' every body would be persuaded that you had never kept company with any body above footmen and housemaids.

There is likewise an awkwardness of the mind, that ought to be, and, with care, may be avoided; as, for instance, to mistake or forget names. To speak of Mr. What-d'ye-call-him, or Mrs. Thingum, or Howd'ye-call-her, is excessively awkward and ordinary. To call people by improper titles and appellations is so too; as, my Lord, for Sir; and Sir, for my Lord. To begin a story or narration when you are not perfect in it, and cannot go through with it, but are forced, possibly, to say in the middle of it, I have forgot the rest,' is very unpleasant and bungling. One must be extremely exact, clear, and perspicuous in every thing one says; otherwise, instead of entertaining or informing others, one only tires and puzzles them.

BASHFULNESS.

BASHFULNESS is the distinguishing character of an English booby, who appears frightened out of his wits if people of fashion speak to him, and blushes and stammers without being able to give a proper answer; by which means he becomes truly ridiculous, from the groundless fear of being laughed at.

There is a very material difference between modesty and an awkward bashfulness, which is as ridiculous as true modesty is commendable; it is as absurd to be a simpleton as to be an impudent fellow; and we make ourselves contemptible if we cannot come into a room and speak to people without being out of countenance, or without embarrassment. A man who is really diffident, timid, and bashful, be his merit what it will, never can push himself in the world; his despondency

throws him into inaction, and the forward, the bustling, and the petulant will always precede him. The manner makes the whole difference. What would be impudence in one man is only a proper and decent assurance in another. A man of sense, and of knowledge of the world, will assert his own rights and pursue his own objects as steadily and intrepidly as the most impudent man living, and commonly more so; but then he has art enough to give an outward air of modesty to all he does. This engages and prevails, whilst the very same things shock and fail, from the overbearing or impudent manner only of doing them.

Englishmen, in general, are ashamed of going into company. When we avoid singularity, what should we be ashamed of? And why should we not go into a mixed company with as much ease and as little concern as we would go into our own room? Vice and ignorance are the only things we ought to be ashamed of; while we keep clear of them we may venture any where without fear or concern. Nothing sinks a young man into low company so surely as bashfulness. If he thinks that he shall not, he most assuredly will not, please.

Some, indeed, from feeling the pain and inconveniences of bashfulness, have rushed into the other extreme, and turned impudent; as cowards sometimes grow desperate from excess of danger: but this is equally to be avoided, there being nothing more generally shocking than impudence. The medium between those two extremes points out the well-bred man, who always feels himself firm and easy in all companies, who is modest without being bashful, and steady without being impudent.

A mean fellow is ashamed and embarrassed when he comes into company, is disconcerted when spoken to, answers with difficulty, and does not know how to dispose of his hands; but a gentleman, who is ac

quainted with the world, appears in company with a graceful and proper assurance, and is perfectly easy and unembarrassed. He is not dazzled by superior