Part 4

Stop before criticising what you do not understand. The bore indulging in this species of idiocy is deserving of an enforced association with numerous mothers-in-law in a whisper-gallery.

Stop, indeed, snap your jaws to like a spring-trap, at the very suggestion of an oath or low expression. “Profanity,” says Lacon, “never yet dignified wrath nor emphasized a great purpose.”

Stop before indulging in covert sneers. Indeed, “a good, mouth-filling oath” is preferable, because less hypocritical, but an ungarnished assertion is better than either.

Stop before meanly insinuating what should be plainly spoken. Even if a man owes you money, which you think he ought to pay, tell him so, or ask for an explanation, instead of conveying your meaning through an allusion to his current expense or new clothes. This is the course of a sneak and a coward.

Stop, rather, and bewail the abolition of imprisonment for debt, or tell him that he ought to live cheaply and go in rags until he liquidates.

Stop before assuming a rasping, file-edged, whip-in-hand demeanor toward your dependents or inferiors. Apart from its villainously bad taste, the whirligig of time may bring about a transposition of relations, and then where are you?

Stop, on the other hand, ere adopting a groveling, sycophantic, ultra-ingratiating manner with your superiors. “The flavor that can only be won by fawning servility is seldom of great worth.”

Stop before persisting in a style of laugh that can betray your motives to your disadvantage. The “He, he, he!” of hypocrisy is as patent as the “Haw, haw, haw!” of the windbag.

Stop at an unwarranted ostentation of speech and bearing. The dung-hill bird is distinguished quite as much by his strut as by his vociferousness.

Stop, in addressing a woman, and consider the privilege of her sex, even if she may have aggrieved you.

Stop, on the other hand, before over-whelming her with an excess of courtesy. Over-attentiveness to women always inspires a suspicion as to its motive.

Stop before retailing a scandal, even if convinced of its truth. This is the province of the incorrigible gossip and the newspaper reporter, with neither of whom you can hope to cope.

Stop on the threshold of a temptation to distort the truth. Plausibility in lying is an art in which but few can earn distinction.

Stop before disputing a fact, however distasteful, that can be proved by statistical evidence. Figures are not apt to lie, save on gas-metres.

Stop before adhering to an error through a mistaken sense of shame. “Who acknowledgeth his error showeth an increase of wisdom; who stubbornly adhereth to what hath been disproved confesseth himself a fool.”

Stop short of the conceit that irresistibility with the fair sex depends on good-looks alone. The manners make the man.

Stop before aping the characteristics of another, however exalted. The gesticulations of the Frenchman would be unseemly in the staid Hidalgo, and that which would be a pleasing originality in one might be a preposterous parody in the imitator.

Stop short of the notion that wiseacre looks and frigidity of manner will always be indicative of reserved force and intellectual acumen. The owl is the solemnest and likewise the stupidest of birds.

Stop, whenever in moral doubt or distress, and consult the masterly advice and sage promptings of this jewel of a book. It shall be unto you “as rivers of water in a dry place, or the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.”

In Love Affairs.

Stop!--That burning thought--that delirium in thy heart--as to the lovely being whose image is before thee night and day--is it such as her modesty and virtue, her seraphic guilelessness should inspire? if not, away with it--blot it out!

Stop! Was she rather plain than peerless, and is it the thought of her father’s bonds and shekels that now summons the enamored hectic to thy virile cheek? Away with it, likewise, and for shame! Shall blood with boodle blend--emotion cringe at Mammon’s beck--and Love be unavenged?

Stop! Stay yet again thy headlong plunge! Was she yet lovely, an houri of a dream, but still beneath thee in family, station, fortune, and didst therefore smile but to deceive? If so, hold hard, hug this sweet volume to thy heart of hearts, and sin no more!

Stop, and meditate upon the three foregoing paragraphs, for in them are embodied the cardinal principles in making love: Purity of purpose, Disinterestedness and Truth.

Stop for some encouragement before rendering your attentions universally conspicuous. A glance of the eye, a tremor of the lip, the merest shadow of a blush upon the seashell-tinted cheek, will suffice.

Stop, if such subtle signs are wanting or withheld, and plan some deep-laid scheme to unveil heart’s predilection, indifference, or dislike. Oysters and ice-cream are still available in their respective seasons.

Stop before mistaking a passing fancy for a wild, consuming maddening, over-mastering, star-jostling passion. This mistake has evoked more paternal walking-sticks and breach-of-promise suits than would keep a French novelist in subject-matter for a twelvemonth.

Stop, after falling head over ears in love, to collect your senses and formulate your plans. An inconsiderate, maniacal rush into a declaration is often repented at leisure.