View source for Gossiping and Evil-speaking

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<p>These are faults into which the young and thoughtless are very apt to be  betrayed, and to indulge in to a most unjustifiable and sometimes pernicious  extent, whereby the&nbsp;<em>most trivial failing</em><em>&nbsp;</em>of a companion is&nbsp;<em>magnified</em><em>&nbsp;</em>into a very serious offence against propriety; or an unguarded word made  to do an injury never intended by the one who uttered it.<br><br>
A young lady should be very guarded, indeed, about speaking evil of  anyone, and equally so how she&nbsp;<em>repeats the disparaging remarks</em><em>&nbsp;</em>of another. Much of this evil speaking arises from thoughtless misjudgements  of those who happen not to be very much liked. Whatever they do or say, is seen  through a false medium, which gives to it an unnatural distortion, or an  improper&nbsp;<em>colouring</em>. Of the&nbsp;<em>injustice</em><em>&nbsp;</em>of this, nothing need  be said, for all can see and acknowledge it. The difficulty is, to make each  one who indulges this evil practice, conscious that she is really guilty of  doing so, and therefore a wrong-doer to others.<br><br>
A&nbsp;<em>disposition</em><em>&nbsp;</em>to see the faults and defects of others, instead of what is good in them  — is one of our most common failings; and what we see, or think we see, is what  we are most apt to speak of. This is the reason why we generally hear more&nbsp;<em>evil</em><em>&nbsp;</em>than good spoken of,  as appertaining to other people.<br><br>
The very common habit of making the sayings and doings of our  acquaintances the principal subjects of conversation, is by no means a good  one, and should be avoided as much as possible, for the reason that such  conversation is rarely profitable, and very apt to betray us into&nbsp;<em>allusions to their defects</em>, as much more prominent than their  excellencies. And as it does&nbsp;<em>us</em><em>&nbsp;</em>no good to think of the&nbsp;<em>faults</em><em>&nbsp;</em>of our friends, nor&nbsp;<em>them</em><em>&nbsp;</em>any good for us to speak about them — the least said on such matters,  the better. It is not possible, however, always to avoid allusions to what has  been said and done by our friends, or to the appearance made by them on certain  occasions.<br><br>
Two young ladies, for instance, will meet on the day after a fashionable  party, and one of them will allude to the dress, appearance, or manners of some  one or more, who either exhibited a sad lack of taste, or whose conduct  attracted attention for its freedom and lack of delicacy. Such things always  occur, and always cause disparaging remarks. The other young lady, even though  she does not ordinarily take pleasure in noticing the&nbsp;<em>faults</em><em>&nbsp;</em>of her acquaintances,  cannot help assenting to what is said, and the temptation to express herself  freely on the subject will be very strong. She should guard herself, however,  and avoid magnifying what did really occur, and should seek to<em> change the  subject</em><em>&nbsp;</em>as quickly as  possible. Something like the following mode of reply, in such cases, should be  adopted —<br><br>
&quot;Did you ever see such horrid taste as Miss Parker  displayed?&quot; remarks one young friend to another. &quot;She looked like a  stage-dancer.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;She certainly was very much over-dressed.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Over-dressed! Goodness! She was dressed to death. Everybody  remarked it. How silly it is for a girl like her to render herself so conspicuous!&quot;<br><br>
&quot;You noticed Miss   Larson, did you not?&quot;<br><br>
&quot;O, yes! Wasn't she dressed sweetly? I think I never saw her look  so beautiful in my life.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Miss Larson is a girl of good taste.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;And, you may add, good temper and good sense. Did you notice how Sarah Gifford  flirted with young Smith? She is a terrible flirt! I had my eye on her all the  evening. Although she doesn't care the snap of a finger for Smith, she makes  him believe that his company is most agreeable to her.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;She is very wrong to do so. Truth and honesty should ever  distinguish a young lady's conduct. Such a charge, I am sure, cannot be made  against Ellen   Green.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;No, you may well say that. She is the very soul of truth and honour.  If all were like her, society would present far more beautiful and attractive  features than it now does. There was another at the party who resembled her — Flora Bannister.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Truly said. I love Flora  as tenderly as I do my own sister. How exquisitely do good taste, good  feelings, and good principles blend in her character! You never hear her speak  of another unless in praise. I always feel that I am better after spending an  hour with Flora.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;And so do I. I often wish that I was like her.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;All of us may become like her, if we endeavour to act from the  same&nbsp;<em>good principles</em><em>&nbsp;</em>that govern in her whole life and conduct.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;I don't know. Were I to try ever so hard, I do not think I could  become like Flora. I feel that there  is as much difference between her character and mine, as between mine and Sarah Gifford's.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Should not such thoughts and such a consciousness make us very  careful how we judge the defects of others too severely? Some people are  naturally deficient in true taste, and others have had their taste perverted by  a bad education; some are naturally of an amiable temper, while others have  much that is perverse to contend with. In all, there is some good; let us  magnify that, rather than the evil we see.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;I believe you are right,&quot; was the reply to this. &quot;We are  all too apt to see that in our friends which calls for censure, rather than  praise.&quot;<br><br>
How much better is it thus to lead away the thoughts of a young friend,  disposed to be&nbsp;<em>critical</em><em>&nbsp;</em>and&nbsp;<em>fault-finding</em>&nbsp;— to the contemplation of excellencies in others!<br><br>
A great deal of unhappiness is created, and a great deal of harm done,  by indulgence in the bad habit we are now condemning. Numerous instances might  be given in illustration of this. We shall introduce but one, and this with the  hope of making the fault appear in its truly odious light.<br><br>
Ellen Benoit was much given to  the use of disparaging remarks in reference to her companions. Like most others  who indulged in this reprehensible practice, she did not always confine herself  strictly to the truth. Not that she designedly, and with evil intent, uttered  falsehoods. She only&nbsp;<em>embellished</em><em>&nbsp;</em>a little too highly, without seeing that, in doing this, she was&nbsp;<em>magnifying foibles</em><em>&nbsp;</em>into faults, and  perverting language from the true meaning it was intended to convey.<br><br>
&quot;Your friend, Emily   Rawson, seems to be a very fine  girl,&quot; said a lady to her one day, after having spent her first half hour  with the person referred to.<br><br>
&quot;Yes,&quot; replied Ellen;  &quot;she is certainly a fine girl — but, like all the rest of us, she has her&nbsp;<em>faults</em>.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Not very serious ones, I hope,&quot; said the lady.<br><br>
&quot;Why, that will depend pretty much upon how you view them. She has  one fault that I call a&nbsp;<em>pretty serious</em><em>&nbsp;</em>one.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;What is that?&quot;<br><br>
&quot;A disposition to&nbsp;<em>tattle</em>.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Indeed! That is bad.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Not so bad as some other faults — but still bad enough. Whenever I  am with her, I consider it necessary to be guarded in what I say; for, in  consequence of her having once repeated some remark of mine, she involved me in  a very unpleasant difficulty with a friend, and created a difference that has  not been reconciled to this day.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;With such a person, I am sure I should want as little to do as  possible,&quot; replied the lady. &quot;I am sorry to hear what you say, for I  had formed a very good opinion of Emily,  and felt like adding her to the number of my friends. But there is no telling  what people are. As for her, the last fault I would have supposed her to be  guilty of, is the one you mention.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;I did not mean to convey quite so strong an impression to your  mind,&quot; said Ellen   Benoit, perceiving that she had  really injured Emily. &quot;I would  not have you understand that Emily is  a common tattler and busybody in other people's matters, for she is not. I only  meant to put you on your guard, in case you became well acquainted with her.  Myself a sufferer from having a thoughtless remark repeated by her, it seemed  to me only right that I should warn a friend in time.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Perfectly right, Ellen,  and I thank you for what you have done. As to Emily Rawson,  I believe I shall not follow up the acquaintance. I have a large circle of  intimate friends, with whom I can be unreserved, without fear of having my  confidence betrayed, or my unguarded words repeated to my own and the injury of  others.&quot;<br><br>
In this decision the lady was firm. When she again met Emily, she was&nbsp;<em>coldly polite</em><em>&nbsp;</em>to her, and that was all. The young girl, who had been pleased with her  character, and strongly drawn towards her, felt this change severely. It was an&nbsp;<em>unexpected repulse</em><em>&nbsp;</em>from one whose  principles she had approved, and whose character had been presented to her as  one of no common loveliness. That there was some&nbsp;<em>cause</em><em>&nbsp;</em>for this change she  knew; but of its nature she had not even a remote idea.<br><br>
Months passed, during which period Emily was thrown several times into  the company of this lady, who always maintained towards her a&nbsp;<em>coldness</em><em>&nbsp;</em>and&nbsp;<em>reserve</em><em>&nbsp;</em>entirely at variance with  the cordiality of manner exhibited on the occasion of their introduction to  each other. This unaccountable difference caused Emily  much pain of mind.<br><br>
It was, perhaps, a year subsequent to the time this lady had received  her impression of Emily's character,  and after her marked coldness towards the latter had caused her to omit the  usual word or nod of recognition on meeting, that a friend made some casual  remarks about Emily.<br><br>
&quot;I know very little about her,&quot; the lady replied,  indifferently, &quot;and that little has not prejudiced me much in her favour.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;That's strange,&quot; returned the friend; &quot;for a person with  fewer faults, and more sterling qualities of mind and heart, than Emily Rawson,  is rarely met.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;She has one fault that overshadows many good qualities,&quot; said  the lady, coldly.<br><br>
&quot;What is that?&quot; was asked.<br><br>
&quot;The fault of being a tattler!&quot;<br><br>
&quot;If she is freer from any one fault more than from another, it is  that one you name!&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Perhaps you don't know her,&quot; said the lady.<br><br>
&quot;Don't know Emily   Rawson! If that was the case, I  would almost begin to think I didn't know myself. We have been like sisters for  years.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Then you&nbsp;<em>ought</em><em>&nbsp;</em>to know her.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;I think so; and I know that she is&nbsp;<em>not</em><em>&nbsp;</em>a tattler; and I must  again express my wonder that you should have formed such an erroneous opinion  in regard to her. From whom did you obtain it?&quot;<br><br>
&quot;From a very good source, I believe. Ellen Benoit  warned me to be on my guard, and stated that she was herself a sufferer on  account of Emily's&nbsp;<em>tattling</em><em>&nbsp;</em>propensities.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;She did?&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Yes. My first impression of Emily's  character was good; but when I learned this, I thought it as well to have  nothing to do with her, for I think a&nbsp;<em>tattler</em><em>&nbsp;</em>a very&nbsp;<em>despicable</em> person.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;I believe I understand it all, now,&quot; said the friend, after  musing a while. &quot;Ellen is herself  a little given to the very thing she charges upon an innocent person. On one  occasion, she repeated something she had heard alleged against a young girl,  and considerably&nbsp;<em>embellished</em><em>&nbsp;</em>her narrative. Emily was  present. The impression made was very unfavourable to the individual alluded  to. Of all who heard these unfavourable remarks, made to the great  disparagement of an absent companion, Emily  was the only one who was honest enough to go to her and apprize her of what had  been said to her real injury, in order that, if innocent, she might vindicate  her character. The allegations were at once pronounced false, and the author of  them demanded. Ellen   Benoit was named by Emily, who volunteered to go to her in company with  the aggrieved person, in order to ascertain from her the source of the  injurious charge. Ellen was very angry  with Emily for what she had done, and  refused at first to give any authority for what she had said. But Emily mildly argued with her on the folly of this,  and, in extenuation of what she had done, assured her, that, if she herself had  been the subject of the remarks in question, she would have felt it to be  equally her duty to apprize her of the injury she was suffering. But Ellen could not see the matter in any better light  than as a&nbsp;<em>betrayal of confidence</em><em>&nbsp;</em>on the part of Emily.<br><br>
The result was, that, on tracing the charge made to the person given as  her authority by Ellen, more than half of the averments of Ellen were denied,  and a very different<em> version</em><em>&nbsp;</em>of the whole story  given, by which it was clear that she had added nearly all of the&nbsp;<em>offensive</em><em>&nbsp;</em>matter; not as sheer  fabrications — but as&nbsp;<em>inferences</em><em>&nbsp;</em>from what had been said. It seems she has not forgiven Emily for  honestly putting it into the power of an innocent person to vindicate herself  from injurious charges — but has as grossly misrepresented and injured her, as  she did the person whom Emily warned of the evil things said against her. You  can now judge how far Emily Rawson is to be condemned as a tattler on the testimony of Ellen Benoit.&quot;<br><br>
&quot;Clearly enough,&quot; replied the lady, with some warmth of  manner. &quot;I must at once renew my acquaintance with Emily.  As for the other, on some suitable occasion I shall refer to the subject, and endeavour  to make her see that she has been guilty of a very serious fault. I feel  strongly tempted to drop her altogether; but as I committed an error in doing  this with Emily   Rawson, I will seek rather to  correct her faults and strengthen her good qualities, than to decline all  friendly fellowship.&quot;<br><br>
This is the way in which false impressions about almost everyone are  propagated. The slightest fault, or peculiarity, is magnified into something  serious, and the censorious whisper goes round, while the subject of it remains  in entire ignorance of the&nbsp;<em>detriment</em><em>&nbsp;</em>she suffers. Let every young lady set her face against this as a serious  evil. Let her place a&nbsp;<em>bridle</em><em>&nbsp;</em>upon her tongue, and upon her thoughts, lest she is betrayed, in an  unguarded moment, into saying something against her young friend that may  injure her in the estimation of others.<br><br>
The surest way to avoid this fault, is to look more at the&nbsp;<em>good</em><em>&nbsp;</em>in our friends, than  the&nbsp;<em>evil</em>. We are all perverse enough, all have  evil tendencies enough, and are all frequently enough betrayed into acts and  words that are wrong — to prompt us to be&nbsp;<em>charitable</em><em>&nbsp;</em>towards others; and such reflections, if no others, should make us  thoughtful and prudent in this matter.
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